#poor sammy he was so lost

[cqmilless]

this clip is like those baby sensory videos to me

[wally-franks-stan]

Changed my mind I’m feeling encouraged now so here’s um. Something from my “canon” 😊 boris wasn’t the first one to use the safehouse

[nevertheless-moving]

unable to stop dwelling on the discworld trouser leg of time where, in the penultimate fight scene in Nightwatch, Carcer manages to kill teenage Sam Vimes.

Which means that the future that Duke Vimes came from can no longer exist, which means he can’t go home. Meanwhile you’ve got a bunch of history monks with stored up temporal energy, a prepared space outside of time, and the need to do some desperate damage control before the Auditors get involved. Death shows up, reality is unweaving, Sam is reading Carcer his discworld miranda rights because what else is he supposed to do.

and finally, with little other option, the monks de-age Sam so he fits the time period and send him back out into the fray.

(they didn't call it deageing of course. His memory is hazy, splintered during that terrible in between moment, They....took the time out of him? Sanded away the edges of his self for a terrible, workable fit? It...wasn't a good feeling.)

Just—damn. Sam Vimes having to live his whole crapsack life over again, but this time as his disillusioned-reillusioned, unwillingly-character-developed, noir-epic, Duke of Ankh, Commander Sir Samuel Vimes self. 

Younger (Older? He's never felt so Old, His steps so Childlike, reality twisting in his gut like one of Dibbler's pies) Sam Vimes walking around in a haze after the revolution. Desperate to go home, knowing he can’t. Wanting to drink. Knowing he can’t.

The whole precinct feels pity, he really took Keel’s death hard, hardly speaks except to do his job. Eventually he has to grit his teeth and start being present, because what else is there to do?

Resists the urge to drink until Colon takes the whole watch out to celebrate because -he’s going to be a father!

Come on Sammy, one drink won’t kill you— and after the first drink he’s cracking jokes and after the second hes smiling and after the third hes honestly the life of the party and sometime after that he’s crying about how he was going to be a father and my wife would be ashamed if she saw me drinking like this and— 

Oh shit, Did anyone else know he had a wife?? A PREGNANT wife??? What—aren’t you like 12—no you're 17 now aren't you but when did—

You guys n’ver met ’er—oh gods none if you ev’n know ‘er, is jus’ me...

What—when did you lose—

I lost her the same damn day I los’ ev’rythin else, whadya think...bleeding Carcer...the fuckin revolution...

So! That! Sam only vaguely remembers the night, but rumors travel faster than light on the disc, so by the next day the whole damn city knows about poor Sam brung low by the loss of his poor, tragic, pregnant wife, so young to be a widower, and the Seamstresses nod because they already knew, don’t ask them how, somethings you just have to know in that trade.

And his mother—I don’t know, sue me, I’m a time travel fiend but there’s something deeply intriguing about a man meeting his dead parent, who is somewhat younger than him, and stepping into the old relationship like a badly fitting thing that's supposed to fit well. She would know, right? How would she deal with her son’s impossible grief? Maybe she wouldn’t know—he spent most of the time out of the house, running with different street gangs, maybe he avoids her until she dies and lives with the guilt twice over. God, we don’t even know her name. There’s just so much narrative and emotional potential that I don’t even know where to start.

When he’s on duty, which is most time - it’s agonizing because at first he remembers cases, saves lives that would have been lost. But the more time passes, the hazier his memory because in the original timeline he was becoming an alcoholic. Fuck! A kid dies and he could have saved her if he hadn’t been such a drunk, if he had just remembered where the asshole lived, but it’s all a haze, and he wants to drown out his guilt, but that’s what caused this in the first place.

Good young Sammy, who spends his rare off-time in dusty libraries (and yes, the irony that he’s apparently Carrot now is not lost on him) reading gods-only-know.

It’s not like he can ask the wizards for help, cutthroat and vicious as they are now in the not-so-distant-past.

Good young Sam, who...talks to the Broken Drum’s pet Bouncer like he’s a real person and not a dumb rock? That’s a bit weird, but he’s a bit of a funny guy.

Good old Sam, who believed the testimony of the dwarf who said the humans were trying to rob him and let the dwarf go??

the PROBLEMS this man would cause, good grief. Can you imagine a moderately progressive middle aged man with some degree of begrudging diversity and equity training that he did, for all his sins, pay attention to, suddenly going back to like, 1990, going back just 30 years, and going...oh damn this is kind of fucked up, no man you can’t say that, holy shit.

Except Sam’s lived through even more rapidly shifting social moroes! There’s no seamstress guild, there’s no women allowed inside the university, there’s no black ribboner’s society. People hunted trolls for their teeth! But Sam can’t just unlearn everything, and he can’t shut up, and he has no real luck and anyway he would absolutely get himself (temporarily) fired.

FUCK. Sam has no idea what to do with that. None. Zero clue. Wanders around in a haze until that dwarf he saved from police brutality finds him and insists on repaying the debt. No, he insists, do you have any idea what debt means to a dwarf?

“Sort-of?” he replies hesitantly, and that honest admission of incomplete knowledge shows a hell of a lot more respect and understanding than any self proclaimed dwarf-expert ever did.

Gets a job as a surface man, hauling rocks into the city. It’s backbreaking work, but, in true Discworld fashion, it’s also one hell of a workout (again the irony of being Carrot is not lost him. he freezes for a minute while hauling a rock cart, when he remembers he's technically Lost Nobility too, in a strict sense, but someone curses at him in the street and he's comfortingly grounded)

And here is where this au slides into a SPECTACULAR romantic comedy, BEAR WITH ME. Because in his time on the Watch he’s already done noir, action adventure, war story, detective who dunnit, psychological horror, but guards guards only allowed him to be a romance protagonist in an extremely limited context.

Give me righteous, twenty-something-looking, can’t-say-he-doesn’t-have-style, young Sam Vimes, not an alcoholic,  being fed three square meals a day by his dwarven forced found family, hauling rocks. He is startled to find him bumping his head on a low hanging bar that he doesn’t think used to be there, eventually realizing that he’s an inch or two taller than he remembers. Huh. Guess all that bearhuggers really did stunt his growth.

Still doesn’t get what some of the looks from women he’s getting are about, sure, he’s dirty but so is everyone else. Fine, he took his shirt off, but it’s hot out, there’s far wrinklier than him hauling heavy loads, get a life. 

Happens to glance in the Ankh one day when it’s particularly slow and shiny and is startled to realize that he might be turning heads for a different reason. Oh. Right, not that he was ever a heartbreaker, but he did alright for himself... when he was a younger and his face hadn’t been broken so many times. Which...it isn't now.

Is mildly disturbed by the revelation.

Especially once things blow over at the precinct and what with high mortality rates, he ends up with getting hired again. The boys are delighted to have him back, nevermind that he’s an odd one, noone is ever quite in your corner like Vimsey, absence makes the heart fonder, no one else works that hard, and he’s not even competition for promotion. All around great guy, we should set him up with somebody and just, no.

It just keeps getting worse! He’s literate! He’s a feminist! He believes abuse victims! He’s got a tragic backstory! He’s unreasonably good in a fistfight! He’s kind to animals! Word gets around that there’s a good man on the watch and he’s just waiting for a good woman to come snap him up. The widower excuse doesn’t hold people off completely, and for some it’s its own sort-of appeal. 

Things REALLY become stressful after he rescues that carriage full of noblewoman.

What’s he supposed to do? Let them get robbed? Or worse? Chasing down and beating up 10 goons is as easy as beating up one, when they’re that stupid, getting separated like that, drunk and distracted, and he knows these streets better than anyone, really it’s nothing. And oh lord he’s Modest too.

I mean, they were genuinely greatful, as genuine as people like that are capable of being, the skill having grown rusty. And then there is something...magnetic about the man. An air of command.

So, soon enough you get Lady Marigold of Marigrave calling on Treckle Road for that gallant young officer who rescued them, she really needs to thank him. And Viscountess Elanor Thitzferal specifically requesting that he guard her at her next soiree. And Baroness Julieta van Shoeholten insisting that he come to her home while her husband’s away, for... manly protection.

Aaaah just zero sympathy from the guys. None. 'It’s become a competition, they’re just trying to see who can get me into bed first, it’s like I’m a piece of meat, you can’t send me sir, the Marquess greeted me in a nightee last time you made me go to—' and 'small gods Vimes are you even listening to yourself, shut the hell up'.

Simultaneous to this, (again this is several years into the timeline) swamp dragon accessories come into style. Which means abandoned swamp dragons scrounging on the street. Vimes takes one back to his apartment, blows his paycheck on dragon medicine, and eventually, heart in his chest, brings it to the Ramkin estate. The sunshine orphanage doesn’t even exist yet and he’s just standing outside the gates like an idiot, what is he thinking. Turns around, but her carriage is pulling up and—

well. they meet. it's cute. he's never felt so young. he's never felt so old, too old for her, too poor—

and certainly her thoughts linger too long on the awkward, kindly, handsome young commoner, but is it any wonder she doesn't quite connect it to the stern, dangerous, sexy young guard the ladies seem to be in some quiet, cuthroat competition over?

i have this gorgeous, absurd scene in my head in which Vimes is strong armed into standing guard at some high society soiree and one of the pushiest ladies insists he dance with here, or, if he prefers, if he's not confident about his skills, he can dance with her in-private at her home and he’s like [grinding teeth, looking for a way out, seeinf one] “I would be honored to dance with you.”

Steps right into some ultra-complex dance with multiple partner swaps (she never thought he'd pick this one, devilishly intimidating to one not strictly trained, and you barely spend anytime with your first partner).

But he does alright. Better than alright, for a common man, sometimes misstepping but his hands and feet always end up where they need to be. Raises several eyebrows part way into the song because he's throuwing in some slightly scandalous, no innovative, extra lifts and twirls that wouldn't become fashionable for another decade or two. Who even is that guy? Some out of towner? No, no he's in a guards uniform...how very strange.

Gets to Sybll and she's used to embarrassment during these dances, she tries to get out of them when she can... but can't always. Men awkwardly skipping the lifts, or worse, trying and failing. But him — oh it's him, the one who helped little Erold, and looked at her like—like—well like she was someone beautiful. And he's doing it again, and he's strong and there's a quiet moment where she's in the air, they lock eyes, and the rest of the room melts away.

And then the partners change again, the moment ended.

Just...living throught it all again. To the left, a dance he almost knows the steps to, throwing others off balance with erratic moves , honest mistakes, and delibrate stepping on toes. Improvising. Ruining. Improving. Getting far, far too much attention.

Hes almost excited when the first assassains start coming after him. It's like a hobby.

Everyone tells him he should get a hobby.

Interactions with young vetinari...I don't have the energy to write it all down, the slow circling in on each other, both burning with the need to fix the city, save it, their city.

needless to say he ends up fired again, life under real threat after offending some high lord.

Conveniently enough he has an employment opportunity- bodyguard to fucking Vetinari on his 'grand sneer.' The bastard knows vimes isn't what he seems, though sam is pretty sure that he doesnt know the exacts.

Vetinari hypothesis:(the ghost of keel? Keels son, with some hereditary curse? Or a larger spirit of justice possessing a string of unrelated souls? He knows things he shouldn't- mind reader? Fortune teller? Havelock once arranged for a wizard to bump into him on the street, the magical fool gave an odd double look and then muttered something about destiny looping in on itself giving him a headache. Destiny? Lost noble? And hes far too familiar with sybyl, one of the few bearable noblewomen in this city. And his thoughts on guilds, when havelock can trip him into speaking... Most of all, if hes reading him at all correctly (for all the mystery hes not that hard to read, unless thats a very clever cover) then it seems that behind those dark haunted eyes is Respect. Loyalty. For vetinari. What an interesting man. A puzzling asset. An intriguing threat. )

Did I mention the timeline is changing, healing slowly around the place where it was torn? Healing enough around scars to perhaps get some flexibility back, with some painful stretches and...massaging of said scar tissue?

And hes heading to unresting uberwald, a place where a werewolf pack still hunts humans and, truely unrelated but perhaps equally exhausting, an eldritch spirit of vengeance just might be looking to stretch its legs in a hapless vessel?

Opening drabble Vimes Vetinari Meta (Unwell)

[holylulusworld]

Designed by pain (7)

Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?

Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: angst, language, past break-up, arguments, daddy Dean

A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.

Designed by pain masterlist

Designed by pain (6)

“Dean, a word,“ you square your jaw watching your son show Dean all the cars on his shelves. Dean doesn’t hear you, engrossed in listening to his son’s explanations. “DEAN!”

“Mommy, we are busy here. We are talking about manly cars,” your son huffs and turns his attention toward the stranger he let inside your house.

“Bud, you shouldn’t talk like that to your mom,” Dean sternly says. “We can talk about your cars later.”

“Promised?” Your son sniffles when Dean turns around to walk out of his room.

“Promised, bud,” Dean looks over his shoulder and nods. “We will talk about your cars as long as you want to.”

“COOL!” Your son clasps his hands together and grins. “You’re so cool, Mr. Dean!”

Dean chuckles, and you get even madder. How dare he come here and play the cool guy. Of course, your son is all over Dean. He has no clue that the very same man left you and his son when things got complicated.

“There you are,” Sam joins you and Dean. He still holds the toad in his hands, helplessly lifting the poor thing. “What do we do with that toad now?”

“TOADIE!” Your son shoves you out of his way to snatch the toad out of Sam’s hands, but Sam lifts the toad so Michael can't reach it. “I’ll show you my room now.”

“Great,” you glare at Sam. “Why didn’t you put it in the garden, Samuel Winchester? Now I’ll never get rid of that thing!” You jerk your head toward Dean. “And there is the toad.”

Sam snorts. “I can bring the toad in the garden. My brother is another story,” he sighs deeply. “Again. I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“HEY! Sasquatch,” your son grunts and tugs at Sam’s jacket, “give me back my toad. Toadie is my friend, and you can’t have him.” Michael purses his lips and holds out his hand. “Give him back!”

“Michael, stop that,” you tut. “We don’t yell at guests. Sam will bring the toad back into the garden. Toadie wants to go home. Our home isn’t their home.”

Your son pouts. His lips wobble, and he sniffles silently. “I wanna keep Toadie!” He grasps Dean’s hand, tugging lightly. “Mr. Dean, please tell Mommy that a man must have a toad. All the cool guys have toads.”

Dean looks at your son holding his hand. A smile crosses his face, and he holds his hand a little tighter. “Sammy will bring the toad to the garden. If Toadie wants to stay, he’ll wait for you in the garden. But maybe he’s got a family and wants to go home.”

“You think so?” Michael sniffs. He wipes his eyes with the sleeve of his shirt and sniffles. “But…I’ll miss him. He’s my friend.”

“He’ll always be your friend, bud,” Dean crouches down in front of your son. “Sometimes we must let people go, even if we love them very much. And sometimes, people we love leave us.”

“O-kay,” your son nods and gives Dean a cracked smile. “Maybe he comes back to me. OH!” He gasps loudly. “What if he brings his family too?”

“No way,” you shudder at the thought of the toad coming back with the whole family. “Toadie will go back home and be a good toad.”

“How about I show you pictures of my Baby? I got them on my phone,” before you can take his son away from him, Dean wants to make sure to get to know the little boy better. 

“He’s got thousands of pictures of his car,” Sam snickers behind his brother’s back. “You’ll get tired looking at all of them.”

“YES!” Michael grins. “I love cars, mister. I bet Mr. Dean has the coolest pictures of the coolest car in the world.”

You purse your lips and clench your fists. Dean already snaked his way into your son’s heart, and you don’t know how to undo the damage he did within not half an hour.

While Michael guides his father out of his room, you stare at the toad in Sam’s hands. You’re unsure what to do now that Dean came here to get to know his son.

“I should bring the toad out, and … uh… maybe I can distract Michael so you can talk to Dean. I know you’re mad at my brother, but please at least talk things out. If you need a clean cut, do it. I’ll bring him back home and make sure he’ll leave you alone.”

“He broke my heart,” you don’t look at Sam. “Not only because he didn’t contact me or stopped me from leaving. He flirted with that woman, and let your mother walk all over me. We were so in love with each other and suddenly everything was different.”

