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lifeisdabubbles-undersalmondean · 3 years

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La Pomme ~ Chapter 16

Pairing: Sam x OC (eventual Dean x OC and Dean x Castiel. And I mean eventual.)

Series summary: George is a casual French-Mistake-universe Supernatural fan living in no-COVID 2020, who's life is upended when she's suddenly launched between realities, two years into the boys' past (S13E22). What begins as an insane, immersive fan experience turns into more when Jack goes missing and George offers up her AU information to help track him down. Soon it's discovered that she and Sam may actually have history. But that's impossible, right?

Word Count:5,800

Warnings: {smut, fluff, angst, show level violence, swearing, mentions of suicide} ***Detailed warnings will be tagged for specific chapters.

A/N: Following the events of my prequel Paradise and second story From My Eyes Off. Reading those first gives context but isn’t necessary to start this one.

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George was alone with Jack for the next few hours while the brothers set about the tasks of clean up, house warding, and hopefully some rest of their own. She was the perfect person to take first watch, considering every time she closed her eyes she saw Jack’s bloody, near lifeless body behind her lids. Staying with him gave her a reason to keep her eyes open and she figured the more she could see him looking distinctly alive, the better. Every once in a while she’d take his hand in hers and squeeze tightly, thinking ‘happy thoughts.’ Considering her recent angelic kidnapping, she refused to call it prayer; instead she tried to imagine sending healing energy through her hands to him.

Just as the sun began sneaking a ray or two into the room through the half open blinds, George spotted movement out of the corner of her eye. It startled her at first, thinking the psychotic angel was back. She relaxed when it was only Dean.

“Morning,” She said quietly. She watched him hold a mug up to his lips and take a careful sip before acknowledging her.

“Morning,” He mimicked, stepping into the room. “Your Aunt serves decent coffee.”

“‘Decent’? Don’t let her hear you say that,” She warned with a tired smile.

Dean gave her a once over and then motioned for her to get up, “OK, shift change. Time for you to get some rest.”

“Dean, I’m fine--”

“I’m sure you're fine as a frog’s hair, but you still need sleep, young lady.” Came Lorna’s stern voice from the doorway. She was holding a plate of fresh baked mango scones that made Dean's mouth water. Lorna held the plate out to him and he took two, then eyed the plate longingly. “Go ahead. I have another batch on the counter and two more in the oven. And if the coffee’s not weak enough for you, there’s a Starbucks in Gibbousville,” She informed him in a stern voice, a smirk on her face. Dean glanced at George, who’s expression clearly said ‘toldja so,’ and then sheepishly took a third scone with a happy, quiet mumble of thanks.

There was only one scone left on the plate and Lorna handed it to George, “You’ve been awake since I stitched you up. Take this to the garage and get some shut eye. I’ll feed this one before I go to work and he can keep watch while you rest.” George looked between the two of them. Despite the crumbs stuck to Dean's chin, the serious expressions on their faces told her she wasn’t going to win any arguments about it. Giving Jack’s hand one last tight squeeze, she got up, took the plate with a defiant ‘thank you,’ and left the room.

The converted garage apartment consisted of one 15’ x 30’ living room-kitchen combo area with an attached bathroom and shower downstairs. At the top of the stairs was a long, narrow bedroom that had just enough room for one queen and one full mattress, placed on opposite sides of the room and a small nightstand for the queen bed. The room was cramped, with slanted ceilings so severe that neither brother could stand up fully in there other than one four inch horizontal line down the middle.

George entered the cottage and placed the plate of scone on the counter. Splitting it in two, she left one half on the plate and took a bite of the other. Unsurprisingly it was delicious and fluffy. Her aunt had always been a whiz in the kitchen; it was comforting that her alt-aunt was too. Glancing around, she saw her Target bags sitting on the leather loveseat across the room and walked over to them. She debated her options, then closed her eyes for a moment, just to see. The image of Jack’s lifeless body was murkier now, but the face of her angel tormentor was too realistic to handle. She opened her eyes again quickly, glanced around to make sure she was alone, then grabbed her toiletries.

Shower first, it is.

After brushing the blood from her teeth thrice, she carefully scrubbed her grimey skin, limited a bit by her injuries. The pain meds had worked well but she could feel a deep soreness on her side when she tried to reach certain spots. She stayed under the warmth of the water for a long time, avoiding the inevitable. Sleep was definitely going to require her eyes to be closed, but she couldn’t shake the traumatic images. She’d even attempted to calm her nerves with a few fingers but couldn’t concentrate. As she turned off the water, she hoped at least that the sun had risen high enough to chase away the darkness and maybe her fears along with it.

