#thinking about blood addict sam today. as usual | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sincelastsession · 21 days

Text

Joshua. I've requested that Mom calls to schedule an appointment to start sessions with her. My goal is better understanding and communication. I want to understand psychologically as much as possible how in the world my mom operates.

She lies. She lies straight to my face and she has no remorse or guilt. She gets angry when she us caught. She is quick to defend Esteban who is the alcoholic cobbler who IS a con artist, a compulsive liar, paranoid, controlling, abusive, and who has put his hands on her me and my sister. My mother got my sister a restraining order but didn't make him go away. She lies about him being gone but will not let me have a key to her home in case of emergency. My sister has a key, she may have lost it but was given a key. My mom hoards and it is out of control and she needs help. She has started to get confused easily. She can flip from happy to furious and back very quickly. She has a shopping addiction. She can't understand how very bad foolish choices she has made have hurt me. She does not remember the things she has said and done to me. She makes excuses to not figure things out so she doesn't have to do it. She plays the victim card. She does have trauma. I don't understand what love is to her and how she expresses it to me. She often doesn't listen to me and makes excuses. She blames me for many triggers of hers but has not gotten an actual diagnosis for PTSD. If I feel bad she feels worse. If I give her space to speak she usually has nothing to talk about or will blame me for her not remembering. She acts like a child at times and talks in a baby voice. The person you will meet is a fake persona, a mask. She doesn't hold it well. As soon as my last therapist called her out or I brought up Esteban and how she's chosen having him in her life after promising me years ago he'd be gone she admitted she did it to shut me up. She didn't remember any of this and will bully, gaslight, or call me a liar. She quits sessions when therapists call her out and will make excuses to not show up for appointments with me when she's promised before. I don't trust promises because of her and my father. She was an absent, angry, agressive, neglectful mother. She does on some level care or I suspect she does but it's very difficult to know if she means something or is just trying to shut me up. She listened to me talk to her about what I want to accomplish with her in therapy and the told me she lost the number because I texted her too much. I asked her why she didn't save it. She said she didn't know how. She says she doesn't know how to get to her email. She talks to scammers. She has been scammed multiple times and continues to be tricked because she's unable to love herself properly and truly thinks these people are coming to see her and are going to fix her problems with money. Sometimes I feel she's very mentally ill and needs proper care. I don't understand how she's still a nurse. I don't understand how she's the charge nurse. She's very secretive. Today she let out that she has another phone. I asked her why. She said it was to find her regular phone or use if she looses the first one. Often her pinky nail is longer than the others. I think she is hiding a lot. She is not the same person all the time. I have seen her switch. I understand she is diabetic but I know the difference between high and low blood sugar behavior. I think she may have brain damage. Esteban has threatened to kill my family but she doesn't remember telling me this. I think he's just using her. The last woman he was with shot a gun at my mother. My sister was around all of these people. I think my mom lives a double life. My uncles don't get along with her and avoid her.

My uncles do not understand the amount if shit I have been through and are very not understanding when I've tried to ask them for help. They don't want anything to do with me as far as I can tell. They do not contact me on thier own.

My Aunts on my Dad's side are the same.

I have requested that my mother relay to my father to call and schedule a good time for him to come in.

I have requested that someone help Piper schedule a seperate appointment.

I would like to have multiple sessions and work on educating what is going to be productive with me and what things are not ok.

I am willing to hold myself accountable and work on my shit that they will probably point out.

They haven't met a therapist that will call them on shit or point out cognitive distortion etc. I'm not asking you to do so. I've just noticed that if you have to set a boundary and correct someone then you do.

Ofc my family doesn't like to be called out. I don't like it either but I know it is nessesary for growth and being upset and or crying over hard truths is never fun.

I would like to play you the audio I have recorded of my father and mother featuring me with a screwed up back in distress probably on meds losing my mind while I'm tag teamed.

My father has threatened me and crossed my boundaries more times than I can count. I don't even remember the amount of times he has hurt me physically be it slapping, pinching, punching me in the face, shoving me, and the latest was pulling me by my hair. He has never put his hands on my sister to my knowledge. I did threaten him a very long time ago that if he hurt her and I found out that it would be the last time it happened. Currently Piper's fiance is taking marriage classes. I don't like the guy but I respect this. My sister is freaking out because she doesn't want to move out if her bedroom and travel. She's lost 3 jobs due to her issues. My dad is fucking with her head. She manipulates him back. He has treated her like he treated me when my mom left but not to the same extent. He threatens to kick her out. He let's her take things from the house that are mine and my mother's. She is a manipulator and a compulsive liar. She can put on a false persona but as soon as she is found out or people don't play into her bullshit she will escalate the situation and direct others, usually my parents to attack me. Since she was a small child she has faked being hurt by me. She thought it was funny to scream and say I hurt her and would smile and laugh when my parents attacked me. I never touched her in ANY of these instances. I had to teach her how to wash and brush her hair. I have gone out of my way to do things my parents should have done. She walked around constantly with matted hair as a child and into her teens. This past year I cleaned over 20 cups with alcohol and bowls and other shit up in her bathroom. I bought 200-400 dollars of things for her and the house and had my dad reimburse me. My parents have failed to buy her underwear and bras and nessesary things. I had to do her hair and makeup and wrangle her for dance classes and recitals. She was neglected in various ways. She was endangered as well. I believe she was sexually assaulted as a small child and she did not play with the older kids. She was an outcast. She never did her homework. She was never put on the correct meds for her issues and has an aversion to any meds but will smoke weed and do psychedelics etc...she's very into this gen z rave culture. She has not gotten her GED and will not work on it or take the test. She says what people want to hear to avoid things. She is incredibly insecure. She thinks she's a tough bitch and she thinks she scares me. I have caught her telling her older friends lies about me when she thought I left. She has told me not to show up at the same music venues as she goes to for fear I'll embarrass her. I have only interest in her safety. I don't know why she doesn't understand that I am not a big stupid idiot and I have zero plans to wreck her shit though sometimes I'd like to. She has absolutely no clue what it was like growing up for me and thinks I have it all easy even still. She says I'm embarrassing to friends behind my back. I have heard it. I have never once purposefully attempted to embarrass her or anything of the sort in front of her friends. She tells them to ignore me. She doesn't understand my autism like she thinks she does. She doesn't understand my other health issues either. She has self diagnosed and tried to literally compete with me about who has it worse and incites fights over very stupid things. Once again I feel that she's deeply scared and insecure. I hope to just try to communicate with her in a normal manner. I have been inappropriate in dumping stress on her and calling her about mom and dad's abuse and texting her. She's quicker and more articulate than me during arguments and knows the narccistic tornado tricks. After an argument with her where she was in the wrong she's jumped 18 different subjects and I'm a horrible bitch for something unrelated and then my parents usually attack me as well. They think I hate her.

I don't know how to explain my Dad. I think you will see many things from him. I think if it's more than one session then that would be good.

None of them are consistent and the facades and masks fade and slip.

They think you will fix me. They have put me in therapy at 12 and I have been raised by therapists, doctors, and psych hospitals and my grandparents who are no longer with us.

I don't like this for...I'm grappling with saying US and HER instead of ME. That keeps popping up. I have been writing for hours. But I am not I or her it feels like. I don't know who her is or who I am sometimes. Like yes I have this name. I have a home. I have a headache. I am in freeze state or whatever just compulsively typing this shit out because my brain will not stop the chatter. It's not like you would gear someone speak. I don't go out of my body. Everything is locked in. When dissociative states happen and I zone out I am in a different place. When parts of me take over I feel strapped in. I'm too tired. I can't stop myself when that happens. The other part of me has to finish. I don't get to be in control often. I don't know what my core is. I don't know if I have an inner child sometimes and sometimes I do. My handwriting changes. I can write many things and it looks like different people wrote it on paper.

This bothers me. I don't think I'm DID but I also know dissociative disorders manifest differently for everyone.

I don't want this problem. I don't want this on a chart unless it's proven to be real and I don't want to be treated like an insane person. I do not think I'm a hypochondriac. Many people do. I don't understand what ud have to gain with that. I find it really odd. I think they get me having real symptoms confused with my special interest in medical topics. Trust me I wish it were something else but then I'd probably be not here with us as I have had to solve false diagnosis that doctors have almost killed me with. I solve because a Rheumatologist in baton rouge almost killed me with a false diagnosis. He still practices. My parents should have sued. I have permanent damage to my liver because of this man.

0 notes

are-you-still-writing-that · 2 months

Text

Then I Was Inspired, Now I´m Sad And Tired

Event: Whump- The Musical

Fandom: Supernatural

Characters: Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Dean Winchester, Castiel

Warnings: Character Death

Prompt Used: Day 3 - "Then I Was Inspired, Now I´m Sad And Tired" + Betrayal

Have fun! Story under the cut <3

Then I Was Inspired, Now I´m Sad And Tired

With a heavy heart Sam looked out of the car window. Castiel was snoring in the backseat, and he could hear how Dean was grinding his teeth beside him, as he determinedly kept staring forward. The silence in the Impala, his only home since he could think, the only one he could remember, was so thick that he could have cut it with the knife, he hid in his left boot.

The radio was playing one of Deans favourite cassettes. Some rock music from twenty to thirty years ago. His brother was obsessed with that kind of music, claiming that it calmed him down. And while Sam, didn´t outright dislike it, he also wasn´t a fan of it. Usually either teasing Dean to change the music or complaining, if he was annoyed enough.

Today though, Sam stayed quiet.

He knew, that Dean needed to take his comfort from somewhere, as he was the one, that was driving them down to Detroit. The roads long and winding. Sam knew, that Dean hated the plan, but there was nothing else, that they could do any more at this point.

Sam was the vessel of Lucifer.

This was a fact, that couldn´t ever be changed. No matter what they tried. Even if Dean had been able to avoid his fate to become the walking talking husk puppeteered by Michael, Sam knew he wouldn´t be that lucky himself.

The last few years, no, his whole life had showed him that. Azazel, had been after him his whole life, because of this. His father had destroyed all their chances at a normal life, in his endless drive to get his revenge on the yellow-eyed demon. Sams life had been over before it ever even really began. And even when he thought, that he had gotten away, the demon was still watching over him.

It was a hard pill to swallow, but Sam slowly began to realize, that he was always meant to die like this.

No matter what he did. No matter with whom he pleaded. No one would be able to save him from this fate. His fate. Even the angel on their backseat was powerless when it came to his situation. And if even an angel couldn´t save him, then who could?

He sighed quietly, ignoring the quick glance Dean sent his way, as he settled himself down for the rest of the drive. Maybe Castiel had the right idea, when he dozed away.

Not having to deal with what would inevitably happen to him soon, was a nice thought. Even when he knew, that he couldn´t escape from it all for forever. Even if he knew, that he was just hiding for a moment longer from what would inevitably happen. Just a moment longer.

It didn´t come as a surprise to him, that he started to drift, still watching the world pass him by on the outside.

Dean was the one, that shook him back to awareness with a cautious „Sammy!“, and after making sure, that Sam was awake, turning to wake Castiel up as well.

Slowly, he peeled himself out of the car. Stretching to get rid of the ache, that had settled into his bones. He could hear them crack, when he moved again. But if he was honest, he would take being cooped up in the Impala for countless hours, over what he had to do now.

Popping open the trunk he looked at the gallons of demon blood, that Dean had collected for him. It made him sick to look at it for too long, and he had to suppress the urge to heave.

Though in the end, it didn´t matter how he felt about what would happen soon. He would need to consume it, for the plan to work. No matter how much his insides felt like they were twisting, if he so much as thought about it. It sickened him, as he remembered how addicted he had been to it, just a few months ago.

Still, he twisted the lid off of the first container, shooing both Dean and Castiel away, who had started to hover around him, and took the first gulp.

He immediately felt like retching. It felt like he was drinking poison. It burned as it made its way through his body, and he hated it all. Especially, because while it burned, it didn´t taste bad. No, with every gulp, he felt like he needed the next one more and more.

At once he could understand, how even though the thought had sickened him only moments before, he had been addicted to this.

It felt good.

It was something familiar. Something comforting. And it made him feel powerful. Something he could only so rarely indulge in. He could feel how the blood was slowly kickstarting his powers again. It made him feel protected. Something, he desperately needed, with the whole situation that was coming down around him.

Before he knew it, he had emptied the cannisters. Only small puddles running together at the bottom, that he couldn´t get to.

At once what he had just downed hit him. Disgusted with himself, he stowed both containers back into the trunk of the Impala, before slamming it shut. Discreetly, he wiped at his mouth, but the taste still lingered.

For some reason, he wondered what his father would think of him, if he could see him right now.

Knowing John, a bullet would have found its way right between his eyes quicker than he could have screamed „Wait!“. His father was intransigent like that. He would have seen it as a mercy to kill Sam, and maybe it would have been. Maybe an early death would have been better, than what he was experiencing at the moment.

He slowly walked back to Dean and Castiel, who had inclined their heads to each other, fervently whispering, but growing suddenly quiet as Sam came closer. As he came to a stop between them, as they had both slightly moved aside, he couldn´t help but rethink the way he grew up.

The memory of him and Dean being locked up in the Impala for hours, as Dean desperately tried to keep Sam entertained, so that he wouldn´t start bawling again, as their father was gone. Again

Or the countless motel rooms, they had been cooped up in.

And then one day, it had just been Sam.

Dean being old enough to be taken along to the hunt, which had left Sam with hours upon hours being unsupervised. Most of the time, he had spent staring at the wall, as there was nothing better he could have done.

He had dreamed himself a future up, where he could get away from the whole hunting business, but seeing as how that turned out, maybe there had never been a chance for him at all. He had tried so hard to get away with leaving for Stanford, but all it did, was cost Jessica her life.

And now he is back to walking down the path, that had always been laid out for him.

Sam just hoped, that he wouldn´t end up like his fate had promised him. He didn´t want to be responsible for the end of the world. He didn´t want to become the puppet of Lucifer either. And he hoped with the precautions, that they took, that he would be able to rise above his fate.

He hoped, that he would be able to change the path he was stuck on. That in the end, he might be stronger, than anyone expected. That he might actually be able to lure the devil into a trap, he couldn´t say no to. And that in the end, he would be strong enough to end this disaster before it could continue any longer.

It was Dean, that pulled him from his thoughts again. Slightly shaking his shoulder with a „You good, man?“, but not really expecting an answer. At least not an honest one.

Sam looked at his surroundings for the first time, since getting out of the car.

Dean had parked the Impala in some sort of ghost town. The buildings looked only moments away from falling apart, and no matter in which direction he turned, Sam couldn´t spy a single sign of life. The shops looked abandoned. Flickering lights at the ceiling, and broken glass on the floor.

The house in front of them looked even worse than the others, and Sam didn´t need Castiel to tell him, who was hiding inside.

He could feel it himself.

The facade had crumbled down. Most windows were missing, and for some reason frost was climbing over every inch of the building. It would have almost looked beautiful, no matter how strange it was, but Sam was far too aware of what caused this strange play of nature.

Pulling his jacket a bit closer, he followed after Dean and Castiel, as they made their way to the front door. It had been broken off the hinges, only lightly hanging in the doorway, and immediately fell over, when Castiel touched it.

To their right was a staircase. Not really looking like it would be able to hold the weight of a fully grown man, never mind three, but still the only way upwards. And they needed to get upwards, as the frost became only a more prominent sight. It very likely being stronger, the closer it was, to its source in the first place.

It felt like an eternity, as they climbed step after step. Both Castiel and Dean were quiet. Their bodies tensed with the anticipation of getting attacked at any moment. They were on the lookout for any kind of threat. Not trusting, the almost peaceful feeling, that was trying to lull them in.

Sam was also tense, but for another reason. He knew, that Lucifer wouldn´t let anything happen to him at this point any more. The devil was far too prideful, too stubborn, to loose his chance because a rouge demon attacked his perfect vessel, so close to the end.

Lucifer would keep him safe. In the strangest definition of the word, Sam was safe at the moment.

No, what made him tense, was not the implicit threat of getting attacked. It was the feeling, that he just couldn´t shake, that made him compare this walk up the stairs with marching to his own gallows to get hanged.

And it felt like it took an eternity.

He was almost glad, when they finally reached the floor Lucifer was hiding on. No, not hiding. Simply waiting for them.

Dean made a movement, as if he planned to push himself through the door first, but before he could go through with it Sam gently pulled him back. Having already decided to walk into the room first to meet his end.

His brother shouldn´t have to carry the burden around any more, to protect him at every step. To throw himself at every danger, so that Sam might be saved. Dean had ruined his life already once because he would always choose to save him, if he wasn´t stopped. And Sam didn´t want it to happen a second time. So he needed to be the one, that freely took the burden on.

And it started here.

But there was also another reason, he had become desperate to meet Lucifer as quickly as possible. There were so many questions running through his mind. Questions he would never be able to answer on his own.

But the devil? He might be able to give him the answers he needed.

There was so much, that he still didn´t know. Especially, about the whole apocalypse, that was breaking the world down where they stood. The end was near, and he was the reason for it. If Sam got the chance to talk with Lucifer, he might as well get the chance to understand why all of this was even happening in the first place.

And maybe he would even get to understand why it was him. Why the burden was placed on him. Him out of all people.

It was strange coming to a stop in front of him. Lucifer wasn´t even looking at them, when they entered the room. Instead, he chose to look out a window. Frost spreading from where his fingers touched the glass. Listlessly, he was scribbling forms into the frost, before they whitened out again.

But not only was his touch enough to cause frost, but the room was also bitterly cold.

It was only slowly, that he turned to look directly at Sam. Not even for a second his eyes needed to search the room. It was almost like he could feel where Sam was, just like Sam had known, that Lucifer would be waiting here for him. They knew each other. Always.

It was undeniable to him, that he was in some strange way connected to the devil.

In this moment, he understood, that there would be no other outcome, but glancing at his brother, who drawn himself up to his full height, clearly terrified, he knew, that he would still need to try. Even if he feared, that he could already see the outcome of this fight in the eyes of Lucifer.

Sam ignored the banter his brother tried to engage Lucifer in, and could only whisper out a „Yes“, into the quiet of the room.

He ignored Deans outraged little „Sammy?“, and how Castiel suddenly tensed up behind him.

His attention was completely captivated by the other, who had cocked his head to the side, watching him with a little frown.

„Are you sure?“, it was the first time, Sam heard Lucifers voice outside of his dreams. He would have never thought, that is was even more sensual, pulling at his very soul, in real life.

He swallowed, biting out, „Take me now, before I change my mind!“

The devil smiled, nodding slowly, before his sight was filled by a blinding light.

Then darkness.

He could feel how Lucifer, the being not the body, settled into his very own. His soul, for a lack of a better word, fitted itself right next to his. And while Sam fought to gain back control of his body, he could also feel, that the fight was useless.

They had made a mistake.

No matter how much demon blood Sam drank, he would never be strong enough to fight against this. To fight against Lucifer.

He started to drift. Only the voice - Or were it many? - of Lucifer keeping him grounded. Sam felt like he could just float away at any second. Lucifers soul a comforting warming presence, that wound itself around his own.

It was only suddenly, when he came back to himself, to look down upon his brothers bloody face. It was only with great strength, that he managed to convince his body to take a step back. To pull the rings out of his pockets, and open up the gate to the cage.

„Everything will be alright, Dean. I promise!“

Those were his last words, before he threw himself down the hole, that had opened up in the ground. Barrelling through the darkness, he could hear the screeching of Lucifer his „No, no, no!“, as his soul was ripped from his own.

Somehow he had managed to outplay the devil in the end after all.

The sacrifice though he needed to take was great, but now he could only hope that it had not been in vain.

He was falling. Sailing through the darkness, with only Lucifers accusations of betrayal accompanying him. Heat tearing at his body, burning his skin away, and smouldering his bones to ash.

Sam had accepted his fate, so that his brother might be able to live. He would be caught down here together with a furious angel, but his brother would be safe. It came as a surprise to him, when Lucifer enclosed his soul with his wings, a blessed coldness enveloping him.

This was their swan song.

#whump: the musical #supernatural #sam winchester #lucifer #character death

0 notes

readinginthereadyroom · 3 years

Text

I am very aware of my dean-centric tendencies, but I do have various and sundry headcanons for our boy sam winchester:

sam’s an addict. that doesn’t just go away because he stops drinking demon blood. he craves it all. the. time.

and there’s no 12-step program for this. but he does pop into various anonymous meetings while on the road. sometimes it’s alcoholics, sometimes it’s narcotics—doesn’t really matter, since he can’t tell the whole truth anyway. but being around other people who struggle. who fall off the wagon or don’t. it helps.

it’s also where sam’s healthy habits stem from. running is a natural high and his cravings are always worst first thing in the morning. right after dreaming and before coffee.

he’s not a vegetarian, but if he’s honest with himself he knows he’s headed in that direction. he gave up red meat pretty early on. because the thing about demon blood is it’s, well, blood. smokier. with a hint of sulpher. and all it’s mystical, addictive properties. but still blood.

not that he wants to drink human blood. ew, no. he’s not a vampire. but it is a trigger. esp a rare steak with it’s pan-fried sear... that wisp of ash and smoke and... and he doesn’t eat it anymore. no red meats. no bacon. nothing with that awful artificial smoke flavoring. and oddly, hard-boiled eggs.

also he still has psychic powers. nothing big, like telekinesis or prophetic dreams. nothing really even noticable. dean doesn’t notice. just thinks he has good instincts. knows how to dig a case out of a few headlines and some googling. which, yes. that’s just good research. but it’s also a gut feeling. a knowing. that there’s something there before he backs it up with lore.

he’s pretty sure cas knows. will give him one of those head tilt stares when sam’s not paying attention and his fingers fly over the keyboard. just a little too fast. when his first guess is always right. when he complains about having a bad feeling about a case—and then it goes bad.

cas never says anything tho. sam chalks it up to friendship. but also. it’s kinda cas’ way of acknowledging that sam’s powers, slight as they are, are not a problem. are in their own way normal. well, normal for them. for him. just another facet, like his hair, that makes sam sam.

eileen knows, too. he told her, pretty early on, when things started to become serious between them. told her his whole bloody history. terrified she’d look at him in disgust and walk out the bunker door. and never come back.

he should’ve known better.

she took it in stride. then told him her own secrets. things were amazing after that. they had some hunting wins, sam finished an online certification in database infrastructure he’d been working on, eileen and cas were spending more time in the bunker, and dean had found a vintage part for the impala he’d been searching for since they were teenagers. life was good.

until it wasn’t.

sam had gone out so dean and cas could have a date night in. he’d spent some time at the sports shop buying new running shoes and then popped into the used bookstore to pick up the books he’d ordered. he got back to the bunker late and cas and dean were (thankfully) no where to be found.

but the remnants of their dinner was still on the table. smiling, sam blew out the candles and picked up the dishes to take them to kitchen. he noticed the smell immediately. steak. rare. the kitchen reeked of smoke. he beat a hasty retreat, took a few deep breaths, and went to his room. let dean clean up his own mess in the morning.

it was about 3am when eileen got in. she’d been on a demon hunt with jody and sam had been expecting her. so he just rolled over and let her climb into bed. she threw a bandaged arm over his side, tracing OK onto his back to let him know she was fine, before promptly falling asleep. sam did too.

he woke with a shout. eileen’s side of the bed was empty. his throat felt like he’d swallowed ashes and his nose was clogged with sulpher. he’d been dreaming of ruby. his skin felt two sizes too small. he felt like screaming. or maybe crying. he needed coffee so bad.

wandering to the kitchen he found dean making bacon and eggs, humming under his breath. cas was at the table, reading a book, a giant glass of V8 in his hand.

are you kidding me. sam ran his hands thru his hair a couple of times. tried to center himself before grabbing his favorite mug from the cabinet. the air had a burnt smell to it. his mouth watered.

he almost fell out of his chair when eileen came up behind him for a hug. she was freshly showered. her wet hair smelled faintly like vanilla. it was the dark hair that had startled him. his eyes fixed on the too-red of cas’ drink. smoke and blood and sulpher clawing at his nose.

eileen kept a gentle hand on his bicep, but took a step out of his personal space. dean stopped humming. cas stopped reading. they all stared. his knee started bouncing under the table. he beat a hasty retreat.

eileen found him in the library, staring at his open laptop. she sat in the chair next to him. a silent, calm presense. she knew him too well. knew she could wait him out while he got his thoughts in order. and eventually, he did. just started talking. about the smoky kitchen last night. the way her hair had smelled of sulpher when she returned from her hunt. the dream. then the stupid juice and stupid bacon and how stupid it made him feel. how out of control.

with a nod at all the right places, eileen just sat quietly and let him talk. get it all off his chest. when it was clear he was done she called him a dumbass. scolded him for thinking he could this all his own. you’re problems are my problems, sam. you can’t just tell them to me and think I won’t lift a finger to share them.

and share them she did. hauling sam up from bis chair, eileen dragged him to the kitchen where she proceeded to rip dean and cas new ones for being so insensitive. pointing at the fridge, she made dean clean out all the red meat. upended cas’ drink in the sink and sent him to get some air freshner from the store. then she tossed sam in the shower, while she stripped the sheets of their bed and did the laundry.

he felt better after. still on edge, but better. eileen was sitting on the freshly made bed with his laptop open. she signed while talking. she’d found a narcotics anonymous one town over. I think you need a sponsor. for the bad days. like today.

as usual she was right. sam had been thinking the same for a while. eileen was the shove he needed tho. her love and intensity and fierce protectiveness the balm he needed.

it was still a bad day. but it was a little less bad because he had her at his side. sam leaned over to shut the laptop and snuck a kiss to the side of her lips. then he scooped up her hand to kiss her knuckles. a move guaranteed to make her blush.

she shoved him off the bed. now go for your run sam winchester. he laughed and did as he was told.

#hey sam girls (gender neutral) I wrote this for you #sam winchester #spn #dean winchester #castiel #eileen leahy #saileen #destiel #headcanon turned drabble

72 notes · View notes

supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Words: 4,380 Sam x Reader Warnings: None really! A/N: SURPRISE! This is the first part of a new Sammy series! I think it will be around 4 parts, but last time I said that Mess Is Mine happened so... I just won't guess this time. I'm working on like 8 other stories right now, but this one refused to go away unless I put it down. Based on this imagine .

Your name: submit What is this?

Your sister and Dean were arguing about who had won the last game of poker, a fairly frequent occurrence during your weekly game night. You were startled to find that Sam was already looking at you when you looked up from stacking the cards back into the game case. It sent a jolt like an electric-tinged chill up your spine. The best you could do back was to smile at him briefly and tear your eyes away.

