#SOFT SAMMY HAS BEEN HEAVY ON MY MIND

[devilat-thedoor]

Wildflowers and Wine

A/N: i was yearning for soft!Sammy. i just really needed this, so it’s completely self indulgent. but maybe you guys will enjoy it too? So, here’s a fluffy lil Sam drabble💖

🌲🌲🌲

A weekend getaway was exactly what you needed to escape the stresses that life had been throwing at you. When Sam surprised you with a trip to a cabin deep in the woods, you were more than excited to have the alone time with him. You spent the night packing everything up and left first thing in the morning, “You’re gonna love it up in the Smokies, babe.” He lifted his hand from the wheel to grab yours in your lap, “There’s a really nice waterfall off of this one trail… It’ll be too cold to swim, but it’ll still be cool to see.”

Leaning over the center console, you placed a tiny peck on his jaw, “Thank you, Sammy. I really needed this.” His smile grew as he squeezed your hand. You reached over to turn the music up a bit and settled back into your seat, eventually falling asleep.

“Hey…We’re here, babe. Wake up.” His voice was a mere whisper as his fingertips brushed over your cheeks. It was almost as though he didn’t actually want to wake you up, but his whispers persisted, “Babe, come on.” He tugged at your arm and your eyes finally opened, blinking a few times, and settled on his face. Sam was standing outside of the passenger door, waiting for you to step out.

Once you exited the car, you got a full view of the cabin, “Oh. This is beautiful.” You spun in a circle, taking in the looming mix of trees. Maples and Pines. Oaks and Hickorys. You wanted to run straight into the woods to explore and he could sense it.

He grasped your waist, pulling you against him, “Let’s get you changed first, then we can go on a hike.” He had your hand, guiding you up the few steps to the front door.

You stopped, looking back to the car, “We have to unload the car, hun.” You tugged on him, but he kept walking, dragging you with him.

“I already carried everything in while you slept, c’mon.” He opened the door and allowed you to step inside. It was rustic and cozy, a small living space with the kitchen attached. Sam came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders and resting his chin on your head, “I can’t wait to get you in front of the firplace tonight, babe.” He kissed the top of your head before releasing you and pointing to the short hallway with two doors, “Bedroom is left, bathroom is right. Go put some jeans on and grab a sweatshirt. I’m gonna put a pack together to for our hike.”

Wandering into the bedroom, you found the bags laid neatly on the bed and smiled to yourself as you dug through yours to find a pair of jeans. After lacing your sneakers up, you emerged from the bedroom, hoodie in your hand, and met Sam in the kitchen, “Ready, baby?”

He was tucking a few water bottles into the backpack and stalking over to you as he zipped it up, “Yep. Let’s go, pretty girl.” He grabbed your hand, twirling you under his arm twice, and pulled you out the front door, closing it behind him.

🌲🌲🌲

“Sammy, what is this?” You leaned down, examining the peachy-orange flower clusters, surrounded by long, thick leaves.

He sidled up to the shrub, plucking one of the flowers, “Rhododendron.” He turned you to face him, pushing your hair aside to slip the flower behind your ear, “They call these ones Flame Azaleas. They can range in color from white to yellow, even red… But the orange ones are my favorite.”

“They’re so pretty.” You picked your own bloom, carefully placing it in the breast pocket of his flannel.

“Come on, babe. The sun is starting to set, we should get back.” He was smiling wide as he turned around to walk back up the trail.

You fell into step behind him until something caught your eye, “Baby, wait!” You took off through the trees, “What is that?” You were ducking through leaves and branches, pushing through a dense thicket, as he chased after you.

“Y/N, slow down!” He finally caught up, breathing heavy as he began to scold you, “Babe, there’s bears and shit, you can’t just- Woah…” You’re sure his face had to of matched the incredulous expression of your own.

You stood in a clearing, staring out over a varying array of colorful wildflowers and tall, flowing grass, “Sammy, this is- Look at the sunset!” You pointed out to the horizon, forcing his attention to the dipping, golden sun as it cast an orange hue over the earth before you, “Baby, did you bring your camera? You have to get pictures of these.” You sunk to your knees into the grass, running your fingers over the various flower petals.

When you turned to look at up at Sam, his eyes were already on you, the brown of them turning to a fiery amber in the sunlight, “I left it at the cabin, we’ll have to come back tomorrow.” His lips lifted into a warm smile as he held his hand out to pull you from the ground, “Let’s head back before it gets dark.” He weaved his fingers with yours and led you back to the trail.

🌲🌲🌲

The walk back to the back the cabin was short and dusk was falling fast. As you walked through the front door, Sam broke away from you and rushed to the bedroom. You didn’t question it, just slipped out of your shoes and pulled your hoodie off to hang on a hook. Padding into the small kitchen, you opened the cabinets one by one until you found the cups before calling out to him, “Baby, do you want some wine? I’m gonna start dinner.” He called back a “sure, babe.” and you filled two mugs with the red. You sipped yours with a soft hum and began chopping veggies on the large cutting block.

Sam appeared seemingly out of nowhere, wearing a sweater and carrying a flashlight, “I’m gonna grab some firewood outside. I’ll be back, okay?” He pulled you against him, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips.

You pulled back with a smile, “Hurry up, dinner won’t be long and I already poured your wine, hun.”

“I’ll be quick, promise.” He pecked your lips one more time and slipped away.

Your attention went back to the pot in front of you as you stirred the vegetable soup, bringing the spoon up to your mouth to taste it. Going to bedroom to retrieve your phone, you came back into the kitchen, clicking a random playlist on, and finished up the food. Song after song played, but it wasn’t until the soup was finished that you realized Sam wasn’t back yet. You cut the flame on the stove off and went to grab your hoodie to go find him but he was coming in the door before you stepped out of the kitchen, “Sammy, I was starting to get worried! What took so long?”

He was holding his hands behind his back with a beaming grin on his face, “I had a little side quest…” He pulled his hands around revealing what he was hiding.

“Oh my god, baby…” Your mouth hung open as you stared at the makeshift bouquet. A bundle of the all the diverse wildflowers you’d seen in the field on your hike, tied together at the stems with a few long pieces of the grass that surrounded them. He had to of gotten at least two of every species of flower there was, “Sammy, you went back in the dark and got these for me?” You took the bouquet from his hands and held it to your nose.

“Of course I did. I saw the way your face lit up when you saw them and knew I had to get them.” He watched you turn around and walk back to the kitchen, “Pretty flowers for the prettiest girl.”

“Thank you, honey, I love them.” You laid them across the countertop and went to the sink to fill a cup with water. When you turned back to him, He was standing in the middle of the room, drinking his wine, eyes locked on you, “Why are you looking at me like that?” You couldn’t hide the shy smile that ghosted over your mouth.

Sam set his cup down and stepped towards you, snaking his arms around your waist, “I love you…” He swayed you through the kitchen, holding you close while the music flowed from your phone, “I’ll pick all the flowers in the world if it means your eyes will light up like that.” He brushed the stray hairs from your forehead and began peppering your face with soft kisses.

You giggled through his attack, trying to shield your face, until he stopped and caught your lips with his, “I love you too, Sammy.” You wrapped your arms around his torso and held him tight as you laid your head on his chest, “I don’t need all the flowers… You make my eyes and my heart light up without even trying.”

He rested his cheek on the top of your head, humming along to whatever song played while he rocked you back and forth, “I’m still gonna pick you all those flowers tomorrow…”

[1-800-local-slut]

With a Heavy Heart- Chapter 6

𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃ℊ𝓈： 𝓈𝓉ℯ𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓃ℊ， 𝓋𝒾ℴ𝓁ℯ𝓃𝒸ℯ 𝒯𝒲： 𝒥*𝒽𝓃 𝒲𝒾𝓃𝒸****ℯ𝓇， 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝓊𝓈ℯ （𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝓃ℯℊ𝓁ℯ𝒸𝓉， 𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒹 𝒶𝒷𝒶𝓃𝒹ℴ𝓃𝓂ℯ𝓃𝓉）, 𝒶𝓃ℊ𝓈𝓉

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

The car was cold. It was early in the morning, and it was chilly. It would be Fall soon and Dean was freezing. Inside and out, but more so on the inside. From the moment John called him, he was tired. From the moment he called, Dean has been cold like his blood was replaced with ice water. 

The car moved slowly to Dean, despite you driving 90 mph through the empty streets. He wanted to tell you, beg you actually, to slow the car down. Just so he could have more time with you. Just so he wouldn’t have to go back to John. For some reason, the older he got the less he wanted to go back. It was like part of his heart would have to be turned off. But Dean liked feeling. He liked feeling things and being honest and having his own thoughts. With John he couldn’t have those things. Soldiers don’t have those things.

“Are you okay?” She asked, the wind whipping through her silk bonnet and one of his sweaters was tied tightly around her frame. 

“What? Yeah.” He blinked, before turning back to staring back into space. He had to go back to being soldier Dean. He had to go back to being Dean who followed orders with no other options. He had to go back to being Dean who loved and took care of Sammy who was probably waiting for Dean at the bus stop right now.

A soft hand landed on Dean’s thigh and he jumped. She touched him and almost cracked through the armor that he was placing back on over his heart. Over his soul, over himself. He was Dean Winchester, the man that monsters feared. Nothing could stop him. But she was his Achilles Heel. No matter how strong his armor was, she was always his weak spot. 

The bus stop came into view as Dean lifted her hand off of him a cold moment. He had too. He had to break himself out of the fantasy that he had been living in that she loved him enough to keep him with her. That he would be able to stay and spend everyday with her.

Maybe he’d be a mechanic or something he could do with his hands to keep his mind busy. She’d be a teacher or something, that they’ve talked about before. He’d come home after a long day, plant a kiss on her forehead and then take her up to bed. Perhaps they’d have sex or if you were both tired they would crawl into a nice shower together. For once, Dean wouldn’t have to have sex every night just for a place to sleep. She’d love just being around him. Then he’d crawl into bed with her, nice and warm and doze off into a peaceful sleep. 

Of course not. That was a fantasy that Dean couldn’t afford. But when he saw the hurt on her face when he placed her hand back in her own lap he wanted to jump into her arms and tell her how much it was about to kill him to get onto that bus in three minutes. She looked back at her own hand on the steering wheel and silently pulled into an empty spot. 

It was different from the way they had been looking at him since what Dean could only describe as the happiest moment of his life. Like he hung the stars in the sky for her. With warmth and love that made Dean want to throw up from how happy it made him to look at her. Like she was letting herself believe that fantasy too. And Dean couldn’t be so cruel as to let her delude herself into thinking Dean was worth loving forever.

They sat in silence, the two staring at their own laps. Shame, hurt, loneliness, anger. Dean felt all of it, like a bad hangover he couldn’t shake. The Bus was pulling up down the street, and Dean felt his heart pounding in his chest. Climbing out of the side seat and pulling his bag out of the back, he noticed how sweaty his hands were. Was it literally killing him to leave? Yes, yes it was.

Should he speak? Should he leave her to her own thoughts? Like always she beat him to the punch.

“It was my fault. For thinking that it meant something to you the way it meant something to me.” Her voice betrayed her, anger and a level of betrayal evident in the way her voice wavered through her words. 

And what could Dean even say? The bus pulled up behind him, the doors opened and he felt the driver's eyes bleeding into him.

“I’ll call you later.” 

But her car was already speeding off, back towards her house.

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Dear Diary-

I HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE DEAN WINCHESTER. How dare he do that to me? Why would he do this to me? That stupid prick, what gives him the right to take my virginity and then just…act like it meant nothing? How could he do something like this to me? 

What do I even do now? He’s been gone a few hours, and I just got home but I had to let this out somewhere. He’ll call me later, please. I hope his fucking bus turns over. I don’t even care if I reread this later and realize I was overreacting. I don’t care if I’m overreacting. Do I even have the right to be so angry?

Of course I do, even if I don’t I do whatever I want. So there. Anyways, he was supposed to be my best friend. Did I fuck everything up by letting my heart talk for once? Should I have just clammed up on him that night? I know everyone says that sometimes sex can be regrettable but I didn’t think it would be so fast! What a world record, what an accomplishment.

And mark my words, let this be known. I will never ever ever forget this, nor while I ever let him get this again. 

Oh and the way he acted like my touch was the most repulsive thing in the world in the car? You wouldn’t think so after the night we had. The way he wanted my hands on him at all times you’d think he had fucking handlebars or something. 

Okay, I’m hurt. I definitely am. I’m sad. But I am within my rights to be angry. And to think I was going to ask him to stay. What a bullet I dodged huh?

༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻༺༻

Dean Winchester Taglist:

@roseblue373

@titty-teetee

[spnexploration]

Collared part 26

Pairing: Dean x Reader eventually

Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.

Episode summary: Your high continues.

Warnings: drug use

Word count: 1.6k

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 25 <- -> Part 27

It was a long afternoon for the brothers. At times Sam thought of you like a child, you were so excited, jumping round and singing. And then a minute later you were screaming at him, or more frequently, at Dean. It was the yo-yoing of the past week, on steroids.

Well, he reflected, it pretty much was you on steroids.

He had watched you for a while before Dean took over, telling him to get some sleep so he could take over again to get you to bed later. Sam agreed with Dean’s assessment that you were more likely to go willingly if it was him, not Dean. And they needed to watch your breathing, opioids could depress it to the point you stop breathing altogether.

So here he was, ushering you to your bedroom. You were dancing around and pretending to be a fairy, which he had to admit was adorable, but also slightly unhelpful for what he was trying to do. The two of you made it to your room, finally.

“Ok, how about you get changed,” Sam said while he was looking on the floor for your pyjamas. He turned around to find you full-frontal naked. He quickly shut his eyes and turned away. “Uh, I meant when I wasn’t here...” he said lamely. He passed the PJs behind him to you. “Put these on, please.”

“Are you a bit prudish, Samuel?” you asked with a cheeky edge to your voice.

He felt himself starting to blush, “I don’t think you’d be doing this if you were in your right mind.”

“You’ve never seen me in my right mind,” you said, suddenly sad. He had to agree with you though, you’d either been controlled or traumatised the whole time he’d known you. He wondered when or if he’d ever get to see the real you.

“You can turn around now!” You called, seemingly happy again. Yo-yo, he thought.

“Ok, how about you hop into bed now and try to sleep off the rest of the effects? It’s pretty late.” You pulled back the covers and jumped on to the bed, bouncing on your knees on it like a kid. He hadn’t actually meant the real bed, it was just a turn of phrase, but he wasn’t going to stop you now that you were there. He was pretty sure you’d never touched it before.

“Uh, ok, I’m going to turn the light out and I’ll come back soon to check on you, ok?”

“Goodnight Sammy!” you said in a singsong voice.

“Goodnight Y/N.”

---

You woke up. Your head felt heavy. What happened?

You realised you were on something soft. Your eyes flew open, worried about where you might be. You were in a bed. You breathing quickened, you couldn’t remember getting on to the bed.

“You ok, Y/N?” Dean’s gruff voice asked.

You panicked, where was he? Your eyes moved quickly around the room, finding him sitting on a chair against the wall, near the door.

You backed up against the headboard, bringing your knees to your chest.

“Wh-what happened? Di-did you- did we…?”

His face softened, “No, no, of course not. You don’t have to be afraid of Sam or I doing anything to you, we’re not going to touch you like that.”

You bit your lip but nodded. That didn’t explain why you were in the bed.

“What do you remember about yesterday?” he asked.

You shook your head, terrified of what he was going to say.

“Ok, you took some pills and got delusional. But aside from Sam and I having to disarm you when you were playing with a revolver, nothing bad happened. You skipped around pretending to be a fairy a few times, that was pretty funny.”

Now that he said it, you had vague memories of sneaking to the infirmary and getting the bottle of pills. “Oh.”

He didn’t say anything, just let you sit with your confusing memories.

“How-how did I get on the bed?”

“Uh, I think Sam said you just climbed in. It was his shift when you went to bed.”

“Shift?”

“To watch you.”

“WHAT?”

“Did you know opioids can stop you breathing? At least that's what Sam tells me. So yes, we took turns to watch you. Plus, I didn’t want you finding any more guns and blowing your fingers off, or worse.”

“Well, um, my breathing is fine now. You can go.”

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tomorrow, you can choose whether you talk to Sam or I or both of us, but if you want to be let off suicide watch then you need to open up. For now, I’m sitting here.”

“Suicide watch?! What the fuck?!”

“You took a bunch of pills, Y/N. What do you want me to call it?”

You stared at him. You hadn’t meant- that hadn’t been the point- that’s not what you were… But now that you thought about it, you couldn’t really remember why you took them. You were upset. They seemed like they would help. You didn’t think further than that.

“I wasn’t trying to die,” you said very quietly. “I just wanted it to not hurt.”

Dean nodded.

You started to tear up. Great, emotional overload again.

He stood up and took a step closer. He opened his arms, looking a bit awkward. “Do you, um, do you want a hug?”

“You don't have to pretend to care about me anymore, the collar’s gone.”

“Who said I ever pretended to care about you? Why do you think I was pretending?”

You didn’t say anything. You knew it was true, he was just nice to you with the collar on because he pitied you.

“You were entitled to comfort when you had the collar on and you are still entitled to comfort, sweetheart,” he said quietly. This time, the nickname didn’t annoy you.

He stepped towards you, watching you carefully. When you didn’t react, he took another step and gently put his arms around you. You lent into him and let him hug you properly.

“I know it sucks, but you will get through this. I’ve been through a lot of shit in my life, I’ve even literally been to hell. But when I look back, the resounding thing is – I got through it. I am sure there is more shit in my future because that’s just the kind of life my brother and I lead, and some days, the only thing that keeps me going is knowing that we get through these things. And you do too, you will get through this.”

---

Dean sat in his chair, watching you sleep on the floor. It’d taken some convincing, but you’d finally agreed to go back to sleep. You’d looked so exhausted, so drained.

It was killing him. This was all his fault. First he let you get captured by Azaneth again, then he’d let Azaneth get away. You were so upset about it you’d done this.

He put his head in his hands.

.

.

.

Taglist (removed the ones that didn't work last time)

@malindacath @stoneyggirl2 @iprobablyshipit91 @tiggytaylor @ellie-andthemachine @muhahaha303 @deans-spinster-witch @mrswhozeewhatsis @kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @sassy-pelican @saiyanprincessswanie @sojuxxi @ilovedean-spn2 @lacilou @agirlwithdemonblood @rachiem4-blog @miss-madness67

[hearts-hunger]

sunshine daydream — chapter three

Read on AO3 | Masterlist

chapter one | chapter two

Series Summary: Friends can go on platonic vacations to cosy lakeside cabins, right?

Chapter Summary: You're stuck at the cabin when the storm comes early, but neither of you can find it in you to mind.

Pairings: Sam Kiszka x Reader | Genre: angst, fluff, friends to lovers, mutual pining | Word Count: 4k | Chapter Warnings: none!

A/N: At long last, I've finally written more Sammy and Birdie! I'm so happy and excited to share this chapter (and the next one) with y'all. Thank you so much for your patience — this last month has been a rollercoaster, and you've all been so sweet in the midst of it. I love y'all very much, and I hope this new chapter is worth the wait! ♡

When Sam’s alarm went off in the early morning, it had already started to rain.

You reached over him to turn his alarm off, wondering how on earth he ever got up on time when he was such a notoriously heavy sleeper. Danny and the twins were forever taking on the role of being Sam’s personal alarm clock, and though they’d done their fair share of good-natured grumbling about it, you couldn’t bring yourself to mind gently easing him awake.

“Sammy,” you cooed, brushing his hair back from his face in the dim, grey light. He stirred at your voice, and his face tipped up towards your touch; you felt a flood of affection for him, all gentle as he was in sleep, and foolishly wished that you could wake up like this every morning for the rest of your life.

“Sammy,” you said again. “Time to get up, love.”

His eyes fluttered open, and you melted at the drowsy smile he gave you.

“Birdie,” he said, his voice hoarse and sweet. His expression was so open for a moment that you knew how happy he was to wake up to you, and you couldn’t have stopped the butterflies you felt if you’d tried.

“Good morning,” you said softly.

He smiled. “Morning.”

He came to wakefulness by degrees, and you couldn’t make yourself draw away from him. These moments of quiet intimacy were fleeting, you knew, and you cherished them as much as you could.

“My alarm go off?” he asked, and you nodded. He turned to look towards the window, and he sighed when he saw the rain pattering against the glass.

“Storm came earlier than I thought,” he said. He looked back to you and gave you a crooked smile. “Guess we’re stuck.”

You hummed in agreement. “Guess so.”

He snuggled back down, and you gave a soft laugh at how quickly he fell back asleep. You wondered if he hadn’t wanted to be caught by the storm and have to stay at the cabin. You certainly didn’t mind.

You couldn’t stay in bed with him, though, not least because you couldn’t stop trying to justify just kissing him. Bucking up your courage and kissing his pretty, sleep-softened mouth, waking him again with gentleness and love. But you shouldn’t — you couldn’t.

You got out of bed and padded downstairs after you got dressed, putting on a pot of coffee as you got a good look at the heavy rain. You could hardly see the lake through it, but it drummed a comforting rhythm on the roof and made your little cabin all the more cosy.

When your coffee was made, you went out onto the porch to enjoy the rain. You would have loved to go out in it, but thunder rumbled in the distance; you curled up on the loveseat and settled for watching the downpour. You’d almost started to doze again when you heard the door open, and you looked up to see Sam dressed and cradling a mug of coffee.

“I figured you came out here to watch the rain,” he said affectionately. He sat next to you and took a cigarette from the pack he’d left on the side table last night.

“You mind if I smoke?” he asked.

You shook your head. He lit a cigarette, and you sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until he started to hum a familiar tune.

“What song is that?” you asked. “Did you write it?”

He smiled. “No, but I wish I had. It’s ’Sugar Magnolia’ by the Grateful Dead. We listened to it last night, remember?”

You did, and you blushed when you thought of how Sam had danced with you while he sang it to you. Your blush burned hotter when you thought of everything else that had followed.

He exhaled a ribbon of smoke. “When they played it live, they would sometimes do this little... bonus song, I guess, that went with it. Added more lyrics to ‘Sunshine Daydream’ bit.”

“How does it go?”

He thought for a moment. “Something like... now come on over sweetly, ride out singing, ‘I got you in the morning sunshine’.”

His singing voice was gravelly so early in the morning, and you liked him singing a love song to you more than you should have.

“At least, that’s how I think it goes,” he said.

The silence that fell over you then was sweet and shy, and you felt like you had when you were in grade school, sitting as closely to Sam as you could at lunch, shoulders pressed together, stealing little glances at him.

“So,” he said, patting his thigh. “There’s not a ton to do while we’re stuck inside. Sorry this vacation turned out to be... kinda boring.”

You smiled. “I’m having a great time,” you said truthfully. “I don’t mind staying in. We’ll do a puzzle or something.”

He wrinkled his nose. “A puzzle?”

You laughed. “You’re good at puzzles.”

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But I’d rather go through all our options before we resort to that.”

You talked for a while about what you might do to fill the hours of the quiet, rainy day, enjoying your coffee and sharing a few cigarettes before you went back inside. You cooked breakfast together; when you were done, despite his earlier protest, Sam dug around until he found a beautiful, thousand-piece puzzle and started it at the coffee table in the living room.

“I thought you said no puzzles,” you said, sitting on the floor opposite him.

“Yeah, well. I must love you or something.”

You tried to keep your beaming grin in check.

“Or something,” you agreed.

He worked on the puzzle with you for a while, and when he grew tired of it, he found a guitar and settled on the couch to play. You hummed along with the familiar tunes he played, working from the border he’d all but completed for you.