She wrapped her long wet hair into a towel, and began drying off. Then looked around for her clothes and realized she hadn’t brought any in with her; everything was still out on the loveseat. With a tired curse, she wrapped the damp towel around herself and peeked out to make sure the coast was clear before exiting into the living area.

Across the room, kitty-corner to the bathroom, was a modest sitting area with a loveseat and matching oversized chair positioned in front of a small redwood coffee table and fireplace. When she got to her clothes, she dropped the towel to the ground without even thinking and reached into the bag for some fresh white underwear and a black sleeveless undershirt. With her injuries, it was a bit of a struggle to get them on, but she managed it slowly.

Just as she was about to search in the bag for her pajama pants, she heard a distinct creaking sound and her head snapped toward the staircase. Knowing there was no way she’d be able to get the pants on fast enough, she reached down for the towel. The only thing she’d had time to do was grip it before Sam appeared at the bottom of the stairs five seconds later.

“Sam--” She sputtered apologetically with a start when she saw him frozen there, dressed in a casual long sleeved grey v-neck and black pajama pants. There was still sleep on his face, but he was quickly waking up, looking very surprised to see her in such a state of undress.

The second she laid eyes on him, she felt her whole body relax. She almost laughed in disbelief, considering normally she would have been falling all over herself to cover up and apologize. Whether because of the insane dream connection (which she still hadn’t fully processed) or just the past few weeks getting to know him, his mere presence made her feel safe. Safe enough that she didn’t need to say sorry. Safe enough that pants were optional. Even safe enough to close her eyes and take a deep, calming breath when she saw nothing but inky blackness behind them.

“Georgia?” Came a quiet rasp. He’d been worried about her since the rescue but, there’d been so many things to do, he hadn’t found a good time to talk to her yet. After helping to get Jack stabilized, he and Dean carefully and discreetly painted warding around the property to prevent the angels from tracking them. Then began the clean up.

Once that was all finished, he’d stopped by Jack’s room to check on her, but noticed she was talking outloud to him. Not wanting to interrupt, he’d decided to clean himself up with a shower before another attempt. His final barrier had been Dean, who literally wouldn’t leave him alone until he got some rest. He knew telling him to chill out because he needed to go talk to ‘the woman of his dreams’ wasn’t going to be a conversation ender for his brother. Just trying to wait the man out, he had accidentally fallen asleep.

Seeing her now, though, he realized just how nervous he was to be alone with her. It certainly wasn’t like he’d been trying to avoid having life-altering conversations with her by finding important busy work to do, but he couldn't deny that a tiny part of him was scared. She was still from an alternate universe and now that they had found Jack, they were supposed to send her back. So what if he’d dreamt about her and she kinda seemed to be aware of it too? So what if that fact indicated she may have had the same dream and the two of them have a decade old shared memory across alternate realities, hmm? What did that even mean? Did it even really change anything? She still had to go back to her world, right?

Considering he didn’t yet know how to answer any of that for himself, he instead started with, “How are you?”

Hearing the concern in his voice, her eyes opened and she smiled gratefully at him. Momentarily appreciating the messy morning hair and beard, she felt the stirrings of something primal and almost considered revisiting her earlier solo shower work. Instead, though, she figured she’d ask him to stay with her just until she could fall asleep.

“Tired,” She answered before dropping the towel and walking over to him. She slowly took his hand and led him back up the stairs to the bedroom. He wasn’t exactly sure what was happening but he knew he’d follow her anywhere. He allowed her to guide him back up, trying not to stare at her barely covered behind on the way.

Since their conversation in the car, Sam very clearly saw the young blonde bride he met in his dream whenever he looked at her (any of her). He was dumbfounded it took him this long to see it; he thought he had that woman’s face seared into his memory. His only explanation was that he’d successfully been able to convince himself that the dream hadn’t been real all those years ago. Therefore, it didn’t occur to him that a real woman he’d never met, from a universe he’d only been in once, could be the same person from a fake dream. Whatever the reason, he saw it now and it caused him to ache with curiosity and desire.

When she reached the top of the stairs, she realized she hadn’t actually asked him to stay and turned back around, causing him to stop as well. He was a few steps down, so they were eye-level and George could see the desire very clearly in his bright hazel eyes. The primal urges she’d placated downstairs took over; leaning forward she placed a soft, desperate kiss on his lips.

When their lips touched, she panicked for a split second about her impulsivity. Then she immediately felt his hands on her waist and she was filled with exquisite peace. Able to close her eyes untroubled for the first time in hours, she sunk into him.

