#all the things that sam has never been and can never have

[dollfacefantasy]

DARK SIDE OF THE MOON ♡

pairing: redk!clark kent x fem!reader x soulless!sam winchester

summary: your boyfriend sam has been acting strange lately. good thing your other boyfriend clark is willing to help you figure out what's going on with him. unfortunately for you, he doesn't get very far before he starts acting weird too.

cw: nsfw (18+), au, smut, mild dubcon, threesome, p in v, oral (f & m receiving), fingering, facefucking, overstimulation, praise/degradation, hints of asphyxiation kink

a/n: comm for my wife @fearcvlt. thank you to the anon who infected us with the sam-clark disease 🙏 also i know sam doesn't lose his soul till season 6 but it's my fic so this is early seasons sam. don't like it kiss me about it.

Sam has been acting weird lately.

You’re not sure what it is. You can’t pinpoint an exact detail about him that’s shifted. From the surface, he looks the same. He still dresses the same. His voice sounds the same. His hands and mouth feel the same. It drives you crazy, not being able to narrow down what you mean. What you know has changed. 

Because while the alterations are imperceptible, you know they’re real. All of that stuff hasn’t changed on a technical level, but to you, his girlfriend, someone who knows his very being like the palm of your own hand, it’s not the same.

Physically, he’s your Sam. The one you’ve been with since your second semester of college. His dark brown hair hangs too close to his eyes like always. The warmth in his hands radiates with regularity as they coast across your and Clark’s bodies. His words reach your ears in the soft, calculated manner you’ve come to expect from him.

But you swear on everything you have in this world, on both your lovers’ lives, that all of this comes with a new note of unfamiliarity.

While his appearance hasn’t changed, the way his eyes land upon your face has. His gaze feels cold. It nearly stings when it connects with your own. You may recognize his touch, but he’s rougher now. He doesn’t handle you like a cherished doll, nor does he explore Clark with his usual reverence. Instead he tugs and he grabs. His fingers dig into flesh harder than ever before. Scratches and bruises litter the two of you after a night spent together. And while his voice rings out just like it did when you met him in your first criminal justice class all those years ago, the tender embellishments in his sentences have vanished. Vacant silences lie where sweetheart and honey used to appear. 

You sound like a lunatic describing it.

“Can’t you just talk to him?” you plead with Clark for the third time this week. You attempt persuasion by flaunting your puppy eyes at him, but he just shakes his head.

He stands before the full length mirror in the corner of your bedroom while pulling on his shirt. The hazy morning light shines through the nearby window onto his physique, highlighting the contours of muscle decorating his abdomen before they’re covered up by the scarlet sweater he chooses to wear today.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, baby,” he responds, gazing at you through the reflection.

You boost yourself off your mattress where you’d been sprawled out. Approaching him from behind, you snake your arms around his waist and press your cheek to his firm back. He doesn’t have to face you to know the pout that’s taken residence on your lips.

“Well, I can’t think of everything,” you huff, “Just maybe see if something’s wrong. Like maybe we did something and we don’t know-”

“You’re overthinking,” he cuts in while fastening his belt into place.

“You don’t know that because you’ve never actually asked. Maybe he feels like he can’t tell us what’s bothering him for some reason. Or it could be like a guy thing. He blows me off whenever I try to help, so maybe he’ll be more comfortable with just you,” you insist.

He sighs and shakes his head again, reaching for the brush nearby. Clark’s hair rarely ever falls out of place. The only moments you can recall seeing him disheveled are those when he lays in bed with you and Sam, nude body coated in a light sweat and pressed against each of yours. Yet he tends to his black tresses more often than you take care of your own hair.

“It’s not a guy thing,” he chuckles, “He just doesn’t wanna talk about whatever’s going on in his head. You know how he gets sometimes. I’m sure he’ll bounce back soon.”

“But it’s been like over a month. Ever since he went on that trip with his brother, he’s been weird,” you continue, squeezing him as if that would somehow convince him of your point.

“You know his childhood is a sore spot. Maybe being around him brought up some bad memories,” he offers and shrugs.

“But he would have told us about that,” you refute.

You release Clark from your hold as he turns around, his outfit all ready for the day. As you look up at him, your eyes remain full of concern for the absent part of your trio. Your present boyfriend smirks at the worried expression before cupping your cheeks and planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“It’s gonna be ok, babe. He’ll be ok,” he murmurs.

You nod. “Just if you get the chance… please talk to him,” you try once more.

“I will,” he agrees. His hands fall to your waist where they knead the flesh lightly.“Try not to worry too much today, alright? We got that party tonight. You’re gonna look all pretty, we’re gonna have fun, and everything’s gonna be fine.”

