#Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge

[acatalystrising]

Okay, so there’s been SO MUCH lovely Boba content lately, and it has been giving me SO many thots! So many, in fact, I simply must share some of them here. And by some, I mean specifically dom, brat tamer!Boba thots. So you’ve been warned. Hehe.

@daimyosprincess @thirsty-boba-fett-posts and @marierg - ALL of you are responsible (in all the best ways I love you guys bunchesss) so feel free to jump in here if you wish hehe, as well as anyone else who is interested!

NSFW below the cut, minors DNI.

• I just KNOW Daimyo Boba could handle a brat. Yes, he’s a bit older (like that’s really going to stop him) and more scarred. But, but…that man is not built like the broadside of a barn with a voice like liquid sin for no reason. Boba likes a good challenge, always has, and that definitely would still be the case for the bedroom.

• He would secretly love the fact that you feel safe enough with him to push your luck. He knows of his reputation - hell, he forged it that way on purpose. You are safe with him, and he with you, something that has been built over time. And because if this, you absolutely would test his patience and push every button you could to get a rise out of him. And oh boy, do you get a rise.

• Boba likes you feisty. He likes it when you fight back. Boba is equal parts gentle and rough - a duality that can swing either direction depending on the moment. But when he gets rough…you’d better expect there to be marks. Small bruises, hickeys, you name it. But only if you want. In this case, you do. You love carrying his marks, little reminders to you and everyone else that you are his alone.

• And you better bet that Boba knows how to tame a brat. You think you’ve got the upper hand? Wrong. The man was a bounty hunter for years. There is no way you get in and out of that profession without a few kinks. (Or a lot.) Binders? Pressure points? Restraint? Bingo. But his greatest weapon in this sort of situation is something you initially underestimated and are now dearly paying for…his voice.

• Boba is a KING at dirty talk. The man loves making you squirm, and he knows you have a thing for his voice (how could you not?) and shamelessly uses that to his full advantage.

• So how could this all play out? I’m glad you asked. Here’s a little snippet below, feel free to add your thots!

-

“Think you’re so clever now, princess?”

A sharp whine bubbled from your lips even as you struggled underneath him, panting breaths fogging his visor. His grip on your arms tightened as he pulled them further over your head, big hands not giving you an ounce of wiggle room to escape.

“Oh, come on, I was just teasing.” You swallowed, but it felt like your heart was working it’s way up your throat. “You don’t seriously think I’m just going to give up without a-”

Boba shifted both of your wrists to one hand, the other removing his helmet with a hiss, then slipping around your throat. You were caged beneath him, underwear already soaked, his weight pressing you into the bed. And his hand at your throat? You could barely string a sentence together.

“Keep talking and your punishment will only be worse.” His breath was hot on your ear, lips mere centimeters from your skin. He caressed your throat with a lone finger, and you shivered. “You want kisses? Want me to fuck you senseless?”

You nodded, sweat beading on your forehead, a moan ripping from your throat when he licked your ear, nibbling on it with a growl.

“Mesh’la,” his eyes found yours - they were sinfully dark, commanding. A cunning smirk curved on his lips like a knife. “Use your words.”

“Oh gods, just fuck me,” you wriggled beneath him, purposefully shifting so your thighs rubbed against his swelling erection. Two could play this game, after all. “You win. Fuck me.”

But Boba Fett, damn him, only shook his head with a cluck of his tongue, lowering his face to the crook of your neck. He pinned you with ease, stopping even the slightest of squirms, yet again reminding you exactly how kriffing strong he was, and who you were dealing with.

As if you could ever forget.

“Use your manners. Only good girls get what they want,” his tone was teasing, dripping with mirth, victory, and something altogether deadly. He pressed a kiss to your pulse point. “What’ll it be? Can my little brat say please?”

You whined - maker, kriffing, whined. A war waged in your flustered brain between the urge to push back and the desire for him to fill you. Boba chuckled, licking a stripe up your neck.

“Aww, can’t use your words, hmm?” He shifted to pull away with an indifferent shrug. “Well that’s too bad.”

Oh maker no. He wouldn’t.

He would.

“No, wait!” You leaned forward, cheek pressing against his chest armor with a whimper. “Please, I…I’ll be good. I won’t cause any more trouble. Just…fuck me. Please please fuck me. I can’t, can’t…”

Boba smirked down at you, absolutely relishing his effect on you, and moved his hand at your throat to your cheek.

“Oh, poor thing,” his tone was absolutely dripping with pseudo mockery as he gave your cheek a pinch. “So flustered you can’t think? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

“Boba, please…” you squeezed your eyes shut, breaths nearly a sob. “Please, please, I need you. Need you so bad.”

“Hmm, well,” Boba’s eyes flashed predatory in the dark, lips curving in a victorious grin. “If you insist.”

His hand on your cheek slid down your body and between your legs, and he chuckled when he felt the evidence of your arousal at his fingertips.

“Poor little princess,” he kissed you, keeping you pinned down, fingers circling your clit. “So needy. So desperate. All for me.”

“Y-yes, all for you,” you tried to nod, words choking to moans when he slipped one of his thick digits inside you. “Only you.”

You were so wet you could hear the slick of his fingers against your flesh, Boba’s heartbeat thundering in your ears, his breaths ragged - hot and needy and desperate. You once again found yourself marveling at his restraint. How he could hold himself back at all was a…

He slipped a second finger inside you, curling them to your stomach, striking that devastating spot inside you with such accuracy it had you wriggling beneath him with a loud cry. Pleasure grew like a furnace, steadily growing hotter and hotter, until it overflowed in a spray of fiery sparks and phthalo phosphorescence - all captured in your guttural cry as you careened over the edge.

When you finally came back to your senses, Boba was holding you close to his chest, his beskar blissfully cool against your burning skin. He ran a gentle hand through your hair, chuckling when you leaned into his touch.

“Ahh,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek, tone low, teasing. “So she can be a good girl after all.”

You halfheartedly grumbled, cheeks heating in a wild blush, and curled against him with a sigh. A rumbling chuckle reverberated through his chest as he cupped your chin, directing your gaze at his.

“Catch a breath, little one,” he kissed you once, then twice, then again, mouth searingly hot like a branding iron. “Because I’m not through with you, yet.”

[riphuntertimemasterlegend]

Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge

I participated in the Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge and here’s my card:

Here’s my bingo blackout:

Gideon

"And this is Gideon, she's the A.I. of the Waverider." Time Master Druce waved at the blue, bald floating head which provided a visual representation for any captain.

"Gideon, I'm your new Captain, Rip Hunter."

"Captain." He couldn't quite tell if that was sincere or mocking. No matter, he had all the time in the world to build a strong working relationship with her. He turned to his mentor. "Permission to take the Waverider on a test run."

"Permission granted. Gideon will be sent the details of your first mission."

Rip was already halfway to the pilot's chair but turned and said, "Thank you, Sir."

Druce nodded then strode off the bridge.

Rip's attention was fully back on the pilot's chair as he sat down and pulled the restraint over his shoulders. "Let's see what we can do."

Hidden knife or knives

Rip's hand slid under his pillow, clutching the knife underneath it. This might or might not be a safe haven but he wasn't about to take any chances. All he knew was that he was far from the rat and bully infested streets he had existed on. This was his way of protecting himself if the man had lied to him.

1970s

Rip Hunter stalked angrily back onto the Waverider. Mission accomplished, but at what price? He had resisted the urge to button up his shirt after he had left the disco, he needed to blend in, not stand out. "Tony Manero is well on his way to winning the dancing competition. The time line has been righted. Tell me this hair dye washes out, Gideon."

He almost screamed as "Staying Alive" remained an earworm as he ran to the bathroom.

Body swap

Rip massaged his temples as Doctor Palmer, no, Mr. Jackson in the former's body began to explain the latest mishap the Legends had suffered and to demand an immediate cure.

And for bingo blackout:

Memory Loss

When Rip drinks to excess, Gideon records him. If he forgets what he had done, Gideon will remind him by playing the footage if she thought it was funny. If she didn't, then she claims he had a boring night drinking and went to bed, no matter what he really did.

It inspires him to make backups of his memories and store them securely.

Drinking alcohol

He first drank alcohol when he was in the Wild West for the first time, and ordered a shot of rot gut for an authentic experience of the time. Jonah Hex met Rip, when Rip was choking on it, claimed it went down the wrong way.

Mary Xavier

When Miranda gave birth to Jonas, Rip 'kidnapped' Mary to meet her grandson. Gideon kept her updated on the family until it all went to hell where they were living.

Aliens

Rip has always wanted to meet an alien.

Something is wrong with Gideon

Early on, after a mission is successfully completed, Rip realizes something is wrong with Gideon and works feverishly on her for a week, fixing her. He then adds a ton of command codes, partly to keep her safe, partly to get his way if he gives a command and she doesn't want to obey it, she has to anyway.

1980s

Rip is there when the Berlin Wall comes down and celebrates with everyone else.

Time changes, people don't

Rip can only shake his head as he watched the 1918 pandemic play out, and the stupidity of people as another pandemic hits the world in 2020 and still don't listen to the medical advice of professionals as evil people take advantage to gather ever more money.

1880s

Rip was in the Wild West when he first learned to ride a horse.

Someone pretends to be a historical figure

While Ray pretends to be Edwin Adams to distract prominent members of a town, Rip goes off to burgle a scroll that should not be there.

There was only one bed

Newly human Gideon is somehow ejected from the Waverider and tossed about in time. Rip finds her and brings her to safety, he has a small house with one bed. Happy reunion when Gideon wakes up and Rip cuddles her later so she can sleep.

Unlikely friends

Rip saved Nikola Tesla from a suicide attempt and felt obligated to check in on him from time to time. They became friends and Tesla inspired Rip to start inventing.

Bad science

After a small village in England was poisoned by bad science, Rip had to save them.

The Legends make something worse

After the Legends killed a Japanese warlord ten years early, one of the first things Rip had to do after inventing Time Couriers was to go back and revive the warlord so history would play out properly.

Rip fights with a sword

As a newly graduated Time Master, Rip went to France and quickly learned how to use a sword properly when he faced d'Artagnan and the Three Musketeers. After surviving that lesson they all went drinking together.

The pied piper's flute

Only Gideon knew that in a locked drawer of his desk, Rip kept the legendary pied piper's flute. Whenever she tried to find out more, he would say wearily, "Don't ask."

George Lucas

When time was fixed, Rip used his Time Courier for one personal trip, to see "Star Wars" on its very first showing and to congratulate George Lucas.

Wanted poster

When Rip finally left the Wild West after almost staying there, he stopped his horse and carefully removed the wanted poster of Jonah Hex as a reminder, he wasn't quite sure if it was to remember some good times or to remember not to hyper fixate and almost lose himself. A bit of both, probably.

Rip hides something

Until he was trapped in his own mind, Rip had susccessfully hidden most of his feelings about Gideon.

One day, he plans to claim the ship and have a discussion with her, after his new base is established.

Rip is a crack marksman

Only Gideon is aware that Rip is a crack marksman, the Legends put down a few near misses as miracles when, unseen, Rip had shot their adversaries.

Young Rip

During his first year with Mary Xavier, Michael would make midnight raids of the kitchen and kept small stashes of food in his room and outside the house. Mary indulged him and as Michael grew to trust her, the raids grew less and less.

[claracivry]

Rip Hunter bingo!

The RBACL Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge gave me the below Bingo Card:

And I did manage to get a line! In two unconnected one-shots of Rip being cared for by teammm

Here’s the link!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24594829/chapters/59408515

(in ao3 because is long)

Hope you enjoyyy

[holylulusworld]

Board Games

Written for @flamencodiva​‘s Diva’s Writing Challenge 2. My prompt was: “Quick, hide behind the sofa!”

Square filled for @spnfluffbingo​: Best friend’s brother

Summary: Dean and you try to have fun.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: language, boredom, board games, nakedness, strip poker, cocky Dean, (very) implied smut, a hint o fluff, mentions of injuries

Rating: Teen

Words: 1,7 k

2022 SPN FLUFF BINGO masterlist

“No, I’m not going to stay here for another week,” you whine as Sam tells you that you and Dean cannot leave the bunker for another week. “We are healthy again, look.” You lift your arm, huffing as Sam crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m fine.”

“Two weeks ago, you almost got your arm ripped out, young lady,” chuckling at Sam’s pissed expression you glance up at the tall hunter. “No more hunts for you and Dean before you are healed.”

“Sammy, I’m fine,” Dean grumbles from the other side of the infirmary. The hunter broke two fingers and three ribs during your last hunt. Now he’s itchy to get out of the bunker and kill…well, anything. He even considers chasing after the little bug crawling up the walls. “Let us out, Doctor Winchester.”

“I said no,” Sam retorts.

“Aw, you only want to go on that hunt with Eileen to get laid. Don’t you lie to us, Samuel keeping us hostage Winchester,” you point a finger at Sam.

“That’s not my middle name, Y/N,” the hunter smirks as he points at something he placed on your bed. “You’ve got snacks, board games, a TV, Netflix, and alcohol-free beverages. Have fun.”

“Pie!” Dean calls from the other end of the infirmary again. “Bring me some pie if you want me to stay here.” The hunter mutters under his breath. He feels much better. His ribs are barely bruised anymore and his fingers, well he’s got three more to kill monsters. “Sammy, pie.”

“I got pie too,” you chuckle as Sam walks out of the room to get a huge paper bag full of snacks that he tugged under his left arm while balancing a box with pie in his other hand. “There you go, Dean. Snacks, pie, games, and nice company.”

“I got two broken fingers and bruised ribs, man,” the hunter huffs, but moves slowly toward your bed. He doesn’t give away that his ribs still hurt and that he likes to have a few days off. It was a close call this time. The monster almost punctured his lung.

“You will stay here and won’t go out there to hunt things,” Sam insists. “I’ll lock you in if I must.” Dean considers his brother’s words while glancing at the food. “Choose. Food, games, and Y/N, or I’ll lock you in the dungeon.”

“This must be true brotherly love,” you greedily take the paper bag full of goods out of Sam’s hands. “Fine, I’ll stay for a few days longer, Sir.”

“Dean,” the younger brother searches Dean’s face while the hunter is busy snatching the pie out of Sam’s hands. “Pie it is then.”

“Dude, you cheated,” Dean points at the Sorry! board, frowning as you won the next round. “Admit it, sweetheart.”

“How do you cheat at Sorry!, Winchester?” you quip, smirking as you bump his pawn back to its color start area and take its space. “No one can cheat at that stupid game.”

“You just did!” he grunts, throwing his pawn to the ground while pouting like an angry child. “I don’t play with you ever again.”

“Hey, it’s not my fault you are bad at board games, Dean,” the hunter cocks his head to angrily glare at you. “Don’t give me that look, Winchester. You wanted to play that game.”

“I wanted to play poker,” while you stuff more popcorn into your mouth, Dean removes the board from your bed to place poker cards in the middle of your mattress. “See, we could try to make the game more interesting.”

“Interesting you say,” you glance at the cards, smirking. “I will get all of your money and the rest of your pie.”

“No, sweetheart. We will play strip poker,” he snickers as you glance at Dean. He’s wearing at least three layers and you are only in your shirt and bra. “I will steal all of your clothes tonight.”

“That’s unfair. You’ve got more clothes on Dean,” you complain loudly. “If we are doing this, you’ll raise me two-hundred bugs, Sir.”

“I want to see naked skin, not money,” damn him. Dean flashes you a smile, chuckling as you push against his shoulders. “I can give you one of my plaids, Y/N.”

“I won’t play strip poker with you. How about monopoly?” he shakes his head. “Come on, it will be fun, Dean. We can play poker next time.”

“How about strip monopoly? The first one having a hotel will see naked skin,” Dean flashes you a cocky grin and you roll your eyes. “This way, it’ll be even more fun.”

“No, we won’t take our clothes off. My last word.”

“I raise you fifty bugs, half of my pie and I’ll take one sock off right now,” he’s determined to see you naked, so, Dean will try anything to make you cave in. 

“No.”

“Fifty-five bugs, half of my pie and I’ll take both socks off. My last offer,” you chuckle at his eagerness. “Don’t be a spoilsport. Play with me, sweetheart.”

“I will play strip poker with you if you agree to play monopoly with me first,” crossing your arms over your chest you grin at Dean. “Take it or leave it…”

Two hours later, ...