You sniff and wipe your eyes. “I only thought about the life growing inside of me. The baby he didn’t know about. The whole day I tried to find the perfect moment to tell him. It never came, though…”

“I know this doesn’t mean anything to you,” Sam softly says, “but Dean never was happier than with you. After you left, he wasn’t the same. He had some affairs, but I think he was never in love with any of the women he dated. Dean only ever loved you.”

“Sure,” you snort. “He loved me so much that he left me…”

You storm out of the room, determined to get Dean out of your house. Even if it means making a scene in front of your son.

“You!” You stop in your tracks when you see Dean and your son on the couch. Your son is looking at pictures on Dean’s phone, grinning from ear to ear.

“MOMMY! There are pictures with you in Mr. Dean’s car,” Michael runs toward you, Dean’s phone in his hands. “You look so cool.” 

He grins and shows you the image on Dean’s phone. You’re sitting on the hood of his car, winking at Dean. It’s one of the last pictures Dean took of you.

“Uh…that was a long time ago, baby boy. Mr. Dean and his brother want to go now. It’s almost dinner time, and you still need to bathe and brush your teeth after dinner.”

“Mr. Dean must stay!” Michael purses his lips. “I want him to stay in our guest room and we can eat pizza and pie.”

“Michael, I—” you swallow thickly when your son starts to sniffle. It breaks your heart watching him bond with the man breaking your heart. 

“Pizza and pie. Pizza and pie,” your son chants. “Please, mommy. He’s cool and nice. Mr. Dean wants to show me more pictures of his car, and you!”

“What…no…he can’t…” Your voice cracks. “What about his brother? We can’t send his brother Sam away.”

“Hmm…” Your son nods thoughtfully. “Mr. Dean can sleep in your room, and his brother at the guest room.” Michael grins. “Right? You got a big bed all for yourself.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Sam hastily says. “Or maybe…uh…there is a hotel nearby. I can get me and Dean a room. We can leave after dinner.”

“I can stay for dinner,” Dean finally says. “But you can’t ask your mom to share her bed with me, okay.”

“But…” Michael sniffles. “You will come back tomorrow for breakfast. Right? We can make pancakes and … oh! You must try mommy’s pancakes. You’ll marry her if you taste them!”

Your son’s words hit you right in the chest. Daggers sent to your fragile heart. If only… you think while your son plans a wedding and to keep Dean around.

“I’ll call a hotel and,” Sam gives you an apologetic smile and pats your shoulder, “I promise to get him out of your house. At least for tonight…”

Part 8

Tags in reblog.

[stylesparker]

second chance (at love)

PAIRING: Sam Winchester x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 5.7k

WARNINGS: season 2 era, character death, a lot of dialogue (sorry), horribly written fight scenes, overused tropes (but I don't care), and of course the usual mixture of fluff and angst

A/N: I finally got around to finishing this request, and I'm so sorry I took absolutely forever with this. I hope you like the way this turned out! I had so much fun writing it. Reblog if you like as always :)

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay."

Those words cycle through his head over and over again, plaguing him as he stares at you; unmoving, lifeless. Every time he closes his eyes he sees the knife impale your stomach, the blood that seeps through the fabric of your shirt, and worst of all, the life draining out of your eyes as you clutch onto him in your last moments.

You've been dead for seven minutes.

"Well isn't this something."

Sam snaps his head to the woman that appears out of thin air. Her hair is dark red, long and silky, and she's dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket. Her smile is sickeningly sweet.

"Poor Winchester, lost the girl, huh?"

"Who the hell are you?" Sam's voice comes out gruff and harsh, his glare menacing even to the demon. Her smirk gets wider when Sam grips you tighter and pulls you closer to his chest.

"Does it matter? I'm here to help." She blinks, letting her eyes turn to their natural state, that dreadful black signifying her as one thing.

Sam scoffs, "Right, 'cause all you have are good intentions."

She shrugs, "I'm here to make a deal. You gonna take it or not?"

Sam knew this wasn't right. He knew he promised you if anything happened, he'd live the life you thought he deserved. But, you didn't know what it was like to have to watch the person you love die, and know that person wasn't coming back. He stares, and stares, until finally he agrees.

"What do I have to do?"

DAY 1

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?" Sam asks you for the tenth time, watching you pull on your boots with a wince. He stands in front of you from where you're seated on the motel bed.

"Sam, I am fine, you don't need to hover over me like I'm some wounded animal that's gonna collapse out of nowhere!"

"Well you are kind of a wounded animal at the moment-"

"Sam."

He sighs, "I'm just making sure. Can you blame me?"

You release a sigh of your own, standing up from your spot (not without Sam extending his arm to help), and rest your hands on his shoulders. "I know, I'm sorry. But really, I'm fine. It was a close one, but I'm still here aren't I?"

Sam looks at you gravely, eyes gliding over your features like he's taking you in. He opens his mouth like he's about to say something, but closes it quickly. After a moment, he nods, and gives you a soft smile. "Yeah," he swiftly lands a gentle kiss on your forehead and takes your bag before you can grab it yourself, "I'll take our stuff out to the car, meet me out there when you're ready."

You sway on your feet, looking at Sam weirdly as he makes his way out the door. You wonder why he took so long to answer you, but you push the thought away when you realize that you almost died, so of course Sam's gonna have a hard time dealing with it.

You follow him outside with a new pep in your step, determined to make Sam feel better. As soon as he shuts the trunk, you settle into the car together, and you wait for Sam to pull out and drive off. Instead, he pulls out one of Dean's CD's and pops it in, while you look at him curiously, intrigued to find out what he chose.

Once the music starts, you smile and stare at him incredulously. "Really? Since when have you wanted to listen to Metallica?"

He shrugs with a small smile, "I don't know, just in the mood."

You laugh, "Who are you, and what have you done with Sam?"

"Shut up," He rolls his eyes but that small smirk remains on his lips. "Can't you let me be nice?"

"Dean, is that you?"

"Stop it!" He playfully slaps your arm just before he puts the car in reverse and takes off down the road. Listening to your laugh again is music to his ears, and he can't help looking at you as you bob your head to the music, not paying attention to him whatsoever.

He doesn't know how he's going to pull off this deal, but he's going to do everything in his power to bring you back.

Even if you hate him after.

DAY 2

"How do you have no rooms available? There are like no cars outside!" You angrily shout at the teenager who's working the front desk at some shitty motel you and Sam found off the road. The kid shrugs, which angers you even more, so you huff and slam the door on your way out, stomping up to the Impala with a confused looking Sam watching you.

As soon as you swing the door open he asks you, "What's wrong?"

"There's a damn kid in there telling me there are no rooms left! I swear to god, and he barely even looked at me!" You plop down on the seat, rubbing your eyes a tad harsher than Sam thinks you should, and look at him sadly. "I was really hoping we didn't have to sleep in the car tonight."

He rubs your arm in hopes of cheering you up, and says quietly, "Well, at least it's not cold out like the last time we had to sleep in the car?"

You shiver at the thought, "Oh my god, my toes were actually blue the next morning."

He smiles, "Exactly, so let's find a spot and rest for the night, yeah?"

You nod, but you still pout sadly in your seat as he drives. "I should be making you feel better, you haven't had a wink of sleep since like, what was it? Tuesday?"

"I think Monday."

"Sam, it's Thursday! You didn't sleep Tuesday morning?"

"No." He shrugs like it doesn't matter.

"What were you doing while I was sleeping then?"

"Watching over you."

You didn't know what to say after that. You don't know how you'd forgotten, but Sam clearly hadn't. Now you feel bad.

"Oh." You gulp. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, you don't have to apologize. I just, I don't know, wanted to make sure you would be okay."

His words make your heart skip a beat, and you can't help but lean over and grab his hand. His eyes dart to the sudden touch on his hand, and he glances over to you. You're looking at him so fondly, and he wishes he could just tell you. Get it over with.

But he can't.

So he lets you hold his hand in silence.

He drives for another 15 minutes until he finds a trailer park with almost no trailers, so he figures this will be a good enough spot for the night. He doubts anyone will show up here at least until the morning, so he takes the risk. He's so tired he doesn't even really care.

Sam opens the door on the driver's side to get out, walking to the trunk to grab the few blankets that you guys have, and comes back with one.

"What, no blanket for me?" You joke.

He throws it to you with a blank stare, almost like he's saying really?

"That is for you, jerk."

"Where's yours?"

"That's the only one we have."

Your mouth drops with surprise, "What? I could've sworn we at least had two?"

"We must have left the other one with Dean." He shrugs. "It's fine, I'm not that cold."

"Sam-"

His eyes pin you down with a hard stare, interrupting what you were about to say, so you give up, but not without a mumbled, "fine, jeez."

While you curl up against the door on your side with half of your blanket under your head, and the other half over your body, you look at Sam out of the corner of your eye with sympathy. He's a lanky guy, maybe not so thin since he's got the muscle, but the dude has long ass legs. The upper half of his body is leaning against the car door like yours, but his legs are uncomfortably folded so he doesn't get into your space. You hear him huff and shuffle around, which makes you wince and feel even worse than you did. You're not even close to comfortable so you can imagine how he feels.

For almost half an hour, you both listen to the other shift around without saying anything, and it gets to the point Sam can't handle it anymore. Until he gets an idea.

"Y/N?" He doesn't have to ask if you're awake because you're both well aware neither of you have slept.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

You peek your eyes open, and his arms are still crossed, but he shifts so his front is facing you.

"Would you wanna... lay together?"

He looks nervous, so you joke with him to hopefully ease him. "What, you too cramped over there?"

He scoffs, "A bit, yeah."

You giggle, sitting up and scooching closer to him, "Okay. Stretch your legs."

He extends his legs out across the seat, and opens his arms to invite you in. Now you're the nervous one as you shift even closer and lay your head on his chest, laying on top of him almost completely flat. You don't want to admit how much more comfortable this is. You fix the blanket so it's over the both of you, and he wraps his arms around your waist, holding you more lightly than you thought he would. Or maybe hoped.

"Better?" You asked.

He nods, his chin lightly grazing your head, "Much."

Your back is to his chest with his arms resting over your stomach, and you're glad he can't really see your face because you can only imagine how bad you're blushing right now. You shift in his hold again, which has him looking down at you and squeezing your hip.

"You okay?" He asks.

"Mmhm." You nod quickly. You really want to turn over, but... that's weird right? That would be too close? This already seems intimate enough, and he can probably tell how awkward you're already being. You hope he doesn't think it's because you like him- no, because you cannot like Sam. Your best friend of nine years is off limits. You've been in the same bed before, you've even cuddled before, but you were kids then. It's different when you're 23 right? You haven't really thought about Sam like that before, but, you guess it's bound to happen because, well, Sam is Sam. You know it shouldn't be weird, not at all, but you're both adults who know about certain adult things that take place when adults are alone and comfortable with each other and-

"Y/N?"

Shit. "Yeah?" You try not to sound squeaky.

"What's up?"

"Um," you steady yourself, "can I turn over? I just- I feel a little awkward staring at the ceiling."

He laughs a little, "Yeah, of course. Is that what you were thinking about?"

"...Yeah?"

"Why does that sound like a question?" You can almost hear his smile.

"It's not." You assure.

He lifts his arms so you can turn over, and you do with a little bit of struggle, trying not to elbow him too much, but he gets hit with no complaint. Once your cheek is pressed to his chest you breathe a sigh of relief, and try not to think about how he stiffened then relaxed when you wrapped your arms around his abdomen.

"Better?" He asks.

"Much." You copy him from earlier, and his chest shakes with his laughter. You don't speak after that, but you relish the moment with him, despite feeling unnecessarily guilty for it. After a while, you fall asleep, and Sam does too.

He hopes you were thinking about him, and you wish that you weren't. He wishes you would say you love him, but you hope that he never finds out.

DAY 3

The next morning wasn't weird like you thought it would be. It was almost like you had done this a million times before. But, you had a case today, so there was no time to think about Sam. Only your job.

You spent most of the day driving around the town trying to find answers to three consecutive murders. All women, and an obvious lead to werewolves. You never really thought about how well you worked with Sam until now; all day you bounced ideas off of each other, gaining clues and offering suggestions like it was easy. It was, you guess, when your partner is so damn likable. Once you found the location, you and Sam were quick to head out the door and track down those werewolves.

They were about 20 minutes out from where you guys had been located, and when you spotted them in the cabin shortly off the road in the woods, you both agreed this would be a stealth mission.

Sam shut off the car and quietly shut the door shortly after you, and you both go to the back to grab your weapons and whatever else you'd need. He points to himself and then the cabin, and you roll your eyes at the man, allowing him to go first and lead you there. His long legs are hard to keep up with but you make do as quietly as you can, and every so often he'll stop and put a hand out to stop you. It tends to hover over your stomach so you have to try harder not to be too loud when you breathe.

A loud bang and shouts erupt from the cabin, interrupting the silence that filled the air, and you both take off in that direction. Sam kicks the door in, allowing you to take notice of the girl tied to a chair in the middle of the room, and two men facing off against each other; one on the floor and the other hovering over him. You and Sam don't even look at each other, as soon as the two of you make eye contact with the two of them, it's on. Sam goes for the one standing, immediately charging at him and toppling the both of them over while you go for the one on the ground. He's up quicker than you would have wished but you still throw your knife in time to where his shirt gets pinned to the floor.

While he's distracted trying to pull it out, you land on top of him and stab your extra through his chest, twisting it until he's too weak to throw you off of him. You don't hear anything behind you, so you let off of him a second too soon, and while you're looking for Sam the werewolf grabs the knife and slices your shoulder with it. You scream in pain, and get torn off of him from the other one. You hit the ground next to him hard on your bad shoulder, and you kick his leg out from under him, sending him to the floor.

Sam appears behind him with a nasty looking cut on his forehead, and his shirt torn to pieces, but he's able to kill him before he gets to you. The other one grabs Sam's leg, knocking him to the floor, allowing him to get the upper hand and attack him. Before he lands the final blow, you grab the shotgun and shoot him in the head, and watch as Sam topples over shoving him off. As much as you want to worry about him, you run to the girl first.

She's sobbing as you cut off the rope that was tying her hands and feet to the chair, and you let her fall into your embrace as she uses you for comfort, rubbing her back and whispering reassurances that you hope is making her feel better. You feel Sam's hand grab your shoulder and you look up at him, finding a troublesome look on his face.

"There's more out front. Get her out of here, I'll distract them."

"What? Sam, you're coming with us!"

"There's at least three of them on their way in here-" He starts.

"And you'll shoot them! Grab the gun and let's go!" You shout angrily, which has him furrowing his brows at you but he grabs the gun anyway and covers you as you carry the girl. You only make it halfway to the car before the other werewolves have found you, and Sam's only able to take out one of them before one is on him. The gun gets knocked out of his hand, and this is when you realize you'd left the other one in the cabin.

"Shit." You mutter.

"No, no, no, no-" the girl starts crying and freaking out again and you shush her, stupidly running in the opposite direction to try and outrun the werewolf. Again, stupidly. You're not as fast as a werewolf, especially with a girl who's about the same size as you in your arms, so he's able to catch up to you no problem.

He throws you both to the ground before he's pinning both of your hands in his tight grip and holding his body weight above you, forcing your hands together to hold them in one hand, and using the other to choke you. You hear the girl crying and you're pretty sure she's running away from the sounds of the leaves and dirt crunching beneath her feet.

You struggle to kick him off of you, he's much bigger than you are, so you hopelessly kick and scream as much as you can, only hoping Sam gets to you in time.

Just as you think he won't make it and you're losing consciousness, his hands leave your neck and suddenly you're gasping for air. You can sort of make out Sam and the werewolf fighting, but your vision is blurry so you can't tell who's on top of the other. Your breathing is harsh and you can hardly see, so when hands grab your shoulders and tug you upwards, you scream and swat at him, not realizing that it's Sam.

"Hey, hey! It's me, it's Sam!" He rubs the dirt off your face with one hand holding the part between your good shoulder and your neck so you don't fall over as you cough yourself into a fit.