He kisses you once more before walking towards the bedroom door. You nod in response to his words and force your shoulders to relax. The mention of his work party you were all going to attend later helps a little to distract you. At the very least it gives you something else to think about for the time being.

Before he heads out, you blow him a kiss like you always do. He pretends to catch it, flashing those fangs of his in a lazy grin.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says before finally leaving your view.

Despite your assurance to Clark, you spend much of the day thinking about Sam and possible causes for his perpetually sour mood. Unfortunately, you can’t think of anything that seems like a realistic possibility.

While your anxiety wants you to blame yourself, you really don’t believe something you did is responsible. And he had gone on that trip with his brother a month ago, but they’d been going on their ‘hunting trips’ pretty regularly for the last two years. He never got like this afterwards. Even when his brother annoyed him, he’d just vent about it to the two of you before letting it go.

You try to reason that law school might be getting more stressful. All of his free time not allocated to you and Clark, or to his brother in the Impala, goes to textbooks. He spends hours poring over notes and articles and journals. Maybe that’s it. You try to convince yourself it could be. At least until he and Clark come home for the night with hopefully a more concrete answer.

As the day shifts into evening, you busy yourself with getting ready for the party tonight. It wasn’t anything too fancy. Just some gathering the paper Clark now worked at was throwing. As a new hire, he was one of the employees being celebrated, warranting your and Sam’s invitations.

It’s around six-thirty when you finally hear the front door open. Two pairs of shoes shuffle in. Good. That means Clark met him on campus or Sam drove over to Clark's job after his last class. There would be plenty of time to talk over the course of the distance between your shared house and either of those locations.

You put your earrings back down on the dresser and approach the door, straining your ears in hopes of scoping out any tense silences or relieved chatter. In the kitchen, you can hear the fridge open and then close. A sigh. You narrow your eyes. Was it a sigh of tiredness from work or frustration at the other man? The words that follow answer your question.

“She’s just worried about you,” Clark says. You bite your lip, sensing this may not be going well.

“Yeah, I know. She doesn’t do a great job of disguising that,” Sam responds.

“Then just talk to her. It’s only still a problem because you’re being cagey.”

“I’m being cagey because there’s nothing to talk about. She’s looking for something that isn’t there, insisting-”

You step through the doorway and head towards the sound of their voices. Barefoot and with the zipper on your dress only halfway pulled, you enter the room to join them. Sam finishes his sentence as both his and Clark’s eyes set on you.

“Hi,” you interrupt weakly.

The taller of the two rolls his eyes while your other boyfriend raises his brows in acknowledgement before taking another sip of his drink.

“I just… heard you both talking and thought I should come in here…” you continue. It’s only been a few seconds, but already, it’s starting to feel like you should have waited for them to come to you.

You walk a couple more paces into the space, finding yourself standing equidistant from both your lovers. Your gaze alternates between them before focusing on Sam.

“I know I’m probably worrying over nothing. And I know you said nothing is wrong,” you say, keeping your tone as neutral as you can, “You just seem different. And maybe nothing is actively wrong, but I just want you to know if something happened or like if you’re thinking about something differently that me and Clark-”

“You’ll what? What will you both do?” he asks, “I don’t know what you want from me. Do you want me to make up some problem that doesn’t exist so you can feel accomplished when you fix it?”

“No,” you answer right away, hurt infecting your features.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know…” you say. Your resolve wilts away with each second his harsh eyes stare at you.

“Just stop then. Stop asking me to give you a reason, stop talking about me behind my back, just stop,” he rants, “Did you ever consider you might be projecting? That maybe something is different with you that you don’t want to accept.”

“What?” you ask. Your pained expression infuses with a bout of confusion.

“Think about it. Me and Clark, we know what we’re doing everyday. I’m going to school, he’s going to work. We have our plans in place. You? What are you doing? Ever since you graduated last year, you’ve been floundering, bouncing from idea to idea. Maybe you’re the one who’s fallen off the tracks, but you can’t admit it,” he accuses.

Your eyes widen. That statement cuts you deep, through multiple layers. It is the truth in a sense, but to have it thrown in your face by someone who supposedly cares about you hurts worse than you would have anticipated.

“That’s not true,” you deny.

“Yes it is, and you know it. You wanna blame me for how you’re feeling. You’re losing control of your own life so you want to find something you can fix,” he continues.

“Sam, stop,” Clark interjects on your behalf.

You just stand there, feeling even more lost than you had earlier. He was acting different. You were sure of it. But now you also feel like he maybe has a point. What if he is acting the exact same, and you’re the one losing your grip? Clark hasn’t been as concerned as you, and maybe that’s for a reason.

“What?” Sam says, his eyes flitting towards your other boyfriend, “She’s allowed to talk about me, but I can’t defend myself?”