“That’s impossible,” Dean chuckles as you angrily throw the last money onto the mattress. “How could you win? HOW? You cheated, Winchester. I never lost at this game before.”

“What can I say? I’m damn good at monopoly,” he grins now. “See, we should’ve played strip poker. Now you are pissed as you lost against me.”

“Let’s play mousetrap,” you point at the next game, whining as Dean shakes his head. “Please, I wanna play some more.”

“We can still play strip poker, Y/N. Just give in,” he offers. “It will be fun.”

You moved your game night to the Dean cave, playing random games for hours until you finally agreed to play strip poker with Dean to make him shut up…

“Much better than mouse trap, huh?” Dean drops his last shirt to the ground, smirking as he sits in front of you in nothing but his boxer briefs. “One more win and you are in your birth suit, sweetheart.”

“You are naked too, Winchester. You’re not that good,” you complain loudly as you try to cover your chest with one arm while holding your cards in the other. “I still got my panties.”

“Not for much longer,” he snickers while stealing glances at you. “I’ll see your panties drop. Just give up.”

“You are bluffing,” you conclude. “I just know it.”

“I did not bluff, not a single time,” rolling your eyes you try to not give away that you are bluffing. “I’ll win this round and see you naked.”

“No, you won’t,” you sigh as Dean reveals his cards. “Damn, no!”

“Drop your panties, sweetheart. I got a royal flush. They are all mine,” he grins devilishly as you slowly get up, sighing. You turn around to shimmy out of your panties, kicking them toward Dean before covering your modesty with your hand.

“I wanna see all of you,” Dean gets up from his chair to stalk toward you, snickering as you struggle to cover your chest with your arm over your tits. “Don’t be a spoilsport. I’m dying to get a good look at your anti-possession tattoo on your ass.”

“No…I,” the door to the bunker slams close and you shriek as Sam calls your name. You called him a few hours ago to tell him you are going to burn his books if he doesn’t bring you pizza. “Shit, that’s Sammy. What do we do now?”

“Quick, hide behind the sofa!“ Dean whispers and you run toward the couch, squealing as he slaps your naked ass. “I knew it’s a perfect little ass.”

“DEAN! Y/N,” while you are hiding behind the sofa, begging Dean to give you your clothes back, Sam yells your names. “Here’s the pizza and more pie as promised. There was no hunt. It was a bear this time.”

“GREAT SAMMY!” Dean answers. “How about you take the night off and spend some quality time with Eileen.”

“It’s 4 am Dean,” Sam tuts. “Why are you still up?”

“Uh—Y/N and I played board games. Now she’s tired and we will go back to the infirmary and sleep a bit. Night, Sammy.”

“What about the pizza?”

“Put it in the fridge,” you answer Sam’s question. “We can eat it later. Night, Sammy.”

Five minutes later Sam walks into his room, wondering why you don't want to eat your pizza. 

“Dean, give me my clothes,” you whisper. 

“No, I won them, sweetheart. I’ll not give them back. Especially not your panties,” he snickers while you still hide behind the sofa. “If you promise to play with me some more, I’ll borrow you my plaid.”

“Fine, I promise to play with you some more,” he waves the fabric in front of your face, grinning. “You’re not nice. See, that’s why Sam is my best friend and not you.”

“Sammy doesn’t want to see you naked,” you groan deeply. “We both know you want me to see your cute ass again. Come out and let me have a look.”

“Fucking pervert…”

“That’s unfair!” you fall back onto the bed, groaning as Dean doesn’t want to stop playing board games. “You can’t win this round. It’s impossible.”

“Dean, I’m tired. Let’s call it a day,” rolling to your side you close your eyes. You don’t want to play another round of Scrabble. “I’ll play with you some more tomorrow.”

“Promised?” he removes the game pieces from your bed. “What do we want to play tomorrow?”

“Dean, stop talking. If you want to play a game, play the silent game,” while you try to find some sleep, Dean sits on the bed next to you. “What are you doing?”

“Do we want to go to my room and play one last game? How about I cuddle you and we decide if we play hide the salami next time,” you start giggling as he lies behind you to wrap his arms around your middle. “Is that a yes?”

“If you shut up now, I’ll let you hide the salami when you are healthy again,” Dean eagerly snuggles in your side. 

“I knew you love me.”

“Shut up, Winchester,” you are too tired to argue.

“It’s always the best friend’s brother the girls go after. I’m one lucky bastard…so lucky…”

Tags in reblog.

[singledarkshade]

Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge 2022

The RBACL Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge gave me the below Bingo Card:

I couldn’t get five in a row, but I did manage 5 fics from the above prompts.

Enjoy

1 - The Vanishing Point

Michael stared at the large structure hanging in space before him as Time Master Druce flew the small ship towards it. This was his first visit to the Vanishing Point, the Time Master’s base and Michael was not looking forward to it one bit.

He’d had to get up early, was wearing stiff grey clothes that made him itch, his hair was plastered down neatly, and he had to wear the stupid courier thing all day. Miss Xavier had explained when she had given him it that he had to wear it at all times. It was meant to be worn on his ‘non-dominant hand’ whatever that meant, finally Miss Xavier just told him to wear it on his left wrist because that was the hand he didn’t use as much. She then had to explain what ambidextrous meant.

Michael tended to keep it in his pocket because it was so uncomfortable.

“Now,” Druce stated, “Today you will get to see the important parts of the base. Including the Council Chambers. I expect you to be on your best behaviour at all times, listen to your elders and follow any orders given. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Michael said, as Miss Xavier had drummed into him.

Druce stood and started out the ship, heading out with Michael following after him trying to keep up with the man’s long stride.

As he stepped out onto the deck, Michael stared feeling suddenly terrified of the large grey room filled with people and ships. He’d never seen anything like this in his life.

“Why are you standing there?” Druce snapped appearing beside him, “Follow me, Michael.”

Shaking slightly, Michael followed behind Druce relieved when they stepped into a corridor which was much quieter.

“Now that was the smallest docking bay where the ships get maintenance,” Druce told him, “There are six others which is where the Time Master Captains dock their ships when they return from their missions and another one used for training,” Druce continued his explanation while Michael jogged to keep up with him.

It was going to be a tiring day.

x

Michael was relieved as the day was drawing to a close and they would be leaving soon. The entire day had been filled with so much he had no idea about and Druce kept talking not caring if Michael understood everything.

Michael had a list of things to ask Miss Xavier about when he got back ho… to the Refuge.

“So, Michael,” Druce stated as they headed back to the ship, “What do you think of the Vanishing Point?”

He hesitated before saying, “It’s really big, with so many people.” He realised that Druce was looking for something more, “But I like it.”

Druce chuckled, “I suppose considering where you come from this must be overwhelming in many ways. On your next visit, I’ll let you sit in on some of the training sessions. We’ll see how smart you are.”

Michael grimaced as Druce started walking away again. With a sigh, the boy began to chase after the man once more. As they reached the ship, Druce motioned Michael to wait while he moved to talk to a woman with white hair wearing a uniform just like Druce by a similar looking ship.

Standing near the other ship was a girl about his age with dark hair, dark eyes, and pale skin who was dressed the same as Michael.

She glanced at him, Michael waved at her happy to see someone his own age. She stared at him for a moment before crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue.

Michael laughed and stuck his tongue out at her, jumped when Druce turned and snapped, “Michael, behave yourself.”

Chastised he saw the girl smiling amused.

“Sandra,” the woman called to her, “It’s time to go. Time Master Druce, we will discuss this later.”

As the girl, Sandra, walked past him she smiled amused again before Druce stepped in front of him.

“Time to leave, Michael,” Druce said.

Following the man back to the ship, Michael sat watching how Druce activated the small ship before he turned his attention to the place he was going to go once he grew up.

Part of him wanted to, the other still wanted to find a way to run away but as they flew away Michael stared at the intimidating structure hanging in space before him knowing that it was going to play a large part in his future.

2 - Jelly Beans

Rip let out an audible sigh of relief as he reached the door to the home he shared with his wife and son. It had been several long hard weeks, with multiple dangerous missions which had resulted in Rip needing a lot of medical attention that he knew he’d have to tell Miranda about because Gideon would.

Reaching out to open the door, he paused and listened hearing his son singing along to something. Rip couldn’t quite make out the words, or tune, but the sound of Jonas’ voice filled him with joy.

The moment he opened the door, Rip was attacked by his little whirlwind as an excited Jonas slammed into his legs.

“You’re home!!!!!”

Rip eased Jonas off him before he lifted his five-year-old son up and hugged him, “I have missed you, Little Man.”

“We missed you too, Daddy,” Jonas told him seriously before beaming and hugging Rip once more.

Miranda appeared from the kitchen, her long dark hair pulled up in a messy bun, “Why don’t you get your drawing you did in school today to show your daddy.”

At her suggestion, Jonas wriggled so Rip would set him down and ran out the room. Miranda moved to her husband and kissed him hello.

“He’s been very excited since we got your message,” Miranda murmured, as Rip pulled her close.

Rip rested his forehead against hers, “So was I when Gideon told me I can be here for three days.”

Before they could say anything else, Jonas appeared carrying a drawing of him with Rip and Miranda.

“Wow,” Rip crouched down to look at the picture, “That’s amazing.”

Jonas beamed again and leaned in for another hug. x Rip settled on the couch, happy to be home. Miranda was finishing dinner, he’d cook the rest of the time he was here, while Jonas had disappeared with a mysterious smile.

Closing his eyes Rip relaxed, happy to be home.

Aware suddenly he wasn’t alone, Rip opened his eyes and found his wife standing with his son grinning at him. Both were holding gifts in their hands.

“Happy Birthday, Daddy,” Jonas cried.

Miranda gave him a smile, “Happy Birthday.”

Rip frowned; he hadn’t realised that it was the date the Time Masters had estimated to be his date of birth. To be honest it wasn’t something that mattered to him much but if it mattered to Jonas then Rip would go along with anything.

“Open Mummy’s gift first,” Jonas told him.

Rip nodded and took the small rectangular present Miranda gave him. Slowly he unwrapped it to find a gold pocket watch, beautifully engraved and smiled when he opened it find the picture of his wife and son in there.

“It’s perfect,” he breathed, “I will never let this out of my sight.”

Miranda kissed him quickly, “Jonas has got you something special for you.”

Rip turned to his son who thrust the gift into Rip’s hands. Jonas was bouncing excitedly as Rip slowly opened the wrapping once more. He caught Miranda rolling her eyes, but he’d never been able to just tear off gift wrapping.

When he’d unwrapped the gift, Rip laughed to see the large bag of sweets.

“They’re jellybeans,” Jonas cried, “Mummy said you like sweet things.”

“I do,” Rip told his son, “But I’ve never tried jellybeans before.”

Incredulity filled Jonas’ eyes, “You’ve never had them before.”

Rip shook his head, “I haven’t.”

“They’re yummy,” Jonas told him, “Try one.”

Glancing at his wife’s amused smile, Rip opened the bag and took several of the sweets out popping them into his mouth. He did have a sweet tooth but usually ate cakes, sweet cereals or on occasion chocolate to satisfy it. As he ate the sweets, he let Jonas take some while Miranda had a few too.

Enjoying the jellybeans, Rip knew that from now on these would be his favourites because his son had introduced him to them.

3 - Kendra Saunders

The doorbell being rung pulled Kendra out of her reading. Opening the door, she stared in surprise at the man standing there. He was dressed in the same dark denims, white shirt, brown leather jacket and duster she always remembered him wearing but he was clean shaven.

Which didn’t suit him at all.

“Rip?” she laughed, “What are you doing here?”

He gave her a small smile, surprised when she hugged him and managed to pat her back gently.

“Still have issues with affection from your friends, I see,” Kendra noted amused when she let him go.

Rip shrugged, “Still expect a punch more than a hug.”

“That was once,” Kendra laughed as she motioned him inside the apartment, “And you deserved it for lying to us.”

Rip rolled his eyes while Kendra led him into her small living room.

“Do you want some tea?” Kendra offered.

“Not at the moment,” he replied.

Kendra chuckled, “Probably a good thing, my tea making skills haven’t improved since we last met.” Taking a seat across from him, she asked, “So, to what do I owe this pleasure?” x Rip hadn’t been sure if coming to visit Kendra was a good idea. But since he’d left the Waverider to get his head together, the ship with the Legends had been trapped in a time quake. He’d spent more than six months alone when he’d only intended being away for a week at the most and lost without Gideon, needed to speak to someone, anyone who understood his life.

Kendra listened to the story of what had happened since she’d left the Waverider, although Rip left out several things that he didn’t want to talk about but gave her the general gist.

“You’ve done what?” Kendra asked when Rip finished talking.

“I created a new organisation to protect time,” Rip told her, “I was hoping you might want to see it.”

Kendra smiled, “That sounds like fun.”

Relieved Rip stood and pulled back his sleeve so he could access his courier.

“What is that?” Kendra asked intrigued, jumping when the portal opened.

Rip gave a slight smile, “Something I have been working on for a long time. Shall we?”

Taking his arm, Kendra walked through the portal and into the Time Bureau.

4 - Playing Records

Rip walked into the parlour, happy to see that it was now back to the way he had left it, all evidence of those who had infested his ship had been removed. It was almost as if the past few years had not happened.

Except for one thing which definitely had.

“The engines are at full capacity,” Gideon stated as she walked into the parlour, “We can leave the time stream whenever you are ready.”

“When we’re ready,” Rip reminded her, “We’re partners, remember?”

A smile touched her lips, “Of course.”

Rip nodded before he turned back to the desk, finding his record player sitting in its spot undamaged. Either it had been put in storage or this was a newly fabricated one.

Flipping through the record collection he had amassed over the years, Rip found one of his favourites. As the music filled the room, Rip turned to Gideon and offered his hand.

“Dance with me.”

Gideon shook her head, “I don’t know how.”

Moving closer and taking her hand, Rip smiled as he drew her closer, “I’ll teach you.”

Shaking her head slightly in amusement, Gideon allowed him to put his arms around her and start to move gently in time to the music. Gideon rested her head against his shoulder as the music played, Rip held her tightly as the next song came on.

When the music stopped, Gideon looked up at him and smiled as his lips touched hers. Taking his hand, Gideon turned off the record player and led him to the room they were now sharing.

From that day on, they played records and danced after dinner.

Happy to be together.

5 - Shogun Ballistic

“Gideon,” Rip winced when he saw the contents of the bag she’d brought back from her shopping trip, “What…just what?”

She stopped brushing her hair and turned to him, “Is something wrong?”

“Is there something you want to talk to me about?” Rip asked her.

Gideon placed the hairbrush down and moved to sit on the bed beside him, “We’ve been together for several months as a couple.”

“Yes.”

“And as much as I enjoy our…” she blushed before continuing, “Activities in the bedroom, you are much more experienced than I am.”

“I was married to the same person for over ten years,” Rip reminded her, “And the only experience each of us had was with one another.”

Gideon rolled her eyes, “It’s still more experience than I have.”

“That doesn’t explain your shopping,” Rip noted.

“The books I have read suggest that to ensure your partner is satisfied then it is a good idea to use toys and accoutrements in the bedroom to ‘spice things up’,” Gideon explained, looking anywhere but in his eyes, “I just want to make sure you don’t get bored with me.”

Rip frowned, he really had to find her a hobby so she wouldn’t worry so much about small things that didn’t matter. He touched her chin so she would look at him, “I’m not bored with you, I’m not going to get bored with you. You are amazing, Gideon and I love you.”

Smiling she leaned in to hug him. Rip wrapped his arms around her holding her close.

“I love you too,” she murmured softly, snuggling close to him, “But I did buy these things so perhaps we could try them.”

Rip chuckled, “If you want. What else do your books say about spicing things up?”

“That we should agree on a safe word or phrase for if one of us wishes to stop everything,” Gideon told him.

With a grin, Rip pulled her and trapped her onto the bed below him, “I have an idea for that,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek before whispering in her ear, “Shogun ballistic.”

[jayankles]

We Need to Talk: Part 2

Pairing: Dean x Parent!Reader

Sam and Dean need the Reader’s help with a case involving her expertise but Dean and the Reader need to have a little chat.

Word Count: 2700

Warnings: Dean is rightfully angry in this. Talks of sex. (if I missed anything let me know.)