"Sam," you rasp, and grab onto his arms tightly as you finally start to catch your breath again. You don't mean for the tears to fall out of your eyes, but you did almost get choked to death and your neck and shoulder hurt like a bitch, so it was bound to happen.

"W-Where's the girl?" Your voice comes out scratchy, but Sam just holds you and looks around while you lean against him.

"I saw her run for it, I don't know where though. It looked like she went towards the road, but it's too dark out for us to go after her like this. Let's just hope someone nice picked her up."

You nod, coughing into his shoulder, and his large hand rubs your back as you start to breathe normally again.

"Are you okay? I thought you-"

"I'm good," he reassures, "let's focus on getting you out of here."

Your shoulder is pretty bad, but his head is smeared with dirt and blood, and the cut on his forehead looks even bigger than when you first saw it.

"But," you cough, "Your head-"

"I'm the one who can stand on their own two feet at the moment, so would you just let me help you up?" You roll your eyes, but you let him carry you to the car anyway.

DAY 4

It's way past midnight, and you're pretty sure you and Sam scared the living daylights out of the front desk girl at the motel you found. The Impala wasn't stacked with any first-aid, so you had to go in looking like you were both mauled and run over by a truck fifty times. You paid, she gave you the key, and she was immediately running to the back, whether that was to call the police or hide you weren't sure.

You and Sam clung onto each other and helped each other up the stairs to the next floor, hobbling to your door like a couple of sick children.

You could tell Sam probably had a concussion, he's starting to look even worse for wear than he was. But he still insists on cleaning you up first.

You try not to whimper too loud when he lifts you onto the bathroom counter, but he shushes you gently when you let out silent scream and you grip his bicep incredibly tight.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He whispers.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay. I'm fine." Your reassurance falls on deaf ears. His grip tightens, but he doesn't look all there anymore.

"It's okay, Sammy, it's okay."

Suddenly, he's back on that road again, holding you in his arms. He remembers how cold you were, how lifeless. He feels weird because, he can see you right there in front of him, but somehow, his brain is telling him you're gone. You're not here anymore. His plan failed and he never got to tell you-

"Sam!"

His eyes refocus and he feels your hands on his cheeks. They're warm, and they're soft, nothing like how they were then. They rub his face gently, but the look on your face is one of concern, and mainly fear. He didn't realize how hard he was holding onto you, letting go as soon as he comes back from whatever that was.

"Sammy, where'd you go?"

He's not entirely sure, but he knows he can't tell you, or it could potentially break the deal. "Huh?"

He tilts his head slightly, eyes gazing at you like he didn't just stare into your soul with the most fearful tear filled look you'd ever seen.

"Sam, what happened?" You ask seriously, "I lost you for a second there."

He shakes his head. "No you didn't, I'm good." He breaks eye contact and grabs the alcohol, pouring it onto the cloth and gripping your shoulder.

"On three?"

You sigh, and take a deep breath. "Yeah."

"1-"

"2-"

"HOLY FUCK-" You practically double over and almost fall off the counter. You would have if Sam hadn't wrapped his other arm around you and kept you still while he cleaned the blood off and disinfected your wound.

"Sh, sh, sh, you're good, you're good. You got it, yeah? Breathe with me."

You grit your teeth as you try your best to follow along. "Fucking- shit, I hate you so bad right now."

"You'll get over it."

Once he's done cleaning it, he's able to wrap it and get it fixed up in no time. It still hurts, but, you've let him baby you enough.

"Alright, Winchester, your turn."

"You can't even lift your arm-"

With your good hand, you lift your other arm and use it to smack him across the shoulder.

He scoffs, "That's cheating."

"I still have one good arm left, so watch your mouth."

He rolls his eyes, but he relaxes when your soft touch spreads over the skin on his forehead. He watches you as you clean and bandage the wound just like he did, but now your faces are close, and he remembers he's standing in between your legs.

"Stop staring at me." You mumble, concentrating on stitching the last part on his cut, but also on the way he's staring you down.

"I'm not." He shakes his head, but you pinch him for moving, so he mutters out a sorry, and stands still again. A couple minutes later, you tap him on the shoulder, stating that you're all finished, and he gets this look on his face when he moves away from you.

"Can you uh- help me out?" You laugh, embarrassed a little bit for asking him to help you off the counter, but he does it without even thinking. His hands slide under your underarms again, lifting you just a little to where you can slide your butt off the counter. "Thanks."

"No problem." He nods his head, sending you his boyish smile, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest a bit. Did this guy really just stand between your legs and patch you up?

You both get into your separate beds, and lay down on your fresh clean pillows. a nice contrast to the doors of the Impala. But, as much as you like the bed, you almost wish Sam would invite you into his. It's much more silent than you wish it was, but Sam must have felt the same way because his voice cuts through the silence.

"Hey, Y/N?"

You look over, "Yeah?"

"Try not to get yourself killed too much, yeah? I don't know what I'd do without you."

You smile softly, "The same goes for you, Winchester."

He thinks that's the closest thing to a confession that he can get.

DAY 6

He wishes you would've stayed in bed longer.

"How is it that I've almost died like three times in the same week?" You ask him, hands holding your face up on your knees while the two of you sit on the curb on the side of the road.

The Impala is crushed.

Dean can most definitely fix it. But not until he's murdered the both of you and buried you in Bobby's backyard.

"How about we not mention that?" Sam suggests, peering over at you while you stare directly ahead at the car.

"Why not? I mean, we almost die everyday doing what we do, but like, this week- man, this week has been horrible." This sounds like the start of a ramble, and he's right. "I've come like an inch from death so many times this week I'm surprised it didn't actually happen. Like, right there, ten minutes ago, I swear I thought it was over. One minute, I'm singing along with you and the next Baby's upside down in the middle of nowhere." You shrug, and after a minute, you start to laugh to yourself.

"I feel like this is some sort of sign from the universe or something, so- so I'm just gonna say it." You push yourself to your feet and turn around, facing him, while he's still sitting on the curb looking up at you curiously.

"Say what?" He asks cautiously.

"Dude, I love you." You breathe out all in one breath. "I love you, Sam. You're my best friend, and I don't think I tell you that nearly enough, but you are. And so is Dean, but Dean's different, he's not- he's not you Sam. He's my best friend too, but you're..." he wants to laugh at the way you're staring at the sky and shaking your hands trying to come up with what you're trying to say, but he's so gobsmacked right now he can't really do anything else but stare in wonder. "You're Sam. You sleep with me in the car even though I can tell you get nervous, and even though I'm always nervous too you make it go away. You still stick by me even when I'm stupid and you carry me away from all the bad guys that try to kill us," you laugh," and you stitch me up and bandage all my wounds when I'm hurt even when I don't want you to because I know you love me and you show me better, and I wish I could do the same, so this is me showing you."

He stands from where he was sitting, but he can't really move anything else. He wants to move towards you, though something is holding him back. His chest starts to fill with dread, and suddenly, the deal is starting to glare at him straight in the face.

"Please don't let it be weird now, you don't have to say anything, just- let's sit with this and figure out how to get home, yeah?"

"Well, Winchester, things turned out for you, didn't they?"

Your body turns to look at the woman behind you, and Sam merely looks over your shoulder to see the demon he was hoping not to see.

Your face contorts, "Who the hell are you?"

Her face brightens, and her smirk gets wider as she glances between you and Sam.

"Aren't you two just perfect for each other?" She claps her hands together. "I'm so glad you've come to your senses, hun. Now, I can finally be on my merry way."

"No," you stop her, "How do you know us?" Your body twists again to face Sam, and all of a sudden, your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach. Just by looking at his face you know something is wrong. "Sam?"

"I'll explain everything-"

"Go easy on him, sweetheart. What he did saved your life." She winks, and her signature red hair swishes when she disappears, just like that, just as she'd appeared.

"Sam..." you start, your voice dangerously low, "Who the hell was that."

He clenches his fists, taking a step closer to you, "Y/N, look-"

"Just tell me straight out, Sam! What was she talking about?" You practically shout at him, you're so anxious, you don't know what to do, what to expect. But what you possibly expected was nothing like what he said.

"You died. She was the reason why I got you back."

Your eyes hold a heaviness to them that only great sadness could bring, and he wishes he could take away that burden but he can't. He gave it to you.

"What?" You whisper. You say anything any louder and you think you might snap.

"She made a deal: I have seven days to-to..." he sighs, closing his eyes and prepares himself for what he's going to say next, "to get you to tell me you love me. Otherwise, you would stay dead. Permanently."

You don't say anything for a minute or two, and he doesn't expect you to, but he wishes you would have more of a reaction than what you're having now. There's this blank stare on your face, but it's sunken and it looks like he's given you burden upon burden to carry. Maybe he has.

"So basically," you start, clearing your throat, "You made a fucking bet, with a demon, you could get me to fall in love with you in seven days?" You scoff, "Otherwise, I'd be dead for good."

"No, that's not-"

"That's what it sounds like to me, Sam!" You scream.

His face falls, "I saved you. Nothing, and I mean nothing, else mattered, okay? I didn't care what kind of bet- no, I meant deal, I meant deal, it was, okay." He shakes his head. "Obviously I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't lose you, alright? I had the opportunity and I took it."

Your heart burns, it feels like you need to claw it out and throw some water on it, but all you can do is let it fester and grow and heat up every single nerve ending in your body. You want to be fine with it, he saved you, but, this isn't how it's supposed to be.

"I can't do this right now." You mutter, closing your eyes.

"What?" He steps forward, and you take three steps back.

"I have to go."

DAY 7

"You picked her up, right? She's with you?"

"Yes, Sam, she's with me. And you better be with Baby, you hear me?"

Sam rolls his eyes, and looks to the car that's being worked on in the shop.

"And don't let them touch her. I'll do the work myself when we get her back to Bobby's."

Sam grimaces, "It's a little late for that, buddy."

"Sam!-"

"Look, drop her off, okay. When you come here, I'll take the car back and you stay here, got it?"

"You're so lucky I saw Y/N first, or I would've whooped your ass-"

"Yeah, I got it, see you soon."

He hangs up the call and slaps it closed, the sound echoing into the air as he puts it back into his pocket. He looks around, but it's just empty road, and the car shop.

So he'll just have to wait.

...

"Dean?" Your voice calls out through the house loud and clear, and it makes him sad to think you may not be so happy seeing that it's him.

"It's me."

Your figure appears in the doorway of the kitchen, opposite of him.

"Oh, hey."

"Hey."

You're both quiet for a moment, not really knowing what to say, or even how to start, but Sam can only think of one thing.

"You can be mad at me, I deserve it. But just know I did it because I love you. Even though you made me promise to all that moving on shit, I couldn't do it." He pauses. "I know you love me too, but if you need time I understand that."

"Sam," your voice breaks, "I understand why you did it, but why did you have to lie?"

His chest sucked in, "She-she made it a part of the deal, that you couldn't know. If you knew or found out it would've been off."

Your shoulders droop and you step toward him, just one step.

"I just- I just can't believe that I died, Sam."

"I know." He nods, "I know. If you... have any more questions, I'm here to answer them."

You shake your head, but don't say anything else. Neither of you really have to, everything's been said. It's up to you where this goes from here.

You take two steps closer, closing most of the gap between you, and lean into him. His right hand drops the bag he was holding and wraps his arms around you, holding you close just as he did several days ago. You don't hug, or squeeze, but you're there, and that's what matters.

"I love you," you breathe, "but you're such an idiot."

He shakes a little bit with laughter, "I know."

"But, if I'm being honest," you look up at him, "I probably would have done the same thing too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Nothing else has to be said. But he can't help but lean his face closer to yours, waiting, hoping that this wasn't something he was imagining. Your eyes bore into his, and you're the one who closes the space between you. Once the gap is filled there's no breaking it apart, and neither of you plan to.

[unholytemple]

more in depth version of this post- set pre-stanford (sam’s 18, dean’s 22)

cw for religion kink/blasphemy, jealous dean, possessive dean, public frotting

sam’s a bright kid. far too bright for all this religion crap, in dean’s opinion. there’s no god, no big man in the sky that decides everyone’s destinies. dean doesn’t want some dusty old book telling sam how to live his life. that’s his job.

dean let it slide when sam was younger, chalked it up to a fascination with fairy tales, but sam’s too old for the easter bunny, just like he’s too old to believe in god. yet every knight, sam kneels at the foot of his bed with his hands clasped as he prays to go to heaven if he dies in his sleep. and every night, dean rolls his eyes at his stupid little brother.

dean dreads sundays the most, which is saying something, because it’s not like any other day is much better. but on sundays, sam begs dean to take him to church and of course dean goes with him. he wouldn’t let his brother go alone, but that means dean has to sit through boring sermons and over enthusiastic preachers telling the congregation that they’re all sinners.

they’re all hypocrites, every one of them. especially sam. sam and dean kill for a living; there’s no way god approves of that. sure, they kill monsters, but innocent people get hurt too. besides that, they gamble and steal to fund their lifestyle. sam has no problem hustling some poor drunk at pool, but he slaps dean’s hand away when he tries to take a twenty from the collection plate. if everyone’s a sinner, then sam and dean are the worst of them.

dean loves sam, so he tries not to get on his case too much about all the religion bullshit, but it’s hard sometimes. mostly he sticks to teasing him about it. it’s playful, but it still gets under sam’s skin. dean makes sure to use the lord’s name in vain as often as he can, just to see sam’s face twist when he does. dean rolls his cigarettes with bible paper, reading out the verse before dumping some loose tobacco from his altoids tin onto it. sam hates it, but he supposes it’s better than dean wiping his ass with the pages, which he often threatens to do.

dean thinks all of sam’s jesus freak shit is annoying, but what really bothers him is that sam is devoted to something else. something other than dean. dean is the only higher power that sam needs in his life. dean gives him guidance when sam has problems. dean tells him the difference between right and wrong.

in dean’s opinion, he’s much kinder than god. dean has no problem with drinking too much, fucking thy neighbor, cheating and lying and stealing. if dean was sam’s god, maybe sam wouldn’t be such a stick in the mud.

sam knows all of his little sins can be forgiven. that’s what jesus died for, after all. one day dean gets an idea: make sam into such a sinner that god won’t want to save him. he’ll be so lost and scared that he won’t have any other choice but to turn to dean to be his savior.

it wasn’t hard, really. dean knows sam better than sam knows himself. dean’s listened in on sam whispering confessions of his sins when he thought only god could hear him. lust, homosexuality. it was hard for dean to pretend to be asleep when he heard sam confess his impure thoughts for his older brother. he begged for forgiveness, to be cleansed, to become pure again. he swore he would never act on them. dean was going to make him act on them.

it didn’t take much. they’re already so close, so grossly codependent. it happened in church, on the lord’s day, in the back row of pews. dean’s hand had been inching up sam’s thigh for the past twenty minutes and sam’s pretending he doesn’t notice. it’s not until the heel of dean’s hand is pressed to hid crotch that sam says something.

“dean, what are you-”

“pay attention, sammy. follow along in your little book. this is how you get to heaven.”

“but you’re-”

“shut your goddamn mouth.”

sam does. dean continues to palm over him and he can feel his brother growing hard underneath his hand. sam sits stiff as a board the whole time, but never asks dean to stop. before long, sam’s hips are twitching, seeking more friction. it’s so wrong, it’s against everything god says. lust, homosexuality, incest, in a church of all places. sam’s cheeks burn red as his brother touches him and he tries not to think about the burn he’ll experience in hell.

“what’s god gonna think when you cream your jeans for your big brother?” dean asks, voice far too loud for their setting.

“it’s bad, dean. we can’t- we shouldn’t.”

“god sounds like a real drag. why would you wanna worship someone who won’t let you love your brother? you love me, don’t you, sammy?”

“‘course dean, it’s just…”

“it’s okay, you don’t have to worry about what god thinks anymore. just you and me like it’s always been, huh?”

sam squeezes his eyes shut and nods, panting “okay, okay” until he cuts himself off with a gasp. he just came in his pants in church on sunday morning. his brother made him cum in his pants in church on sunday morning. there aren’t enough blessings in the world to save sam now. he’s damned, and dean wouldn’t have it any other way.