“You’re not defending yourself, you’re attacking her,” Clark responds before sighing. He puts his drink down and walks closer to the both of you. “Both of you just need to take a second and calm down.”

In the pause that follows, the pain Sam’s words caused doesn’t subside. The throb only emanates from deeper inside your chest. You glance up at your darker-haired boyfriend before turning to the one you could barely recognize.

“I’m not trying to make you defend yourself. I really just feel like something’s been up with you lately. But if you say there isn’t, then there isn’t, and I won’t mention it again,” you finally say.

“There isn’t,” he tells you without more than a second of consideration.

Awkward quiet settles for more than a pause now. You’re not sure if you can just act normal after that, but you don’t want to create more tension by hightailing it to the bedroom. Both of them seem to go with the former. Clark meanders his way back to the counter while Sam turns and digs through his bag for something.

You decide it might be best to follow along. Swiveling on your heel, you walk away from the kitchen and down the hall towards your shared bedroom to finish getting ready. The silence no longer feels calm; it weighs down on you, pressing hard enough to crack.

As you dust powder across your cheek bones and eyelids, you force your breaths to remain even. You swallow hard to prevent your eyes from watering. The mascara wand coats your lashes with black that will stream down your skin if you shed any tears. For a final touch, you spread some sticky gloss over your lips, watching in the mirror how they shine with the glittery substance.

When your face is painted to your liking, you pull on a pair of tights under the crimson fabric of your dress and then sit on the edge of your bed to slip on your shoes. While fumbling with the one on your left foot, you hear another person enter the room.

Your pupils dart towards the door to find Clark there with a sheepish smile.

“Hey,” he starts gently, “You almost ready?”

You just nod, not really in a chatty mood.

He returns the gesture and comes closer, approaching as if you’re a wounded animal.

“You look really beautiful, baby,” he compliments.

“Thanks.”

“Here. Let me help,” he offers and crouches before you. 

He takes your leg between his large hands, rubbing up and down over the smoothness of your tights for a moment. His fingers then fall to the sleek strap causing you hassle. He pushes the little piece of material through the metal clasp. Despite the size of his digits, they move with nimble precision.

“He didn’t mean that stuff he said,” he tells you, voice quiet enough that it wouldn’t leave the bedroom.

“Then why didn’t he come in here?” you ask. Your voice quivers a little bit. You know Clark hears it from the way his big, blue eyes lift to connect with your own.

“He’s just being pissy right now. But I know he didn’t mean it, alright? Neither of us think you’re off track, but even if you were, it’s not the end of the world. You still have time to figure things out. We love you either way,” he says, patting your leg. 

Almost as an extra gesture of reassurance, he plants a soft kiss on your kneecap. It’s intended to be innocent. Something wholesome to let you feel the pure love he’s trying to pour into you with his words. But you can’t help but feel a flicker of desire in your belly. The sight of it only serves to remind you of how he does that when he’s spreading your legs apart and kissing up your inner thighs to somewhere much more intimate.

“He’ll come around. For the record, he is acting different. It’s not just you,” he reassures, reaching up to take your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

The look in your eyes has softened from one of hurt to something more tender. You nod in response, and he smiles.

“That’s my girl. Don’t look so sad anymore. I wanna show off how beautiful you are tonight. Can’t do that if you don’t let anyone see that pretty smile,” he praises.

Your face lifts with the expression he describes. It only increases the curve of his own lips. He rewards you with a small peck. When he pulls away, you can see a splotch of lip gloss on his cupid’s bow. It’s tempting to try and wipe it away with another kiss, but instead you take the more effective route and swipe your thumb across the skin.

“Ready?” he asks and reaches for your hand as he rises to his feet again.

You clasp your smaller fingers around his and stand up. “Almost. Zip me up?” you say and turn to show him the semi-closed fabric.

He chuckles fingers finding the zipper and adjusting it for you with ease. “Always.”

You stand with your back pressed against the wall, drink in hand, eyes surveilling the room. It’s only around nine o’clock, but you’re more than ready to go home. You keep a smile on your face for Clark’s sake, not wanting to look miserable around the people he has to see on a daily basis.

The party isn’t even horrible. It’s just fine. The ritzy hotel dining room they rented out is fine. The music playing at a reasonable volume in the background is fine. The food is fine. The drinks are fine. The smalltalk is fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. It’s all fine.

Including you. You’re fine too. Not at all upset about earlier. The car ride here had been dead silent. No apology from Sam. Not even a word of acknowledgement. But that’s ok! You could deal with it.

Once the three of you had arrived and made your way inside, you introduced yourselves like you always did, clear enough to convey that you were all a package deal but vague enough to not draw the ire of less open-minded people. From there, you let Clark tell some stories about the both of you. You made sure to laugh at all his jokes, smile at him with the most adoring eyes, and sing his praises to any person who wanted to hear them.