Sam was so startled by the kiss that he grabbed her sides, holding on tight. Once the reality of what was happening registered, he responded enthusiastically. From his dream he remembered her taste, the way she felt in his arms, and her silky soft lips but the reality of it was unbelievable. His senses were overloading; she felt familiar and new all at the same time. It was electrifying and so consuming that all his doubts about what was happening were forgotten.

Frustrated that she couldn’t kiss him any harder without her lip protesting, she pulled back. He gripped her tighter instinctively. With a smile, she reached up and grabbed his hands, prying them off her body.

Taking a few steps backward into the room, she tugged at them, inviting, “Stay?” His mind was in a fog of stunned yearning and it rooted him to his spot. Noticing his hesitation, she squeezed his hands and pleaded softly, “Just until I fall asleep? We don’t have to do anything.”

He pulled his hands from her grip slowly, then climbed the last of the steps and stood tall over her. One hand slid into her hair, the other wrapped around her waist, pulling her back to his lips for a slow, lingering kiss. Gently and carefully, so as not to hit either of their heads against the very low and steeply angled attic roof, he guided her backwards to the larger of the two beds. Stopping her just before they reached the mattress by squeezing her against him. He’d meant to stop kissing her long enough to make sure exactly what she wanted to do, but her tongue was very distracting. Then her hands moved to softly touch the scruff of his cheeks and he melted, tumbling farther away from being able to stop kissing her.

Suddenly she ripped away from him and her forehead dropped to his chest silently. Looking down at her in confusion, wondering if he’d hurt her or she’d changed her mind, he noticed a sharp inhale of breath. When she lifted her head again her eyes were a bit watered and he realized how tired she really was.

With a smirk, he inquired, “Georgia, were you hiding a yawn from me?” Avoiding eye contact she shook her head, keeping her lips pressed together. The smirk turned into an amused smile and Sam loosened his grip on her, placing a tender kiss on her forehead.

“Bed,” He ordered softly, noticing the shiver that ran through her. Shaking her head in protest George reached up and grabbed at the collar of his shirt, pulling him down towards her. He chuckled and grabbed hold of her hands to stop her. With a charming smile he rubbed his nose against hers, bringing his lips near her tauntingly, “I’ll keep going if you can tell me how much you want me.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head and she hesitated, trying to lift herself up to his lips without him noticing.

Squeezing her eyes closed tight in hope, “I wan--” was all she got out before another yawn hit her. She wasn’t fast enough to hide this one. Why was her brain betraying her body like this?

Sam gave her another sweet but chaste kiss as a consolation prize before letting go, hunching over, and carefully maneuvering around the left side of bed. She turned her body around to follow him with a depressed slouch. The covers and pillows were disturbed and she assumed that’s where he’d been sleeping before coming downstairs. He gave the pillows a quick fluff and folded the blanket back.

To her pleasant surprise, he climbed in first. Once he was situated comfortably up against the headboard, his left arm stretched out on the empty pillow next to him, he looked at her expectantly. She straightened up from her slouch in surprise; too elated to move.

Grinning wide, she finally murmured, “Are you for real, Sam Winchester?”

With a small smile, he assured, “C’mon. Bed,” He ordered again, beckoning her with his hand. Finally her muscles moved and she climbed in next to him. Laying against him as the little spoon, she rested her head half on his shoulder, half on the pillow. Once he pulled the covers up over them both, his arms wrapped around her. He lifted one hand up, stroking her hair, and rested the other hand just below her underwear on the naked skin of her hip. Squeezing her close, he nuzzled her neck and placed a few kisses on her soft skin.

Her fresh, clean scent was intoxicating. He should have stopped kissing her; he knew she needed sleep, he could see it all over her face. Yet, having her this close after all this time was nearly making him burst; he couldn’t help himself. Glancing up, he saw her hardening nipples through the thin fabric of her shirt and knew it was too late.

Goosebumps appeared on her skin shortly thereafter and she teased, squirming a bit, “Hey buddy, I can’t sleep if my libido can’t sleep.” She’d expected him to stop instantly.

Instead, she heard, “Do you want me to stop?” murmured genuinely in her ear and felt his hand freeze in its movement from her hip down toward her thigh. With a surprised shudder, that primal instinct roared awake once more.

“Hell no,” She purred, shifting her hips so her butt was flat on the bed. When she spread the leg he wasn’t gripping, her movement caused his fingers to brush against her fabric covered core. They both groaned. Tossing her head back and to the side, she begged, “Touch me!” Before reaching up to grab the back of his head and pull him down for another hungry kiss, lip injury be damned.