“it’ll be you ‘n me forever. no god’s gonna take you from me.”

[sparrowofthedawnsworld]

Dirty little Sammy blurb, anyone?

WARNINGS: 18+, fingering (f!receiving) below the cut!!

***

I feel like Sam would be the type to just want to make you cum randomly. You could be laying in bed, a comfort movie you both have in common playing on the TV.

Suddenly, his leg is slowly hooking around your calf, pulling your leg away from your other and trapping it in place with his. You know this move too well and it makes your breath catch.

His hand comes to your belly, the back of his knuckles running gently over the skin below your bellybutton, noting the way your body gently trembles under his touch - as it does every time.

“Sammy…” you breathe, letting your free leg fall open a little more. One of your body’s many ways of welcoming him.

“Shhh…” Sam is quick to quiet you, his fingers now dancing along the hem of your shorts. He slides them beyond the hem, sucking in a breath at the absence of any underwear. “You must have known I was gonna play with your pretty cunt.”

“I mean, You… you do it a lot,” you point out. Though, he’s already well aware that he can hardly go an hour without watching your pretty face twist in pleasure.

Sam’s middle finger finally meets with your swelling clit, gently brushing over it as he continues down to your entrance to collect some of the arousal already pooling there.

“What do I do a lot? Tell me.” He wants to hear you say it.

“Y-You play with my pretty cunt a lot…” You answer him, your voice dripping with desperation already.

“And why do I do that?” Sam continues, his middle finger now swirling slowly around your throbbing clit.

“Because you like to watch me cum.” You barely get the words out through a stream of whimpers.

“Atta girl,” Sam praises, resting his cheek against your forehead. He places a quick kiss to your temple, before pulling back to watch your reactions.

Adding another finger, they dip back down to your entrance to coat themselves and return to your clit. He keeps a steady pace, but the pressure is light, only increasing it as your body gradually sinks further into the mattress.

You turn your head into Sam’s chest, muffling your moans that are growing louder and louder with each pass of his fingers.

“Feel good, baby doll?” Sam preens, a cocky smirk dancing on the corners of his mouth.

“So good, Sammy,” you whimper, barely audible. “Please…”

“Don’t rush, princess.” He reminds you. His other arm, tucked under your back, pulls you closer into him, cradling your shaking body. “You’ll get there when it’s time…” he pauses for a brief moment before slyly adding, “… Or when I let you.”

“Samuel.” It’s only a partially firm huff of his name, holding hardly any threatening weight, given the way your voice is higher and breathier.

“Relaaax.” His gravely voice drawls lowly. “Poor baby doesn’t want to be edged tonight?”

“No. No, I don’t…” You whine, squirming as a wave of sensitivity crashes over you, shoving you closer towards your high.

“Alright, okay.” Sam says with a low, breathy chuckle.

You refocus your full attention of the feeling of his calloused fingers stroking over your bundle of nervous, brushing over every spot that makes your body jolt with pleasure.

The burn in the pit of your stomach starts to intensify, a flower of bliss just waiting to bloom within you. It’s ridiculous, really, how quickly he can pull an orgasm from your body.

“See? You’re already close, aren’t you, princess?” Sam questions, his tone holding the slightest, taunting edge.

All you can muster in response is another moan, words and complete sentences have completely left you, lost beneath the pleasure that has clouded every inch of your brain.

With a few more quick passes of his fingers, you’re unraveling, squirming as much as having one leg pinned within his will allow.

“There it is.” Sam smiles down at you, priding himself with how he can make you feel so good. “Let it all go for me. I got you, baby doll.”

“Fuck, Sammy! Oh, fuck-“ You moan and writhe, riding out your high until the pleasure starts to tiptoe into that over-sensitivity.

Sam’s fingers slow to a stop, but rest on your clit in light of feeling it flutter against his fingers as your post-orgasm daze takes over.

[redmyeyes]

superstition

for @wincestwednesdays

On bad nights, Dean takes the car out.  There's no memorial, no resting place, so.

He tried a picture once. After the crossroads but before the third breakdown. A therapist of a friend of Lisa's boss suggested it. Which means his level of fucked-up was enough to warrant four degrees of casual-aquaintance separation. My friend's co-worker's bf is a real mess. Lost his brother, poor guy. Any suggestions? 

Pretty impressive, if he does say so himself. 

So, the picture. You speak to a picture of, of the loved one, she phrased it. Tell them all the things you meant to tell them. You know.

Dean couldn't do it. Can't do it. The one picture he has of Sam is tucked safely away in a cigar box in the trunk, but he can't, still, bring himself to look at it, no matter how old and faded or unfamiliar or different from the way he looked when he—

When.

People think the legend of the crossroads is superstition. What they don't know is, they're right. And wrong at the same time. Started as superstition. Demons just got wind of it, and started taking advantage.

Sometimes you can make a superstition real, if enough people believe. 

That's what he tells Sam in the dark, when he's driven so far out into nowhere on a moonless night that he can almost pretend the shadows to his right engulf a missing person.  Like they're working a case. Like Sam will turn to him in the dark and say, Maybe it's just about finding the right demon to apply pressure, and he'll feel the heat of Sam's breath as the words come or he'll see Sam gesture with his ginormohands out of the corner of his eye. 

Well. Those days when Dean could still pretend are long past, so he mostly just sits silent now.  He's not delusional.  But this is sacred. This ritual. This… communion. Sitting in the dark on the hood with a whiskey.  Talking or not talking. 

Most days, Dean thinks this is the only thing keeping him sane. 

He takes two deep pulls of whiskey, and starts choking when one hits the wrong way. "I am not, shut up," he mutters around a cough. 

So much effort to keep putting one foot in front of the other; he doesn't know how people do it. He needs a project, something all-consuming enough to take his mind off— take his mind out. 

He's trying.  He's trying to put in the same effort to taking care of Ben, to the work, to Lisa, to friendship. All of these half-measures to replace one person and it doesn't come close.  Like filling in blanks with stick figure drawings of a copy of a copy of a picture. 

"Not replacing, you know what I mean," he says to the air.  

"I am trying though, I—"  Another swig of whiskey, it always takes him a minute to warm up to it.  "Today was a bad day, Sammy.  Guess they're all bad days but—"  Dean shakes his head.  He's careful to stay on his side of the hood, to keep staring straight ahead, or up at the stars.  They used to get like this sometimes, whiskey-loosened lips and the dark and the one person in the world who'll actually get what you're saying right there next to you…

"You remember that time in, uh— I dunno, Ohio I think. You woulda been about ten, eleven.  Same age as Ben.  Actually, you probably don't remember.  Woulda been one of a thousand to you, but— I remember it. So clearly, man.  First time I—"  A gulp of whiskey.  "You were out.  Me and Dad were off on a quick recon and got back—quicker than you expected I guess—and you were gone.  This was before Flagstaff, before things got real bad between you and him.  You snuck into the movies or some shit, or maybe you were at the arcade, I don't know. 

"I remember your face when you came in.  You were—happy.  Like, light.  Like a kid. Like, you didn't even get what was about to go down.  Didn't bother sneaking in 'cause you thought you'd done nothing wrong, and Dad was— " He huffs. "You don't need me to tell you how he was, 'cause he always was.  But you started arguing like the stubborn ass you always were.  Are.  And— Sammy, I remember the way you looked at me. Like— pleading for help or backup or— no, not pleading. Like— betrayal. Like I betrayed you. I— I don't know why that stuck with me. That stupid moment from when you were ten, when we've had shit a million times more serious gone down since then."

Dean's silent for a moment, and when he starts speaking again he's forced to clear his throat.

"I kept thinking... if he would just obey.  If he would just listen, just— shut up, sometimes. Just let Dad talk. As if that— was something of value. But you never could.  Always had to have your say, always stood up to him, and I didn't back you up and I kept not backing you up with Dad, and maybe if I'd done better you wouldn'ta left for Stanford in the first place, even though, I dunno man, maybe we were always destined to end up here anyway, but—"  

He cuts himself off and gets his breathing back under control.  Another swallow of whiskey, craving the burn in his throat.

"I saw that same look on Ben's face today.  From me.  He was scared of me, looking at me like— just like you used to look at Dad. Except without your piss-ass stubbornness. " A moment passes before he continues, his voice strained. "It's not just me here, Sammy.  I mean, you begged me to do this. To live this life, and I'm trying, I am, but— it's not just me, okay?  Lisa and Ben, they— you know. I was so messed up when I knocked on their door I'm shocked she didn't call the cops. I came to them. Because you wanted me to and they took me in and now they're just there, suffering, because I can't get my shit together and—"

His gut wrenches. It's a long time before he can speak again, and he has to uncurl himself to do it.

He takes a breath in.

And out.

Sam used to do this when—

Sam used to do this.

"Okay, yeah. Maybe that's a cop-out.  Maybe I just don't—"

He cuts himself off again and sighs, banging his head lightly against the windshield.  He survived forty years in Hell, you'd think he could do Suburbia.

"It's different.  Hell was survivable because I was there to keep you alive."  Not strictly true.  He tries again.  "Hell was… I thought you were okay.  I thought you were okay, and that made it worth something. And even when it wasn't, it was so intense that I— couldn't think.  Couldn't.   And that was a blessing."

I'm not strong enough for this, Sammy.  Not without you.

He can't say those words aloud yet.  To do that would be to admit— too much.

"I don't know how long I can keep doing this," he whispers instead.

Even that admission… it's enough.  For now.  It's enough to get him through the next however many days until things get so bad that he needs to come out here again.  Sam's silence feels like acceptance, and Dean breathes it in.

He's not resigned. Not yet, anyway.  He still hasn't given up hope that there's some way to get Sam out.  But, he knows, the moment that last shred dies is the moment he goes with it.

Until then, he'll keep talking to the dark.

"Call it superstition," he says.

[according2thelore]

ohhhhh man now you’ve got me brooding over es!sam. it never occurred to me before that among them, he would end up feeling always the square peg in a round hole. the pride and resilience and hope he carried like medals in the first seasons gave him a sense of value and esteem, and i can’t imagine how it feels to be thrown into this inevitability where none of himself remains and in fact the bits he tries to hold onto are an irritant to the quid pro quo in a way nobody will outright honestly explain to him. rather than saving himself and his brother and the world like he thought he would at the end of it all, everywhere he looks is just another form of loss. ls!boys would lap up his es brother, the eager (and adorably naive) hunter with ideas and brawn and something to prove, so much of the same flowing through the blood of all 3 of them, but imagine the grief es!sam feels walking through the cold echoing hallways of the bunker, everything just a nauseating maelstrom of weapons and lore books and charts, no john, no mary, no jess, no wives and no children, no living friends, no presence or interest in the world he always dreamed to blend into, and nobody at his side to truly understand or feel that grief with him. and on top of that the things he feels about dean, complex and ugly and heavy to hold, have somehow been tugged out of him into the open in the future and locked behind a door he has no key to and even touching the knob burns his hand - the derision/amusement of the ls!bros even if they don’t intend it as such, the constant knowing smiles like he isn’t THEM like they don’t know how it feels and how much it suffocates him ohhhh man look what you’ve done to my poor heart with these snippets

YES!!!! ANON!!! YOU GET IT!!!!

first off, your writing is gorgeous?? holy shit?? eating all of your words they are in my mouth now i am sorry

but YES

he would def feel like the odd man out (depending on the season ES!Sam is from) because the other three love the life. they find joy and purpose and meaning in the hunt in a way sam lost. the hunt is a tool. a means to an end.

i think it wouldn't take long for LS!Sam to see the bunker, with the dozens of empty rooms--the shell of a home, only echoes and blades and the collected sum total of knowledge of people long-dead--and ask the group, "is this fucking it?"

no one knows what he's talking about (ES!Dean is so excited because he gets a kickass bunker AND a garage AND an armory AND sammy forever??), but sam is shaking because there are shirts folded in some of the empty rooms' dressers. dead men who thought they'd come back, a physical reminder of every goddamn person they've lost in the endless quest for vengeance. everything sam left for.

"is this all i fucking get?" ES!Sam snaps. "an underground crypt? no wife. no kids. no job. no fucking friends? did the hunt really fucking bury us?"

and everyone goes deadly fucking silent. LS!Dean has to leave the room because it's everything he'd always feared LS!Sam thinks. sam has always needed others more than dean does (or at least, that's what dean thinks, we literally see contradictory evidence in the show but okay). LS!Dean's afraid that sam has always resented him for the way their lives ended up, for dragging sam down with him.

and ES!Dean is crushed because this is his dream. he gets to save lives. he gets to carry dad's legacy. he gets to keep sam, all the unnecessary fluff--a mission to keep them together, girls, obligations--removed. and sam is disgusted by it.

LS!Sam just stares at ES!Sam blankly. he's annoyed with him, before something smaller, something pitying, slips into the shape of his mouth. he gets up to follow LS!Dean, leaving ES!Sam to wallow in his own sick. in this moment, Sam can't even empathize with himself.

and ES!Sam is sitting in the blast radius of his own fury. no one will look him in the eye. LS!Dean looks sick before he leaves the table. no one will answer his questions. no one even tries.

LS!Sam keeps trying to say, "this is what i want, sam. i don't mind. i love what i do, and i love doing it with dean." and all sam can hear is i gave up. i couldn't get out. i'm coping. don't destroy this glass house with a hammer because it's the only home i have left.

and ES!Sam still aches. because ES!Dean is already choosing another sam. LS!Dean looks at him like he has the power to kill him. LS!Sam looks at him like he pities him, which is the deepest cut of all.

poor sam. poor sam who doesn't want to die for this. poor sam who doesn't get us, who isn't us.

LS!Dean, ironically enough, is the closest ES!Sam gets to compassion, but it always feels like blows directed at himself. yeah. it sucks, kid. it fucking blows. i wanted you to get a wife. to get out. i...i tried. i'm sorry. it's more self-recrimination than care.

but GOD! ES!Sam goes for a run and sprints until he throws up because he sees the packed strength of LS!Dean's arms, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes. he sees the easy way LS!Sam&Dean laugh with each other, the way they talk with looks alone, the naked adoration. he sees ES!Dean and aches and aches and aches and aches and aches. he needs something he doesn't have the words for, something he's terrified to name, because does that mean that he's giving up? does that mean that he's the fucked up one--perverting this easy life that they all clearly adore?

and even the joy he finds--talking with LS!Dean in the kitchen, sparring with ES!Dean in the gym, enthusing with LS!Sam over texts--there are moments. small ones. where sam realizes that the person talking to him kind of stops, content. he's already part of this system, of this unit. sometimes the pauses feel patronizing. or excited. or so full of tension that sam is already hardening in his jeans. or sad. and it's confusing, but sam is walking down the empty hallways, passing rooms of dead men and seeking out his brother, always his brother, always.

GRAH!!! lonely ES!Sam. bitter ES!Sam. joyful ES!Sam. jealous ES!Sam. possessive ES!Sam. ES!Sam choking on the things he doesn't understand--the things he can't--that have made their lives the way they are.

thank you for this ask, anon! it was beautifully written! and now i am also thinking about this! perpetual motion machine of devouring ES!Sam whole!

-lizzy

[layce2015]

Supernatural (Dean Winchester x Female!Reader)

The Magnificent Seven

Masterlist

One Week Later

One week.

It had been one week since Hell's gate was opened.

It had been one week since alot of demons had been let out.

One week since I died but came back to life hours later, thanks to Dean.

One week of silence, no signs of any demonic activity.

And how are we spending that time? 

Well, Sam's downstairs, at my safehouse, pouring over a book, trying to find any way to get Dean out of his demon deal while Dean and I were upstairs....having alittle fun of our own.

We were making out, furiously, as we were running our hands all over each other's body, laying on the bed. Then Dean removes my shirt and started to kiss my chest, then his lips move from my chest up to my collarbone then to my neck. I let out a small moan and I hear him let out a chuckle.

"Enjoying yourself?" I asked him. "Yes." He said and I chuckle as he looks me in the eyes. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this." Dean said and I smiled. "I think I have some idea." I said, smiling, and he chuckles then he leans in and kisses me, roughly and passionately.