After a while of that, he turned you both loose. You first grabbed some appetizers and a drink and then landed where you are now. Sam had trailed close behind you even though he still wasn’t saying anything.

He’s beside you against the wall. His shoulder leans against it, his body angled towards yours. You can feel his eyes drifting along your figure, but you don’t give in to the temptation of a response.

“You gonna freeze me out all night?” he asks.

“I don’t know. Do you plan on apologizing at all?” you ask, passive aggression lacing in every word.

He exhales a laugh and reaches for your face. His fingers guide your head, forcing you to look at him.

“Is that what you need, baby?” he mocks, “You need me to say sorry?”

You scowl and try to look away, but his digits dig into your skin. He keeps you right where he wants you. Leaning in close to you, his breath fans across your neck.

“Would it really make you feel better if I said I didn’t mean it? Would it really change anything about how you feel? I don’t think so,” he murmurs, “I think you’d like it more if I kissed it better.”

The low tone of voice combined with his proximity fires up that warmth in your tummy you felt earlier. You try to suppress it and maintain your glare.

“What are you doing?” you ask with annoyance, craning your neck for some space.

“What? I thought you’d wanna make up,” he says.

“I- It’s not that. We’re at a party for Clark’s work. It’s not like we’re high schoolers who can just go find some closet to make out,” you huff, “Plus, you definitely are acting different now. You’re always the explainer, and Clark is always the one who wants to kiss things better.”

That brings a small smirk to his face. “We can’t? Or we shouldn’t?” he teases. He moves in again, the tip of his nose brushing your cheek. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I have been a little different lately. But why is that a bad thing? I feel great.”

“Yeah, but it’s not great when you’re being mean all the time now…”

“Mean? Or direct?” he asks, “I’ve never said anything to hurt you. Even when you think I’m being mean, I’m only speaking without sugar coating because I know you can take it. And I know that sometimes you need to hear it. You’re strong. Just as smart as me and Clark. You just need a little push sometimes.”

Your heart beats quicker in your chest. His words are one thing, but the way his rich eyes peer into yours are another. His thumb drags back and forth across your bottom lip now, almost as if coaxing some form of a response.

“It’s still mean even if you don’t intend it that way. It still hurts,” you say. Even if your face can’t move, your eyes fall. “I miss the you who wasn’t so sharp all the time.”

You soften your words, hoping to break the tough exterior that had shielded him for the last month. Though you see no change in his expression. No shift in his gaze.

“You’ll have to learn to love this one just as much then,” he replies.

It stings. The words slice like a blade. He doesn’t care about the falter on your face though. He ducks in, kissing along your jaw to your earlobe. A small gasp leaves you at the soft, wet touches. You squirm in place, nearly spilling your drink as the liquid sloshes within the confines of the glass.

“I can show you how. Just gotta let me,” he whispers. His hand falls from your face to your neck, wrapping it in a seductive embrace.

Your eyes flutter, and for a split second, you want to give in. His lips on your skin feel like traces of heaven. The soft words he speaks hit your ears like gentle caresses lulling you into compliance. But then you remember where you are and who you're here for.

“Sam, stop,” you whimper.

But he doesn’t pull back. He doesn’t just stay in place either. His hand tightens around your throat. It digs in a little, pressing you against the wall. You can still breathe just fine, but the threat of air loss is right there, teasing you just barely.

Your eyes widen now. Sam had never been so aggressive in the bedroom before, let alone in public.

“We’re here for Clark. You’re gonna embarrass him,” you remind.

“He’s a big boy. He can handle it,” he breathes.

Before you can squeak out any more words of protest, a large hand is curling over Sam’s shoulder and tugging him back. Clark looks at him with a raised brow before his focus shifts to you.

“I guess you two made up?” he asks.

You open your mouth to clarify with some version of what actually happened, but Sam cuts you off. “Something like that.”

He takes you by the wrist, spinning so that he’s against the wall while you’re in front of him with your back against his chest. His chin rests atop your head as his hands rub your arms. Clark looks on, almost suspicious at the complete flip in attitudes.

“So how much longer do we have to be here? They’ve already played ‘Mr. Brightside’ like three times. This thing’s gotta be winding down soon, and I’m pretty eager to get back so we can make up some more,” Sam says.

“Not too much longer,” Clark says, the words slow and edged with uncertainty, “I’ll start saying goodbyes.”

You nod gratefully, your appreciation shining through even without words. Sam smirk prevails on his face yet again.

“Sounds good. Just don’t take too long or we might have to get a head start without you,” he says. His tone indicates he’s teasing, but with how he’s acting, you wouldn’t put it past him to try something like that.