He responded eagerly. His hand slipped under the fabric and he played her like a soft, warm instrument he hadn’t picked up in years, but never forgot. Every sound his movements elicited, reminded him what to do next to please her. There were also new and exciting things he hadn’t expected, like the metal jewelry he could feel surrounding her nipples while his fingers toyed with them under her shirt. The moment he felt them, he smirked, realizing then how she’d known the pierced librarian would be interested in seeing them. His head filled with ideas about what they might look like, but he couldn’t see them in the dimness of the bedroom. He worked her through two quick releases before she passed out, satisfied, in his arms. __________________________________________

George was back in the bar where she'd first met Sam. Her wedding dress was on and her hair was purple, just like the dream. Sitting next to her in the booth, Sam’s face was ten years younger and smooth as a baby’s bottom. His eyes were the same, though; an ocean of deep pain and loss and they distracted her from whatever he was saying.

Suddenly they were kissing and she couldn’t think about anything else. Her hands rubbed roughly against the skin of his neck as her tongue flicked across his lips. Opening his mouth and meeting her tongue with his, he obliged. Their tongues wrestled blissfully for an eternity before they finally came up for air.

“What are you?” She heard him ask, but she wasn’t listening. Her eyes were still closed, hoping he would bring his lips back again.

“Hmm?” She murmured after a moment. When she opened her eyes, she couldn’t see his face through her fog. “Sam?” She asked, blinking a few times in order to get her vision back. When she tried focusing, she noticed that his features were twisting and swirling slowly. In confused horror she watched him morph into the dark haired angel who’d assaulted her. With a gasp she tried to pull back from him and then felt a hand wrap around her throat. She tried to reach for the hand and pry it off but it felt like her body was moving through thick molasses.

“Tell me what you are,” He barked as she struggled to escape. The hand around her throat grew tighter and he shouted again in her face, “Tell me. Whe--What you are!” Struggling to get air, she closed her eyes tight and tried to scream. His voice was beginning to skip and warp like an old worn out record.

A deafening “whooshing” began, punctuated by a few other sounds she couldn’t quite make out, “VaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHtivaSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHH”

Suddenly a voice with a deeper, richer tone spoke quietly to her, “Vashti!” When her eyes snapped open in response, she was startled. It wasn’t the angel anymore. Now Sam looked like a man with thin dusty lips, rounded features, short spiky blonde hair, and blue eyes that matched her own. She didn’t recognize him but something about him filled her with a familiar dread she couldn’t pinpoint, causing her to increase her efforts to get out of his grip.

With a smug curl of his lips, the stranger called to her in a low, sing-song voice, squeezing her throat, “Tell me where you are. Tell me where you are, VASHTI!”

Launching herself upright with a gutteral noise of panic, her eyes darted around the room trying to orient herself as she gulped in air. She saw a figure standing near the stairs and instantly screamed out to Sam for help. It didn’t register that the figure was Sam, until he was sitting on the bed in front of her with his hands on her arms. She grabbed onto his biceps and held tight while he tried to calm her.

“Georgia! It’s OK, you’re OK! I’m here, it’s Sam, it’s me! It’s just me. Me and you, OK?” He shushed forcefully, staring into her eyes to help her focus. She tried to slow her panting, as she felt her body begin to relax, her brain finally able to process her surroundings. Nodding slowly, she let go of his arms and fell forward, hugging him tightly. He hugged her back and stroked her hair calmly. Once her breathing returned to normal, she pulled back and sat up straight.

Looking at her with concern, he asked gently, “Bad dream?”

Running a shaky hand over her face she explained, “It was a great dream until that fucking angel showed up and started strangling me...” Sam frowned in empathy, watching her carefully. She seemed to want to say more; her eyes were glazed over.

The angel had freaked her out but the blonde man had terrified her; her heart was pounding. The feeling of the dream reminded her of the time she’d had sleep paralysis and saw a bony, bloody, scraggly haired witch on top of her; except a thousand times worse. It took her a week to get a good night’s sleep after that, and she hasn’t slept on her back since.

When she didn’t speak, he asked, “Was there something else?”

George blinked the man’s face away and looked back at Sam, “I uh… I don’t know. Yes, maybe. Someone else.”

“Who?” The concern on his face nearly melted her. No one had ever looked at her like that before and she nearly choked up. She was starting to doubt herself. Maybe it was no one? Some actor or character she couldn’t place? Maybe the face of one of the other angels from the group in the forest? Maybe just another case of sleep paralysis? Maybe it was ridiculous that she’d let it get her so worked up and it wasn’t worth focusing on. Especially not when a man as amazing as this one was sitting right in front of her.