After removing the rest of our clothing, he hovers over me as we let our eyes roam over each other's body and I run my hand over his chest. "You sure you want this?" Dean asked me and I smirk at this. "Show me what you got, Winchester." I said and he smirks and kisses me as he slides inside of me.

Immediately, I knew that this felt different than any of the other times I've been with a man. I don't know why this feels different, it just does. And honestly, I don't care as this feels amazing and I lose myself in the moment.

And apparently, Dean and I got so lost in the moment of making each other feel so good, we didn't hear Sam knocking on the door, open it and, poor him, got an eyeful and he shut the door, quickly, while Dean and I continued the ol' devil's tango.

Later, when we finished, we were in the Impala; Dean driving like a maniac as he speeds down the pavement. "Let me see your knife." Sam said to Dean. "What for?" Dean asked him. "So I can gouge my eyes out." Sam said as I shake my head and run my hands over my eyes.

"It was a beautiful, natural act, Sam." Dean said then he looks at me through the rearview mirror. "Ain't the right, sweetheart?" He asked me and I give an embarrassed scoff at this. "It's a part of you and a part of (y/n) I never wanted to see, Dean." Sam said while Dean chuckles and slaps Sam on the thigh. 

"I'm sorry, Sammy. We'll remeber to lock the door next time." I said. "But we appreciate you giving us a little quality time." Dean said to him. "Yeah, no problem." Sam mutters, quietly, and Dean gives him a look.

"Really? Well, I got to say, I was expecting a weary sigh or an eye roll, something." Dean said. "No, not at all. You two deserve to have a little fun. I mean, it's about time you guys got together. Now you guys can stop giving goo-goo eyes at each other." Sam said and we look over at him, shocked. "Well, I am in violent agreement with you there." Dean said and he chuckles while I shake my head.

"Anyway...What's Bobby got?" I asked Sam, changing the subject. "Not much. A crop failure and a cicada swarm outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. Ahh, could be demonic omens..." Sam said, shrugging. "Or could just be a bad crop and a bug problem." Dean said. "Yeah, but it's our only lead." Sam said.

"Any freaky deaths?" I asked him. "Nothing Bobby could find – not yet, anyway." Sam replied and I sighed. "It's weird, guys. I mean, the night the devil's gate opened, all these weirdo storm clouds were sighted over how many cities?" I said as I look over at Sam.

"Seventeen." Sam replied. "Seventeen. You'd think it would be Apocalypse Now, but it's been five days and bubkis." I said and Sam looks at me, confused. "What are the demons waiting for?" Dean asked Sam. "Beats me." Sam said. "It's driving me crazy." I said and Dean nods. "Yeah, me too. I tell you, if it's gonna be war, I wish it would just start already." He said.

"I don't know, man. Be careful what you wish for." Sam said and he glances at his brother.

The next morning, we pull up outside of a farmhouse, Dean gets out munching on a burger as Sam and I follow. "Hear those cicadas?" Sam asked as he points out the sound that was surrounding the area.

"That can't be a good sign." I said and Sam nods. "No. No, it can't." He said and we see Bobby, who was leaning against his car, walks over to us. "So, we're eating bacon cheeseburgers for breakfast, are we?" Bobby asked as he gestures towards the burger in Dean's hand.

"Well, I sold my soul. Got a year to live. I ain't sweating the cholesterol." Dean replied and I sigh and shake my head. "So, Bobby, what do you think? We got a biblical plague here or what?" Sam asked Bobby. "Well, let's find out. Looks like the swarm's ground zero." Bobby said and we head to the farmhouse.

We get to the front door and Dean pounds his fist against it. "Candygram!" He shouts but there was no answer, only the cicadas chirping. Dean picks the lock and opens the door and, immediately, we cover our noses in disgust.

"That's awful." I groaned.

"That so can't be a good sign." Dean mutters as he enters first, Sam and I behind him with our guns drawn. We creep through the house; stopping in the second room until we hear what sounds like panicked screams.

"You hear that?" Sam asked and we go up to doo and I kick open the next door; the sounds turned out to be coming from TV. In front of it, a family of three were seated on the couch, several days dead. The boys and I recoil at the increased stench of death.

"Oh, my God." Sam said as Bobby enters through the other side of the room and recoils in horror. "Bobby, what the hell happened here?" I asked him. "I don't know." He replied. "Check for sulfur." Dean said and we all agreed and investigate the room.

But then I hear a noise out front. I whistle quietly, then signal to the others that I was going to go check it out, Dean has a worried expression on his face but I give a reassuring smile then I go to investigate.

Out front, I exit cautiously, gun drawn, and look around. As I come around the house, I get knocked down to the ground by a man with a shotgun then a woman comes up behind him.

"Isaac? Tamara?" Bobby's voice asked and I look over to see Bobby coming around the corner. "Bobby. What the hell are you doing here?" The woman, Tamara, asked him. "I could ask the same." Bobby said to them. "Heya, Bobby." The man, Isaac, said while I raise an arm pitifully from the ground and waving for attention. "Hello. Bleeding here." I said to them.

Isaac and Tamara took us to their home, where it was covered in hunter's equipment, while Dean was on the phone with the coroner. "Honey? Where's the Palo Santo?" Issac asked Tamara. "Well, where'd you leave it?" She asked. "I don't know, dear. That's why I'm asking." He said, both of them sounded like a couple that had been together for a long time.

"Palo Santo?" I asked, curiously. "It's holy wood, from Peru. It's toxic to demons like holy water. Keeps the bastards nailed down while you're exorcising them." Tamara said as she digs in a bag and pulls out a large, pointed stake. She hands it to Isaac with an affectionate smile. "Thank you, dear." He said. "You'd lose your head if it wasn't for me." She said to him and I smiled at this.

"So, how long you two been married?" Sam asked them. "Eight years this past June." Tamara replied. "The family that slays together..." Isaac said and I chuckled as I glanced at Dean, who was still on the phone. "Right. We're with you there. So, how'd you get started?" Sam asked them then there was an awkward silence as Tamara and Isaac look at each other. Obviously, something bad must've happened for them to be a part of this life.

"I, uh, you know... I'm sorry. It's not – that's none of my business." Sam said. "No, no. It's – it's all right." Tamara said as Dean continues on his phone. "Well, Jenny, as nice as an appleteni sounds..." Dean said and makes a face at us before he continues. "...I'm already spoken for. Yes...happily. Yes, but thank you for your help." He said then he hangs up and addresses the rest of us.

"That was the coroner's tech." He said as I smirk a bit at him. "And?" Sam asked. "Get this – that whole family, cause of death? Dehydration and starvation. There's no signs of restraint, no violence, no struggle. They just sat down and never got up." He said. "But there was a fully stocked kitchen just yards away." I said. "Right. What is this, a demon attack?" Sam asked.

"If it is, it's not like anything I ever saw, and I've seen plenty." Bobby said. "Well, what now? What should we do?" Dean asked everyone.

"Uh, we're not gonna do anything." Isaac said to them. "What do you mean?" Sam asked him. "You guys seem nice enough, but, this ain't Scooby-Doo, and we don't play well with others." Isaac replied.

"Well, I think we'd cover a lot more ground if we all worked together." I said to him. "No offense, but we're not teaming with the damn fools who let the Devil's Gate get opened in the first place." Isaac said and I scoff at this 

"No offense?" Dean said, questioning. "Isaac. Like you've never made a mistake." Tamara said to her husband, admonished. "Oh yeah, yeah. Locked my keys in the car, turned my laundry pink. Never brought on the end of the world, though." Isaac said and Dean chuckles. "All right. That's enough." He said.

"Guys, this isn't helping. Dean—" I started to say but Isaac interrupts  "Look, there are couple hundred more demons out there now. We don't know where they are, when they'll strike. There ain't enough hunters in the world to handle something like this. You brought war down on us – on all of us." He said, angrily, then Tamara pulls him away. "Okay. that's quite enough testosterone for now." She said and they leave the room.

The next day, the boys and I make it to this clothing store where a woman had killed another woman over some shoes. Sam was outside, looking around, Bobby was talking to the suspect and I was talking to a witness, Dean standing behind me.

Unfortunately, it was hard to talk to the witness as Dean kept trying to touch me, subtly, obviously trying to get some attention from me. I would look over at him and he acted like nothing was going on but everytime I'd try to talk to the woman, I'd feel Dean’s hand on my back and then sliding down on my ass. I ignored him, as best as I could, and get the information from the witness and once she left, I turned to face him.

"Dean, what are you doing?" I asked him. "Helping you interviewing and comforting the bereaved. What are you doing?" He said, acting dumb, and I raise an eyebrow at him. "Really? Is that what you call it?" I asked but a smirk slightly appeared on my face. He shrugs as I said. "Dean, we have a dead body, which could be a possible demon attack – you know, our jobs!" I said then he starts to cough, pathetically.

"(Y/n), I'm sorry. It's just, I don't have much time left, and, uh...got to make every second count." He said as he gives a more theatrical cough and I shake my head. "Yeah, right. Sorry." I said then I move closer to him and I wrap my arms around his neck and stare at him in the eyes. "Apology accepted." He said and he started to lean in towards me but I place a finger up to his lips.

"After we finish this job." I said, smiling, and I back away and laugh at his bewildered look in his face. Then Sam and Bobby, who was in a suit and his hair slicked back, come over to us as I pull back from Dean. Both, Dean and I, look at him, impressed. 

"Whoa." Dean said and he whistles. "Looking spiffy, Bobby. What were you, a G-man?" I asked him. "Attorney for the D.A.'s office. I just spoke to the suspect." Bobby said. "Yeah? So, what do you think? Is she possessed or what?" I asked him. "Don't think so. There's none of the usual signs – no blackouts, no loss of control. Totally lucid. Just, she really wanted those shoes. Spilled a glass of holy water on her just to be sure; nothing." Bobby replied, shrugging.

"Maybe she's just some random whack job." Dean said. "If it had been an isolated incident, maybe, but first the family, now this? I believe in a lot of things. Coincidence ain't one of them. Did you guys find anything around here?" Bobby said to us. "No sulfur, nothing." Sam said as I shake my head.

"Well, maybe something." Dean said and he nods to a security camera in the ceiling. "See? I'm working." Dean said to me and I shake my head, slightly. "Good boy! I'll give you a treat later." I said to him, using a voice you would use when you're talking to a dog, and he rolls his eyes at me.

Sam was seated, watching the security footage in the security room, as Bobby, Dean and I hover. "Anything interesting?" Dean asked Sam. "I don't know yet. Might just be a guy..." Sam said and we watch a redheaded man approach the blonde woman and talk to her as they glance over at the victim. "Or it might be our guy." I said.

Bobby, Dean and I were sitting in Bobby's car, staking out a bar while Sam was out doing some research. "What time is it?" Bobby asked, yawning. "Seven past midnight." Dean replied. "You sure this is the right place?" Bobby asked him. "No. But (y/n) and I spent all day canvassing this stupid town with this guy's stupid mug, and, supposedly, he drinks at this...stupid bar." Dean grumbles then there was a loud pounding on the window, making all three of us jump. It is Sam, who grins at our discomfort and slips into the back seat.

"That's not funny!" I yelled at Sam as he gets inside the car. "Yeah. Uh, all right, so – so, John Doe's name is Walter Rosen. He's from Oak Park, just west of Chicago. Went missing about a week ago." Sam replied. "The night the Devil's Gate opened?" I asked him and Sam nod. "Yeah." He said.

"So you think he's possessed?" Dean asked. "Well, it's a good bet. So, what, he just walks up to someone, touches them, and they go stark raving psycho?" Sam said. "Those demons that got out at the gate – they're gonna do all kinds of things we haven't seen." Bobby said. "You mean the demons we let out." I said.

"Guys." Dean said and we look out and see the redheaded man, from the security footage, getting out of his car and walking towards the bar. "All right. Showtime." Dean said.

"Wait a minute." Bobby said. "What?" Dean asked. "What'd I just say? We don't know what to expect out of this guy. We should tail him till we know for sure." Bobby said to him. "Oh, so he kills someone and we just sit here with our junk in our hands?" Dean asked him, angrily. "We're no good dead! And we're not gonna make a move until we know what the score is." Bobby yells at him.

"Hey, Bobby? I don't think that's an option." Sam said. "Why not?" Bobby asked and Sam nods, indicating another car that has just entered the lot. We look out and see Isaac and Tamara are heading towards the bar. "Damn it!" Bobby growls and we start to get out of the car.

We head towards the door of the bar, but find it lock. "Oh no." I whispered then we heard laughing and Tamara screaming in fear. We slam ourselves against the door, trying to force it open but nothing. "Get back to the car!" Bobby yells at us and we run back to his car.

Once we get inside, Bobby starts to the car. "Hang on." He shouts and he drives right through the front door of the bar. We get out or the car, armed with holy water, which we fling violently into the crowd of the possessed seven people.

They back up and Sam and I grab Tamara, who is still screaming frantically for Isaac who was on the ground dead and surrounded by a pool of his own blood. "Come on, we got to go! He's dead! Get in the car!" Sam shouts and I look over and see Dean still immersed in the fight.

"Dean, come on!" I shout but he was still flinging Holy water at the demons. "DEAN! COME ON!" I shouted as I help Sam get Tamara in Bobby's car. Dean Then entered combat with the Redheaded Man, Walter. I go and open the trunk, after I help get Tamara in the car, just as Dean runs out of holy water; Walter grins.

I go and help Dean and we overpower Walter and stuff him in the trunk, Walter screams as he sees the Devil's Trap and Dean tumbles into the front seat of the car and I head to the back seat and squeezed in with Sam and Tamara, who was still screaming and crying for Isaac. "Go, go, go, go, go, go, go, go!" Dean shouts and we drive back out and leave the bar behind.

"...And I say we're going back – now!" Tamara yells at us after we made it back to her house and had Walter tied up in the other room under the Devil's Trap. "Just hold on a second!" Sam said to her. "I left my husband bloody on the floor!" Tamara shouts at us.

"Okay, we understand that, but we can't go back." I said to her, firmly. "Fine. Then you stay. But I'm heading back to that bar." She growls. "I'll go with her." Dean said and I look over at him. "It's suicide, Dean!" I shout at him. "So what? I'm dead already!" He yells back at me.

"How you gonna kill 'em? Can't shoot 'em. You can't stab 'em. They're not just gonna wait in line to get exorcised!" Sam shouts. "I don't care!" Tamara screams. "We don't even know how many of them there are!" I yelled at her. "Yeah, we do." Bobby said as he comes into the room, holding a book.

"There's seven. Do you have any idea who we're up against?" He asked us. "No. Who?" Dean asked. "The seven deadly sins, live and in the flesh!" Bobby said and my jaw drops at this and Dean grins.

"What's in the box?!" He exclaims and all of us stare at him. "Brad Pitt? Se7en? No?" Dean asked us as everyone gives him a disapproving look. "Time and place, Dean." I said as Bobby tosses him a book. "What's this?" Dean asked him. "Binsfeld's Classification of Demons. In 1589, Binsfeld ID'd the seven sins – not just as human vices but as actual devils." Bobby replied.

"The family – they were touched by Sloth. And the shopper..." I said and Bobby nods. "That's Envy's doing – the customer we got in the next room. I couldn't suss it out at first, until Isaac. He was touched with an awful Gluttony." He said. "I don't give a rat's ass if they're the Three Stooges or the Four Tops! I'm gonna slaughter every last one of them!" Tamara shouts.

"We already did it your way. You burst in there half-cocked and look what happened! These demons haven't been topside in half a millennium! We're talking medieval, Dark Ages! We've never faced anything close to this! So we are gonna take a breath...And figure out what our next move is!" Bobby shouts at her and they stare at each other.

"I am sorry for your loss." Bobby said, quietly, to her. Tamara, emotional, walks out of the room and the boys and I look at each other.

"So you know who I am, huh?" Envy asked us as he chuckles while we enter the room. "We do. We're not impressed." Bobby spat at him.