“Well, I’m heading to bed I think,” your sister said, yawning and stretching. She stood and wrapped her arms around Sam’s neck from behind, leaning in close to give him a kiss. “Are you coming to bed?” she asked him pointedly.

Your stomach tightened into a knot. “’Scuse me,” you said with a forced smile. You gathered a few empty bottles and glasses and exited for the kitchen abruptly.

Once there all you could do was lean over the sink, white-knuckling the edge of the counter, trying to think of anything but what you actually were thinking of… Footsteps behind you jolted you into action. You blasted the water on and grabbed the soap and a sponge.

“Relax. It’s just me,” Dean said.

You dropped the pretense of washing the dishes and spun to face him where he was leaning against the table giving you a knowing look. “Y/N…” he started.

“Don’t.”

“But? But?! My sister, Dean! My sister! How could I do that to her?” you demanded. “I can’t. I can’t do that.” You couldn’t meet Dean’s eyes.

He let out a heavy sigh. “Then you’re going to be stuck just where you are now. Wouldn’t you rather regret going for it than sitting back and not trying?”

You glared at him. “I think I’d regret ruining my relationship with the one blood relative I have left.” There was a tense silence that stretched far longer than was comfortable before you finally broke it. “I’m going to bed… Tell them goodnight for me.”

“Wait,” Dean called after you.

“Goodnight, Dean.” You hugged him, long enough for him to sigh heavily again and plant a kiss on the top of your head.

“Goodnight…” he murmured, and then you were gone with a soft padding of stocking feet.

Dean wandered back out into the library to find Sam still sitting at the table, a fresh glass of something in front of him. “Isn’t that like your fourth nightcap?” Dean asked.

Sam glowered at him momentarily. “Pot. Kettle. Black,” he said.

Dean pulled a face and shrugged. “Fair enough.” He poured himself a share of whiskey too and sat down across from his little brother. “Isn’t someone waiting for you?” Dean asked.

Sam’s jaw tensed. “Yeah, I–I told her I’d be in in a bit…” He hesitated and cleared his throat a little awkwardly. “…Where’s Y/N?”

Dean was just about ready to scream. “Bed. Told me to tell you ‘goodnight.’”

“Oh… okay.” Sam drank deeply from his glass, nearly draining it.

Dean raised his eyebrows at his little brother. “Something you want to share with the class? Thoughts, maybe?”

Sam shook his head. “No.”

Dean left a beat of silence. “You know, you’ve been putting kind of a dent in my whiskey lately. You think I haven’t noticed? Am I supposed to just pretend that new bottle was 2/3 empty when I bought it.”

Sam shifted uncomfortably and gulped down the tightness in his throat to little effect.

“Sammy… come on. Talk to me. What the hell is going on in that long-maned head of yours?”

Sam shut his eyes for a moment and chewed his bottom lip. “I’m in love with Y/N,” he blurted out. “And it’s a mess. I’m with her sister. I’m dating her sister! And I’m love with Y/N.” There was something like anguish in his voice.

Dean stared across the table at Sam’s tortured expression. There was nothing to say to that.

“So, you know what? I’m taking a leaf out of your book and having a few nightcaps… that way when I wake up in the morning on the right side of the wrong bed, maybe I won’t care so much...” He downed the little remaining in his glass. “And I really can’t deal with a lecture from you right now, Dean, so just–just don’t. Night.”

Sam got up, leaving his empty glass behind, and stalked out.

“Jesus fu–am I living in the goddamn Twilight zone or some shit?! Didn’t I just have this conversation?!” Dean muttered aloud to himself. “There is not enough fucking whiskey in the world right now for this…” And with that he poured himself another.

_ _ _ _ _ _

You woke up very early, having gone to bed much before your usual time simply because you wanted to be unconscious… It seemed to be the only time you didn’t have that ache in your midsection and painful swirl of thoughts in your brain. You headed for the kitchen, looking forward to a hot cup of coffee and maybe some quiet self-reflection to stop your spinning. But you were surprised to find that you weren’t the only one awake despite the very early hour.

“Oh—” you let out a little surprised noise when you crossed the threshold and Sam looked up from his place at the center island.

“Y/N,” he said, his eyes a little surprised. He straightened up in his seat. “Hey.” He had passed some fitful portion of the night beside your sister and finally surrendered to insomnia. He had hoped that not lying next to her, feeling like a liar, would diminish his anxiety but it had proved to be mostly wishful thinking. He rubbed a hand anxiously over the back of his neck. “You’re up early,” he said.

“Yeah, umm… went to bed early so…” You smoothed a hand over your hair, quite sure that it was probably unruly from your tossing and turning all night. Sam loved that. “Coffee?” you asked. He jumped to his feet.

“Yeah. Of course. Let me get it for you,” he said.

“Oh, thanks.” Sam poured you a big mug of coffee from the pot and went to the fridge to grab some milk.

“You just take milk, right?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. He knew how you liked your coffee. He always knew what book you were reading. He knew your favorite color was seafoam. He knew you liked a gin and tonic with about an entire lime in it. He knew you liked whiskey and water, and dark beer, and the lavender-scented dryer sheets. He knew every little detail about you and he loved every single one.

“Yeah. Thank you,” you said. You accepted the mug from Sam and his fingers brushed yours as he handed it to you. You knew how cliché and stupid it was, but your heart still jumped at the contact. Is this what you would have to keep living on? A split second of Sam? You felt like a drug addict, sustaining only on the thought of the next high. You studied him as he sat down at the island again and you quickly noticed the dark circles under his eyes. “…Are you alright?”

Sam’s eyes flickered up to meet yours, startled a little by the question. God, how badly he wanted to answer truthfully. He wanted to tell you, No. I’m not alright. I’m not. I’m living a lie I don’t know how to get out of without ruining the path to what I really want. Instead he nodded. “Yeah,” he said, sipping his coffee. “Just a little tired.”

“Mmm. Trouble sleeping?” you asked, absently rotating your mug on the marble counter, warming your fingers. Seemed like you both had the same problem the previous night.

“Uhh—a little. But I’m okay,” he said, he tried to force a reassuring smile. He didn’t want to think about lying in bed next to your sister. It was the last thing he wanted to think about. “Thanks,” he said. “For asking though.”

You nodded. “Sure, of course.” A long moment of silence stretched and you were surprised that when you looked up, Sam’s eyes were already on your face, but he tore them away quickly and looked down into his mug. Your heart beat faster as you wondered at the meaning. You searched for something to say to him, something to bring his eyes back to yours. You could look into them forever—you always saw such understanding, such strength in them. And he was warm and funny and smart and kind… and this thinking made your stomach clench because you knew he was out of reach.

Sam cleared his throat and pushed down the sick feeling in his own stomach. “So, what’s on the schedule for today?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I dunno. I was thinking of working out later. Maybe kick Dean’s ass sparring,” you said, a small smirk gracing your face.

Sam let out a small laugh and shook his head. “That’d be good for him,” he said. But he felt a jealous twinge and a heat rising in his chest that he tried to ignore.

“How about you?” you asked. Sam shrugged.

“I don’t know… We’ll see. Maybe try and rustle up a case or something.” It was a classic method of distraction that Sam tried to use, even though it was only a temporary success. He would work, and work, and work. And it gave him an excuse to tell your sister he was busy, that he couldn’t take the time that day to spend with her doing something that he felt wasn’t genuine because all he could think about was doing it with you instead…

One corner of your mouth twitched upwards. “You work too much, Sam.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah… I know… but there’s always something else out there.”

“Exactly. There is always something else out there. And there always will be. So, you should take the time off when you can. Enjoy life a little,” you said, brave enough to meet his kaleidoscope colored eyes again.

Sam nervously chewed his bottom lip. He could be consumed by you instantly if he let himself—the way you were looking at him with that small smile and your eyes so bright, seeing only him in that moment. Reality reared its ugly head suddenly when footsteps started up the hallway and broke the temporary spell.

Your sister bounced into the kitchen. “Morning!” she said. She went over to Sam and ran a hand down his back affectionately, pecking him on the cheek. “I was a little bummed out to see your side of the bed empty this morning…” she said in a low voice to Sam.

You abruptly got up and headed across the kitchen to the pantry, feeling suddenly sick with envy and wanting to distance yourself as much as possible. You started pulling ingredients out just for the distraction and your sister was soon at your side. “Whatcha makin’?” she asked.

“Pancakes?”

“Sounds good. Better you make them than me. You remember what happened last time?”

You shook your head at her and laughed lightly at the last kitchen disaster. “Smoke. Everywhere. You shouldn’t even be allowed in the kitchen,” you teased her.

“I will never try again,” she said with a laugh. “I have no problem acknowledging my faults.” She bumped you with a friendly elbow. “Soooo…” she started. Her tone made you look up at her a little tentatively.

“…Oh, no. I know that tone. What is it?”

She grinned widely at you.

You raised your eyebrows at her. “What is it? Cough it up,” you said. “I can see you are plotting something…”

“Well, I was thiiiinking we should go out tonight. Get out of the bunker… You know, go into town… maybe go to that bar with the suuuuper hot bartender?” she said, wiggling her eyes at you.

You sighed. “I don’t know… I kind of just feel like staying in.” You didn’t know Sam was listening intently now from his place at the island still.

“You always feel like staying in! That’s why you have me to twist your arm and get you out of here before you turn into an old spinster who is in a serious relationship only with her books and tea kettle.”

You rolled your eyes. “Wow. Gee, thanks, sis…” you said sarcastically. “And you know what? That actually doesn’t sound too bad!”

This drew a laugh from her and she bounced on her feet a little. “Pleeeeease! Come on. You know once you’re out you will have a good time! And that bartender was totally into you last time.”

You looked at her eager expression and the excitement in her eyes. Maybe a night out would do you some good. You could definitely use a distraction and the bunker was somehow always haunted with Sam and your sister’s relationship… Reminders everywhere; that they shared a room and a bed together, that you could walk around any corner and find them kissing, or sitting closely, or whispering some secret conversation with secret smiles you weren’t privy to… “Alright. Fine,” you agreed. “But for like two beers and that is it!”

She pumped a fist in excited success. “Yes! Oh, I’m totally gonna pick out your outfit and everything. You’re gonna look hot,” she said.

You pointed vehemently at her. “No dresses!”

“But—”

“No! No dresses!” She pouted at you but relented.

“Fine… no dresses…”

“Dresses?” Dean said, coming to join the rest of you in the kitchen and peeking over your shoulder at the bowl you were dumping ingredients in. “Who’s wearing a dress?”

“No one!” you said loudly.

Dean grabbed a mug and poured in some coffee. “Why not? I’d love to see you in a dress, Y/N,” he said laughing gruffly. “Like, a short, tight little black cocktail dress… some high heels. Right, Sammy?” he asked, giving Sam a wink and drawing a very unamused stare from him. You gave Dean a scolding look and he relented.

“We’re going out tonight to Lucky’s,” your sister explained. “And I’m gonna pick out Y/N’s outfit and she is going to flirt with that hot bartender who was hitting on her last time.” You rolled your eyes.

“Ah,” Dean said. He chanced a glance at Sam and noted the muscle twitching in Sam’s jaw as he clenched his teeth. “I see.”

You turned to look at Dean. “You wanna spar later?” you asked him. God, you needed to work off some frustration and bitter jealousy…

He sipped casually at his coffee. “You wanna get your ass kicked later?” he asked, giving you a satisfied smug smirk.

You tilted your head and raised your eyebrows at him, a half-smirk on your face. God, Sam loved that expression, the playful spark in your eyes. “We’ll see, tough guy,” you said, turning back to the pancake batter.

_ _ _ _ _ _

A few hours later, you and Dean were both a little sweaty, circled up on the mat in the room you had converted to a work out area. You had your hands up and were seizing each other up, both with grins on your faces as you waited to see who would strike next.

“Give up yet, Winchester? By my count, you’re losing,” you goaded him. He laughed and wiped some sweat from his brow.

“You have gotten a lot better, Y/N. Must be because you have an amazing tutor,” he said with a gruff laugh. “And quite handsome at that!”

You rolled your eyes which was a mistake because Dean took that opportunity and swept your legs out from under you and you landed hard on your back on the mat, gritting your teeth a little as the breath was knocked out of you. Dean laughed hard as you let out a frustrated groan. Once you caught your breath, you accepted his proffered hand to help you back up. Sam came in just then as you were circling back up, ready for the next bout. Dean bounced lightly on the balls of his feet in the typical boxing shuffle, hands up in guard. “Sammy!” he yelled, seeing his brother come in. “Good. It will be nice to have someone else witness Y/N’s destruction—”

But just then you threw three punches at him and he had to scramble to block two of them. He wasn’t fast enough for the third and you landed a solid hit into his stomach, giving him a satisfied “HA!” and a wide grin.

“What’s that you were saying, Dean?” Sam called out, grinning, sitting down on one of the benches along the wall.

Dean shook it off and the two of you had an intense bout where you both gained ground on the other but were eventually blocked or fought it off. Finally, you sent a jab straight at Dean’s chin but he was able to block it and reroute your momentum, grabbing your arm and again sending you down to the mat. Just then as you were letting out a string of expletives and Dean was laughing heartily in victory, a cell phone rang.

“Oh, shit. That’s probably Garth. I gotta take that. I’m expecting him to call to today,” Dean said, heading over to the bench and grabbing his cell phone. He looked at Sam, whose gaze was fixated on you where you were lying on your back still in the middle of the mat, just resting for a minute and beating yourself up for letting Dean drop you. “Sammy, I’m tagging you in,” he said, giving him a wink.

“What?” Sam’s eyes went a little wide.

“I said you’re in. Hello? Yeah, hey Garth…” Dean stepped into the hall leaving Sam alone with you.

He gulped at the nervousness in his throat and stood up, walking out onto the mat. “Hey,” he said. “You okay?”

You sat up abruptly, a little surprised to see Sam appear over you so suddenly. “Yep. Fine.”

Sam offered you a hand and you felt butterflies flutter to life in your stomach as he pulled you up to your feet. Your hand stayed in his perhaps just a little too long.

Sam cleared his throat and looked down at you. “Uhh… Can I show you how Dean got you down?”

“Oh—yes. Please. I hate when he wins,” you said, giving Sam a small smile.

Sam anxiously rubbed the back of his neck as he stood in front of you. “Okay. Well, go into your guard stance,” he said. You obliged, stepping one foot slightly back and the other forward. “Good. Now, you want to use your lower body to propel that punch, but you need to be able to maintain your balance.” Sam squared up with you, pulling his hands up into guard. “So, just keep a little more weight on your back foot when you jab and propel yourself from your hips.” You nodded. “Okay, try it,” Sam said, holding a palm out. “Hit it, right here.”

You threw a jab at his palm, but he pulled back right before you connected and again you lost your balance and pitched forward toward him. “Whoa!” Sam laughed a little and caught you, his hands landing instinctively on your hips to stop your momentum. You both froze for a moment. You were still breathing fast from the physical exertion, but Sam was too, for an entirely different reason. Your hips felt small under his hands, and he could clearly feel their curve and angles. His heart was pounding and he felt a jolt of electricity zip up his spine. Perceiving that he should have let you go by now, his hands floated off you and he stepped backward. You anxiously chewed your bottom lip. There were tingles trailing behind where his hands had been. “Uhh—a little better, but you’re still taking too much weight off that back foot. Try again,” he said.

You both resumed your guard and Sam held a hand up again. This time you threw your jab and though he moved his hand back before you connected, you maintained you balance and immediately threw a cross punch which he had to block. A smile grew on his face and a matching one lit up yours. “Good! That was a really good!”

“Thanks,” you said, still squared up with him. You quickly threw a couple punches which Sam skillfully blocked and he returned—and that was it. You were full on sparring. Sam dodged one of your punches and you surprised him immediately with a high kick that caught him in the chest, knocking him off balance. But he was right back into it, now advancing on you and forcing you to give up ground. You waited for an opportunity to throw a combination at him but he somehow saw it coming and blocked it. The next second you skillfully swept a leg underneath him as he recovered from a block and he tumbled back onto the mat, landing hard but immediately starting to laugh. You stood over him with a wide grin on your face and walked over to look down at him. “Give?” you asked him.

His only response was to sweep one of his legs from where he was laying on the floor, taking you out at the ankles and sending you sprawling down on top of him. “Shit!” You landed with one arm extended to catch yourself on the floor and the other on his strong chest. Your body was pressed into him and you immediately felt your cheeks flush. You could feel his hips pressing into you. You lips were mere inches from his and you could see all the hues in his irises. He swallowed hard and there was a vague smile on his face.

Suddenly, you felt one of his hands landed ever so gently on your lower back and wow, electricity. “Give?” he joked, the vague smile still on his face, his eyes starry, his heart pounding. He couldn’t believe you were actually pressed against him and he wondered that you hadn’t immediately moved, climbed to your feet, put distance between the two of you. You felt paralyzed looking into his eyes.

“I give,” you said. Your voice was low and breathy because truthfully you couldn’t breathe, you were so startled by the whirling feelings and thoughts washing over you. Sam’s hand landing so lightly there on your lower back, it felt intimate.

But you suddenly heard the door open, and Dean stepped back into the room having gotten off the phone with Garth. The noise called you back to your senses and you leapt to your feet, anxiously backing away from Sam, but you weren’t quite fast enough. Dean had frozen a couple steps in and seen you on top of Sam—but he quickly pretended he hadn’t.

Sam cleared his throat and climbed to his feet, sweeping his hands back through his hair. “Good. Yeah, just… don’t let your guard down. Ever. Even once you have them on the ground.”

You were a little wide-eyed and you turned and headed for your water bottle and towel on the bench. Dean gave you a meaningful look as you approached but you just tore your eyes away from him.

“What did I miss?” he asked you in a low voice, his tone pregnant with meaning.

Sam watched from the center of the mat as you dabbed at your forehead and neck with your towel. “Nothing,” you said to Dean. “Just—training.”

“Mhmm…” Dean replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Stop it.” Dean held his hands up in a sign of surrender. “Umm… I’m gonna go shower,” you said.

“Alright. Well, hey, I saw your sister in the hall. She wants to head out to the bar in like an hour and a half.” You nodded and quickly waved to Sam as you left the room, feeling your cheeks coloring again with a blush and hoping that your face was already red enough from the exercise to hide it.

“Thanks, Sam. Alright, I’ll see you guys in a bit…”

Dean noted that his brother’s eyes didn’t leave you until you disappeared through the door, which slammed and echoed in the space with an uncomfortable finality. Dean pressed his lips into a thin line and looked at his little brother. “So,” he said.

Sam frowned at him. “So, what?”

Dean shrugged and raised his eyebrows. “What exactly was that?” he asked, the gravel thick in his voice.

“What? Nothing. I just—we were sparring and—”

“Oh, you were sparring,” Dean repeated skeptically, crossing his arms over his chest. “Because when I came in it didn’t look like there was a lot of sparring going on as much as it looked like Y/N was on top of you and—”

“Stop.” Sam admonished.

“Sammy, come on. I spar with Y/N all the time and we have never ended up like that—”

Sam’s jaw clenched and he gave one last stern look to his older brother. “I’m just—just forget it. I’m gonna go get cleaned up and it sounds like you should too.”

“Sam! Sammy, come on,” Dean called after him, but Sam just waved him off and disappeared into the hall, leaving Dean to sigh heavily in frustration.

Part 2

#sam x reader #sammy angst #sam winchester #sam winchester fanfiction #fanfic #supernatural #spn

219 notes · View notes

wheresmynaya · 4 years

Text

Cupcake Battles Ch.2 | Brittana

Thinking about you all today and I hope you’re doing alright. <3

Also available on ff.net (x) ao3 (x) & below the cut!

We’re back in the Cupcake Battles’ arena and the remaining three teams stand at the ready in their stations as Sam Evans strolls in through the glass double-doors to the show’s action-packed theme music. He struts down the aisle as if it’s his own personal catwalk, smoothing his hands along his shaggy blonde hair before shooting Mercedes and Artie with his finger-guns.

They look to each other confused and unamused while Sam then finishes his entrance with a twirl that leads into a not-so-smooth body roll. Despite that though he doesn’t give up and proceeds to hump the air, missing every single beat while he does so.

“Gross,” Santana scrunches her nose and tries to avert her eyes before she goes blind. Instead she catches Brittany staring at her, attempting to keep from laughing at Santana’s obvious disgust. She feels the blood start to rush to her face upon being caught but then Kurt’s whispering to her.

“And to think he was on Grooving with the Celebs,” Kurt admonishes quietly, “I think even I might dance better than him.”

Santana’s eyes drift from Brittany to find Sugar egging Sam on as she pumps her fist. She can’t decide if Sugar is genuinely into this method of torture or she’s just messing with him. Either way, Santana reluctantly looks away to acknowledge Kurt’s comment.

“I wouldn’t say all that,” Santana quips and Kurt sucks his teeth at her, “What? I’ve seen you dance after you’ve had two Shirley Temples. It ain’t cute.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “First of all, I’m always cute.”

“Yeah,” Santana sputters out behind a laugh, “Sure.”

“Secondly, you think you’re a better dancer?” Kurt questions with a smirk, “All you’re missing is a stripper pole.”

“At least I’d get paid to dance,” Santana shrugs, “You’d probably get paid to stop.”

When the music cuts, Sam straightens his suit jacket and points to the camera, “Welcome back, Viewers! Who’s ready for Round 2 of today’s Cupcake Battle?”

The camera alternates between capturing the teams’ reactions and all the teams clap and cheer with excitement upon finally getting to the challenge after the interruption that took place just before the cameras started to roll again.

It was then that everyone learned that Rachel Berry is not one to go gentle into that good night.

The uncharacteristically long break between rounds was due to Rachel rushing around the arena, trying to evade being escorted off the premises.

Rachel had broken through the doors and went around knocking over as many baking pan racks as she could all while belting out Hannah Montana’s Nobody’s Perfect in between giving Santana death glares.

Who knew someone so small could cause such a big scene?

The crew had scrambled to keep Rachel from coming at Santana, but the co-judge wasn’t having it.

“Nah, let her through!” Santana called from over a crew member’s shoulder. She tapped her chest with her hands and shot her arms out, “Try me, I light up! Come on!”

“Oh my God…” Kurt facepalmed, “How is this show not cancelled yet?”

The teams were a little afraid but the drama was so addicting, they couldn’t stop watching.

Thankfully, the crew was able to wrangle Rachel to the ground before she caused anymore damage. She struggled like hell to break through until Finn came over to talk some sense into her. It seemed to work and she calmed down enough that the crew felt it was safe to let her up slowly.

Finn gave her a dopy smile before throwing her over his shoulder like a sack of full of broken dreams.

“Sorry about that,” He said to everyone then gave her butt a pat, “She’s super passionate.”

As Finn carried her out, Rachel made her exit by singing ABBA’s I Have a Dream.

It was quite the spectacle, but once she was safely removed the crew quickly reset the arena so that they could get back to filming.

The camera pans back to Sam, “Well, this round is sure to quench that thirst!”

“Did he really just…,” Santana mumbles aloud looking as unimpressed as ever, “Who comes up with this crap?”

Kurt lifts his shoulder, “I thought it was quite…punny.”

Santana gives him a look and says plainly, “I’m quitting.”

“No you’re not,” Kurt chuckles and pokes at Santana’s side, “You love me too much.”

“No one said anything about love,” Santana groans, batting away his hands.

Kurt tutted, “Last premiere party, you said it in front of everyone so I have witnesses.”

“I said I appreciate your fabulousness. That’s all.”

Kurt just gives his co-judge an eye roll before they both turn to Sam as he approaches the panel.

“Cheerleading is thirsty work, isn’t that right Coach?” Sam asks, trying to be conversational as he looks to Coach Sue Sylvester. He gives her a dorky grin but she just ignores him and continues to stare down the camera like the cameraman is attempting to infiltrate her mind.

Sam waits for a reaction before ultimately giving up. He looks to the audience, “Well, I’m sure it is! For our first round, we focused on good eats and now we’re focusing on good drinks. Round 2 is all about Day Drinking!”

“Finally something I can get behind,” Santana smirks.

Kurt tilts his head, “I don’t think that’s what it means. At least, I hope not? This is meant to be a family show…”

“The challenge for this round will be to create three cupcakes that are each based on a drink that gets you through the day. Hence, day drinking!” Sam explains carefully.

Santana frowns at the clarification, “Boo..”

Kurt nudges her side, “Shh.”

Sam goes on with explaining, “So we’re looking for cupcakes that are inspired by a drink that gets you up in the morning, a drink pushes you through those afternoon blues, and a drink to end the night with.”

The camera pans to Team Batter Up Cupcakes where Brittany and Sugar exchange excited smiles as they bounce on their toes. They’re buzzing with anticipation and Brittany’s already running through various ideas at a mile a minute, her creative side ready to run wild.

Team Baking Dreams Come True looks equally thrilled with the new challenge and stares down their biggest competitors across from them. Blaine and Tina try their best to intimidate Brittany and Sugar – keyword try – but Team Batter Up Cupcakes don’t look the least bit concerned.

Team AJs Bake Shop on the other hand look slightly worried as Mercedes and Artie start to brainstorm. With the rivalry going on between the other two teams and the dramatics that came from Rachel and Finn’s kitchen during the first round, Team AJs Bake Shop has flown under the radar for the most part.

But aside from the cupcake Brittany and Sugar put up, Mercedes and Artie were the only other team that came close to a high level of praise. By high, we’re talking about Santana labeling it as tasting just fine which isn’t really that high of a critique when compared to the words said to Team Batter Up Cupcakes.

Brittany and Sugar aren’t new to this whole competition thing and although Mercedes and Artie think they’re being slick with the whole silent but deadly act, nothing gets past them. Old rivals or new ones, they’re gonna take down anyone who stands in there way of that prize money!

“But wait, bakers, there is…a twist,” Sam interrupts the teams as the surrounding walls illuminated in the usual pink neon lights shift to green, followed by a dramatic sound effect.

The camera zooms in on the far wall that begins to move. A special pantry slides forward from a hidden segment in the paneling. The shelves are stocked with various cans and bottles.

“Is that?” Sugar squints at the cabinet trying to distinguish the labels. Once she realizes, she looks to Brittany and asks, “What day is it again?”

“Turn Up Tuesday,” Brittany responds with a devilish grin then it falls as she turns to Sugar, “Or maybe it’s Thirsty Thursday? I don’t really keep track of the days anymore.”

They both giggle at each other with these great big grins while Sam continues.