Written for: @spngenrebingo​​ / @badthingshappenbingo​​ / @spndeanbingo​​ / @spnaubingo​​ / @/spnonewordbingo

Squares Filled: meet the parents /  voice breaking  / single parent au / free space / rocky

Also written for @sdavid09​​ ’s Tale Tellers 2020 Bingo Challenge, covering the ‘Slice of life’ square.

Part 1

FEEDBACK IS GOLD AND APPRECIATED

“Uh, Y/N? Who’s this?” Dean said as Ollie had stopped playing with his toys and started to stare between the two new giants in the room.

Awkwardly, you rub and twist your hands around each other, a nervous act that you had acquired over the years. “This is my son, Oliver. Dean, I think we need to talk.”

“Hey, Sam? Could you watch him for a few minutes please?” When he accepted it, you graciously thanked him, leading Dean up to your bedroom away from prying eyes and ears. It was tough, stepping into your bedroom thinking about the last time you saw him and his brother.

“It’s really good to see you.” You break the silence as you sit on the edge of your bed.

He only nods, obviously it’s awkward, it’s been over three years since you had seen each other. “So, you wanted to talk.” 

Damn it, the man is smart as hell but he could be oblivious to the most obvious things. Or maybe he knew about it and wanted to punish you. Either way, you were screwed and was going to have to tell him, you were going to have to spell it out for him.

“Oliver’s father hasn’t really been in his life-”

“What a douchebag! You need me to find him and beat him to a pulp?” Dean interrupted, his hand finding yours to stop them wringing together. 

“Dean, he doesn’t know. It was a one time thing and he didn’t really have the capacity to take care of a kid, he was scared that he couldn’t keep anyone safe. I wasn’t about to spring him with a kid that he probably didn’t want when I could take care of Ollie myself”

“Was it another hunter?”

“Dean Winchester, I swear. I will lose my shit if you don’t let me tell you on my own terms.”

“Sorry, I just care about you. You know that, right? I’d do anything for you and Oliver.”

Your nose tingled as tears came to your eyes, hearing him say those words meant the word to you. You wished you had someone like that in Oliver’s life and it was your own fault for not telling his father in the first place because you were a scared piece of shit and chickened out on making that one phone call that could have potentially saved any of this embarrassment. 

“Remember that night that shapeshifter took out my leg,and we hid in Bobby’s cabin and you took care of me?” You tried to explain slowly, his eyes widening as soon as the cogs in his head turned into place, suddenly remembering how that fateful night had ended. You couldn’t help but be ashamed of yourself. How you had deprived the man, the man you considered a best friend, the truth. The tears fell but you wiped them as quick as they came, you were not the victim, Dean was. It was of course a shitty thing to do.

“So, Oliver’s mine?” Dean asked, wrapping his head around what you had implied. With your bottom lip between your teeth, you nodded solemnly. Dean’s tongue brushed over his teeth, sucking on them. “And you didn’t think to call me at least to tell me that I have a goddamn son? What the fuck is wrong with you? Are you that fucking selfish? What if I wanted to help out, be there for Oliver, for you? You really think I don’t have the goddamn capacity to take care of a kid - my kid?” 

He was right, of course he was, you were selfish to keep his own son away from him. You were scared and that was still no excuse. You swallowed, sniffling and nodding your head. “I tell him about you, you know.”

“Tell him that he’s got a deadbeat father that doesn’t know he exists?” Dean scoffs, almost a choked out laugh. He was on the verge of tears but the anger ripped right through him; all he could see was red.

“Nope,” you stand from the edge of your bed, scratching at the side of your face. You rummage through your bookshelf and find the box that you had hidden up there. “Quite the opposite actually. Told him you were practically a superhero. I tell him that I used to be yours and Sam’s sidekick.”

You both chuckle at that, Dean more so just because he knows that you were pretty much the Batman when you were at the bunker and more often than not, you were there to save their asses. 

“He doesn’t believe it about me being out there with you because I’m just his mommy but he knows that you’re out there protecting him.That kid’s mind is like a sponge; he takes in all the information you tell him and-” You choked out, hiding it as a faux cough. “He’s smart, he definitely gets that from you. I didn’t want you to find out like this. I wanted to tell you before but I just got scared. I want you to be it Oliver’s life, even if that means you’re not in mine. This is all your decision.”

With that, you left the box on the bed,waiting a few seconds before you tapped him on his thigh, letting him ponder your words as you leave the room and head downstairs to where Oliver and his uncle is. You would have to tell him too.

Fuck.

“You havin’ fun there baby?” You ask Oliver, already knowing the answer as Sam throws him up into the air, catching him as soon as he falls back down. Almost a heart attack? Check. But the feeling all but dissipated when you hear his loud laughter. 

“Yeah,” he laughs maniacally this time, it’s contagious and you can’t stop your own laugh. It was then that you knew the answer. Oliver was having the time of his life. At least he was bonding with his uncle Sammy already, babbling over and over about how he wanted to go again and higher this time. 

“Ollie, you wanna go show Dean your dinosaur bed sheets? He’s upstairs in mommy’s room.” Sam handed him over to you and you lifted Oliver over the stair gate, watching as he toddled his way up the stairs safely. “You want a coffee? I’m sure you and Dean had a long drive.”

“Thank you,” he nods, following you into the kitchen. “So, I’m guessing you told him.”

Furrowing your eyebrows, you gave him a lost expression. “What are you t-”

Sam raises an eyebrow, lips pursed before he interrupts you. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t play dumb with me. You know what I’m talking about. Oliver looks exactly like a miniature Dean with a perfect mix of each of your skin tones. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out either. We last saw you about three years ago and Oliver is two. Besides I heard the two of you before you left. It was gross so I slept in the car.”

“I guess, it’s pointless to say that you’re an uncle now, huh?” You scratch at your arm before grabbing the coffee pot and pouring him out a cup. “Sugar’s in the cupboard in the corner and creamer in the fridge, you know, if you changed your preferences from the last time I saw you.”

“The shouting upstairs kinda gave it away, made sure to play with Oliver to distract him.” You were thankful to have Sam, he was a good egg. 

“I am sorry you had to find this way. I wanted to tell you but I didn’t want for us to become a liability. You were better off saving the world whilst I could protect me and Ollie. I didn’t want to be a burden to the two of you, especially when you had already looked after me, when we were young and stupid and I didn’t wanna listen to the two of you. I wanted to be the one to kick the shit out of you guys for lying about what goes bump in the night but the vamps beat me to it so I had to believe that the shit was real.”

“You shouldn’t swear, Oliver could pick up all the bad words you’re spewin’.” Dean says as he enters the kitchen, hand in hand with his son. “There better be enough coffee for me in that pot over there.”

You nod, making him one before you grab yourself an energy breakfast bar from the fridge. “You boys had breakfast?”

*

You made it to the small cafe, giving your friend a small wave as you entered with Oliver, Sam and Dean close behind you. Liah was quick to round the corner and say hello to her friend and her favourite little guy. The tall dudes that came behind her were just a bonus package to brighten her day.

“Hiya, sweetie.” She came in for a hug, squeezing you before she ruffled Oliver’s hair and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “How are my favourite customers?”

“Better now that I’m seeing you.I feel like it’s been forever.”

“It’s been two months, Y/N. Of course it’s been forever but I’ve been busy with Eric and college.” She huffed and you told her that she didn’t have to say another word. You know how hard she worked. It was hard to balance work and college but you knew that Eric was good for her; he was keeping her on the right track, making sure that she slept, ate, took breaks from her studies. He really cared about her.  “Take a seat with those fine ass men and I will take your order after I get some tips from that old geezer over there.”

She left, her notebook shoved into her apron as skipped over to the other side of the quiet diner.

“After you, find a booth anywhere you want, you’re my guests.” You said, waiting for the boys to find a table for the four of you.

“I really hope you’re paying because everything looks so good on this menu.” Dean groaned, overlooking the menu, you had to agree, they did cook some amazing things and you came in so much they made a secret menu item just for you.

“I’m paying but anything over two plates, you pay for yourself. I’m not made of money.” 

Dean nodded, smiling when he noticed Liah come back with her pen and pad. “Am I getting you the Y/N special?”

“You know it, baby. Can you get Oliver some eggs and a little bit of bacon?”

“Sure thing. And for you boys?” Liah quickly scribbled down your order and waited for the boys to make up their mind.

Sam tucks his curtain of hair behind his ear. “Would it be okay to get a chicken salad with an egg white omelette on the side?”

Liah hummed, “any drinks with that?”

“Coffee, please.”

“And for you?” Dean is next on Liah’s list. 

“Here we go, a stack of pancakes to start me off and then a plate of your greasiest breakfast foods you have.”

“Coming right up, you want a coffee too?” 

Dean nods, thanking Liah as she walks away putting in your order, he’s almost certain that she’s spoken the words ‘baby daddy’ but he’s not too sure, his ear may have deceived him.

Liah comes out no later than 10 minutes, you know that everything is freshly cooked so you’re not worried about the wait. It gave you some moments with your favourite men, quietly catching up on the time that you lost with them, you never got tired of hearing their stories; even if it was their lives, you still loved that they were here to tell the tale.

You tucked into your food, watching over your family as they ate. Oliver inhaled his food almost as soon as it was set down on the table, you looked over at Dean and he had finished all but one of his pancakes. Like father, like son. You should have known really. All those years you spent with the Winchesters, all those annoying habits that got on your last goddamn nerve. But you still loved them - as much as you could.

“So I guess I’m finally meeting both of Oliver’s parents, right?” Liah whispers with a smile on her face, looking over your shoulder, making sure that you were out of earshot of the Winchesters and that Oliver was already preoccupied.

 She was happy to meet Dean after all those times that you spoke of him. “Y/N’s told me a lot about you. All good things I promise, which is surprising because she talks a lot of shit about others. You must be really special to her.” 

“He’s good people. One that protects others.” You look at Dean sincerely, catching his lips curl up into a smile before he watched Oliver play with his toy dinosaurs. “Sam’s not too bad either. Now go do your job before you almost get fired...again.”

After your meal, before you even have the chance to reach into your pocket, Dean takes the bill and pays for it all and by the smile on Liah’s face, you know that he left a tip. The four of you were back on your way to the place you called a home.

“So why Oliver? The name I mean.” Dean asks later that evening as Oliver watches his favourite show. 

“Named him after my favourite superhero, duh.”

“Please don’t tell me his middle name is Arthur after Arthur Curry.” He groaned, almost whined. He hated Aquaman with a vengeance, a fish man that controls water.

“No Dean, you don’t have to worry about your son being called Oliver Arthur. He’s Oliver Dean, after my other hero.” You whisper, leaning back in your seat and staring into those gorgeous green eyes of his.

 “The one who has saved my life countless times. The one who I should have told about his son. You’re the one who I loved Dean, the one who gave me the best gift of all even without knowing it.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He can’t. Not with the tears gathering in his eyes, the ones matching yours. You’ve missed him. Missed the way the two of you would joke around. Missed the way that he would flirt with you. Missed the way that you could sit in complete silence, letting yourself bask in each other's company without ever being bored or would never be uncomfortable. But right now all you wanted to do was kiss him. You wanted him in your life but you couldn’t until you were sure that he wanted to be in Oliver’s life. That he wanted to be in your life.

“I loved you too.” His voice is small, almost unheard but you’ve trained your ears for any noise ever since Oliver was born. He licked at his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before he whispered again. “I still love you, Y/N.”

His eyes drop to your lips before they drag away seeing Oliver asleep and Sam had already retired to the guest room upstairs. He’s slow, so slow, in fact, that you almost don’t see his movement but you know that he is when you feel his breath on your face. You know he’s there when his palm softly connects with your cheek. You know he’s there when he presses his forehead against yours. You missed his musky smell and you can’t help but press your lips against his.They’re familiar. One’s that you haven’t had the chance to remove from your memory. You didn’t really want to either.

Hands finding their way to Dean’s shoulders, you crawled into his lap, deepening the kiss. You wanted this, you wanted it from the moment you left three years ago but you pulled back. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have done that. You’re mad at me and I should have asked.”

You make a move to get off of his lap but he stops you. “Don’t stop. I’m not letting you go again. I’m not losing my family.”

FEEDBACK IS GOLD AND ALWAYS APPRECIATED

Forevers: @super100012​ @lupine-princess​ @plaid-lover-bay25​ @atc74​ @growningupgeek​ @sophiebobzz​ @docharleythegeekqueen​ @poukothenerd​ @grace-for-sale​ @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @jesspfly​ @supernaturallymarvellous​ @sammysgirl1997​ @roxyspearing​ @mogaruke​ @be-amaziing​ @deanandsamsbitch​ @frankiea1998​ @hennessy0274-blog​ @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​ @iwantthedean​ @capsheadquaters​ @emoryhemsworth​ @notmoose45​ @essie1876​ @cassieraider​ @brewsthespirit-blog​ @its-my-perky-nipples​ @riversong-sam​ @jotink78​ @captainradicalpassion​ @jadalecki-jackles​ @spnbaby-67​ @holyfuckloueh​ @gh0stgurl​ @alyssa6marie​ @esoltis280​ @bumber-car-s @alexwinchester23​ @x-waywardaf-x​ @thisismysecrethappyplace​ @randomparanoid​ @kellianz​

Dean: @kenmen02​ @ain-t-bovvered​ @deans-baby-momma​  @ericaprice2008​ @shamelesslydean​ @thing-you-do-with-that-thing​ @wingedcatninja​ @mayasmedberg​ @kurosaki224-new-blog @valerieshubin @milo-winchester-4ever​ @sandlee44​ @ruprecht0420​ @akshi8278​ @smoothdogsgirl​ @dslocum89​ @plaidstiel-wormstache​ @ria132love​ @welldonebeca​ @iamabeautifulperson18​ @starry-chaos @deans-treasure @larajadeschmidt13​  @nyxveracity​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[focusonspn]

Just An Argument

Dean x Reader, Sam (Mentioned), Castiel (Mentioned)

Summary: Dean and you are always arguing. This one’s just an argument like any other, or is it?

Warnings: NSFW. +18 ONLY. Smut. Fisting. Slight Oral (Female Receiving). Slight Hair Pulling. Dirty Talk.

Word Count: 1136

A/N: this was written for @idreamofplaid‘s In The Bunker Challenge. I got Dean in the War Room. This also fills my “Fisting” square for @spnkinkbingo and my “Enemies to Lovers” square for @spndeanbingo. Enjoy ♡

Beta’d by @manawhaat

Aesthetic by @tumbler-tidbits

Masterlist - SPN Kink Bingo - SPN Dean Bingo

Everything started the same as always.

Dean was yelling at you because, in his eyes, you’ve been reckless and have put your life in danger. You told him he should be thanking you, that if it weren’t for you, he and his brother’s dead bodies would be burning on a pyre as just another hunter's funeral.

Dean wouldn’t listen to you and you didn’t want to hear anything he had to say; both of you were just as stubborn as the other. You couldn't stand the guy, and Dean couldn't stand you. At least that's what you tried to convince yourselves of.

Usually, the argument would end with each of you going to your respective bedrooms, mentally cursing and 'hating' each other.

Only this time things went the complete opposite direction.

The argument this time was more heated than any other you’d had before. It was so intense that neither of you noticed Sam and Castiel leaving the War Room where the discussion took place.

"You could've died out there, Y/N!"

"And what would you care if I did?! The only thing you do is yell at me. And ya know what? I'm sick of it!"

"If you weren't so fuckin' stubborn you'd notice that I do care about you!"

You couldn't believe those words left Dean's mouth. Not even he could believe he’d actually said it out loud. But it was Dean’s truth, and you felt the same.

Dean stood silent in front of you for an eternity, rethinking his words before finally taking a step forward and saying, "I care about you." He didn't give you time to think before he crashed his lips against yours in a firm and intense kiss that instantly had your knees trembling.

Now, here you were; two of his fingers knuckle-deep inside your dripping cunt as you were lying down on your back on the map table. The only clothes on you were your bra and t-shirt, your jeans and panties discarded long ago, while Dean, on the other hand, was completely dressed.

Dean's lips found yours, hot tongue sneaking inside your mouth as your hands reached the back of his head, your fingers moving between his short locks in an attempt to pull him closer. He growled against your lips when you tugged at his hair, and then, in response, he twisted his fingers inside you, hitting your sweet spot and coaxing a loud whine to leave your lips as your pussy clenched around his fingers.