Shaking her head a bit she started, “I didn’t recognize him…”

Sam nodded and began rubbing his hands up and down her arms comfortingly, “Well, can you describe him to me? Maybe I’ll rec--”

George shook her head and placed her hands firmly on his chest, cutting him off, “No, no, no. This is silly, I’m being silly. It was just a bad dream, maybe some sleep paralysis or something? I’m better now.” Sam searched her face suspiciously, and she smiled, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt, “I promise. Especially with you here.”

“Georgia, er--” The wiggle of her eyebrow caught him a little off guard. He tried to stay focused on whether or not she was really ok for just a minute longer, “Listen, I don’t think you’re being silly. If there’s something you want to talk about, we can talk about it anytime, OK?”

“Mhm, I appreciate that,” She answered, nodding enthusiastically and beginning to giggle just a bit. His attempt to slow things down with kindness and concern was only revving her up. It really wasn’t his fault; he couldn’t know how adorably sexy he was. “I am feeling much better, thank you.”

“You’re sure?” He asked, a furrow in his brow, as he adjusted a few strands of her hair gently.

“Actually, there is something I’d like to talk about,” She asked, looking at him with an exaggeratedly worried expression.

“Anything,” Sam assured her with a kind smile.

“Well, I don’t like this shirt you’re wearing,” She said apologetically, lifting it up by the hem a bit. He looked down at the shirt quickly and she continued, “I don’t think it looks good on you.”

He looked back up at her confused, “You... don’t?” He had other shirts, but was this really a high priority concern at the moment?

“No, but it’s OK because…” She smirked flirtatiously, batting her eyelashes and tugging harder at the offending garment, “I know it’ll look good off you.”

It took about 1.5 seconds for Sam to catch on and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly, “Oh, yea?” She nodded quickly as he reached for her, pulling her close and planting a kiss on her lips. Allowing him a grace period, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed herself against him, kissing him back fiercely for a few moments.

Suddenly she pulled back and grabbed his shirt on either side, lifting it up and demanding, “Shirt.”

Sam huffed in annoyance at having been unceremoniously ripped away from her lips but figured the quickest way to remedy that was compliance. He let go of her and grabbed the shirt from her hands, yanking it up and over. As the small fabric fell to the floor, he didn't allow her any time to enjoy the view before grabbing her again.

“Freeze!” She squeaked, placing her hands on his shoulders to stop him. He stopped with a flare of his nostrils and she requested, “Un momento,” before giving him a slow once over. She happily noted his gorgeous, tanned muscles, the dark, sparse patch of hair in the center of his chest, and the dark ink of the protection symbol on his skin, which she slid her fingers over softly. Then, running her hands down his chest with a satisfied sigh, she granted, “Proceed.”

With an amused shake of his head, he leaned forward with a forceful kiss. Pushing her back onto the pillows, he climbed on top of her. Her legs spread so he could lay against her comfortably but the blanket was still between them. She cursed it’s very existence as the two of them got lost in each other’s mouths.

At some point--George was certain an eternity had passed--Sam pulled back and started placing wet kisses on her clavicle. She buried her fingers in his silky soft hair, throwing her head back and lifting her chest toward him. His hand slid down to the hem of her shirt and his fingers slipped underneath. Somewhere in the deep recesses of her brain she thought she heard a low *thonk* sound in the distance.

She was about to mention it when Sam’s hand began sliding up her torso and he murmured with uncertainty, “This looks terrible on you?”

She bit back a chortle and responded with a tug at his hair, “Uh oh, I should probably take it off then, huh?” Under her brain fog she thought she’d heard a voice begin to speak just as Sam let out a loud, sharp agreeable groan. Pausing his kisses, he sat back so he could help her undress.

“Did you... hear something just now?” She murmured nonchalantly, distracted first by his abs and then the thin pajama pants containing his very obvious desire. “Oh, fuck,” She uttered, not caring anymore.

Whatever. The worst it could be is Aunt Lorna and she’ll understand.

She sat up and grabbed the bottom of her undershirt. Sam reached out and grabbed the shirt too, but a split second before they began to pull she heard a quiet voice in her head remind her, Or it could be Dean?

A squeak on the bottom step made them both freeze and when they heard, “Sammy? That you?” they exchanged a look of mutual horror. They both knew he was going to be insufferable if he caught them together.

“Shit!” Sam hissed quietly, while George leaned forward quickly and gasped in pain at the sudden ache that radiated throughout her left side. “Are you ok?!” He whispered in concern.