“Ah, shit.”

You looked up at him and saw that the discordant twang just before had been a string breaking in the middle of the song. You smiled.

“Maybe you shouldn’t shred so much,” you advised, though he’d been playing a soft Bob Dylan song.

He smirked. “Right.” He laid the guitar in his lap. “This guitar hasn’t been played in forever. It probably needs a whole new set of strings.”

“Do you have any?”

He unwound the broken string. “Uh... maybe? Go check that drawer over there with the other instruments.”

“Hm... Do I hear a ’please’ in there somewhere?”

“Birdie, my sunshine, light of my life — will you, pretty please with a cherry on top, go see if there’s a set of strings over there?”

You smiled. “Fine, I guess.”

You went over to the far corner of the living room, a space dedicated to miscellaneous instruments and paraphernalia, including a dulcimer and a mandolin hanging on the wall.

“How long has your family had these?” you asked, glancing your fingers over the mandolin’s decorative scroll.

“Long as I can remember,” he said.

“They’re pretty.” The Kiszka clan seemed to have an eye for beautiful instruments, and you thought fondly of the music room at Mama and Papa Kiszka’s you’d spent countless hours hanging out in with Sam and the boys.

You looked back at Sam, who was diligently removing the string from the bridge of the beautiful, caramel colored guitar.

“Are you going to have a music room in your new apartment?” you asked.

He gave a thoughtful hum. “Probably.” He looked up and gave you a smile. “You’ll have to come help me decorate it, birdie. Make it all nice and pretty.”

Part of you ached a little at the thought of decorating Sam’s apartment with him.

“I will if you want me to,” you said, trying for a smile back.

You rifled through the drawer for a set of strings, sifting through dozens of capos and picks and slides.

“Aha!” you said triumphantly, holding the packet up for him to see.

“Good work,” he said. You brought them back over and sat on the coffee table across from him, careful of the puzzle, your knees bumping against his.

You watched as he put the new string on the guitar, and you tried not to focus too much on his hands.

“There we go,” he said, strumming the guitar to double-check that it was in tune. “Any requests?”

“Make something up,” you said. “Let’s see how talented the great Sam Kiszka is.”

He chuckled and leaned back against the couch, lazily strumming as he thought of what he wanted to play. He started to pick out a bluesy, melancholy tune; before long, he was completely immersed in his playing, and you watched as concentration tugged on his features.

“You really just made that up off the cuff?” you asked when he’d played through a complicated, beautiful riff.

His gaze flickered to you, and he gave you a bemused smile. “Yeah. You said to.”

You gave a soft laugh. “I know.” You shook your head. “You don’t need me to tell you this, but... you’re very talented, Sam.”

His smile was warm and kind. “Thank you, birdie. You’re awful sweet, you know that?”

You felt your cheeks warm. “Well, I try.”

He continued to play as you looked out the window behind him, watching the way the rain made everything hazy and soft.

“Birdie.”

You pulled your gaze back to him. “Hm?”

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “What if I said we should go play in the rain?”

“During a storm?”

He shrugged. “It hasn’t thundered for a while.”

You couldn’t remember if that was true or not. The storm was supposed to get worse as the day wore on, but right now, it just seemed like any other summer shower.

He set the guitar aside and stood, offering you his hand.

“Come on,” he said, giving you an impish smile. “You want to go out in it, don’t you?”

You huffed. “Maybe.”

He grinned. “I knew it. I’ll bring you back inside as soon as it starts thundering, ok?”

After a few more seconds of deliberation for good measure, you took his hand and let him lead you out to the porch.

“We’re going for the trees,” he said, nodding towards the woods. “Ready?”

He smiled at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Ready.”

With your hand safely in his grip, you both started to run as soon as you got off the porch steps. You shrieked and laughed at how quickly you were drenched in the downpour; even though the trees weren’t that far from the cabin, you were soaked to the bone by the time you made it to them. He didn’t let go when you reached the shelter of the woods, pulling you close under the limbs of a giant, old tree that protected you from most of the rain.

“Hi,” he said, breathless, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning.

You beamed at him. “Hi.” He was so close, his arms wrapped around your waist, his cheeks flushed; you brushed his hair back from his face and watched as a raindrop fell down the curve of his jaw.

“This is better than staying inside, isn’t it?” he asked.

“If we don’t get struck by lightning.”

“I won’t let anything happen to you, birdie,” he said confidently. “I’ll fight the lightning off with my bare hands. Real masculine-type stuff.”

You laughed, and his smile was so sincere and warm that it made you weak in the knees.

“I love making you laugh,” he said. “You know that?”

You looked up at him, almost dizzy with how much you loved him. You swallowed.

“I want...” I want you to kiss me. You trailed off, unable to give voice to it.

He met your eyes. “What do you want, birdie?”

You warmed under his gaze. “I want you to sing for me.” Not a lie, but not the truth, either.

His expression flickered, but he didn’t let go of you.

“Okay,” he said. “What do you want me to sing?”

“My song.”

His smile was more genuine then. “Your song?” he said. “Which one would that be?”

You pulled away and crossed your arms over your chest, playing at being upset with him.

“The one you danced me to yesterday and sang to me this morning,” you reminded him.

“Ah,” he said seriously. “That one.”

He gently uncrossed your arms and took both of your hands in his, giving you a warm smile. “I remember, birdie.”

“I guess it can be your song too,” you said. “If you want.”

“Sammy and birdie’s song?” he asked.

You felt close to tears at the thought, for some reason. “Yeah. Will you sing it?”

“Sure I will, if you want me to.”

He tugged you closer to him, and you went willingly, putting your arms back around his neck. Rain still fell gently on the two of you, and the space between you was as warm and heady as the summer storm.

“Caught up in sunlight, come on out singing.” His voice was gentle, sweet. “I’ll walk you in the sunshine. Come on honey, come along with me.”

“Where are we going?” you asked.

He smiled. “Anywhere you want, sweetheart.”

You flushed at the pet name, feeling something tight and wild and nervous in the center of your chest. You looked up at him, studying his face in the grey light; he was so beautiful, and he was looking at you with nothing but tenderness.

“Sam?” you said.

“Yes, birdie.”

Your gaze flitted to the soft bow of his lips, then back up to his eyes.

Oh, you loved him. You tipped your face up towards him, your lips parting; his breath was warm as it fanned over your cheek, and your eyes fluttered shut as you felt his hand squeeze your waist.

“Wait.”

You were surprised when the word hung between you, unmistakably in your voice. But why had you said it?

Your pounding heart was the answer, followed quickly by the sharp and contemptuous voice echoing in your head.

Does he want to kiss you? The voice held a tighter grip on you than Sam did with his warm, gentle hands. Is he doing it just so he doesn’t hurt your feelings?

You blushed and tried to pull away from him. You were almost surprised when he let you.

“Unbelievable,” he said, and his voice was completely different than it had been just a moment before, exasperated and hurt.

He shook his head. “I’m not gonna play this little game with you any more, alright? I get it. Message received.”

“What little game?” you protested, uncomfortably warm with embarrassment and confusion.

He took a step back from you.

“Whatever this is,” he said. “I’m done letting you string me along.”

Your eyes widened. “String you along?”

He scowled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

You had no idea what he was talking about. Stringing him along would imply that he... that he liked you, that you knew, that you’d been intentionally using it against him.

Your whole body burned hot.

“I’m not stringing you along,” you said. “I don’t — I didn’t want to — ”

“Didn’t want to what?” He brushed his damp curls back from his face, impatient and frustrated. “Didn’t want to kiss me? Or maybe you did, for a second, and then you thought better of it like you did yesterday morning.”

“What are you talking about?” you demanded, feeling icy panic in the pit of your stomach. “I never said I wanted to kiss you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, right, I forgot. You were too drunk to remember anything, right? Especially not how you asked me to kiss you.”

“You’re lying,” you snapped, defensive and overwhelmed with embarrassment.

“You think I would lie about something like that?” he shot back. “I’ve been waiting to hear you ask me that since the fifth grade, birdie. If I was going to make shit up to get you to kiss me, I would have done it a lot sooner.”

You felt like all the breath had been knocked out of you.

“You want to kiss me?” you asked.

He just looked at you for a moment, torn between incredulity and exasperation.

“Of course I want to kiss you,” he said finally, like it should have been the most obvious thing in the world. “You know that. And I’m an idiot for trying as many times as I have, because every time I start to think you want me to, you pull away from me.”

He ran his hand over his face. “But you don’t have to worry about second-guessing it any more,” he said. “Like I said, you’ve been very clear this time. I won’t try it again.”

You couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, and the hold he had on his frustration quickly grew more and more tenuous in the silence.

“You want to kiss me,” you said again.

He tossed his hands up. “Yes, I want to kiss you! For god’s sake, birdie, I want to marry you! I want to have seven dogs and a farm and a whole bunch of kids running around, and I want it with you!”

He took you by the shoulders and gave you a little shake, trying to make you listen.

“Don’t you get it?” he asked. “I’ve loved you since the day I met you. And I’ve been trying to tell you every single day since then.”

He gentled when you didn't say anything. “What do you think this whole vacation was for, birdie?”

You felt lightheaded, and latched onto the only thing you could handle at the moment.

“I thought it was supposed to be a friend thing,” you said weakly.

“Danny’s my friend too,” he said. “You don’t see me taking him on romantic cabin vacations for just the two of us, do you? And what about skinny dipping? Did you think that was just a friend thing, too?”

You blushed deeply. “I didn’t... I mean, I didn’t want to assume anything.”

He gave you a dry look, and it was so like him that you couldn’t help but give him a wobbly smile.

“I got naked for you, birdie,” he said. “I think it’s safe to assume whatever you want to.”

“I got naked for you too,” you countered. “But you didn’t assume anything.”

He moved his hands to run gently up and down your arms. “I didn’t know what to think, to be honest. I thought... I thought you knew what I was trying to do, and that you were just shy. But when you suddenly got so upset about it, I knew I’d misjudged.”

You thought of the night before through that lens. Sam had been trying to romance you, like you’d wanted him to. You knew now that he always had been, for much longer than you could have ever dared hope.

You looked up at him.

“You didn’t misjudge,” you said, and you blushed vividly when he looked at you with wide-eyed wonder.

“I didn’t?” he asked.

You shook your head, and you were so bashful that you hid your face in your hands.

“Hey.” He caught your wrists in a gentle grip and pulled your hands down. “It's ok, birdie. Look at me.”

You did as he said, and there was nothing in his expression but gentleness.

“I never meant to make you feel like I was stringing you along,” you said, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “I hate that I hurt you without even knowing. I’ve wanted to tell you for forever, Sam, but I've never been brave enough. I kept pulling away because I didn’t want to screw things up if this was as one-sided as I thought it was. I just... never could have hoped you were in love with me like I am with you.”

His breath caught. “You’re in love with me?”

You looked over his beloved face. “More than I could ever say, Sam. I love you.”

He gave a heavy, lovesick sigh and leaned his head against yours. “Oh, birdie.”

You felt every bit of tension drain out of him as he pressed closer to you, and you felt like you were finally home after so many years of wandering.

“Did I really ask you to kiss me?” you asked after a moment. “I don’t remember.”

His smile was rueful as he lifted his head.

“You did. I told you to ask me again when you were sober.”

“Oh.”

You touched your hands to his chest, pulling a little at his soaked shirt; you felt calm, completely at peace.

“Well, I’m sober now,” you said. You gave him a shy smile. “So, Sam... will you kiss me?”

Before the words were even out of your mouth, he’d pressed his mouth to yours, and you were utterly lost under his touch. You crumpled his shirt in your hands as he took his time with you, kissing you as if he’d been waiting his whole life to do it. You made a little noise in your throat, high and wanting, and he melted against you.

“Birdie,” he breathed, like you were the most precious thing in the world.

You pressed as close to him as you could. “I love you, Sam.”

His breath came like a half-sob, joyful and desperate, and you felt his smile. “I love you, birdie.”

The rain fell heavier as he kissed you, and both of you were so lost in the other that nothing could have pulled you away. You put your arms around his neck; he hugged you close and kissed you breathless, even as thunder started to roll across the lake.

When you came up for air, neither of you could stop grinning. You framed his face with your hands, brushing your thumb over his cheek.

“Seven dogs and a farm and a whole bunch of kids, huh?” you asked.

He pinked. “Yeah, well, the kids are negotiable. The dogs aren’t.”

You laughed out loud, and he kissed you again.

“I’ll marry you,” you said. “Just get a ring and ask me for real, next time.”

He pulled back to look at your face. “You’re kidding, right?”

You smiled. “You were the one who brought it up, sweetheart.”

He looked a little punch-drunk, and you took pity on him.

“But we have the rest of our lives,” you said. “And no matter what the future looks like, I know I want it to be with you. We have plenty of time to figure out the rest.”

He beamed at you, and you knew that no matter what you said, neither of you would want to wait too long to get started on your future together.

“I love you,” he said. “I can’t believe you love me.”

“You can’t believe it?” you teased. “Imagine my surprise, when I thought you were asking me to skinny dip as friends?”

He laughed and kissed your nose. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got me beat.”

You kissed him, then, and he was pliant and willing at your every touch. You felt an incredible thrill at knowing he loved you, knowing with absolute certainty that he loved you every bit as much as you loved him.

“I would ask you to go skinny dipping again,” he said after a while, brushing his knuckle over the tiger’s eye where it rested against your chest. “And not just as friends, this time. But I guess it’s not the best weather for it, huh?”

“It’s good weather for staying in bed,” you said.

He hummed in agreement as he kissed you again. “That’s a very good point, birdie.”

You giggled when he wouldn’t stop kissing your face, even though the rain had started to fall hard enough that the trees gave little shelter from it.

“Come on, before we drown,” you said. You kissed his collarbone. “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”

He smiled and put his big hands to your face, brushing away the rain. “Is that what we’re doing now? Quoting Top Gun?”

You gave him a cheeky grin. “You don’t like it?”

“I didn’t say that.” He cradled your face in his hands and kissed you. “I’ll take you to bed if you want me to.”

You sighed against his mouth. “I want you to.”

You felt his smile.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, birdie.”

Read the next chapter here!

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[sinners-go-to-drink-the-wine]

Keep Going V

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Pairing: Jake x Danny

Word Count: 2.6K

CW: 18+, minors DNI. (spoilers): (brief)mentions of homophobia, grinding/frottage, (brief)fingering, spit as lube (DON’T DO IT), handjobs, ‘thighjob’ / thigh fucking

 {Author Commentary: I uhhhh... ahahahah, this one’s a rollercoaster. Strap in.}

“ -And what’s wrong with that?” “I’m not saying there’s anything ‘wrong’ about it, don’t twist my words.” “I’d hope so, Samuel…” ”Them being guys has nothing to do with it, it’s just- we- it’s- fuckin weird-” “Y’know, at one point I wouldn’t have been surprised if the two of you were close like that…“ “What?” “Feelings are complicated” Josh shrugged against his doorframe, “I’ve had my suspicions, and after thinking about it… it kinda fits, …don’t you think?” Sam sighed, the floor creaking as he shifted his feet, seemingly considering.

Jake had slid off of Danny for the most part, his sleeping form coming to rest flush against his side. His waking moments had started with him registering the dreamy warmth enveloping him. Warmth washed over his cheek in waves as Danny’s slow breathing sounded close to his face. The steady rhythm had instantly beckoned him back to sleep. But beyond his perfect bubble he’d heard something else, something that sent a cold streak down his spine. Footsteps had approached his door and before he could react a turn and a click of the door signaled it had been opened, the footsteps freezing for a moment that felt like forever before the door was swiftly closed.

While his mind was still racing Josh’s door across the hall had opened, Sam’s frantic whispering being met with his paced, steady replies. Sam’s feet settled again “I just feel like I would’ve known- ” “You can’t ask them about it.” “If he hurts him- a falling out would ruin everything-” “Who? Jake? Or Danny? Do you really think either of them is capable of that?", Josh's scolding-older-brother-tone made a rare appearance, "We work because we get each other, and we love each other, Sammy… nothings gonna change that. And they wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. The band is their dream…” “...I know.”

“Hmh…” Jake’s eyes flicked up to find Danny’s pointed towards the ceiling, assumably letting the overheard words mull over in his own mind. Jake hearing his own fears echoed so blatantly by his brother felt like a second cold splash of water. He needed to reassure Danny, he needed him to look in his eyes and feel his intentions. -They weren’t always ‘pure’- but they were full of appreciation and awe. ‘We get each other… we love each other…’ the phrases echoed in his head. Of course, he loved Danny, they didn’t say it that way, but how often did he tell his brothers he loved them? It went without saying, it was always just understood. “Hey…” Jake rested his fingertips on Danny's jaw, tilting his face to face his own. Danny's eyes found his, as his arm shifted from where it had rested on Jake's back. He placed his hand over Jake's. His eyes were deep and heavy and he looked… 'scared?' Jake hadn't seen that sort of expression on his strong features in so long. ‘In that moment, He looked so… young...'

Jake lifted his head more, propping himself up so he was looking down at Danny. "We're ok… they're gonna be ok." He kept his voice soft, despite knowing the two in the hallway had likely dispersed. 'I'd never hurt you…' He hoped Danny's seemingly almost psychic ability to pick up on his thoughts was in tune today. He leaned over him, pressing his lips to the center of his brow bone, between where his brows started. Danny's eyes fluttered closed as Jake held his position, exhaling softly before kissing each of his eyelids, then the side of his nose. Danny giggled, his nose scrunching slightly under Jake's lips as they smiled against his face. He began to sit up slightly, his hand returning to the small of Jake's back as he laid him back. Danny’s leg hooked over one of his, his hand held Jake’s waist. He returned the kisses to Jake's face, brushing his hair off his shoulder to trail his kisses over the now purple bloom. " ’You think he saw this?" Danny spoke into his neck. Every nerve in Jake's skin had come alive. As the kisses became more open, there was the added sensation of Danny's warm breath chilling the small wet spots left in his mouth's wake. "Probably not- with the angle from the door…" Jake tried to keep his voice nonchalant, despite his hips lifting slightly to press into Danny’s thigh. Danny chuckled into his neck “for the best, we should probably spare them the details when we do talk…” his hand encouraged Jake’s hips in their previously subtle movements, bringing him flush with Danny's seemingly still hard morning wood. “Huh- yeah, Sam seemed especially wigged out… uhh-” Jake’s last coherent thought was dissolved as Danny sucked an open-mouthed kiss to his collarbone, before running his tongue along it.

He was about to mention locking the door when his phone buzzed. He groaned, in annoyance. Danny took it from the nightstand, handing it to him. "We're getting lunch at the brewery, you guys want anything?" He read it out loud, his face growing redder. It was a direct text from Josh to him, so the 'we' & 'you guys' were clearly Josh and Sam, and him and Danny. Danny laughed into his neck at how candid Josh's text was. "Well, it appears we have some time… can you ask them to bring me a club sandwich?" Danny spoke against his ear before taking his earlobe between teeth, smirking. “This is so… fucking weird.” Jake found himself parroting Sam’s earlier sentiment, laughing a bit incredulously. He texted Josh their orders and a brief thanks, his mind still reeling, ‘How was this all so… normal. I’m making out with Danny, and they’re… bringing us lunch.’ Jake placed his phone aside, his hand returning to rest on Danny’s arm, admiring his biceps absently as he considered what to do with their time.

Once he had his attention back, Danny's hand slipped from his waist, smoothing down, seamlessly slipping under the band of his boxers. He gripped the soft flesh, his firmness pulling Jake forward again, and parting him slightly. Jake let out a shuddering breath at the new sensation. He'd never had that sort of deliberate attention to his backside, and all the new sensations yet to come were already playing in his mind. He tensed in Danny's hold at the thought of his long digits slipping between his cheeks, teasing over him, where no one else had. His face was reddening as he felt himself stiffening in his boxers. Danny obviously felt it too as he smirked, using his free hand to brush a wayward piece of hair from Jake's face with just the tips of his fingers. "What do you want, Jake?" 'Oh god.' "...touch me." Danny smiled, his warm hand retreated. Jake watched, almost in shock, as Danny took his own index and middle finger between his lips, sucking on them and sliding his tongue between them, fully coating them. Jake watched, mesmerized. His own mouth watered slightly, imagining the long smooth digits gliding along his own tongue. 'Later.' He instead started shifting his underwear down, freeing his legs briefly to discard them. Danny withdrew his glistening fingers, seemingly satisfied. He lay on his side, Jake mirroring him. He returned his knee to between Jake's thighs, hiking up his leg so it hooked over Danny's hip. His fingers trailed back up Jake's thigh, before smoothly sliding between Jake's slightly spread cheeks. His fingertips slid over the soft puckered hole, their pressure light and reserved. Jake was trying to keep his breathing under control as his flushed chest expanded shakily. He felt himself tensing and fluttering under Danny's feather-light touches. He buried his face in Danny’s neck, hoping to obscure any sounds that would emerge. His hand slid between them, feeling over Danny’s length through his boxers. Danny's fingers had been circling his center in an almost massaging way, till one of them paused, dragging back down and catching slightly as it curled. "Breath for me?" Danny planted soft kisses across his shoulder as his finger slid into him.

Jake inhaled with intention, letting it out slowly as he registered the foreign sensation. It was new and admittedly a bit odd, but knowing it was Danny inside him, even just his fingers, it sent a thrill through him. He wanted to pull him in, to possess some part of his experience no one else did, the way Danny now did for him. Danny’s finger had retreated slightly before slipping back in, curling as it did. He seemed very composed about the whole thing, Jake wondered if he’d done this before, ‘-had he been with a girl that was into it? Or maybe he’d done it to himself…’ that thought only spurred on the warm sensation growing inside him, that, and Danny’s unceasing curling motions. He slipped his hand into Danny’s boxers, feeling his impossibly hard length twitch at the new contact. Danny grunted against his shoulder as Jake warmed his palm over the swollen, leaking head of his cock. Jake smiled to himself. ‘Not so composed…’ he wrapped his hand around his length, stroking him slowly, in time with his own motions. Danny emitted another frustrated huff, smirking against his ear “It's not gonna happen today. We’d need a bit more preparation for that …and definitely some lube. -you’re fucking tight.” Jake lost his breath for a moment upon hearing the last phrase, as all the times he’d uttered a similar sentiment in bed flashed in his mind. And Danny wasn’t even trying to dirty talk him, he was just earnestly stating it. He cleared his throat, attempting a steady tone “Well… what are we gonna do then?” Jake’s hand had increased its pace, pre-cum now trailing the length of Danny’s cock. Danny’s hand had retreated, no longer trusting himself to maintain his controlled pace, he gripped Jake’s ass instead. "Fuck, can- -huh! Can I- fuckyourthighs?"