“As a curveball ingredient, each team is required to use an item from this pantry in their creation!” Sam announces as he windmills his arm to point to the cabinet next to him. The camera pans along the items there as he continues to explain, “There are a variety of popular sodas as well as spirits that you can choose from, but at least one of these items must be included in your final product.”

“Aren’t the bakers meant to provide for a cheerleading benefit at the end of this?” Kurt whispers to Santana, “Isn’t it a bit…inappropriate to include alcohol around minors?”

Santana ponders it before deciding she doesn’t actually get paid enough to care about how ethical these challenges are, she’s just here to serve looks and dish out realness. But she can tell Kurt is a little conflicted about this so she throws him a bone.

“Listen Miss Priss, no one is going to get buzzed off of a boozy cupcake except for maybe you.”

Kurt gasps and begins to stammer out a reply, but Santana cuts him off.

“Besides, I doubt they’re unfamiliar to the taste of it because: number one, they’re high school seniors and I’m sure they’ve already turned to alcohol at least once. Number two, they have to deal with grandma down there as their coach.”

“Watch it, you knock-off J.Lo.” Sue quips without even glancing in Santana’s direction.

“Knock-off? I’ll show you knoc – “

“Sit down, Santana!” Kurt urges and tries to force her back, “You can’t try to fight another guest judge, remember what happened last time?”

Santana’s quick to bite her tongue, the producers don’t necessarily like when she roughs up a guest judge but this lady is pushing it. She cuts her with one last glare before taking a settling breath and looking back to the remaining teams.

“Man your stations, bakers, and let the battle begin!” Sam pulls the pocket square from his chest and waves it like a flag girl yet again with such a flamboyant flare that even Kurt questions how straight he really is.

Brittany rushes to pull out the sketch pad beneath the counter and starts to scribble out a design she had been working on ever since the pantry rolled out.

“Alright so this is what I’m thinking…Dr Pepper, Piña Colada, and that spicy Mexican hot chocolate we like.”

“In that order?” Sugar asks as she watches Brittany craft the designs with such focus.

Brittany nods resolutely without looking up from the sketchpad, “Yup, in that order.”

Sugar glances over at the pantry to find Dr Pepper and Malibu then turns back to Brittany and asks, “You want to use more than one ingredient from the curveball pantry even though we don’t need to?”

“Yup,” Brittany says and pops the p for emphasis. She finally looks up at Sugar, “And I want you to create these cute fondant decorations for each. You saw what Tina did last round?”

“Yeah,” Sugar scoffs and shoots Tina a glare from across the aisle. Tina looks back questioningly at first then tries to match it with her own scowl.

“You’re going to show the judges how it’s really done,” Brittany smirks.

Sugar tears away from her staring match with Tina and begins to beam because her best friend is such a genius, “Hell yes, this is going to be so awesome!”

Brittany high fives Sugar, “Duh.”

In Team AJs Bake Shop’s station, Mercedes and Artie work together to try and come up with their three drinks. Ultimately they decide on a mocha Frappuccino, an Earl Grey infused with lemon, and a tequila sunrise. They’re pretty confident with their choices and set off to begin making their cupcake batters while watching Team Baking Dreams Come True and Team Batter Up Cupcakes duke it out amongst themselves.

Mercedes and Artie figure that with such an intense rivalry, the other teams will be too busy bickering to notice them coming through for the win!

Over in the Team Baking Dreams Come True kitchen, Blaine is working quickly to draft a design but finds that Tina keeps getting distracted.

“Come on T, focus!” Blaine urges when he catches her staring across the aisle again, “Just ignore them.”

“I can’t!” Tina cries as she continues to glare back at Sugar, “I can feel her beady eyes burning holes into me. She’s taunting me, Blaine, taunting me.”

Blaine sighs at his friend’s dramatics, “She’s just trying to get in your head, you know how they work. They always do this. Remember when they told us they replaced all the sugar in the test kitchen with salt but they didn’t actually do it and we wasted all that time recreating all of our batters because didn’t check beforehand? It’s just like that again, they’re all talk.”

Just then Sugar scribbles something on her sketchpad and shows off the message to Tina.

Still salty?

Tina gasps; it’s like Sugar is in her head and she quickly turns to Blaine. She grabs him by the shoulder and the sudden movement makes him jolt forward with wide eyes.

“What are you doing?”

“Quick! Taste the sugar!” Tina urges.

Blaine groans and pries Tina’s hand off of him, “We’ve been standing here the entire time, there’s no way they could’ve switched – “

“JUST DO IT!”

Blaine sighs and goes to sprinkle a bit of sugar into the palm of his hand before bringing it up to his mouth. Tina watches him like a hawk for a reaction.

Blaine’s facial expression goes from tired, to confused, to surprised.

“Salt?”

“Yeah,” Blaine grumbles and shoots Team Batter Up Cupcakes a glare.

Brittany and Sugar are doubled over as they laugh and laugh, it only makes Blaine and Tina even angrier.

“That’s it,” Blaine narrows his eyes, full of a new sense of determination, “Game on!”

Santana watches the whole exchange between the rivals with a proud smirk. Switching out the sugar for salt is a classic practical joke, but even she has no idea how Brittany and Sugar pulled that off. It must’ve been when the crew was resetting after Rachel’s second outburst.

She glances over at the team but lingers a little longer on Brittany as she talks excitedly to Sugar. Deep down she knows she’s being a little unprofessional here, but there’s this aura about Brittany that Santana just can’t resist.

It also doesn’t help that the girl is super fine and talented as hell too!

“I’m really interested to see how Team AJs Bake Shop does this round,” Kurt says to Santana, “They’re kind of like the dark horse, the underdog, the sleeper, the– “

“Okay, I get it.”

Kurt glances at Santana to find her staring at the blonde yet again. He shakes his head, “You really need to work on your subtly.”

Santana looks to him and blinks, “What?”

“Your lesbian tendencies are showing,” Kurt says knowingly with a wag of his finger towards her.

Santana quirks her brow and looks down at her chest before adjusting her boobs, “Better?”

Kurt laughs at his co-judge’s ridiculousness, “Not what I meant, but sure.”

“Alright judges,” Sam announces as they come to a stop in front of Brittany and Sugar’s station, “First stop, Team Batter Up Cupcakes! How are you ladies doing?”

“All good in the hood over here,” Brittany says coolly with a thumbs up. She’s leaning on a stand mixer while Sugar’s off to the side rolling out fondant.

Santana smiles politely at them both while her hands stay folded in front of her. She looks like a meek little mouse but at the same time ready to knock you down a peg if you think you’re flying too close to the sun. She totally nails the balance of looking adorable yet intimidating and she really is so, so attractive but Brittany can’t stop staring her boobs.

She tries her hardest, she really does but they’re right there staring at her! She can’t remember if it was like that when Santana came around in Round 1, then again she was too busy with being blinded by Santana’s gorgeous smile to notice anything else.

“You seem to be handling the pressure quite well,” Kurt acknowledges and his soft voice manages to break Brittany out of her boob-daze long enough to focus on him, “What are your drinks of choice for this round’s challenge?”

Brittany nods and looks down to taste the base frosting she has been working on before making an adjustment, “Well, my morning usually starts off with Dr Pepper so we’re pretty lucky that the drink is included in the pantry. For the aftern – “

“Wait,” Kurt pauses, “You start off your mornings with Dr Pepper?”

“How else are you meant to brush your teeth?” Brittany deadpans, “Or…do you not do that?”

Santana hides her laughter behind her hand while Sue stares at Brittany like she has two heads. Sam is looking somewhat convinced with Brittany’s logic though while Kurt gawks at her.

“Of course I brush my teeth,” Kurt scoffs then chooses to move on while Brittany starts on her next task, “And your choice for the afternoon?”

“Piña colada with Malibu from the pantry,” Brittany answers and Kurt is surprised yet again.

“For the afternoon?” Kurt clarifies and looks to Santana for some kind of back up. When she doesn’t give him anything, he turns back to Brittany, “I’m not following your decisions here. Can you explain?”

“It’s 5 o’clock somewhere,” Brittany replies easily as she tosses the Mexican chocolate into the double-boiler, “Everyone loves Piña Coladas.”

“Getting caught in the rain!” Sugar sings from behind her.

Brittany wiggles her hips to the sound and smiles sweetly at Kurt, “You’d probably benefit from an afternoon Piña Colada. Although, I’m still not sure if the song is talking about an actual drink or if it’s a euphemism…”

“I – “ Kurt stammers and Santana takes that as her cue to cut in before he combusts.

“You’re using two ingredients from the pantry,” Santana points out as she takes a step closer to Brittany. There’s this glimmer in her eye and this sexy little smile, “That’s pretty bold of you.”

“All or nothing,” Brittany says confidently, “That’s my motto.”

“I like that,” Santana chuckles, “You both showed off a lot of skill in the first round, how long have you been baking?”

Brittany ponders that a moment while she whisks through the melting chocolate and calls over her shoulder, “Hey Sug! When did I transfer to the C.I.A?”

Sugar hums as she comes up beside Brittany to steal some food coloring, “A couple years ago?”

Brittany nods and looks to Santana, “For a couple years then.”

“What?” Kurt gasps, “How is that possible?”

Santana is equally surprised, “That’s really impressive, I spent nearly ten years in school before I opened my own place. Where did you transfer from? It must be just as prestigious with the amount of skill you already possess.”

“I mean, I guess?” Brittany says, “I transferred from MIT.”

“Holy sh – “ Santana is completely in awe, “I needz to hear this backstory.”

“We really should move on to the other teams,” Sam tries but Santana just waves him off.

“Shut it, Trouty!” Santana bites before looking back to Brittany, “Tell me more.”

Brittany shrugs although her stomach can’t stop flipping because Santana Lopez is interested in her backstory. Is she dreaming? She keeps her cool though and does as she’s told.

“Well, I was working on my second Masters when I got into a little argument with someone from the Department of Chemistry over the quality of a cake they brought in for a staff luncheon,” Brittany explains, “They said that they spent years perfecting the recipe and that it takes a certain kind of talent to bake. I said that it couldn’t be that hard and here I am.”

“You are just…,” Santana pauses and tries to keep her smile from growing any wider, “You’re full of surprises.”

Brittany lifts her shoulder all nonchalant-like and she’s too busy being wrapped up in another compliment that Santana has given her that she doesn’t realize her chocolate is starting to bubble. She quickly turns the heat down before it burns, but not before a lone chocolate bubble bursts and splatters a couple droplets on Santana’s dress.

All the cool she possessed goes right out the window as her face turns beet red.

“Oh my God,” Brittany gasps and Sugar darts to look in her direction at the sound of such a distressed tone.

Santana looks down at the melted chocolate dotting her chest.

Kurt’s jaw drops and he subtly moves behind Sam in preparation for the absolute fit Santana is about to throw. He’s seen first hand how vicious she can be and he doubts even Brittany’s pretty face will help her this time.

“Oh my God,” Brittany repeats and grabs at a paper towel to wet before she’s absent mindedly dabbing at Santana’s chest, “I’m so sorry. I – I can pay for the dry cleaning bill or I can–“

Santana stills Brittany’s trembling hands.

Kurt thinks this is it, this is the day Santana finally gets her ass fired and waits for Santana to yeet the poor girl across the room, but something strange happens instead.

Santana smiles.

Kurt thinks she might’ve hit a new level of pissed that he’s yet to see during their many years of working together. He’s actually scared for Brittany, but there’s no way in Wal-Mart that he’ll try to intervene now. There are just some things even he won’t do.

Brittany gulps.

Sugar stands back to watch, popping tiny marshmallows into her mouth like popcorn.

“It’s fine, Brittany,” Santana says through her smile then slowly let’s Brittany’s hand fall to the counter, “Although you might want to keep a better eye on your chocolate next time.”

“Yeah sure,” Brittany nods in a daze. Honestly, she’ll agreeing to anything Santana says right now as long as she doesn’t tear into her like she did with Rachel earlier.

Santana looks down at the cutting board next to where Brittany’s hand rests now and recognizes the chocolate packaging, “Are you using Mexican chocolate?”

Brittany slowly blinks and looks down at the board and back up, “Uh… yeah. It’s for our drink to end the night with. We’re doing a Spicy Mexican hot chocolate.”

“Hmm,” Santana hums before swiping a piece of chocolate from the board, “You have quite the line up for us. Good luck to you both.”

“Thanks,” Brittany says before they all begin to walk away. She feels like she can finally breathe again and looks over her shoulder to Sugar and starts to mouth holy fuck did you see th –

“Oh and Brittany?” Santana calls out.

Brittany instantly swivels on her heels and stands at attention, “Yeah?”

“Keep an eye on your chocolate,” She smirks as she pops in the piece she stole earlier before turning away.

Brittany thinks she actually might be drooling right now because woah, but it doesn’t last long before Sugar is ruining her moment.

“Oh my God, Britt!” Sugar squeals as she starts slapping at Brittany’s shoulder, “There is no denying it now. I’m not even going to say it because you and I and all of America knows what I’m thinking.”

Brittany lets out a sigh and shakes her head, “I need a drink.”

“Shots!” Sugar cheers. She grabs the bottle of Malibu from her station and pours a bit into a measuring cup and hands it to Brittany while Sugar pours some into a ramekin. They both knock back the shot and Brittany sends Sugar a knowing look.

“I’m beginning to see what you’re talking about now…help.”

“Yes!” Sugar beams, “Don’t worry about a thing, I’m going to be the best wing-woman!”

“Let’s just win this thing first before you go all Love Connection on me,” Brittany chuckles, “I know how you like to spiral.”

Sugar throws up her hands in defense as she walks back to her side of the station, “I just call it like I see it, Brittz, and I called it from the very beginning.”

Brittany just keeps her head down and gets back to work, trying to keep thoughts of Santana to a minimum.

“I thought you were going to kill her,” Kurt whispers as they leave Team Batter Up Cupcakes behind, “I thought you were going to finally catch a case and kill that poor girl, not to mention her ruining your dress.”

“The girls did their job, what do you expect?” Santana replies easily, “Besides, it was an accident.”

Santana is guided off to the side so that her stylist can work her magic and remove the stains, or at least position her hair so that it’s a lot less noticeable. It’s only a couple dots so it’s really no big deal, but Kurt doesn’t seem to want to drop it.

“An accident? You know who else had an accident? Marley Rose. In her pants. Because you threatened her with a knife.”

“Calm down, it was an off-set spatula,” Santana corrects, “There’s no sharp edges there.”

“It was completely unnecessary,” Kurt admonishes.

“You know what else was unnecessary? Combining avocado and chocolate.”

“It wasn’t that bad, Santana. Don’t be dramatic.”

Santana rolls her eyes at him as her stylists does some finishing touches before Santana is given the okay to return to set. She gives Kurt a disgusted look, “Avocado has no place in this kitchen, damnit. I don’t care what kind of food trend band wagon rolls up in here. It’s a no for me.”

Kurt shakes his head in disbelief but returns to the previous topic as his tone dips lower, “She practically had her hand on your boob, Santana. Brittany, not Marley.”

“Yeah…and?”

“And you didn’t rip it from her body…”

Because I’m a lesbian and I’m into it, is what Santana wants to say but she doesn’t and honestly she doesn’t know what stops her. She’s always said what was on her mind, but now?

Santana glances over at the station they just left and catches Brittany with her head down in deep concentration. She smirks for a split second before turning a glare onto Kurt.

“I know what happened, Kurt, I was there. I don’t need you doing a play-by-play for me.”

Kurt looks at her quizzically, but the response seems to shut him up for the meantime. They go on to check in with the rest of the teams in silence.

After they make their rounds, the judges return to the panel and wait out the last few minutes. Although thus far Santana hasn’t been able to keep her eyes from straying too far from Team Batter Up Cupcake’s kitchen, she along with the other panel judges are unable to look away from Team AJs Bake Shop.

The pressure is definitely on as the team scrambles to frost their cupcakes, but it doesn’t seem like there will be enough time for Mercedes and Artie to complete all three of them. You can start to see them beginning to lose focus as they keep checking the time, the seconds quickly disappearing until ultimately the buzzer sounds.

“Alright bakers, put down your utensils!” Sam calls out as he walks to the center of the arena, “This round is ovah.”

The camera pans to each kitchen, capturing the bakers’ relief – Sugar and Brittany hug it out while Blaine and Tina high five – but when it gets to Team AJs Bake Shop, Mercedes and Artie look completely defeated and devasted.

Only two out of the three cupcakes they planned have made it onto their plate.

“First up to the judging panel,” Sam says while doing his James Earl Jones impression again, “Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes! Let’s see what you’ve made.”

Brittany and Sugar make the short walk over to the panel and hand out their cupcakes. They’re aesthetically on point with Brittany’s excellent piping and Sugar’s fondant work rounding out the whole presentation, but they hope that their eccentric ways don’t scare off the judges too much.

“Looks awesome,” Sam compliments with a wide smile, “Please explain to the judges what you’ve created.”

Brittany has been pretty cool-headed so far, but ever since the chocolate boob incident she’s been thrown a little off her game. She sucks in a breath to calm her nerves before speaking.

“Hi again, judges! To start your morning off right, we’ve made a Dr Pepper cupcake inspired by my awesome dentist Dr. Pepper who taught me that teeth-brushing isn’t only done at night.”

“Oh my God…it was her dentist. I feel so stupid,” Kurt sighs to himself.

Santana just chuckles, “As you should.”

“We used Dr Pepper from the curveball pantry in the chocolate cupcake batter as well as in the cherry buttercream frosting. Sugar made the topper out of fondant,” Brittany explained while the judges went in for their first taste.

Their expressions shifted to surprise at the sudden tingling sensations on their tongues.

“Oh! And we also garnished with popping candy to replicate the fizziness of the Dr Pepper,” Brittany supplies and watches nervously for a positive reaction.

Santana is the first to speak up this time, “Can I just say this is probably one of the best soda-inspired cupcakes I’ve ever had.”

Brittany’s brows shoot up to her hairline while Sugar lets out a squeal.

“It’s not just a chocolate cake with a splash of Dr Pepper, you can actually taste the soda in this and your use of the popping candy was again…sheer genius,” Santana adds, “Great job.”

Kurt reluctantly nods, “I love the frosting. It isn’t too sweet and this fondant work is spectacular, I’m just not sold on your choice to start the day off with this kind of beverage.”

“It was alright for me,” Sue shrugs nonchalantly, “Next!”

Santana and Kurt scowl at her but move on to the next cupcake anyway.

“So to get through the afternoon blues, Sugar and I went with a Piña Colada cupcake for obvious reasons,” Brittany begins to explain.

“Get litty!” Sugar whoops and knocks her first with Brittany’s.

“There’s pineapple juice and a little coconut cream in the cupcake batter and it’s topped with a coconut rum buttercream then garnished with some toasted coconut flakes as well as another awesome fondant piece by Sugar,” Brittany finishes while the judges taste their second cupcake, “We used Malibu from the curveball pantry in this recipe.”

“Wow, you can really taste the rum here,” Kurt comments but Brittany and Sugar can’t tell whether or not that’s a compliment.

“Be careful you don’t get all white-girl wasted on me,” Santana teases while she tastes the frosting and lets it coat her tongue. She gives a satisfied smile, “That’s really good and I’m not even a big fan of Malibu. Might be just a touch too sweet for my tastes though. Malibu is so sugary as it is, you should’ve maybe cut back on adding any more sugar to your recipe.”

Brittany’s smile falters, “Understood.”

“I really like the fruity flavors of the cake here,” Kurt adds.

“You? Liking something fruity?” Santana’s brows rise, “I’m shocked.”

Kurt opts to ignore her and continues, “It’s just the right amount of pineapple and coconut, I feel like I’m on some tropical beach somewhere. And the addition of the toasted coconut flakes was a great touch, it adds a nice texture to your cupcake.”

“This one is better,” Sue agrees and at second glance they find that she has somehow devoured the entire cupcake, “Although, I don’t know how well it will go over with the parents if you’re chosen to cater for the Cheerios benefit. You would have to come up with something different. Next!”

Brittany and Sugar feel like they’ve been dealt another blow and think that maybe they should’ve been a little more tame this round. The judges’ responses are all so mixed, they don’t know where they stand.

They remain positive though as the judges move on to their final cupcake.

“To end the night, we have a Spicy Mexican Hot Chocolate cupcake with marshmallow frosting,” Brittany says as the judges start to taste, “There isn’t anything from the curveball pantry in this recipe, only the Mexican chocolate we found in the regular pantry.”

Kurt looks like he’s struggling with his watery eyes, “Is that…cayenne pepper?”

“It is,” Brittany nods resolutely, “Hence the spicy.”

“It’s really…” Kurt starts to cough but Sue is quick to slap his back which makes him yelp in pain.

“I’m into this,” Santana nods, barely batting an eye at Kurt’s reaction, “Once again, you’re showing off how well you balance out flavors and this marshmallow frosting... I’d eat it of off anything.”

Brittany gulps at the way the word rolls off Santana’s tongue. In an instant, Brittany’s mind takes her there. She closes her eyes tightly, willing the thoughts away with all her might because now is not the time for them.

“No hot chocolate should have cayenne pepper in it,” Kurt replies once he’s able to speak again, “Like why? I didn’t get it.”

“That’s because you’re a basic bitch,” Santana eye-rolls but turns an encouraging smile onto Brittany and Sugar, “I liked this, it really took me back to my roots.”

“I’m a big fan of cayenne pepper,” Sue agrees, “Combine that with some lemon juice and sand and you’ve got yourself the perfect Sue Sylvester master cleanse.”

Santana gives Sue a look, “That can’t be healthy for you.”

Sue doesn’t answer though, just holds her head up high.

“Okay well, great job!” Sam commends, “Please return to your kitchen. The next team up: Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True.

“I’m a little worried,” Sugar says once they return to their station. She takes another swig of rum straight from the bottle before passing it to Brittany, “Were we too much?”

Brittany shrugs and drinks from the bottle too, “If we did it any other way then we aren’t being true to ourselves and that’s the most important thing.”

“True,” Sugar nods, “I can’t get a read on them. Their feedback was everywhere.”

“We’ll just have to wait. We’ve always been the oddballs in every competition but we still bring home a win,” Brittany adds and looks to Sugar, “It won’t be any different this time.”

“Yeah! And Santana liked most of them and she’s usually the hardest one to please so that has to count for something,” Sugar wonders aloud, “Right?”

“One of the best soda-inspired cupcakes she’s ever hand,” Brittany reminds her, “We’ve got this, Sug.”

That seems to ease Sugar’s nerves and they stay huddled side by side like that, passing the bottle of rum back and forth between each other as the remaining teams are judged.

“Here you go, Kurt!” Santana teases as Blaine and Tina present them with a pumpkin spice latte-inspired cupcake that they’ve chosen to start their day with. She cuts through the cream cheese frosting with her fork, “This is right up your basic bitch alley.”

“Shut up, Santana.” Kurt groans and rolls his eyes before tasting the creation. He doesn’t want to admit it aloud and land himself right at the butt of Santana’s joke, but the cupcake is delicious.

Judging by Santana’s facial expressions she thinks so too.

“I see you’ve taken my advice from Round 1 and stepped your game up,” Santana says to Blaine in a tone that drips with condescension, “There’s actually some flavor in here this time…even if you went with something so mainstream like a PSL. You did well, yay.”

It was the most unenthusiastic, off-handed yay Blaine and Tina has ever heard and they aren’t sure whether they should thank her for the compliment or be offended. Instead they just nod and wait for Kurt’s critique.

“Finally something I’m familiar with,” Kurt sighs through his pleased smile, “This is my favorite one so far. It’s like biting into Autumn. All of your flavors are spot on and this cream cheese frosting complements it so perfectly.”

Blaine and Tina share a surprised look that makes Brittany and Sugar want to gag. Sugar rolls her eyes so hard they almost stick while Brittany just wants to push one of them, most likely Tina since she’s the closest. Those two are the biggest suck-ups ever and they only confirm it as they thank the judges for their wonderful feedback and move on to the next cupcake.

Surprisingly, Sue smiles.

It’s kind of creepy, but it happens all because of their Matcha-inspired cupcake which represents their midday beverage.

“I hate cupcakes, but this one might change my mind,” Sues says after taking a bite.

Kurt tilts his head in confusion while Santana shoots Sue a look of disbelief.

“Wait so you hate cupcakes yet you’re on a show based on cupcakes?” Kurt questions, “How does that work?”

“Talk to my lawyer,” Sue answers shortly.

Kurt is taken aback and looks to Santana, “What?”

“I don’t know,” Santana shakes her head dismissively and gets back to judging the cupcake, “Once again, you’ve chosen another mainstream trend. Maybe if I was on My Weird Cravings and liked the taste of grass mixed with frosting and topped with dusting of seaweed, I wouldn’t mind this.”

Blaine and Tina cringe upon hearing Santana’s remarks.

Brittany and Sugar both bust out laughing and it’s so loud that the camera pans to them.

“You made…a cupcake…for a goat!” Brittany giggles between words. She’s close to tears and Sugar’s going red in the face.

“Way to go, losers!” Sugar adds as she tries to catch her breath.

“I – I’m so sorry, we-“ Blaine began but Santana just held up here hand to stop him.

“Don’t apologize. If you’re going to bake something and present it to me, you better be pretty damn proud of it to the point where even if you don’t get the response you’re after you still think it’s the best thing you’ve ever made,” Santana tells him sternly, “Confidence is important in this industry. Grow a backbone and own it.”

Blaine just gulps and steps back in line with Tina as the judge’s move on to their final cupcake.

Again for Santana, it tastes somewhat above average and their high skill level is evident and they do all the right things but there’s no risk taken.

She’s bored, they’re boring.

On the other hand, Kurt and even Sue are blown away by everything they’ve put forth so Santana is out numbered this time around.

Blaine and Tina look relieved when Sam dismisses them back to their station and they hold their heads high as they pass Brittany and Sugar. They don’t say a word, just give their best attempt at a cocky grin before crossing the aisle to their kitchen.

The final team Sam calls up arrives to the judges’ panel wielding only two of their three cupcakes.

“What’s going on here?” Santana asks as she looks down at her plate.

“Our final cupcake didn’t cook through completely…” Artie replies guiltily.

“Time management not a strong point for you, huh?” Santana comments the nods to the first cupcake, “Tell us what you’ve made then.”

Mercedes takes over for Artie and goes on to explain the first cupcake, the coffee inspired cupcake to represent the start of their day. Presentation-wise, it’s on point and when it comes to taste, they kill it!