"Like that, doncha?" Dean whispered against your ear. The lust in his voice could be easily heard and the thought of how hard his cock should already be had you grinding against his hand. "Do you like me stretching you out with my fingers? Knowing Sam can come out of his room at any moment and see you all spread out for me?" he asked as his lips traveled across your jaw, neck, and collarbone. "Let's see if you can take more of me."

Said and done, his two fingers became three, then four. Almost without realizing it, the pleasure and your slick eased the way, and he had worked his whole fist into your wet cunt. You couldn't help but feel like you were in heaven at the way his hand was stretching you out so perfectly. When he slightly moved his fist, you threw your head backwards and sunk your teeth on your bottom lip, trying to hold back the scream in your throat.

"Ah, ah," Dean tutted. His thumb found your mouth, pulling free your lip and then caressing your cheek bone. "I want to hear all those pretty noises of yours."

Letting you adjust to the size of his hand, he started to move his arm in a slow pace, rhythm increasing until he was moving his fist in and out your tight channel fast enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head. The noises filling the room were downright sinful-  your moans, the squelch of your arousal, the sounds of approval escaping Dean's mouth at the sight and feel of you squeezing tight his hand and wrist.

"Fuck! Dean!" You squealed when Dean hit your sweet spot, making you arch your back and extend your arms at each side of you, looking for something to hold onto. Finding the duffel bag you had left on the table, you took a tight grip on it as you started approaching the edge of your release. Dean felt it too with the way your body began to slightly quiver.

With his free hand, Dean lifted your leg up and draped it over his shoulder, keeping it there as he bent over you. The first stroke of his tongue against your clit ripped a loud moan from deep in your throat and you tightened your grip on the duffel bag, holding on for dear life as your other hand went to Dean's head, keeping him where he was.

Legs jerking and eyes rolling back, your cries echoed between the War Room walls. Dean's arm kept twisting and moving inside you as his talented tongue swirled on your swollen button, working you through your orgasm. When your soul came back to your body and your mind began to work again, you gave yourself a moment to think about what just happened.

The two of you had an argument and, somehow, Dean had ended up giving you the best orgasm of your whole damn life.

How you both got from point A to point B was beyond you, but you couldn't be happier with where you’d ended up.

The feeling was always there, hiding in the back of your mind, overshadowed by your denial, but it was always there. A relieved and happy smile started to show up on your face as you slowly opened your eyes.

Dean was standing before the map table, fists closed and jaw clenched, but a loving smile graced his face. His darkened eyes and the prominent bulge inside his pants let you know that there was an undeniable arousal burning inside him, and the thought made you shiver with need.

“So,” Dean started after a moment of breathing you in, “what comes next? Or should I say, who cums next?” His smile grew into a mischievous smirk.

Helping yourself with your arms, you sat on the table and then jumped to the floor beneath you. After you collected your scattered jeans and panties, you looked up at Dean with a playful shade on your eyes. “What comes next is me showing you how much I care about you,” you promised with a flirty smirk on your face before heading to his room without even waiting for him.

The sound of his boots against the floor told you he was following close behind.

Thank you so much for reading!

If you want to be tagged, you may send me an ASK or added yourself HERE.

[thewhiterabbit42]

Impala Sex

Pairing: Mick x reader

Summary:  A hunt almost goes sideways and you and Mick find yourselves giving in to temptation in less than ideal places.  

Written for: @spnkinkbingo and @yeahbecauseimbatman

Kink Bingo Square Filled:  Impala Sex

Word Count: 1492

Tags/Warnings: vaginal sex, unprotected sex

Beta’d by the lovely lady formerly known as @sumara62

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Mick’s whisper becomes swallowed.  By the heady thrill of danger dancing along the air. By your mouth as your lips lay claim to his once more, unable to keep yourself from stealing taste after taste.  Your fingers rake through his hair, and despite his protest, his hands are at your hips, tugging you flush against his body.

He’s right.  It’s neither the time nor place. You’re both splattered in vamp blood that has yet to fully dry, and the Winchesters should be back any minute.  But ideal is as foreign a concept as the luxury that comes from working with the British Men of Letters, and you’re well beyond the point of caring who might catch you with your pants around your ankles, or that you actually have a decent hotel room you can drop them in.

“Wait.”

He grabs your hands, a war raging inside of him, one one that adds an urgency to his tone.  It implores you to listen, but also doesn’t stop you when you reach forward to palm him through his pants.  His resolve fractures, frenetic fingertips tugging your undershirt free from your jeans so that he can drink in the smooth expanse of flesh beneath it.  

You’re tired of waiting, and you know he is too.  You can still see the look of horror on his face that went beyond almost witnessing a colleague being ripped apart.  You can still feel weighted certainty that this is it clinging to your being.  You need this.  Him.  Something to keep you from facing the fact that you almost didn’t come back this time.  

You know you’ve won the battle the moment he allows you to push him into the backseat of the Impala.  

He bounces across the leather, dragging his legs hastily in to make space for you.  You’re thankful for the way your boots simply zip up the side, making it easy to lose them.  Your jeans are a little less cooperative, but, ever eager to lend a helping hand, Mick reaches forward, wrenching them down to your knees. 

Any other time you might have cracked a joke.  He’s been nothing but cordial business and gentlemanly manners around you, and his eagerness is a nice development.  But, there’s no time for humor, no desire other than to quench the the need roiling low in your stomach.  

You only bother with one pant leg, dragging the rest into the car before shutting the door behind you.  Strong hands land at your hips and he hoists you into his lap where your fingers immediately fly to his belt.  You have the front of his pants open and your own underwear pushed aside in mere moments, though it feels like an eternity passes before you can finally free him.  

Again, not ideal.  There's not enough space to fully appreciate him or for him to appreciate you, and you’re certain you’d earn a one-way ticket off Winchester Island if Dean even had an inkling of what was happening inside his car.   

That does little to stop you from enjoying the man beneath you.  

You line him up with your entrance, sinking yourself down upon him.  You groan in satisfaction as your walls give a burning stretch, whereas Mick sucks in air between his teeth as if he might come apart at that moment.  

“Oh god,” he moans when he's fully hilted, fingers digging so tightly into you there's bound to be a few prints left behind.  

He tugs, urging you to move, and you raise up until you're almost completely off him before he's buried in your wet heat again.  You find a comfortable pace to start, one that quickly gains in tempo, until there's nothing but the sounds of your ragged breaths and groans within the vehicle.  

You can tell it’s frustrating that he can’t get to you.  Not fully.  Not in ways he so clearly wants.  He’s everywhere, frantically trying to touch every part of you, as if he may never get another opportunity to again.  Despite his desperation, he’s controlled, grip firm but no longer bruising, drinking you in until you nearly suffocate, but never forgetting to let you come up for air.  

You’ve thought about this many times, but no amount of fantasizing could have prepared you for the way you perfectly fit in his lap, how he knows how to handle you, how you need him fast, hard, without reservation.  

It’s the best post-hunt high you’ve ever chased.  It’s intense, all-encompassing, and as much as you’d love to make the most of the experience, you do everything you can to push him over the edge first.  He doesn’t just trip over it, but goes careening over the finish line, a series of fucks echoing with his erratic, then slowing thrusts.  

He slumps, head dropping back onto the seat.  Both your chests are heaving and it takes a moment for you to catch your breath.  As much as you want to revel in how thoroughly sated he looks, you know you can’t.    

Carefully, you slide off him, your body protesting at the sudden emptiness.  Without a word you get back into your pants, hastily climbing back out of the car to find your boots and escape the stifling silence.

By the time he emerges, you’ve not only put yourself back to rights, but you’ve taken a seat on top of the hood.  Other than the residual glow in your cheeks and the obvious sex hair he’s sporting, there’s no other evidence of what just happened.  None that’s visible, anyway.

“Hey.”  You acknowledge him, unsure of what else to do.  This all feels a little out of your league.  You’ve slept with other hunters before, but never anyone as important as him, and never anyone you’ve had feelings for.  

“I hope you’ll accept my apology,” he begins, and your slowing heart begins racing anew at his stiff, distant tone.   

You swallow.  “For?”  

You don't mean to sound so challenging, but the slick on your thighs hasn't even dried and he's already making excuses, which is fast, even for a bureaucrat.

He releases a breath, hand raking through his hair.  His eyes drop, wandering over the ground as he looks at nothing in particular.  You hope the measured pause he gives is him choosing his next words carefully.  

“Not adhering to proper etiquette.”

Whatever etiquette he’s referring to must be British, because you have no idea what he's talking about.

Your brow arches, but you refrain from saying anything until he explains himself.  

“You know…” He jams his hands into his pockets and clears his throat.  “Ladies first?”

You turn to look at him, really look at him, and you realize what you’ve been picking up on isn’t him being detached so much as embarrassed.  

“Oh.”  That.  “I mean…”  You’ve never had anyone care enough to apologize.  What does one say in this situation?   

Sorry I couldn’t wait another half hour to jump your bones?  

No.  You didn’t need him thinking you’re even more desperate than you already seemed.

No big deal. It happens all the time?  

Yeah, maybe if you want him to think dragging men into the backseat after a hunt is par for the course.  

The pressure to say something overwhelms you, and you decide to throw caution to the wind.  

“...the night’s still young?”  

His eyes snap up and you freeze.  He goes as still as stone, and your heart follows suit, unsure of what it means.  

A roguish smile breaks through the surface, lighting up his eyes.  “I guess it is.”  

He steps in front of you, hand brushing the hair back from your face before taking you by the chin.  “May I?”

You smile, relief flooding your system as you grab the front of his suit.  You get lost in each other again, but this time it’s different.  It’s slow and sweet, filled with electricity and a tenderness that’s sorely been missing from your life.  He takes the time to explore your mouth, your tongue, all the places along your neck that make you sigh.  For a few minutes, there’s nothing but you and him, and the world without monsters he’d pitched to you months back is suddenly a reality.  

Until the Winchesters return and promptly burn it to the ground.  

“Hey, hey, hey!”  Dean yells, emerging from the treeline.  “What are you, fifteen?  Quit necking on my car!”

Sam trails behind him with a snort. “Necking, Dean? Really?”    

“I mean it,” his brother warns. “Off!”

You draw back, putting your hands up in surrender and Mick mutters something that suspiciously sounds like bloody wankers though it could have just been Winchesters.  He steps back giving you room to hop down and while he looks less than thrilled, you can’t keep yourself from smirking at the vein starting to pop on Dean’s forehead.  

If only he knew what you’d really been up to in his precious Baby.

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[atc74]

The Promise - Prepare for Battle

Square Filled: Kidnapping

Warnings: angst, name calling, self hatred, kidnapping, dead relatives

Summary: After their confrontation with Sam upon his return from the cage, Y/N decides she will never let herself be vulnerable again. Dean can only support her and make sure she is taken care of, but a fight is coming, will they be ready?

Pairing: Dean x Reader, former Sam x Reader

Word Count: 1647

Written for: @spngenrebingo (card 2)

Beta’d by: @hannahindie

A/N: This is the sequel I said I wouldn’t write. I was very happy with how The Promise ended, but alas, here we are. I found this fit into my own challenge for Fearless Females in Fanfiction as well as my SPN Genre Bingo card. I hope you like this, and because I am a glutton for punishment, there will be a third part...eventually. 

Y/N decided she would never be that vulnerable again. She was ashamed that she let Sam hurt her like that. Never again would she break down because of a few hateful words. She was better than that, stronger than that.

She started training the next day. Dean wouldn’t run with her but he didn’t want her out alone, so they worked out at home, together. Sparring, cardio, everything they could come up with to keep themselves in prime hunting shape.

Y/N pushed herself farther than Dean had ever seen her go before. He was proud of the hunter she had become and had always been a little protective of her, but now that she was set on getting back into hunting shape, Dean was worried because he knew the reasons why. They had given up hunting, but with Sam showing up the way he did, it left both of them on edge. If Sam could find them, then the monsters could too.

Dean watched her attack the heavy bag in the makeshift gym they had set up. He worried about her, sure, but he knew she could take care of herself in a fight. What concerned him most was that she was forgetting to eat and sleep, the punishment she was putting herself through driving her.

“Sweetheart, you gotta take a break,” Dean entered the room, holding the bag to get her attention.

“In a bit,” she panted heavily as she took another swing at the bag.

“Y/N! Enough!” he yelled. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard, you need to eat and sleep.”

“You don’t get it Dean! Sam is back but something is wrong. Something is going to come after us with all the Winchesters topside now, don’t you see that?” she screamed at him, her tape covered hands balled into fists.

He took a step toward her and lowered his voice. “Sweetheart, I know you’re scared. Hell, I am too. But working yourself ragged isn’t going to help. If and when the fight comes to us, you’ll be too exhausted and that makes you an easy target.”

She broke down, too tired to argue with him anymore. She stumbled forward, his strong arms catching her as she gave in to all of it; the pain, the tears, the fear.

Dean carried her to the bathroom and helped her strip down before he climbed into the shower with her. As the hot water beat down on her sore, aching muscles, Dean massaged her scalp with the fancy shampoo Sam had given her once upon a time. The suds floated down her back and into the drain as he rinsed them from her hair. He gently scrubbed her body with her favorite wash. She watched as those bubbles too disappeared.

“So what are we going to do, Dean?” she turned to face him, her eyes now puffy from the tears she had shed. “Do you propose we just wash all our troubles down the drain so easily like the water and sweat?”

“No, I’m not. But we need to rest, too. When the time does come to fight, we’ll be ready,” Dean promised. He turned the water off and wrapped her in a fluffy towel. “Now let’s get dressed and eat. I made dinner.”

After a hot meal and a strong drink, they were both ready for bed and headed that way. Y/N snuggled into Dean’s side as he played with her hair.

“I’m sorry for acting like a crazy person for the last two weeks. I know it can be easy for you to watch me head down that path again, only in a different way when we lost Sam. I just have this nagging feeling that something is wrong with him. He’s broken, Dean,” her breath shuttered as she spoke, Dean just pulled her closer.

“I’ve got Bobby and Cas working on it, Y/N. They’ll figure it out, okay,” he breathed in the scent of her. “I don’t want to see you hurt, but all I can do is be here to support you. And if that means working out, feeding you, and making sure you sleep, I’ll do whatever you need.”

“I love you,” she whispered in the night.

“I love you, Sweetheart. Now let’s get some shut eye,” Dean suggested, turning on his side and wrapping both his arms around her. He would do anything to protect her, even if that meant dying.

“Good, you’re dressed. Now get up,” Cas’s deep voice rang out their their bedroom and they both bolted upright. Dean had his gun pointed at Cas’s chest, while Y/N pulled her angel blade from under the pillow.

“What the hell Cas?” Dean shouted as he leapt from the bed. “I could have shot you!”

“You can’t hurt me, Dean,” Cas replied.

“I know that, but what are you doing here?” Dean rolled his eyes.

“Something is coming,” Cas warned. “I need to get you out of here.”

“No, Cas. We won’t leave. We are not letting anything drive us out of our house!” Y/N stood, defiant against Cas’s plan.

“She’s right, Cas,” Dean agreed moving to stand next to her, united. “We stay and we fight.”

“Then prepare for battle, my friends,” Cas instructed and left the room.

“If we go down, at least we’ll go down fighting,” Y/N turned to Dean, taking his face in her hands.

“Together,” Dean vowed, pressing his lips to hers. “Now let’s suit up.”

Within minutes, Dean and Y/N were dressed and pulling weapons from the hidden compartment under the stairs. Silver bullets, machetes, angel blades, anything they could carry. Cas waited for them in the kitchen.

“What’s coming, Cas?” Dean brewed a pot of coffee before speaking.

“I don’t know, exactly. There have been rumblings of everything from vampires to werewolves to djinn, all waging war. I should warn you, there has also been talk of something kidnapping monsters. We don’t know how or what they are doing with them, but something is happening,” Cas straightened his tie like it was the most normal conversation in the world.

“Monster-napping? How is that even a thing? What happened to just killing the evil sons a bitches and calling it a win?” Dean scoffed pouring a cup of coffee.

Cas turned to the front of the house, his body stiffening. Y/N noticed the change immediately and readied herself. Dean watched her posture and mimicked it. “What is it?”