Of all the possible scenarios Jake had envisioned, his mind hadn't come up with that. He wasn't even quite sure what that entailed, but the verbiage of Danny fucking him was all he needed right now. "Yeah. Uh, where should I-?" Danny removed Jake's hand from his dick and gently slid his leg off. He kissed him into laying on his back before pulling away and gently guiding him to roll over so his back was to Danny. 'Oh.' He heard Danny spit in his hand and work it over his length. He pulled Jake's hips back, making sure his legs were aligned so his thighs pressed together. Then he was sliding his hard cock between Jake's thighs, the head of it repeatedly nudging under his balls, the hilt sliding along his perineum and teasing the seam of his ass. His pace quickly became desperate, his labored breathing resuming, this time behind Jake's ear as he gripped his hip, holding him there. Jake couldn’t help the unabashed moan he emitted or its shaky delivery as Danny continued to rut into him. Before Jake's hand could make its way to his already leaking cock, Danny’s had left his thigh, easily holding his length with one hand, beginning to jerk him in time with his own thrusts. Jake found his hips following, rocking between pressing back into Danny and forward into his hand. Everything was so much, and he wanted to feel all of it. All of the competing sensations culminated in a series of noises as his thighs clenched together, brow furrowing. “Fuck-” Danny’s rhythm slowed a moment later “-Is this too much?” his roughened voice still managing to sound earnest. Jake shook his head hurriedly, his face still red, eyes screwed shut under his tented eyebrows.  “Fuck no- you better keep going-”. Danny smiled against his neck. “...Are you gonna come like this?” His voice had dropped its earnest quality, taunting him as his lips ghosted over his flushed skin “...Are you gonna come for me?” "Hmmh-!" Jake buried the side of his face in his pillow as he shot into Danny's hand. He panted, still being lost in his haze. He barely registered Danny's warning before he felt his hot emission trailing down the side of his thigh and dragging between them as Danny rode out his orgasm. 

He felt Danny remove himself from between his legs gently. Jake rolled onto his back, separating and stretching out his legs. He was still breathing a bit heavily when he looked up at Danny. His nose and cheekbones were painted pink, he pulled his eyes from Jake’s wrecked state to his face, a grin splitting his face. They both let out a panting laugh. Danny reached over and massaged his hip with one hand ”How much time do you think we have?” “uhh-” Jake lazily felt around for his phone. “ ‘s been about an hour, …the two of them unencumbered at a brewery for the afternoon… we’ve probably got some time -?” “Want to share a shower again?”  “yeah… I should get these sheets in the wash first though… you go ahead, I’ll meet you in there.” Jake placed a kiss on his arm before it retreated and they both got up. He wiped himself on the sheet before stripping the bed. Danny made his way to the bathroom, the water sounding against the tub floor. Once Jake loaded and started the washing machine, he made his way to the bathroom. He slipped off the robe he’d grabbed and stepped in behind Danny. His hair was up in a messy bun and his back and shoulders were already lathered in soap. Jake's hands went to his shoulders massaging the muscle as deep as he could. A low hum of appreciation sounded from Danny’s chest. “I feel like I should be massaging you.” “Well I’m next, your shoulder muscles were just begging for it.” Danny laughed, turning around to rinse off. He started lathering Jake in body wash, taking his time, working over every muscle diligently. He lingered on Jake's lower back, rubbing slow deep circles. Jake’s eyes closed, appreciating the moment of peace. He leaned against Danny’s chest as he continued, massaging his hips, cheeks, and thighs. “I want you to know…” Danny spoke slowly like he wasn’t sure how to approach it, “how much it means to me, you trusting me… I know a lot of this is new… -for both of us.” Jake's face warmed slightly. “It's interesting,” he replied after a moment, “I would be a lot more anxious about doing something like that… but when I’m with you… I find myself wanting all sorts of things. I-” Jake paused, a small laugh escaping him, “when you put your fingers in your mouth, I thought ‘Damn, they should be in my mouth’... didn’t even question it!”  Danny laughed with him, resting his arms around his waist. “You should've said something, that’s hot…” Their giggles faded into another moment of quiet.

"Josh seemed very… accepting of the whole thing." Danny stated hopefully. "Yeah… he said he'd 'had his suspicions'... did he ever say anything to you about his 'suspicions'?" "Hmh…" Danny considered for a bit "that day you lost the necklace… or night I guess, he thanked me for taking care of you. He said he 'wouldn't trust any other person with you like that' …I wasn't totally sure what he meant though…". A grin had grown on Jake's face, still resting against his chest "...He was giving you his blessing. …in his own way." "...Really...?" Danny said softly, letting the quiet return again. After a moment Jake raised his face to look at Danny. "...Do you want to talk to Sam alone first? Or we can all talk. -or I can grab his ear and give him a 'big brother talking to'". Danny chuckled before tipping his head back and sighing. "Huhh… I should talk to him. He probably feels like shit being the last to know…" "Yeah…" Jake nodded, trailing his fingers over his back absently. "You ready to get out?" Danny reached for the shower dial. Jake nodded, pulling back the curtain.

Thank you for reading, let me know what you think!

~

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[leatherednlace]

Jolene

Dean Winchester x Male reader

Tags - Drinking, Tipsy, Sad, Phone calls, Mentions of Sam x Male reader, Revenge, Kissing, Dean Winchester puts the P in A, Riding, Hickies, Dirty talk, Praise, Slow sex, Aftercare

You watch as the man of your dreams, sam winchester fall in love with a women...you out of your mind, angry, upset for him leading you on, you call Dean to take you home...by telling Dean, now’s your chance to get back at sam...

A/N - Thank the “slowed” version of Jolene for this...

Taglist - @flamencodiva @wonder-cole @superfanficnatural @that-one-gay-girl

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You took the last swig of your drink, the glass slightly cold in your hand, but the feeling was so comforting...the numbness.

“Another”

You slurred. Your eyes set on the pair in the far corner, you could already feel your blood boil, stomach turning, mouth twisting in disgusting.

There he was, hands on the strangers hips, moving there bodies to the music, he was heavily intoxicated clearly by the empty sets of glasses on the table they were once sat at.

You sigh...music filling the void, the drink making your head fuzzy with each beat. You continued watching them closely. Sam was never like this with you, his hands never travelled up your back, never wound up in your hair, lips never met yours...

Shaking your head...you had enough, you wanted more, anything.

You heard the regular knock of the glass being placed infront of you, the whiskey sat at the bottom, the brown liquor making your mouth water, you needed it.

You bring the glass to your lips, taking a swig, you feel the burn which was very addictive, your throat already revelling in the contact, but you wanted to go home, to feel those soft blankets wrap around your body keeping you warm.

Sam wasn’t paying any attention to you at all, as if you were invisible, non-existent. You could feel the usual pang in your chest, the hurt, the empty feeling, everytime you thought of him.

One of your hands steadily dove into your left trouser pocket, you pulled it out, as soon as the phone screen turned on, your eyes flicked over the 2 missed calls from Dean...why Dean?

Your eyebrows furrowed, without thinking, presumably letting the alcohol take over, you tap call. A wave of nervousness travelled across your body, hands standing up on your arm, why were you having this reaction?

“Hello?”

The deep, gruff, slightly soothing voice echoed in your ears, you couldn’t help the groan that left your lips, not only was it Dean...but his voice...

“D-Dean...”

He could already tell, a sigh sounded from the speaker, you don’t blame him, you had told him you wouldn’t get drunk, but he can thank Sam for that.

“Are you drunk?”

You nodded, but blurted out a sloppy “y-yeh”. You couldn’t help think why Dean hadn’t hung up yet, but you were glad he hadn’t, nothing ever compared to how...horrible you felt right now...

“You want something?”

You paused, to regain a somewhat “sober” state.

“D-Dean can y-you come p-pick me up...Sammy left me alone f-for some woman.”

You awaited an answer, clearly he was annoyed, not at you, but at his brother. He felt kind of sorry for you, Sam had been leading you on for all these months...it’s not right...he would treat you so much better.

“Hold on...”

————————

Silence.

The silence was like a heavy weight, both you and Dean keeping your eyes on the road. You tried mustering up some kind of plan to forget about Sam and what he was doing...what his deal was with kissing that woman.

But you couldn’t, every touch, every kiss, they were like memories imprinted into the back of your head, everytime you closed your eyes, you saw the way Sam was with her...he was never like that with you.

You could feel the tears brim at your bottom lids. You could feel anger course it’s way through your veins, taking over your body.

“What Sam did...” Dean paused, correcting himself “is doing...it’s not right, it’s not fair” Dean kept his eyes on the road, glancing back at you and forth to see if you were okay.

“It isn’t...D-Dean nothing’s fair...not in this life, we are hunters, we hel-“

You were cut off by Dean pulling off the road into a lay by, he couldn’t handle seeing you like this, the guilt he saw in your eyes every time he looked at you, Sam has broken you.

Parking the car he switched the engine off, twisting the keys and sliding them into his pocket. Placing a warm, comforting hand on your thigh he shook his head.

“Listen...I can’t control my brother or his actions, what he did tonight shouldn’t really be any of my concern but I can’t bare to see you like...”

His voice had you shivering, it was a comfort at this point, deep, quiet, much like a whisper but loud enough to not be. You looked to his hand rubbing up and down your thigh, smiling weakly to yourself.

You look up into his green orbs, everything stilled as if time itself switched off, if only for mere seconds. “It’s nice to know i have someone fighting in my corner...”

Your words were rather breathy, both of you close...too close to be friends. Dean’s hand squeezed your thigh, his eyes asking if this was okay...there was a slight pause as you watch Dean closely, hungry tongue lapping over his dry bottom lip.

“I-Is this okay?”

Removing his slightly warm hand from your thigh, he brought it up to cusp your cheek, pulling your face towards his own, nothing could prepare you for the way his lips crashed against your own, this wasn’t needy...this was want.

This kiss was wet, deep, everything you had dreamed of...with Sam. But what was this feeling? Butterflies? Maybe...Maybe Dean was the problem solver here, What if it was Dean all along?

Dean sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, slightly tugging on it. A whimper escapes you as Dean took charge, his tongue sliding against yours in a fight for dominance, clearly he’s won.

Soft grunts left his lips at the sounds of your whimpers, they sounded oh so heavenly. You move closer wanting to feel more, his hands pulling you into his lap. You were now situated on his lap, knees at either side of Dean’s thighs, his tongue still in your mouth.

He pulled away, eye’s now getting a good look of you, your features. “God your more beautiful then I remember”. Dean already managed to make you feel good with just words…you wonder how else he could do that.

You feel yourself blush underneath the street light, Dean chuckled deeply, clothed cock brushing against your ass. “D-Dean please make me f-feel good” you moan sloppily, hoping he would take charge of the situation and make you forget.

His hands pushed down your rather loose bottoms past your hips, your bare ass on show. You hiss at the cold air now surrounding you, hands clinging onto his shoulders as he manoeuvres your trousers and boxers.

Your cock sprung free and rested against his clothed stomach. Dean smirked knowing it was him doing this to you, making you hard under his touch.

“I’ve always wanted to make you feel good…fuck” he groans into your ear, his deep gruff voice forcing a shiver out of you. Your hands wonder down to his belt, unlooping it from it’s confines, finding it easier to unzip his trousers.

He buries his face between the crook of your neck, hiding away as he nibbles on the soft skin. One of your hands dive into his now open trousers, grazing the plump hard on he was sporting.

You pull him out, now feeling the heavy weight of it in your hands. Dean moans at the slight friction your hand gives his aching member…god he was a mess.

“I-I need to feel y-you”

You place his aching tip at your wanting entrance, plunging into you.

The low rumbling moans that leave his lips make you clench around him, squeezing him tighter, “oh my God.” Dean can’t even find the words. 

You whimper in pain, the feeling of his thickness stretching you to accommodate his size.

Chanting your name over and over, whimpering as he sinks further into your warmth, as deep as he can possibly go. He grips onto you for dear life, as if he’d loose you.

His lips circle the shell of your ear, nibbling the soft area, breath fanning against it. “So fucking tight” he groans, using his hands to force your hips up and down, bouncing away in his lap.

Holding each other, you stay connected for a little while, enjoying the moment as Dean continues his harsh thrusts, rocking his hips into your tight heat, whimpers sounded out into the now fogged-up car.

“So much better then Sammy” you groan, this only had Dean slowing his hips, now pointing his aim at your sweet spot. “Love feeling myself deep in you…balls pressed to this ass” he gives it a smack, watching your face twist with pain and pleasure.

“Thought about this for years…’bout plunging my cock deep inside your little boy pussy…”

That’s all it takes for the coil to snap, you cling to Dean, hands squeezing his skin tightly as you scream his name, your cock twitched as you released your load onto his flannel, vision turning white.

“That’s it…squeeze around me, milk m- shit” Dean cums deep within you, load after load filling you making sure you knew who you belonged too. His eyes closed tightly…you could hear him pant, hardly able to catch his own breath.

He chuckles, half blissed. His eyes watched you closely, one of his hands coming up to cup your left cheek, taking in your features.

“How was it…” he mutters.

Your too fucked out and slightly tipsy to even open your mouth, instead you kiss him to show how much this actually means to you. Dean held you against his chest, kissing back with the same amount of passion.

Sammy was now a distant thought, everywhere you looked there was Dean…this felt right.

[wordynerdygurl]

Right Before Your Eyes

Author’s Note:  Hey All!  Here’s a little one shot from a list of prompts that @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​ offered up!  I took #15 and made it a little more rom-com than dark... but hey, that’s the @wordynerdygurl​ in me!! Thanks to @sammy-jo1977 for being the best damn beta and cheerleader ever! My requests are currently closed, as of this posting, but check my Marvel Masterlist for other Loki stories!  If you want to be added to my tag-list, let me know!!   Pairing:  Loki x Female Reader Summary:  Odin gives Loki and ultimatum: find a wife, get the throne.  The catch is finding the right woman for his queen.  Good thing he has an advisor like you around! Warnings:  Male on Female SMUT, Fingering, some soft-ish domination and fluffy, lovey dovey Loki

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“So what, exactly, are you saying, Father dearest?”

He wasn’t stomping his feet, at least not yet, but Loki was on the verge of a tantrum, that much was clear.  The whole thing made Odin irritable.  Speaking to his youngest over his shoulder, the aged ruler grumbled, “Find a woman, any woman that will have you.  If you want to continue living under my roof, you’ll settle down properly, and start a family.”

Scoffing, put out at the suggestion of a boring old existence, Loki’s face broke into a sardonic smile, “Are you sure you want a mini me running ‘round these hallowed halls?”

Odin froze then, his good eye flashing a stern and steely warning, “Start with finding a girl who is... brave enough to take you on.  Then we shall contemplate the existence of little Lokis running wild.”

Crossing his long arms, Loki sighed, “You don’t think I can find a princess, do you?”

Plopping unceremoniously into his throne, Odin shifted, feeling the heaviness of his long life in every limb.  Waving off his courtier, Odin settled against the cushions with a hearty exhale, “Not a princess Loki.  A queen.”

“But I’m not a king.  At least not yet.”

“And you won’t be until you find your mate.” “Are you- What are you saying?” “I think you understand me perfectly.  If you want the throne of Asgard.  My throne.  This-” slapping his palms against the golden chair for emphasis, “-throne, then you’ll find a queen.”

And while this edict wasn’t entirely out of the blue, it still chaffed Loki.  Find a girl, settle down, then give up on the things that made his immortal existence worth enjoying?  Not exactly the life Loki longed for, but... on the other hand, the throne he craved.  The crown.  The kingdom. Odin certainly knew what fruit to dangle, tantalizing and tempting, in an effort to tame his wayward son.  As much as Loki hated admitting it, he had to admire the old goat, as this was exactly the type of con he was fond of pulling.  Maybe that’s why he was so frowny-faced when you saw him next. “Your highness?  Is everything alright?” Pushing past you without a glance, Loki paced a circle in front of his chamber’s ornate and roaring fireplace, “The old codger has something on his mind, but I’ll be damned if I know what his game is!” “So the meeting with your father went-” Spinning on his heel, acknowledging your presence for the first time, Loki snapped, “He wants me married!  Me!  And he says the throne is mine once I find a woman who’ll ‘take me on’.  Pfft.  As if finding a woman has ever been a problem for me.” You knew what came next, it always did; “Of course not!  Loki, you’ve always had your choice of ladies!  Anyone of whom would be lucky to have had you once, much less wed and bed you nightly.” Words, your words, wrapped around the put out prince like a comforting quilt.  It was a part of your healing power and one of the myriad of reasons you were given the position of Loki’s adviser.  When all else failed, you, somehow, could reach him.

Gently, you nudged Loki towards the heat of his blazing hearth, knowing how much he enjoyed the mesmerizing flicker of flames.  Lingering near him, you couldn’t resist closing the gap between his rigid form and your own curvy body, even if it was brief and purely selfish.  Not a hug as that wouldn’t be right considering your position, but sharing his space was almost enough.   Turning to face you, visibly relaxed now, Loki gifted you a soft smile, “What would I do without you?” Humming now, you brushed a stray lock from his forehead before tucking it behind his ear with a tender tsk, “Pout and posture and argue.  None of which would help you in the slightest.” Sighing resignedly, Loki moved closer to his chair by the fire, “You’re right, as per usual. It’s just, I never really considered a wife before.  Oh, it’s fine for Thor and Jane.  They love each other, after all.  But for me?  Domestic bliss and all that nonsense… Being a husband?  I can’t say it’s something I have ever aspired to.” Pouring out a glass of plum colored wine, you slid the goblet closer, advising, “That may be true, my lord, but it appears that you have to consider it now.  If you want to be king, that is.” His hand, long fingered and strong, grabbed at your wrist, holding you fast, “I do.  Want to be king, I mean.  I just wish it didn’t come with this particular string attached.” Still in Loki’s grasp, you let the cool touch of his skin temper your own, savoring the intense flavor for a moment.  Below the surface your heart pounded, hot blood bounding through your veins at this, the slightest of contact.  These encounters with Loki, always fleeting, set a small ember burning inside you.  But he was your ward.  Your charge.  And there could never be anything more than that between you. Disgusted with yourself but unwilling to show any emotion beyond support for your prince, you shrugged free of Loki’s grip, countering cooly, “Hoping to be a bachelor ruler, then?  Fuck your way through the Nine Realms, footloose and fancy free?” Rewarding you with his rich laugh, Loki sat back, spreading his muscular legs wide, “You know, you walk like a woman but talk like a man.” “It’s the best of both worlds, isn’t it, sire?”  Distracted now and irritated with yourself, you wanted one thing: escape.  Bustling about, tidying insignificant items, you found that you couldn’t bear to be any nearer to Loki.  You were too needy; he was sure to see that desire painted on your face.  And you couldn’t allow that. “Stay for a sip, won’t you?”  Loki offered by tipping the bottle your way, a hopeful light shining in his eyes. Straightening, you glanced his way with a small head bob, “Not tonight, I’m afraid.” At your refusal, Loki focused on the flaming logs, twirling his wine glass by the stem.  He didn’t look your way again.  Instead he licked over his bottom lip before exhaling, “Alright then.  You’re dismissed for the evening.” With a small, perfunctory curtsy, you mumbled, “Thank you, my lord.” and scurried from the chambers of your raven haired ruler feeling like a coward.

That conversation and the twenty thousand or so similar ones that followed were haunting you.  Each day it seemed like you were talking down a highly stressed, incredibly agitated God of Mischief, as every attempt at securing a suitable bride went, inevitably, south. Afenheim and it’s royals had essentially laughed when Loki requested the honor of their eldest daughter’s presence on Asgard.  Something to the effect of, “Not a chance, Trickster” accompanied by a cask of well made beer, had been sent in lieu of a lady to woo.

Noone could make heads or tails of the response from Vanaheim.  The runes and glyphs were so inconsistent that even the wisest among them was left scratching their heads.  Either the Vanir wished Loki luck in his search or they were hoping to borrow a wagon.  Fire demons on Muspelheim didn’t make very safe wives and Jotun Frost Giants were a bit too cold, even for one of their own.  Niflheim still wasn’t over housing Hela for a millenia and the Dark Elves of Svartalfheim, well, none of them were coming to Loki’s party for obvious reasons.  “Well, what about Nidavellir?  We should send a letter to the Troll King and-” “No.  Absolutely not.”  Your hand found your hip on instinct, irritated with Loki’s defeatist attitude, “And why’s that?  Too good for a Troll Queen, are we?” “Well yes, but not only that.”  Loki paced aimlessly, wearing a track into the emerald and gold rug, relaying as he went, “Imir once tried to overthrow my father and imprison Thor.  I don’t think I can marry one of their bearded women with that kind of history, can I?” Throwing yourself into a seat at his well appointed table, you pulled a stack of blank pages and fresh ink forward.  You were ready, if not eager, to begin another round of inquiries as you crossed the most recent refusals off your list.  Pondering Loki’s soliloquy, you fiddled with your quill, drawing lazy scrolls along the edge of your parchment.  Doodling without purpose was a favorite trick that often helped you clear your thoughts, especially where Loki was concerned. Luckily for you, Loki was focused on the horizon, out over the Rainbow Bridge and not watching as you roughly sketched a tall, lean silhouette.  His broad back was to you, but that was for the best, really.  Lately, his sad eyes were almost too much to bear, with all their longing and hope being dashed at every turn.  Truthfully, it was becoming painful to see Loki wounded over and over. Yes, you had spent a lot of time with Loki through the years, learning his mercurial ways.  In certain circles, some might say too much of your life was wrapped up in Odin’s youngest son, but you had never seen it as a burden.  Why would you when your prince was lively, engaging and when no one else could see, incredibly thoughtful.  Loki, your Loki, remembered your birthday, which flowers you favored and how you liked your tea.  He asked for your opinion and honored your advice, even if he didn’t always follow it.  Rarely cruel, at least to you, Loki asked for one thing from you above all else: the truth. So you did your best to deliver the most truthful and honest feedback a person could give.  Now it was second nature; the ability to scold and correct, offer suggestions and in all ways that mattered be seen as an equal.  It was truly the cornerstone of the close relationship you shared with the God of Mischief.  And if, on occasion, you fibbed a little in order to help Loki save face, who could blame you?  He was yours to guide, not destroy, after all. Perhaps that’s why, every so often, you had to remind yourself that Loki was your work and nothing more.  Not that it made your nights any less lonely.  Loki was your life’s pursuit and you had thrown yourself into the project wholeheartedly, to the complete disregard for your own existence. On evenings when you were able to leave Loki’s chambers long enough to fake a good night’s sleep, you found you couldn’t stop thinking about the demi-god and what trouble he might be making in your absence.  At palace events, when you should be dancing with your own partner, you could always be found near the royal table, offering support and encouragement to the youngest prince.  Even now, knowing how Odin had managed to wrap Loki’s love life into his ambitions, you couldn’t help it.  Your heart, usually all business, was weakening. The truth was, no matter what you thought about the proud prince who was yours to console, Loki would find a woman to marry and claim the throne.  If you were lucky, you might have a place among his household staff, but it wouldn’t be the same.  He would have a wife.  A partner.  That traditional and accommodating spouse who would become Loki’s confidant, counselor and consort.  He would no longer need the healing you offered and, like so many of his broken toys, you would be forgotten.   Swallowing that painful thought, with as positive a tone as you could muster, you countered, “Well, my prince, if the trolls are out, I suppose that leaves Midgard.  Sans royalty, you really could have your pick of Terran women.  I hear that some are-” “Yes, yes.  Many are lovely.  Soft skin, no beards.  It’s just-” Without lifting your eyes from your scribblings, answering softly, you finished, “-Not enough.” Loki, leaning against the stony window sill, clever gaze watching you, nodded solemnly.  You, who had always been so comforting, so calming.  You, the intelligent voice behind almost all of his decisions, good or bad, with no judgement beyond that of a friend.  You. “Too bad I can’t marry you.” His tone was light, casual, and you hummed a response before really processing the words Loki had spoken.  Sitting up swiftly, your quill splattering ink, sputtering out sentence fragments, “Loki!  My lord, I could… we could never!” And then he was kneeling at your side, his solid frame crowding closer, pinning you to your chair.  Eyes that you had seen feral with fury, furrowed with frustration and clever with craft, softened now as his full mouth formed a charming grin, “Why not?” Why not, indeed.  You moved to stand, always thinking better on your feet, but Loki stroked up your back, capturing the length of your hair in his fist.  Using the leverage to tilt your head back, Loki peered down at you with a look that took you in, nose to toes.  Not as a secretary or attendant under his rule, but as a woman.  He noticed, possibly for the first time, the heated flush that blazed over your bare shoulders, up your ears and across your cheeks.  “Are those freckles?” he asked, in a voice shattered and sultry. Unsure for the first time in his presence, you attempted a nod but Loki’s grip on your braid didn’t give.  If anything he pulled tighter which encouraged a wistful whimper, “Uh huh.” “Why haven’t we ever kissed?” It’s a simple question, really.  One that you’ve contemplated many times before and never satisfactorily answered.  Oh, you had dreamed about it - falling into Loki’s arms - particularly in the late nights after a palace soiree or one of those not so rare occasions when helping Loki meant mending a mischievously bruised ego.  Of course you had wondered ‘why not me?’ a hundred times or more.  And of course there was only one answer, “You, Loki, your highness, are the prince.  I am your council.  Your adviser.  Your personal healer.” “So?-” The smile Loki gave you was full of temptation and you found yourself staring at his perfect mouth as he added, “-I have had many a healer in my years, but never you.”