“I won’t. Just give me a few,” Clark responds simply before drifting back into the crowd to say bye to the important people.

He keeps his word and only takes a few minutes. If he had taken any longer, you aren’t confident you would have noticed. You feel like you have whiplash from the way Sam has latched himself onto your body. Earlier he spoke like he couldn’t stand you, but now he clings to you like he’d be willing to bend you over one of the nearby folding tables and bring some real excitement to this party.

You try brushing him off, redirecting his hands to places that wouldn’t earn you side eyes from your boyfriend’s colleagues. He’s not interested though. Every few seconds it feels like he’s nuzzling into your neck or smoothing his hands over your sides.

“Sam, quit it,” you whisper.

“Why? I don’t need Clark’s hearing to know how fast your heart is going. I know you like it,” he purrs.

The best you can hope for is guiding him to the exit and letting Clark meet you there. When the man in question finally does make his way in your direction, you can see a bit of frustration on his face. Annoyance gleams from his eyes as they sweep over how Sam holds you like a territorial dog with a chew toy.

You want to apologize. You hate when Clark isn’t happy with you, and you really don’t want to end the day having fought with both of them. But before you could get any words of remorse out, Sam’s already leading you through the front door. He keeps a tight grip on your wrist, now allowing you even an inch to pull away.

Clark follows along. His hand lands on the small of your back. The faint touch grounds you a little, but before it can have any real effect, Sam’s yanking you closer, nearly causing you to stumble over the steps that lead you three into the parking lot.

The confusion that permeates your mind has now spread to Clark’s face and replaces his prior irritation.

“What’s gotten into you?” he asks, trailing behind in broad strides.

“What do you mean?” Sam laughs. He turns around, holding you close again once in range of the car. “You got the keys?”

Even though he does in fact have them, Clark makes no move to fetch the small metal keys from his pocket.

“No, seriously. What’s going on with you? One minute you’re ready to bite her head off for worrying about you, and now you wanna jump her bones in the middle of a parking garage?” he says, not letting up.

“I can’t win with you two. She doesn’t like it when I’m being serious, you don’t like it when I’m not. What’s a guy supposed to do, huh?” he says.

“It’s not like that, and you know it,” Clark challenges, “You have been acting weird lately. I let you deny it because I know what it’s like having to keep something to yourself. But pretending like it isn’t happening does nothing, especially when it’s affecting us.”

You stand there with Sam’s arm over your shoulders, looking back and forth between them. It’s not even an argument yet, but with a few wrong words, it would have no issue transforming into one.

“Please. You didn’t care how it affected me and her when you kept your secrets for years. So spare me a lecture,” Sam dismisses, “I don’t have some great secret. People just change over time.”

“Not so rapidly!” Clark fires back, “You went away for one weekend, and a different person came back.”

“I’m still me,” he says, “If you have such a problem with the person you think I’m becoming then maybe I’m not the only one we should be evaluating. Maybe something’s changing between all of us.”

You look at Clark with pure worry now. He hasn’t outright said it, but these words border on the worst potential outcome. Reaching for his hand that dangles off your shoulder, you give it a squeeze and gaze up at him.

His attention shifts to you. He smiles at the nervousness written all over your features.

“Don’t look so scared, baby. We’re not gonna break up. Unless that’s what you two think would be best,” he says. It’s almost a threat. He puts the power in your hands, but it’s not by choice. He’s not offering it to you. He’s forcing it between your palms and pushing your fingers to close around it.

“No,” you respond instantly.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” Clark backs down, his voice dropping a bit.

“Then what did you mean?” Sam asks.

“I just want to know why. Why are you acting like this now? You used to be the reserved one. The one who was always careful about everything. You kept me and her on track. Now, you’re in there acting like a high schooler and making me look like an idiot, being all over her like that.”

“All over her?” he repeats with a chuckle. His arm slithers off your shoulders, leaving your skin exposed to the chilled night air. He takes a few steps towards your other boyfriend. “You jealous, Clark? Because as soon as we got home, you know I’d be all over you too.”

He scoffs and looks away. Truly, you doubt jealousy had been the root of Clark’s discomfort. You would’ve been irritated too if they started getting handsy in front of people you wanted to make a good impression on. But it was hard to not get flustered when confronted so directly. When Sam stalked forward like that.

The brunette slides to Clark’s side and maneuvers himself behind him. His hands flatten against his muscular biceps, rubbing the skin softly through his suit jacket. You watch as his lips brush the shell of Clark’s ear in the same way they had to yours.

“C’mon. You know I don’t play favorites,” he coos.

Your darker-haired lover has his eyes fixated on the car beside you three. You knew the feelings coursing through him right now. The same ones that swirled within you fifteen minutes ago.