“Something’s here,” Cas boomed, then was gone in a flurry of wings. “I’ll take the front. Go!”

“Back door,” Dean ushered her out of the house and down the back steps. As they turned the corner of the house, Sam blocked the path.

“Where do you think you’re going, Dean? Taking your whore with you,” Sam sneered.

Y/N reeled back and hit Sam straight in the jaw with a right hook, while Dean looked on. “I told you before, you don’t get to call me a whore!”

Before Dean had the chance to be proud of her, they were surrounded. A group of three men and one woman formed a circle, with Sam closing it. “Dean, meet the Campbell's.” Then the lights went out.

~*~

“Where the fuck are we?” Dean grumbled, coming to in a what appeared to be a broken down, abandoned house. He was tied to a chair, but the knot work was sloppy as he tired to loosen his bindings. The room was poorly lit, but Dean could just make out Y/N’s lifeless body a few feet from him. “Y/N! Sweetheart, you gotta wake up!”

A muffled groan sounded through the room as she tried raise her head to look at Dean. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, but Sam is involved and I think some distant relatives,” Dean’s answer was sharp and clipped as he looked for an escape, continuing to work the knots. Within a couple of minutes, he had freed himself and hurried to her side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so. Did they drug us?’ she was groggy, her mind fuzzy.

“Yeah, they did. Come on, we have to find a way out,” Dean whispered as he helped her to her feet. “Cas? We could really use your help, Buddy.”

Just as they reached the door, it swung open, one of the men that had taken them blocking their escape. “Well, well, what do we have here?” He laughed, pushing Y/N back into the room, a gun aimed at Dean’s chest.

“You touch her again and I’ll rip your fucking lungs out!” Dean bellowed.

“Empty threats, Dean-o,” he whistled.

“Yeah, but what about me, douchebag?” Y/N called and as he looked her way, she landed a roundhouse kick to the side of his head, knocking him to the ground, out cold. “If you kick me when I am down, you better pray I don’t get up, asshole.”

“That’s my girl!” Dean beamed with pride, but it wouldn’t be long before the commotion drew attention and Dean knew they had to get out of there. Praying for Cas didn’t seem to be working, but he kept trying.

“This way,” Y/N pulled Dean along the wall with her as they left the room where they had been held captive. They crept along the wall, not seeing another soul on the same floor.

Dean was worried. “This is too easy, Sweetheart. It has to be a trap.” No sooner had the words left Dean’s mouth, when an evil laugh could be heard behind them.

“I knew you were smarter than you looked,” the voice taunted them.

Dean turned, his hand still holding Y/N’s and faced their captor.

“Samuel?” Dean was dumbfounded.

“Do you know this man, Dean?” Y/N squeezed his hand in hers.

“He’s my grandfather, Samuel Campbell,” Dean told her. “He died in 1973.”

The Whole Enchilada: @closetspngirl @emoryhemsworth @iwantthedean @meganwinchester1999 @sis-tafics @wilde-abandon @wegoddessofhell @holyfuckloueh @horsegirly99blog @smoothdogsgirl @dolphincliffs @thisismysecrethappyplace @neeadinghugs @roxyspearing @theoriginalvicki @andkatiethings @mrswhozeewhatsis @linki-locks11 @evansrogerskitten @hennessy0274-blog @hobby27 @kdfrqqg @gh0stgurl @charliebradbury1104 @blacktithe7 @the--blackdahlia @fortisetgloriosusinarduis @roseblue373 @hannahindie @pinknerdpanda

The Dean’s List: @supernatural-jackles @dean-winchesters-bacon @cameronbraswell @docharleythegeekqueen @maddiepants @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @adoptdontshoppets @wingedcatninja @akshi8278 @kathaswings @deansgirl215 @x-waywardaf-x  @elara98azalea @jerkbitchidjitassbutt 

The Sam Sin-dicate: @x-waywardaf-x  @supernatural-jackles @cameronbraswell @squirrel-moose-winchester @amanda-teaches @deansgirl215 

[aiaranradnay]

Grief

A/N: this is for the spn angst bingo challenge hosted by @spnangstbingo ​ . I've finally begun this journey, and am really excited about it <3

Square filled: Free Space

Pairing : Dean x Reader

Warnings : Loads of Angst, canon typical violence, torture and tears. 

word count : almost 5k.

Inspiration : Scientist by Coldplay. also shoutout to @effie-w coz its that vintage clock of hers that got me in love with this song <3 

Betaed by @wingedcatninja who offered to help my rusty head. thank you so much<3 your support and guidance refined the fic a great deal. she’s also named the fic, so thank you<3

feedback is much appreciated :)

It had started out as a pretty decent morning – Sam just back from his morning run, Dean sifting through the newspaper pile looking for a case. He had been grouchy lately – ever since he had been stupid enough to drunk dial his ex at one in the morning. He had woken up the next day instantly regretting his actions. She had left him; it was not his fault.

No matter how many times he thought of it, he couldn’t help but blame himself for the end of that relationship. But that call, she had specifically told him that it wasn’t him, she had taken the blame; he should probably accept it.

But she sounded so broken ... was she hurting too, just like he was?

His head whirled around the same thoughts over and over as his eyes raked through the most recent paper, finding an article about a gruesome animal attack two towns over – nowhere close to the wild. An uneasy feeling crept into his gut, his mind repeating her last words; her voice sounding pained and forlorn – “Goodbye, Dean, take care.”

Then his phone rang out, your name flashing on the display as the guitar riff blared out.

“It’s Y/N,” he told Sam with a scowl of pure hatred, masking the tiny seed of hope that had blossomed in his chest.

Sam watched his brother answer the call with a gruff ‘hello’, his expression rapidly changing into one of shock and fear. His face got paler by the second as the person on the other side spoke.

Dean felt his eyes burn as he withheld the tears. The hand that held the newspaper trembled, the article now making sense. The officer at the other end of the call requested him to collect the body and ended the call.

The first tear rolled down his cheek and his world came crashing down as he looked back into Sam’s concerned eyes.

“It’s Y/N,” he whispered.

It took them a whole month to get done with your ‘funeral’ – to get your mangled remains and a handful of bloody photographs from the police, put you back together as best as they could and bury you; for Dean to begin coping with your death; for Sam to accept your absence; for them to start living like normal hunters again. Sam probably tried to get his closure, but neither one was over it yet. At least once every week, one of them would be at your grave, Dean wishing he could have prevented it all, wishing he could go back to where it all started.

The first week, he was a mess; it was supposed to be a short visit, but the nearer he got to your place of resting the more he shattered. The impala too had picked up his sombre mood; her purr sounded like mourning, her radio softly singing one of your favourite songs. He then clambered out and seated himself beside your grave, whispering apologies to you – for not being there, protecting you as he should have.

His mind flew back in time and stopped by the pool table at a dingy bar where he was hustling his daily quota from the other players. They were idiots, and he was taking complete advantage of that. Then you had sauntered in. You were a stranger looking for some fun time; at least that was what you said. Two rounds later, he had miserably lost his entire day’s income to you. While you gave him a victory smirk, he desperately tried convincing himself that it was not your skills but his distracted mind that got him losing. However, you split the money with him the moment the blokes left and the table was cleared. “For all the trouble we go through for these losers, I think we deserve the money”, you whispered showing him the anti-possession tattoo on your wrist.  A few beers later, you had traded hunting stories and he had, to his own surprise, offered you a place at the bunker.

His entire frame shook as he sobbed over the death of his best friend, his love, who was unfairly snatched away from him.

Two weeks later, when he returned, he was exhausted – both physically and emotionally. The case they had just finished had been rather gory; but it wasn’t the gore that affected him – it was the victims. They all had something that eerily reminded him of you – the hair colour, the age, the physique. Every time they had a body in the morgue, the boys couldn’t help but remember your mangled form that lay six feet under.  The third time, Dean refused to go, unable to stand the grief. That day, the reaper at the crime scene who had popped up to harvest the soul confirmed that your soul was somewhere deep in hell, in some maximum security cell, with the best torturers available. The exact location however was unknown.

Castiel had called in a few days later, only to let the boys know that he couldn’t get that deep in the pit. Crowley had been smart enough to stay away. Dean felt terribly helpless as he sat there by your grave, not knowing how to help you. The usual strings of self blame wove around his head as he thought of endless scenarios where it hadn’t ended this way, where he had managed to save you. What he wouldn’t give to make a deal and take your place... wait a moment.

He abruptly stood up, a plan formulating in his head. Hurrying to his car’s trunk he pulled out everything necessary. Half an hour later, he was ready. The traps and sigils were strategically placed, and the tiny box buried in the middle of the crossroads. The only thing missing now was the demon. Soon enough the putrid stench of sulphur filled the air and a young man in a dark suit popped up, his eyes blood red. At first, Dean bargained his own soul in exchange of yours. When that failed, he drew out the demon blade, threatening and torturing the dealer for information. However, his attempts were fruitless, and ended with the orange-red glow of a dying demon when Dean buried the knife into the monster’s chest in blind fury.

As the sun descended, the rays shone on his handsome face, making the splatter of demon blood glisten. The tips of his dirty blonde hair glowed like embers as he stormed towards his Baby, seething with rage.

When you had first joined their ranks, you had requested just one small thing. “Don’t ask me about my past,” you had said. Both boys had readily agreed; they respected your privacy, knowing firsthand that a hunter’s life never starts with a happy event.  

As time passed any kind of discomfort or doubts you had about each other had evaporated into thin air. You had found a family you never thought you’d get again. The boys found you filling in the void they never knew they had in their lives.

To Dean you were like his saviour. He often watched you as you fooled around the bunker, loving how you patiently sat through research with Sam, despite being utterly bored. He loved your enthusiasm when he asked you to accompany him to the bar. He loved how the two of you had fun at the bar, even helping each other get someone for the night. It was all jokes and stupidity, for neither of you took anyone home. Ever since you’d waltzed into his life, his one night stands had diminished in number, and replaced by actual blissful sleep.

Sure, he still got nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat; but somehow every time that happened, you’d be at the door with a look of concern. Neither of you exchanged words – you just walked in and wrapped your arms around him, calming him down with your mere presence. He’d often apologize for it, but you’d always brush it off with a ‘doesn’t matter... wasn’t really sleeping anyways’. You would then soothingly coax the bad dream out of his mind; and he’d simply pour out all his secrets, answer all your questions and then spend hours reminiscing about the early days of hunting when things weren’t this painful. You’d listen earnestly, commenting at some points and by the end of it, Dean would be snoring softly yet again, a part of his burden having disappeared.

Sam loved how you took care of his brother; he saw the love you had for each other, the love that neither of you were even aware of yet. You had now become his best friend, and he often had hinted that Dean and you would make a good couple, but you were ignorant of it. He knew for sure though, that someday it would all click into place. He simply couldn’t wait for the day when his best friend would officially be family, be his sister-in-law.

Now, with you gone the world seemed to have lost colour. The research work was too tedious, the bar nights too lonely and the nightmares more gory and terrifying. The boys no longer had that caring hand comforting them, or that soothing voice loving them. The bunker was too quiet with no sound of high pitched laughter bouncing off the walls, or the steady hum of a song being sung.

Your death had ripped open a huge hole in their lives, and they had nothing to patch it back up with.

By now, it had become a very common sight to have a Winchester mourning at your grave; the mornings were filled with Sam’s tired yet ever hopeful voice, and the evenings reserved for Dean’s pain. They never came together; never even told each other about the frequent visits.

The fourth week thus passed with them wondering why you’d never told them that you were dying.

Dean had always considered you to be his rock; maybe it was your constant support, or your everlasting optimism... to him you were invincible, a constant. So, that one day when he saw you break down he panicked. He had never seen you so broken... and now the memory of your voice, you crying, fallen crumpled in the middle of the road, haunted his mind. It was obvious that hunting was affecting you too and he didn’t like that. So he did the only thing he thought was sensible – he benched you. He gave a different reason every time but it always ended with ‘you’re not going Y/N’. You didn’t like it one bit. You were a full fledged hunter who’d given up on everything other than hunting; to be forbidden from doing the one job you knew didn’t sit well with you... and thus the fights started. Misunderstandings and arguments escalated. Moreover the two of you had just begun being ‘more than friends’, and it didn’t work well.

Your fights left Dean restless and as a result, the hunts often got botched up. Both your minds were losing peace, your lifestyle got more reckless and your relationship got rockier. Sam tried his best to calm the two of you and make you see sense, but you were stubborn and you butted heads ever so often. It finally took one hunt to sever whatever was left. You were benched but you broke protocol and followed them. Time wasn’t on your side, and you almost ruined it for all of them. Cas had turned up last minute and saved you all.

By the time you reached home, Dean was seething with rage. The usual argument turned heated, both your voices loud and bellowing, a volley of angry accusations tossing back and forth until you broke. “You know what?! I quit! I FUCKING QUIT!! I’ve had enough, Dean! It’s clearly not working. We’re over.” Minutes later, you were at the front door, a duffel bag hitched up your shoulder.

Time froze for a millisecond before Dean exploded. “Y/N, DON’T YOU DARE! You walk out that door, don’t you ever think of coming back! IF YOU LEAVE, YOU ARE DEAD TO ME! YOU GET THAT?” for a split second he sounded so much like his father, even Sam flinched at the turn of events – like history repeating itself.

Maybe Dean would hate himself for doing it if only he was thinking straight. Maybe he’d have noticed your tortured face, his comment hitting much closer than he could have possibly imagined. Maybe he’d have apologized and things would be okay. But at that moment, it was a game of egos. “That would be just perfect, wouldn’t it?” you hissed, before storming out, the door clanging shut behind you. The silence that followed was deafening.

The silence seemed to have seeped into the bunker to this date.

In the stifled whimpers of the older Winchester, living his nightmares on repeat.

In the slumped frame of Sam Winchester, aching with suppressed emotions.

In the hushed flutter of the angel wings, as Cas popped by your grave, his eyes sunken with helplessness.

In the quiet of your absence, your grave remained still.

A dull grey evening.

A broken black car, grey with soot and dust.

A lonely grey headstone in the middle of nowhere.

A  defeated young man with a pale grey face staring hopelessly at the grave, leaning against the car.

He doesn’t know how to bring you back; he doesn’t know how to move on. The world has stopped for him, it doesn’t even have a meaning.

Regrets. A billion regrets; it’s the same thing haunting him.

Realization... of how the two of you had wasted your time fighting; all the time that you could’ve spent together; if only...

Memories... flooding in – cheesy lines and flirting; hugs of comfort, of love; stolen kisses, fearing the risk; giving in to your feelings; the nights together, loving each other.

“Hey Dean?” you mumbled, your head resting against his shoulder as the two of you sat, leaning against a tree in a tiny meadow Dean had discovered. It was hidden in the woods, a tiny paradise for the two of you. “Yea?” he whispered, not wanting the moment to end.

“Tag. You’re it,” you squeaked, before dashing into the wilderness. It took him a second to process, before he got up and sprinted in your direction.  Peals of laughter echoed through the trees as you ran, Dean right at your tail. You knew he'd easily catch you, despite the headstart. “Gotcha,” he growled as he tackled you, holding you close as the two of you came crashing down onto the forest floor. You squirmed under him, giggling the whole while as he watched you in awe.

And suddenly, you looked him in the eye, and he saw pure fear in yours. “Dean!” you gasped out. Startled, Dean pulled back slightly. “Dean!!” you cried out.

A blink of his eyes; you were gone.

“Dean!!!” your voice called out... but you weren’t there.

Sheer panic filled in Dean’s heart as he looked around in vain. Where did you go?

“DEAN!!!!” your voice was right there... where was it coming from? Under the ground?

That just didn’t make any sense.... yet there it was. Right from the depths of the earth.

A voice of pain; a voice of fear.

“DEAN!!!”

A sharp pain burnt his cheek as Cas slapped him out of his stupor; eyes focusing as he came back to the real world, his gaze meeting the concerned looks of Sam and Castiel. No one uttered a word. They simply helped him into the car and drove home.

The skies turned dark; the grave, once again, lonely.

Another case was done and dusted; and here he was yet again. His legs folded beneath him, his shoulders hunched carrying immense grief. A single tear rolling off his cheek and many unshed ones held within. His hands trembled, as he clutched a scrapbook – your scrapbook – tightly.