In these maddeningly long seconds you are forced into thinking about all those missed moments as Loki’s wolfish gaze lingers over your delicate neck, with its tendons stretched taut.  Your pulse, setting a mesmerizing beat that he can’t seem to shake, beckons him closer.  Wiggling a bit, hating your disadvantaged position, you tartly pop, “Why?  Loki, you never asked me.” The knuckles on his free hand graze against the apple of your cheek.  Loki’s fingers, curling slightly cup your jaw, as he huskily drawls, “Are you saying all I have to do is ask?”  Like an ensnared rabbit, you know you’ve been caught.  The scales have tipped.  It can never be the same between you again. This time, he allows you to nod your head, chuckling low when you do, “Is that a yes then?  Because I couldn’t hear your answer.”

It’s too much too soon, having all of Loki’s attention in this way.  When he taunts you, it feels like he’s poking fun at your very fragile feelings.  Glowering, your temper spiking at his callous teasing, “I won’t repeat myself, even for you, your majesty.” If Loki expected you to be a simpering, sallow, sweetheart, he was going to be severely disappointed.  You were still you, even with your shining eyes and full lips.  You were still someone Loki admired, maybe even more so, now that he knew you were no push over.  Throwing his head back, Loki barked out a laugh, “Norns, but you are a fiery woman!” Using his self satisfying moment as a distraction, you pushed to your feet, claustrophobic and eager for space.  He’d almost had you, damn him!  For a moment, when Loki was peering at you with his soulful stare you had been ready to believe him, believe in him and his feelings for you.  God of Lies!  Never had a person been so aptly named. Stomping away, your hand grabbed his door handle, ready to yank it off if the rotten hunk of metal dared to keep you inside Loki’s chambers any longer.  Feeling the latch give, you risked a look back over your shoulder, and stumbled when, from behind Loki brusquely shut the door with a snap. Swinging your head with a snarl, “Loki!  Let me out!” “Oh no.  We’re not finished yet.”  That’s when you felt the unyielding weight of Loki’s long body pressed tightly against you.  There was a hunger on his face that you couldn’t remember ever having seen before and it made your stomach flutter.  His size and stature had never intimidated you, but then, Loki had never looked you over with such lust filled eyes.  His hands.  Those articulate and agile hands that you’d watched wield swords and pour mead now firmly gripped your hips.  Bending his dusky head towards your own, Loki hissed, “Don’t you want me?” Wavering, your throat dry, you croaked, “I’ve always wanted you.” “Always?” Without another sound, you grabbed at Loki’s upper arms, yanking him hard.  Squeezing your eyes tight, not wanting to see the inevitably surprised look on his face, you risk a rough kiss, pressing hard against Loki’s closed mouth.  Rigid with unused passion, you can feel a knot between your shoulder blades and hear the ragged rush of your breath.  But Loki is silent.  

He’s still there.  You know it’s true because you can feel the heavy heat of him, even if you refuse to confirm your suspicions with a quick peek.  Seconds tick by and, now full of doubt that you’ve messed up, somehow, someway, the pain of losing everything you love sends a small sob shaking through you. “Look at me.” Loki has ordered you to do countless things in the time you’ve worked together.  Every command, however wild or weird, you had always followed.  But you’re struggling now. “I said, ‘Look at me.’”

His breath rumbles over the shell of your ear, a whispered shout that makes you jump in the confines of his closeness.  Reluctant and regretful, you lift one lid tentatively before blinking both eyes open. Curtained in the dusky curls of Loki’s hair, you find that you’re almost nose to nose with the prince of Asgard.  And he’s smiling? “Loki, I’m-” Using his longest finger, Loki rests it over the swell of your lips with a shaking head, “Shhh… my turn.” That same finger traces a line over the slope of your chin before tilting it into a perfectly accessible position.  Parting your lips, another apology on the tip of your tongue, Loki’s hand wraps around your throat loosely, stopping any protests that you might mount.  “I’m going to kiss you now.  Really kiss you.  So, you might want to hold on.” Weakly nodding, you manage to lift your arms so that they drape around Loki’s narrow waist.  He’s so solid and firm under your hands that you’re distracted from the smooth, perfectly placed pecks he peppers under your ear and along your jaw.  Nosing at your neck, you squeal at the nip of his teeth where your pulse beats the strongest, then sigh as he soothes it with a light lick. You’re under Loki’s spell as he moves your head wherever and however he wishes in order to taste you next.  Spaced out on sensation, it takes you a beat to realize that his hands have wandered lower, circling your rib-cage, just under your bust.  When Loki draws you hard against him, you lose your breath, moaning softly, “Please…” Mercy.  Loki takes mercy on you, capturing your lips with his own, holding you fast.  His first pass is feather light, barely there, and you find yourself chasing his plump pout, almost afraid that Loki’s going to stop.  You shouldn’t have worried.  Slow, soft kisses sweep over your nose and your cheeks, trailing back to your bee stung lips.  This time, when you sighed sweetly, Loki invaded. Slick and sweet, his tongue slid against your own, sealing you together.  Clinging to Loki, you clutched at the steel banded arms which held you close, your fingers tangled in the folds of his tunic, struggling to get as close as you possibly could.  Plunging deeply, his talented tongue tangled with yours before sucking softly on the tip of your own.  But it wasn’t enough.  You needed more.

Leaning into him now, you sought out Loki’s silver tongue, only to meet with denial.  Fluttering your eyes open, his forehead gently resting against your own, the pair of you are breathless and panting heavily.  Loki grits his teeth, growling, “My personal chambers.  Take off all your clothes and-” offering you a wicked grin, “-wait for me.” Any thought of resisting flies out of your head with the heady rush of heat spiking through your blood at this, his dark command.  Meekly nodding, swallowing hard, you push off of the sturdy door at your back almost eager to do as Loki’s ordered.  Colliding with the wall of living, breathing Asgradian leather in front of you, you squeak out a small apology before ducking under the cage of Loki’s arms. As you scurry excitedly over the familiar floor, past the desk where you’ve written countless letters, around the table where you’ve poured gallons of wine, you feel every inch the rabbit in Loki’s snare.  A hunted thing.  A wanted thing. Rounding the overly ornate gold bed, you paused long enough to catch your breath, wringing your hands.  How long did you have?  Could Loki be stalking this way, right this very minute?  The thought made you moan, fueling an aroused ache that radiated from your weeping core.  Prickling hot skin trapped the heat Loki had generated with his downright raunchy request.  It made your hands fumble as you rushed to undress, fingers taking too long to move over your buttons, knotting your sash instead of untying it.  Flinging the garment free, your lungs heaved as you started on your underpinnings.  With a final yank you were entirely clear of every scrap of lace and linen.  Deeply inhaling twice more, focusing on the door to Loki’s room, you strained to hear any tell tale signs of his approach.  You let your hands fall to your side; there was no place to put them without any pockets, besides Loki hadn’t given you any instructions beyond nakedness.  Beating wildly, your pulse thundered in your ears as seconds ticked by and still Loki didn’t arrive.  Anxiety bubbled in your belly but slicked your thighs and shortened your breaths.  In the open air your nipples hardened, touch starved and sensitive.  You couldn’t help fidgeting, unsure but determined to please your prince.  If only he’d end your suffering. Chuckling darkly, Loki ran a hand through his tousled hair, eyeing your figure on the move.  It was difficult not to take you right then, against the thick oaken door, with your wide eyed stare daring Loki to devour you.  Willpower, well, that was part of Loki’s mischief, wasn’t it?  He had learned that one had to set and bait traps.  Watch and wait.  Let the bunny find its way and then, well… Sauntering now, Loki snatched a goblet from his table and poured a dram.  With a loud exhale, he gulped at the wine, steadying himself.  He wanted to make you wait, to worry, to wonder.  Loki wanted you and he was ready to have you. Still- He lingered.  In his mind’s eye Loki could see your smooth skin, the sweep of your curves, the shape of you.  And if he wanted only your body, you were prize enough, certainly. But that wasn’t all Loki Odinson craved from you.  Not anymore.    Almost as soon as the decrepit king had issued his challenge, Loki set his sights on his future.  You.  Granted, you weren’t royalty, but that was easy enough to overcome.  What you were, with your wise advising and healing ways, meant more than a title.  You were indispensable to Loki and there was no way he could possibly rule all without you.  What’s more, he wouldn’t even consider it. And now - right now - you were bare and biding your time in his bedroom, as your future king commanded.  The thought alone made his godly length painfully hard.  Straightening up, Loki strode for the door that led to you.  The future king had waited long enough. You heard the knob turn, causing shivers, as goosebumps broke out over your exposed skin.  Loki, your Loki, stepped inside with those crystalline eyes glued to your frozen figure.  Sidling up to your side, circling you slowly, he hummed, “What a good girl you are, following my directions so well.” Those words broke over you in a fiery rush that made your knees buckle, “Loki, I-” but he silenced you with a lean, greedy look and shake of his dark head.  You wanted to tell him that your body was beyond ready.  You felt like screaming that you needed his touch.  You didn’t.  Instead, lengthening your spine, you bit into your bottom lip as you rubbed your damp thighs together in an effort to release some of your body’s blossoming tension. Loki noticed, a broad smile breaking across his handsome face, “Uncomfortable, darling?  I think I can help with that.” Then he was at your back, his shirt like sandpaper along your bare shoulder blades, offering you the warmth of his nearness.  Feathery, his fingers floated over your ribs, resting on the crest of your hips, dragging you even closer.  Whispering now, Loki crooned, “I’ve always wanted you too.  Did you know that?” Slinking higher, you arched against him as his hands firmly cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing lightly over your straining nipples.  “You thought I didn’t see it… your little looks, those tiny sighs, the millions of small things that someone does for you when they truly care-” with a pained pinch, Loki emphasized his point, adding, “-But I have.  And you know what I realized, my darling?” Eyes screwed shut in ecstasy, you shake your head, spacing out on the overwhelming sensations of your submission.  Hot breath blows over the hollow of your ear, wine scented and sweet, “I realized that I already had my queen.  She was right before my eyes the entire time.” Loki’s left arm wraps around your chest as his right hand reaches to cup your throbbing mound.  What he’s said, it’s too much to process, but his actions speak volumes. Smoothly, his deft fingers trace the line of your slit, not entering you - not yet - but distracting you, nonetheless.  Teeth attach to your earlobe, biting into the fresh there and you’re entranced with the rhythm of Loki’s harsh panting exhales filling your head, “Be sweet now and spread those gorgeous legs for me so that I can give you what you need.”

Even though you were smart.  Even though you were tough and hard headed and clever, when Loki asked you to give him all of yourself, you did it.  Mewling, messy, you shifted your feet apart. “Oh, darling!  You are so wet for me… just like my woman should be.”  Filling your channel with his graceful digits, his thumb held firmly over your swollen clit, as Loki spouted his perverted praise caused you to curse, “Loki!  Fuck!” Separating his fingers, spreading you wider, Loki chuckled, “Say it again.” You clutched at him, struggling to stay on your feet as he set a slow, sensual speed with his hand, “Say… say what?” “My name.  The name of the man who brings you such pleasure.” Rubbing against him, your round bottom grinding over his steely rod, you laughed in an unhinged, needy way, “It’s you, Loki.  Uh… Loki.  Loki!  Gods, yes!” Curling his fingers, raking along your satin walls, Loki kept them moving inside of you.  His free hand strayed to your breasts, taking it in turns of squeezing your pliant flesh versus tugging on your nipples.  Ragged and clipped, your breathing picked up in time with the tightening tension in your tummy.  The spiraling sensations of your release climbed.  Loki, ready and ruinous, raked his teeth over the ball of your shoulder.  “You are so beautiful, my queen.  So lovely.  Cum for me, I want to feel your pleasure.” With a cry your walls crumbled from the inside out in a white hot flash.  Loki caught you just as your legs gave out, cradling you to his broad chest, soothing you with kind kisses and soft words.  Gently turning you in his arms, Loki’s smile was genuine as he brushed a strand of hair off your tear streaked face, “Hmm, look at you.  Why, you look like a lady who just came for her king.” And perhaps you should have been embarrassed.  Other women might have been, surely.  But, as Loki knew so well, you were not like other girls.  Sighing with a shrug, licking over your parched lips, you surveyed the smug sight before you.  “I’ve waited for you a long time, Loki.” Looking over your recently bruised shoulder, grunting with acknowledgement, “I know.  But I won’t take the throne without you at my side.” Shaking your head, still a little more than rattled from your release, you started towards your discarded gown.  Loki, whip fast, snagged your wrist, stalling your movements, “Please.  Marry me?  Be my queen?” “I’m no more a queen than you are a commoner.” With another pull at your hand, Loki had you enfolded in a tight embrace, “My father told me to find a woman who would take me on.  And-” those shining, hopeful eyes searched your own, “-I’ve already got her.” Still naked, still sore, you couldn’t help snarking, “It’s not like you have a lot of choices left.” Ruefully snickering, Loki traced the line of your clavicle, “True.  There is no princess left for this prince, because it’s you.  It always has been you.” Too much flattery.  Too much of Loki’s charm.  Shaking your head, our hand finding your hip, instinctively, “About time you figured that out, Loki.” Laughing now, squeezing you tight, Loki countered, “You’re right.  You always seem to be. My most trusted advisor-” Loki kissed your forehead, “- my most capable healer-” another peck to the tip of your nose, “-my most devoted friend-” a brush of his lips over yours, “-and now, my beloved Queen.” You let him capture your mouth once more, enjoying the wantful way Loki held you, as his touch trailed over your silken skin.  He’d done it, you thought, your fingers tracing his sharp cheekbones.  Somehow, Loki had given you everything you wanted and gained his throne at the same time.  It was your turn to chuckle, tossing your hair over one shoulder, “Ok.  I’ll marry you.  I’ll sit beside you and do all those things...” “But?” “But, right now I want you to take me to bed.” Swinging you into his arms, cradling your body, Loki smiled broadly, “As my queen commands!” --- My Minxes:  @scrumptious-finicky-illusion @vodka-and-some-sass @just-random-obsessions @brokenthelovely​ @lots-of-loki​ @thefallenbibliophilequote​ @toomanystoriessolittletime​ @roguewraith​ @that-one-person​ @jenjen8675309​ @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​ @caffiend-queen​ @jamielea81​ @capcapcapsicle @lokislittlecorner​ @crystalizedcaramel​ @rorybutnotgilmore​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @ahintofkiwistrawberry​ @nonsensicalobsessions​ @shxdowofdarkness​ @procrastinatinglikeabitch​ @unadulteratedwizardlove​ @iluvsumbucky​ @jessiejunebug​ @wolfsmom1​ @sammy-jo1977​ @mizfit2​ @iamverity​ @tamstrugglestowrite​

[soullessmocha]

i think; therefore i am || part one

{ fem! witch reader x poly!the lost boys }

|| part two ||

part rating: teen

word count: 20716 (i am so sorry)

part summary: a nomadic witch running from her dark past (reader) finds her place after travelling the states on the shores of santa carla. in a way to make money she sets up a booth on the bustling boardwalk where she gives a few readings to a couple interesting characters for some loose change. this night she discovers she isn’t the only supernatural being.

warnings: mature language, mind manipulation, violence, use of tobacco, a cute familiar, nightmares, allusions to being burned alive, witch trials, hints to major character death, visions, and the lost boys being violent (mainly david.), this has not been proof read it has merely been skimmed.

“I promise I will be good. Please mother!” You yell towards the cloaked woman who looked at you with a disdained look on features. Features you once found comforting and like home turned on you in an instant. Those soft features are now rigid and gaunt from stress and aging, but the worse link to all the features was the cobalt blue eyes. Eyes that reflected the moon so sharply that it was almost mirrored. Eyes so sharp and focused as your mother shook her in disappointment, “No, you won’t,” her words were forthright showing no emotion behind it. How did someone who you called your mother betray you and not even take a second glance? “No, no! Wait! No, I promise!” You start to trash against the rope that is wrapped around your body, confining you to a large wooden pole. Stretching your body to its breaking point as the only color you could see was red. Then it was hot, burning, seething your skin away as one of your sisters lowers a torch at your feet. Your eyes connect to the moon as your throat lashes a blood-curdling scream into the starry clear night.

Gasping for the air you shoot up from your makeshift bed, sweating coating your skin in a glossy layer. Your lungs rapidly gasp for air as they burn from your fears that have your heart racing so much it punches your ribs. A shift in the bed causes your attention to shift. Your cat, a scruffy black devon rex steals his way up the side of your bed. His head tilting before making his own way into your lap a loud purr radiating off of your pet in his best attempts to calm you. You lift a shaky hand to plop it down on the cat’s back who tenses for a quick second before stretching his paws to your chest, reminding you to breathe. A slight smile comes to your lips, “I’m fine, Finn. Really,” you sigh and rub away the hair sticking on your face from the layer of sweat on your skin. “It’s always the same nightmare.” You admit to your furry friend who makes his way to the tail end of your bed. He stretched and tipped his nose upwards as his spine curled sniffing the air as if he was trying to investigate the surrounding area. With your heart rate slowed just the slightest you pull yourself from your bed and shuffle through the hallway that leads from your bedroom to your living space in the trailer you parked on the cliff overlooking the beach. The sun was setting, casting an orange hue in your trailer, the light catchers reflecting rainbows as they twirl mindlessly from the free breeze coming through the cracked window. Peace. That was a safe haven. However, with the sun setting you realize you have taken a nap when least expected. You must’ve needed it after the first night of working on the boardwalk. Who knew reading tarot, runes, and palms to tourists would take so much energy out of you.

A sigh escapes your lips as you attempt to step around Finn to get to your closet where you pick a black outfit with an ornate shawl to help you stand out. 

“Be good and protect the home,” you kneel down to scratch Finn under his chin after you have gathered your last-minute things and open the trailer door to have it close behind you. A quiet meow echoes from behind the door and your smirk at the small goodbye from your pet. It didn’t take you long to start up your old truck with a few hits and a couple pumps for the clutch to make your way down to the boardwalk parking lot.

The night was the same as before but this time a couple of well rounded security guards started to come up to the booth later on into the evening. The wind was a bit harsher and the waves crashed in rhythm of the music that was being played on the tiny radio next to your ankle. The boardwalk was filled with all strains of life. There were well rounded individuals taking their picture perfect families for a night out to teens dressed in all black with every inch of their face covered in piercing and colored hair. You preferred that crowd. Then again it didn’t help to get money from those picture perfect families who you only give half ass readings for. When the heavy boots of the literal rounded security officers approached your booth were you snapped from your thoughts. Looking them up and down you can instantly get a feel of their energy, they were hostile and annoyed by the night already. Yet the night was still so young. 

“Excuse me, do you have a permit to be setting up your booth here?” The officer with the mustache questions shifting his weight onto one leg jutting out his hip.

“Yeah, you need a vendor permit to even set up here on the boardwalk,” the skinnier one of the couple started before picking at the cloth of your booth, studying it with a devious smirk. “You tell fortunes? Tell me how we are going to kick you off the boardwalk.” The two chuckle at the joke yet in a calm manner you stand with your hands on the ornate cloth. 

“I do tell fortunes, but not those who tend hurt others because they have a flimsy gold badge on their breast,” you start and give a rather deceiving smile as you tilt your head. “I do not have a vendor’s permit to be out here. However, I am sure you know how hard it is to make a living during these times. Surely you can give me a pass.” You suggest and the fatter one with the mustache snickered at your suggestion. The two looked at one another but as they looked back at you they were met with purple hazed eyes and fingers that were pointed at them which radiated purple energy. “Now, I hope you will listen to me,” you begin this time your voice was an octave deeper as you displayed your abilities to them. It wasn’t hard to sink into their minds and be able to control such a feeble psyche, the purple illuminating from their eyes indicated you were in. You didn’t even need to chant a hex to even get them to repeat after you, “I will not approach this vendor anymore.” They repeat and a smirk quivers on the corner of your lips, “I will not terrorize anyone who I deem… different. I will walk away now and forget I ever saw this vendor.” Once they repeat you flick your wrist the two men turn on their heels and quite literally march away to whatever other duties they have. You grumble to yourself as you sit back down pushing the skirt under you so you can sit properly on the chair. 

As you adjust your trinkets and cards on the table you can hear from afar an excited young boy's voice, “Mike! Look! It’s a fortune teller. We have to do this!”

“No Sammy, we said we would go to the concert and meet mom back at the entrance. I am not stopping for some phoney fortune teller who just reads some useless cards to tell me literally nothing.” the older voice replies back with an annoyed tone and quite ready to walk in the opposite direction. You don’t look up to give the hint you are listening, in fact you lean back in your chair starting to shuffle your tarot deck because indeed you know the two will end up before you.

“Well too bad. I came here to have fun and you’re ruining it. Live a little Mike. You’ve been grumpy all day,” pouts the young blonde, “plus I didn’t say you needed to get a reading done. i got my own money.”

“How did you get money?”

“I stole it from your wallet!” The younger one laughs and charges his way over to the booth and you make eye contact with him, his grin was wide and full of innocence. Blue eyes that were striking amongst the moonlight, they glimmered with hope and curiosity. “Dammit Sam!” the older one whom you assumed to be the brother charges behind. “Hi, how can I help you today?” You asks in your kindest customer service voice. The young boy holds out the ten dollar bill, “I would like a reading if I could have one please. Mom always told us about her tarot card readings, but I would like one for myself.” He grins to the side as he looks over his shoulder to his older brother, a brunette with a strong build who seems to already be annoyed just standing next to this booth and his brother. “Why of course, thank you! Take a seat please.” You request and glance over to the older brother, “If you’d like a seat by all means sit.” He didn’t respond, only took a glance at you before looking away. He was skeptical and nervous. Of course he was. “Normally I don’t do readings for such young gentlemen like you, but I like you already, so I will do a general reading. Now before I get started, may I have your name?”