Sam’s long fingers move South on Clark’s arms. The tips coast over his elbows and along his forearms before getting to his wrists. You know the exact sensation. Like little lines of fire being drawn across your limbs. Similar to you, Clark goes to resist. He just has the actual strength to carry it out.

He pushes Sam’s hands off and looks over his shoulder. “We’re gonna talk about it. You can’t keep avoiding it and expecting us to just go along with this forever,” he says.

Sam smirks at the assertion. He lets Clark move him away. You notice one of his hands slip into his pocket, but before the act can even register, it’s back out and reaching for your other boyfriend’s wrist again.

“We will talk about it. But not tonight,” he says.

The beginning of a disagreement begins to leave Clark’s lips. But the hand that had reached for his cuts his statement short when it flexes and spreads a thin band over his wrist. Clark looks down at it while you observe with confusion. But then you see a sparkle of red.

Your pupils dart back to Clark’s face. You watch as his eyes flicker with that same ruby color. His shoulders rise, and his chest puffs out with innate pride. He doesn’t have that sweet, lopsided grin; now his lips look sinister and menacing as they curl. You don’t even have to ask what it is. You recognize that look. You know the effects of red kryptonite.

“You’re such an asshole!” you explode at Sam. You step towards him, practically shoving Clark behind you. “Why would you do that?! You know he hates that stuff!”

Your arm swings forward, smacking at his chest. He just laughs and dodges your weak blows. “Calm down. He’ll be fine. I just wanted to help him unwind for the night,” he says.

You go for another strike, aiming for his bicep this time instead. Before your limb can connect, two strong arms have looped around your waist and tugged you back against a firm body.

“He’s right,” Clark chimes in. His chin hooks over your shoulder as he nuzzles into your neck, planting kisses there that make you squirm. “I was letting you get me all wound up. Just needed to take the edge off.”

Without responding, your hands fly to his wrist, desperate to get the bracelet off for him. You’d only seen Clark under the influence of this stuff once before. You really weren’t eager to relive the experience.

But he’s quicker than you. He slides his arm away and spins you around to face him in the process. No longer does your boyfriend have his usual look that likens him to a carefree puppy. Now you stare into the eyes of a wolf.

“Clark-” you start and grab for his wrist again.

He laughs and lifts his arm in the air, dangling his hand a foot over his own head. Much too high for you to reach. Still, you jump and try to pull it down by his elbow.

“That’s not my name you know,” he teases.

You stop jumping and glare at him. “I’m not calling you Kal,” you say flatly, “Give me that. You’re not yourself when that stuff is on you.”

“I’m more myself like this than I am any other time,” he disagrees.

Sam comes up behind you and places his hands on your hips. “Come on. Don’t spoil the fun before it’s really started, babe,” he taunts.

“Get off,” you shoo and shoot him a harsh look as well.

None of your efforts have the intended effect though. Nothing you do intimidates either of your boyfriends whose frames dwarf your own against the side of the car.

“So angry,” Sam mocks. He ducks in and kisses your cheek while Clark grabs your chin and makes you look at him again.

“We just gotta find something that calms you down. You need to let loose sometimes. You’re always so worked up and high strung,” Clark says. He strokes your jaw as Sam brings his mouth down to your throat. He starts laying kisses there, the affection more intense than it had been inside the hotel.

His soft lips glide across your sensitive skin. He licks your pulse, scrapes his teeth over the thumping artery. Your breath hitches. They both can hear it. You know that from how Clark’s smile grows that much more smug.

“You know it feels good,” he coos. He leans in, teasing you with the idea of a kiss. His mouth hovers not even an inch from your own. The warmth of his breath puffs against your skin. With the slightest move the two of you would be touching.

“I can feel how bad you want it,” he murmurs, “So why not give in?”

“It’s not like you could get away anyways,” Sam whispers.

And you know it’s true. You can’t do anything they don’t want, especially not something Clark doesn’t want. They’re bigger and stronger. With Clark’s heightened senses, there’s no hope of hiding either. You know the smart decision here is to give in. To give in and then wait for an opportunity to get that bracelet off him.

However, you can’t even say this is a choice based solely in logic or survival instinct. You want Clark’s lips on yours. You crave more touches from them both. While your rational mind hates these versions of the two of them, your body doesn’t care. Your skin breaks out into chills while your heart rate speeds up all the same.

“You’re gonna regret all of this later,” you whisper to Clark, letting your eyes fall to his plush lips.

“Maybe. But I’m not worried about that. I’m living right now,” he responds.

He closes the gap between the two of you. A soft moan creeps up your throat, escaping against his mouth. You feel him smirk. The sound encourages him to deepen the kiss.

Sam presses closer behind you. He pulls your ass flush against his pelvis and kisses your neck some more. It’s like a flurry all around you. If any of Clark’s coworkers were leaving the party now, this sight would only add to the embarrassment Sam and you caused earlier.