She nodded quickly, waving him off and whispering with a frantic point, “Shirt!! Your shirt!”

“Sam? Are you up here?” Sam jumped into action, diving over the edge of the bed and grabbing his shirt, scrambling to put it on. Thinking quickly, George grabbed one of the pillows behind her and tossed it on the floor. Sam got the message and threw himself to the ground next to the bed with a clumsy thud. Suddenly he popped back up and leaned in, placing one final quick kiss on her lips before slipping back down into position hurriedly. George, trying to hide her giddy smile, carefully laid back, suddenly very aware of yesterday's injuries, and covered herself with the blanket.

Sam had just finished adjusting his pillow when Dean’s head popped into view from the staircase with a worried expression, “Sam?! Are you O--Oh!” Dean paused for a split second before walking the last two steps and looking between the two of them curiously. George noticed the other half of her mango scone from this morning in his left hand. Instead of mentioning it, she acted like she was wiping the sleep from her eyes, starting to fake yawn.

Trying to look like she was just waking up, she asked, “Dean? Hmm, what time is it?” She glanced down at her side and asked very casually, “Where’s Seen--er, Sam? Have you Sam him? Seen ham--Seem--Have You. Seen Sam?”

Smooth, she kicked herself.

“I--I’m here, still, George,” Sam piped up loudly. “Remember, I offered to stay here on the floor next to your bed until you fell asleep earlier? I guess I fell asleep, too! Oops. Remind me to ask your aunt where she gets her pillows,” He let out a forced, nervous laugh.

Dean, hardly listening, allowed them to ramble while he took in the sight of them, quietly contemplating his next move. These two drama students weren’t fooling anyone; it was clear to him that he’d interrupted something and it filled him with glee. He had serious news but this was like a christmas present hand wrapped by Santa himself. The kind of gift every big brother dreams of.

He asked curiously, “You both OK? I thought I heard some banging?”

George blushed and Sam shook his head, “Yaah--yup, we’re all good. Might have just been my feet kicking the closet.” Sam shifted his foot and gently kicked it a few times against the tiny closet door demonstratively. “Like I said, I’ve just been down here. On the floor. Helping George get some rest.”

“Mhm, he’s been a big help,” George affirmed with a slow, pointed nod. It was obvious Dean knew something was up. She tried her best to seem confident and nonchalant, but she couldn’t help tossing the innuendo out there.

“Cool,” Dean shark-mouthed quickly before shrugging, “well, listen it’s good that I caught the two of you together,” he paused for a split second, looking between them pointedly. Then he explained, “Ja--Ow!” He had shifted to the right causing the side of his head to knock into the slanted ceiling. George bit her lip to keep from snickering when he growled, “OK, did your aunt build this attic to house unwanted children or something?! What the hell!”

“What’s up, Dean?” Sam asked pointedly, clearly ready for him to shit or get off the pot.

“I might ask you the same thing,” He chuckled in response and then, seeing their matching threatening expressions, he informed them, “Jack’s awake.”

“What?!” Without thinking George leapt up off the end of the bed, careful to land where she’d be able to stand upright and ignoring the pain in her side. “He’s awake?!”

“Oh! Well, that’s not for me to see,” Dean muttered when he saw she was only dressed in a black undershirt and briefs. He instantly jerked his head up, smacking into the ceiling again. “Gah! Friggin dollhouse!”

George walked up to him, pausing briefly to ask with concern, “Is he OK??”

Dean, glancing down at her face before back up to the sky, answered, “He’s recovering. Wants to see you. Both.”

“Well move it, then!” She pushed past him and began descending the stairs.

“Georgia!” She stopped and turned back to look at Sam expectantly.

“Clothed maybe?” Dean suggested before Sam could speak.

“Pants!” Sam reminded her with a face palm.

George was too excited to care, explaining, “They’re downstairs!! Let’s go!” before taking off down the steps. Dean turned back to Sam, giving his brother a knowing smile while he, in turn, avoided eye contact.

Sam crawled around to the foot of the bed before standing up, so as not to hit his head on the ceiling. He steeled himself, trying to conjure up his most ‘NO’ expression, and walked over to Dean. When Sam finally met his eyes it was all he could do not to punch the giddy look off his face.

“Look--”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain anything to me, little brother,” Dean began, very empathetically. “I know you’re a gentleman. If you say all you did was sleep next to her on the floor, so she felt safe, I believe you.” He reached up to pat him on the arm a little too hard before turning and beginning to walk downstairs. About halfway down he turned and asked with a curious brow, “And I just assume wearing your shirt inside out is the latest style, right?”