“Sam,”

“Nice to meet you Sam, I am Y/N. Thank you once again,” you grant a thanks and start to shuffle your cards. Normally with normal individuals the cards don’t have this much energy. You give a breathy chuckle and shuffle fiercely before a card flies from the deck. You plant it face down before looking young Sam in the eyes giving him a playful smirk at his eagerness. “You two have a lot of energy for you, that’s a good thing.” You compliment but the older brother just snickers and crosses his arm before another card flies out. It didn’t take long for the third to fly out. You align the cards, “Alright let’s see here, this card represents you. The page of cups,” You smile gingerly at the card before flipping it to show the boy. “You are filled with wonder, you love your family and have a curious nature to you.” You can see the boy is looking at the card with curious eyes. Take in the fancy man holding a golden chalice balance on one foot and his heel. He is dressed in quite jarring clothes like the boy sitting in front of you. “You also love to express yourself in ways that are creative, like your fashion, or music.” You not before hovering your hand over the next card. “This card represents the path you are on," you flip over the card to see the emperor standing sitting on his throne high and mighty, “the emperor. Now this card is quite powerful, one of my favorites. You are on the path of seeking how to defend yourself and those you love. How to become more powerful in the sense of trying to find structure and to grow in your sense of logic and practicality.” At this point you didn’t even notice the older brother has now sat down. Full attention on you and the cards. You give him a wink before turning your attention back to his younger brother, “It seems like you’re trying to find a father figure role within yourself or by others.” The boys' features soften from a grin to a saddened look, that must’ve struck a bit too close for home. “Let’s continue, shall we?” You ask and he slowly nods glancing over at his brother. You carefully flip over the last card, “This card represents your potential,” your eyes glance down at the justice card. The figure holds a sword and a scale in each hand, sitting on a chair with authority as a scarlet drape is behind them. “Justice. You know what it’s like to be wronged, treated unfairly, you will have to face the truth soon. Whatever that truth is, you have to see everything from each point of view. Going back to the Emperor, you need to be logical and work on that skill in order to find your Justice. You will generate peace and harmony to those who surround you.”

“Wow, thank you, that’s- that’s awesome,” Sam thanks you leaning back in the folded chair carefully eyeing his brother who was staring diligently at the card, studying them and seeming astounded. You lean forward and tap the table under his nose. “I can do a reading for you as well, free of charge. I like your little brother. However, I would like your name.”

The blue eyed brunette looked up at you with wide eyes, filled with wonder and trying to read your own eyes. “Michael. My name is Michael,” you smile at his name and gather the cards back into your pile. You shuffle in the bustling white noise of the  busy boardwalk. A card flies out and lands face down on the table. You shuffle until two more fall from the pile. “Alright Michael, let’s see who the cards say you are.” Your black painted fingers flip over the first card to be greeted by the figure of archangel Michael blowing on his trumpet as the words read ‘judgement’. “You are going through a new journey, a new beginning. You are starting anew. You also find comfort in sharing your struggles with others who relate and you want freedom from your own troubles. Then we have,” You start flipping over the second card, “the ten of swords.” You whisper and you glance up to see his worried eyes look at the pictured body stabbed by ten swords pinned to the ground. “Don’t overthink it.” You whisper ducking your head to make eye contact with him, trying your nest to make him feel safe. “You're going to be betrayed by someone you begin to trust. The pain inflicted runs deep not because what they have done is hurtful, but because you know deep down that this marks the end of your relationship as you know it with them. You will grieve the loss of the relationship. This card is about letting go and accepting your circumstances.” There was silence between the two, you could hear a pin drop if one was to.

“It’s a warning,” you say and clear your throat to ease the tension a bit. You flip over the last card to show the lovers card. “The lovers,” you smile longingly at the card, “you will be ready to establish your own beliefs and follow your heart in the end. You will find love for yourself but love will also find you. In every choice you make on your path, there is an equal amount of advantage and disadvantage, opportunity and challenge, positive and negative. I am excited for you to find your other half.” A warm smile comes to your lips but there was wary to the middle card, that card showed the journey he was going to begin was going to something dark. The clapping of a hand on someone’s back causes you to jump out of your trance. “Well gentlemen, I hope you got the answers you two were looking for. Thank you for stopping by, if you have any more questions or any more services, I will be here.”

The two respond with weary smiles and slowly get up from their chairs with soft thanks as they continue to make their way down the boardwalk. A twinkle of a smile was left on your lips as you watched them walk away. 

Hours later you find yourself with a tip jar that is half full and a bag that contained crumpled bills that were stale and some damp. A sigh leaves your lips as you clean up the station, cleaning up the scrying orb in its case and the tip jar in the bag full of bills. Just before you started to take down your sign you saw four shadows cascade from behind you. A low hum left your lips and you turned on your heel to see four men standing in front of you. Quite young looking, dressed in all black, a couple more than the others. A small smile peaked your lips. “How can I help you gentlemen?” You ask the stoic figures as they stare down at you, purely interested and emitting a strange energy. They’re energy was really strange but you couldn’t put your finger on it. 

“Well we were seeing if it wasn’t too late to get a couple of readings,” the one with the spiked platinum blonde hair responds. His head tilts as he looks into your eyes. For a second you had to look away from the piercing blue eyes because you felt your head go dizzy. 

“Of course, what are you looking for? I do tarot, palms, and even runes.” You inform as your make your way to your side of the booth. Your folding chair creaking as you sit on it, your posture upright and alert. 

“Well, Marko? Which one do you want? You begged to come over here before they closed.” The platinum spoke up again, you tried to get a read on him, by his upright body language he seemed to be the leader of the little posse. Though you were new to the boardwalk you never really saw them around. How did you miss them? Granted you were new to town, but only by a few weeks.

“I’ll go with a palm reading if it means the cutie gets to hold my hand.” The one name Marko pipes with a chuckle from his peers. You can only roll your eyes playfully to play along, “Well sit down, palm readings start at $10 for that comment.” You tease the curly haired man who skipped to your hair and held out his hands with a snicker following. The fingerless gloves covered most of his palm so you nod your head towards his hands, “May I?” You ask before he responds with a nod and cheesy grin. As you started to slip off his hands your eyes peered over his head to watch his friends behind him. You take in their appearances. The platinum blonde was starting to light a cigarette. The other wild haired blonde was walking forward to admire the trinkets on your booth. While the tall brunette was giving you a cold stare as he watched you take off his friends gloves. Each of them donned a single earring and a jacket that was different to their individuality. You clear your throat and look at Marko, “It is nice to meet you Marko. I hope you find this reading useful and beneficial to you for the future.” You start as you take his cool hand into yours. Overlapping his hand with yours you didn’t mind the cold hands, or think much about it, the night was quite chilly.

You roll your shoulders back and roll your neck to relax. As you did a shock was sent through your nerves and you gasped sharply. As did Marko who received the same energy suddenly, causing a pained groan to leave his throat. The energy surges up to your neck causing you to close your eyes tightly. A vision. Pain. Darkness. Betrayal. You can see through Marko’s eyes. He was in pain and bleeding everywhere. There were inhuman screeches all around him; his friends jolted around in him in disturbance and rage. Then you realized they were hanging upside down. Their faces looked like nothing that they did now. Features were contorted, eyes were bloodshot and yellow, and teeth sharp. Just as your vision ended you felt a stabbing in your chest just like the object in Marko’s chest. A pained yell left your throat. There was an echo of Marko yelling out in pain and incoherent yells of the boys behind him. 

You shot Marko away from you with shadows of purple energy following him. The chair shot about six feet from under him and Marko rolled to a stop with the wild blonde following after him in concern. 

“What the hell was that?!” The leader booms rushing to your table, his hands grasping the table with a crushing grip. You could hear it crack as you try to catch your breath. The pain was unbearable. “What the hell are you?!” He interrogates again with a sharp tone. This time he threw the table to the side effortlessly. You gasp and stand in response. Your hands fly up in a contorted shape with purple shadows lingers around your fingers. The leader was stuck in his palace, grunting and struggling against your will. Pants leave your parted lips, brows furrowed and pained as you hold back the leader. Exposing your power.

The three other men kneel around their curly haired friend. Your eyes flicker to them, “There is one thing I can’t stand about vampires,” you croak, holding the leader in his place bringing him as you walk closer to the boys. The look on their faces when you announce your knowledge of their supernatural being, now that look was priceless. “They don’t know how to control their temper.” You choke out as purple energy hazed over your eyes. Their eyes widened at the energy around their leader and the shine from your eyes. All of them scramble to their feet. 

The brunette was first to act and you were faster to stop him mid run. He was now frozen under your spell. Energy outlining his shape as he looked around frantically. You wipe your hand causing him to fly straight through the railing and far out into the ocean with a purple orb pushing straight into his chest. Then with another flick of your wrist the leader went flying right after the brunette with another orb following to make him go further. Your purple eyes scanned towards the two blondes who looked hostile yet intimidated. Before they could even take a step you waved your arms and contorted hands in front of you, to each of their bodies, with a cross of your arms the two slam into one another with a crushing thud. You push the energy out with your arms and hands and the two blondes went flying far out into the ocean following their peers with purple orbs pushing into their chests. 

You were left there on the dark boardwalk, cascaded under orange street lamps, panting with purple shadows flowing around your eyes and glowing in your eyes. Your adrenaline pumping through your veins caused your breathing to become ragged. It took a beat for your breathing to return to normal. You slid your stance back to normal to show your calming nature. Your hands return to your sides no longer casting purple energy and your eyes are their normal color but still widened in fear. Behind you was your booth table broken in half, your items thrown all about wildly from the wind, and your scrying orb shattered near your feet. Dollar bills flying wildly wherever the ocean breeze takes them. 

Taking one last deep breath you tilt your head out towards the crashing onyx waves. The humid breeze thrashing your clothing all about. You press a clammy palm to your forehead as you curse quietly to yourself, “Shit.”

a/n: this is the first part of a series that i have been writing on and off for the past month. i’ve always wanted to incorporate a witch into the lost boys because it would be so interesting! this will be sort of slow burn poly!the lost boys kind of vibe. please let me know if you’d like more of this series. thank you so much for reading!! 🖤🖤🖤

[pascalpanic]

At Last (Frankie Morales x gn!Reader)

Summary: you, Frankie, and your fur baby go camping! Little does Frankie know what you have planned.

W/C: 2.1k

Warnings: flirting, innuendo, alcohol, food, language, otherwise, this is toothaching fluff!

A/N: SAMMY MY BELOVED @sanchosammy GAVE ME THIS IDEA! I hope it’s as cute as I think it is :) also, Charlie (Frankie’s pup) isn’t involved in this fic but she is still part of the fam :)

Pine trees surround you on either side, tall and majestic. You can see the blue-gray sky patching through the canopy; the clouds are leaving, but some linger a little longer to clog up the sky. The air is warm and slightly humid, but a wonderful breeze rustles through the trees and rushes across your bare arms. Your trail shoes squelch underfoot in the damp ground. You sigh, totally content with this moment. 

Frankie’s flannel is tied around his waist, leaving him in his khaki cargo pants and t-shirt. A couple of curls peek out from under his ball cap, turning into little ringlets at the nape of his neck. He walks in front of you on the trail, his boots pressing prints into the soft ground. His back profile is beautiful, even with the large camping pack, and you can’t help but grin. 

Foxtrot embodies her name- Frankie is holding her leash, and the auburn and white dog trots up ahead of him, sniffing along the mulched and muddied path. The air smells of humidity that’s just passed over and that wonderful accompanying petrichor. Fox’s white paws are surely getting dirtied, but that’s only to be expected. You don’t care, too excited to watch your boyfriend and dog walk ahead of you. 

Frowning at the bend of Frankie’s back, you catch up and take his free hand. “Let me carry something, baby.”

“No,” he shakes his head, lacing his fingers through yours. “You have important cargo,” he teases and pats your back lightly. 

Strapped to your back, in a backpack-style blue case, is your ukulele. One hand carries the cooler, slung over your shoulder, filled with food and drinks for tonight. Frankie carries the heavy-duty stuff- the tent, stakes, more essential supplies. “At least let me take Fox.”

Her red ears perk up at her name and she stops, turning and growing excited, as if she forgot you were there. “Yeah, hi Foxy!” You coo as she runs towards you, jumping with her front paws in the air in excitement. “Yeah, you love it out here, don’t you?” You ask her in a baby voice, scratching behind her ears as she circles around your legs and prevents you from moving. Frankie drops her leash in order to prevent your legs from being tourniqueted by it, and it drags behind her in the mud. 

When you pick up the leash, it’s sludgy and damp, but you don’t mind too much. You continue the hike forward and Frankie and Fox follow at your sides, both beaming ear to ear and enjoying the serenity of the woods. 

Frankie picked the campsite, so he’s technically leading the way, but the trail is fairly straightforward, meaning you don’t need to be led. Frankie points out wildlife here and there: chipmunks, rabbits, cardinals and chickadees flitting through the pine-needled canopy. He’s in his element, and you’re in yours: with him. 

The mud gives way to drier ground ahead, and luckily enough Frankie pulls off to the side. It’s the perfect spot, with a beautiful little field of wildflowers. “Welcome to your five-star hotel for the night, babe,” he assures you and kisses you softly, making you giggle and kiss him back with excitement and a pinch of nerves in your stomach.

There’s a routine the two of you have silently adopted. Frankie sets up the small tent, just big enough for the two of you and Fox. You gather kindling, set up a fire, arrange the chairs and all-around make the outdoor area of your campsite ideal.

Frankie is a man of patience, truly, but sometimes the little portable tent proves to be a challenge. You allow Fox off of her leash, knowing she’s well-trained enough to stick around the site, and find your way to the mess of fabric and stakes covering the man. “Baby. For the love of God, we do this all the time,” you tease.

“Well, something must’ve fucking changed,” he grumbles as he fiddles with the parts. You get on your knees on the soft bed of dried pine needles and help him out. With your help, the tent takes no time at all to put up, and you stand and brush off your hands. Frankie gives you a sheepish smile and you give him a kiss. 

The two of you don’t need to converse while you set things up. You enjoy the woods, the rustling of the wind and chirping of birds. Fox curls up on the blanket you set out for her, and when everything is done, you unzip the cooler and hand Frankie a beer. “Well, now we’re all set.”

“Let the fun begin,” he chuckles and twists the top open, clinking his glass bottle to yours. 

“So, Francisco,” you smile over at him. “What do you have planned for this trip? I know you have some sort of plan laid out up there,” you tease and rap on his head softly, through the trucker cap resting there.

He blushes a little and looks away. “I don’t always have a plan.”

“Hey.” You turn his face back to yours by the chin. “You do and I absolutely love it. Now tell me about it, please, baby.”

Frankie removes his hat and runs a hand through his curls. “Well, I figured we could start the fire soon, cook dinner over it. It’ll get dark pretty quick. Then hang around the campfire, maybe play some of the games I packed.”

“Is a quiet tumble in the tent on the cards?” You ask him with a teasing grin, nudging his side. 

He shrugs, jokingly, as if he’s considering it. “I don’t see why we couldn’t squeeze that in. We only have, oh… three hours of time in between these plans.”

“Then we’ll use all three of those hours,” you shrug and steal a kiss, smiling into his lips. “I love you. And I love it out here.” You were never a nature person before Frankie, usually preferring indoors adventures to hiking or camping. Frankie looks like he belongs out here, and he probably thinks he does. Even if you didn’t enjoy the fun of outdoors adventuring, you’d have at least one thing to enjoy: Frankie’s excitement and enthusiasm over it. “Thank you.”

Fox is curled at Frankie’s feet, and he bends over to scratch her ears, running his fingers through her scruffy fur. “Thank you, baby. For coming out here with me and putting up with all of this. I couldn’t ask for a better adventure partner.”

-

You do, indeed, cook dinner over the fire. You’d prepped all kinds of chopped vegetables to be grilled over an open flame, and had additionally packed pre-cooked hot dogs as well as s’mores ingredients. Frankie is a firm believer that it’s not camping if it doesn’t include graham crackers, chocolate bars, and marshmallows.

Luckily, your Frankie is a skilled griller. He always is, always has been. He takes care of the cooking part, since you prepared everything else, though he lets you hold the hot dogs over the fire to roast. “I feel like I’m at camp again,” you laugh as you slowly rotate the food over the fire.

Frankie is taking charge of the vegetables, expertly. They’re getting a beautiful char, you notice. “It’s much better, because you don’t have to sneak around to make out with your boyfriend at night, huh?” He teases and tosses you a grin. 

“But I get my boyfriend all to myself,” you nod and confirm. “And I have my baby girl with me,” you coo as you rub Foxtrot’s head, where she’s resting at your side.

The meal is delicious, of course, when the two of you work together and each used your strong skills. Frankie slips bites to Fox when he thinks you’re not looking, of course, but it’s endearing, the way the dog’s big brown eyes mirror those looking down at her.

There’s not much conversation while you eat, mouths occupied with food rather than speaking. That’s alright. There’s plenty of time for that tonight and tomorrow.

The sun starts sinking lower when Frankie brings the marshmallows from the tent. “Guess what time it is!” He exclaims as he rips open the bag, skewering two marshmallows and holding them over the fire.

Like he’s a skilled griller, he’s also a wonderful marshmallow-toaster. Frankie toasts yours to perfection, just the way you like it, and you do your part as the s’more-sandwicher, shoving the marshmallow between the graham crackers and chocolate.

There’s no signal out here, and you agreed neither of you would use your phones unless an emergency happened. Frankie frowns as he sees your phone. “Hey. Put that away. Don’t use that.”

“There’s an emergency, Frankie,” you whine, opening the camera app with one hand and eating the sugary dessert with the other.

“And what’s that?” He asks, taking a bite of his s’more. 

Strings of gooey marshmallow connect the sandwich to his lips, making him laugh, and you snap a picture at the perfect moment: Frankie’s closed-lipped smile as his s’more falls apart on him. “You’re too damn cute, that’s the emergency,” you laugh and set the photo as your lock screen, tossing it away.

Frankie’s schedule actually worked itself naturally. After the s’mores and a wet-wipe hand-washing to remove the endless marshmallow from Frankie’s hands, you find yourself sitting around the fire, no light left in the sky. When you look up, all you can see is inky blue and pine trees, the stars yet to make their nightly rise. 

“I have a song request,” Frankie asks and raises his hand like a child in a classroom.

“Yes, Francisco?” You tease as you walk to the tent, grabbing your ukulele and returning with it, sitting back in your lawn chair with it. “Hit me.”

“Only The Good Die Young by Billy Joel. No, wait- Country Roads.”

Laughing, you noodle around with the strings for a moment. You knew this moment would come, and here’s the opportunity. “I can play all of those and more, Frankie. We’ll do the Billy Joel first,” you nod decisively.

Frankie sounds like the forest wolves at night when he sings along. He absolutely howls, taken away by the song, taken to a place where his voice isn’t just a little on the rougher end of good. He belts the words and dances along in his seat, like you do.

Then Country Roads. You thought the last one was bad before you hear Frankie’s booming voice echoing the ballad of West Virginia through seemingly the entire preserve. But you don’t care in the slightest. You sing along proudly, strumming your ukulele harder and harder until you’re sure you can’t add any more volume before snapping a string. 

After the song, you pause and rest your ukulele flat on your lap. “Frankie, baby. Can I ask you something?”

He nods, smiling over at you. “Any time. What’s up, buttercup?” He asks, taking one of your hands and kissing the knuckles.

“Will you marry me?” You ask. The question is straight and to the point, blunt and honest. Your face conveys your hope, and the grandiose speech follows. “I love you beyond belief, Frankie. I love you almost as much as you love these woods. I know you love me too. I just… think it’s time. We’ll be perfect for it. What do you say?”

You can feel Frankie’s slightly-chapped lips curve into a smile against your hand. He’s grinning and then he’s crying, soft water droplets forming in the corners of his eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you,” he grins, grabbing your ukulele and setting it aside.

Once the ukulele is on the ground, Frankie stands in front of your chair and lifts you to your feet, kissing you with such fervor you can’t help but gasp. When he breaks away, you smile, eyes watering too. “I know it wasn’t the most elegant of proposals, but-”

“It was the most us,” Frankie cuts you off with a teary grin. “I would be honored to be your husband, my love. You really want me enough to do that?”

“Frankie,” you coo, cupping his face in your hand. “You are the best husband I could ever want, could ever dream for,” you assure him and kiss his nose gently.

The man laughs, wiping his tears away. “Then let’s get married,” he whoops excitedly, then lets out an excited shout to the woods. “We’re getting married!”

You laugh at his loud and booming declaration, but nothing can detract you for the love and joy in your heart.

When you and Frankie settle down in your chairs again, you pick up the ukulele and finish off with one last beautiful song that you and Frankie have always adored, with a title that truly fits: At Last.

-

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers  @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @tacticalsparkles

[blonde-in-charge]

Wildcard, Chapter One

** Hello everyone! My name is Kat, and this is the first imagine I have ever posted! I am still really new to the posting process so please stick with me. Anyways, I hope you enjoy **

Summary: Steve Rogers found you on the side of the road after a mission involving Hydra and convinced the Avengers to take you in. You have no name, no memories, and no idea of what you are capable of. All you know is that you are a super soldier with more hidden abilities than you care to admit. The first step to finding answers was to train you. Nobody, including you, knows what is up your sleeve. 

Characters: No Pairings(yet) Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark, Sam Wilson

Warnings: Tiny bit of cursing, Loss of memory, Mentions of blood/violence, Scars

Words: 3.3k

Waking with a start, you groaned at the action of shifting your legs between the scratchy sheets. Your legs tightened and strained from the previous day, making you unable to move comfortably. Sitting up, you hiss as you strained to throw your legs ofthe side of the bed. It was quiet, for once, in the tower. On any other normal day, you would hear the group you lived with from down the hallway, chatting loudly over breakfast and laughing. You glared over at the angry red numbers projecting themselves into the air. 

4:45am

Shit.

Pulling your arms up over your head, you stretched your aching muscles until you heard the satisfying popping noise come from one of your elbows. You pushed yourself off of the bed and sighed as your legs took on the weight of your body. You ached like never before even just standing still. You felt up your nightstand in the dark, knocking over random half drunk water bottles in the attempt to find your glasses. Satisfied when your fingertips took hold of the lenses, uncaring of the fingerprints you knew would bother you later. The door automatically slid open as you walked towards it, slowly and not picking up your feet. One of the perks of living with Tony Stark was that you never had to open a door on your own, the downside was you had the misfortune of walking into non automatic doors on the rare occasion you left the tower.  

The halls were silent in the tower, making the shuffling of your feet seem louder than they should have been. As you walked past the doors of your colleagues you could hear soft snoring from one of the rooms and louder snoring from further down the hallway. You smiled to yourself, knowing your friends were getting what you couldn't, sleep. It wasn't like you tried to get less hours of sleep than everyone else, your mind and body have not let you rest since you have joined the team. 

-Eight Months Ago- 

You sobbed, curling yourself as tightly into a ball as you could, holding your hands to your chest as your hair whipped through the air. You had secluded yourself into the corner of an abandoned gas station in god knows where. You had no idea where you were, how you got there, what was happening, or even who you were. You had woken up on a cold metal table in a concrete room wearing nothing but a sports bra and tight training pants that stopped at your ankles. You don’t remember how but you broke the cuffs holding down your wrists and ankles, leaving bloody gashes in their wake. 

Your attention was drawn to the sound of heavy footsteps nearing you as you pushed yourself into the wall, begging to just disappear through it, “Please don’t take me back” you sobbed, hot tears rolling down your face, “I don’t know anything just let me go!”

Uncovering your face you looked up into a man's face. He looked relatively young with his blonde hair but the worry lines he was sporting upon looking at you aged him. 

He knelt down in front of you keeping his distance, “Shhh, I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help you. What's your name, kid?” He studied your face with kind blue eyes, his gaze felt instantly calming.

“I- I don’t- I don’t know,” you stared at him in disbelief, how could you not know your own name? The man looked at you and nodded before looking behind him and speaking so someone you could not see

“Guys, I found a girl about 10 miles out from the compound, she is in pretty rough shape. Have the quinjet meet at my coordinates ASAP,” He spoke softly around you but in a commanding tone until he nodded, apparently getting answers from the voices you could not hear. His eyes trailed back to your eyes, searching you. His eyes then trailed down to your hands clutched at your chest and they filled with worry. 