Santana is actually surprised by how much she likes it, “The espresso is really pronounced here which is something bakers fall short on a lot, but you nailed this. Coffee and chocolate is kind of a weakness for me so I’m glad that this doesn’t taste horrible.”

“I agree,” Kurt adds, “This is a very good take on what you were aiming for. Great job.”

Their second cupcake receives similar praise; great flavor, beautiful presentation and fits with the theme.

Brittany would be a little worried if they hadn’t only come up with two cupcakes.

“So which one of these cupcakes contains an ingredient from the curveball pantry?” Kurt asks once they finish tasting.

“Well,” Artie starts nervously, “It was in our final cupcake which would’ve been our take on a tequila sunrise. It contained tequila.”

“Obviously,” Santana quips then she starts to frown, “It’s really disappointing that you weren’t able to finish on time. You could’ve had this challenge in the bag.”

Brittany and Sugar share a look upon hearing those words; were they just saved by another team’s missteps?

“Okay bakers, only two teams will be moving on to the final round. Do you think you’ve made the cut?” Sam asks as he stands next to the judge’s panel, “This round was a little bit of a challenge for most of you but…Blaine and Tina…you’ve made it to Round 3!”

“Oh my God!” Tina squeals as she jumps into Blaine’s arms.

“We made it!” Blaine cheers and they bounce around their kitchen. It’s like every step they take is a jab at Brittany and Sugar.

This can’t happen, they can’t lose to them. Brittany crosses her fingers and her toes as she shuts her eyes tight and begins to wish and hope that Sam calls out their name next.

“The final team that will move on to Round 3…will be…Brittany and Sugar!” Sam announces and the lights dim over Mercedes and Artie, “Sorry Team AJs Bake Shop, your fight is over.”

Brittany lets out a sigh of relief and pulls Sugar in for a hug, “That was too close.”

“The judges agreed that you put up some tasty cupcakes,” Sam goes on to explain to Mercedes and Artie, “But the fact that you didn’t provide three cupcakes was unfortunately a critical blow in your case.”

“Oh hell to the no,” Mercedes snaps and points over to Brittany and Sugar, “They made only one cupcake in Round 1 while everyone else made two and they won the round! So we do the same and now we’re getting cut? How is this fair? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“What is with everyone testing our decisions today?” Kurt grumbles.

Mercedes is still going, “All of our cupcakes fit the theme, meanwhile Brittany and Sugar just picked random-”

“Let me stop you right there,” Santana stands up.

Brittany looks from Mercedes to Santana and prepares for the worst. She’s got that look in her eyes again, similar to when she smacked Rachel down like the hand of God. There’s this determination mixed with pure fury and Brittany knows she shouldn’t be thinking about how good she looks up there, but it’s impossible not to.

“Britt and Sugar put their personality into their work which is something I have not seen from any other team here today,” Santana starts and Brittany instantly perks up upon hearing her nickname, “They didn’t do anything by random. They put thought behind everything that they’ve done and they actually take risks. Sometimes it’s a hit, sometimes it’s a miss but at least they’re swinging for the fences. Don’t come at them just because you messed up.”

Brittany can’t help but smile at how highly Santana is speaking about them and the use of baseball references just makes her feel warm all over. Her heart thuds hard and her stomach fills with crazy butterflies again. She’s overcome with this sudden urge to rush over and –

She stops herself from thinking such a thought. She doesn’t even know the woman like that and it would be so out of line. But then when she glances up, she just barely catches Santana looking her way before she sets her gaze back on Mercedes. It’s quick, too quick for Brittany to interpret. She just listens to whatever Santana says next.

Santana grits her jaw, “The challenge for Round 1 didn’t specify the number of cupcakes required, everyone just assumed it meant two. Everyone except, Team Batter Up Cupcakes. This round specifically stated that you were to make three cupcakes. You made two, or do you need a recount? Can you even count? Should I break out the counting blocks and have you practice for a bit?”

Mercedes quiets although she looks like she is going to go off at any moment now.

Santana hopes she does.

“You also left out a curveball pantry ingredient,” Kurt adds, “That’s too many errors to overlook and that’s why you’re being sent home.”

Mercedes and Artie swallow their pride and exit the arena without another word.

Santana takes the moment to finally sit back down, but not before glancing over at Brittany one last time. The blonde is looking at her like she has put every single star in the sky. Oddly enough, the look makes Santana blush and she has to look away quickly before the camera catches her.

What she doesn’t evade is Kurt’s quizzical eye and when Santana finally sees that she has been caught, she does her best to fake it until she makes.

“What?” She scoffs.

“I totally get it now,” Kurt says as the dots all finally connect, “You like her.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You do like her!” Kurt squeals, “I knew it, that’s why you let her touch your boobs!“

“Boob,” Santana corrects, “Singular and I didn’t let her. She did that on her own.”

“Same thing!”

“Don’t start with me, Kurt,” Santana snaps, “I’m still full of rage.”

Kurt only smirks, “That’s not all you’re full of…”

“Huh?”

“You’re full of shit too.”

Upon seeing the wide grin Kurt wears, Santana rolls her eyes, “You’re really trying to get your scrawny ass kicked, aren’t you?”

The camera drags up Sam’s torso to settle in close as he makes the final announcement of the round, “Another team bites the dust here at the Cupcake Battles’ arena! The two remaining teams that will battle it out in the final round are: Brittany and Sugar from Team Batter Up Cupcakes – “

The camera pans to Brittany and Sugar who are all kinds of intimidating. They both growl at the audience and flex their muscles, alternating from different poses, before they point over to Blaine and Tina and yell out, “We’re going to break you in half like a pop tart!”

“Oh, that’s violent…” Blaine frowns.

“And facing off with them will be Blaine and Tina from Team Baking Dreams Come True!” Sam adds as the camera points to the contestants.

They’re remaining polite and do the whole smile and wave which surprises no one because they’re so boring.

“Stay tuned to see who comes out on top for our third and final round in,” Sam takes a long dramatic pause, “Cupcake Battles!”

#Cupcake Battles #Brittana #brittana fanfiction #fanfics #baking au

40 notes · View notes

fanfic-corner · 4 years

Text

John Being An Asshole

When The World Screams by K_K_Tibal on AO3. (31,354 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe, Deaf Castiel, EMT Castiel, Guitarist Dean, Aftermath of a car accident, Mild Gore, Past Abuse, Panic Attacks, Mind Reading Through Touch, Ableism, Slow Burn, Love Confessions, John Winchester Being an Asshole.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: The one thing that Castiel Novak can’t do is hear. He excels in his job as an EMT despite the fact that he’s deaf and has never let anything hold him back from being at the top of his game. That is, until he meets a certain man in the aftermath of a car accident. The one thing Dean Winchester can’t do is touch. Communication should be simple with the easy way that people can read each other’s thoughts through skin contact, but Dean outright refuses anything of the sort and much prefers the gentle caress of fingers on guitar strings. That is, until his dreams of being a professional guitarist are shattered in the accident. Even with the unfortunate circumstances of their meeting, a friendship grows and there is one thing they realize they can do for each other very well: Listen.

Notes: I was very confused until I figured out the mind reading thing, but once I did, I loved it!

Sleepless in Lawrence, Kansas by PrinceMalice on AO3. (50,162 words).

Tags: Radio Show AU, Self Help, Long Distance Pining, Sleepless in Seattle, John Winchester is Terrible, Slow Build, Some Angst.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: “Um, yes, hi. My name is Sam and I’m calling from Lawrence, Kansas.” A new voice... Castiel loved new voices. They always had new stories to tell. “Kansas… well, it’s not really midnight down there, is it? What keeps you up?” he asked. “I’m worried about my brother, Dean.”

Notes: Actually so cute, even though I’ve never seen the movie! I’m never quite sure whether I ship Sam and Ruby, especially in this, but Ruby was an icon in it.

Just Like You by imherecauseimnotallthere98 on AO3. (35,717 words).

Tags: Homophobia, Homophobic John, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Protective Castiel, BAMF Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Angry John, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Protective Bobby Singer, Awesome Bobby, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Scared Dean, John Being an Asshole, Swearing, Bisexual Dean, Pansexual Castiel, Past Child Abuse, Accidental Outing, Death Threats, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, Sharing a Bed.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When John shows up at their door in the middle of the night, the Winchesters and Cas start looking into who or what could have brought him back. Meanwhile, Dean struggles to keep his relationship with Cas a secret from his father, with some help from Sam. The tension rises between the Winchesters as Dean shows John that he is no longer the obedient little soldier he once was, and tries to establish himself as an equal with his dad.

Notes: I asked for John being an asshole, and this fic delivered. There are many fics where he is horrible or does horrible things, but this one is definitely the crowning champion. Bobby and Sam are incredible in it, though.

999 Days From Now by RebelSpaceOddity on AO3. (35,537 words).

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Alternate Universe, Past Drug Addiction, Romance, Slow Burn, Copious Amounts of Angst, Asshole John Winchester, Diner Owner Dean.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: An AU in which a recovered alcoholic Dean owns a diner, Sam is in law school and is clueless about the way Jess looks at him, and Cas? Well, Cas turns Dean’s world upside down and maybe, just maybe, gives him a reason to have a little faith.The love of a lifetime told in a heartbeat.

Notes: This fic got me. I have a terrible, risky habit of not reading the tags/warnings, so imagine my horror when I got halfway through this fic before I realised my mistake! It was excellent, though.

Father Knows Best by DarkHeartInTheSky on AO3. (81,034 words).

Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence from Season 8, Castiel Whump, Hurt Castiel, Worried Dean, Kidnapping, John Winchester Being an Asshole.

My Rating: 5 stars.

Description: When John wakes up alone in a field after spending years in Hell, he thinks he's been given a second a chance. A chance to do right by his boys for once. A chance to protect them like he should have. So protect them he will--even from the horrific creature that's weaseled its way into their lives that calls itself an angel of the Lord.

Notes: I know he means well, but Jesus H Christ, John is really desperate to win that Worst Father of the Year Award in this (He wins. That’s all I’m saying).

Collapsed Rainbows by suckerfordeansfreckles on AO3. (6,125 words).

Tags: Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hospitals, Nurse Castiel, Blood and Injury, Falling in Love, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Hurt/Comfort, Touch-Starved Dean Winchester, Dean has a lot of Selfworth Issues, Blood, Bruises, Broken Bones, First Kiss.

My Rating: 4 stars.

Description: Dean wakes up on his 18th birthday, giddy and a little scared, and rips his blanket off of himself to start searching his hands for the soulmark that is supposed to appear somewhere on his body today. Nothing. His arms. Nothing. Shoulders, upper body, legs. Nothing. It’s okay, he tells himself, don’t panic yet. But then he rushes to the bathroom and braces himself on the edge of the sink to look up into the mirror, and it’s right there. Black streaks and blotches along the edge of his jaw, dark like ink. Marks like the imprints of knuckles meeting Dean’s chin. It takes him a little while to fully realizes what this means. That his soulmark is there, for everyone to see, right on his face, impossible to hide.

That his soulmate’s first touch will be a punch to Dean’s face.

Notes: Super cute but slightly frustrating and the plot is a tad thin.

Your Love is Strong by tale_to_tell on AO3. (6,562 words).

Tags: Hurt Dean Winchester, Worried Castiel, Worried Sam Winchester, Protective Castiel, Sam Winchester Knows, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean, Sam Winchester is So Done, Brotherly Love, Major Character Injury, Ghosts, Canon Universe, Internalized Homophobia, Homophobic John Winchester, Implied Sexual Content, Angst with a Happy Ending.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Sam knew. Honesty, it was impossible not to know. Dean and Cas were always brushing shoulders and sharing sickeningly sweet smiles. There was also so much eye-fucking. God, it was disgusting how in love they were. At first, Sam wondered when they were going to figure it out for themselves, but now he just wondered if they would figure it out at all. It had been years. God, Dean was so stupid sometimes. A "Profound bond," could you be anymore obvious than that? Dean was either super oblivious or just an idiot. Probably both. Definitely both. What Sam didn't know, however, was that Dean and Cas were already aware of their feelings for one another and in a relationship. They were just trying to figure out how to tell him. Apparently, a terrible injury on a hunt is what would ultimately reveal their relationship to Sam, just not in the way any of them would have wanted.

Notes: Sam is such an unbelievable mood in this.

Sins of the Father by allthebeautifulthings9828 on AO3. (2,458 words).

Tags: Post Episode s08e23 Sacrifice, Fallen Castiel, Human Castiel, POV Dean Winchester, Abusive John Winchester, Love, First Date, Protective Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Family Angst.

My Rating: 3 stars.

Description: Having had enough of Dean hiding his relationship with Castiel, Sam takes matters into his own hands. He won't let Dean deny that he's in love with the former angel, but nothing prepared him for his big brother's confession about the last time he was with a male. Can Sam undo yet more of John Winchester's damage before Dean runs from his feelings again?

Notes: Quite short but cute, and I live for Sam being supportive.

Athazagoraphobia by Mickey_Todoroki on AO3 and Wattpad. (20,347 words).

Tags: Established Castiel/Dean, Established Gabriel/Sam, Protective Rowena, Hurt Dean Winchester, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Abused Dean Winchester, John Winchester Being an Asshole, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Athazagoraphobia, Suicide Attempt, Self-Harm, Past Non-con, Attempted Murder, Alternate Ending.

My Rating: 2 stars.

Description: After some thinking, Amara decides that Dean needs both his parents. Only, she didn't know his past. And what John did to Dean growing up. And now that he's back, Dean might regress back to his 22-year-old scared self.

Notes: I know that some people like them, and there certainly are a lot of them, but this reads like an angsty, emotionally repressed fic usually reserved to the depths of Wattpad, which you find at 3am and wonder whether the author is okay. It was fine, but only just.

So, there you have it. (Probably) everyone’s least favourite Winchester, being a complete dick. You’re welcome.

#nobody asked for this #john winchester #destiel #supernatural #fic recs #fanfic

18 notes · View notes

katehuntington · 4 years

Text

Title: Changes - part eight Word count: ±4800 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part eight: Zoë meets with Terry Cliffer, or is it the shapeshifter? She tries to find out fast, but can’t prevent bullets from flying. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Demon possession, supernatural creatures/entities. Smut, swearing, alcohol use/addiction. Kidnapping, mentions of torture and murder, illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Music: Boulevard Of Broken Dreams - Greenday. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish & @winchest09 who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

Zoë sips her cappuccino as she observes the foam floating on top of her hot drink. She’s at Beetle’s, sitting on a stool at the bar. Cigarette smoke fills the air, and even though she would love to light one, she ignores the smell. Instead the huntress stares at the bottles across from the counter, exhibited on the shelves, the back wall is a mirror to create the illusion that they have a lot more drinks in store. It’s a modern kind of place, the only history it shows are some pictures, pinned to the wall. The current number one hit Boulevard of Broken Dreams by Greenday plays in the background. She listens to the lyrics, the song appealing to her. I walk this empty street, on the boulevard of broken dreams Where the city sleeps and I'm the only one and I walk alone My shadow's the only one that walks beside me My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me 'Til then I walk alone

The long nights are taking their toll. Although strangers still see a stunning young woman, she herself notices the signs of fatigue in her reflection, despite her makeup, that is a little more prominent than usual. Zoë finds it thrilling to pretend to be someone she’s not. She traded her leather biker outfit for a white blouse, a black blazer, matching suit pants and pumps. Her straightened dark hair is combed back and tied together in a bun. It’s funny, leather or business, she still gives away the same message; don’t mess with me.

Her eyes capture the bottle of Johnny Walker Red again. She would kill for a glass, but having a shot wouldn’t be a smart thing to do. Focus is the issue here; no way she’s letting her guard down. The damn bastard shot her once and she doesn’t feel like peeling a bullet out of herself for the second time today. But one glass wouldn’t hurt, right? Zoë shakes her head, deciding against it. This appointment can go two ways: either the shapeshifter shows up and this bar and its customers are going to have the most ‘exciting’ evening of their lives, or Terry Cliffer shows up and this will be nothing more than a boring interrogation. Not to mention, this case will once again take longer than anticipated, because by now, the fucker could’ve easily shifted into someone else already.

She finishes her coffee and leaves the empty cup on the bar. Carefully, she glances over her shoulder. Zoë can’t put her finger on it, but she can feel a pair of eyes burning in her back; someone’s watching her. The shapeshifter maybe? She remembers Sam’s words and realizes that even if she meets Cliffer within fifteen minutes, the son of a bitch might actually be here right now. Suddenly, she hears something sweeping towards her over the wooden bartop. Startled, she turns to the bartender, who still has his hand folded around a glass of whiskey. “You’ve been eying that Johnny Walker bottle for twenty minutes and you look really tense. You need a drink, on the house.”

She looks him in the eye, trying to decide whether or not to trust him. She smiles politely and takes the glass, but doesn’t drink, just yet. “Thank you,” she says, observing him. “You’re the owner of this place? Rob Michaels?” “That’s me,” Rob answers while he polishes a glass. We’ll see about that, Zoë thinks to herself. The bartender could be the shapeshifter, for all she knows. She needs to figure out if he is, without giving him the impression that she’s suspecting him. “Then you probably know most of your regulars, right?” she questions. “Right…” Rob hesitates. “Am I being questioned?” “Whatever you wanna call it,” she flashes him her FBI identification.

He raises his eyebrows. He thought there was something more to her than just a businesswoman who’s getting a drink after work, but a fed? He had city police over, even state police at one point, this is a new one. He leans in for her to hear his whispered words. “Something shady going on in my bar?” he asks, looking around for anything suspicious. She puts her ID away in the inside pocket of her blazer, after which she folds her hands together, ignoring his question. “What do you know about Terry Cliffer?” Rob chuckles. “Are you kidding me? Terry wouldn’t hurt a fly.” “We’re not just around to catch the bad guys, Mr. Michaels. We actually intend to prevent crimes from happening, too” she states, pretending to be insulted. “Is he in trouble?” the bar owner wonders. “I think I’m the one who’s doing the questioning here, Rob. Can I call you Rob?” Zoë grabs a hold of the conversation again, not impressed. “S-sure,” he answers, intimidated. She glances at the clock, it’s 5:55. Then she continues. “Tell me what you know.”

Zoë’s eyes are penetrating, yet calm and the bartender soon begins his story, but he doesn’t start off with anything new. Shy guy, father of two, yada yada yada. Her thoughts wander off to the whiskey bottle on the shelf again, as she partly listens. Shit, she wants that heavenly brown liquor, and she wants it bad. Although there’s a full glass in front of her, she still refuses to drink it. Zoë hasn’t actually seen him rinse the glass, nor if he poured the whiskey straight from the bottle; it could be spiked. The huntress contemplates on dragging him over the counter and cutting him; if he screams out in terror, he’s not the shifter, if he doesn’t, he is. Yeah, maybe not such a great idea, Zo, she thinks to herself. And all this time she keeps staring at the Johnny Walker Red.

“He moved into town a few years back with his family. I believe he still owns some property about a mile or three out, though. Somewhere on 110th Ave,” Rob says with a lowered voice. Suddenly there’s the sound of glass breaking. The bartender turns around and is surprised to find the bottle of whiskey in pieces on the floor. “Ah, damn it! Must have left it too close to the edge,” he mutters as he kneels down to pick up the biggest pieces of shattered glass. Startled, Zoë stares over the bar, recapturing what just happened. Did she just… Ah shit, not this again. “That’s a shame,” she comments to break the silence. “Sure is,” he agrees, but then pulls his hand back with a little screech. “Ow!” He gets up and Zoë immediately detects the bleeding cut on his finger, which causes Rob to hiss in pain. A shapeshifter wouldn’t feel a thing when being cut by glass; so much for her theory. As if she was waiting for the lights to go green on a racetrack, she puts the glass to her mouth and lets the whiskey ooze down her throat. My God, she so needed a drink.

In the meantime Rob takes off to the kitchen, probably to bandage the cut. It’s when the door closes behind him, that his last words sink in. 110th Ave! Cliffer owned land there? She quickly gets her ducks in a row. She knows O’Brien, Middleton and Gibson, the missing people, have all been at 110th Avenue over the last month, but no one actually owned a place there. This might be a major lead! Why didn’t she learn about this sooner? She has to find the exact address and pay a visit as soon as she’s done here.

As the place gets more crowded during these after work hours, Terry Cliffer walks in. Zoë straightens her back and looks over the crowd. Insecure, the guy in his mid-forties searches the place, then he carefully approaches the bar. He’s not a tall man and he seems thin. It surprises Zoë that the shapeshifter chose his body to copy in the first place. He glances behind the bar, probably looking for Rob to ask if there has been anyone around looking for him. By this time, Zoë has hopped off the bar stool and walked up to the guy. Her gun, loaded with silver bullets, hangs from her belt and burns in her flesh through the fabric of her dress pants. If he attacks, runs, or does something else that she doesn’t like, she’s going to shoot him. “Terry Cliffer?” He turns around and looks her in the eye. Not a sign of recognition. The shapeshifter would recognize her, after all, she is the one hunting him. Nothing strange, nothing out of the ordinary happens, he just puts out his hand to greet her. “Are you the FBI agent?” he assumes, carefully. “That would be me, yeah,” she takes out her federal agent identification again. “Shall we take a seat?” They move to a table in the far corner and sit down. A good spot, one she picked out the moment she walked in. From here, she has a clear view over the entire place, yet it’s private. She signals Rob, who probably took care of his little problem and is back behind his bar. In a few seconds he halts next to their table.

“What can I get you?” he takes out a pen and a small notebook. “A beer, if that’s okay?” Terry glances at the woman across from the table. “Be my guest,” she approves and looks up at Rob. “Plain water please.” ��“Oh, and can I get something to eat? I didn’t actually get the chance to have dinner, yet.” The last sentence was more directed to Zoë than to the bar owner, excusing himself again in that self-conscious way. “The usual?” the owner of the place asks. Terry nods. “Anything else?” Rob glances from one to the other. “No, I think we’re fine,” Zoë answers. “Okay then, coming right up.”

Rob leaves the table and finally Zoë can start her conversation. She begins with an attempt to break the ice, since Terry seems to be pretty tense. It’s not every day that you have a one-on-one with an FBI agent. “Not planning to have supper with your family?” she assumes. “Not today, my wife took the kids to their grandparents for the week, down in Preston,” Terry tells her. Good, they are safe, Zoë notes. She folds her hands together leaning on her forearms on the edge of the table, ready to start the interrogation, but Terry beats her to it. “I don’t want to be rude, but I expected to meet a man today,” he admits with a nervous laugh. “Right, I heard you talked to my partner. He called in sick,” she makes up quickly. “It was really odd, he didn’t know your name,” Terry tells her. “For a moment, I thought I was being pranked or something.”

Uh-oh. Is he suspecting something? She has to come up with something good now to keep a good impression. “I actually got married a week ago,” she lets a smile play on her lips, turning her mother’s engagement ring on her finger, drawing attention to the piece of jewelry. “I changed surnames. What can I say, he doesn’t like change.” “Congratulations!” Terry smiles back, seemingly buying it. Pfew, that was a close call. Now it’s her turn to ask some questions, because all she has been doing during the last five minutes is covering the Winchester’s fuck ups. Just as she takes a breath to begin, Rob shows up next to the table with their drinks and a cutlery set for Terry. Zoë lets out an annoyed sigh and looks away.

“One beer and plain water.” He puts down the glasses from his dinner-tray, which he holds up with his left hand. As he sets down Terry’s beer, the meat knife slips from the plate and falls, the sharp edge pointing down. Zoë looks up just in time to see the knife penetrate the hand of the man she’s about to negotiate. She almost lets out a moan of disgust, but strangely enough, Terry doesn’t even notice it until he glances at his hand. “Terry, Jesus Christ! I’m so sorry, it - it just fell off!” Rob stammers, but neither of them hear him. It’s not a silver knife, it’s stainless steel, Zoë realizes instantly. Slowly the person - no - creature, on the other side of the table lifts his head until he looks directly at her. His facial expression is no longer insecure and friendly, but self-confident and sadistic. For a brief moment his eyes flash white, as the eyes of a cat reflect when it stares into a pair of headlights.

“You son of a--” There’s no time to finish her sentence. In a split second, the shapeshifter draws his gun and Zoë is just in time to flip the metal table over on the side. She goes for her Smith & Wesson as well, as the shapeshifter backs up, causing his chair to fall over. Several people turn around to see what’s going on as Rob turns pale and steps back. Just before he unleashes a bullet on her, she shouts a warning. “Everybody on the floor!” As screams are let out by people inside the bar, the shifter fires two bullets at her, but by using the steel table as a shield, she stays unharmed. “No way you’re gonna shoot me twice, fucker,” she snarls as she aims her gun over the edge of the table and pulls the trigger. Making sure not to injure any civilians, Zoë fires three shots in a row. She’s not sure if any of them hit the target, but he’s still running. “Fuck!” she curses as the third shot shatters the glass of the front door.

Quickly, she follows and intends to run outside. Good thing she takes cover behind the doorpost as she glances around the corner, because the huntress stares right into a barrel. Just in time, she retreats and the two bullets shoot by her. Stumbling back inside, she takes a short second to catch her breath with her back against the wall and her gun tightly gripped in both hands and pointing it down. Several frightened and panicked eyes look straight at the FBI impersonator. One face stands out, Rob stares at her as if he just saw a ghost. “I hope you’ve got insurance, Rob,” she comments, out of breath from all the excitement. He nods his head, dumbfounded, unable to get a proper ‘yes’ or ‘no’ out of his mouth. “Good, have a nice evening. Sorry ‘bout the mess.” She smiles uncomfortably and gives him an awkward wave.

After gathering her courage, the huntress exits the bar. With the gun pointing ahead and her index finger off the trigger, Zoë clears the area, but there’s no one there but a bunch of thrill seekers who probably heard the gunshots. Zoë lets out a sigh and lowers her nine mil; she’s back to square one. There’s no need to follow him, he could be anywhere and anyone by now. She moves back to the small alleyway next to the bar where she parked her Harley, still expecting an ambush behind every corner. When she walks up the street, she notices a shiny fluid on the sidewalk, which catches her attention. Curious she kneels down and touches it with the tip of her finger; it’s blood. A grin appears on her face; looks like she managed to hit him after all.

When she looks further she notices a blood trail leading to a manhole in the center of the alley. The shifter left the cover off, allowing the huntress to stare down into the black depth. “Hope my bullet hurts as much as yours did, fucking lizard!” she bellows down. Zoë gets up and makes her way to the Harley, thinking through her next move and forcing herself to focus, even though the adrenaline is still rushing through her body. Terry Cliffer’s property at 110th Avenue; that is her first priority. She would bet money on it: this has to be the location of the shapeshifter’s lair.