Sam’s head snapped down to look at himself as Dean kept descending the stairs, chortling with glee. Noticing the pronounced seams around his neck Sam muttered a curse; quickly pulling the shirt off, tugging it right side out, and threw it back on as he followed them downstairs.

Sam walked out of the stairwell into the main room and saw Dean, alone, looking around curiously. A flushing toilet answered their silent mutual question a split second later. George emerged from the bathroom in dark blue jeans and a long sleeved pink and black plaid button down, with her black undershirt still underneath. Dressing had been a challenge but she was so excited that Jack was awake--meaning he was at least OK enough to be conscious--that she ignored the pain.

Gathering up her long hair and twisting it into a bun on top of her head, she ordered, “What are you putzs standing around for? Jack’s awake, let’s go!”

“You go ahead, I still need to change,” Sam stated, reaching down to the floor next to the chair for his duffle bag. “I’ll catch--” By the time he looked back up, he could see George through the front window, halfway to the house already. Dean trailed a few feet behind. “Up,” Sam finished with a sharp, accepting nod, heading for the bathroom to change.

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awesometheydontknowiamhere · 5 years

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Burning Up

Requested By Anonymous: Can you do a Diego smut where it’s a real hot day and so the reader walks around in barely anything,, and it turns him on and smut goes on from there MAKE IT DIRTYYYY,,please

Summary: Reader wakes up from a nap and begins her weekend household chores when Diego wakes up to find her in next to nothing. Him and his wandering hands join the Reader, a lot of sneaky touches under the pretext of cleaning. They end up together on the kitchen counter. Smut ensues. Also, a sneak peak at Domestic Diego and Fluff Ball Diego.

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy

Pairing: Diego Hargreaves X Reader

A/N: Here I am, with my first ever requested fic. Apologies to Anon if this isn’t what you had envisioned. I tried my best to deliver.

Picture credit goes to the man himself ♥️

Words: 1433. Oops.

Warnings: Smut. Language (a little bit). Temperature play ( just ice).

Diego Hargreaves Tag list: @imultifandomstuff @w0nder-marie@chloemac86 @theladywholivesonthemoon @hemogoblin-s @pansexualpaperdragons @gorgeourrific-nerd @purplezebra68 @vividholland@bands-and-shietz @onlydeanandjensen @slither-in-a-half @reblogserpent@missscarlett1802 @lovelyheadrush @sippin-on-all-this-tea @mrsdiegohargreeves @lostsoldieronahill @katylovescats @vividholland @lilithsweetghost @ratfuckb0y @siriusjohnpotter

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You cursed under your breath as you looked down at your shirt. You had to take it off, now that you spilled water on it. You pulled it over your head, missing the cool respite it brought against the soaring heat. You walked over to the laundry basket and chose a clean cropped camisole, an apt choice for sweaty household chores.

You looked around at the living room and began picking up the empty pizza boxes from the previous night, considering you wanted to get a head start before Diego woke up.

An hour passed and living room floor emerged from under throw pillows, strewn novels and random items of clothing.

You walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of water. You chugged one down and placed the other on your hot neck. You closed your eyes in bliss and moved the bottle across your chest, skimming over your collar bones.

"I have never been this jealous of a water bottle in my entire life."

"Diego, you're up!"

You walked up to him and placed a peck on his lips before returning to the bottle.

"Whoa! Babe, you can't give me a tiny taste and walk away like that."

He wrapped his arms around your bare waist and pulled you to him. You giggled as he placed tiny kisses on your neck, travelling to your shoulders.

He hooked a finger under the noodle thin straps of your top and you playfully smacked his hand away.

"Hands off the merchandise! We need to clean up this mess, ensure we can have our impromptu nap sessions without these paper plates sticking our backs."

"Can a man help himself when his girl is wearing next to nothing, looking like a snack? I am almost certain that my utility belt covers more surface area than that," he said with a chuckle.

"Shut it, smart ass. Less chit-chat, put those hands to work now and maybe I'll put mine to work later," you said with a wink.

A long hour passed and the only shelving of your groceries was left. Your black on black combo had compelled Diego to act like horny teenager, his hands seeking you at every possible opportunity.

You played along, humoring him when he tucked you under his chin and vacuumed the carpet, his hand resting on your nearly bare butt.

A swat on your butt, a nibble on your earlobe, you grew antsier with each touch. At one point, you considered dragging him to nearest horizontal surface, to hell with the groceries, but thought against it. You were enjoying Diego's not so accidental touches far too much to stop.

You bent down to pick up a bag and heard a sharp intake of breath. You turned around to see him appreciatively glancing at your butt.