You looked down at your own hands stretching them in front of you, there were deep cuts on either one of your wrist running all the way around until they met in a circle, and they were bleeding profusely onto your exposed stomach. You looked back up at the man, suddenly extremely light headed and you watched his figure fade away into darkness as you passed out. 

-

The coffee maker trickled the dark liquid slowly into the pot, a sound that soothes your nerves every early morning. You wished you could go back to sleep but everyone would be getting up soon anyways, and coffee was calling your name. Whatever that was. The minutes ticked by as the coffee pot filled up and you realized you had stood there unmoving, staring at a whisk while trapped in your own mind. You reached up into the cabinet for your favorite mug and hissed as your muscles protested the sudden movement. You felt the presence of someone behind you as you poured the fragrant liquid into the mug. 

“Didn't we have that talk with you about announcing your presence in rooms when you entered, Buck?” You held the mug in both hands and turned around to lean against the countertop.

The brooding soldier stood before you with his resident scowl on his face and long brunette hair sticking up in every direction. Your eyes scanned over the man sporting black tee shirt and sweatpants, the circles under his eyes matching his outfit. He looked as if he slept as well as you did. He studied you for a second, his eyes questioning why you were awake.

You watched him carefully, “Bad dream,” was all you offered to him before he gave a knowing nod before looking away from you, his actions told you he was up for the same reason. He took a seat at the island in the middle of the vast kitchen and rubbed his hands up over his face as you made him a mug of coffee. Bucky took his coffee black, with one sugar, while your coffee had to be the color of your sheets with at least four sugars. Like the bad ass you were. He gripped the mug with his flesh hand, allowing himself to feel the heat of it before he sipped it. You two sat together in a comfortable silence that was familiar with the both of you. Your relationship with Bucky was the strongest of any relationships in the group (besides yours with Steve) despite your lack of communication. Both of you had seen the same hell and understood each other on the deepest level. Bucky never looked at you longer than necessary, even when speaking he kept his head down, he only ever looked at you when you weren't looking, to study you. Everyone in the tower treated him as a time bomb, except for you because you understood the trauma he has experienced. You had been in the tower long before Bucky had joined. The reason you were found was because they were looking for Bucky. 

A new set of footsteps caught your attention and pulled you out of your thoughts of the dark soldier. The familiar and heavy footsteps rounded the corner and met your face with a refreshed smile. You gave him a half smile, “Morning Capt.” 

Steve smiled at you over his shoulder as he opened the fridge, “Good morning, kid. Good morning, Buck,” He started pulling out different ingredients for the breakfast he was planning on making, but every morning you take over that process because Steve hasn't cooked ever in his life. As he pulled foods out, you pulled out pans and made your way over to the stove

You busied yourself with making scrambled eggs and bacon while letting your mind wander. Your relationship with Steve was strong, you had been inseparable since he brought you to the tower because of the sense of comfort he gave you. Steve had been extremely protective of you when it came to the other team members, he was always worried you would get over-stimulated or someone would cross a line with you. He was the best friend who let you sleep in his bed when you had nightmares but also would hold you down when your line of sanity breaks. That was another thing you and Bucky had in common, everyone was waiting for you to snap. If the power went out in the tower, your room and Bucky’s room would be the only two doors that lock and stay locked. You were also suspicious that Tony’s interface, Friday, sends Steve notifications of when you leave your room at night or if your heart rate elevates unexpectedly, because Steve always was there out of pure chance. 

“She's doing that thing again,” The voice snapped you out of your deep thought and you looked up into the face of Sam, “Mornin, Hot Stuff,” He grinned at you, the stupid grin that he did when he referred to you as one of your ever changing nicknames, “How did you sleep?” 

You finished plating the mountain of bacon you had made while distracted and ignored the question, “Would you like a cup of coffee, Sammy?” you asked as you turned around to face him and place the food on the island as the rest of the Avengers seemed to file in. 

You weren't surprised to see Bucky had already escaped the kitchen quietly, he never sat in one place for too long. Steve had watched you with concerned eyes, which made you realize he caught the part where you ignored Sam’s question. You shrugged to yourself, I can survive on two hours, I’ll be fine. Natasha came and touched your shoulder, “Gym in an hour, resuming our session from yesterday.”

You sighed, you were still so sore from yesterday's training. You could barely sit in a chair without your muscles locking up so how did she expect you to train again? Yesterday consisted of 100 weighted squats, but your weight was Steve Rogers. Nat really liked to make you work on the thing you struggle with the most, your strength. When you first came to the tower, you had broken the bathroom door, actually you didn't break it, when you tried opening it, you basically threw it across the room and broke a lamp. Your current favorite mug is the 12th favorite mug since you have been here and Sam refuses to give you a fist bump because you broke his hand the last time, you cringed at the memory. You made your way to your bedroom and pulled out a sports bra and leggings. Most of the clothes you owned were either Natasha's or free Avengers merchandise. You made your way to the bathroom and removed your glasses to put your contacts in, you wondered if you had always had trouble seeing distances, not that you could remember. You looked at yourself in the mirror, the (y/e/c) eyes staring back at you looked so tired and unfamiliar. You brushed down the wild mane that was your hair and pulled it into a tight braid. You opted to wear a long sleeve tee shirt to cover the nasty scars that littered your body from your rescue, you knew no one cared but you did not need a reminder. 

-

Natasha was ready before the hour was up and you knew it. You always met her early in hopes of ending the session early, but that never happened. The training room was located three floors down from you and it took up the entire floor. Nat was standing in the sparring ring in the center of the room with Tony and Steve.

“Do I have to squat both of you?” the whine was evident in your voice and Steve chuckled

“No, we are going to help you learn to control your powers,” He gave you a slight smile and you could sense the anxiety in his voice

“Which ones?” You raised an eyebrow at him and he looked at Tony

Tony cracked his neck, “The ones we know of, hopefully those are the only ones but you have been known to surprise us,” Tony sounded slightly annoyed, you knew he was not your biggest fan, “but I came prepared.” He slapped the fire extinguisher at his side like a new car 

Natasha looked at you sensing your discomfort at the situation, “where do you want to start?”

-Eight Months Ago-

You woke up with a start, one second you were in front of this man and the next in a bright room. You blinked rapidly to adjust your eyes to the light as you sat up to take in your surroundings. You were in a small room of glass that separated you from a larger room that looked like a medical office from the future. You felt your arms and looked down to see deep white set scars that circled both of your wrists. You looked up and made eye contact with the man that saved you before as he made his way to your room and stepped in. He had a soft smile on his face as he glanced at you, “Mind if I sit?” he asked, gesturing to the chair at your left you didn't even realize was there. You nodded at him silently and he took his seat while watching you examine your scars, “I hope you got some rest, you have been through a lot the last couple of hours.”

Your head shot up as you looked at him, you opened your mouth to speak and let out a barely audible, “Hours?” You remember the slices in your wrist, they were so deep, how could this heal in hours? You looked at the man for some sort of explanation but he offered none

“My name is Steve, I was the one that found you last night. Do you remember that?” You nodded your head once again, “That's good, do you remember how you got where you were when I found you?”  

You were a million miles away trying to remember anything. You remember the room you woke up in, the way you tore yourself off of the table, the blood, and then all you could remember was fire and the howling of the wind in your ears as you ran. As if he read your mind, Steve nodded at you and combed his fingers through his hair. He stood up and left the glass cubicle for a second to speak to a woman outside. The woman then followed him in and started to unhook you from the various monitors around you before she stepped out of the room. Steve looked at you questionably before offering his hand and asking, “Do you think you can walk?” You nodded and slid your legs over the side of the bed and pushed yourself up onto your feet, holding Steve's hand for balance. He watched you take a couple of steps before he was confident you would be okay, “Follow me.”

-

You huffed out a breath that made the hair hanging in front of your face jump. Your body was screaming at you to let it rest but Natasha’s training was resilient. Tony had resorted to putting on one of his iron suits to protect himself from you. You looked at Nat and she simply nodded, “Again.” You sighed loudly and used all of your might to focus on the suit in front of you. Fire suddenly engulfed your hands and reached up to your elbows as well as your feet up until your knees. Your eyes had turned into flames that flickered out of the socket as you made a fist and punched Tony’s suit in the center of the chest, where his power source was. The lights in the suit flickered out as well as the flames engulfing your body. You looked over at Nat expectantly and she nodded in approval. You huffed out a sigh of exhaustion and doubled over with your hands on your knees. Your vision was spotty from the amount of power you put into the set but Natasha and Tony were relentless. “Stand up, we are moving onto the next set.”

“I’m fucking tired,” You hissed as you stood up straight, “Give me a second.”

Natashas stone look reamined, “You won't have a second if Hydra comes after you again.”

You flinched at the name, Hydra. No one has spoken that word around you since you joined the tower and rightfully so, the name burned through you and you felt your body start to heat with anxiety before Tony cleared his throat, “Look power puff, lets just get the next set finished and you can go back to hating the world after, yeah?” He clapped his hands together and faced you while ignoring Nat’s glare from the corner. 

You pushed the hair back from your sweaty forehead, “Fine, which set?” You took your stance across from the suit with your hands out in front of you, ready to wield whatever he asked for. 

You could hear the smirk in his voice, “Surprise me.” You shut your eyes to concentrate, then you felt the power creep up your skin from a dark place within you, causing goosebumps to rise. Your eyes opened and locked with the target in front of you. You swirled your hands around watching as frost covered the floor, creeping its way towards Tony before it encapsulated the feet of the suit with thick blocks of ice. The suit itself did not completely freeze over on the outside, you were forcing your abilities inside the suit, trying to force the millionaire out. The suit cracked in some spots and opened as a safety precaution to a worried Tony Stark, who was shivering enough to shake the ring. You barely hear Natashas voice as you watch the ice creep slowly up Tony’s body, his wide eyes staring at you with fear. 

“y/n!”

Your name snapped you out of the trance you had been in and you focused on the situation. Tony was almost completely trapped in a frozen block and Natasha’s feet were frozen to the floor of the ring, both of them staring at you with wide eyes. You turned around to face Steve as he stared at you with concern written all over his face. Your words caught in your throat, “I didn't mean- I’m- “ You turned back towards Natasha and Tony and forced the ice to creep back from them. Tony fell out of the suit onto his knees with a gasp, holding his arms and shivering violently. 

“Tony, I am so sorry, I don't know what-” Tony held a shaking hand up to you and you looked down at your feet.

“S-save it, k-kid.” He looked at you and leaned back to sit on the ground, “This is what I get for helping train th-the new kid.” He sighed and closed his eyes before laying back against the ground, “No hard feelings, Frozone. Just give me a minute and take the day off.”  

You watched him with worried eyes and turned back to Steve, who was mirroring your expression but not for Tony. You shrugged your shoulders and walked over to him, hanging your head low. He reached out to touch your shoulder but you flinched at the sudden movement. Steve stopped his hand and then dropped it, letting it hang limply at his side while studying you. You gave him an apologetic look before walking away towards the elevator. 

[mauvecherie-writes]

Dirty Thirty [Florian Munteanu]

Summary: For Florian’s birthday, you fly out to Sydney to be with him for the celebration of a lifetime.

Warning: NSFW*** BDSM themes. Sex Toys, Anal Play (Fingering and Pegging).

Word count: 3+K

Note: Things are about to get heavy with this one so please if you’re uncomfortable with what will be depicted, NO NOT READ! FIRST AND ONLY WARNING. Uploaded on mobile. Will edit later

A small chuckle left her lips as she thought back to the faces of the security at the border control when she arrived in Australia. Having a suitcase full of adult contraptions would bring a blush to anyone’s face. They looked back at her and silently closed the case and allowed her to eventually leave.

The first stop from the airport was the rented apartment Florian was staying at. She was very thankful to have been friends with the production assistant Sammy, who had the pleasure of driving her around and keeping her company until the cast were able to take a break from filming in about an hour.

“Are you sure that you’re not needed back on set? I can honestly just order an Uber.” YN said as she continued to do her hair. After they had arrived at the apartment, YN took a shower and then changed from her tracksuit into a colourful printed strapless corset top and black high waisted pants that had slits at the bottom by her ankles. YN tied the straps of her heels around the bottom of her trousers.

“Oh it’s fine girl. There’s like five other production assistants and I had let them know that I wouldn’t be there for a couple of hours.” Sammy replied as she surfed through her phone as she waited for YN to finish getting ready. Her hair that was usually in an afro had been silk pressed and then an installation of a long braided ponytail that she could interchange with other hair pieces that were neatly packed in her suitcase.

“So how has shooting been with all the restrictions in place?” YN asked as she packed her small purse and then grabbed a black surgical mask as she stood up, indicating that she was done.

“Honestly, I prefer it this way. The number of unnecessary people around the set has been cut down tremendously. My job is still pretty hectic but now I don’t have entitled set workers demanding me around when I’m specifically for the cast, director and the link to the production company.”

“That’s good. Are people allowed visitors because I feel like I’m breaking rules here.” YN said as they settled back into the car.

“If you had come around May, June time then it would have been a problem but as cases have dropped, a lot of the restrictions have been lifted so it’s not a problem.”

“Oh that’s good then.” The two women continued to engage in conversation as they drove to the location of the set. It was mostly about Sammy sharing the stories of the crazy and bizarre demands of the cast. In particular, Florian had an affinity for the weirdest american chocolate and sweets which Sammy most of the time had to order from online as most australian stores do not sell what he likes.

“And the man can eat! I was so shocked when I had to deliver his lunch for the first time.” Sammy exclaimed.

“Oh yeah! Dude can eat for a whole football team.” YN replied.

“I don’t know how you deal with that everyday.”

“Most of the time, I cook a feast because I know he’ll eventually get hungry and because of my work, I’m not at home most of the time that he’s there and I’d rather he eat what I’ve cooked and not order a takeaway.”

“You’ll be disappointed to know that I don’t think he’s had a home meal since we got here.”

YN laughed in response. “Somehow, I don’t doubt that.”

Their conversation continued to flow as they continued their journey to the area that they were filming. YN was a little skeptical about her presence on set but Sammy let her know that she had been put down on the authorised visitors list, they just didn’t tell Florian.

YN was there as a surprise visit for Florian’s birthday. With his core friendship group all busy, trying to get their business back up and his parents still being at high risk, she did not want him spending his birthday alone. YN began making the arrangements for a birthday trip to him. As her own boss, she made sure to delegate power and responsibilities to her employees so that they knew what to do for the two weeks that she will be gone.

She had a plan and Sammy helped her execute some of it and she was grateful for that. Right now, she was only going to the set location because there wasn’t any

way she was going to wait until he was finished working to see him when they were in the same place. YN had not seen Florian for over three months, she desperately missed him.

As the car pulled into the parking lot, she could feel her eagerness take over but she was going to be patient and wait until she saw him.

As the day drew to a close, the cast and crew had finished with most of the shooting and they were now sitting outside the director’s trailer having a conversation about their days which dove into the crazy stunts the actors have done in the past. Simu was deep into explaining a stunt move that dislocated his shoulder when he stopped talking when he saw Sammy approaching with a beautiful woman behind him.

“Who is that?” When he asked the question, everyone around him turned to face the direction in which he was looking. Florian instantly smiled and pushed his large body up from his chair.

“Baby!” he exclaimed as he walked towards her which left everyone behind him questioning what he said. YN moved past Sammy and ran as fast as her heels could carry her into his arms. She moved her mask and immediately captured his lips and moaned into his mouth when their lips finally met. YN could feel her heart swell tremendously in her chest as their lips moved against each other. His arms tightened around her as he swayed their bodies.

“I missed you so fucking much.” he mumbled against her lips as he placed her back down onto her feet steadily. YN placed her hands onto his cheeks and caressed his beard underneath her fingers.

“I missed you too baby.”

“I can’t believe that you’re here. Why didn’t you tell me that you were coming.”

“Surprise!”

“Ugh.” He engulfed her back into his arms and dropped his head into the crook of her neck. “You don’t understand how happy I am to see you.”

“I wasn’t going to let you enter the next decade by yourself.” She whispered into his ear. When they pulled apart, he took her hand into his and ushered her towards the group of people.

“Guys, this is my girlfriend YN. Babe, this is the crew that had been keeping me company for the past couple of months.” They all eagerly stumbled over their feet to greet her as they were bewildered by her beauty and the fact that Florian had a girlfriend. He kept his personal life very private and never shared anything more than just he was extremely close with his family and had a close knit circle of friends, he always kept contact with. Not once did he mention that he had a girlfriend and seeing her in the flesh, they understood why.

.

They hung around the set for a little longer before they made it back to his trailer and YN lounged on his couch, scrolling through social media as she waited for Florian to finish getting ready for dinner. She caught the scent of his cologne and she sat up straight and took in his appearance. He was dressed in a bright red t-shirt, black ripped fitted jeans with black and white Jordan’s with red laces. Around his neck was his single gold Cuban link chain. Such a simple look that had YN’s thighs clenching.

She got up from her seat and approached him. Her fingers played with his chain as he looked down at her.

“You’re going to make me forget about the plans I had in mind for us tonight.” She whispered as her hands moved his groomed beard and played with it.

“Hmm.” Florian hummed as he bit into his bottom lip. “What did you have in mind?”

“Don’t worry about that baby boy. Mama’s got everything covered.”

“Now I’m intrigued.”

YN kept the smirk on her face as they finally left the set and travelled to the restaurant that Sammy had picked out for them to have dinner. As they sat for dinner, YN kept close to him. She sat beside him, instead of opposite him. One hand was on his lap as they ate their food and she did not go long without kissing his lips. YN was being needy and she did not care how it looked to the outside world and Florian himself did not seem to mind it either. He was being showered by her attention and he greatly welcomed it.

By the time, they got to dessert, YN was ready to go. When the waitress came back to the table to clear their main entree plates, YN turned to her.

“Can we get the chocolate cake in a to go box please?” She asked.

“Sure. Should I bring the bill?”

“Yes please.” When the waitress left, Florian turned to face her.

“I can see the gears in your head turning. What do you have planned?” He asked which caused YN to smile.

“Don't worry about it.”

.

.

And he tried not to and that was until they got back to his apartment. She blindfolded him and took the time to strip him out of his clothes. She got onto her knees in front of him and slowly pulled the fabric down his legs and let him step out of them. Her teeth grazed the flesh of his thighs as she got back to her feet. She placed a soft kiss onto the corner of his mouth.

“Thank you for trusting to take control tonight.” She mumbled softly as she led him to the bed and laid him down.

“Of course.” Florian mumbled his response as he softly gulped as YN took each of his limbs and tied him to the bed. Once he was secure, she tugged on them to make sure that he won’t be able to escape so easily.

“Can you move around?” She asked him.

He tried to sit up but was restricted securely to the mattress.

“No.”

“Hmm.” YN smirked as she moved away from the bed and left Florian alone in silence with only his loud thoughts to keep him company. Anticipation prickled at his skin as he thought about what YN was going to do to him. He was the more dominating figure in the relationship but there were times where Florian relinquished that control to YN and she would take the bull by the horns.

Whenever they explored the trading of places in the bedroom, YN was wild and it exhilarated him. He never needed to say it but whenever she took control, he always came the hardest. She catered to his needs in the best possible way and pushed his boundaries.

He felt her presence back inside of the room by the floral scent of her perfume. The bed dipped as she got onto the bed and straddled his lap to take off the blindfold. As his eyes adjusted to the dim lights of the room, YN stood up straight to let him take in the outfit that she wore for him.

“Fuck, baby.” He groaned as he felt his hardness press into the fabric of his boxers. The leather caged the most intimate parts of her along with the sleeve covering her arms. Leather belts with metal rings wrapped around her thighs and torso like a garter belt and then came up her chest into a choker.

YN smiled as she bit onto her bottom lip as she bent her knees and brought her body down until she was hovering above his cock. She could feel just how hard he was and it made her moan softly.

“Do you like it?” She asked and he nodded his head, unable to speak. His mouth salivated at the sight of her just rendering him speechless. YN pressed her hand into his neck and pushed his head backwards as she dragged her nails down his chest. He hissed as he jerked softly underneath her. She repeated the action again and then pinched his nipples.

“Oh fuck!” He groaned as the acute pain of the pinching of his sensitive nipples sent small jolts of electricity straight to his cock. YN giggled at his reaction and moved her hands away.

“I’m going to have fun playing with you tonight.” YN got off him again and moved to one of her suitcases and opened it. Florian could not see exactly what she was grabbing but he could make out that they were toys. She came back to the bed and dropped everything that she needed. She grabbed a pair of scissors and cut his boxers from her body and another giggle left her lips as Florian reacted to the way she roughly pulled the tarted garments away from his body.

She hungrily licked her lips as she watched his thickness bounce back and hit his abdomen. His tip was weeping with pre-cum and it was a shade of angry red. YN bent forward and held onto his base and brought his tip to her mouth. Her tongue darted out and licked the pre-cum that had seeped out. His hips jerked upwards in response and let out a breathy moan.

“Is this for me baby.”

“Yes.” His voice was strained and it was pleasing to hear. With her other hand, she grabbed a cock ring and attached it to his base before she sat on her hind legs and grabbed the bottle of lube. She popped open the cap and squeezed the contents onto the palm of her hand and wrapped it around his girth. Florian gasped and pulled on the bondage as he failed to stay still.

“Be a good boy for me and stay still. Let me make you feel good but I need you to be still.” YN’s voice was like sweet honey to his ears. He loved it when she used this voice on him. The innocent tone of her voice was a sharp contrast to the explicit words that left her mouth and it was addictive. So he tried to stay still. The muscles of his stomach clenched as he tried not to thrust into her hand to follow her rhythm and chase her pace.

YN could tell that his orgasm was quickly rising from the way his length was throbbing in her hand. As his head fell backwards and his deep moans continued to escape from his chest, YN reached for the small vibrator, quickly turning it on and pressing it onto his tip. Florian choked on his moans as his legs began to thrash about and could not still any longer.

“Mmm. I can feel you about to cum.”

“Please.” Florian managed to say as his orgasm bubbled within the pit of his stomach. He did not think that he could hold himself back any longer and just as he was about to erupt, YN pulled the vibrator and her hand away. Florian growled in displeasure and looked at her with dark eyes of raging frustration. The smirk on her face could not be stopped as her eyes fell onto his face. As menace swirled in the brown of her eyes, Florian knew that she was going to ruin him.

YN continued to edge and ruin his orgasm until his entire body was trembling the strong need to release the tension that was locked into his muscles. With lubed fingers, she pushed two digits into his forbidden hole causing him to let out a pathetic whimper. The couple both explored anal play once in a while, YN more than Florian but in the rare moments that he did, he enjoyed it more and more. The first days, he was uncomfortable and weary about it but YN helped him get comfortable with the idea. His first orgasm triggered by the stimulation of his prostate opened his eyes.

She stretched him open and attached her lips to his tip and sucked on it, bringing him to the edge yet again. Florian’s moans were as loud as ever as he softly thrusted into her mouth. He was continuing to break her rules but he did not care. The desperation of his cries made YN weep. It was so seducing and she wanted to hear all the sounds that he made but she stopped once again.

“YN, please.” Florian pleaded weakly. His voice was weak and worn out but she knew that he wanted more. YN put him out of his misery and took off the cock ring which gave him some relief. He let out a sigh as he relaxed into the bed as she got up and walked to her suitcase again. She made sure that the strap was properly secured before she got back onto the bed and positioned herself in between his parted thighs.

To any man not content with who he is, this would have been incredibly emasculating but not to Florian. He was so aroused, his pre-cum was leaking so much, that he drenched his cock in it.