It’s quiet in the parking lot when Zoë pulls up to the motel, but she doesn't pay much attention to the silence, determined to close this case tonight. She rushes inside while taking her helmet off, doesn’t bother to pay attention to the man behind the counter and quickly opens the door to her room. Her Macbook is still buzzing softly and as soon as she presses a key, the screen activates. She selects a tracking website from her favorites and types in the information she has. After several seconds a complete address shows: 3841 110th Avenue NW. Quickly she kicks off her pumps, changes her dress pants for jeans and her blazer for the new leather Harley Davidson jacket. As she’s lacing up her biker boots, when three loud bangs on the door startle her. Cautious, the huntress takes her gun in her left hand, finger still off the trigger, and silently approaches the door. “Mrs. Johnson! I know you’re in there!” She recognizes that voice, it’s the owner of the motel. Quickly she puts away her weapon and opens the door. The old man is waiting with a phone still in his hand, he doesn’t seem amused. “I just received a call from one of my guests who was dining at Beetle’s Bar, said he saw you shooting up the place,” he recalls. “I can explain that,” she states, calmly. “I bet you can. You know what? I’ll bet your real name isn’t even Johnson. I want you out. I said I didn’t want any trouble,” he insists, pointing down the hallway. “Just give me a sec.” She goes for her ID in her inside pocket while her other hand makes a calming gesture, then she shows it to him. “My name isn’t Johnson, you’re right. It’s Evans, Sarah Evans. I’m a federal agent and I was working undercover,” she explains. “FBI? Yeah, right. I don’t give a damn. Now, get out of my motel,” the man decides. “Alright, let me get my stuff,” she sighs, putting back her identification.

Instead of pulling back her hand empty, she grabs a small flashlight, turns it on and points it in the old man’s eyes. Her suspicion is confirmed, because his eyes flash white. For a brief moment the shapeshifter is overwhelmed by the reveal, enough time for Zoë to drop the flashlight into her striking hand, breach the space between them and slam her fist right up his nose, giving him one hell of an uppercut. He goes down in the hallway and looks up at her, staggered. “Come on. Did you really think I was gonna be that easy?” she chuckles, flipping the torch up in the air and catching it skillfully.

She grabs him by the collar and drags him inside her room, shifting the fight between four walls instead of on the corridor, not wanting innocent bystanders to get caught in the crossfire. She drops him to the ground, glaring down on him with disgust as she takes her gun from behind her waistband. The shifter clears his throat, wiping crimson red from his lip. “Actually, I did. I almost shot you twice. Reckoned this would be a piece of cake,” he gloats with a grin, after which he struggles to get on his feet, holding his hands up. “You wanna shoot me in a fully booked motel? Try to explain that to the neighbors.” Zoë narrows her eyes at him, mentally kicking herself for leaving the gun suppressor in her storage locker the last time she was there. The bastard has a point; shooting what looks like the owner of Motel 6 through the heart, will definitely draw attention. She scoffs, pursing her lips, then she takes the magazine from her weapon and lays it on the bed. “We’ll finish this the old fashioned way, then,” she agrees confidently.

They face each other, challenging. Zoë adjusts to a back stance, putting her left foot behind her and bending her knees slightly. Her hands lift up in front of her face as she flexes her fingers, ready for anything that son of a bitch is going to throw at her. “I have to say, you got me fooled. Making me believe Terry Cliffer was going to be your next dress-up party, while he actually was your first. Smart,” she admits. “If you admire me so much, why waste me?” he tests, blood dripping from his nose. She smirks at that, entertained by his arrogance. “Don’t give yourself too much credit.”

He steps towards her, but she beats him to it. In a quick move she defends, blocking his attack with her forearm and swings her back leg up with force, kicking the shifter hard against his temple. He goes down, shaking his head to ward off the black spots that are inevitably swimming in front of his eyes. When he looks up, the huntress has taken her rear foot stance again. One fist with her palm up on her hip and ready to strike, the other is ready in front of her to defend. “Gotta say, you fight pretty good for a girl,” He gets to his feet again, wiping his brow. “Or should I call you the Karate Kid?” “Oh, I’m not a kid. I’m more like a ninja,” she smirks, staring him down. “Ninja or not, you’re no match for me.”

He charges her, faster than humanly possible. Despite his supernatural speed, she dodges his jab and releases another kick, against his ribs this time. The creature locks her leg before she can retreat, however, and steps in while Zoë has lost her balance. With a fierce strike, his fist hits her in the jaw, hard. He still has a hold of her leg and twists it, forcing her on the floor, pulling a groan of agony from her as the ligaments in her knee stretch further than possible. Not giving up that easily, she pushes her left foot from the ground, using the leverage of him still holding her right leg tight to swing the other to his head, hitting him on the side of his face with her instep. He releases her and she breaks her fall, rolls, and gets up again, all in one swift movement. The arm that had a strong grip on her only seconds ago, is now twisted to the shifter’s back. Roughly, she forces him to his knees; he can't go anywhere.

“What did you do to those people?” she demands, not asking very nicely. “Oh, don’t worry, I don’t actually kill them. It’s far more fun to watch them suffer,” he responds, sadistically. “You son of a—” She doesn’t have time to finish her sentence, because the shapeshifter throws his head back and hits her hard in the teeth. Sharp pain shoots through the roots into her skull and for a moment there she’s sure he broke off a tooth or two; so much for looking fabulous. In that split second, the chameleon manages to fight free, grabs her by her arm and violently throws her over his shoulder. Zoë lands on her back, the air slamming out of her lungs. She gasps sharply, unable to catch her breath. No time to recover from the pain, though, because she receives a kick in the gut a moment after.

Losing control over the fight fast, she tries to push away from her attacker to buy herself some valuable time, but her opponent takes the liberty to help her up, forcing her to stand by pulling her hair, before she suffers a blow in the chest with a strength that exceeds that of a human being. The huntress slams into the table, the edge bruising her lower back, feeling the tight grip of the shifter's hands on her throat when he roughly pushes her into the wooden surface. With a devilish grin on his thin lips, he chokes her, clearly enjoying the display: how his victim fights for air, trying to pull in desperate breaths as he crushes her throat under his fingers.

“You know what I do to them? I keep them somewhere safe, safe from the world, where no one can find them,” he tells her, his speech eerily slow, as if he’s reading a chapter of a horror novel. Zoë glances aside briefly. Although she can’t move her head, she notices the empty whiskey bottle she and Dean left last night, still laying on its side in the window sill. She reaches out, almost touching the glass, but the bottle remains out of reach by an inch or two. The shapeshifter laughs at her attempt and continues his story, as if he has all the time in the world to tell it. “Humans are such strange creatures, you know? If you keep them together in a tiny cage for a while, they tend to behave like spiders. They attack each other, eventually kill and actually eat their own kind out of pure desperation. How amusing is that?”

Zoë can’t hold back a gag, but forces herself to concentrate on the bottle. It vibrates almost unnoticeable, then the bottleneck turns towards her slightly. Focus, Zo! You can do this! She sends all her energy through her stretched out arm towards the nerve endings on her fingertips. It works, because the bottle flies into her hand. With an unexpected strike Zoë breaks the bottle on the shifter’s head, who stumbles back, finally letting go of her neck. Trying to suck oxygen down her painful windpipe, she coughs uncontrollably. Alright, that’s enough. A fair fight seems noble and all, but having a face off with a supernatural being, might not have been one of her smartest ideas. The huntress reaches for her gun and takes the magazine from the bed, swings around, aiming at… nothing? The room is empty. “Fuck, not again,” she curses, bummed that she can’t put twenty years of jujitzu training in good use because of the runner.

Before bolting out the door, the experienced huntress glances both ways down the hallway, her gun ready. Shit. No sign of the shifter. She lets out a frustrated sigh and moves in, rolling her tongue over her straight teeth in the meantime, checking if they got chipped after the nasty headbutt she received. When she clears the foyer, she is surprised to find the real motel owner, tied up to a chair in nothing more than a shirt and trunks, his mouth taped. “Are you alright?” she asks, as he ‘hmm’s’ loudly. In a quick movement she rips the tape from his mouth, unleashing a rant of curses and shouts. “Ouch! That son of a bitch! Where is he?! Where is that bastard who did this to me?! I’m gonna kill him! I swear, I’m gonna--”

Zoë stares at him for a moment, feeling a headache coming on, then grabs the roll of duct tape from the counter. While the manager keeps on raging, she rips off a piece of tape and presses it over his mouth. There is no way in the world she’s gonna release the pissed off elder; he needs some cooling down time. Casually she picks up the phone and for a moment considers dialling 911, but decides this isn’t really that much of an emergency and calls the local police. “Hello? Yeah, hi. I just found an old guy tied up to a chair in not much more than his undies… Motel 6, 2107 Highway 52 North... My name? Yeah, it’s Not Interested.” She hangs up and clears her throat, wiping her prints from the horn, then walks away, bored, with the roll of duct tape in her hand, leaving the furiously moaning motel owner behind the counter.

Back in her room, she gathers her things and stuffs them in two duffels, which fit into the two big leather saddlebags on her Harley perfectly. She makes quick work of getting rid of all the evidence, including the glass she shattered on the shifter’s head. With both bags on her shoulder, she takes a last look around and leaves the room, waving at the motel manager on her way out while hiding her face from the security camera. The cover of the manhole in the center of the parking lot is removed; her shifter went underground again. He's running back to his hideout, only he doesn't know that she knows exactly where that is. “3841 110th Avenue Northwest,” she mumbles to herself as she gets on her bike and puts the helmet on her head.

That’s where she’s going, that’s where this is going to end. The Harley engine roars loudly when she accelerates. Its back tire spins for a moment before the motorbike takes off as the evening sets in. This is going to be her last night in Rochester and his last night on the face of the earth. Zoë is determined: this hunt ends tonight.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part nine here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

Wanna be on the taglist? Shoot me a message!

65 notes · View notes

cake-writes · 5 years

Text

Low

Pairing: Steve x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Drug and Alcohol Abuse, Mental Illness (Bipolar & Depression), Violence, 18+

Word Count: 3.5k

Requested by @josiewinters1999: I was wondering if you could write a Steve x Reader where Steve helps Reader (his girlfriend) get over a drug addiction?

This request really hits close to home. To write this, I relied heavily on my own experiences with bipolar and drug addiction. If you - any of you - ever you need someone to talk to, my ask box and messages are always open!

Steve had always known you were big into gym supplements. You didn’t have serum or anything else enhanced running through your veins, just plain human blood, so you were always on the lookout for safe, healthy ways to boost your abilities. Even before the two of you got together, you introduced him to protein shakes, amino acids, creatine, the works – and you were very rarely ever found without a shaker bottle in hand, fresh from the gym.

It certainly helped you quite a lot to supplement your exercise. You could bench press and deadlift a lot of weight for your small stature, and your squats were in a league of their own. You were strong. Not as strong as him, of course, but for a regular person, you could definitely pack a wallop.

Even though your body was strong, your mind wasn’t. He knew that too, and he didn’t pry. Steve certainly wasn’t without his demons, and he reminded you every now and then that he’d be happy to talk if you ever wanted to. You’d been together for a little over a year, now, and he’d opened up quite a bit about his own past – but you hadn’t. Not about the things that plagued you. Not yet. It would take time, and he knew that. He understood.

He probably should have paid more mind than he did to the pills you started to take. Over the last few months, your bedside drawer slowly became full of them. Some were for medical reasons, and the rest were vitamins or supplements – or so you claimed.

In some regards, he knew a fair bit about your meds. The little white pill was your birth control. The little blue one was an antidepressant. The capsule was lithium. All for medical reasons.

The others weren’t.

The bigger white pill was oxycodone. The yellow one was valium.

Those weren’t vitamins at all. You lied to him about them, and he was oblivious. He certainly didn’t think to research them, because he trusted you. Vitamins and supplements were nothing out of the ordinary.

What Steve didn’t know was that you were spiralling.

You’d been prescribed the oxy a few weeks back to alleviate the pain from a couple of broken bones in your wrist. You’d mostly healed up by now, but due to your line of work, the doctor had given you a backup supply along with a warning not to abuse them – just in case the pain very likely flared up in your wrist.

And it did.

And you did.

You abused them. Not only did they make you feel good, like everything would be alright, but they also gave you extra energy and made you chatty and sociable. You liked to pop one or two before missions where a lot of teamwork would be involved. Sometimes you’d take them before Tony’s insufferable parties, too, and combine them with alcohol for extra effect. That was always fun.

The valium, on the other hand, was originally meant to manage your anxiety, carefully prescribed by a psychiatrist who monitored your condition. Flare-ups didn’t happen often, mostly just when you made a stupid mistake on a mission, and afterwards you’d stew over it for hours like a broken record, over and over and over. You’d ruminate. The valium took the edge off and distracted you from your thoughts. It, too, made you feel good.

Needless to say, as of late you weren’t in a very good headspace. The fact that you were manic depressive was bad enough. It was manageable, but that kind of diagnosis didn’t just go away, even if you usually did handle it well enough with a delicate combination of medication and therapy.

Work stress was what triggered your downward spiral. The longer you were an Avenger, the more it took its toll on you and, eventually, your mood started to plummet despite your medication. You went low.

Truth be told, you’d been low for weeks. The fact that you’d started to pop pills was a good indication, but you refused to acknowledge that something was wrong.

Steve always made sure you knew that you could talk to him if you ever needed to, but you didn’t about the more serious stuff. For basic things, you did – how your wrist was healing up, how you were feeling today, if you’d achieved one of your top three things for the day like he gently encouraged you to do. They were little questions that showed he cared, and it meant the world to you that he asked them – just as much as when he told you I love you outright.

You knew how much it would hurt him to know that you were feeling depressed, so you didn’t share that with him. He already had so much on his shoulders, and you didn’t want to be a burden. He knew all about your highs and your lows and he did what he could to help you through them – but there wasn’t much he could do and it only made you feel guilty. You knew how helpless he felt on the days you couldn’t even get yourself out of bed, and you didn’t want him to think anything was wrong.

So, instead, you popped pills – pills that made the world seem bright again, if only for a few short hours.

One small dose of valium slowly turned to three as your tolerance increased. It made you feel so incredibly relaxed that you stared into space sometimes, mind blissfully blank. Sometimes it knocked you out, too; made you sleep like the dead. Steve had never known you to be a heavy sleeper, but as of late, you had been. He figured you’d just been having a rough couple of weeks because your body was still healing. He was oblivious.

In the Quinjet before a particularly bothersome mission, you needed the extra energy and ego boost. This mission would require a fair amount of teamwork and you were in no mood for it. Sam sat to your left while the two of you prepped your gear, and Steve was across the aisle from you, his shield in the vacant seat beside him. Clint was piloting. The rest of the team was already on site, ready to raid.

After your gear was all ready and adjusted, Sam just happened to glance over and catch you pull a little orange pill bottle from your pocket. At first, he assumed it was another vitamin or supplement or some stupid new thing you were into, until he caught a glimpse of the label – oxycodone.

You popped two of the tablets into your mouth, and dry swallowed them with ease.

Well, that wasn’t normal.

As you shoved the bottle back into your duffel bag, you caught him eyeing you and asked blankly, “What?”

“Those your, uh,” he chose his words carefully to test the waters, “new supps?”

You beamed at him. “Aw, Sammy, you know me so well.”

Sam had been a counsellor at the VA for a number of years. He knew what drug addiction looked like. Of course he was the first person to catch on to yours. The fact that you’d blatantly lied about it was the first sign – lied and deflected. And then, later on during the mission, when your words slurred just a little over comms, that was the second one.

He was going to have a very difficult conversation with you, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. What’s worse was that he needed to keep it from Steve out of respect for you. Sam was never one for secrets, but for now, he’d keep yours. If the conversation went south like he highly suspected it would, then he’d would have no choice but to tell him. Hopefully that wouldn’t happen and you’d come to your senses, but he already knew you wouldn’t.

In the morning, Sam made you breakfast. That wasn’t too unusual, because he made everyone breakfast every now and then. He liked to cook, and his pancakes were to die for. Knowing he was making them this morning put a tiny bit of light into your otherwise bleak outlook on life as of late.

It was just the two of you in the kitchen so early in the morning. Steve had accidentally woken you up as he was getting ready for his morning jog, and you hadn’t been able to get back to sleep. Sam had strangely chosen to forego his, but he did that every now and then so you didn’t think anything of it.

As expected, the conversation went poorly.

“Those weren’t vitamins yesterday,” Sam commented casually, “were they?”

You’d just started bringing your loaded fork up to your mouth, but you stilled. The pause was extremely brief, just long enough to make it obvious that he wasn’t wrong. Then you rolled your eyes and shoved the bite of pancakes into your mouth.

“Sure they were,” you told him, muffled by pancakes. “Gotta get my B-12’s, you know.”

You lied about it so easily, like you’d done it a hundred times before. Sam knew what oxycodone looked like, and he could only imagine what other things you were on if you were popping pills so easily before a mission – and two of them, no less.

Sam said your name firmly, almost in reprimand and immediately, your temper flared. You purposely dropped your fork down onto the plate with a loud clink and shot him a nasty glare.

“It’s oxy,” he responded. “You shouldn’t be taking it on a mission. You know that.”

“It’s a vitamin,” you hissed. “Ask Steve. He knows.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest. “You lie to him too?”

At that, you loudly shoved your chair back from the kitchen counter and got to your feet. “I’m not gonna put up with your bullshit, Wilson. You wanna counsel someone, go back to the VA.”

“This isn’t about me.” His voice was patient and kind, not accusatory. “You’ve got a problem.”

“No, you’re the one with the problem,” you spat at him. “Get off my ass.”

Projection. He’d expected as much.

“I can get you in contact with someone. She’s really good—”

You interrupted him angrily, “Go to hell, Sam.”

And then, when you stormed out of the room, he let you go. He knew it was a hard pill to swallow – literally – to be told something like this, and he’d dealt with it hundreds of times by this point. Everyone reacted differently. Some people came to terms with it and tried to do better, while others sank even further into addiction. He hoped you’d be the former, not the latter.

Just in case, though, he sent Steve a quick text.

Keep an eye on her for the next couple of days, yeah? She’s low.

When you got back upstairs to your shared room with Steve, you popped another couple pills – valium this time – and cried into your pillow.

After he received Sam’s text, Steve returned from his jog sooner than he’d planned. He found you bundled up in the sheets, staring into space with streaks of tears and mascara drying on your cheeks. You didn’t even notice he was there, or if you did, you didn’t acknowledge him. You just kept staring blankly at the wall.

His heart broke at the sight.

“Oh, sweetheart—”

Steve gathered you into his arms so easily and held you close, bringing your head against his chest as the two of you lay in bed together. Your messy makeup stained his white t-shirt, but he didn’t care and neither did you. It was a small comfort, the way he threaded his fingers through your hair as he whispered sweet things to you, reassurances he always told you when you were low. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. I love you.”

You didn’t respond, or maybe you couldn’t. You loved him, but in this moment you were numb. You fell asleep to the sound of his voice, surrounded by the warmth and love that only Steve – your sweet, caring Steve – could provide.

You were low. Almost at rock bottom, as a matter of fact, but not quite.

Rock bottom hit during your next mission, two days later.

You took a couple shots of alcohol before the mission to settle the pre-mission jitters, and then you popped three oxy on the Quinjet, not because you needed them but as an act of rebellion. Sam wasn’t there this time to get on your case, and for that, you were thankful. Instead, you were paired up with Bucky and Natasha. You didn’t need the drugs for this mission because you got along with the two of them, but you took them anyway as a nice fuck you.

That fuck you almost got you and your teammates killed.

It was meant to be a covert mission – pop in and out unseen, grab some intel, but you were, to put it bluntly, entirely too fucked up to be in the field. You couldn’t sneak around when you were so clumsy and uncoordinated. While you’d combined alcohol with oxy before, you’d never done it with three and you didn’t realize to what extent it would fuck you up.

Needless to say, your presence was quickly detected.

The three of you were outnumbered.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Natasha bit out, shoving you behind the wall right before a flood of bullets ricocheted off of it. You just slid down it and fell on your ass, high as hell, not to mention the fact that your vision was blurry and you were seeing double. You didn’t care that you’d nearly been shot.

Maybe it would have been a blessing.

You didn’t even realize that you already had been shot until Bucky was suddenly there, crouching down in front of you, his lips pressed together in a thin line. You weren’t even sure where he came from, but he started applying firm pressure to your shoulder with one hand, patting your cheek with the other. It was the only way he could capture your attention long enough to assess you – and what he found was that you were in a stupor.

He knew it wasn’t shock settling in, because he could smell the alcohol on your breath for one, and for two, all you did was smile up at him like an idiot. You didn’t feel a thing. You probably didn’t even know where the hell you were.

He wasn’t wrong.

Blood seeped through his fingers as he tore open a pack of gauze with his teeth, and then he swore under his breath, packing the wound with practiced finesse. He was no medic, nor was he perfect at it, but he knew enough.

Your blood streamed freely down the back of his hand, the bright colour a stark contrast to his pale skin and the only thought on your mind was that it was a very pretty red.

Then Bucky and Natasha were saying things to each other, but you couldn’t really focus on it with the blood loss and the noise from the gunshots – particularly Natasha’s when she returned fire as Bucky hoisted you up onto his back.

How the three of you made it out, you couldn’t be sure. You didn’t pass out, but you weren’t entirely awake for it, either.

That was the shock settling in.

You didn’t stay conscious for long.

It was all a blur until the next day, when you finally woke to Steve sitting at your bedside with a book. He hadn’t managed to get very far into it. One of his large, warm hands lay atop yours, but the only thing you could focus on was the sharp, awful pain in your shoulder. That was when the memories – what little of them remained – came flooding back.

You’d been shot.

“I thought I was supposed to get morphine,” you joked, wincing from both the pain and at how raspy your voice sounded.

Steve’s eyes snapped up from his novel to your face, and on it you saw mostly relief – but it was coupled with an emotion you couldn’t quite grasp. Not yet.

“They couldn’t give you any,” he told you, squeezing your hand gently but it did nothing to soften the blow of his next words. “You had too much… stuff in your system.”

Oh.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, hesitant and awkward and it only put you on the defensive because, in that moment, you realized that he knew.

“What do you think?” you snapped at him, pulling your hand from his grasp. That was a mistake, because it was on the same side as your wound and searing pain rushed through you at the action, so much that you were forced to bite down on your lower lip to keep from screaming. Every single muscle in your body was tense, ready to fight or to run, to flee from the conversation you knew you were going to have.

You refused to look at him again. You were ashamed. You’d fucked up.

You’d fucked up bad.

“Bucky and Nat are fine,” he reassured you. “They want to see you.”

Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and you chewed at your lower lip, slowly shaking your head. “No. I don’t want them to see me like this.”

Like a junkie. That was what you’d become.

He knew what you meant. They’d seen you in a hospital bed before, as had Steve.

“Bucky was really worried, you know?” Steve’s attempt to lighten the mood fell flat. “Said he’d never seen so much blood coming from such a small—”

“Can we just get this over with?” you interrupted, finally meeting his eyes again. The tears hadn’t yet spilled over, but when you saw the look on his face, you knew they were close. “Rip off the band-aid, Steve. Come on.”

Steve slowly exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He wasn’t planning on discussing this right now with you, because you’d literally just woken up, you were in pain, upset and the last thing he wanted to do was upset you further. It wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have right now, and truth be told, it made him nervous.

Even still, he ripped off the band-aid just like you asked him to.

“They ran a tox screen,” he told you, point-blank. “Sam’s suggestion. He said the two of you had a conversation the other day, and the mission reports…”

You grimaced. “What did they say?”

“You know what they said.”

Natasha might have covered for you before, for other, smaller things, but for this she wouldn’t – and Bucky wouldn’t, either. They couldn’t rely on you to have their backs, not like this. If you were in no condition to be in the field, then they would have had no choice but to report it. You’d nearly gotten them killed as it was, and you were lucky that it was only you who’d been shot.

You supposed you deserved it. That thought made you look down at your lap in shame, and you fidgeted anxiously with the thin, scratchy blanket on your uninjured side.

“It’s okay,” Steve told you in his familiar way, gently wrapping his fingers around your small hand again. You didn’t pull away this time, but you didn’t look up at him, either, because the dam finally broke. Tears streamed down your face for what felt like the umpteenth time in the last few weeks.

Steve was always too kind, never judgmental, but right now all you wanted was for him to yell at you. You didn’t want his kindness, not right now. You’d nearly gotten your teammates killed and here he was he was telling you that it was okay.

“It’s not, Steve.” Your voice was weak and pathetic, and it broke when you spoke again, “I’m not.”

That was when the bed dipped, and then Steve gathered you in his arms so easily, just like he always did – except this time, he was a lot more careful with you. He was too gentle, like you were going to shatter to pieces if he wasn’t.

“I know,” he whispered. “I love you.”

He said those three little words so often to you – a couple times a day, at least – but even now you never really understood how he could love someone like you. You were broken, and at your core you had far too many troubles for him to handle, but he tried. He always tried.

Even if he didn’t know what to do to help you, and even if there was nothing he could do, he still tried.

Maybe you’d try, too. Maybe you’d finally talk to him about your troubles.

“I’m sorry,” you managed in between sobs, burying your face into his chest. The words just kept coming, spilling out of your mouth like verbal vomit and it only made you hate yourself more. “I’m sorry. I love you so much, Steve, please don’t leave me—”

“I won’t,” he reassured you, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “We’re in this together. It’ll be okay.”

He’d told you that so many times over the past year that you’d been with him, but this was the first time you ever believed him.

It would be okay.

(If you like my work, please consider donating to my Patreon or my Ko-Fi!)

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #request #completed request #low

499 notes · View notes

lonely-bored-writer · 4 years

Text

Casper High Ch. 10

Danny never realized that there was a place in Amity Park he had never really experienced, and this one was one he knew he was going to make sure he went to even after the Winchesters left town. It was different and it was something he never realized he missed. Amity Park wasn't known for many things now, and it wasn't the most attractive place. It had its perks, of course, and Amity park will always be Danny's home. No matter what memories it held, every place has it's good and bad. This however, this was something he didn't really realize about Amity so it was something else.

"Wow." Danny trailed off, staring in awe. In the corner of his eye he could see Sam watching him with a grin. The sky was a beautiful bluish-purple color with splashes of orange and red streaking the atmosphere. However, that wasn't what took his breath away; the night sky was clear, showing the hundreds of stars that splattered the sky like paint splatters.