"Why are you here? What are you after?" Sam asked Envy, who doesn't respond. "He asked you a question. What do you want?" Dean growls and Envy chuckles condescendingly; Dea  opens a flask of holy water and splashes him, making him scream.

"We already have...what we want." He said, panting. "What's that?" I asked him. "We're out. We're free. Thanks to you, my kind are everywhere. I am legion, for we are many." Envy said then he laughs again. "So me, I'm just celebrating. Having a little fun." He said.

"Fun?" Sam asked. "Yeah. Fun. See, some people crochet. Others golf. Me? I like to see people's insides...on their outside." Envy sneers. "I'm gonna put you down like a dog." Tamara growls at him. "Please. You really think you're better than me." Envy laughs. "Which one of you can cast the first stone, huh? What about you, Dean? You're practically a, a walking billboard of gluttony and lust." He said and Dean nods, in acknowledgement.

"And Tamara. All that wrath. Oohh." Envy said and he tongue clicks. "It's the reason you and Isaac became hunters in the first place, isn't it? It's so much easier to...drink in the rage than to face what really happened all those years ago." Envy said. Face twisted in anger, Tamara smacks him, hard, twice, until Dean and Bobby pull her back.

"My point exactly. And you call us sins. We're not sins, man. We are natural human instinct. And you can repress and deny us all you want, but the truth is, you are just animals. Horny...greedy...hungry...violent animals. And you know what? You'll be slaughtered like animals, too." Envy said and we look around at everyone .

"The others – they're coming for me." He said as he smiles around at us. "Maybe. But they're not gonna find you...'cause you'll be in hell." I said to him and he looks taken aback. "Someone send this clown packing." I said and Tamara steps forward. "My pleasure." She said and she begins reading from the book. As she continues, we leave and Envy screams.

"I don't think we're gonna have to worry about hunting them." Bobby said after we go into the other room. "What does that mean?" Sam asked. "I think maybe this joker's right. They're gonna be hunting us. And they're not gonna quit easy." Bobby said to him.

"You guys, why don't you take Tamara and head for the hills? I'll stay back, slow them down, buy you a little time." Dean said to us and Sam and I turn to him. "You're insane, Dean. Just forget about it, okay?" Sam said. "Sam's right." I said as Bobby nods. "There's six of them, guys. We're outmanned, we're outgunned. We'll be dead by dawn." Dean said to us.

"Maybe, but...there's no place to run that they won't find us." Bobby said. "Look, if we're going down, we're going down together, all right?" I said to them. "Well let's not make it easy for them." Dean said.

From the other room, Envy gives a final scream and the house shakes and a gust blows out the candles. Tamara slams the book shut and comes into the room with the rest of us. "Demon's out of the guy." She said. "And the guy?" Sam asked her. "He didn't make it." Tamara said, coldly.

Later, Dean was seated on the floor with a row of candles behind him, loading a shotgun. Sam was across the room filling flasks with holy water and I was in the middle of the room, helping Sam. I look between the boys as they look at each other then at me. We watch each other silently for a moment until the lights begin to flicker.

We look around and an old radio sparks to life, playing the beginnings of a scratchy recording of We Shall Not Be Moved. Dean stands up and cocks his gun. "Here we go." He said and we get up and leave the room. Sam leaves the room first and I was about to leave when Dean grabs my arm to stop me.

I look up at him and it was like we were having a silent conversation as we stare into each other's eyes. Then he leans down to me and lightly kisses me, which I kiss him back. We pull back, share one last look then head down stairs where Tamara and Bobby were as they lean agains the front doors.

"Tamara! I got away, but I'm hurt bad! I need help!" We hear Isaac's voice shout and I could see that Tamara becomes distraught. "It's not him. It's one of those demons. It's possessing his corpse." Bobby tells her just as we hear a pounding at the door.

"Baby! Why won't you let me in? You left me behind back there. How could you do that? We swore...At that lake in Michigan. Remember? We swore we would never leave each other!" Isaac yells and Tamara turns to us.

"How did he know that?" Tamara asked Bobby. "Steady, Tamara. Steady, Tamara, steady, steady...." Bobby assures her as Isaac continues to scream. "You just gonna leave me out here? You just gonna let me die?! I guess that's what you do, dear! Like that night those things came to our house...came...for our daughter! You just let her die, too." Isaac said and Tamara becomes angry.

"You son of a bitch!" She screams. "Tamara, no!" Bobby yells but she pushes the door open, breaking the salt line, and tackles Isaac down the steps. She lands on top of him and raises the Palo Santo stake. "You're not Isaac!" She shouts and she plunges the wood deep into his chest; it sizzles, and he screams.

The other six demons cross the broken salt line and enter the house and we began to split up. In a hallway, Dean and I were cornered by a woman and we began to fight her as she advances on us. For just one woman, she's able to handle both of us in a fight.

"I suppose you're Lust." I said to her as we back up into the bathroom. "Baby, I'm whatever you want me to be." She said, seductively. "Yeah, all right, just stay back." Dean said to her. "Or what?" Lust asked him. "Good point." Dean said.

"I'm not gonna hurt you two– not yet. Not unless both of you want me to." She said and she runs her hands along mine and Dean's shoulder. We look at her, having this strong feeling of...well lust, then I fall into her embrace and we kiss passionately while Dean kisses her neck.

Then she goes to kiss Dean, who backs up to a shower curtain. I get behind Lust and Dean flips the shower curtain around, pulls it open, and I grab her and plunge her face-first into the bathtub which is filled with holy water. She screams in agony as we hold her until she passes out.

The next morning, Sam and Dean were piling the corpses of the demons, that didn't survive, into a shallow pit and begin pouring salt and fuel over them as Bobby and I come over to them after we did the exorcism. Several yards away, Tamara is standing in front of a funderal pyre.

"Well, you two look like hell warmed over." Dean said to us and I glare at him. "You try exorcising all night and see how you feel." I said.

"Any survivors?" Sam asked us.  Well, the pretty girl and the heavy guy, they'll make it. Lifetime of therapy bills ahead, but, still..." Bobby said. "That's more than you can say for these poor bastards." Dean said as he gestures toward the three dead bodies in the pit they made.

"Bobby, that knife – what kind of blade can kill a demon?" Sam asked. Apparently, some random blonde chick came in and saved Sam's life by killing the demons with a knife. Sam tried to grab her but she disappeared. "Yesterday, I would have said there was no such thing." Bobby said.

"I'm just gonna ask it again – who was that masked chick? Actually, the more troubling question would be, how come a girl can fight better than you?" Dean asked Sam and he chuckles. "Three demons, Dean. At once." Sam said and I pat Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, whatever it takes to get you through the night, pal." I said and he rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, well, if you want a troubling question, I got one for you." Sam said. "What's that?" Dean asked. "If we let out the seven deadly sins, what else did we let out?" Sam asked us and we stand there in worried and stunned silence. "You're right. That is troubling." I said then Dean lights a matchbook and tosses it onto the pyre.

Later, the bonfires have settled down and we prepare to leave as Tamara comes up to us. "See you gents and young lady around." She said, walking away. "Tamara?" Bobby said and she stops to hear him. "The world just got a lot scarier. Be careful." He said. "You too." She said and she gets in her car and takes off.

"Keep your eyes peeled for omens. I'll do the same." Bobby said to us. "You got it." Dean said. "Wait, Bobby. We can win this war. Right?" Sam asked him. But Bobby doesn't answer, which makes is feel uncomfortable and worried. "Catch you on the next one." Bobby said and he heads to his car and the boys and I start to head towards the Impala.

"So, where to?" Dean asked us. "Uh, I don't know. I was thinking Louisiana maybe." Sam said. "Little early for Mardi Gras, isn't it?" I asked him. "Yeah. Listen, I was talking to Tamara, and she mentioned this hoodoo priestess outside of Shreveport that might be able to help us out. You know, with your – with your demon deal, Dean." Sam said and I look over at Dean, hopeful.

"Nah." Dean said, shaking his head. "Nah? What does that mean, nah?" Sam asked him, annoyed. :Sam, no hoodoo spell's gonna break this deal, all right? It's a goose chase." Dean replied.

"Yeah, but we don't know that, Dean—" I started to say but he cuts me off. "Yes, we do. Forget it. She can't help." He said.

"Look, it's worth—" Sam started to cut in but Dean talks over him. "We're not going, and that's that. What about Reno, huh?" He said as he smacks us on the arm lightly and turns to walk away.

Sam grabs his sleeve and turns Dean back to face us. "You know what? I've had it. I've been bending over backwards trying to be nice to you, and...I don't care anymore." Sam said to him. "That didn't last long." Dean said, jokingly. "Yeah, well, you know what? (Y/n) and I have been busting our assea trying to keep you alive, Dean, and you act like you couldn't care less. What, you got some kind of death wish or something?" Sam asked him. "No, it's not like that." Dean replied.

"Then what's it like, Dean?" I asked him, annoyed. "(Y/n)—" Dean said, exasperated. "Please, tell us." Sam pleads. "We trap the crossroads demon, trick it, try to welch our way out of the deal in any way? (Y/n) dies. Okay? She dies. Those are the terms. There's no way out of it. If you try to find a way, so help me God, I'm gonna stop you and Sam." Dean said to us and I stand there, stunned.

"How could you make that deal, Dean?" I asked him. "'Cause I couldn't live with you dead. Couldn't do it." He replied as he gives me a look. "So, what, now I live and you die?" I asked, angrily. "That's the general idea, yeah." He said, shrugging.

"Yeah, well, you're a hypocrite, Dean. How did you feel when Dad sold his soul for you? 'Cause (y/n) and I were there. We remember. You were twisted, and broken. And now you go and do the same thing. To (y/n). What you did was selfish." Sam growls at him. "Yeah, you're right. It was selfish. But I'm okay with that." Dean said, unfazed.

"I'm not." I said and Sam nods. "Yeah, neither am I." He said. "Tough. After everything I've done for this family, I think I'm entitled. Truth is, I'm tired, guys. I don't know, it's like there's a, a light at the end of the tunnel." Dean replied. "It's hellfire, Dean." I said.

"Whatever. You're alive, I feel good – for the first time in a long time. I got a year to live, guys. I'd like to make the most of it. So what do you say we kill some evil sons of bitches and we raise a little hell, huh?" He said and he smiles and nods to us then walks on to the car.

"You're unbelievable." Sam said as we turn to him. Dean stops then smiles at us. "Very true." He said and he opens the driver side door and starts the car as Sam and I walk, frustratedly, to the car, Sam to the passenger side and I to the back driver's side, and get in.

@rach5ive @kitsun369 @itzabbyxx @cevans-winchester

[gretavanlace]

Baby Doll

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, alcohol consumption, dirty talk, praise, choking, degradation, use of derogatory terms, masturbation, penetration with a foreign object, etc...idk, this one won’t be for everyone

* Sending a little wink to these lovely anons who planted this filthy seed *wink* *wink* ❤️💋

“Please?” you beg, lending a sultry edge to your tone as your fists wrap around his jacket so tightly the sequins dig into your palms. “We can be quick. You look so good…this fucking jacket is just…” you trail off, at a lost for words. He is such a stunning specimen, dripping sex and confidence.

“No, baby doll…” he shakes his head and gently unfurls your grip on him. “Last gig I was so late they had to unload everything without us, remember? Josh is still bitching,”

“Josh is always bitching.” you counter, pressing your body flush against his.

His fingertips drag up the outside of your thigh, but stop just short of dipping under your tiny robe. “Is my poor little girl feeling neglected?”

You nod and throw him your best ‘fuck me’ eyes.

“The same little girl that I had bent over the kitchen counter stretched pretty and pink around my dick less than an hour ago?” His hand inches higher, teasing tender pinches into your flesh…voice placid and relaxed, as if he’s floating in a hammock, basking in the afternoon sun.

Again, you merely nod as your hands find his jacket once more. He looks so mouth-watering in the cropped, glittering shrug found in a thrift shop, undoubtedly donated after the death of an eccentric great aunt. How?

“Greedy...” he breathes, the word falling warm against your neck. “and spoiled. Fucking greedy and spoiled.”

“Yes…” it’s barely a word, hardley a response at all…more of a broken wisp of a moan.

“Well,” his lips are now pressed just below your ear as he sings a soft melody to you. “You can’t always get what you want.”

“Jacob.” you huff in mild annoyance. He’s toying with you and you have little patience for it. “The Beatles are better than the Stones anyway. Shows what you know.”

With a crack on your ass, he points you in the direction of the en suite, a silent order to go get ready. “I won’t listen to such blatant musical blasphemy. I want a divorce.”

“We aren’t even married.” you call over your shoulder with a subtle sway of your hips that you hope might lure him in.

“Okay, I want to marry you, just so I can divorce you.” he’s wandering out of the room, having won this round. “And the shower massager stays in its cradle while you’re in there, baby. We don’t have time for your antics.”

~

“Well look who decided to grace us with a timely arrival for once.” Josh nudges Danny with his elbow, arms struggling around a box overflowing with tangled wires.

Jake skirts around him and hauls out a mic stand. “Shut up, Josh. It was one time, alright? Let it go.”

Sammy appears out of nowhere, as he so often does, looking like he just stretched his way out of a cat nap, slender fingers wrapped around a sweating White Claw. “Yeah, but you didn’t even help!” he jumps in straight away, siding with Josh. “We had to drag everything in – that place had stairs, by the way, and…”

“Samuel,” Danny interjects, dropping a kiss hello upon your cheek before turning to his friend. “You did fuck all besides stand around and complain about the heat.”

“Lies!” Sam shakes his head vehemently and waves off the accusation. “I also got that girl's number.”

“Ah, yes…” Josh nods. “That was very helpful to the rest of us. Thank you, little brother.”

“Welcome.” Sammy shrugs, gracefully dragging the case that bolsters his bass out of the back of the van, before vanishing through the bar’s backdoor.

“Here, let me help.” you reach forward, searching for a box or case in need of carrying, determined to make yourself useful, but Jake puts a quick stop to it.

“My girl isn’t a roadie.” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in for a chaste kiss.

“You’re right.” you agree, leaning in to kiss him back. “You guys don’t have those.”

“Someday.” he smiles. “You know what we do have though? Perks.”

“Oooh,” you sigh as if the very idea has caused a swoon. “Perks?”

“That’s right, baby. One free drink for each member of the band…and I’m gonna let you have mine.”

A feigned shiver of delight quickly turns very real when he nuzzles your neck. “A free drink?”

“That’s right.” his teeth nip into your earlobe, then he whispers in your ear, like pillow talk, “Bottom shelf only.”

He punctuates himself by wiggling his fingers into your hips, laughing when you giggle and shove him off.

Moving to grab you back in, he’s foiled by the brash sound of his twin brother’s voice barking out at him. “Get a goddamn room. Preferably after you help carry this shit in!”

You watch him tug a large black case effortlessly into his grip with one hand, while pushing Josh’s shoulder to knock him off balance with the other, and then head into the bar to round up that free drink.

~

Now you’re pissed.

Through the first half of the set, you chalked it up to the state you’ve been in all day. You wanted him. Needed him. So of course, everything he did…every minute detail, caught and held your attention. You’re aching for him, so he couldn’t be held responsible for the state he had you in, right?

Wrong. Because as he struts closer to the edge of the tiny stage, and thrusts his hips forward into his guitar, cocking his head to the side as his fingers fly across the frets so rapidly they blur…you know. When his beautiful brown eyes flutter and then flash to yours with a wolfish grin, you long to duck and cover. Whatever he’s cooking up in that devious mind of his won’t be helpful to your current situation.

His eyes never leave yours, and his fingers remain toying with the neck of his Gibson, coaxing pulsing whines and screams out of his amp, as he reaches for the Guiness he’s almost killed. He brings it to his lips, drains the dredges, and then…like the sadistic son of a bitch you know him to be…he drags the bottle slowly down his strings, creating a mournful cry.

Your thighs slam together as a silent moan sounds off inside your head.

Fuck this guy. You think. Haughty, and annoyed, and just so damn hungry for him. Fuck. This. Guy.