Placing a hand on his chest, you whispered in his ears," Enjoying what you see?"

A dark look crossed his features.

"That's it. Turn around, hands on the counter, please."

Your breath caught in your throat, playtime was over.

"The longest fucking hour of my life, Y/N," Diego growled in your ear.

You waited eagerly. He wasn't touching you but you could feel him behind him. He took something from the fridge and shut, something that rattled against its container.

You felt him move closer to you and squeezed your eyes shut in anticipation.

Diego placed his hands on your waist, his fingers walking over the band of your pants. You purred and leaned back into him.

"Someone's getting hungry," he chuckled, “your turn is over, the ball is in my court now."

His palms cupped your clothed breasts. You pushed into his hands and he dropped them to your hips. Sliding your hair over your shoulder, he kissed a path from the base of your neck to your earlobes.

"Liking the taste of your medicine?"

You began to speak when he flipped you around and captured your answer with his lips. His tongue snaked past your barriers, weakening your knees.

Between his rock hard body and the kitchen counter, you found both, support and relief.

Your hands landed on his chests but he pulled them off and pinned them to your side.

Not one to waste time or words, he gave you a sharp look, fixing you in your spot. He made quick work of your clothes and then his.

"Close your eyes."

A second later you felt his hot tongue flick over your nipple. You hummed at the sensation of his wicked lips. An arm around your waist, his free hand met your lonely breast, his fingers taunting the flesh around your intrigued peaks.

You pressed your thighs together, the moisture of his tongue mimicked at your core.

He stood up to his full height, looking into your eyes. His forehead rested against yours.

You stood down, anticipating a kiss, but little did you know that he had a different kind of kiss planned.

He kissed the tip of your nose, a gesture contrasting his rough demeanor while his fingers slipped into your hot folds. His digits separated them, spreading your moisture around. His first brush with your clit sent a jolt through your body. You grabbed his shoulders, your heart racing.

He smirked and repeated the motion, his fingers playing your body like a well-tuned guitar.

You bit your lip and closed your eyes, leaning into him.

"Aah!"

A sudden shock woke you up. It took you a moment to identify it, but not before Diego repeated it a few more times. Each time the odd sensation touched you, it burned you up. You realized that his weapon was a melting cube of ice.

You looked down to see him rub a dripping ice cube up your slit, and your legs turned into jelly.

He placed it back in a discreet bowl and lifted you up onto the countertop.

Nibbling at your neck, he whispered dirty nothings in your ear. With a soft push, he laid you on your back, your legs ending up on his shoulders.

A singular moan escaped your lips at a single stroke of his tongue over your slit. His mouth spoke a contemporary language at the junction of your thighs. Your body replied, bucking off the flat surface while your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He placed his arm across your midriff, tethering you to the cool countertops.

He kissed the inside of your thighs and you thoroughly enjoyed the sensory contrast of his two-day old scruff. He turned his attention to your other thigh, giving it the same TLC.

You ran your fingers through his hair, coming to rest at the base of his hair.

His tongue returned to your clit. The heels of your feet dug into back as he pushed a cold finger into your hot depths.

You clenched around his icy digit, his vocal vibration transcending through your core.

A cold thumb stroked your bundle of nerves and a steady stream of moans peppered with expletives shot out of your lips.

The altering sensations of cold and warmth, soft and hard, suckling and pulsing, pushed you to the brink of your orgasm.

"Diego, ple-... I need to..."

You couldn't complete your sentence as his skilled fingers snatched away your chain of thought. You were on the edge, a few thrusts away, when he withdrew his hands and unhooked your legs from his shoulders.

"What are y-"

His fingers interrupted your complaint.

He leaned across the counter to fetch a condom from his wallet and slipped it on.

You were getting fidgety, so close yet so far.

He locked his fingers with yours and buried himself in one smooth thrust.

"Oh God! Fuck yes, baby."

You came on his cock, writhing under his sinewy body. When you came to, you realized you were crushing his fingers.

Before you got a chance to say anything, he started his sweet assault again. Pulling out completely and reentering, he pushed against your walls.

You started matching his thrusts, eliciting unholy moans from his lips.

"Y/N, my love, I am almost there," he whispered.

He pounded into you, intent on bringing you both to climax together. Your hand reached the junction of your cores, rubbing yourself.

The next minute was a blur; you weren't sure who triggered who's orgasm. A wave of mutual pleasure broke over your bodies amid the constant chanting of each other's names.

When he finally regained composure, he pulled out and disposed the condom in the trash can.

Picking you up in his arms, he announced with a cheeky smile, "Well, that was worth the wait."

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