Even as a small town, Amity never had many stars in the night- the light from the buildings and the street lights helped to lessen the brightness of those stars so that they were barely noticeable. When Sam started driving towards the woods, Danny had expected a picnic but he didn't expect it to be under such clear stars. This spot was just far enough that the light pollution didn't fog the view of the sky, but not too far from the town that it wasn't worth the drive (or the fly in Danny's case if he ever wanted to take a spin as a ghost).

"You like it?" Sam asked, looking slightly nervous as he glanced around the clearing. Sam had Danny wait with his eyes closed for a few minutes as he rustled around. Once given the go ahead, Danny opened his eyes to a picnic. The kicker was the fact that the spread was not on the ground as you would expect, but rather everything was settled on the hood of the Impala.

"I love it." Danny turned back, giving Sam a big grin. The smile the taller teen gave brought a flutter all through Danny's stomach and chest. It was all so beautiful, and wonderful. However Danny couldn't help the nagging feeling in the back of his head that there was more to this than he was being told. He trusted Sam, whatever it was he knew Sam would tell him, so he shouldn't be worried. Swallowing down the knot that formed, Danny spoke. "You actually surprised me, how'd you find out about this? Does Dean approve of us sitting on top of his car and possibly scuffing the paint?" He asked, looking up at the sky and glancing among the trees.

"Well, one of Dean's co-workers mentioned it." Sam blushed, running a hand through his hair. Danny couldn't help but find the flustered Sam a little cute- this has to be the most nervous Danny has seen Sam, which only really adds to his worry, regardless of how adorable the youngest Winchester can be. "He went camping here a few times. And yes, Dean suggested it. But he made me promise I lay out the blanket first just in case." Sam continued, reaching for one of the bags.

"Aw, you know me too well." Danny laughed as Sam brandished a red sugar-free monster. The teen could recount the amount of times Sam made a comment about the amount of energy drinks Danny has consumed around him. It wasn't always for the caffeine- sometimes the flavor was just craved.

"I might not approve of your caffeine addiction," Sam joked, handing Danny his drink. "But having it only sometimes isn't all that bad." Danny grinned, cracking the can open and taking a sip. Sam really did think of everything; just the realization that Sam's focused enough to remember his favorites made his heart flutter.

"You really thought of everything." Danny smiled fondly, looking among the array of food laying out on the blanket covered hood. Their favorite meals from the Nasty Burger along with the few dessert options they had.

The night flowed easily for the two of them, each moment filled with laughter and conversation. Sharing stories from their time before the two met, and even recalling events that happened during their time knowing each other. Danny hadn't laughed this much since his best friends left. Life seemed to fall darker the months that followed their absence, the Winchester brothers were a nice distraction from it all, even if it was only temporary.

However Danny wasn't completely oblivious, he knew this was out of the blue. Something had to be up, and he could feel it. Sam was a little distracted through their time under the stars, occasionally falling slightly too far into his thoughts. Tonight felt special, different in all the ways that mattered, and maybe tonight was the time to say something.

"Sam."

"Danny." The halfa chuckled as the other spoke at the same time.

"Uh- you go first." Sam laughed along, causing Danny to shake his head.

"You can go first, it's not that important." Danny brushed off, waving his hand around, feeling his nerves growing stronger with each passing second.

"Danny, you know I really enjoy being here. More than the other schools I've been to, but..." Sam paused, taking a breath and meeting Danny's gaze. "But in my family, and my dad's job, we always move." Danny noted the sad look that Sam tried to mask, offering him his own sad smile.

"I know your dad isn't a mechanic." Danny spoke, watch Sam tense before quickly continuing, not wanting to make Sam more anxious than he had to. "But I won't ask you what the real reason is, because I trust you. Everyone has their thing, and I know you know I do as well. You are doing so to protect your family and I understand and I don't blame you." Danny chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm sorry, I don't want to lie nor leave but I can't stay." Sam spoke, the sadness growing heavy. Danny turned, grabbing one of Sam's hands.

"I don't want you to, this has been the best time I've had in a long time, but life happens." Danny paused, swallowing down his emotions. As much as he'd like to demand the truth, get confirmation, and tell Sam he doesn't have to follow his father's footsteps, he knows it's not his place. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow." Sam answered. Danny felt his heart clinch, that why Sam did this. Tonight was the last time they were going to hang out.

"Let's not spoil tonight then?" Danny asked, watching Sam chuckled softly with a nod.

"Yea."

Danny tugged Sam down to lay down next to him with the hand he had yet to release. The two teens laid side by side, laced hands resting between them on the blanket-covered hood of the car as they watched the stars above them.

Danny couldn't shake the heavy feeling that weighed on him when Sam drove him home late that night, and as he pulled the taller teen into a hug before he left. The feeling sunk heavier and heavier with every step towards his home. The sounds of his parents tinkering in the lab rang loudly in the air as he made his way to the kitchen.

Through habit he put together a meal for his parents, mostly leftovers from the night prior. Heating it before stumbling down the stairs, Danny placed it on a table, wanting to be as unnoticed as possible. His eyes landed on the current experiment, a small ghostly bug laid huddled in the corner of a clear case, wire traveling the various different parts of the unfortunate ghost. Danny swallowed, feeling bad for the little guy, but he also knew better than to try and release it with his parents still working on it.

He placed the plate in the same place as usual, gathering the small pile of plates placed nearby. Danny stepped softly towards the stairs- he had made it this far and he didn't want to be caught now. All he really wanted to do was get to bed and let the events of the day hit him. However, life, and death, liked to hit him with a train repeatedly.

"Danny boy!" The sudden shout caused the teen to jump, turning to be met with his parents looking at him. Danny swallowed, offering a smile to his parents, but it came out shaky and queasy, but it wasn't like his parents cared enough about him to notice.

"Did you just get in?" Maddie asked, wiping ectoplasm onto a stained towel. Danny swallowed again, trying to ignore the nausea that waved over him. That was blood. Blood that took up half the volume of his own veins.

"Uh yea, I was out with Sam." Danny answered, taking a small step towards the exit. "I was just going to-"

"Do you want to see what we're working on?!" Jack exclaimed, waving towards a set of wires not connected to anything. Danny tensed, smiling nervously, alarms blared in his head and he needed out, like right now.

"I was actually thinking I'll head to bed early and catch up on sleep before school." Danny answered, hoping it was going to save him this time around.

"Nonsense." Maddie smiled, reaching towards her son and dragging him closer. "It will only take a moment."

"Yea kiddo." Jack slapped his back, cause Danny to hold back a wince.

"Uhh, sure." Danny smiled nervously, there was no way out and Sam and Dean weren't gonna be there tomorrow to help him bandage whatever his parents were going to do to him. Danny wasn't enthused that he would have to get used to throwing together care for his wounds himself until he could finally leave his parents behind.

Danny groaned softly, falling back into his bed. Eyes stared into the ceiling as various parts of him felt on fire. The plus side was that no skin was broken, but the downside was that he could feel it deep in his muscles, the grasping fingers of pain trying their best to reach past the limits of his muscles to dig its claws deep into his bones. He knew he was going to be ridiculously sore in the morning, but it really could be worse.

That's when it hit him, the news that was dropped on him today. Sam was leaving, which means so was Dean. The two people who were there for him, who cared for him in such a short time. Who he cared for. They were the only people who gave Danny the time of day since his friends moved and Jazz moved out for college, when Danny fell back to being invisible except to bullies.

Danny sighed, curling onto his side. He didn't want life to fall back into the lonely routine he had before the Winchesters. It's true he still had his two best friends, but they were miles away. It's different to have someone here for you, only a few minutes away... Sam was different, someone Danny was pretty sure he couldn't forget easily even if he wanted to.

He understood, he knows that life can be different and people have things they have to do to protect not only themselves but other loved ones. Sam has to go, his family has some type of job they have to complete. Maybe Danny doesn't know the details, doesn't know why the Winchesters have to travel around and find trouble. All he knows is that's what they do, and even if he hoped they didn't, he won't try to talk them out of anything. He gets doing anything you can for family, he's not angry or upset about them leaving.

He's just... sad.

Tears finally welled in his eyes, no longer being able to hold them back. The warm tears slide across his cheeks and Danny curled in on himself tighter. He's been able to keep his feelings generally in check over all this time, even with everything that happened. But sometimes things just got too much, and he couldn't hold it in anymore.

#supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #Supernatural fanfic #SUPERNATURAL AU #superphantom #superphantomau #superphantom au #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction.net #fanficiton #danny #Danny Phantom #danny fenton #danny phantom fanfiction #phandom #phandoms #casper high

22 notes · View notes

no-te-lo-voy-a-dar · 5 years

Text

Sibling Jealousy - Chapter 4

Fic’s Summary: Reader has known the Winchesters for a long time, almost two years before Cas entered their lives. After that, since Reader was the only one actually teaching the angel about humanity customs and stuff like that, properly, they developed a closer relationship, on the parent-kid way. But it was never verbally acknowledged. Now, with Lucifer’s child on the way, life stabs some sense and realizations onto Reader, but there’s no time for feelings in this house.

Author’s Note: This is mainly a fic with the purpose of developing a family relationship with the characters, of mutual support, and I don’t plan on adding romance for Reader, because that’s not my final goal.

Pairings: Castiel/Reader (Platonic), Jack Kline/Reader (Platonic), Dean and Sam Winchester/Reader (Platonic)

Warnings: Usual canon violence and conflicts, as well as injuries and blood mentions, emotional struggles such as feeling unloved, like an outcast, low self-esteem issues and if you think something else should be mentioned let me know.

<<Last Chapter - Next Chapter>>

Chapter’s Author’s Note: Uni has been wild, so I haven’t had a chance of watching but one episode for the whole week, but I do have a couple of chapters already written so here. I took the ‘use of grace’ idea out of the woman who killed Ishim and was hunting Castiel’s garrison, but it’s just a bonding idea I came up with, probably it won’t last, probably I will use it later, I don’t know. I don’t have a Beta reader and that’s alright, I have to somehow practice my English and not rely a lot on auto-filling I suppose. Season 15 has already started, and I’m trying to not get too spoiled, but I do see some stuff, as usual, which is basically how I have ‘kept up’ so far. If you are watching, good luck, stay strong, don’t let ‘em clown us.

Chapter Four: Don’t Cry, Scream

Word Count: 2011

You weren't sure how long you fell asleep for, but when you went to the main room on the Bunker after having a quick cereal with milk as breakfast, you saw Sam working on his computer and checking the cameras around the place.

"Morning Sam. What are you up to?" You were watching from behind him, eating a complementary Apple to your...whatever hour it was meal.

"Oh hi (Y/N). I'm checking the cameras to see which room might be the best to go practice with Jack.” he seemed to have already chosen one, because he started to pick up a notebook and a pen, leaving the laptop with the feedback on over the table.

“Wait, what are you planning to do? And where’s Dean?” You were following Sam, because even if he was on your side about bringing Jack to the Bunker, you weren’t so sure about him not really hurting him. Or Jack accidentally hurting Sam.

“Dean went with Jody to help an old friend of us. A psychic. Apparently there’s something killing them and the most recent victim was her protégée.”

“Oh, uh, I think you’ve mentioned her once or twice. Don’t remember her name though. And about my other question?” You and Sam were now in front of Jack’s room door.

“Ah, well, that…” Sam proceeded to knock on the door and wait for Jack to open it, not finishing his answer to you.

“Hi, good morning Jack. Uh, just wanted to check on you, you haven’t come out since we set you up yesterday night.”

“Yes. I was just...tired.”

“Understandable, it’s been quite a ride these past days. Anyway, as I was about to tell (Y/N) here, I had a plan for you today, about training your powers.”

“Train my powers? How so?”

“Well, come. I’ve picked a room for you and I to do so.” Just as Sam was starting to walk, you cleared your throat to catch both of their focus.

“I think Jack should have breakfast first. They don’t call it the more important meal of the day for nothing. Come Jack, I hope you are fine with cereal and a glass of juice for now, I’ll go buy groceries later.” Jack nodded and walked besides you just like last night, just as you heard Sam closing the door to Jack’s room and follow you.

---

You left both of them on the room Sam had picked, and told them you were going out to get more food stuff and some other thing’s for Jack’s stay, so you wouldn’t be back on the same day, since you were going a couple of towns away.

When you were back you saw the Impala outside of the Bunker’s main door, so you decided to left the stuff on your car and go inside to say hi before parking inside the Bunker and take the shopping items to the kitchen and to Jack.

Of course, things couldn’t go as smooth as you wanted them to. They never did, even if it was something as mundane as a greeting and getting the shopping items on the shelves and fridge.

You meet Dean before going inside, and went down the stairs together while he and Sam started talking about the case and “the kid”.

Just as Sam confronted Dean about him telling Jack he would kill him, things started to get heated up, and you were just on the side, trying not to say anything while Sam called out Dean for not giving Jack a chance, about how he didn’t put a bullet on Sam when his father told him to, or how you both helped Sam with the blood addiction issue.

Great, now there was no way you could just walk away from there.

“You saved me. So help us save him!” Sam really got worked up and you were guessing he had some talk with Jack. You’ll ask them about it later.

“You deserved to be saved. He doesn’t.” wait what? You had to say something to him.

“Wait a second Dean. He does. He was just born. He didn’t even know what orange juice was until I told him not even a couple days ago. No human is really born evil or rude or racist or messed up stuff like that. They are taught that way. And we are not going to teach him that!” And Cas had faith in him, so I will too. Just by that thought, a lump started forming on your throat.

“Look, maybe Sam cares about him because he sees him as an interdimensional can opener, and he only cares for what he can do.” He directed that part only to Sam, even when he was answering you, but the next part he kept glancing between his brother and you.

“So if you wanna pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid. ‘Cause when I do all I see is everyone we’ve lost.” You hated how Dean usually approached emotional issues by screaming.

“Mom choose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack.” Sam was trying to keep his brother at bay, to make him see thing for what they really were.

So that’s what happened when Mary got out of the house and why she didn’t come back and her body wasn’t there alongside Cas’ and Kelly’s. You didn’t like this was the first time you were listening and learning what happened. Mainly because of how you were.

“And what about Cas?!” He looked at you, and then went back to glance at the taller Winchester, waiting for a reply.

“What about Cas?” Just as Sam’s voice expressed, you also didn’t get what Dean was trying to make you ‘understand’.

“He manipulated him. He made him promises. Said “Paradise on Earth”, and Cas bought it. And you know what that got him? IT GOT HIM DEAD!” He took a couple of seconds to avoid crying in front of you, but you weren’t so sure, your vision was already pretty blurry.

“Now you might be able to forget about that, BUT I CAN’T!” Dean kept screaming at Sam’s face, but his eyes went to yours every then and now, trying to make you see, feel his point, and you could see Sam was trying not to cry and break in front of Dean too.

That’s it, you weren’t staying in that room any longer. You had to go find Jack and then get the shopping from the car you took. Just get your mind busy, then maybe to shut down and your body go on automatic.

You contemplated getting drunk, but that would have to wait for Jack to be asleep, and by the time your exhaustion would take care of putting you to sleep by itself. Besides, doing so wasn’t your favorite coping mechanism.

“Yeah, well guess what Dean, it’s not like we have forgotten. I know I haven’t. But Jack didn’t made promises on the frigging womb. His powers showed what he is capable of, and since he’s not evil what Castiel saw was a better world. You know who I blame? Crowley. If that bastard hadn’t hickjacked Rowena’s spell, Lucifer would have been actually sent to the cage, and there wouldn’t have been a confrontation and we would probably be eating the pie and ice cream and stuff I got. Or maybe trying not to burn the kitchen while cooking something. But no. And that’s NOT Jack’s fault!” Your voice kept breaking while almost screaming to Dean, but you didn’t care.

“Oh no, don’t bring Crowley into this, this was not his fault, he actually helped us and sacrificed himself to leave Lucifer trapped.” Oh so he was defending the bastard now?!

“Yes well, why don’t you see Cas’ death as his sacrifice so you both, Jack and heck, even I, could get out of there alive?!” Before storming to the way that leads to the bedrooms, you had to add something else.

“I miss him too Dean, I freaking do, and just like you, I haven’t had time to properly mourn him. But you could at least respect his memory by helping Jack, trying to see why he decided to take care of him. Castiel was thrilled to have a purpose again, and you want to kill a kid who even protected us from Asmodeus without really knowing us.”

When neither of the brothers said something, you finally stepped out of the main room, only to see Jack, with his eyes glowing gold, whispering a constant chant of Castiel, so low you were only capable of hearing it because you were close to him and the Bunker was a quiet place.

You sniffled, and tried to even your breathing, before approaching him.

“Jack? Jack, are you alright? Hey, it’s me, (Y/N). I need you to breath with me.” His eyes locked with yours, and you could, kind of, feel the power emanating from him, something strong, like a push and pull, but also...sadness?

“Breath in...breath out. Relax your muscles. Breath in...and out.” After some more breathing repetitions, you weren’t sure if you were doing it for Jack or yourself, but your vision cleared and his eyes went back to light brown, so it worked for both of you.

“Come, help me get the groceries out of the car. And I got you some stuff for your bedroom.” Both of you walked to the garage, opened it, and then you parked the car inside.

While passing some bags to Jack, and you grabbing others, the silence was predominant, but once you reached the kitchen with the first batch of bags, he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.” You weren’t sure about what, but he truly sounded sorry.

“About what? Did you break the tomato sauce bottle?”

“No, about me getting Castiel dead...what’s tomato sauce?” Okay, not the time to explain what tomato sauce was.

“Jack, you have to listen to me, and believe me when I say, Castiel’s death is NOT your fault okay? He committed to protecting you and taking care of you. It was his choice. He used his free will to go against Lucifer. He could have taken you and ran away, but we all know Lucifer would have followed you and Castiel didn’t want to be running from him, so what he did was the most logical thing.” You wanted to say so much more, but if you did, you were going to have a mental breakdown and Jack shouldn’t see that or he would feel guiltier.

“But Dean…!” “Dean has the tendency of projecting his pain on others, trying to make others feel what he feels even if that means hurting them more than they already are. Just, you gotta be strong and try not to let it get too much into your head, this shall pass. Sam and I are going to do everything that we can to try and calm Dean down, okay? You just gotta focus on trying to relax and get a hold of your powers.” You patted his shoulder and signaled him to follow you to the car again, to gather the stuff you bought him.

“About that...Sam told me to try and move a pencil, but I couldn’t, I’m scared of using my powers and hurt more people.” He sounded like an actual child right there, and a bulb went on inside your head.

“Hey, what if I try to teach you how to use your powers to heal others?” “But, you don’t have powers, do you?” there he goes with the head tilt again.

“No, but I once had angel grace inside me. Long story short, I was kind of a package box until we got to the angel who owned the grace. But I learned a few things.” You winked at him while throwing the new blankets, which he caught.

His face light up with a smile, and yup, there was no way this boy was evil.

“Come on, let’s teach you how to put these on your bed.”

Sibling’s Tag List:

@carryon-doctor-lock @theferretkids @sapphysaph(idk why i can’t tag u m8) @hazelle-uvu

(If you wanna be added, please say so in the comment’s section of THIS post)

85 notes · View notes

jay-and-dean · 5 years

Text

Captive Chapter 7 : Little Bean (The end)

gifs not mine

_Dean x Reader_

Summary :

Dean Winchester is an enemy.

Every man of letters and hunters are enemies.

During the Great Purge in Europe, when every european Men of Letters allied to eradicate monsters once and for all, using hunters as their cold-blooded hounds, long before the BMOL took an interest in USA, they killed my mother, and made me go through hell. I killed so many of them I lost count, and lived a life on the run. Until one day I heard about American Men of Letters extinction, and decided to try and find peace there.

That was without counting on the exile of some BMOL, and the existence of the two best hunters of the world.The fisrt time I saw Sam Winchester, I almost killed him, and Dean has me now…

He is going to kill me, right ?

____________________________

***CAPTIVE MASTERLIST***

***MASTERLIST***

____________________________

Serie warnings : Violence and captivity, Swearing, Angst, Fluff, Smut.

Chapter Warnings : Angst, Flangst fluff, smut.

Words : 5.3 k

_____________________________

Reader's Pov

I enter the shower and sigh. Sam is right, I have to talk to Dean, today.

I look down at my body and see my secret is showing a little now, when I'm naked. A little, my lower belly just a bit more swollen than it usually is. I take Dean's soap and wash with it, it's the only scent that doesn't make me nauseous lately, even Sam's aftershave is sickening in the morning.

I'm terrified.

I know Dean won't kick me out or whatever, he loves me, I trust him. But I will break his happiness... He doesn't want this, he doesn't need this. He has always been responsible for everything, for Sam, for the world. He doesn't want that burden, and I don’t want this for him. I want to give him peace, I want to take care of him. I want to be his angel.

I quickly clean and get dressed, we have to take the road in half an hour, people are being found literally half eaten in Arkansas.

When I get out of the bathroom, I can't find Dean, he already took our bags.

"Sam, have you seen Dean ?"

"He's waiting in the car" Sam shrugs, putting smoothies in the cooler.

Waiting in the car ?

I enter the garage and my love is indeed behind the wheel, in his beloved car. I open the driver's door and bend on him.

"In a rush baby ?" I smile, kissing the corner of his mouth.

He just nods.

"You okay ?" I frown when he doesn't return the kiss like he usually does.

"Yeah. Are you ready ?"

I nod sadly and close his door. Then I seat on the backseat behind him and try to catch his eyes, but he doesn’t look at me.

The drive is silent, no, actually it's not, Dean put some loud music, but he doesn't talk, not a word. And it makes me feel like he was unapproachable, like he was not mine at all. And just like that, only a few hours after waking up in his arms, I miss him like when he left me alone in the bunker. I could cry.

Sam sometimes talks about the case but that's it. As the time passes, I start to think, this not just me being addicted to Dean’s smile, something's wrong with him but I can't read his eyes this time, is it sadness or anger ? How am I supposed to talk to him about my pregnancy if he's already mad at me. And I don't even know why...

It's dark, Dean didn't stop at all, he never asked if someone needed to take a break, and I must say my bladder is screaming at me. But I don’t ask anything, I’m too afraid of what he could answer. I try to act as I always do, but he never really reacts to the kiss I drop on his neck now and then.

"I'm hungry Dean, do you at least plan on stopping for food ?" Sam sighs.

"People are dying" Dean grunts with his closed tone.

"Yeah and we will be there in the middle of the night ! So we have time for a break ! What is wrong with you, man ?"

"Nothing. I'm fine, stop asking me what's wrong" he looks at me in the mirror quickly.

By the time we make it to the motel, I'm on the verge of crying. My head hurts, my bladder, but my heart is the worst.

I almost run to the bathroom when I got the key to our room, but Dean doesn’t join right away. Sitting on the bed, I try not to cry. He never made me feel like this, this is worst than being captive.

I can’t talk to him tonight. I’ll wait for the end of this case, maybe he doesn’t even want to be with me anymore. Dean doesn’t do relationship. He told me he loved me when he was dying : maybe he’s just regretting it. Feeling like he had no choice but commitment… No I don’t believe that, I can feel his love, I can hear it in his words, I can feel it in my core… Usually.

He enters our shared room and doesn't even look at me when he takes his jacket off. He's wearing that green Henley that makes me weak, the one I usually touch all the time ; but he's cold, and it's scares me.

Maybe it is because of this morning, he wanted me and I pushed him away... I need him close anyway, so I walk toward him. I don’t know what else to do, so I put a hand on his chest and approach my lips for a kiss. But he flinches.

He finches.

My breath gets stuck on my throat and I look at him in fear. But then he takes my hand and pushes it, and fear turns to terror…

"Don't touch me" he groans, turning his back on me.

I could puke or cry or die right now... What is happening ?

"Dean ?" I swallow hard. "Baby ?"

"Don't call me that..."

"What is happening Dean ? What did I do ?" I half sob already.

He turns around and suddenly he seems so tall, I take a step back.

"I don't know, you tell me" he rasps, his tone is so cold, it’s like he wanted to scare, or even hurt me with words. "What did you do with Sam ?"

"With Sam ? Dean… what do you mean ?" I frown.

"I MEAN !" he yells all of sudden, making me jump and take another step back, my blood runs cold, iced sweat is covering my back. "I CAN'T TOUCH YOU !” He grins with the anger of a crazy man and rolls his eyes. “Oh, yes… I can take you, quickly, from behind, like a fucking dog…” My eyes widen at the bluntness of his words. “But not touching you too much, or with the lights off, so you don't have to look at me, right ?... I'm not allowed to see you, to touch you anymore ! I can grab your ass but not kiss your boobs ? Do you know how it makes me feel Y/n ?” I open my mouth but he doesn’t let me the time to say anything. “What are you ? DISGUSTED WITH ME ?"

I put my two hands on my mouth, so shocked by what he is saying, feeling so guilty for making him feel unwanted.

"Dean..." I try to talk but he is furious now.

"DID YOU CHEAT ON ME ? WITH MY BROTHER !" he yells so loud I'm sure Sam heard from his room.

"NO !" I try but he's not listening.

"You can't do this to me Y/n, I love you too much” his voice breaks on the word love, he seems so vulnerable now. “I'm going crazy... I love you so fucking much ! HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO ME !" he puts his hands on his hair. “I THOUGHT YOU LOVED ME !” he grabs the wooden chair next to him and smashes it on the wall.

I flinch in a strangled cry. I hurt him so much. How can I not have seen this. How can he think that I would cheat on him, this is the worst.

“WITH MY FUCKING BROTHER !” the veins on his neck are showing and his eyes are red.

He can't think that... Before he yells again, I cut him.

"STOP DEAN ! LISTEN TO ME ! HOW CAN YOU ACUSE ME OF CHEATING ON YOU !” I realize how much it hurts me while I say it out loud. “Son of a bitch... You SON OF A BITCH !” I punch his chest. “Two weeks ago I was dying because of how much I love you ! I WAS DYING, DEAN ! I never touched your brother... How can you..." I cry, still hitting him. "I will never touch another man, you know that... Tell me you know that, baby... Please."

I come closer but he pushes me again and I burst in tears when I can’t take him in my arms.

"Dean..."

There are tears in his eyes.

"Don't lie to me." he groans low. "Don't touch me... You have a secret, I heard you..." a tear falls on his cheek. "With Sam... You're hiding someth..."

"I'm pregnant" I cut him, defeated. “I’m fucking pregnant, okay ?”