None of you are thinking about that though. You’re completely wrapped up with each other. Your hands have found their way into the dark locks on either side of you. The left one grips Clark’s while your right extends back and tugs on Sam. Heavy breaths blow against your face from multiple angles. Large palms grope at the different curves of your body.

Clark reaches down into his pocket. His fingers fish around for a few moments before pulling out the small set of keys Sam asked about earlier. He pulls off your lips and tugs you to his chest away from Sam.

“You drive,” he says simply, sliding the metallic object into the other man’s hand.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “Seems like you’re more eager than me now.”

He doesn’t resist or argue though. Instead, he taps the unlock button and slides around the back of the car to head to the driver’s side. At the same time, Clark opens the door to the backseat and ushers you in with a pat to your ass.

“You had a taste of her in there. Now it’s my turn,” he grins.

The drive home was a quick one.

It felt like a right turn, a left turn, and then the car slowing as Sam parked it in the driveway. Clark had made good on his words. He took his turn with you. The entire time his hand was up your skirt, his fingers beneath the thin cotton of your panties, drawing little whiny moans from you.

When the vehicle finally came to a full stop, Sam cleared his throat to alert you and Clark. They spoke back and forth a bit, but their specific words eluded you. Before your mind could come down from the high Clark was working you into, they were hauling you inside.

Clothes came off along the way to the bedroom. Clark’s jacket pooled on the floor in the entryway. Your red dress decorated the bannister. Sam’s belt hung around the bedroom door knob.

Now they have you spread before them on the bed. Your panties have abandoned you like the rest of your outfit. You lie bare for their eyes. At the foot of the mattress, they finish undressing themselves. Sam’s in the lead, his fist already stroking his cock while he stares down at you. Beside him, Clark finishes shimmying off his trousers.

“Think it’s my turn again,” Sam says before getting on the bed with you. He takes hold of one of your ankles, pulling the limb aside to spread your legs.

“We can share now. I’m not feeling too patient,” Clark adds. He follows right along with the other man’s movements.

Grabbing your other leg, he pushes it farther away from the other as he crawls towards you. They both descend upon you in sync. With their broad frames, it’s a tight fit, but they manage to both position themselves at the junction of your thighs.

Clark looks to Sam with a big smile across his face. “More fun when we do it together anyways.”

Sam hums in acknowledgement. He stares into those round, blue eyes for a moment more before rotating them to focus on your glistening center. You’re thoroughly slick from Clark’s fingers in the car and all the attention they lavished on you in the parking garage. Two of his digits spread you open. They both gaze at your drippy entrance, your poor swollen clit.

“You don’t even need a warm up tonight, sweetheart. You’re soaked from a few touches,” Sam mocks.

“It was more than a few,” you whimper in defense of yourself.

“Either way… be grateful we’re so nice, willing to give you all this extra attention,” he continues.

“Yeah, especially when you were being so bratty earlier. Talking back, carrying on,” Clark adds.

You whine softly and squirm your hips in an attempt to speed along the teasing. Even with your pouty denial, you know how bad you want them. These words only add to that needy sensation in your belly.

“So desperate,” Sam croons in a low voice.

Luckily for you, Clark doesn’t say anything back. He must have been honest about feeling impatient because instead he just leans in and connects his mouth with your cunt. A sigh bursts from your lips and you tilt your head back against the pillows.

He boosts your thigh over his shoulder and holds it like some sort of handle. His lips kiss your clit a few times, mashing the little bud with their delicate, smooth surface. He then sticks his tongue out and drags it through your arousal. The tip of it sweeps up over your velvety folds and swirls around your button.

Your back arches off the bed. Sam grabs your thigh closest to him and takes it on his shoulder as Clark had done. He turns his head, trailing some kisses over your inner thigh. They start innocent enough, chaste pecks at the most. But as they get closer to your center where Clark is, they grow sloppier. You feel his tongue gliding around in figure eights before his lips engulf the saliva-traced flesh.

When he finally reaches your pussy, you whine loudly. Your eyes flutter, and your heels dig into their backs. They keep you pinned in place, not allowing you to squirm too much or to buck your hips in excitement.

“Good girl,” Clark breathes in a husky tone before sucking on your pulsing clit.

A sharp squeal comes from you. Your toes and fingers curl at the sensation. In the meantime below, Sam prods at your leaky hole with his tongue. At first, he uses broad strokes. He flattens the muscle against your desire-soaked entrance, lapping without shame or hesitance. You moan appreciatively, nice and shameless just how you know they like.