YN rubbed his thighs up and down with one hand as she coated the dildo with lube. With the tip teasing his puckered hole, she hovered above him and pecked his lips and looked into his dazed hazel eyes.

“Happy Birthday.” She whispered before slowly beginning to push into him, breaking through his tight barrier. Her pussy clenched as she watched Florian’s eyes roll to the back of his head and a long drawn out groan.

When she saw that she had filled him to the brim, she thrusted softly, making sure that he was well adjusted and comfortable. YN loved hearing his cries as he withered beneath her.

“Talk to me baby.” She spoke as she increased the pace. Watching him struggle to speak and against the restraints gave her the greatest pleasure. No one but her would see Florian this vulnerable.

“It feels so good.” He choked out.

“Yeah? You love me stretching you out like this?”

“Yes.” He gasped as she nudged his spot. She wrapped her hand around his length and began stroking him as he throbbed in her palm. “FUCK!” He exclaimed as he began to tremble and his chest heave heavier as he tried to catch his breath. Instinctively his body began to move in accordance with hers as he chased for his orgasm.

“I know what you’re doing. You want to cum don’t you my sweet boy?”

“YN.” Her name left his lips like a prayer as his fingers pulled on the ropes.

“It’s okay. I got you. Cum for for me.” She kept stroking and caressing until Florian let out the loudest groan and erupted all over her hand and onto his stomach. YN sighed with content as she slowly pulled out of him and watched as the orgasm continued to riddle his body.

His eyes were closed as she cleaned him up and untied him. The bondage left his skin slightly irritated from the tugging but he would be okay. YN took off the strap and her ruined underwear before kneeling beside him and trailing kisses up his chest to his lips.

As their lips passionately moved against each other, her skilful fingers were once again wrapped around his semi-hard cock. He groaned into her mouth and jerked in response.

“You okay?” She sweetly asked.

“Mhm.” Was his response as she straddled and her wet core hovered above his hardened girth. YN slowly sank down onto his length and moaned as he filled her up inch by inch.

Florian was overly sensitive and he had to hold onto her hips to stop himself from coming quick. A giggle left YN’s mouth as she sat up and raised herself up and sank back down clenching tightly around him in a calculated pattern.

“Fuck, you’re tryna kill me.” Florian hissed as he moved his hips in tune with her.

YN smiled as she bit into her bottom lip and swirled her hips. “It wouldn’t be a bad way to go.” Her comment caused him to laugh. He raised up from the bed and grabbed her ass into his large hands and began bringing her down onto him at a pace he desired.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and captured his lips as she moaned into his mouth. Her orgasm was quickly rising as she moved faster and faster.

“Baby.” She whispered as she scrunched her eyes shut and her mouth fell open.

“I’m here. I got you.” Florian cradled her body into his chest as their moans got louder and bounced off the walls.

“I’m gonna come.” She breathlessly whispered as she pressed forehead against his.

“Me too.” Florian groaned as he swelled inside of her. The sound of their love making serenaded them to the finish line as they climaxed together.

Boneless, they collapsed back onto the bed. They did not move an inch as they tried collect their breath and tiredness slowly creeped in.

“You really went all out tonight.” Florian mumbled as he traced patterns onto her back.

“Only for you.” YN replied as she placed a kiss onto the side of his neck.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Florian Taglist:

@emjaywrites @cali-strong @minton131 @amirra88 @bernie-k @xxkissatmidnightxx

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[robthomissed]

Life With Sammy

enjoy these little slices of life that I wrote based on a song that really doesn't mean anything but gave me the idea

inspired by Sentimental by WMD

Before Sammy

Life was…..fine. You were living and things weren’t bad but things just felt a little hollow. Every rainstorm or trip to the art museum or meal cooked for one was nice in a lot of ways but you couldn’t help but look around sometimes and feel like it would be nice to have someone there to share it with. Over time the light and color started to drain and each day was just more of the same. The small voice inside you saying it just wasn’t going to happen, time to make peace with being alone.

But then there is Sammy. He barrels into your life all big blue eyes, loud laughs, and warm hugs. You soon realize life with Sammy means more…

Laughter

He was laughing at you. This boy had the nerve to laugh at you even after you told him you had never learned how to skate. Sammy was managing to keep his amusement to soft chuckles as you wobbled along the wall of the Blues practice rink during a pre-season family skate.

“Come on babe, just slow down and watch me.” Sammy said as he helped you off the ice after your fourth fall in the last ten minutes. You weren’t one to stay patient while learning a new skill because your perfectionistic streak took over which was causing your brain to move faster than your feet could learn.

You let out a heavy sigh and took his hands as he proceeded to skate backward with infuriating ease. You focused your attention on his skates to try and pick up on what he was doing. Just as you thought you were getting the hang of it, Sammy's right skate caught a gash in the ice and he flailed backward dragging you down with him. There was a short moment of panic on your part when Sammy stayed quiet and still on the ice after you landed on top of him with his head tucked into your neck. Then after a few excruciating seconds, you felt him start to chuckle and you breathed a sigh of relief.

You both just laid there laughing to yourselves for a minute before he said “Okay, not that I don't love having you on top of me but let’s save it for when we get home.”

This sent you into another fit of blushing and giggling which you tried to hide by tucking your face back into Sammy’s shoulder. When you did finally manage to get yourself up off the ice Sammy still looked overly proud of himself that he had made you blush that hard.

Rain

You were sitting in Sammy’s car one night in the rain and just talking about life. Nothing and everything. Solving the world's problems and ranking the best place to get frozen custard in town. The rain is hitting the car just hard enough that it blocks out any noise from the outside world and creates a little bubble in time and space. It is only you two and the rest of the world is far away. The light from the streetlights coming through the rain-covered windows is lighting up his face in the most gorgeous way. The raindrops are casting shadows that cascade down the side of his face and make the shine of his eyes that much brighter.

Beauty

Sammy is beautiful in the small moments…

The way the summer sun brings out the auburn in his hair

The way his hand looked holding a wine glass

The furrow of his brows when he really focused on something

The way he always opened the door for you

The hugs after a long day

The way his voice sounds talking to your cat when he doesn’t think you are in the room

The crooked smile he gives you in the morning

The way he blushes whenever you tell him how breathtaking he is

Sammy is beautiful in so many ways and you hope one day he’ll actually believe you when you tell him

Relief

You aren’t stupid. You know the risks of playing professional hockey. You had seen numerous guys go down with various injuries in your years as a hockey fan. But having that knowledge in your head couldn’t prepare you for seeing Sammy crumpled in the corner after a crushing hit from you don’t even know who. The play continues up the ice but you can’t make yourself care as you watch Sammy lay still. Why haven’t they blown the whistle…. don't they see him? Finally, Torey gains control of the puck and the refs blow play dead as Ray trots out onto the ice. Robby quickly skates over to help him get to Sammy as fast as possible. The arena has gone so quiet you are sure the people around you can hear your heart pounding. Sammy begins to stir just as Ray and Robby reach him and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Okay. He’s moving. That’s good. Vince and Rouzy deliver a couple more trainers from the bench and then join Robby who is hovering just far enough to be out of the way but close enough to feel involved.

After a long few minutes, Sammy gets to his feet mostly on his own, and after a second of leaning on Vince and one of the trainers he skates off by himself. You stay in your seat for a few minutes unsure of what to do until Sammy texts you telling you they are sending him home but they want you to drive. You are greeted by Sammy’s widest smile as soon as you enter the training room. It makes you feel better that he isn’t flat on his back and seems to be mostly normal.

He gingerly gets himself off the training table and gives you a hug.

“You okay?” you ask into his shoulder

“Yeah babe, I’ll be okay. Just shaken up a bit so they don’t want me driving home” he says after placing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Okay good because I want you to stick around for a while,” you say with a sigh.

“Don’t worry you are going to be stuck with me for a long time” Sammy punctuates his teasing with a poke to your ribs which gets a giggle out of you.

“I think that is a burden I am willing to bear.” you tease back and break into giggles when he sticks his tongue out at you.

“Alright goofball let’s go home and get you off your feet”

Quiet

Sammy has a bit of a reputation for being loud. And he is when he is out with friends or when he gets excited about something but he also has a quiet side. Your favorite times with Sammy were when he was just walking around the apartment in his comfy clothes, a glass of wine in hand trying to decide what movie to watch. It was just so quietly domestic and made your heart do all kinds of fluttery things.

One night he catches you just staring at him while he is puttering around the kitchen making himself a late-night snack. When he notices he just stops what he is doing and asks “What?”

“Oh nothing.” you say quickly looking away trying to hide your blush from being caught.

“No no, tell me.” Sammy says as he circles around the kitchen island to stand in front of you and lean on the counter to block any potential escape.

“It’s- it’s just… I don’t know. I’m just really happy I get to see you like this.” you say blushing and barely making eye contact. Feelings are hard okay.

“ Like what?” Sammy says with just an adorably confused look that twists your gut a little bit more.

You sigh a bit and take a moment to find the right words. “Just this quiet side of you. I love your big and bubbly side but it is nice to know you are comfortable around me like this.”

Sammy looks at you still kinda confused, not saying anything and you begin to panic. “You know what, never mind just ignore me. Just go about your business”

After a few moments of silence, you suddenly find yourself pressed into Sammy’s chest as he tries to almost climb into your lap which is difficult since you were already perched rather precariously on the kitchen counter. You really can’t do anything besides hug him back and chuckle a bit.

When Sammy pulls back he just takes your face in his hands and kisses you on the forehead. “I love you babe. Of course I’m comfortable around you. So stare at me as much as you like.” He gives you a cheeky wink and turns his attention back to his snack.

Pleasure

All the years around various trainers and medical staff must have been what gifted Sammy with the unique ability to consistently find the knot in your shoulder with devastating speed and accuracy. The first time you had asked him to give you a quick shoulder rub after a long day you were not prepared for the targeted attack of his thumbs on your shoulder blades. He actually got a little scared when you let out a little noise of pain after he found a particularly sore spot one night.

“Oh no, did I hurt you!? My mom says I don’t know my own strength sometimes.” You didn’t even have to look back to imagine the way his eyebrows were knitted together with concern.

“No babe it’s fine. It’s that ‘hurts so good’ kinda thing. Keep going” You reassure him while rolling your shoulders to encourage him to continue.

Sammy seemed less than convinced but resumed his task nonetheless. He seemed to be holding back a bit though until he found a particularly tough knot and really went to work on it. You couldn’t hold in the winces and sighs as you felt the tension melt out of your body. It was your turn to be confused when you heard Sammy start quietly laughing behind you.

“Oh what now you are taking pleasure in my pain?” you asked with more than a little sarcasm.

“No, it’s just that I have only heard you make those noises under….different circumstances.” Sammy said with a smirk clearly heard in his voice.

You just rolled your eyes and turned to stick your tongue out at him because you couldn’t really come up with any clever retort. Sammy just continued to look very proud of himself when you announced you were going to make popcorn and he better have a movie picked out by the time you got back.

Struggles

You would be lying if you said that Sammy being out of town so much for a large part of the year wasn’t a strain on the relationship. You were the kind of person who really valued routine and knowing that your partner would be there when you got home most nights. You knew that that wasn’t going to be possible with Sammy and it had actually been the reason you had turned him down the first time he asked you out but thankfully he had persisted and you had decided he was worth it in the end. There were still hard days though because you would come home wanting to cook dinner together and cuddle on the couch but would be greeted by only your cat who was a great cuddle buddy but no replacement for Sammy. On those nights you would call Sammy just to hear his voice and see his smiling face. You were also usually treated to a few guest appearances by Vince and Rouzy who seemed to be ever-present around Sammy on road trips.

So while you still have bad days and crave the stability of a partner with normal working hours you know you wouldn’t trade Sammy for the world when he stumbled in the door dead on his feet but still trying to tell you every stupid thing Wally did and handing you some random airport trinket from whatever city the team had most recently visited.

Promise

Since Sammy had come into your life things had just felt better. You looked forward to getting up every day and seeing what was in store because you had someone to share it with. Sammy being in your life made you want to strive for more. He pushed you to be your best just like you did for him. You both made the other want to keep going to see where life would take you next. You never knew what was around the bend but you did know that you didn’t have to face it alone anymore.

Life with Sammy means more of everything...

[cosmicoceanfic]

2.2k, available on AO3

Dean and Cas jog down the stairs of the Bunker, duffle bags in hand. Sam notices that they seem a little looser in the way they walk, which is a relief. Both Dean and Cas have been holed up in their respective rooms for the past few weeks. It’s good that their trip to bury God’s book for Jack worked out for them.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“Hello, Sam.”

“Hey, guys.” Sam smiles, closing his book and standing. “How was your trip?”

“Went alright.” Dean dumps his duffle bag on a chair. “Cas and I got married. Taught him how to change a tire.”

Sam drops the book. It lands on the ground with a heavy thud. “You what?”

“Taught him how to change a tire,” Dean says, a little slower this time.

“No, not that one, the other- you got married?”

“Yeah.”

“The tire changing exercise was helpful.” Cas drops his duffle bag as well. “Especially since I will be continuing to use my truck.”

Sam can’t tell if they’re actually, legitimately fucking with him or not. “You weren’t even a couple when you left!”

“Then we were,” Cas says. “And then we were married.”

“How long was it between getting together and getting married?”

“Bout, hm.” Dean turns to Cas. “Three days?”

“It was on the third day, yes.”

Sam gapes at them.

“Why?” he manages.

Dean shrugs.

“Mostly we thought it’d be funny,” he says.

Sam doesn’t even have an answer to that.

“Aw, buck up, Sammy,” Dean tells him. “It’s almost like you’re not happy for us.”

There’s a slight apprehensive edge to his tone that snaps Sam out of his reverie. “Of course I’m-“ he moves around the table and hugs Dean, who allows it, and then Cas, who brightly returns it. “Congratulations, guys. Long time coming, I guess.”

“Thanks, man.” Dean claps his hands together, which Sam sees now has a faint glint of gold to it. “I’m hungry. Cas, you hungry?”

“I am almost always hungry.”

“Part and parcel of being human, buddy.” Dean gives him a clap on the shoulder. “C’mon. I’ll make us sandwiches.”

Sam watches, still feeling somewhat bewildered, happiness for them somewhere rolling around in that haze, as the two head out of the room, linking hands as they turn towards the hallway.

This isn’t the whole truth, naturally.

This is the reality:

For three weeks, Cas and Dean had hardly spoken, too uncomfortable, too awkward, until Jack had asked them for help, and if there was anything they could not ignore, it was their son coming to him when he needed them.

The trip to bury the book in a remote corner of the country had changed things, softened them, slowly but surely, until after five days, Dean plucked up his courage.

“Cas?” Dean had said as they walked into their motel room for the evening. Cas had looked at him, blinking sleepy eyes, patient.

“I love you,” he’d told him, steeling himself for whatever it was that came next.

“I know,” Cas had answered.

Dean had stared before he could get out “did you just Han Solo me?”

A soft, almost bashful expression crept across Cas’s face, shrugging his shoulders.

Dean gaped.

“Son of a bitch,” he’d said, and lunged in for a kiss.

Three days later, after slow and less slow kisses, linked hands as they drove on back roads, curling up in the same bed, exhausted from the road, Dean left to go get coffee for him and Cas when he stumbled across a pawnshop.

It was a gut decision. The sort you make without thinking through the implications, because it just feels right in the moment, and how could it be anything else later?

It caused more low level panic, however, after the two cheap gold rings had been purchased. He looked down at them in the little plastic baggy they’d given him at the pawnshop.

It’s a lot, he’d thought. It’s a lot, really fast. And he could already picture the look on Sam’s face when they came home, contorted in that specific expression he got when he’s pissy about being confused, the you left for one week and you came back-

Dean closed his fist around the bag before he shoved it in his pocket, stopping by the little donut shop and picking up two coffees and a couple crullers. When he got back to the motel, Cas was in one of his last clean tee shirts and toweling off his hair.

“Got these,” Dean said, putting them on the little piece of furniture the TV rested on. This was a bad idea. He was already acutely aware of what a bad fucking idea this was. His stomach wouldn’t stop clenching. “Little sign in the window says it’s one of the best restaurant in the area according to the newspaper. Course, it could be a really shit newspaper, so-“

“Why are you nervous?” Cas squinted at him as he sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not nervous.”

“Is there something supernatural in town that requires our attention?”

“No.” Dean had spent his whole goddamn life successfully bluffing his way out of situations and Cas could see he’s nervous at the drop of a pin. “How can you tell I’m nervous?”

He looked almost exasperated. “I know you. I know when you’re nervous.”

He did, didn’t he?

Hell, even if it wasn’t too late to back out now, he wouldn’t want to.

“Don’t freak out,” he said.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“Okay, well.” He sat down on the ground. Kneeling would be… too far. Too much. He was going to have to do this in a way that made sense or he was gonna panic. “Don’t… start freaking out.”

Cas leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Tell me what’s going on,” he’d said clearly. “And I will not start freaking out.”

Dean got distracted just looking at his face for a few seconds, which had to be in the top ten dumbass Dean Winchester moments, but when Cas’s eyebrows went even further up his forehead he cleared his throat and started fumbling in his pockets.

“Do, uh.” He held out the bag to Cas, who took them with a vaguely baffled expression. “Do you want to wear these?”

Cas stared down at them, bewildered.

“Are these what I’m assuming they are?” he asked slowly.

“Um. I mean, I can’t read your mind, Cas, but-“ Cas gave him a very particular look. “Yes. Yes, those are… what you think they are.”

Cas turned them over in his hands. “Oh.”

“We don’t need to do the whole… shebang. We could just wear them. Unless you wanted to do the whole shebang.”

“I don’t know about ‘shebang’.” Cas did finger quotes while still holding onto the rings and Dean kind of wanted a do over where he did this better just looking at him make them. “It feels like it’s very fast and a long time coming, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, well.” Dean looked down at his hands. “Look, I’m not good at this. You had this whole speech and it was… really good and I’m not. I’m not good at making those speeches. But it’s just… been you, man, it’s been you for a really long time. And it’s the kind of thing where your gut is to say it was always gonna be you, but it wasn’t, right? It wasn’t always gonna be us, Chuck said as much, so that makes it… better, doesn’t it? It makes it better cause we did it ourselves. Even when we didn’t know we were working at it together, we were working at it together. And I’m so glad it was you. Of course I’m so glad it was you. And I want to be doing this with you for as much forever as we get, so. It just… made sense, even though it kinda makes… no sense. I want to do all this with you anyway. The rings, they’re just… they’re just giving it a clearer name than it had before. And if you don’t want that, then it’s fine, because I’ll be here with or without them.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Dean stared with a little determination at his hands, waiting.

“It was a nice speech,” Cas said, sounding a little choked.

“S’okay.”

“No. It was nice.” Dean finally looked up to see Cas looking a little amused, eyes wet. “Take the compliment, Dean.”

Dean swallowed. “Okay.”

Cas gently turned the bag over in his hand, pulling it up and lightly tipping them out into his palm. He held it out to Dean, who slowly took one of them. They sat there, both holding onto their rings.

“Last chance to take it back,” Cas whispered.

Dean coughed out a bark of laughter. “You first.”

Cas made a similar noise. He quietly slid his ring on at the same time Dean slid on his. He stared at his hand, tilting it this way and that. The gold glinted a little.

“Hey,” he mumbled, unable to keep the slightly giddy grin off his face. “Look at that.”

“Yeah.” A hand slipped into his field of vision as Cas linked theirs together. Dean stares at them, gold against gold. “Look at that.” Cas squeezed it. “Did you ever think someday you’d…”

“No.” Dean swallowed, looking up at him, still grinning. “No, I figured I’d be dead by now.”

Even a joke about his death didn’t seem to be enough to tamp down Cas’s grin. “I’m very glad you’re not.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” Not just for this. Dean had a lot of reasons to be grateful to be alive these days, more than he’d ever expected. But this? This was number one right now.

“We can do the shebang if you want.” Cas couldn’t seem to pry his eyes off their joined hands, either. “I don’t… know much of what’s required for such things. But we can do it, if you want.”

“Can we just… see how it goes?” He winced. “I mean, see how it goes like, see how we feel about that, not like, see how this goes, I’m, I’m really clear on how solid I am about-“

“Yes. I know.” Cas stood and pulled Dean up with him. He was about to groan about how fast he pulled him up when Cas lightly tugged him forwards and kissed him, which is about the only thing that would have made Dean let go of his hand. “It’s only wise to take at least some part of this slow.”

He wouldn’t always, he thought. He kinda liked the idea of a big party with all their friends and maybe Sam officiating, even though he’d never stop hearing about it. But everything that had happened had happened in the space of a few days and he just needed… more than that few days to process it.

“Did you want my last name?” Dean had asked.

“Of course I want your last name. I don’t have a last name.” Cas looked thoughtful. “I think we should tell Sam we did it because it was funny.”

Dean kissed him again. “I’m so glad I married you.” It did funny things to his stomach just to say it.

“You didn’t marry me.” Dean rarely got to see Cas’s face like this, split open with a grin so wide his nose scrunches up. “You threw a ring at me.”

“Handed you. I handed you a ring.”

“It felt like throwing.”

“Give it back, you son of a bitch, I’ll do it again-“

“No-“ Cas laughed. “No, don’t you dare. I liked it how it was.”

“What are you giving me shit for, then?”

“You have found,” he said, still smiling wide. “A way for me to say I will give you shit forever.”

Dean swallowed.

“Awesome,” he manages.

“Your coffee’s getting cold and it’s presumably good coffee. Let’s reheat it and get on the road.”

Dean had taken his hand, then, linking their fingers up.

This is back to the present:

Dean and Cas are sitting in the kitchen at the little table. Cas is reading the newspaper while Dean eats his sandwich. Nobody eats faster than Cas, he thinks, not a person in the world, and the thought makes him suddenly, irrationally fond.

“You’re looking at me,” Cas says without looking up from the newspaper.

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. Just am, I guess.” He gives him what he knows has to be a slightly dopey grin. Cas looks amused and returns his attention to the paper. Dean keeps watching him for another few moments.

“Husband,” he says finally.

“Hm?”

“Husband. That’s you. You’re my husband.”

Cas does look up then with a soft smile. “You’re my husband,” he replies, and kisses him gently. “Would you like to go find a movie to watch?”

“Sure.”

The two of them stand and walk out, hands linked, a quiet joy permeating the air between them, a high key contentment radiating off of them for all to see.

[ambersock]

Man-in-the-Middle

Man-in-the-Middle

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Summary:

Sam hears the driver’s side door open, hears footsteps approaching. He remembers that Dean still has Ruby’s demon-killing blade.

Yet another voicemail fix-it.

Word Count: 1290

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Heavy Angst

A/N: This is my attempt at a reasonably canon-compliant version of a voicemail fix-it. It's set between when Sam and Dean are on the plane and when Sam tries to apologize to Dean in the car. I figured it would have been resolved by then because Sam was pretty calm by that point. Given Dean's state of mind for that conversation, wasn't really room for fluff.

The title refers to a kind of network attack, where a packet is replaced in transit by an entity spoofing a different message. Yeah, I'm a nerd.

“Hey, it’s me. Uh... Look, I’ll just get right to it. I’m still pissed... and I owe you a serious beatdown. But... I shouldn’t have said what I said. You know, I’m not Dad. We’re brothers. You know, we’re family. And, uh... no matter how bad it gets, that doesn’t change. Sammy, I’m sorry.”

--- transmission hijacked ---

“Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.”

Lucifer is walking the Earth because of me.

The thought doesn’t trigger any emotions in Sam.