Silence. He stares at me like I had just slap him. I feel my guts make a thousand knots.

"I didn't tell you because this is my fault ! I... I'm the one who told you we don't need protection. I'm the one who fucking messed up ! And now you're gonna hate me..." I cry. "You don't want this, you don't need this... But I... I already love him because it's yours and I'm so sorry Dean... I can... I-I..."

"You're pregnant angel ?" he says, strangled.

I nod, the nickname warming me a little.

He comes close and searches my eyes, but I try to look down. He tries to take me in his arms but I keep on slightly hitting him, drowning in my own tears. So he cups my face with one hand and grabs my wrists with the other to keep me from punching him more. There is something there I can't read, but fear disappeared, how could fear vanish when I tell him that ? He frowns, I don't move, barely daring to breathe. Then he smiles.

"You are pregnant ?... How ?"

"I don't know... Gabriel says true love can do that sometimes..." I shrug and he takes me by the waist.

“I’m an idiot” he shakes his head. “I’m…”

He presses me against him, and I stay still. "You should have told me..." he whispers.

"I was terrified… I’m so sorry baby"

"How could you think I would hate you" he winces.

"How could you think I was cheating on you..." I look down.

"I'm sorry, I love you too much… It makes me stupid, this all new for me. I guess passionately doesn’t suits me so well…" he bends to kiss my lips.

I wrap my arms around him and sob because of the intense fear I just felt, he squeezes me.

"I'm sorry" I say. "I'm so sorry Dean."

"Don't be. Look at me angel." His eyes are so sure, they make all my worry fade. “I love you more than anything. And the truth is… I always loved the idea of being a father, I just thought, in this life…”

He cups my face and I stop crying, feeling his enveloping soul carry the world for me.

"It's going to be complicated, our life... It's not going to be easy everyday... But angel never, ever, think that I don't want this" there, I can read it now, it's adoration : the mysterious expression in his beautiful eyes. "You're making me so happy I can barely believe it !" he cries in a laugh.

Then he kisses me, he invades my mouth and slips his hand under my shirt. He suddenly breaks the kiss.

"Does it show ?" he asks looking down at my stomach ?

"A little..." I pull my shirt off and Dean's eyes widen. “Dean, this is the reason I… I don’t want you to feel unwanted…”

He puts his palm hesitantly on my lower belly and smiles in a way I never seen him.

"How long ?" he whispers still looking at my tiny bump.

"I think this is our middle-of-the-night-impala-sex, baby..." I shrug, not really knowing how I can be so sure, but this is something I feel since I know. "It's a… It’s a boy."

"You already know ?" he puts his forehead on mine.

"Yeah, Gabriel told me when he healed me and brought you back. I'm sorry Dean, that's the only reason I didn't want you to touch my stomach I swear... And my boobs, they just hurt most of the time... But you know I’m yours, right ?"

"I know, angel, I’m sorry…” He stares at his hand on my skin. “A baby boy..." Dean says dreamingly.

"Yes..."

He bends to kiss my lips once again, letting his fingers go through my hair in a soft moan. I cling to him, pressing on his back to keep him close, I let him take away all the fear and sadness.

"Never lie to me again angel" he pleads, his clumsy hands stroking my hair. “Never…”

"Never die again" I answer.

Dean's Pov

I put my keys and the grocery bags on the table and pout, Y/n was supposed to be here when I come back.

"Angel ?" I call.

"Kitchen !"

I smile and rush toward her. I left before she woke up this morning and I miss her so much already.

When I enter the kitchen, my eyes widen. She's in just her panties and bra, her six months baby bump pointing proudly at me, she has done her hair and nails. She's so beautiful.

"Angel, where are the others ?" I worry a little, ready to put my hands to hide her.

"Gone" she smiles, biting her lower lip.

"Oh..." I groan.

She bites in a peace of dark chocolate, making it crack between her teeth.

"Yeah...” she purrs.

She licks her lips and I can imagine how sweet they must be right now. Then she skims the front of her panties…

“And I'm so horny" she grins.

"Are you baby girl ?" I ask very low, knowing how much my deep voice can arouse her.

She licks her lips and wraps her hands around my neck. I put my palms on her belly and hum, but she steals my smile by kissing me passionately, she tastes like chocolate.

She moans in the kiss, making me hard already.

"Dean... touch me" she begs me, taking one of my hands off of her stomach to put it between her legs.

"Wow, angel, you really are horny... Oh ! And wet !"

"Yeah..." she moans when I rub my fingers on her pussy through the fabric. "Yeah Dean..."

I know her body, and my thick fingers rubs between her entrance and her clit, making her moan, I can feel her muscles clench around nothing through the fabric, she’s biting my neck now.

I have to be careful, this is way too hot… I could let myself go and hurt her, or the baby. I’m tall and heavy and big. I’m so afraid of what I could do to that treasure inside of her.

The moment I'm about to offer her to take this to the bedroom, she starts undoing my belt.

"Wow Y/n you act like you haven't seen me in a week" I smile kissing her jaw. "Hormones ?"

"No" she moans squeezing her thighs to keep my hand between her legs. "I just want you..."

She slips her hand on my pants and grabs my cock. I feel myself twitch in her hand and I growl, nibbling at her throat, desperate to throw myself at her. Her thumb strokes the head and she rolls her hips against my hand.

"Let's take it to the bed angel" I pant.

"No..." she whispers, pulling me back with her.

She sits on the table and opens her legs, tugging at my shirt to make me come closer. I kiss her softly, massaging her thighs. She's burning up, damn, she's soaking the table.

"Fuck me Dean" she begs. “Here. Now.”

"Angel..." I try hold back. "Baby, I can't do that..."

She breaks the kiss and looks at me like she was about to break my nose.

"Dean, I love you... And I love you making sweet and tender love to me... You know that ?"

I nod, not really knowing why she's saying that.

"But lately..." she whines. "Dean... you can't be all sweet and tender all the time. I need you to be my lover, but I really need you to be my strong manly warrior… Dean…” she whines. “Fuck me now. Hard."

I swallow hard.

"I don't want to hurt the baby..." I admit.

"I know… I know and I love you for that. But believe me, you won't" she states. "I’m stronger than you think but I will burst in flames and die if you don’t give me what I need, baby. I promise, just don't crush me. But please..." she comes closer to my ear and strokes my cock slowly. "I miss your bruising hands, I miss your teeth and those groans you let out when you don't hold back..." she purrs.

I take a shaky breath and fall on my knees.

The second my head come near to her pussy she stars wiggling. I kiss her where she needs it and graze my teeth on her clit through the soaked fabric. Her hands come to my hair, she grabs what she can and tugs at it to the point of pain, I miss it too, I miss her scratching my back so bad I bleed. I miss the feeling of perfect trust when we switch from rough to tender, and all the other way around.

I moan and push her panties to the side to fest on her freely. I look up but she's hanging her head back and her swollen belly keeps me from seeing her face.

She moans loud, her legs wrap around me.

"Dean !" she cries out when I flatten my tongue.

Her nails are digging in my scalp, she keeps my mouth on her, and my head is spinning. I try not to think about my baby boy in her womb, this is so strange for me, I always fear I could hurt them. But she's right, I have to trust her. She knows exactly what to tell me if I go to far, or to rough.

I grab her thighs and push on her body, to make her lay down on the kitchen table, she gasps. I take her panties down and throw it somewhere in the kitchen. Then I attack her again, using my lips to make her beg, I know she loves my lips so I make her enjoy every part of them... And my tongue. I could come just hearing the plaintive sounds she makes when this is too good for her to take.

This time she comes really quick, her thighs crushing my head when I keep licking her during her high, her voice lost in sacrilegious prayers.

"You okay ?" I ask kissing her thighs and her baby bump.

She nods, wiping her sweaty face with her palms.

I take my jeans down and smile at her devilishly.

"You stop me if I hurt you, or..."

"Yeah, Dean, you won't break me" she says opening her legs. “Please I feel like I was in heat right now… I need you.”

I can't hold back anymore and dig my fingers on the skin of her thighs. Before she can move I enter her in one sharp movement, growling and clenching my teeth. She’s tight and pulsing.

"Fuck, Y/n..." I mutter, almost withdrawing, then slamming back inside her.

"More... Dean baby more..." she pleads.

So I lift her legs above my shoulder and put a knee on the table. My thrusts are ruthless now, her mouth is wide open. My arm grabs the table next to head and she does that thing where she licks the skin of my wrist she can reach, like she was in heat indeed…

When I can't go deeper anymore, she starts making those pornographic noises. And I already feel my balls tighten, but I can't cum now. I bend, careful not to crush her belly, to kiss her lips, and she grabs my ass.

"Angel, this is too good..." I pant.

The kitchen table creaks. She lifts her arms and clutches the edge of it, arching her back. Her walls flutter around me, she's close.

Her voice dies in her throat again, her neck red and her eyes shut. Her legs shake and her hands come to my arms, clinging to it with her nails. She comes hard. Just seeing her like that could make me cum, but the way I'm buried deep inside her, the way she's pulsing around me... I grasp her hips and squeeze hard as I pound three more time inside her, growling, before I cum in a desperate moan, not really caring what sound I make, she loves them all anyway.

It takes me a few minutes to catch my breath. She's stroking my back lovingly, and smiles with a pure expression of bliss on her face.

"See, you didn't hurt me, baby" she says. "I mean, I might not be able to walk for a few days. But it was totally worth it" she laughs, biting her teeth.

"I love you" I say, taking her in my arms.

"I love you more" she snuggles against me.

*******

"I love our baby but he's coming between us" she says when she can't get comfortable on the couch.

"Put you back on me" I suggest.

"But I want to see you" she pouts.

I move a little and she snuggles on my chest on her side, her head on the crook of my neck. She looks up and I can see her mischievous gaze under her eyelashes.

"Don't look at me like that, I just had to tighten the kitchen's table bolt" I smile, kissing her nose. “And you scratched my ass, it hurt when I sit.”

"I was not thinking about that" she puts light kisses on my jaw, slipping her arm under my shirt to touch the creases muscles of my stomach. "We had a lot of long talks about how to act while I'm pregnant, and no, Dean, I'm not staying at home alone while you’re hunting..."

"I know, you made it very clear..." I sigh.

Y/n can't stand being alone at home, and crying my death for two months in my bed didn't help. So, even pregnant, she insists on coming with us on hunts. She doesn't hunt of course, she stays at the motel, doing researches, or just resting. But I know that, soon, hours in the car won't be a good thing for her, and I'll have to just let Sammy, Jack and Cas hunt without me. The truth is I can't be without her either, so I don’t really care.

"We barely spoke about when the little boy arrives" she adds, slightly tickling my stomach unintentionally.

"We said we won't move out, and that Sammy will be the nanny" I smile.

She kisses my jaw and lets her lips linger for a second.

"Yeah" she says. "Mh… You smell so good” I love when she says things like that. She continues. “I just... I don't want to lie to him, and I don't want to raise him as a hunter either."

"I won't ever raised my boy like I was" I say a little too gravely, rubbing her bump protectively.

"No, Dean, don't worry, this is not the plan. But see, from what you told me, lies have hurt your family a lot, Mary being a hunter, the deal with yellow eyes..." she starts and I look down at her with pure love in my eyes.

This is one of those moments when she gives meaning to my life, when she talks with kindness and without judgment, making things clear and honest. Easier.

"I want our son to hold all the cards, to have a choice ; to be able to do informed choices" she speaks clear and calm, searching my eyes.

She makes everything so simple. I can already see our little boy coming back from school and play with Cas’ magic. She always says she is going to be an awful mother because she never knew love or care or normal, and that I’ll have to be that perfect caring father I was for Sammy… Her words. The truth is she’s already an incredible mom.

"I agree" I simply answer. "No lies. Daddy's a hunter and mommy's an angel..."

With that I feel my heart beat faster, I'd never said "Daddy" or imagine someone would call me that... I'm all moved again.

"And you can go to college..." she adds with a soft smile. "You can be anything you want as long as you are careful and wise" she says to her belly.

"I love you so much" I think out loud.

"I love you more."

Reader's Pov

When the soft doorbell rings, people turn toward us. I really love this diner, I don't know why, maybe because it's the first place Dean ever brought me, maybe it's because it's next to home.

Dean takes my waist and leads me to a table, he kisses my temple before he sits in front of me, laughing a little when I grunt sitting down.

"What ? You're son is heavy" I groan.

"Dean" a voice says.

When I turn my head, I recognize her right away. Julia. She doesn't even look at me, her eyes on Dean. I feel a sharp pain in my chest just knowing he has been inside her. Just knowing she thinks about him that way.

"Julia" he says with an awkward smile that makes the pain even worse. "How are you ?"

"I'm fine" she bites her lip and I'm about to kill her. I literally can picture myself smashing her face on the table corner.

"What do you want angel ?" Dean asks me, chasing my violent thoughts away.

Julia turns her eyes to me and I can see them widen a little, it's not like I still can hide my secret baby, I'm seven months now and the little Winchester inside of me seems to be like his dad, maybe even his uncle.

Her face changes utterly, her jaw clenches. I can see Dean was not just a one night stand for her, she actually likes him, she wants him.

"I thought you didn't do relationships..." she grunts.

He seems surprised to hear her voice change. Dean is still oblivious to the effect he has on women. I thought, when we got together, that he would know, being so handsome and having slept with so many women, but he doesn't, really. He barely notices when a woman looks at him most of the time, and I'm the one telling him. That makes him laugh, he says I think they find him attractive because I love him. The truth is I have seen that look so many times. That jealousy, that envy. This is even worse since my baby boy is showing, like he was the proof of some war I won against them, like I had tricked Dean, or won him ; like he was the price of some sick life lottery. They don't understand. He's none of that, he's just the love of my life... I didn't win him, and I certainly didn't trap him.

"I changed my mind" he just states looking at me.

Then he ignores her. I can’t really do that but I try.

“So…” he catches my attention when the heartbroken waitress leaves to order our food. “John ?”

“We are not naming our son after your father Dean” she states stern. “Not happening.”

I smile and shrug.

“Well we are not naming him after yours either” I say and she laughs, nodding.

When she brings my food I look at it, hesitating. She might have spit in it…

*******

I hold my baby in my arms, my eyes on his little form, completely in awe, like I was floating in the clouds with him, Dean being the sun above us. His tiny hand squeezes my finger, his serene face on my chest. Another tear roll on my cheek.

I can’t stop looking between him and Dean, asleep on the chair. My poor baby didn’t sleep for so long, he just passed out a few minutes ago. I can already see so many resemblances between them : his plumb pouting mouth, the shape of his face, even his hands already looks like Dean’s.

A soft sound of wings catches my attention, but I don’t even look up.

“He’s incredible” Gabriel says.

“He looks like Dean” I smile with my eyes wet.

“Yeah, but he took a lot from you believe me. Look at his navel” he says and I push the soft fabric a little to see the perfectly formed belly button.

“He’s going to be tall and strong…” the archangel says. “Can I ?”

I hesitated for a second but the emotion in his golden eyes makes me smile. He puts a hand on my newborn’s forehead and sighs with happiness.

“You have a splendid soul little boy… Angels are watching over you” he whispers.

“Not too much I hope” I grunt, taking him closer again protectively.

“I have a present for you, Y/n” he says. “You’re going to Heaven… When you… In a long time. You’ll be with Dean” he says and I start to cry.

“Thank you” I sob. “For everything…”

“Call me if you need me” he adds, serious, and I nod.

*******

I wake up in a sigh. The room is dark and warm, I can feel Dean pressed against my back, his cock half hard on my ass. He cups my breasts and I yawn.

“Hi angel…” he whispers, his breath hot on my neck.

“Hi love” I giggle when he pinches my nipple.

He pushes my leg a little with his strong thigh and his hand travel from my chest to my bare pussy. His index rubs my clit and I wiggle, getting comfortable.

“Can I ?” he asks and I hum, pushing back on his cock.

He kisses my neck and my cheek, his other hand keeping my chin slightly up.

“Shit baby…” I start to moan when his middle finger enters me.

“You like that ?”

“You know I do. A-another one, please, deeper baby…” I moan and he adds a finger.

Then the door opens slowly and he freezes. I try to stop panting.

A little boy in a batman sleep suit enters, his thumb between his lips.

“Mommy ?” he calls, his big green eyes searching me in the darkness of the room.

“Yeah kitten ?” I try to sound casual.

He pushes his adorable messy blond hair out of his face.

“Where is Daddy ?” he asks with this slight lisp.

“I’m right here little bean, what do you want ?” Dean says close to me ear.

“Cookies…”

“Go ask uncle Sammy, mommy needs me to sleep with her a little more, then I’ll join you and we go out to play ball, okay little bean ?”

“Yeah but uncle Sammy’s sleeping…” he sighs, shrugging like he often does when thinks adults are silly.

“You can wake him up” I answer.

“Reaaaally ?” he jumps.

“Yeah, go ahead, climb on his bed” Dean says with a tender smile.

And the little boy goes running.

“Jude !” Dean calls. “Close the door !”

Dean’s Pov

I enter the library and Jude is drawing on Sammy’s lap. I kiss his head and sit next to him. He pushes me like he always does when he’s focusing on something, but I can see his dimples appear in a satisfied smile. My little bean really is smart, always having ideas and asking questions, he puts all his heart in everything he does. I watch as his cute little tongue appears between his teeth.

“What are you drawing ?” I ask and Sam chuckles.

“I have to draw my favorite super hero for school” he states.

“Batman again ?” I bend my head to look at the sheet.

“Nah…” he shrugs like I was saying something stupid. “Batman doesn’t have superpower ! I’m drawing mommy” he grins.

__________________________________________

***FEEDBACK IS EVERYTHING <3***

@tftumblin @deans-baby-momma@roonyxx @animegirlgeeky @paradoxical–intentions @thefaithfulwriter @parinarain@vicariouslythruspn @emeow1496 @daryldixonandfrogs @rainflowermoon

(Tell me if tags don’t work)

Tags are open

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #fanfiction #spn fanfic #fluff #Smut #angst #flangst #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x yn

259 notes · View notes

evolving-kalopsia · 4 years

Text

Chapter one rough

“Medic 17, you’ve code 3 traffic at 2765 N Locus Ave. 37 year-old male complaining of chest pain and anxiety. No further info.”

Drew looks across the cab of the ambulance at his partner and flashes him a grin. “That’s dinner, Junk.”

“Fucking Albert!” Junk yells, putting the rig in drive as Drew hits the lights and sirens. “He’s not due to call for at least two days. Maybe he’s actually dying, for once. Don’t you still owe dinner from Margaret’s last call?”

“Nope. I got Thai for that one.” Drew says proudly.

“Fuck. Yeah.” Junk responds, slamming the shifter into drive.

The ambulance heads out of the parking lot and Junk hits the lights and sirens. Rush hour just ended, traffic is still a bit heavy. The ambulance weaves it’s way slowly through drivers that seem to have never seen an ambulance in their rear-view mirror before.

“Fucking Albert.” Junk repeats, gesturing at the Toyota in front of them. “And this fucking guy! Don’t stop, shit-head! Move the fuck over!”

The car in front slams on it’s brakes, pulling one of the three textbook panicked driver moves: brake slam, pulling to the left or staying the course, crawling at a slow crawl.

“Asian and female.” Drew says, upping the bet, “and I get dessert, too”

“Just because your Asian female can’t drive doesn’t mean they’re all like that.” Junk says as the car finally figures out that the screaming sirens behind it aren’t going around and pulls off to the right, halfway through the crowded intersection of stopped vehicles.

As the rig kicks forward again, they both look out the passenger window, “what the fuck” expressions already loaded on their faces.

The driver waves apologetically, mouthing sorry over and over as they pass.

The ambulance screams ahead, clear roads for a few more blocks. Ten per over the limit is what they’re allowed per company policy. Apparently Junk missed that page in the handbook.

“Well that was a surprise.” Drew says, looking in the side view mirror.

“Cute little white girls ain’t exempt from bad driving” Junk admonishes.

“Very cute.” Drew corrects him.

Junk looked sideways at Drew. “That’s creepy, old man.”

“It’s only creepy if I say it first.” Drew says, putting on his best creep smile.

Junk gives him a disgusted look and says “No, it’s creepy when you have that look on your face when you say it.”

Drew feigns irritation, “It’s not a look, ok? It’s just my face, I can’t help the way I was born.”

“Exactly. Which is why everything you say is creepy.” Junk turns right onto Farley Ave. Quicker than he should, jerking the wheel back to the left to avoid a dog in the street.

Drew barely glances up from his electronic chart, already halfway finished with it. He and Junk have been partners for seven years, Drew knows that Junk is all-pro behind the wheel. Seven years of fun and blood and guts, life and death. Buffoonery and bullshit. Seven years of betting meals at the beginning of the week, based on which frequent-flyer is going to call first.

“Turn the fucking wheel, geezer!” Junk yells at the Buick ahead, the driver stopping halfway into the right lane.

“Shouldn’t assume they’re old. That’s profiling.” Drew says, chuckling.

“S’ a fucking Buick, man. Ain’t nobody under the age of sixty-five driving no Buick.” Junk says, waving out the window at nobody.

“Profiling.” Drew repeats

“Man, I am really not in the mood to smell Albert’s house today. Not at all.” Junk moans, thinking about what lies ahead;

Morbidly obese, 47 year-old diabetic, asthmatic, congestive heart failure, kidney failure, non-bathing rage-inducing EMS system-abusing Albert fucking Piffle.

As they pull up to Albert’s neighborhood, Junk kills the lights and sirens. The less people in this neighborhood that know an ambulance is sitting unguarded in the street, the better.

“Tonight’s the night. I can feel it” Junk says, pulling up in front of Albert’s trash-strewn lawn. “He ‘gon ride the lightning, we’re working him.”

“You keep saying it, and he keeps living. You’re jinxing us one way or another.” Drew grabs the computer off the dash as he gets out of the rig.

“Lock it, I’m not in the mood to go pawn-hopping on my day off.” Junk pushes his door lock down with his finger, the automatic locks long past working in this death-defying death trap of an ambulance.

They pull the gurney out, loaded with equipment they know they won’t need; Drug box, cardiac monitor, airway bag chock full of things they might use if this were a legitimate call. But it’s just Albert. He probably dropped his can of Spaghetti-O’s under the couch again. Or the TV remote is missing, stuck in a roll of back fat from the last time he managed to get moved from the couch and back under his own power. Or Albert’s just feeling extra bored and lonely. They bring the equipment even though they know they’ll be walking out of Albert’s shithole house, reeking of sweat and cat piss so bad they’ll change uniforms in the street before getting back in the rig.

They bring all that heavy, cumbersome equipment in because it’s got less chance of being ripped off in the house than out in the rig.

And the day they don’t lug all that shit in is the day they find Albert face-down in his own puke. Not so dead they can call it a night right there. They’ll find him just dead enough that they’ll have to actually work him. Roll his 400 lb carcass over and start compressions, cut his filthy clothes off and get him hooked up to the cardiac monitor, try to get at least one I.V. started, as well as call for assistance from another crew or two, just to get his ass on to the gurney in the event they actually get his ruined heart to start pumping blood again.

Junk leading the gurney, he doesn’t ring the bell or knock, doesn’t yell “EMS” into the house like he normally would. This is Albert. Junk just walks in, dragging the gurney with him as Drew pushes it from the rear, the wheels rolling across the stained carpet, a shade of some unnamable color distantly related to brown.

“Al!” Drew yells through his paper mask, donned by both of them automatically before reaching the porch. Not out of fear of catching anything, but from a lack of desire to smell the inside of Albert’s house. The masks barely do anything at all. Just enough to keep them from retching.

“Al!” He repeats, catching Junk’s quick glance back at him. It’s not like Albert to not answer.

Avoiding the piles of boxes and junk, they round the corner to the living room where they always find him; on the filthy couch surrounded by empty soda cans and chip bags and crusty food plates. Laptop opened on the snack tray, usually some Sci-Fi on the one large flat-screen tv, xbox or playstation on the other. He’d always yell “Here guys!” when they’d call for him and it would make them grin, ever since Junk compared him to Sloth from the Goonies.

Junk stops as the room enters his field of view and looks back at Drew with an unamused smirk. Albert is on the couch, Xbox controller in his hands and a brand-new set of expensive-looking headphones over his ears.

Drew stares at him for a moment, a similar smirk on his face.

“Albert!” he yells. It gets Al’s attention and he jumps, risks a glance away from the screen and then he’s back in sniper mode.

“Hey guys.” Albert mutters, focusing on the screen.

Drew walks over as Junk heads back outside, pushing the gurney and cursing the whole way. He pulls the headphones off Albert’s head and sighs loudly.

“What’s the deal, Al?” Drew asks, looming over Albert.

“I kept reading online about how much better it is if you have headphones, you know? Like to hear guys’ footsteps and stuff when they sneak up? So I ordered these, they’re really good, Drew!” Albert says, grinning like a great big man-child with too few teeth and too many comorbidities.

“No, Al,” Drew exhales “why did you call for us? Dispatch said chest pain. I don’t give two shits about your headphones or electronic addiction.”

“Oh yeah sorry. Fucker! Fucking campers.” Albert yells, distracted by Call of Duty again as his character on screen dies.

Drew steps between Al and the T.V. and for a second Al looks like he’s going to object, but Drew’s eyebrow raise squashes his momentary outrage.

“I’m sorry, Drew. I had some chest pain, but I think it was just some anxiety. The internet was out for like an hour and I was starting to lose it a little. I forgot to call back. I’m good now, though.” Albert says, simultaneously giving an apologetic look and trying to see around Drew, who shifts his weight and keeps his vision blocked.

“One of these days, I’m going to come in here and take all your controllers and leave. I’ll show you some anxiety.” Drew says, making hard eye contact for a moment.

Albert’s eyes go a little wide, unsure how serious the threat is. He fidgets and reaches down next to the couch, grabbing a fresh battery off the charger and starts changing batteries on his controller.

Seriously? That’s not even funny, man. I said sorry.” Albert apologizes almost sincerely, putting his controller down on the arm of the filthy couch.

The voice in Drew’s head is telling him to let it alone, to just get on with his shift. But he can’t. No matter how burnt out he is, he has to try every time. Even just a little “Samantha still your case worker?” he asks, knowing full well that she is.

Albert’s eyes light up at the mention of the pretty girl that comes to his house once every other month to dot the I’s and cross the T’s on his paperwork so his handout money keeps coming in.

“Oh yeah, Sam was here last week. She looked hot.” Albert grins like a lovesick child.