The smirk that he tries to hide breaks through and you want to smack him square in his pretty face. You want to fuck yourself on his pretty cock. You want to smack his pretty face while you fuck his pretty cock.

You catch him staring down at your clenched thighs, looking highly pleased with himself. He enjoys the game far too much, but you like to play too. So, in the spirit of sportsmanship, you part those thighs of yours that he’s so smugly inspecting. Just enough that if someone looked closely, they might catch a flash of your panties up your skirt.

Narrowing his stare, his expression burns hot as his jaw flexes firmly to ensure his demand is heeded. Close your fucking legs.

Well, look who can’t take the heat but won’t get his ass out of the kitchen.

Not to be rushed by a man who is clearly attempting to take you apart in the middle of a dive bar, you slowly cross your legs but still manage to show far too much thigh. Oops.

~

“You know, they say that’s a sign of sexual frustration?” Sammy points down to where you’re picking away at the label of your beer.

The set is long over, and the five of you are now scattered around a pool table as Josh and Jake battle it out, albeit poorly, with sticks in their hands.

You’ve never heard that before. Not surprising, though…Sam is a veritable forest of mostly useless information.

The inventor of Pringles is actually buried in a Pringles can. Rainbows were once called bows of promise. People used to answer the phone “Ahoy” instead of “Hello”.

These facts of his almost always sound made up, but they always check out, and you’ve long since stopped googling to double check him.

“Really?”

“Really.” he confirms grimly before turning his attention to his brother. “Is someone not doing his job, Jacob?”

“I do my job just fine.” Jake’s patience is very obviously wearing thin as he misses the shot he’s been lining up.

“That true, shortcake?” Sammy prods, offering you a conspiratorial wink that Jake can’t see. Let’s stir him up a little, shall we? It seems to say. He also knows his innocent pet name for you, chosen because you’re shorter than even the twins by at least a head, makes you blush.

“Usually.” you sigh, holding Jake’s stare when it catches yours.

“Usually.” Josh laughs infectiously, dragging you right along with him until Jake’s face sets into concrete irritation that seems like it may never dissipate.

Your laughter dies down as he shoves his pool stick into the rack on the wall and stalks toward you. “Your shot.” he points out to his twin, clipped and venomous, eyes still fixed on yours.

His mouth, warm and soft, finds your cheek and then sweeps up languidly. To anyone else, it would look like a sweet, intimate moment between two lovers in the darkness of a hole in the wall pub. In reality…

“Watch yourself, babydoll.” he warns, low and slow against the shell of your ear.

“You watch yourself.” you snap back quietly. “Fuck you and your beer bottle slide. I know what you were doing, whore.”

His head jerks back so his stunned eyes can assess yours. “Did you just…did you really just call me a whore?”

Your spine straightens defiantly with a terse nod. “Yes, I did. Because that’s what you are. Up there on stage trying to make me wet for you. Probably not even just me, probably trying to make everyone in here desperate for this.” Your hand cups his cock through his skin tight jeans, your actions hidden by his body and the corner you happen to be seated in.

“You want that?” he rasps, pressing into your palm.

“I always do.” your continued touch is a challenge, a game of chicken, who will be the first to veer off the road? “Are you gonna give it to me? Or does someone else get it tonight?”

He grabs your chin and guides your line of sight around the sad little bar, filled with no more than a handful of equally sad men staring down into their beers as if reading tea leaves. “See this crowd?” he jerks your face around with mindful authority until you nod.

“This bar could be bursting at the seams with gorgeous, fuckable, women, and you’re still the only one I’d see.” he dips his thumb into your mouth and allows you to suck it, like his favorite little baby, for just a moment before pulling away with a wet pop.

You lean forward slightly, searching…he takes great satisfaction in this. “Look at you, baby doll. Is that sweet mouth lonely?”

A hum through a bite of your bottom lip is your only reply, but he seems to like that just fine. “Maybe I’ll see if I can find you a lollipop.”

“Jakey…” you beg him with your eyes.

“Calm your pretty self down, yeah?” he grins, backing away. “We’ve got all night.”

You hate him. You love him. You love to hate him. In these moments, fuck how you love to hate him.

~

You’ve spent the remainder of the night digging yourself into a hole, nice and deep.

Smarting off to him, flirting with his brothers, spurning his touch one moment…seeking it out the next. You’ve perched yourself on his lap, moving far more often than necessary, swatting him away when he attempts to hold you still, swatting him away some more when he attempts to make you rock against him.

His cock is throbbing beneath you when the others drift off to put a pinball challenge Danny has set forth into play.

“You feel nice, baby.” you purr, spinning the stir straw in your vodka tonic, which is now mostly ice. “So hard and warm…will you take me into the bathroom and let me feel it, hard and warm, inside?”

You’re staring down at the table, facing away from him, so you aren’t privy to his expression, but you hear the sharp intake of his breath. Then you almost feel the split second decision ripple through him. He isn’t ready to give you your way. Not yet.

“No…” his palms splay out over your thighs. “And shouldn’t you be ashamed of yourself? This bar is filthy, and here you are asking me to take you into the bathroom. Fucking dirty.”

His mouth moves over the dip of your shoulder as he admonishes you. When you move to rise off of his lap, he pulls you back down firmly…a reminder of who is in charge. “You will sit here like a lady and wait patiently until I decide to take you home and ruin you with this cock you want so badly. Plan to wreck that snug little cunt, doll. Gonna fuck it wide open. When I’m good and ready.”

Fuck…

As much as you want to give in and obey him like a servant groveling at the feet of her king, there is a flame of defiance within you that he’s never been able to truly extinguish. Perhaps because he knows you would like it to remain lit. Perhaps because he would like it to remain lit.

Either way, that tiny blue blaze flickers strong in your belly, and you allow it to guide your disobedience.

“No, I will not sit like a lady and wait.” you bite back, sounding much stronger than you actually feel. You move to stand but his hands delve into your hips, dull nails digging into your flesh through your clothes.

“Red.” you speak the word with a delicate hint of sovereignty you don’t actually feel…but you’ll act the part anyway.

His hands rip away so quickly you might as well be on fire. “Sorry…” he murmurs, taking on that strangely formal, yet attractive, tone that only lends itself to his cadence during interviews. Usually. “Sorry, baby doll…fuck, m’sorry.” his mouth is now moving along your neck as his hands grip the table in front of you. He’s being mindful that you can see them.

“Don’t be.” you assure him lovingly. “Just remember your place.”

You watch his knuckles turn white as he clutches at the wood in a quiet frenzy. “Remember my place?” His voice is rumbling thunder, threatening a storm.

You rise off of his lap, immediately mourning the warmth and sturdiness of his body, and turn to kiss his cheek. “I’m going to the bathroom,” you murmur huskily into his ear. “To get off all by myself because you think it’s cute to tease.”

Without waiting for a response, you saunter off with the heat of his gaze lighting your path.

You expect him to follow, to be pressed up against you before you’ve even made it through the door…but you’re able to close and lock it all by your lonesome. You don’t really plan to do anything, you don’t want to take matters into your own hands, you want his hands.

All over you. Grabbing at you, drifting across your flesh, prying your legs apart, slipping inside, filling you, coaxing you closer and closer to that sweet, sweet end. You want to feel the kiss of his rings against you, his hand wrapped around your neck while the other fucks into you until you’ve soaked him, until you’re rolling down his wrist and shivering each time he tucks into that blissful spot inside.

Leaning against the wall, you survey the dingy, cramped little room that smells of cheap air freshener and stale liquor. It’s poorly lit, but, with an annoyed sigh, you lean forward and inspect your makeup in the blurry, smudged mirror. You expected him to come after you, you really did…and the rejection would sting if you didn’t understand that he is every bit as stubborn as you are.

You’re straightening your skirt, preparing to head back out, when a swift knock sounds against the door.

“Just a second.” you call out, feeling inexplicably embarrassed.

Jake’s voice, stern and commanding, responds “Unlock this fucking door.”

You swing it open with a satisfied smirk. He’s hunted you after all. “Hey, Jakey…can I help you?”

In a blink, he has pushed his way into the room and slammed the door shut behind him. Sealing you both into a grimy tomb that is filled with the muffled thumps of a jukebox and sexual tension.

“What makes you think you can misbehave this way?” he asks, walking you backward until you meet the sink. “What could have ever given you the impression that I’d take your bullshit with a smile on my face? Hmm?”

Stunned into silence by his tone, you watch as he swigs at his bottle of beer, downing the last of it before swiping the back of his hand across his plush, pink mouth.

“Asked you a question, baby doll.” He raises your face to meet his own with the neck of his lager hooked beneath your chin. “Answer it.”

“I’m sorry, Jakey.” you pant, airy and full of want. When he gets this way, it’s infatuating. “I didn’t mean to misbehave. I only wanted you to fuck me.” Your hand grazes the fly of his jeans with a soft moan. “Just missed your pretty cock. That’s all.”

His finger finds your lips in a silent ‘shh’ “You most certainly did mean to misbehave, troublemaker. Spreading your legs in a bar full of old men who probably haven’t seen a cunt as tight and pink as yours in years. Sitting on my lap, making me hard…” he switches to a high pitched voice that mocks you. “Red.” Now his fingers are wrapped around your throat. “Don’t you ever fucking safeword again unless you mean it. Am I clear?”

You swallow hard against his grasp and nod slowly. “Yes.”

He nods back, just as slowly. “Nice to see you’re listening again. I’d call you a good girl, but we both know that isn’t true tonight, don’t we? So what’s that make you, baby doll? Tell me.”

Eyes burning into his, you answer without hesitation. “That makes me a bad girl. I’m a bad girl, and I’m sorry for it.”

“Yes you are…” his knee knocks your thighs apart. “And do bad girls get what they want?”

“No.” you sigh, tense under his stare…he is radiating lust– hot, fierce desire.

He tilts his head as if he doesn’t already know “And what is it that you want?”

“Your cock.” your tongue slips out, searching for his mouth. You can’t reach, but he takes pity on you and pulls you into a deep, aching kiss before wrenching you back.

“So what won’t you be getting?” He leads, condescendingly.

“Your cock.” you repeat, sounding despondent. Your pulse is pounding in your clit, panties soaked and clinging to you, hips rocking into nothing, seeking friction that isn’t there.

“Well look at that. She may be a troublemaker, but she isn’t stupid.” his fingers drag up your thigh until he meets the dripping silk hiding your cunt away.

When your hips jerk from the counter and into his touch, he pulls back. “Eager, aren’t we, doll? And for what? Already told you that you won’t be getting any cock. So why are you so excited?”

“Please…” you’re whining and grabbing at him without shame.

“Please, what?” he’s taunting you, torturing you, dragging this out.

“Fuck me.” your fingers are latched around his necklaces. “Please…I just…fuck…”

He pets at your hair sweetly. “You just what?”

A tiny sob escapes you…he’s just all around you. Consuming you. The way he sounds, and smells…the way he makes you feel. The way he makes you want. “I need to feel full. Please, Jakey. I’m your baby doll, aren’t I? Don’t you want to make your baby feel good?”

“Jesus…” he shudders, faltering for just a moment, before kissing your cheek. “Yeah, you’re my baby doll, but I meant what I said…you can’t have this.” he digs his hot, hard, cock into your thigh. “You haven’t earned it.”

“Fingers?” you question hopefully, struggling to articulate thoughts, you want him so badly. “Your mouth?”

He hesitates, searching your face, turning something over in his mind, until he reaches behind you and snatches up the empty beer bottle he discarded on the counter behind you. Eyes on yours, he holds it up between your faces silently.

An embarrassing, animalistic, sound bursts out of your chest and he shakes his head in disbelief. “Panties down. Now.”

They are stretched around your thighs in a breath as he purses his lips to suppress a smile.

“Your cunt is slutty, you know that?” he whispers, nudging the lip of the bottle into your thigh. “You’re slutty. We’re in a goddamn bar bathroom…it’s disgusting in here, and any minute some drunk, dirty old man is gonna knock on the door and you don’t even care. You don’t care,” he shrugs, to illustrate his point, and eases the bottle upward. “You’ve got your legs spread for me, trembling all sweet and pretty, waiting for me to fuck you with a beer bottle. What the fuck is wrong with you, baby? You’re sick. Fucking twisted.”

“What’s wrong with you?” you gasp when the glass sweeps over your clit at last.

There’s a devilish gleam in his eyes when he answers. “Plenty. There’s fucking plenty wrong with me.”

“Show me.” you beg, rocking your hips up in an attempt to force the bottle inside you.

“Say please like a good girl. Ask nicely.” the amber glass skates across your overheated center, cold and shocking. “Where’s my proper little girl with all those finishing school manners?”

“Please…” the word shakes out of you as if your body is set to spin cycle. “Jake, fuck, please…”

In reply, he lifts the bottle to your lips “Suck.”

Your mouth descends down around the neck as if it were his beautiful cock, and he pushes it in further, until you’re gagging around it.

“Oh, that’s nice, doll…sounds pretty, pretty, pretty. I can’t even feel it, and you’re still working so hard to please me. Gag, baby…that’s it. So beautiful.”

He slips it in deeply, until you're retching around it while still trying to swallow it down further. “You want it inside?” he breathes against the curve of your neck as you suck away at it.

You nod urgently, allowing a groan of desire to shudder out of your tightened chest.

The bottle dips down, dragging a lazy trail until it's circling your soaked entrance. Your hips rock and thrust forward, trying to force his hand.

“Look at you…” he sounds smugly pleased. “Chasing it like a whore. Is that what you are? Is my baby nothing but a whore? All innocent eyes and a soaked pussy?”

“For you…” you whine, thighs quivering as your body vibrates with unbridled desperation. You reach down and grab at the bottle “I know I don’t deserve anything, I was mouthy, and I teased you…but please, Jakey. Please?”

“Begging…” he scoffs. “For a beer bottle in her cunt. Who’s my fuck whore? Hmm? Who’s my darling little slut?”

“I am…” you preen, spreading wider, inviting whatever he is willing to bestow upon you. “I’m your whore. You want to give your whore what she needs, don’t you, baby?”

Again, his body shakes at your wanton display, but he doesn’t own his vulnerability for long. Instead, he’s nudging the bottle inside you tenderly. Your thighs part as best they can with your panties caged around them. “Thatta girl, baby…take it. Just fucking take it.”

Your head should be heavy with shame…you should be telling him to stop, pushing him away, rejecting the complete obscenity of it all. Instead, your fingernails dig into the back of his neck for leverage as you begin to ride the smooth, cool glass.

“Look at you,” he twists his wrist. “All up on your tiptoes…that’s fucking adorable. How’s that feel, sweetheart? You like that?”

A frenzied nod, followed by a choking sob echoes into the room, but he doesn’t bother to hush you. “Harder, Jake…” you whine, tugging at his hair.

“No.” he slides two fingers into your mouth, pressing down on the cradle of your tongue when your lips part with a tiny wail. “Gotta be careful, baby doll. I don’t want to hurt you with it.”

“I don’t care.” you argue around his skin, licking and biting at him as he presses his digits deeper.

“Well, I do.” his pace remains cautious, but he tilts the bottle into your sweet spot, earning a gasping sob. “Yeah, see? Just shut your mouth, baby. I’ll get you there…you know I will.”

Your hand drops down, fingers frantically circling your slick, swollen clit.

“That’s my girl.” he coos into your ear, licking through his words. “Gonna help me take care of this filthy little cunt of yours? You’re a naughty, disgusting fucking slut and I fucking love it. I fucking love you. Maybe I’ll put it in your ass when I get you home, since you’re so in love with my cock…I bet you’d let me put it anywhere I wanted, huh? Bet you’d let me fuck your pretty ass and then slide down your throat, wouldn’t you?”

You’ve lost the ability to think, so you simply suck on his fingers and allow your eyes to roll back in your head.

“Can’t even answer me?” he teases, shoving into your mouth until you gag and tears pool in your eyes. “Cock drunk and stupid on a beer bottle. What’s everyone out there gonna think when you stumble out looking like a sloppy, fucked-out whore?”

“Mmmmjake…” muffles out of your mouth. You’re so close your entire body feels feverish…burning up from the inside out.