You had called it a journal; an art journal. And you wrote nothing about monsters in there. Dean hadn’t got it then; now that he had gone through it, he understood it all; hell, now he knew every little thing that was in it. It started out from when you’d joined the boys and contained every happy event that had followed. There were a million photos, drawings and cute cut-out crafts woven into a beautiful tale of a lonely huntress who found the best family. Faces – his, Sammy’s, Castiel’s – were delicately drawn around the day’s events. He didn’t even know how you’d gotten so many photos and it made him smile as he went through over and over. Those tiny flip-book motion pictures of the boys peeked out here and there. His smile only widened when he reached the timeline where the two of you had gotten together. There weren’t many photos – “I can’t even think straight around him, much less take photos”, you’d written. There were drawings though, where you had tried to recreate the time spent together as best as you could... and it was magical; like a fairy tale dream where you’d made him the prince. His heartstrings tugged in grief at the few missing photos, because he knew they were the best ones. They weren’t lost; as a matter of fact they were right there in his hand – slightly frayed and caked with grime and the remnants of your blood from when you had held them while you got torn into ribbons. Why had you made that deal anyway?

His vision blurred as the tears took over, his body casting a long shadow of a broken man, as the sun slipped below the horizon.   

Almost the end of week ten; yet Dean hadn’t come to you. Sam however did.

He knew that you were gone, and probably wouldn’t hear what he had to say; but if you could – then you had to know.

The young man knelt by the headstone, a bunch of fresh flowers in his hand – your favourite ones. “He wanted to come... Dean I mean; he wanted to see you, even put up a fight... but I... I just couldn’t let him out; he isn’t well, you know. Mentally – he...he’s crumbling, Y/N/N. He’s hallucinating; he sees you everywhere, and he...he just keeps saying that it’s his fault. He’s drinking himself to sleep, he’s hurting himself... it’s like your break-up all over again; a million times worse this time.” His eyes clouded with unshed tears as he remembered your heated arguments; the way you two butted heads. It seemed all so trivial then; all couples tended to fight – he could see the intense love you had for each other despite all the bicker.  

But over the days, your fights simply intensified; almost as if you were doing it all on purpose. And finally one day, it erupted with a final,’it’s over’ and you had walked out, never to return.

This time when the sun set, it cast its final rays on the longer locks of your best friend. “He’s losing it, Y/N; the pain, its killing him. He couldn’t even stand straight today, but he was so persistent about meeting you,” he chuckled sadly, “I had to add a few sleep meds into his drink to knock him out... I know that he’ll hate me when he wakes up, but you do understand my intentions right?”

Sighing softly, he rose. “Y/N, if you can hear me, come back to us. We miss you... Dean needs you back; hell, I need you back. I miss my best friend,” his voice broke towards the end.

The darkness settled in as he drove away.

Week eleven and yet you were still dead; they hadn’t found anything that could get you back. It was a Thursday and would have been your birthday if you were still alive. Sam had visited in the morning, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in his hand. He had sat there for quite a long while talking to you. He was suffering – it was even worse for him because he hadn’t just lost you but also his brother; no matter what show Dean put up every day, he knew that the older one was no more the same.

That evening as the sun set, loud screeching of tires burned away the thick silence around your grave. A car – sleek, black, classic from the 60’s – swerved violently before shuddering to a stop right where the dirt trail to get to your grave started. A man stumbled out; a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He was drunk beyond measure, struggling to stand upright.

How many could he have possibly downed just so he could get to this stage?

He fell on his knees with a thud. “I’m so sorry, baby. I was going to celebrate your birthday you know? But you weren’t there,” his broad frame violently shook as the pent up grief and sorrow flowed out of him.

“Why’d you leave? We could have worked it out, why’d you just give up like that?”

The ‘angry young man out for revenge’ facade that he held all day had crumbled, leaving behind a broken shell.

The worst part of it was that you were helplessly seeing everything. Hell apparently had wonderful reception to watch the outside world. Ever since the traditional chop-chop techniques of torture had ceased to affect you, the demons had improvised their torture methods – mind games.

They started out with a regular dose – your family dying, all your best memories with them changing into horror flicks while you watched helplessly. Surprisingly it didn’t affect you; years of recurring nightmares, Dean’s reassuring arms telling you that it wasn’t real, Sam’s wise counselling and all the love you got from them, had finally let you find the closure you sought. You now had a new family.

Then the visions of your family were replaced by the boys – you betraying the two, them suffering, dying, asking you over and over “why, Y/N/N?”... But you survived those too, convincing yourself that it was just trickery and that the boys were safe; they were Winchesters.

And finally one day they just let you see what the world upstairs was up to. That was where you crumbled – at their mourning faces; at Dean’s reckless attempts to bring you back, at Sam’s silence and their frequent visits to your grave.  That week was the worst, both for you and Dean. He visited everyday and you watched helplessly as he blamed himself for your death. The boys hadn’t taken a case that week, yet Dean seemed to have injured himself – bruised knuckles, multiple cuts and burns on his arms; never anything serious enough to kill him, but immensely painful. You screamed and bled freely as they carved into your skin, knowing that you were slowly giving up.

The last day of that week or maybe it was the next (or so you assumed for time ran differently out there), the torture seemed way more intense, and though you put up your best fight, you felt your body collapse and black spots dancing around your eyes. The last thing you remember before blacking out being a blinding light encompassed in gigantic golden wings followed by a searing pain in your shoulder.

Four months since your death, three since your funeral and yet he was there every week, reminiscing the time you spent, wishing he could go back to where it had all started.  

Thirteen weeks since your funeral; yet he wasn’t over your death. He still found himself pining, wishing, praying, hell even begging for you to come back. This week too, when they returned from the hunt, his hand automatically sought Baby’s keys. Despite the exhaustion, and the desperate need for some booze, he had yet again driven straight to your burial site. Like every week, ever since the funeral, he flopped down on his knees with a soft thud, right beside your grave. His eyes all teary, his voice all hoarse, he repeated the same three words he always said.

“I’m so sorry.”

The sun crawled down towards the horizon, casting its glow on the grief stricken man who sat by the grave. Silent tears rolled down his cheek as they did every time. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, as always, before recounting the week’s events. Soft noises of the underground rodents scraping through and scampering filled the silence as the darkness crept in. The noises – they seemed louder today; not that it mattered to Dean.

Then, just as he rose to leave, the soil that marked your grave started caving inwards, forming a shallow ditch. A hand shot out, feebly pushing off the dirt. A head followed, coughing and spitting out mud. The man’s tired green eyes widened, a gasp escaping his lips.

“Y/N.”  He breathed. 

@writingthingsisdifficult   @thing-you-do-with-that-thing   @petrovadixon   @the–blackdahlia   @peddlergirl   @eturtle2002  @laura160604  @super100012 @rosey-persephone  @theas-bedtime-stories  @firedhomearrow  @trollhunter94   @percywinchester27 @mrs-squirrel-chester ​

[pinknerdpanda]

Hey, Jealousy

Word Count: 2,696

Characters: Dean, Cas x reader

Warnings: Flangst, Language, sexy times insinuations, jealous!Cas, childish insults

SPN Angst Bingo Square Filled: Stabbing

A/N: This was written for @atc74​ and @d-s-winchester​’s Double Trouble Challenge and also to fill a square on my @spnangstbingo​ card. @atc74​ made the badass aesthetic for this as the prompt along with the highlighted bit below. I loved this challenge and I hope you enjoy this. Thanks Ladies and happy 2nd Blogiversaries!

Beta’d by: @hannahindie​ and @wheresthekillswitch​ - I am going to have to invent new words to accurately describe how much I love you guys. Thank you.

Hey, Jealousy

“You alright, there buddy?”

Castiel turns to face Dean, his eyes narrowed, but not in the normal “you humans defy explanation” kind of way. His blue eyes are practically burning with an emotion that most closely resembles anger.

“Yes. I am fine. Why do you ask, Dean?” Castiel’s monotoned rasp is typical of the angel, but there’s something about his normalness that almost gives him away.

Dean’s eyebrows shoot skyward as he hastily glances between Cas and y/n who is currently talking to a man behind the counter of the gas station and laughing playfully at whatever he just said.

“Nothing, man. You just seem kinda tense.”

Dean drums his fingers on the steering wheel as they continue to watch y/n through the windshield of the car. “Tense” is putting it lightly; Cas has been a ball of jealous rage since they’d decided to send y/n to collect the information on the gold Buick they’ve been searching for. Castiel hasn’t said a single word to indicate any kind of feeling towards her, but there is no denying the intense amount of energy radiating off of the angel.

“Why does she have to cross her arms that way?” Cas grumbles to himself. “Does she not realize that she is only bringing attention to her ample bosom? That cretin she is interrogating has done nothing to hide his fascination with it.”

Dean turns his head slowly to look at him, his eyes wide and his lips pressed in a hard line.

“That’s kind of the point, Cas. Men are pigs and will do anything for a little T&A.”

Cas sighs loudly and fidgets with the front of his tan trenchcoat.

“Are you jealous?” Dean struggles to hide his grin, but as Castiel turns to face him again, the humor drains from his face. Cas is clearly not in the mood to be ribbed, though he remains silent. “It’s ok if you are, bud.”

Cas’ head whips around as y/n pushes through the door and bounces toward the car, flinging the door open and sliding inside.

“Hey guys. Andy says he saw our guy about an hour ago. He was looking for directions to the next town over.”

Castiel turns in his seat to face her, a look of incredulity plastered on his face.

“Andy?” His tone is seething. “Andy? I did not know it was customary for convenience store associates to develop a relationship with customers on a first name basis.”

Y/n’s face screws up, like she’s looking at a piece of abstract art and trying to figure out which way is up. “It was on his nametag, Cas. What crawled up your ass, Halo Top?”

Castiel huffs and turns back to glare at this Andy character as Dean puts the car in reverse and takes off.

Dean clears his throat. “So we are sure that this is our guy?”

“Mid 90’s Buick with Wisconsin plates and a man dressed in an expensive suit? That's our guy,” y/n frowns at the back of Cas’ head as he continues to stare out the window. “So what’s our play?”

“Well, he seems to have a pattern,” Dean hesitates, sneaking a sideways glance at Cas before continuing. “I say we send y/n in to draw him out and then Cas, you and I can take care of him nice and quick.”

A heavy silence fills the car. Cas makes no move to indicate that he’s on board with this plan or that he’s even heard a word Dean said. Dean glances several times between the angel and the road.

“Cas? Buddy, what do you think?”

Slowly and with an air of creepiness to it, Castiel turns his head to face Dean. He narrows his eyes, his lips pressed together for a moment before he turns back to stare, once more, out the window.

Dean’s eyes meet y/n’s in the rearview mirror for a fraction of a second. She shrugs. Castiel mutters something under his breath and it’s all but unintelligible.

“Sorry, man. I couldn’t hear you,” Dean says, tentatively.

Cas sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said, maybe we should go back and get Andy’s input on the matter.”

“Really, Cas? You’re acting like a child,” y/n barks, throwing her hands up.

“Oh, my...would you look at that! The world’s largest barber pole!” Dean exclaims, looking back at y/n with a too-wide grin.

“Well, at least I am not acting like a woman who solicits money from men in exchange for sexual interaction,” Cas sneers.

Dean jerks the wheel of the car to take the exit. “You know I was just thinking I needed a haircut. Good thing we passed by this place…”

“Is that so, Castiel?” Y/n’s voice drops to a low, eerily calm level and her words are full of ice. “You think you’re so fucking high and mighty because you came stocked with a harp and some feathers? Last time I checked our job was to save people and when we pulled into that gas station I didn’t see you offering any ideas or using your angel grace to...oh wait. That’s right. You gave it away to that ass-monkey douche, Metatron and now you’re all out of juice. How’s that working out for you?”

Dean slams the car in park and y/n lurches forward in her seat. He turns around to face her, but her door is already open and she’s striding away.

Castiel sighs and Dean turns to face him. “You called her a prostitute, dude.”

Cas bristles, his cheeks flaming a deep pink color. “No I didn’t, I called her…”

“Yeah yeah...‘a woman who solicits money from men in exchange for sexual interaction’” Dean huffs. “Potato, prostitute, man. What the hell? Just tell her how you feel.”

Cas’ face scrunches up, indignation plaguing his features. “Dean, I am certain I have no…”

A piercing scream cuts him off and the two men scramble from the car. Dean tears off in the direction of the scream as Cas hurriedly pops the trunk and lifts the floor to reveal the hidden cache of various supernaturally relevant weapons. He quickly grabs a sawed off shotgun, an additional angel blade and shoves two flasks of holy water in the pockets of his coat. He slams the trunk shut and runs after Dean.

As Cas approaches a run-down barn, a frustrated cry makes his blood run redhot. A small hiss catches his attention and he turns to see Dean, his back pressed against the dilapidated wall of the barn, gun drawn.

Dean tips his head, directing Cas to follow suit, and then pauses briefly to look at the seething angel; he’s absolutely brimming with pent up rage.

“That whole thing with the dumbass at the gas station have you feeling a little violent?” Dean whispers, hoarsely.

“No, I’m not feeling violent, I’m feeling creative,” Cas pauses, squinting through a knothole in the wall, “with weapons.”

“Let me go, you black-eyed son of a bitch,” y/n shouts, fear lightly tinging her words, “or, so help me God, I will rip your heart out with my bare hands.”

Cas’ hand tightens cruelly around his blade, his teeth grinding together painfully. From where he's standing he can see the back of the demon holding y/n captive. If he weren't human, he would have popped in and smote it; easy peasy. Humanity, in all it's infinitely fascinating simplicity, really has its downsides.

Castiel flicks the cap off one of the flasks and, taking a deep breath, maneuvers from behind the protection of the wall. The demon sizzles, a surprised gasp on his lips as Cas flings the holy water in his direction.

He turns to find y/n, her face marred with cuts and a trickle of blood dripping from her bottom lip. Her hands and feet are bound tightly around a beam in the center of the barn. Cas’ heart lurches as a renewed rage swirls in his gut. The moment's distraction is all the demon needs and, with a swish of his hand, Cas goes flying. He slams, with a painful groan, into the opposite wall, his blade clattering to the floor several feet from him.

“Castiel, you twit,” the demon sneers, “your little girlfriend, here, has you all twitterpated; it looks like you're missing a step, angel.”

Dean creeps behind y/n, moving slowly to avoid making noise and drawing the attention of the now-pacing demon. Y/n jumps as Dean clasps her shoulder reassuringly and begins slicing through her bonds.

“Man, I thought bringing this bitch in,” the demon throws an arm out behind him in y/n’s direction, “would bring me a pretty penny, but you…. Man... That's the real payload.”

Cas winces as he grabs his side, he glances down to find his hand smudged with blood. “What are you talking about? Since when do demons need money?”

The demon chuckles, “That's the best part. We don't. I just really like it.”

Dean severs the ropes keeping y/n bound and helps her sidestep slowly out of the barn. He nods at Cas from behind the demons back, silently urging him to stall.

“So what? You are a demon bounty hunter?”

“Yeah, something like that. You've had a price on your halo since you first shacked up with those idiots in plaid; the Winchesters. I just never thought I'd be the one to collect. Ya know, I gotta say, I'll be glad to be done with all these piddly little contracts I've been working lately.”

“Between you, me and the wall,” Dean's voice booms through the barn and the demon whirls, his eyes flashing black. “tell me - the bounties on me and Cas - whose is bigger?”

Cas leaps to his feet, flicking his hand as the extra angel blade drops into his palm. He rushes forward, jamming the blade into the demon's skull with brutal force, it's tip jutting out from between his left eye and the bridge of his nose. The demon flashes blue before falling forward into a heap onto the ground.

Dean looks between the demon and the angel a few times, his eyes wide.

“Well, that works. Good job, buddy.”

-----

“Ok, I think that will hold just fine,” Dean splashes Cas’ wound with vodka and presses a clean, white gauze over his minty-fresh stitches. Y/n applies strips of tape to hold the bandage in place, stealing a glance into the angel’s blue eyes as a hiss escapes his lips. Her gaze falls to the fresh black ink scrawled across his ribcage in a language she doesn’t understand before attaching the last strip.

Dean clears his throat, and y/n realizes she’s been rubbing her finger absently across the final piece of tape for longer than necessary. She drops her hand and stands up hastily.