“Sure. Right now,” Drew says “her Grandmother is dying on the kitchen floor, just three blocks away. I could be over there helping, but I’m here babysitting you. Maybe I’ll get out of here and catch that call. Have enough time to save her. Or maybe next time you see Sam, she’s a little less bubbly because she’s mourning the death of her beloved Grammy because it took the next available crew twenty minutes to get to her.”

“Her Grandmother’s dying? Right now?” Albert asks, almost panicked.

“Jesus!” Drew yells. He grabs the controller out of Albert’s hands and gets down low, points at his face.

“Stop abusing the fucking system, Albert. I’m not coming next time, I mean it.” Drew exclaims, holding eye contact before turning away and heading towards the door.

“Come on, man! Give me back that controller! Please? I won’t call again!” Albert pleads.

“If I don’t see you for a month, I’ll bring it back.” Drew yells as the door slams behind him.

“Oh C’mon!” Albert yells to the empty house.

He sits for a moment, wondering if Drew was serious about Sam’s Grandmother. He reaches down next to the couch and grabs another controller, mumbling “Whatever, sucker. You’ll be back.”

Junk’s already changed into a fresh uniform and packed the gear back up, taking a drag off his vape and says “Did you kill him? Please tell me you killed him.”

“My name’s not diabetes.” Drew mutters, still irritated as he kicks off his boots and drops trou on the sidewalk, then pulls off his shirt and grabs his backpack from one of the outside compartments, pulls out clean clothes.

Junk takes another pull and offers it to Drew. “Want some? Helps get the smell out of your nose.”

“No” Drew refuses “ But you do look damn sexy sucking that robot dick. I see a future for you in robo-porn. You could be a pioneer.”

“You’re about to become famous, yourself.” Junk replies, motioning up the street. A group of young clowns two doors down have their phones out and are snapping pics of Drew in his skivvies.

Drew looks back at them and waves. “I’d better not see those on Ebay!” he yells, pulling his pants on.

A combination of laughs and catcalls come back, as well as “Chicken legs.”

Drew mocks surprise, turns to Junk. “Do I have chicken legs?”

Junk blows raspberry-scented vapor at him and laughs. “Yep. Chicken from neck to nuts, too. Speaking of, it’s taco time.”

Junk gets in the rig and starts it up, starts to pull away as Drew jogs to catch up and hop in before he gets left in this shitty neighborhood.

2 notes · View notes

timeisacephalopod · 5 years

Note

Request ABO-au, Tony is the Omega mate to alpha Bucky Barnes and about to have there first child unfortunately due to all the trauma Tony's body has been under his whole life complications arise at the birth of their child, The avengers return to find a newborn child but the precious Omega that gave birth to this beautiful baby now lies in a coma due to the extreme blood loss or whatever else you can think of. Now The avengers are forced to raise this child and pray that Tony wakes up soon.

Ok, so mpreg squicks me out, not for me at all, so I’ve just made Tony a woman for the purposes of this fic. The rest stays relatively true to the prompt, though I didn’t necessarily focus on child rearing.

Christ, Tony didn’t think this would happen and even Rhodey looks put out. “What the hell is this?” he asks, gesturing to a hovering Bucky and Tony’s tempted to kick him out of the lab but the last time she tried that he broke back in and it wasn’t a pleasant mess to clean up.

She sighs, “pregnancy brain,” she tells him and Rhodey frowns.

“I thought pregnancy brain was a… pregnancy thing. Clearly he’s not knocked up,” he points out.

No, but her scent does seem to have created some type of weird reaction that has him in, as best as they can tell, a state somewhere between Bucky’s normal and Winter Soldier state. Except he shouldn’t have a Winter Soldier state. Either way she’s kind of pissed off that he keeps invading her space but if she gives him the boot he shows back up with a vengeance and Steve got tossed out a window last week so she figures she’ll deal with it. He’s mostly harmless anyway, at least to her.

“Yeah, uh. Apparently not. We aren’t sure why he’s like this but don’t get too close. If he’s willing to toss Steve out a window I don’t know what he’ll do to you,” she says. She feels bad, but she laughed when Clint got punched square in the face for getting too close. Serves him right for being a massive fucking prick who definitely doesn’t deserve his wife but still, she wouldn’t be impressed if Rhodey got punched.

Rhodey’s gives her a look, “take him to a damn therapist or something, Tony!”

“Tried that. Sam refuses to do that twice,” she says. “And he’s still a little upset about Steve being thrown out a window.” He’d been all offended and honestly Tony doesn’t get it. Of all the people that could have gotten tossed Steve’s the most durable so he should deal with it. So what if his boyfriend went sky diving with no parachute? Be bounced off the ground a little and was fine. At least it wasn’t Clint. Without his arrows he’s useless so that would have been an unpleasant mess to clean up.

“He’s a danger to people!” Rhodey says and he must get a little too close because Bucky steps forward and Tony grabs his arm, yanking him back.

“Hurt him and I’ll throw you out a window,” she tells him. He listens to her. Mostly.

“You’re just going to deal with that for ten months?” Rhodey asks and Tony shrugs.

“More than half that time has already passed so,” she shrugs. Besides, Bucky isn’t always Caveman Brain, sometimes he’s normal.

Rhodey sighs. “Why couldn’t you have picked someone normal. Steve would have been nice,” he says and Tony wrinkles her nose.

“Steve is corn field hot,” she says in way of an explanation. And also Sam called dibs, so.

Whoever the hell said pregnancy is beautiful needs their goddamn eyes checked or maybe Tony thinks that because of all the bullshit she’s dealt with over the last few months. Pregnancy seems difficult for anyone, but with the reactor, history of addiction, and all the being beat up on a regular basis it hasn’t done her body any favors. Her blood pressure is consistently too high despite eating the way she should be, her heart rate hasn’t been normal in years, and having something both below and on top of her lungs has made breathing more difficult.

But she deals with it and its not really that bad anyway. No fetal abnormalities either, so that’s good, even if she’d like her breathing space back. She could probably say something to someone but frankly she’s going to have to deal with all these problems anyway so she mostly keeps it between her and her doctors. So there are problems, every pregnancy has them.

They’re on their way back in when they find her. Rhodey thought it was kind of odd that she hadn’t said anything over the comms, usually she does even if she’s not in the field, but figured maybe she was tired. Tony’s always been able to put on a good front but he can see how exhausted she’s been lately and playing interference with Bucky’s fucking weird pregnancy habits isn’t helping. Today, thankfully, he’s normal and Tony had pretty much fucked off to the lab presumably for alone time as soon as she realized.

Then came the call, fucking Doombots again, and Rhodey flew out with the rest of the Avengers because Tony’s position is both tactically useful and also hard to replace. He knows how to operate the suit and unlike Pepper he doesn’t have a company to run. Its temporary so people on his end have picked up the slack of him being missing however temporary it is.

“I hate the wizard,” Natasha mumbles as she walks by bruised and annoyed.

Rhodey laughs, shaking his head. “Better than Bucky gone squirrelly,” he says.

“I can’t help it and I don’t even know why I do that,” Bucky says in his defense.

“You have issues,” Rhodey tells him, shaking his head. Guess at least he’s basically a giant guard dog but more violent and not towards Tony. Actually, he mostly seems to only listen to her when he’s gone caveman. Rhodey might be more concerned if that weren’t the case.

“For the record I am not a wizard, I am the Sorcerer Supreme,” Stephen says, nose in the air.

“Yeah, like the Taco Bell fries supreme but magical,” Rhodey says, earning a laugh and a high five out of Natasha.

Nat takes off to go do whatever and the rest of the Avengers pretty much converge on the fridge with enthusiasm. Bucky gives Tony’s room a look but Rhodey doubts she’s in there. She’s probably in the lab too wrapped up in whatever she’s doing to notice them gone. Wouldn’t be the first time. Doesn’t seem to stop Bucky from looking concerned though.

Rhodey turns back to the fridge and snatches the left over Chinese out of Steve’s hand. “Excuse you, that’s mine I called dibs,” he says, squeezing around the rest of the Avengers to get to the utensils.

“When?” Steve asks, frowning.

“Right now,” Rhodey tells him, finding an extra pair of chopsticks and waving them around.

Steve looks irritated but lets him have it. When he reaches for the other carton Bucky snatches it before he can manage and Steve gives him a look. “What? I’m an expectant father, gotta eat to stay healthy,” he says and Steve squints.

“If health is your concern why are you eating Chinese takeout?” he asks.

Bucky considers that for a moment, obviously failing to come up with an explanation. “Rhodes, help me out,” he says finally and Rhodey rolls his eyes.

“Only other thing in there is Cheeze Whiz, Chinese is healthier than that,” he points out.

Bucky nods, waving a hand in Rhodey’s direction. “What he said.”

“Strange,” Natasha says, breaking into the scene unexpectedly.

Stephen tries unsuccessfully to bat the cloak away from where its trying to poke at a head wound. “I thought you didn’t like me,” he says, amused. He smacks the cloak away from him again, this time more successful, and turns to face Nat. When he does the amusement drops from his features. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately and Rhodey frowns because Natasha looks no different than usual. A little pale, maybe, but that’s not exactly odd considering she got tossed around pretty good.

“I don’t know,” she says, turning on her heel and walking away. Strange takes off after her fast and the rest of them drop their food and follow, confused.

Natasha isn’t really a kids kind of person. She likes other people’s kids and she’s not going to lie, she was kind of looking forward to Tony having her kid. She can spoil the little bastard rotten for a few hours and return the kid with no consequences to herself like she does with Clint’s kids all the time. Laura about skinned her for that time she gave Nathan caffeine.

Now that Tony’s in the fucking hospital though she’s worried. More so because, as it turns out, Tony had a whole list of problems not even Bucky knew about and he practically glued his ass to her side. The only one that doesn’t seem surprised by that information is Rhodey, who did little more than sigh and shake his head like this isn’t the first time that’s happened. Knowing Tony it probably isn’t.

“I’m impressed with how much she managed to do,” Strange says eventually, breaking the tense silence. Bucky glares at him something fierce but Pepper takes him up on his words.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

Strange, who’s probably the only one who understood half that doctor babble to its fullest extent anyway, rubs his temples for a moment. “Well, she managed to ensure an entire infant was medically fine after going through what looks to be a terribly traumatic birth. I don’t… its not really my area of expertise, but its safe to say people keeping that level of focus isn’t normal. And she clearly instructed her AI to monitor the baby’s vitals. That’s how I knew he was fine,” he says.

Of course Tony probably forgot to mention hers. Typical. Natasha doesn’t get Tony most of the time. Half the time she’s profoundly selfish, the other half she’s selfless to the point of absolute stupidity. Like now.

“What’s that matter at the moment?” Bucky snaps. Rhodey tries to put his hand on his shoulder but Bucky shakes him off, annoyed.

“It doesn’t, I suppose. But its still impressive,” Strange says.

Rhodey’s mostly asleep when he hears the shuffling of bed sheets. He’s tempted to ignore it because its probably Bucky moving around again but he cracks an eye open anyway just in case its something else. Turns out its a good thing he did because Tony’s awake and glaring at Bucky, who shuffles a little and wakes up himself. For a half a second he looks happy and then Tony speaks.

“Get the hell out of my bed,” she snaps at him. “Can I just have five minutes without you trying to crawl up my ass to make a nest in my colon?”

Rhodey covers his mouth with his hand to try and stifle the laugh but it doesn’t work. Bucky doesn’t look impressed but whatever. “Good news,” he says, “guess she’s fine.”

Bucky crawls out of her bed and slinks off but Tony lets him back in when he returns with coffee.

Natasha can’t help but laugh as Tony sits in a tub, steam rising off her skin as she glares at nothing in particular. “Why the fuck does no one talk about this?” she asks.

“What?” Natasha asks innocently, “no one told you about the heat?”

Tony looks so pissed. “No, no one told me about the fucking heat. I already knew about the month long period but it comes with a month long heat? How the fuck do omegas do anything after giving birth? And if Bucky shows up here tell him he’s fucking banned from my life for what he did with my uterus.”

Natasha starts laughing again, shaking her head. “Could have asked Laura,” she points out.

“And risk having her know I’d sooner sacrifice her husband to a Doombot than save him? No thanks. No offense,” she adds when she seems to remember that Natasha is also friends with Clint. But the fact that she and Clint don’t really like each other is well known by now. They all figured it was Steve she’d hate, that’s how it started, but now she mostly only dislikes the fact that he has authority on things rather than Steve himself.

“Fine then. No one mentioned this?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Tony snaps. “I think everyone assumed I already knew and, in their defense, this does seem like the kind of common knowledge thing everyone should know so why didn’t I?”

Well, people don’t much talk about omega’s bodies so they all know the answer to that already but Natasha shrugs. “Pregnancy’s gross?” she suggests and Tony snorts.

“God damn right it is. I looked like a planet, couldn’t breathe for shit, couldn’t even pick shit up, Bucky went zombie on my half the time, and I couldn’t even get the satisfaction of Clint being punched without being kicked in the fucking ribs. Don’t get pregnant,” she tells Natasha, pausing for a moment. “Wait, never mind. I shouldn’t get pregnant again. Its horrible. I’m getting a hysterectomy. Rip the whole thing out, fuck that,” she says, shaking her head.

“At least you got a kid out of it I guess,” Natasha says, not that Tony has spent much time with Peter between hospital visits and ice baths to maintain a normal temperature.

Tony lets out an annoyed sigh. “Yeah, he’s fucking adorable not that I can appreciate that because I’m in an ice bath all because apparently Bucky doesn’t know how to use a fucking condom,” she snaps.

Natasha snorts and starts laughing again. “I can’t believe you trusted a guy from the forties with that,” she says, shaking her head.

“Yeah, yeah. Poor judgment call I know. But Peter’s pretty great so,” she murmurs, shrugging.

Nat looks over to find Bucky all but pouting at the door so she sighs. “Am I allowed to let Bucky in or do I have to kick him out again?” she asks, amused.

Tony looks like a pissed off wet brown lab but she sighs. “Yeah, let him in,” she mumbles.

Bucky looks happy to have been let in, making his way to Tony fast and when he hands her coffee she takes it but she doesn’t look happy about it. “I don’t know what I did but I feel compelled to apologize,” Bucky says, standing there awkwardly.

“Don’t bother with an apology, just pet me and tell me I’m pretty,” Tony says, sounding as annoyed as she looks. “Natasha refused.”

#winteriron #fem tony stark #fanfiction #abo au

35 notes · View notes

peterparkers7evilexes · 5 years

Text

Winterspider - cult of Synanon au [pt1]

THIRD TIME’S THE CHARM AM I RIGHT

This is another idea I had for another ship that got stalled, and anon you actually kickstarted my brain because it works so much better for Winterspider thank you 💕 I know it’s not quite fluffy at the end just yet, but there will be a pt 2!

2.3k words - this is based off of the real life cult of Synanon, look ‘em up if you’re into weird cult shit, it’s horrifying ---------

He got caught trying to steal canned soup. With his baseball cap down low and a faded gray hoodie on, Bucky had thought it was safe. He smuggled two cans of Campbell’s vegetable soup into his hoodie pockets and strolled out the door. The cops were waiting for him beyond the corner, and he never made it back to the foster home where Rebecca was waiting for him.

Juvie was hell. It was an improvement in some ways - he got three hot meals a day, had a lumpy but warm bed, and the detention center even had a little library with some mangled books. But being separated from Rebecca, that was the worst feeling he’d ever experienced in his entire life. Even worse than finding out their parents were dead was the guilt of knowing that he’d failed them, failed Rebecca, left her to fend for herself in a negligent foster home. He tossed and turned in his cot for the first few nights, plagued by thoughts of his little sister hating him, or worse, of her quiet resignation as yet another person failed to protect her like they’d promised.

He didn’t sleep until the third night, when his bunkmate Sam told him, “You ain’t helping her by killing yourself like this.” That and the complete exhaustion lulled Bucky into a dead slumber.

This, Bucky thought, was the worst feeling in the world.

Then a month into his incarceration, the detention center was audited and to no one’s surprise, it was deemed dangerously overcrowded. A lovely farm upstate had volunteered to take on a few juveniles, they said, and Bucky and Sam were ordered onto a school bus that shuttled 50 of them five hours north.

The detention center dropped them off in the middle of a farm, isolated for miles around, wiped their hands of those pesky delinquents, and drove back to the city. “This is a cult,” Sam realized as they were herded through the compound, and Bucky nodded in quiet agreement.

That night, the ‘community leader’, a lean man in his 40s with deceptively warm, brown eyes who introduced himself as Emrys, spread his arms and beamed at his sullen audience. “Your paths are laden with sin. I sense a great deal of violence in your pasts. But you’re home now. You’ll be expected to do your part for your new family, but in return, you’ll find meaning and purpose - a calling that you used to fill with drugs, violence and sex.” He smiled genially at them. “Things are already better for you, I promise.”

Things didn’t get better. The cult, in between preachings of cleansing and forgiveness, emphasized breaking down the ego to rebuild anew. This mostly consisted of ‘group therapy’ where community members were gathered into a room and berated for each of their flaws and ugly histories. Bucky watched as the cult members screamed and called each other drug addicts, whores, junkies, shitty mothers and useless sons. At the end of each session, Emrys swooped in, touching a gentle palm to their foreheads and ‘built them back up’, murmuring about how his beloved children had an opportunity to repent, a second chance at life here. “Today is the first day of the rest of your life,” he said each time, and those inoculated would weep, clutching at Emrys’ jacket sleeves and thank him for believing in them.

As they worked in the gardens, Bucky and Sam exchanged what they saw. “We gotta get out of here,” Sam hissed, his eyes flicking from side to side for the supervisors. “This is straight up Jonestown in the making, you know how that ends, don’t you?”

Bucky bent over, pretending to pull out weeds. “There’s nothing for miles around, where would we even go?”

Sam shrugged, the line of his shoulders tensing as the supervisor strolled closer to their section of the garden. “There’s some talk in my bunk,” he continued in a low voice. “Remember Winston, the ginger from juvie?” Bucky nodded slowly. “He’s talking to others, saying they’re gonna try and make a break for it later this week, while everyone’s at community prayer.”

“That’s a stupid idea,” Bucky said immediately, glaring up at Sam from where he was hunched on the ground. “Doing it while everyone’s gathered in one place? Everyone’s gonna know right away. Plus Winston’s a fucking moron, you really think he’s got a good plan going?”

Huffing out a sigh, Sam kicked at Bucky’s boot. “You got a better plan?”

Bucky pursed his lips and shook his head. “Don’t do it, Sam,” he said quietly. “I’m serious.”

Stretching his arms over his head, Sam looked up at the dusky sky. “I won’t,” he said slowly. “But we can’t stay here forever, Buck. This place is evil, and you know it too.”

That Friday night, things got worse.

During community prayer, Bucky kept scanning the crowd for Winston and his crew, and of course he saw no sign of them. Standing at his podium at the front of the temple, Emrys spread his arms wide, his brown eyes glittering with some smug satisfaction as he preached about young lambs who needed to lose their way before they could be saved. As Emrys gazed over his followers, his dark, omniscient eyes landed briefly on Bucky, and a horrible chill shuddered down his spine.

But it wasn’t until after everyone went to bed that all hell broke loose.

Bucky was lying awake in his bunk, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Rebecca as usual when he heard distant shouting and the barking of dogs. He sat up in his bed, looking to the door of the cabin. “What’s that?” He asked quietly.

Two of his bunkmates were asleep, but another kid was awake as well. He shook his head at Bucky in confusion.

Stepping into his boots, Bucky got up and crept to the door. The yelling came closer, and among the voices he could hear higher voices - mostly teenagers’ screams. Dread sunk cold in his chest, and he looked back at his bunkmate. “I’m gonna see what’s going on.”

Outside, a scene of chaos was unfolding. The would-be runaways were being rounded up back to the compound, their clothes disheveled and muddied and, Bucky realized with a jolt of horror, gashed with blood. A pack of dogs herded them along, snarling and barking at the stragglers. Bucky recognized the community’s sentries hemming in the runaways on all sides, striking at them with bats and flashlights.

“Hey!” called a voice, and Bucky turned, seeing a scrawny brunet boy he vaguely recognized standing outside another cabin and watching. The boy’s call went unnoticed and a sentry struck one of the runaways across the forehead, sending him crumpling to the ground. “Stop it!” cried the scrawny boy, and he ran into the fray.

“Jesus Christ,” Bucky muttered under his breath, breaking into a run as he watched the sentries start on him as well. “Get off, he’s injured!” he shouted, throwing an arm up to shield his face. The scrawny boy ducked under Bucky’s arm and grabbed the unconscious kid under his armpits, starting to drag him away. “Stop, you’re killing them,” he roared as a bat landed hard on his back. Furious, he turned to his attacker and punched him in the face. He didn’t get the chance to do anything else - he heard the heavy thunk of a bat before the pain registered, splitting agony down his skull. As Bucky’s vision swam and went fuzzy, all he could hear was the howling of dogs.

This was the worst feeling in the world.

Sharp, thudding pain pulsed behind Bucky’s eyeballs, and he briefly wished someone would knock him out again so he didn’t have to be awake anymore. “Fuck,” he muttered, and he heard a startled yelp to his right side.

“Oh thank god,” came Sam’s voice, and Bucky cracked his eyes open, wincing at the low lighting. To his surprise though, it wasn’t Sam leaning over him. At first, in his addled state, Bucky felt certain that he had died, and this was an angel peering down at him.

Large brown eyes blinked owlishly at Bucky. It was the scrawny boy from earlier, his soft brown hair haloed in a golden corona from the lamplight. “You’re not Sam,” Bucky said intelligently, and the boy laughed.

“You’re alive,” the boy said with relief, smiling at him. He had a pretty smile, a nice laugh, Bucky noted dimly.

Sam came into view then, crossing his arms and looking down at Bucky quite unimpressed. “You would’ve died if Peter hadn’t saved your ass,” he informed him.

Bucky gingerly touched his skull. “I wouldn’t have had to save your ass in the first place if you hadn’t run out there,” he complained, shooting a rueful look up at Peter.

Peter flushed pink. “They were killing him,” he said meekly.

His little frown made Bucky feel like he’d just kicked a puppy. “I’m just giving you shit,” he said gruffly, sitting up and looking around Sam’s and Peter’s cabin. “It was brave. But stupid.”

“You’re both brave and stupid,” Sam said firmly. “We barely dragged your lifeless body back in here, you know.”

“What happened?” Bucky asked, groaning as pain throbbed dully over his back and shoulders. “What happened to the other kids?”

Peter and Sam exchanged a look. “They got taken to isolation,” Peter said quietly. At Bucky’s questioning look, he grimaced. “You’re newer. You wouldn’t have heard of it. They don’t like people knowing about isolation until they’re… y’know.”

“Brainwashed,” Sam supplied helpfully.

“Yeah.” Peter lowered his eyes, picking up a damp washcloth and soaking it in a little basin. He lifted the rag and held it out, gently patting it across his forehead. Bucky blinked, seeing the rag come away pink with his blood. “They put addicts in there to force them clean. It’s awful.”

“Will they be okay?” Bucky asked, dread unfurling cold in his chest again.

Peter shrugged. “They’ll get out, but they won’t be the same. If you think what happens up here is brainwashing, the stuff that they do in isolation…” He shuddered, dipping the rag back into the basin. “You don’t get out until you’re without a doubt converted.”

“Fuck. We gotta get out of here,” Bucky said, his breath coming in short now. “I gotta get back to the city.”

“Oh, now you agree with me?” Sam crossed his arms over his chest, unsympathetic.

Bucky flipped him off and to his surprise, Peter’s face broke into a wide grin. He was adorable. “I got to thinking,” he started, looking carefully at the door as if to check for eavesdroppers, “Winston’s plan was stupid.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said emphatically, flinching when another spike of pain shot through his head.

“Lie back,” Peter huffed, and he pressed his small hands down on Bucky’s chest, flattening him against the lumpy cot. Bucky let himself be tucked into bed, and he watched with some amusement and disbelief as this skinny, angelic boy bustled about the cabin, unperturbed by his delinquent company as he dumped out the dirty basin water and fetched a clean pillowcase. “Just running will never work. They’ve got hunting dogs and cars--”

“They’ve got cars?” Sam hissed in outrage. “They’ve been makin’ us haul feed two miles in the blazing sun, talking about work ethic and purity of the mind--”

“So we need to get out with their approval,” Peter continued. “They have to willingly let us off campus, either as missionaries or running errands.”

“But that will only get us so far,” Bucky said, raising himself so Peter could tuck a fresh pillow under his head.

Peter’s face lit up in another smile. God, he was pretty. “We don’t have to make it all the way back to the city. We just need to make it out of their jurisdiction.”

“You’ve thought this all through,” Bucky realized. “Why wait until now? Why didn’t you do this before, before Winston and his crew? Security’s going to be way tighter now that there’s already been one escape attempt.”

Peter met his eyes, warm brown and wide with fear. “I was waiting for the right people,” he admitted. “I only get one chance at this. If I get caught, Dad’s gonna kill me. Literally kill me.”

“Dad?” Sam repeated, squinting at him.

With a jolt, Bucky realized where he recognized those dark brown eyes - deceitful and dominating where he’d seen them before, but heartfelt and kind in Peter. “Oh shit,” he breathed.

Peter nodded, his face determined. “Any objections to breaking out with the cult leader’s kid?”

Sam and Bucky looked at one another, nodding their silent agreement. “Well Emrys Junior,” Sam said, clapping Peter on the shoulder. “Looks like you’re our best bet, so we don’t got much of a choice, do we?”

Peter wrinkled his nose in distaste. “Please, his name’s Rick. I wanna get out of this festering hellhole as bad as you two. You know he doesn’t let us watch movies? I just wanna watch King Kong.”

A laugh came unbidden from Bucky’s lips, startling him for a moment with how foreign it felt. He sat back up, ignoring Peter’s concerned face and grabbed the kid’s hand in his. “Peter, you get us out of here and I’ll take you to the movies every day,” he said seriously.

Flushing pink again, Peter looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Bucky. He nodded seriously, his eyes warm and earnest. “I will. We will,” he promised softly.

Things weren’t great. Bucky was still trapped in a cult hundreds of miles from his sister and he had a headache that felt like an axe was wedged between his ears, but this was hope.

Things were better.

#winterspider #synanon au #let me know if you wanna be tagged for pt 2!#might not be for a bit because i have a lot of writing on my mind but it's comin #i love this prompt anon thank u #my shit #longpost #tw:cults #tw:substance abuse mention #tw:physical violence #anon #ask #also fuck you tumblr #fic

84 notes · View notes