The enormity of what he’s done is beyond what he can wrap his brain around as he leaves the plane and follows Dean through the airport on autopilot. Travelers weave between and around each other like blood cells traversing arteries. Around him in the baggage claim there are people coagulating in reunions- spouses, friends, family greeting each other, their embraces forming clots. A little girl in a red coat runs into the arms of a soldier returning from deployment, and for some reason this image is seared into Sam’s brain.

Lucifer is going to destroy the world because of me.

Still nothing.

Sam is numb as he responds to occasional barked commands from Dean, watches as his brother jacks a silver nondescript car in the airport parking lot, climbs into the passenger seat on Dean’s order. An hour passes in silence. Two. The traffic thins to nothing, the streetlights no longer line the highway at regular intervals. The memory of the little girl from the airport pops unbidden into Sam’s mind in stark detail, and he again sees her red coat, her twin braids bouncing as her father lifts her into the air.

I killed that little girl.

That hits him hard.

“Dean. Pull over.”

The car slows to a stop on a dark back road and Sam shoves the door open, scrambles away, drops to his hands and knees, and empties the contents of his stomach. He’s surprised that it’s only bile and not the ten pints of blood that he had drained from the nurse only a few hours ago. He wipes his sleeve across his face and takes in deep, gulping breaths while his throat burns. He rocks back, kneeling hunched over with hands on his thighs and becomes aware of a warm breeze scented with the surrounding pines. This stretch of road is deserted, peaceful, empty except for the crickets and frogs serenading him from the nearby woods at the bottom of an embankment.

It’s a perfect place to dispose of a recently-ganked monster.

I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam.

Sam hears the driver’s side door open, hears footsteps approaching. He remembers that Dean still has Ruby’s demon-killing blade.

Oh God.

His breaths become short and shallow, his heart races and pounds in his chest and the accompanying pulse in his ears drowns out the background nighttime sounds. Adrenaline floods his system and he tries to quell his fight or flight response. Time stretches and an eternity passes between each footfall. Sam looks up at the stars and remembers that time when he was lying on the hood of the Impala, pointing out constellations while Dean made up lewd stories about them. When they were still brothers.

Dean is directly behind him.

You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.

Sam feels a hand on his shoulder.

He remembers Cold Oak, Jake’s hand on his shoulder bracing for leverage just before he felt the white-hot pain of the blade piercing his back. Dean will want to make it quick, he thinks. He hopes. He straightens his back to present a better target, steels himself so that he doesn’t flinch. If he stays still, it will make it easier for Dean to sever his spinal cord and the pain will end quickly.

One heartbeat. Two. Seven.

The strike doesn’t come.

A bottled water from the airport slides into his view as he feels a squeeze from the hand on his shoulder. He takes it with hands shaking from unspent adrenaline and the footsteps retreat. He rinses his mouth out, rises, and sinks back into the passenger seat.

****************

More miles pass. Dean is still angry, still hurt, still not ready to deal with what’s been unleashed. What Sam has unleashed. He avoids looking at Sam, because he knows what he’ll see: soft brown eyes pleading for forgiveness. It’s something he can’t offer, not yet, and he knows he won’t be able to handle the look on Sam’s face that will follow his rejection.

Sam finally breaks the silence, softly. “Why didn’t you do it?”

Dean risks a sideways glance at Sam, who is staring at the glove compartment like it’s some intricate piece of lore he’s trying to comprehend.

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“What you said... in the voicemail.”

Dean tries to remember what he said in the voicemail. It was a few hours and a lifetime ago.

I owe you a serious beatdown.

Oh, that.

Dean runs a hand down his face and he makes no effort to hide the irritation in his voice. “Really? That’s what you’re worried about? Don’t you think we’ve got bigger fish to fry right now?”

“Dean… please….”

Dean sighs in exasperation. “Look, if you’ve got your heart set on it we can do it tomorrow. I’m just too damned tired now.” He glances at Sam again hoping he’s satisfied and that they can just drop it.

Sam is staring back at him with an expression not unlike a spirit that has just realized that its bones are being burned, emits a strangled sound. It’s not the reaction that Dean was expecting. Dean’s anger moves over a little, making room for concern to creep in.

“What? Look, I was kidding. I’m not gonna hit you.” He makes an effort to soften his tone, to sound a little less threatening. “I meant the rest of it.”

Sam’s expression melts into confusion and Dean turns his eyes back to the road. A minute passes and then Sam is fiddling with his phone. Dean hears his own voice played back to him on the phone’s speaker. His voice, but definitely not the message he left.

The message ends and then Sam is throwing his arms up to protect his face from the dashboard while Dean leaves a year’s worth of tread wear on the road behind the car. They screech to a halt off to the side of the road, and Dean assaults the steering wheel, teaching it a lesson it will never forget.

“SonofabitchI’mgonnaGuantanamothatwingeddick’sass-“ Dean rants on until he runs out of swear words and epithets.

Sam’s reaction makes sense now. He wasn’t worried about a beatdown, he was asking why Dean didn’t- he doesn’t want to go there. He breathes for a minute as he strangles the steering wheel until he thinks he can speak understandably again. He grits out, “Sam, I didn’t leave that message.”

Sam raises his eyebrows.

“Zachariah.” The name is acid on Dean’s tongue.

“Oh.” is all Sam says.

Dean pulls the car back onto the road. Minutes stretch and Sam doesn’t ask about the real message. It occurs to Dean that maybe it’s because the only thing Sam knows about it is that it involves Dean beating on him. Dean finally clears his throat and volunteers the gist of what he remembers. “You’re not a monster, Sam. We’re family. No matter how hard it gets, that doesn’t change.”

Sam relaxes for the first time since they left the airport. “Okay.”

He deletes the voicemail.

[amiwritesthings]

young dean hooking up with older men at truck stops. when john witnesses one of these encounters, he's furious, wants to step in, but doesn't, can't, d. on his knees with a cock in his mouth too much of a turn on, so he just watches in secret, maybe even jerks off to it. feelings of guilt. eventually confronts d. about his hook-ups. anger, drama, angst. d.: it's you, i just want you, i'm thinking about you when they fuck me, please let me suck your cock, dad. what will j. do? you tell me.

i am so so so sorry this took me so long and technically this isn't exactly what you asked for but it's where my brain wanted to go today so hopefully you still like it

link to ao3

_______

It’s dark when Dean walks back the short distance from the truck stop to the adjacent motel. He pulls his jacket tighter around his body against the cold, prays that John is still out somewhere drowning in cheap whiskey.

His jaw aches, his knees are sore, there’s a wet patch in his jeans, but there’s also 50 bucks in his pocket and his mind is pleasantly fuzzy with post-orgasmic endorphins.

He slides the key into the lock as quietly as he can, eases the door open carefully to keep the salt line intact. He feels his heart skip, pure rush of adrenaline, when he sees it’s not just Sammy in the room; John’s passed out in the ratty loveseat in the sitting area. It’s the next best thing to John not being here at all. If Dean’s lucky, John was too out of it to remember Dean not being here when he got back.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, takes a second to make sure the salt line is indeed intact. Sammy snuffles softly in his sleep, turns over to his other side, and Dean shrugs out of his jacket, lays it down at the foot of his bed, before tip toeing to the bathroom, thankful for the small window, the moonlight from outside illuminating the room just enough that he doesn’t need to hit the light.

He leans on the sink, doesn’t dare to look at his own reflection in the tiny mirror that’s already gone half blind. He reaches for the mouthwash, takes a swig, lets the liquid sting his mouth and get rid off the taste of dick. He spits into the sink, blue remnants of mouthwash running into the cracks in the porcelain, rinses with water and spits again.

He freezes when there’s a rustling sound behind him, and he knows it’s John, just from the prickle of heat where John’s gaze rests heavily on the back of his neck. Fuck. Dean forces himself to look up into the mirror, to acknowledge his father’s presence. A cloud passes over the moon outside, making the room darker for a moment, casting John’s face in shadows.

John takes a step forward, eerily silent, and with how small the room is, it only takes another half-step for John to be close enough to him that his body tenses with awareness. There’s a moment of silence, unbearable seconds of uncertainty, and Dean averts his eyes, lets his head drop forward, hands bracing against the sink.

A soft puff of air against the back of his neck, warm whiskey breath, is his only warning before John’s hands come down next to his on the sink, his father’s body hot and looming behind him. ‘What’re you playing at, boy?’ John asks gruffly, voice low and dangerously quiet, and Dean swallows against the dryness in his throat, that raw sting just behind his tongue.

‘Sir?’ he asks, voice raspy and wrecked. Best to let John tell him which transgression he’s angry about before Dean accidentally adds more fuel to the fire.

‘Saw you. Out there, on your knees.’

Fuck. Dean feels like is heart is about to beat out of his chest, pulse echoing loudly in his own ears. ‘I can expl-‘, he starts but stops the moment he sees John’s hand moving, body bracing for the inevitable blow.

It never comes.

John runs a hand up Dean’s arm, a barely-there touch, hovering just close enough to give the illusion of contact while still keeping Dean acutely aware of the underlying threat. He shivers when the hand comes back down to cage him in and John leans in closer, stubble brushing his cheek, the ghost sensation of lips right up against the shell of his ear.

‘God, boy, looked so good,' John breathes, words just the tiniest bit slurred, tongue heavy with whiskey. ‘Wanted to kill that asshole for taking advantage of you like that. Old enough to be your father, that guy.’ There’s a trace of anger to the words, that sharp edge that usually has Dean bracing for a verbal lashing.

Dean exhales shakily, dares to press back just a bit into the weight of John’s body behind him. Whatever he had expected to happen if John ever found out sure wasn’t this. ‘Why didn't you?’ he asks quietly, and John drops his head forward with a sigh that fans hotly over Dean’s skin.

‘Too pretty, your lips stretched wide like that. Fuckin’ hot. Could just imagine-,' he trails off, pushes his hips forward into Dean instead, and oh. For the first time tonight, Dean wishes John was less drunk, that there was a chance this was real and not just some drunken mistake John would pretend had never happened the next morning, if he even remembered.

‘Wished it was you,’ he confesses, quietly, and behind him John draws in a sharp breath that shudders out of him in a tortured groan only a few seconds later. ‘Always wish it was you.’

At his sides, John’s knuckles go white against the sink, fingers flexing once, twice, before resettling on the cold porcelain. ‘Don’t say shit like that. Don’t know what you’re talking about.’ There’s no heat to the words, no reprimand, and Dean presses back, into John’s body, until they are flush, until he can feel the bulge in John’s jeans riding high against his ass, John’s lips dragging messily, uncoordinated, down his cheek.

‘’s all I think about. ‘s why I started doing it in the first place.’ It’s not entirely true but Dean sure as shit isn’t going to fess up about needing the money to buy food for him and Sammy when John had been gone way longer than planned a couple of years ago.

Dean tilts his head to the side when John mouths down his neck, on purpose this time, wet-hot, tongue teasing against the sensitive skin. ‘Always pretend it’s you,’ he continues, moves his hand to cover John’s, drags it to the front of his jeans where there’s still a wet spot from when he’d come in his pants earlier while sucking off some faceless stranger.

John growls, a sound that’s rumbling up from so deep in his chest, Dean can feel the vibration of it against his back. ‘Gonna let me have the real thing?’ Dean asks as he uses what little space he has to turn, face John, and he isn’t prepared for the look of sheer hunger in John’s eyes, pupils blown wide in the darkness of the room.

He drops his hands to John’s belt, fingers the buckle, waits for John to stop him, but he doesn’t. His voice is raw, low and raspy when he says, ‘Goddammit, baby, gonna be the death of me,’ and Dean can feel the flush spreading up his chest, crawling up his neck, making his cheeks pink. He deftly undoes the belt, thumbs open the button, draws the zipper down, watches as John’s eyes flutter shut, mouth dropping open in a soft pant. It’s even better than he could ever imagine.

He tugs, fingers on each side, shimmies the jeans off John’s hips, takes the boxers underneath right with it as he drops to his knees, one fluid motion, perfected with years of practice. It stings a bit, his knees still sore from kneeling in gravel earlier but he breathes through it, focuses on what’s right in front of him. And boy, when he wraps his hand around John’s dick, his mouth fucking waters. He knows that John is big, they’ve been living in each other’s pockets all of Dean’s life, he knows, but from down here, on his knees, even only half-hard, it’s impressive and his jaw already aches with the anticipation of what’s to come.

Above him, John white-knuckles the sink with one hand, the other dropping to cup Dean’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheekbone and down to drag over his lower lip, dark eyes watching his face intently. Dean tongues at the digit, just a tease, hand softly squeezing on John’s dick, a slow stroke up to the crown, and John breathes a soft ‘fuck’ as he closes his eyes, eyelashes fluttering darkly in the shadows.

The hand leaves and John takes a half-step forward, trapping Dean between his body and the sink as he braces against the wall, the mirror, and Dean takes it as the invitation it is, opens his mouth wide to take John in. He closes his lips around the head, takes it flat onto his tongue and Dean can’t stop the groan at the feeling of John’s dick finally in his mouth, at the salty-sour taste.

This is nothing like all those strangers, he thinks, this is what he’s been waiting for all along. John keeps chubbing up in his mouth and it stretches his lips, wide. He sinks down a little deeper, gets John wet, then pulls off to slick his spit down the length with his fingers. John’s breathing is heavy above him, body tense, curled tight, like he’s preparing for a fight.

Dean strokes him, once, twice, before licking around the head, wicked curl of tongue, and taking him back in, spit slicking the way as John pushes deeper with a slight flex of his hips, rubbing over the soft palate of Dean’s mouth. And fuck, Dean wishes his throat wasn’t so raw already, the drag of John’s dick almost too much when he takes a deep breath through his noses and pushes down further.

John’s hips stutter forward at the sensation and Dean pulls away with a choked cough, tries to catch his breath, as John mutters softly ‘sorry, baby, sorry’ but then his hips hitch forward again, into the loose fist Dean has curled around him. He keeps his fingers around the base this time as he sinks down, relaxes his jaw, to let John fuck into him with impatient little thrusts.

The noise his wet mouth makes is obscene in the quiet of the small room and he drops his free hand into his lap to where he’s already hard again in his jeans. He gives himself a squeeze, hums softly at the spark of pleasure, and John’s breath hitches as he flexes forward, pushing right at Dean’s throat again. Dean lets him this time, gets his own dick free, still sticky from before, and jacks himself in sync with John’s movements.

John curses under his breath, dick jumping in Dean’s mouth, and Dean redoubles his efforts, slides his mouth, wet and open, down as far as he can go, focusing on breathing through his nose. John stills on his next downstroke and the first pulse of come on his tongue almost makes Dean choke.

He pulls back, mouth open, John’s dick on his tongue, jacking him through his orgasm and he holds it there for a moment before swallowing, the hand stripping his own dick almost a blur. He hunches forward, rests his forehead against John’s hip, nuzzling at the juncture of his thigh, as he chases his own high.

When he finally comes, it’s with a high, breathy whine and a ‘fuckin’ Christ, Dean’ from John who cradles his skull, holding him close.

It takes a moment for his breathing to slow, for his heart to stop racing and when he finally pulls away, John takes a step back, the look in his eyes unreadable as he looks down to Dean. The hand slides around to cup his face, and the thumb traces his lip again, slowly, reverently, before John releases him with a pat to his cheek.

‘Get cleaned up, it’s late,’ he says, voice rough, before he steps back, away, swaying gently, leaving Dean on his knees and suddenly feeling cold.

By the time he’s cleaned up and dressed in a sleep shirt and fresh underwear, John is passed out on the bed, jeans still undone, snoring the way he only ever does when he drinks. Dean grabs a bottle of water, takes little sips – it burns to swallow – before sitting down on the edge of the other bed. He nudges Sam, all long lanky limbs sprawled out, taking up all the space, and his brother huffs in his sleep but shifts over anyway, making just enough room for him to slip into the bed beside him.

When Dean wakes the next morning, it’s to Sam already bitching about something or other and John at the table, nursing a cup of coffee, brows furrowed as he tries to make sense of something. The last night feels like a fever dream now and as Dean sits up on the bed, he tries to make eye contact with John, get some kind of acknowledgement, but he has no such luck. John pointedly avoids looking at him, busying himself with squinting at the newspaper with bleary eyes as he takes another sip of coffee.

‘You want coffee?’

Dean blinks at the question, at Sam who’s holding up an empty cup at him in question. ‘Yeah,’ he croaks, voice breaking on the just the one syllable and across the room he can see John stiffen in his seat, while Sam just looks at him funny. ‘You coming down with something?’

Dean clears his throat, tries to ignore the burn as he swallows. ‘Nah, I’m fine.’ He doesn’t sound much better, voice still all scratchy and raw, and his jaw still aches dully, and his knees protest when he pushes to stand. He excuses himself to the bathroom, taking the coffee cup Sam hands him with him. He sets the cup down on the sink, lets his eyes come up to look at his reflection in the mirror.

And there it is, the proof it was real, the smeared handprint on the mirror. Dean touches a finger to it before bringing his hand to his throat, feeling the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows, chasing the sense memory of the night before.

[writinginthesecrettrees]

drunk dial

For a long while there’s no speech, only heavy breathing, and Sam almost hangs up because he has better things to do than listen to some perv making crank calls, has a midterm to study for and a paper to outline and his roommate is out for the night so he can actually get some work done. Then, “Sssssssammyyyyyyyy,” slurred out in a voice that makes him ache with the familiarity. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy-boy.”

“Dean.”

It’s barely a whisper, forced past a sudden lump in his throat, but Dean hears it anyways. Chuckles low and deep and it turns into half a sob.

“Myyyyy Sammy. Are ya still, baby brother? Still my Sammy-boy?”

Sam wants to say yes but he’s not sure if it’s true, lives in a world so much larger than he’d dreamed possible when it was him and Dean (and sometimes Dad) crammed into motels and cars and never quite part of the world they fought to protect. Six months ago, four months ago, even three weeks ago he would have said always, said Dean was his first and only forever. That was before getting dragged to a party, getting tipsy and making out with another guy, waking up in Brady’s room to shy smiles on a face that doesn’t set his heart racing but is open and uncomplicated and makes him feel a little less lonely. And Dean had said no, refused to come with him to California, so even if Sam didn’t feel like it was over they were done. Finished. Broken.

“My sweet Sammy, pretty and perfect and mineallmine, but you’re not anymore.” A pause, and Sam can hear Dean swallowing. Can almost smell the beer over the phone. “Went away an’ left me aaaaaaaall alone, didn’t ya?”

You could have come, but the words stick in his throat and he doesn’t want to have that fight again, not when the sound of his name in Dean’s voice has torn open a barely-scabbed wound in his heart.

“Wanted to go with you. Almost followed you a hundred times. Think your school would’ve let me crash in your room? Think your roommate would’ve let me sleep in your bed?”

And oh, the picture that makes in Sam’s mind. Dean, with his larger-than-life energy filling this space, already cramped with Sam and Oliver. Dean crushed against him in the twin bed that Sam barely fits in alone, arm around Sam’s middle and whispering in his ear to stay quiet, don’t wanna wake your roommate up Sammy, here suck my fingers if you need something to help…

“Think about all the goddamn time, Sammy. How it could be. No one knows us, knows we’re brothers, an’ I could be outside your class waitin’ and grab you as you walk out the door. And I know you’re growing, getting so damn big, but I bet I could still pick you up. Get my hands under your ass, get your legs around me where they belong. Get you up against the wall an’ make you forget all about your fancy friends and professors and classes, ‘cause baby boy you fucking love grinding against me. An’ don’t even try and pretend that’s changed.”

Sam can’t pretend, never could, and he knows that Dean recognizes the whine he can’t hold back as he shoves his hand down his pajamas and grabs his dick.

“Touching yourself for me, baby boy?” Dean’s voice drops to the low register that has always been just between them, and Sam’s heart aches almost as much as it did when he got on the bus, watched Dean getting smaller as it drove away.

“Mhm” is all Sam can say though, soft and quiet and still hoping Dean won’t hear. His eyes won’t stay open, keep drifting shut to picture everything Dean’s saying while his thumb swipes over the head of his cock, gathers the precome and he lifts his hand to his face. Sucks his thumb clean and makes it noisy, gets a drawn out groan from the phone.

“Fuck, Sammy, are you tasting yourself for me? Taste so good, baby boy, god I can’t get enough of that. Wanna find you at that damn school and get on my knees in front of you, pull your pants down and suck you so good. Or maybe you want me to taste something else.”

Dean’s breathing harder now, almost gasping into the phone and Sam doesn’t even try to hide the needy “please” that comes out. Dean’s mouth is in his dreams, on his dick, his balls, his hole and Dean always dives in like Sam’s better than pie to him. 

“Get your hand off your dick Sammy. Wanna hear you finger yourself. Think you can still come like that for me?”

And of fucking course he can, can’t help it, has always come for Dean however Dean wanted it. Just Dean’s voice had him halfway there already, and the slight burn as he contorts himself around to push one spit-slick finger in his hole has him panting, gasping, moaning “so good” under his breath and Dean hears it.

“I know it, baby boy. Always feels so good to get inside you, makes me feel alive. Feels more like home than driving my baby, didja know that Sammy-boy? Fuck, think about me licking you open, getting you all sloppy wet with my tongue like you like. And if you beg me to go faster, I’ll just go slower ‘cause I know how to take care of ya, right Sammy? Better’n anyone?”

“Only you.” Sam’s thrusting his fingers faster, stretched out on three now and desperate to reach deeper, hit that spot that Dean could find blind and he’s almostalmost there.

“You better believe it’s only me,” Dean growls. “Mine. My Sammy. Fuck, baby, wanna get my fingers in there, pull you open so I can lick deep. Get you so open you think you’re gonna break, make you scream for me before I get my cock in you. Make you come for me until you’re so sensitive it hurts when I fuck you, know you like it like that.”

“Dean, please… I need…” Sam whines as he thrusts his fingers in hard, reaching, tries to buck his hips down to get deeper and ignores the neighbors pounding on the wall as his bed creaks against it to his rhythm.

“Need what, baby boy?”

“You, Dean, please god I just need you.”

“Fuck, Sammy.” Dean’s voice is wrecked, and when he says “Come for me, now,” Sam does, cries out his brother’s name as he explodes and vaguely recognizes the sound is Dean doing the same over the phone.

He winces as he pulls his fingers out of his sensitive hole, feels it twitching slightly at the movement and he wants to go to sleep still filled but the angle is awkward. 

“Suck ‘em clean for me, baby,” Dean’s voice gone hoarse and pleading. “My Sammy, my sweet filthy boy, do the dirtiest things for me and you love it don’t ya?”

And Sam’s deepest secret is that he’ll do anything Dean asks, so he does, sticks his fingers in his mouth and slurps loud around them, Dean’s moaning in his ear the only encouragement he needs to make it a show. “Miss you, D’n,” mumbled around a mouthful. 

“God, Sammy… miss you so damn much. Shoulda come with you, but dammit I can’t and—”

The line goes dead and Sam curses, tries to call back and gets dropped into voicemail. Tries again and the same thing happens, and eventually he stops trying, too tired to stay awake and there’s class in the morning that’s gonna come too soon so he sends a text before falling asleep.

-

Dean wakes up when sun lances through a crack in the curtains, stabs his eyes and makes his headache worse. He’s surrounded by beer cans and come is dried itchy on his chest and belly, phone dead in his hand.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuck.”

He plugs the phone in before stumbling to the shower, stands under the pounding spray until he feels halfway alive again. Turns the phone on while toweling his hair dry, and finds twenty-three missed calls from Sam and a text:

Charge your damn phone. Jerk.

His heart aches a little less as he types out a reply.

Bitch.