“Alright, y/n have a seat, we need to have a talk,” Dean leans back against the cheaply made dresser that doubles as a TV stand in 90% of the motels across the US and crosses his arms over his chest. Castiel casts y/n a sideways glance as she takes a seat on the bed next to the one he’s been occupying for the last 30 minutes. “Look, you two obviously have shit that you need to work out. I don’t know what the hell is going on between you, but, for the love of God, please...figure it out. For all of our sakes.”

Y/n crosses her arms, mirroring his posture in a much more defensive manner, and frowns up at him.

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Dean,” Cas says, staring at Dean with round, angry eyes. “We don’t…”

Dean waves his hand, silencing him. “Ba-bu-bup. None of that bullshit. We are all civilized adults, and I think we can agree that whatever that was that happened earlier…? Not normal.”

Cas sighs and y/n looks at him expectantly.

“You don’t want me here? I get it. I’ll let you have your privacy,” Dean pushes himself upright again and smiles. “I think I hear the local bar calling my name, anyway. Listen, I won’t wait up for you if you guys don’t wait up for me.” He shoots Cas a wink, who returns the gesture with an eyeroll as Dean slips on his jacket and out the door.

Several seconds of awkward silence follow the roar of the Impala as it backs out of the parking spot and pulls out onto the road. Cas continues to glare at the door where Dean had been and y/n looks everywhere except at the sulking angel.

The silence reaches an uncomfortable crescendo before y/n finally breaks.

“You were being an ass, Castiel.”

His head whips around to face her, his eyes impossibly wider as he struggles to find the right words. He still can’t seem to locate them, so he drops his gaze to the floor and coughs lightly.

“I apologize for the things that I said to you earlier,” Cas’ baritone is almost too soft to understand. “Obviously, you are not the type of woman who would actively work to solicit the attention of men in exchange for money.”

Y/n pulls her feet up, hugging her knees and worrying her bottom lip.

“What the hell happened, Cas?”

“Dean says that I was acting out of jealousy,” Cas winces as he shifts to face her more fully.

“What do you have to be jealous of, Cas?” Y/n frowns.

Cas shakes his head, leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers. “Ever since I lost my grace, there has been a flood of emotions that was both unexpected and incredibly unsettling. I don’t understand how you all handle the volatility of human emotion with such ease.”

Y/n chuckles. “Have you met our good friend, Dean Winchester? Clearly ‘handling emotions’ is something he would rather not have to deal with. I don’t know anyone that exactly handles them with ‘ease.’” She stands, and crosses the short distance to sit next to him. “I don’t understand what that has to do with what happened today, though.”

Cas feels the warmth of her proximity and smells her shampoo and in an instant, a totally new emotion takes over. His mind floods with a barrage of images of her - her cheeks flushed and her skin dewy as she writhes beneath him, his name falling from her lips like a sinful prayer.

“Cas?”

He jerks his gaze to hers, his eyes practically glowing and his cheeks a deep crimson.

“I feel,” he hesitates, “feelings.”

Y/n blinks. “Well, I mean, at least you’re on the right track. Some people eat theirs.”

“I feel feelings...about you, y/n,” he studies her face, her pink lips curled in a surprised ‘o’ and her eyebrows inching toward her hairline.

“What, uh…” she stammers, the intensity of his gaze muddling her thoughts. “What kind of feelings, Cas?”

Cas reaches up, tentatively brushing the backs of his knuckles across her cheek and tracing the curve of her bottom lip with his thumb. Slowly, he lowers his face to hers, their lips meeting gently at first before the kiss deepens, their fingers tangling in each others’ hair. Breathlessly, y/n pulls back, her eyes falling on Cas’ plush lips, now swollen with the effect of her kisses and she smiles.

“I believe that the feelings I am currently experiencing are sexual in nature, though I cannot be completely positive.”

Y/n giggles and his brows crease, in confusion.

“Listen, Cas. Next time, don’t insinuate that the girl you are having feelings for is a prostitute. It sends the wrong message,” she winks at him.

Cas’ lips meet hers again, a leisurely but intense need building between them as their tongues dart between each other’s lips. Their bodies press closely together, as though the air between them is too much to bear.

This time Cas pulls away, a cheeky smile tugging at the corners of his full lips.

“The only ‘next time’ I am concerned about involves more of this.”

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[holylulusworld]

Dominance Hierarchy

Summary: Meeting Sam Winchester didn’t mean anything to you. He’s a tall Alpha, a hunter so you decide to leave the moment the case was done but Sam has other plans.

Pairing: Alpha!Sam x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Dean (barely), Jo Harvelle, OFC’S 

Warnings: angst, possessive/angry/jealous Alpha!Sam, abo dynamics, dominant Sam, smut, unprotected sex, manhandling, language, hair pulling, knotting, mating, claiming, breeding kink, public sex, oral (female receiving), fingering, orgasm denial

6000 Followers BINGO CARD kink: Breeding Kink

6000 Followers Celebration Masterlist

“You just left him at the bar?” Chuckling Jo slaps your thigh not believing you just left Sam fucking Winchester while he tried to seduce you.

“I told you I’m not looking for a mate, a possessive Alpha and a hunter on top of all, Jo. He acted as if he owns me. I swear he was close to grabbing my hair and drag me into his cave. I don’t say he isn’t attractive but I’m too independent to let an Alpha rule my life.” Sipping at your drink you roll your eyes as an Alpha strides toward you. 

Chest puffed, licking his lips he tries to impress you with his size but he’s a dwarf in contrast to Sam. Shaking the thought away you try to continue your conversation with Jo but the Alpha sits next to you, starting to hit on you.

“Dude, I try to talk to my friend. Get lost.” Voice hard you turn your back toward the Alpha, rejecting him as the door to the bar opens and your breath hitches in your throat.

Sam is entering the bar, tall enough to fill the door frame, chest puffed he searches the bar till his eyes land on you and the Alpha behind you touching your shoulder.

You can see the tall Alpha’s posture change as he walks toward you to shove the Alpha away, snarling into the way smaller man’s direction. “Mine…” Laying his claim at you Sam grabs your waist, squeezing your flesh tightly.

Glancing up at the angry Alpha you gulp hard seeing his darkened eyes and the possessiveness in these hazel orbs. “You left…” A low purr leaves his lips as you cover his hands with yours.

“Didn’t know I have to ask for permission to drive home, Winchester.” You try to sound confident, but the way Sam looks at you, full Alpha, makes you melt into a puddle.

“You’re mine, can’t let you leave me like that.” The tall Alpha tilts his head to bury his nose into your neck, inhaling your scent deeply he purrs against your throat and your body reacts to his closeness.

“I’m not yours, dude. Sam, you’re not a caveman. Control your needs and find an Omega to use as your rut bunny.” Trying to reason with the dominant Alpha you feel his teeth graze your skin and a gasp leaves your lips.

“I don’t want a rut bunny. I want you…Y/N.” 

“Go home, Winchester. I want to have a nice night with my friend.” Now Sam tightens the grip on you. His hazel eyes search your face as he sees your breathing quicken. 

“Is there another Alpha? Did you let someone else touch what’s mine?” Sam is stepping between your legs, bending your body to nip at your neck.

“For fuck’s sake, Sam…” Panting your try to get rid of Sam but he moves his hands up and down your body, leaving goosebumps on his way.

“You’re mine. I’m the Alpha of my pack, your Alpha.” Now he grabs your waist to toss you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests. “I’ll show you who’s in charge, Omega.” Angrily clenching his jaw Sam carries you out of the bar, not caring about the insults you throw at him or your try to wiggle out of his grip.

“Sam, let me down…damnit…”

“I told you that you are mine…”

“No…I’d like to be with the Alpha you scared off.” Stopping in his tracks Sam places you onto the hood of his car, towering intimidating over you. 

“You’re mine! No one touches you but me. I’ll kill him right now.” Ready to attack the innocent Alpha Sam wants to walk back into the bar but you grab his biceps.

“Sam, no! Please…” His eyes meet yours and you tilt your head, submitting to the tall Alpha. “I was just joking, okay. I don’t even know that guy.”

“Not funny at all.” Sam is tilting his head, just looking at you. You feel his gaze on you and your body starts trembling as his rough hands stroke your cheeks. Leaning into his touch you purr and Sam smiles before he growls low in his throat.

“Alpha?”

“That guy is not smart.” The Alpha from before storms toward Sam a broken bottle in his hands he tries to attack Sam but the tall Alpha is faster, disarming the man in a split-second he grabs his arm, bending it till he feels the bones break.

“Sam!” Gasping you try to drag Sam off the man but he tried to touch you and now he disturbed Sam’s claim so the Alpha will kill the smaller man out of instinct. “Please…I’m yours…”

Dropping the smaller Alpha Sam strides toward you to pick you up. He’s slamming you against the car, claiming your lips roughly. “Say it again.”

“I’m yours, Alpha…” Appreciating your words Sam purrs, licking into your mouth and you feel your head spinning as the Alpha moves his hand between your legs.

Fingertips crazing your clit he chuckles against your lips when your hips jerk at the spark he ignites.

“Mine, only mine. Gonna bring you home and take you hard. I will not let you out of my room till you are round with my pups. Swollen and beautiful.” Growling low in his throat Sam nips at your neck as you grind against his thick fingers.

“Sam…not here…” Desperate to get more friction, more of the dominant Alpha you fist his shirt, earning yourself a snarl and a pinch to your clit. “Please…Alpha.”

“Such a good girl now. But there still will be punishment.” Sam’s eyes darken and a dirty grin appears on his kiss swollen lips. “Need to show you who is in charge, Omega.” Fisting his shirt tighter you look up at the tall Alpha, licking your lips.

“I’m not a little girl you can push around, Sam. You want to fill me with pups? Earn it.” Challenging an angry Alpha is not a good idea, but you can’t help yourself. He’s like a wild beast and you love it.

Gripping your thighs, he pushes you onto the car, growling against you as your panties get ripped off your body and his face buries between your thighs.

“You will submit to me, Y/N. Gonna punish you till you beg me to stop…” 

Squealing you feel his lips seal around your clit, suckling hard and you fall back onto the hood of his car, fisting the Alpha’s hair. Two thick fingers slide inside your cunt, roughly pumping into you.

Toes curling, breathing quickening you look at Sam as he purrs against your folds, sliding his tongue up and down your sex. Close, so close to a high you purr his name, but he stops right before you can reach the peak.

“No…Sam…I was so close…please…” Wiggling you try to get any kind of friction, but Sam holds you in a tight grip, only breathing against your heated flesh. “Alpha, please…” Whimpering you rut against his stilling fingers, hoping he will make you come.

“Punishment. I’ll make you feel good when you be a good girl and submit.” Now you narrow your eyes as you slam your hands onto the hood. 

“Fuck you, Sam. Get off me and never touch me again, asshole. I’m not someone to play with. You want a little doll to push around? Fine, look for someone else.” Sitting up you push against his broad shoulders. 

Your outburst hits Sam by surprise and he retreats, staring at your exposed sex with darkened eyes. “You’re mine…I want…” Confused Sam paces around the car, not knowing how to react to a feisty Omega.

“Yeah, maybe I’m your true mate but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like I’m a stupid little girl without a brain or will. Do you want me? Earn it!” Jumping off his car you brush past Sam, muttering under your breath.

“I…” Angrily clenching his jaw, hands balled into fists Sam runs after you, grabbing your arm to drag you behind the bar. “I’ll treat you like you deserve it.” Purring Sam presses your body against the rough wall, careful to not bruise your face. “Gonna make you mine right here like the dirty and feisty girl you are.”

He’s pressing his hard body against your back, not playing with you he opens his pants and your breathing quickens once again feeling his large cock prod at your entrance.

“Sam Winchester, you can’t fuck me right here…” Whining you press your hands against the wall when Sam starts to sink his aching cock into your heat. Snarling he moves his hands up and down your thighs as his nose slides along your pulse point.

Leaving open-mouthed kisses along your neck Sam moans when he’s finally fully sheathed inside of you. “You’re so tight for me, Omega. Such a good girl.”

“You’re fucking big down there too, Winchester…Fuck. How do you manage to hide your package?” Panting you hear Sam laughing behind you as his hands wander to your breasts playing with your nipples.

“I want you to be mine, Y/N. Never had a feisty Omega…Sorry…” The last word makes you purr.

The tall and self-confident Alpha apologized and you don’t know if you want to give him a snarky comment or accept it. “Still, I want to breed you, make you round.”

Full Alpha again Sam starts moving and you need to bite your tongue to muffle the cries leaving your lips. He’s pounding you at a maddening pace, making sure you won’t be able to walk for a few days.

His girth almost too much to handle, long enough to hit your cervix Sam pumps into you as if he did this a thousand times with you. The Alpha rules your body plays you like an instrument as he hits your g-spot with every long stroke.

“Sam…”

“Say it…”

“Fuck, I’m not…oh…” Another hard thrust and you dig your nails into the wall, arching your back. “Shit…” One skilled finger flicks your clit as his cock starts to swell.

Balls tightening, length twitching Sam moans into your neck, whispering your name and you cry out his presentation, along with what he wants to hear. “I’m yours, for fuck’s sake, Sam…fuck me harder…”

Fisting your hair Sam slams into you, burying his dick as deep as possible with every thrust and you come undone. Hard. Loud. Violently. Tilting your head you submit to Sam, letting him sink his teeth into your neck the moment he bucks into you, filling your womb with his cum.

Licking the small wound Sam praises your name, along with Omega as his knot swells and you need his strong arms to keep you upright. “I’ve got you, Baby. Shh…it will fade soon and then we will drive to your home and get your things.”

“Shit, you are one annoying bastard, Winchester but fuck it you are a catch.” Chuckling you let Sam hold you in his arms. 

“Hmm…you’re not that bad either, Omega. Gonna make sure you are round soon.” Patting Sam’s hands you fall against his hard chest, muttering under your breath.

“We will see, Romeo…”

“I mean it, Omega. I might have to change a bit but I’m your Alpha and will make you full with my pups sooner or later. I want you swollen and see the milk leaking out of your breasts.” Sam is imagining you with his child inside of your belly and you whimper as he nips at your neck, stroking your flat belly.

“Fine, but can we not make a pup behind a bar…?” Laughing against your throat Sam nods and you slide your fingers through his hair. “If anyone asks, we mated in a cozy bed, not in a dirty alley behind a bar, Winchester.”

“All you want, Omega.” Rubbing your belly Sam purrs against your claiming mark as he carefully slips out of you.

—-

Around six months later…

“If our child ever asks when and where we made him you will not tell him ‘behind a bar’, Samuel Winchester.” Poking your finger into your Alphas chest you want to slap his cheek as he grins down at you, mischief in his eyes.

“Can’t change you are that fertile, Omega. Who thought I would knock you up the moment I shove my cock into you for the first time?” Shrugging Sam smirks before his large hands caress your swollen belly carefully.

Sam is a tall beast, wild and strong but with you, he’s gentle and careful, afraid he might hurt his child or you.

“Don’t go all cozy now, Winchester.” Pointing at Sam’s cock you smirk this time. “Last night you took me hard, like the animal my mate is.” Giggling you watch Dean scrunch up his nose before he almost runs out of the library.

“You enjoyed every second…” Sam kneels to kiss your belly, muttering against your skin. “My Omega is a feisty one, but still I’m in charge.”

“Yeah…” Patting Sam’s head your chuckle silently. “Just tell this to yourself, Alpha. Sooner or later we will outnumber you. Me and the pups will make sure you are wrapped around our pinkies.”

“Pups?” Panting Sam looks up at you. “The doctor said we are going to have twins, a boy, and a girl. She was hiding behind her brother, Alpha. We. Will. Outnumber. You.” Enouncing the last four words you start laughing at your Alpha’s pained expression. 

“No…” Whining Sam glances at your belly. 

“What? Is my tall and tough Alpha cured of his ‘breeding kink’ or does he want more?” Sam’s eyes darken and a snarl leaves his lips.

“Going to breed you again and make sure the pups and I outnumber you, Omega…Mine…” Smirking you nod, knowing the pups will make Sam run around the bunker.

“Let’s see if you can handle me and two pups…” Walking toward your bedroom you giggle as Sam mutters something about dominance and being the Alpha…

SPN Forever Tags

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Sam/Jared Forever Tags

@moosekateer13​, @thevelvetseries​

[tlatollotl]

All across Indian Country, Native Americans are being evicted from their tribes, with little warning and little legal recourse.