“C’mon, baby doll…” he whispers, twisting the neck of the bottle inside you. “Give it to me…cum for me. I want it, baby…fuck, I want it so bad.”

He suddenly sounds even more desperate than you feel and the need in his voice grabs hold of the white hot band coiling tighter and tighter in your stomach and rips it apart.

Your teeth sink into his knuckles until he hisses in pain as your vision blurs, your body writhing and fighting the unimaginable pleasure. Until something breaks, and rather than fighting it, you allow it to happen, you relax into it and crumple in his arms, safe and sure in his embrace.

“Fuck…” the curse drags out of him slow and rasping. He sounds transfixed, but you aren’t sure why until the fog clears a bit.

You’re soaked…thighs and panties covered, as is his hand and the arm of his jacket.

“Look what you did.” His loving scolding sounds winded, like he’s never loved anything more in his entire life. He eases the bottle out of you and brings it to his lips, lapping his tongue in a slow stripe along the side, tasting you…savoring you with heavy lidded eyes.

“Take me home.” you breathe, watching his tongue lick along the glass.

“No.” he answers off-handedly. “Oh, look at that, baby.” he holds it up, shimmying it around to draw attention to the liquid now gathered at the bottom of the beer bottle. “Caught some.”

In stunned, mute, lust-drenched awe, you watch as he tilts his head back and swallows it down before tossing it into the overflowing trash can in the corner.

He adjusts his very obviously swollen cock in his jeans and then turns you to face the sink. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Can’t have anyone suspecting what you just let me do to you in here, now can we?”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @gardenofgreta @greta-van-chaos @theweightofstardust @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @paintmyhouse @dvrkblooms @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @kdarling1 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @gretasmokerising @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @tripthelightfandomtastic @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @dakotadovato @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @joshkiszkas @avagvf @rhythm-of-space @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @loofypoofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @gretavanflowerpower @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @calumspretty @weightofdreams-gvf @greta-flanveet-admin @alisonwonderland29 @agirlwithmanytastes @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails

[finnglas]

In order to explain my cats' latest obsession, I have to give you some history. Behind a cut, warnings for Cat Illness.

In 2015, both K and I were working a lot and I felt bad that my>our cat, Luna, was being left alone for hours on end. So we decided to get a second cat - thus, Evie joined the family. Now, being that Evie was about 2 years old and Luna was about 5 years old, they didn't really enjoy the Sudden Roommate Situation [SRS]. It took a lot longer than normal for the introductory methods to work. (They still tolerate each other more than anything but they seem to have made their peace, eight years on.)

Anyway, we got Evie in November of 2015 and in January of 2016 I lost my job and Luna also developed an ongoing UTI due to the stress of the SRS. (Between this and the Politics Situation at the time, I was so stressed I skipped my period for almost seven months. I don't think any of us have recovered.) Anyway, so Luna had to go on antibiotics, and the antibiotics gave her diarrhea, so we also put her on probiotics, but the probiotics (I learned later) gave her worse diarrhea, and the stress of constant upset stomach meant that she kept having ongoing UTIs which meant ongoing antibiotics/probiotics, etc., in a vicious cycle. I'm still mad at that vet because they refused to slow down to consider me asking "what if the fact that it's making her sick is contributing to the infection" and kept just assigning more rounds of antibiotics that I couldn't afford. Yeah that credit card JUST got paid off two months ago.

A N Y W A Y. The result of all this is that it tore poor Luna's stomach up to the point that she couldn't eat any kind of dry treat or kibble. Literally, one Greenie treat would instantly give her the shits. This means that both cats have been on wet-food-only for like, seven years. It's expensive, and not great for their teeth, but also Luna wasn't shitting herself constantly so you take what you can get. I occasionally tried samples of kibble that advertised themselves as Sensitive Stomach Formulae over the years but none of them were successful.

Fast forward to two weeks ago, when I was at my parents' for my dad's surgery and Kellie stayed home with the cats. She had to go get some more wet food for them during this time and while at the pet store, she eyed a bag of kibble that said it was for Sensitive Stomachs and had a strong impulse to Try It. So she got a small bag. Texted me about it. I said "You're awfully brave trying that while I'm not home to give her a bath when her back end winds up covered in poop at 2am."

But miracle of all miracles: Luna can tolerate this kibble. We started very very small - less than 1/8 of a cup once a day - and have been working our way up. We are at 1/6 of a cup once a day now, and there has been no stomach upset!

This is great news for multiple reasons, but one of them is that we can now have an automatic feeder which means that we can take short overnight trips without needing a cat-sitter. For long trips, of course, we'd still want someone checking in on them and giving them their supplement of wet food.

We have one such short overnight trip coming up in two weeks, so I took advantage of Black Friday sales on one of my favorite pet brands (their water fountain also came from PetLibro) and ordered them a two-bowl pet feeder. It came in yesterday (love Black Friday being a week long now) and I set it up last night. I tested it at the time by having it dispense 1/12 of a cup of kibble. Worked great! tipped most of it back into the granary and let the kitties have a couple of pieces as a treat.

WELL. They now cannot enter the room without paying tribute to the Fickle God of Kibble, aka Sammy the Automatic Feeder, just in case he has decided to dispense more kibble.

They just had their first scheduled 9am feeding, and both of them ran around like they were losing their minds before diving in mouth-first, so I am deeply amused and will be watching these developments with interest.

[reel-fear]

Y'know, this could just be projection, but I do think there is a genuine argument I could put together for Norman being Autistic or generally Neurodivergent Coded. There's just something about him that reeks of being the kind of person who instead of going "I'm human no matter what" decides that in the face of being dehumanized for his stranger traits says "Yeah, maybe I'm not human and that sounds awesome tbh."

I think it's also because he's constantly seen as spooky and mysterious by others; his laugh is unsettling and Buddy mentions Hating it. His sense of humor is strange and startling and Miss Rodriguez is very aware of this and feels the need to explain it to Buddy after he tells the poor kid Joey DIED. To me at least, it reads a little bit as Norman having just something about him that makes him unsettling and strange to others and instead of being shy or anxious abt it, he decided long ago to totally embrace it as part of himself.

He loves being strange, he's learned about this part of himself others don't like and has decided he likes it so it's staying. He's just such a laid-back, kind fellow despite his strangeness, I love him for it so much and one day I want to make an entire essay on his character. However…

This also ties into the sadder parts of him… Spoilers for DCTL ahead!

This is what Buddy says upon finding his body

“Norman.

Oh no.

Oh, Norman.

Of course no one would notice he was missing. Of everyone in the building. He watched everyone, but no one really saw him. Not much anyway.”

With the context of Norman maybe being autistic or neurodivergent in any way, this hits really hard for me.

Norman was a nobody; people enjoyed his company sometimes, but he was strange, an outcast. Nobody would notice he was missing, if he disappeared, nobody would search.

He watched everyone, looked out for them, but nobody did the same for him.

Except for Henry.

Henry and Norman were friends, Norman holds no grudge over Henry leaving and Dot notes the kind comments Norman makes towards the animator are unusual for him. Norman doesn't disagree with her either, those two have always been implied to have an especially close bond.

Would things have been different if Henry, mysteriously the only person who seems to have had such a bond with Norman, was there? Would Sammy have picked someone else knowing Henry would notice Norman going missing?

Maybe Henry just had something about him that made the two of them understand each other, despite their very different personalities. Maybe Henry knew what it was like to be a little "different" and "strange" to his peers, in the exact way Norman was. Maybe Henry wasn't seen as spooky or mysterious for it because it manifested in different ways, or it was just assumed he was like that because he was an artist. Maybe sometimes that made him feel bad, knowing Norman really was a sweet guy and others simply wouldn't give him the chance to prove it.

Because he was weird in the "wrong way."

Then he has to swallow seeing him further dehumanized in the cycle. Not even “Norman” anymore. Now only going by “The Projectionist”. The exact name others used when talking about how Weird and Scary he was. Now it was the only name they'd call him. Now he is a monster; the mindless, terrifying, twisted form others always saw him as, with nobody who truly understood what had been lost. Except Henry, the only one who saw humanity in him...

Y'know...

It's food for thought...

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

what would the dark revival characters reactions be to the reader turning into an ink demon variant (characters include: Henry, Sammy, bendy, ink demon, twisted!Alice, Allison, Betty and Wilson). -🌕

Henry

It would crush him to see yet another friend turn into a terrifying inky toon creature. Just another victim of the Cycle’s machinations.

It's nearly as devastating as the first time he saw Brute Boris, but thankfully you’re kinda the same personality-wise.

However, you got irrationally angry at Henry at first, as him leaving the company caused Joey to create this whole world to begin with and drag you into it.

But you soon remember that none of this is truly his fault. He couldn’t have known; he didn’t want any of this to happen.

So in time, you get along with him again, feeling bad when the Ink Demon he used to adore keeps trying to kill him constantly.

You aren’t Bendy, but you stick around him, helping him survive the studio’s many horrors.

You also admire the sketches he still draws of that little devil darling to this very day.

Sammy

He doesn’t even recognize you as his coworker anymore, only ever addressing you as “My Lord” or “My Inky Savior”.

You tell him you hate being compared to Bendy, but he doesn’t even seem to hear you, instead saying the same shit about how you'll "set him free".

Hell, you don't know how to even set yourself free-

He leaves you gifts and Bendy cutouts around places you frequent, and singing praises, willing to do anything for you.

In many cycles, he was rejected/betrayed when offering Henry up to the real Ink Demon, unable to appease him not matter what he did...and that drove him even madder.

But you just talking to him convinces this poor, desperate soul that you're the real deal, as you've finally “noticed" him.

When he asks when he'll be free, you simply say "soon enough", and that seems satisfactory, as he claims he'll wait forever if that's what it takes.

TLDR: You have this fanatical musician wrapped around your finger and you have mixed feelings about it.

Bendy/Benders

Understandably, he's surprised and anxious when first meeting you considering how uncanny your resemblance to his demonic-self is.

It’s sad considering you’re one of the employees he liked the most. One of the few who didn’t mistreat him. 

Now you were stuck in this Cycle as another clone of him.

But seeing that you had some humanity left, he learns to trust you, exploring the studio with you and protecting each other from the Keepers.

Definitely shares his train and other toys with you, hoping they’ll make you happy as much as they did him.

Being a little devil, he's quite mischievous, as are you, so pranks are common. But they’re only geared towards the Butcher Gang and Lost Ones who are rude to you (they fear any Bendy variant so you both use this to your advantage).

Ink Demon

It started as an unwitting rivalry, which basically meant you had to run like hell if you saw him.

He touts about being the “real” Ink Demon and thinks you’re trying to compete with him for a long while...until he senses that you’re always afraid of him, never challenging him, and only then he understands you don’t want any trouble. 

Like him, you were turned into something awful..something flawed (yep he’ll be projecting for days).

He has sympathy for you, but he’s far from your friend. So don’t get too comfortable around him

Like with Audrey, he proposes merging together in order to become one powerful Ink Demon that everyone will fear..and in turn it’ll give you the strength to stand up to your enemies.

Unfortunately for him, it’s become a habit for you to turn down the offer each time he brings it up (much to his ire).

Twisted Alice

Her hatred of the Ink Demon goes for all variants of him..including you.

You try explaining that you’re not him and would never try to “taint” her attempts at perfection.

She doesn’t trust you and has chased you with an axe/tommy gun multiple times.

Though she stops when she overhears you singing “I’m Alice Angel” one day...learning actually likes your voice. It’s sounds pure, untainted by the ink.

Perhaps you’re not him, after all, she finally decides, approaching you calmly.

“Your vocal cords sound heavenly. I’d love to tear them out some day and use them as my own” is the nicest compliment you’ll ever get from her. Better treasure it.

Allison

Tom was adamant about trusting you, considering his own run-ins with the Ink Demon in previous Cycles.

While Allison wanted to believe you were good..the pair were worried you had some “link” with the demon (ie he might know where you are at all times, and vice versa, which is risky if you’re in a hideout with them).

So they’ll be on the move constantly, trying to avoid you (which is Tom’s idea more than Allison’s).

When your disprove their theories, however, you’re welcomed to join them or stop by one of their hideouts for food and shelter.

You ask Allison why she let you stick around despite looking like their enemy, she simply says that “anyone with even an ounce of humanity left in them is worth helping”, which makes you smile.

Eventually you’ll be trusted with a weapon and go on adventures with the pair, trying to find new ways out of the Cycle.

Betty

Being Wilson’s maid, she’s distrusting of anyone resembling the Ink Demon.

If you didn’t have his permission to stay within the manor, she wouldn’t want anything to do with you.

Assuming he did allow it (in exchange for hearing his ideas for experiments and giving him info on the Ink Demon), Betty only attends to your needs out of obedience, not because she necessarily wants to.

She’ll frequently remind you of this in the form of subtle passive-aggressiveness.

If you’re insecure about looking like the Ink Demon, however, she’ll grow a bit more sympathetic to your woes, offering you a wardrobe to better disguise yourself.

Wilson

Unless you were a previous acquaintance of Wilson’s, it’s very unlikely he’ll let you roam around as another Ink Demon clone freely.

If anything you’ll probably be imprisoned with the other “Cyclebreakers” with the Keepers keeping tabs on you.

Is 100% convinced you know the Ink Demon’s weakness and will bother you about this day and night.

Much like Bendy, though, you’re not so easily contained and you break out frequently.

To get back at him, you harass the Keepers constantly (and deface all posters of Wilson by doodling eyebrows, mustaches, etc. over them)

[heartfullofleeches]

Wich one of ur ocs would have nipple piercings?

C.C, Mint Milk, Sammy, Peach Milk, Cherry Milk, Silas, Ink, and Sir already have them. Gemini too albeit reluctantly as they lost a game of tic-tac-toe with Gemi. I can't remember if it was Theodore or Spencer that had piercings, but I'm leaning towards Theodore as he would drool if you attached a leash to the kind he used to wear. Edit: it was infact Theo

Gus, Amyas, Eggnog, Strawberry Milk, Dea, Liu, Clyde, Honey, Prince, Host, V, and Erin would get them if you mentioned liking them.

Calliope, Alien, Gumi, and Maddox all want them - but they don't want anyone touching their tits besides you. Lollie is in this category too, but she literally can't have them on the count of her being hard candy. My poor baby Maddox desperately wants to blend in with society by getting piercings/dressing out so you don't stick out when you're with them, but they're too jumpy to even get their ears done

[ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused]

DAY FIVE: Game Night w/ Sam Winchester

a/n: If I'm going to be totally honest, I rewrote cannon a little bit here because I refuse to accept that Dean wouldn't take Jack under his wing too, so in this fic, Dean serves as a cool uncle.

masterlist | comfortember masterlist | AO3

TAGLIST: @alina02 @louderfortheback

Ever since Jack had come around, something domestic had awakened in Sam. He was way more fatherly, taking care of Jack like he was his own when shit didn't hit the fan. In a perfect world three hunters, one angel, and a nephilim looked like a family, and in an odd way, you were.

Despite his ever growing dilf status — Sam hated when you called him that — He would host annual game nights with everyone in the bunker. Tonight, Sam had mistakenly chosen a classic game of uno. You had only said mistakenly because Dean was up to his ass in cards and was about to lose it on the poor Jack.

"Jack, I swear to God!" Dean roared from his side of the table as he picked up a couple of cards until he had gotten a yellow one. "I'm just following what the game told me to do, Dean." Jack said innocently, a large smile on his face. Jack was drawing close to uno, and you could see persperation forming on Dean's brow, his competitive nature bleeding through the surface. Castiel was kind of lost, so you guys let the man go at his own pace. Sam had a decent amount of cards, and even though he was quite competitive as well, he couldn't help but grin.

"Sammy baby," You whispered to boyfriend, "I think we should end this game before Dean jumps the poor kid." He had an arm drawn around your waist, your bodies side by side as both of your cards were in each other's view. You weren't too worried about him trying to cheat, he was too caught up in the drama that was Dean. "I'm sure Jack will be just fine." He said into your hair, pressing a kiss to the temple of your head. Your stomach swarmed with butterflies, as well as fondness as you stared at your little family.