Take, for example, the Pechanga Band of Luiseno Mission Indians, a federally-recognized tribe of Luiseno Indians living on a reservation in Temecula, California, part of the territory where their ancestors lived for 10,000 years.

If you want to be a member, you must prove direct lineage to one or more of the original ancestors forced onto the reservation in the early 1880s.

Pechanga Indian Rick Cuevas traces his ancestry to a woman named Paulina Hunter, who was granted a lot of land on the Pechanga reservation in the late 1800s. He and his family have lived on the reservation as full tribal members for decades.

But in the early 2000s, the tribal council decided to posthumously disenroll Hunter and, by extension, about 180 of her descendants.

“They have desecrated the memory of our ancestors,” Cuevas said. “The Pechanga tribal chairman has ripped our history from us, without evidence. And yet his ancestor, back in the day, called my ancestor ‘Aunt.’”

More than 1,000 kilometers to the north, a member of Oregon’s Confederated Tribes of Grand Ronde told VOA a similar story. Her family enrolled in the tribe in 1986. But two decades later they received notice that without proper documentation of lineage, they would be disenrolled.

Her great, great, great grandfather was among the original signatories of an 1855 treaty that ceded ancestral lands to the U.S. government and established the Grand Ronde reservation. He was killed before he moved to his new home. That meant his name never made it to a later census roll – a key requirement for “belonging.”

The family eventually won a three-year battle in tribal courts and regained their membership, but victory came at a cost.

“My cousin died a few months before her 99th birthday, before we were restored to the tribe,” the woman said. ”She grew up in a time when Indians were called bad names, had rocks thrown at them [by whites]. She always called Grand Ronde the only Indian home she’d ever known.”

She paused, then added: “My one regret in all this is that she didn’t live to see our membership restored.”

A way out of poverty

Disenrollment is an epidemic in reservations across Indian country. Cuevas tracks these cases on his Original Pechanga website: So far, 11,000 Indians have been exiled from dozens of tribes. In one of the more extreme cases, tribal members living off California’s tiny Elem Pomo colony attempted to disenroll every Elem Pomo Indians living on the colony – among them, the last living speaker of the Elem Pomo language.

As it turns out, this and the majority of other disenrollment cases are about money.

In the 1960s and 70s, substandard conditions on reservations led some tribes in to look to gambling as a solution. A 1987 Supreme Court decision gave them the legal green light to open up bingo halls, poker games and casinos, and a year later, the U.S. Congress passed the Indian Gaming Regulatory Act, laying out the rules.

Today, more than 200 tribes operate casinos that range from small card or bingo operations to large-scale resorts rivaling any in Las Vegas. Collectively, they earned nearly $39 billion in 2015. They are not taxed on that revenue but must use it to fund tribal governmental services, economic and community development and charity.

Some of the more prosperous gaming tribes distribute per capita payments to tribal members as part of a “revenue allocation plan.” The more members, the smaller the individual allocations, and this has often led to angry dissent over who is eligible and who is not.

“Say you are a small tribe of, say, 100 members, and your casino is doing very well,” said Gabe Galanda, a Seattle lawyer of Nomlaki/Concow descent who specializes in disenrollment disputes. “Say you are getting $5,000 in gaming revenue a month, and you have 100 tribal members – basically, 99 relatives. If you can get rid of 50 of your relatives, your monthly per capita income just went up to $10,000 a month. And this has caused certain tribal communities to divide and conquer themselves.”

Pechanga Resort & Casino Resort Expansion Rendering. Project broke ground Dec. 16, 2015 and was expected to be complete in 24 months. Pechanga was already the largest resort/casino in Calif. The expansion doubles the size of its resort offerings.

Cuevas’ tribe operates the Pechanga Resort and Casino, the largest in California. By some estimates, it earns from $1-2 billion annually and pays allotments to each tribal member of $300,000 or more a year.

Cuevas estimates that his family has lost more than $2.5 million per person in per capita payments alone in the 11 years since they were disenrolled, assuming the per capita rate at that time.

But money isn’t the only thing he has lost. Some losses can’t be quantified.

“We were tribal members long before the casino came,” he said. “Our family has resided on the reservation continuously for nearly 70 years.”

Today, disenrolled members are denied health and educational benefits.

“And they can’t be buried in the reservation cemetery with their relatives and ancestors,” Cuevas said.

The Pechanga Band government did not respond to VOA’s request for comment.

An alien concept

Disenrollment is not native to indigenous cultures, who Galanda said traditionally understood “belonging” in terms of kinship and personal choice, not “blood quantum,” a measurement introduced by the U.S. government.

“The U.S. introduced its concept of who’s an Indian by declaring, under the Indian Reorganization Act of 1934, that an Indian must be in residence in a reservation likely established by the treaties of the 1800s and be of one-quarter Indian blood,” he said. “The challenge today is that many tribes, if not most tribes, use the Federal government’s criteria for who’s an Indian.”

Disenrollment is also happening in tribes that have no disposable gaming wealth, said Galanda.

“Say I’m a chairman, and there is a voting block that I do not like or cannot win over. If I eliminate that voting block through disenrollment, I will sustain my power and the wealth that goes with that power,” Galanda said.

Disputes over enrollment, whether motivated by dollars or vendetta, can be devastating.

“It deprives that person of their identity, in addition to exiling them. It is in my estimation identity theft,” he said.

An internal problem For a variety of complex legal reasons, tribes in some states have their own courts, but tribes in others - in California, for example - are adjudicated by state courts.

“I, too, have declined these cases,” Stephen Pevar, a senior staff attorney in the American Civil Liberty Union’s Racial Justice Program, said in an email, “not because I want to, but because there is no remedy available in a court. There’s nothing a state or federal court can do.”

To wit, this week, the U.S. Supreme Court refused to hear a disenrollment case involving another Calfornia tribe.

In the end, said Pevar, the onus is on tribes to settle these disputes for themselves.

There is precedent: This week, California’s Robinson Rancheria of Pomo Indiansreinstated several dozen members who were disenrolled nearly a decade ago by corrupt tribal leaders who left the tribe millions of dollars in debt.

“Hopefully, after this week, we can just move forward,” said tribal chairman Eddie Crandell.

His tribe is still divided, and he laughs, admitting there are some folks he would not mind expelling. But that would be a lazy way to deal with tribal factionalism.

“Indian people, we’re such a small group in the United States. We shouldn’t be trying to eliminate ourselves but embrace ourselves,” Crandell said.

And he sent out this message to tribes embroiled in enrollment disputes:

“Bring your people home and work together to restore Mother Earth, to restore our culture and move on from your collective, inherited trauma.”

[singledarkshade]

Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge

The RBACL Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge gave me the below Bingo Card:

I couldn’t get five in a row but I did managed 5 fics from the above prompts.

Enjoy

1.       Rip’s Coat

 “Miranda,” Rip called as he searched the closet, “Where is my duster?”

“Where you left it,” his wife called back.

Sighing annoyed, Rip headed to check the other wardrobe. It was a long brown coat, and the house was not that big. Why couldn’t he find it?

“Miranda…”

“I don’t know where it is,” she said from behind him making him jump. She chuckled, “I fear for the timeline with your observational skills.”

Rip frowned at her, “Rather than mocking me, can you help me find it? I have to leave in the next ten minutes or Druce will start asking questions.”

“Well there’s two of us and one of it,” she grinned, stretching up to kiss him, “Let’s divide and conquer. Check the hall cupboard.”

Rip nodded and did as ordered, sighing that he still couldn’t find it. He knew he didn’t need the coat to do his job, it was not the uniform he was meant to wear, but to be honest he liked having it.

It gave him confidence to do all the things he needed to do.

“Rip,” Miranda called suddenly, “Come see this.”

Turning he saw her standing at the door to Jonas’ room. Moving to her side, Rip stalled to see their four-year-old son on his bed wearing Rip’s coat pretending to fly a timeship.

“I told you,” Miranda murmured, leaning against him, “You’re his hero.”

Rip smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his wife before he stepped into the room.

“Hey, Little Man,” Rip crouched in front of his son, “What are you doing?”

Jonas grinned at him, “Flying your ship, Daddy.”

Rip nodded, “Oh, I bet you’re a very good pilot.”

“Gid’on said I could fly to the moon,” Jonas reminded him.

“I know,” Rip stroked his son’s hair, “And I promise when I get back, we will go flying but I have to go to work now. And I need my coat.”

A small pout touched Jonas’ face, but he slid off the bed and out the duster. Rip pulled it on before he lifted Jonas into his arms.

“I don’t want to leave you and your mum,” Rip reminded his son, “But the work I do is to protect people. And I miss you every moment I’m away.”

Jonas tucked himself against Rip’s shoulder, holding on tightly while Rip gently rubbed circles on his back.

“Jonas,” Miranda joined them, “Daddy has to go now. Can you give him a big hug bye?”

Two sad blue eyes looked up at him before Jonas hugged him tightly, “Love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too,” Rip murmured, “And I’ll be home before you know it.”

Miranda touched his arm and Rip passed their son to her. Giving her a quick kiss, Rip then kissed the top of Jonas’ head and headed out to the Waverider.

He’d be home soon.

 2.       Young Rip

 Michael was sitting on his bed, arms crossed over his chest, anger radiating from him when Mary opened the door, after knocking as per their agreement.

“I see you’re sulking,” Mary noted as she stepped into the room, “Michael, I’m disappointed in you.”

Turning to her, Michael replied, “I didn’t fail the test. It was rigged.”

“I know, Michael,” she said gently, “It’s meant to be.”

He turned to her sharply, “What?”

“The test is designed so that you can’t pass it,” she explained gently.

Michael snapped, “That’s not fair.”

“I know,” she sympathised.

Mary tried not to smile at annoyance that crossed her son’s face. It was now two years since he’d come to her and he was in many ways so different from the feral child who had been placed in her care, but in others he wasn’t.

“Michael,” she rested her hand on his shoulder, “Are you coming for dinner?”

The annoyed look on his face answered her question. She had told Druce that the boy wasn’t ready for the no-win scenario. Michael was one of the smartest children she’d ever had at the Refuge. He had a way at looking at problems where he found answers in a way no one else thought of.

But he was still just a child, and one who took everything to heart.

“Alright, you know the rules if you don’t have dinner with the rest of us,” Mary told him, “There will be a sandwich in the fridge for you when you decide to eat. I’ll leave you to brood.” Leaning over she kissed the top of his head, “Try not to dwell on it, Michael.”

Leaving him alone for now, Mary let out an annoyed sigh.

Michael had made great strides since he had joined the Refuge two years ago, he no longer carried the penknife on him at all times It was now left under his pillow. He still had nightmares and having the knife made him feel safe.

He had managed to socialise with the other children and looked out for the younger children, while he devoured every piece of information Mary or Druce gave him.

She knew Michael wasn’t ready for the test but Druce had been adamant. And now she worried that this setback had knocked what little confidence he had gained.

Forcing it out of her mind, Mary focussed on making sure the other children in her care were fed.

As they started their meal a creak on the floorboard outside the dining room made her look up and she saw Michael standing there uncertainly.

“Oliver, Tara,” Mary said softly, “Move up and make room for Michael.”

As he slid into his seat, Mary smiled that the boy had come down.

He really had come a long way.

 3.       Magical Mishaps

 “This isn’t my fault,” John protested.

Wiping the slime off his face, Rip frowned, “I disagree.”

“I agree with Rip,” Sara noted, grimacing at the green goo in her blonde hair, “Do you think this will stain?”

Looking at his once white shirt and his precious duster, Rip sighed, “I hope not.”

“This still wasn’t my fault,” John told them.

Rip rolled his eyes, “And I quote ‘This is a simple spell.’”

“‘Nothing will go wrong’,” Sara added.

Rolling his eyes, John hunted his pockets for a cigarette, “I really hate when the two of you agree.”

“Does your communicator work?” Sara asked Rip, ignoring John’s complaints.

Rip frowned and tried to contact Gideon before sighing, “No.”

They turned to John questioningly.

“Not my fault,” John snapped.

Rip pulled out the mobile phone he’d modified for tracking the demon and checked it.

“Your spell created an EMP,” Rip told him, “Which means the courier isn’t going to work.”

Sara turned on John, “We’re miles from the ship and have no car.”

“We should start moving,” Rip said, “Gideon will send someone to check on us if she hasn’t heard anything soon.”

“Really?” Sara demanded, “Since when?”

Rip sighed, “Since day one. Why?” he asked, “She doesn’t do that to you?”

Sara shook her head, “Nope.”

“Lucky you.”

She chuckled before sighing, “Do you know which way the ship is?”

Rip looked around and grimaced, “I think there’s a pub a few streets behind us.”

“I’m in,” Sara said, she glanced at herself then the two men, “Assuming they let us in.”

John sighed as the other two started walking, “This is not my fault.”

 4.       Someone Gets Tied Up

 “Ow.”

“Sorry,” Rip said, “But I need to use the nail to cut through the ropes since someone lost my knife.”

Ray winced, “I’m sorry.”

“I know, Ray,” Rip sighed, “You didn’t mean to get captured, lose my knife or let the bad guys know we were here.”

Noise outside the cell made Rip look up and wince.

“Are the others coming?” Ray asked at the sound of yelling.

“I truly hope so,” Rip replied with a grimace.

After several more minutes of trying to cut the rope with the nail, Rip gave in and tossed it away.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he said, glancing out the door before he slipped out into the corridors.

It was supposed to be a nice easy mission, but then they were usually the ones that went to hell in a handbasket the fastest. Creeping along the corridor, he grabbed the guard in a choke hold and held on until the man dropped to the ground unconscious. Checking the man, Rip glared annoyed finding that he had Rip’s favourite knife. Retrieving the knife, Rip also grabbed the keys before dragging the body into one of the empty cells.

Creeping back to the cell Ray was sitting in, Rip cut the bonds before sliding the knife back into his boot.

“Let’s go,” Rip ordered, opening the door slowly he heard the sound of bodies hitting the ground. He turned to Ray, “The team are here.”

Ray grinned in relief, “Good.”

“Follow me,” Rip started along the corridor.

“Gideon can heal rope burns, right?”

 5.       Broken Time Drive

 Rip frowned as he stared at the mess in front of him. That was the last time he let Ray fly the ship.

“That does not look good,” Jax said from his side.

“No, it does not,” Rip agreed, glancing up he called, “Gideon.”

“Yes, Captain Hunter?”

He pulled out his tools, “What’s the ETA on repairs?”

“It will take seven hours to repair the engines,” Gideon replied, “But the self-repair systems will not be able to fix the time drive. You and Mr Jackson will need to do that yourself.”

“Any idea how long that will take?” Jax asked.

“Forty-Eight hours,” Gideon replied, “Assuming that you follow my schedule.”

Jax frowned confused, “Schedule?”

“To ensure we eat and sleep,” Rip replied, with a long-suffering sigh, “Gideon, put the schedule up.”

Jax stared at the screen in surprise, “That is detailed.”

“Gideon, I do not need five minutes to rant about the state of the components scheduled,” Rip grimaced.

“I have witnessed it many times, Captain,” Gideon retorted, “And five minutes is on the lower end of the scale. It was a full fifteen the last time.”

Ignoring Jax’s amused smirk, Rip asked, “How’s Miss Lance?”

“Awake,” Gideon replied, “I have her on pain medication for her headache. She has no injuries other than that and the now healed broken arm.”

Rip sighed in relief, “That’s good. Alright make sure she rests while Jax and I get to work.”

Removing the cover to get to the internal components Rip suddenly heard Jax cry.

“Why am I scheduled to go to the medbay in three hours?”

[singledarkshade]

My 2020 Tumblr Top 10

1). 19 notes - May 27 2020

Rip Hunter Bingo Challenge

2). 19 notes - Feb 5 2020

RipChat Holiday Exchange Gifts

3). 17 notes - Jul 1 2020

More Than A Coat

4). 15 notes - Jun 29 2020

Worth Something

5). 14 notes - Jun 30 2020

Nightmare Scenario

6). 13 notes - Dec 20 2020

Magical Mix Up

7). 13 notes - Jul 3 2020

Always A Team

8). 13 notes - Apr 29 2020

Dream Show

9). 12 notes - Jul 4 2020

The Only Title I Care About

10). 12 notes - Jul 2 2020

Stress Relief

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