More juices seep out of you as they work you up. That combined with their spit has you thoroughly soaked between your legs. It doesn’t bother them in the slightest. You can see the shimmer of your essence on Clark’s jaw. His eyes are shut, his features relaxed as he showers your tender nub with attention. Sam’s head nods as he licks. It bobs lazily, his nose occasionally bumping Clark’s jaw. He also sports a peaceful expression. It’s the first one on him you’ve seen on him in weeks. He isn’t annoyed or tense or bitter. He’s just lost in the bliss of how good you taste.

Soon, fingers start to get involved. Sam brings his long, slender digits up to slither their way inside of you. He moves his lips North to get more room for them. Clark moves ever so slightly to accommodate him but not by too much. He’s close enough that his nose can still brush against his skin. Close enough that he still feels the occasional swipe of his tongue against his own.

You feel release boiling in the pit of your stomach. Sparkling bursts of ecstasy fizzle from there through all your limbs.

“You gonna cum, baby?” Sam rasps. He pumps his fingers in and out faster, curling them against your clenching walls.

“Mhm,” you force out. Your eyes screw shut while you nod, your head wagging rapidly.

“Go ahead, honey. Cum for us. Show us how good you feel,” Clark hums. He flicks his tongue at your clit just as quickly as your head moves above.

In a matter of seconds, you shriek. Your thighs quiver against the sides of their heads. You roll your hips into the pleasure while clutching at the sheets. Sam’s fingers dig harder into the malleable flesh of your leg. Clark latches his lips onto your bundle of nerves and works you through the high.

At the point where you would normally start to come down, they still haven’t let up. Sam’s fingers don’t recede any. They stay snug in your cunt while Clark continues to make out with your center. You whine. Your hips now buck with the purpose of getting them off. The motion doesn’t achieve that though. They stay right where they are.

“Clark-” you squeal for the main offender. Your eyes roll back and ragged pants of air puff from your lungs. You grab at the two mops of hair between your legs. “Sam...” you whimper with desperation.

Your pleas go unanswered at first. Clark chuckles while Sam grins against your leg. The latter continues to thrust his hand between your thighs.

“What’s the matter?” Sam croons, his brown eyes gazing up at you.

Words tangle up into a needy whine. You bite your lip to suppress the noise before attempting to reply with the sentiment you know they anticipate.

“It’s too much. Too sensitive,” you mewl.

As expected, they only look at you with patronizing smiles.

“Too much?” Clark repeats mockingly, “It’s not too much. You can take it. Can’t she, Sam?”

“She can take it,” the man to his left affirms before redirecting his words at you, “You know you can, baby. You know you like it. You just can’t help yourself. You always need something to whine about.”

“I do not! Ah-” you say, cut off by your own moan.

It’s the feeling of one of Clark’s thick fingers joining the couple of Sam’s that are already inside you. Your toes curl at the minor stretch you feel. It’s nothing compared to the times you’ve taken both of them at once, but still, it brings slight discomfort.

“That’s it, pretty girl,” Clark praises as you lose yourself to the moans.

They both duck back in and work with their mouths again. The tips of their tongues brush against one another as they lap at you. Clark moves in impossibly closer, angling his mouth slightly to the left. It leaves him more open to Sam. It gives him easier access to the other man as well.

Sam knows it’s on purpose. This isn’t coincidental positioning. Clark can be just as needy as you. He just has an aversion to acting so openly pathetic about it, especially with red kryptonite on him. 

His head drifts a little more inward, bringing their mouths even closer together. Sam doesn’t hesitate before taking the leap. He tilts himself towards Clark. His tongue slides out against your cunt, but this time it makes full contact with the other man who moans at the warm, wet caress and reciprocates in full.

Your head pops up at the needy sound leaving his throat. You watch with lust-lidded eyes as their tongues tangle with each other against your folds. Their mouths are still touching your skin. The focus has just become split, flowing to all three points of your triad.

It helps to ease the sting of overstimulation that had been nipping at you. You’re able to actually make the descent back to a normal state of arousal. Reaching towards them, you lazily stroke Sam’s hair. You brush his bangs back from his warm forehead before swapping over to Clark and combing your fingers through his tresses that have become damp with sparse drops of sweat.

As they feel your touch, they become more focused on each other. It’s as if more subconscious parts of their minds understand you’ve been attended to. You’ve been sated. You’re not going to get up and leave, so it’s ok to play with each other a bit.

Sam’s the one to deepen the exchange. He draws his fingers that had gone still from the warmth of your cunt. They land on Clark’s shoulder, sliding up to the nape of his neck to pull him closer. Your other boyfriend doesn’t need to be told twice. He moves in for more, his nose bumping against Sam’s. Their breaths grow louder. You can hear every desperate inhale.

A low hum reverberates from Sam’s throat as Clark pushes him back on the bed. He kisses with the same overeager tenacity of a pup desperate for attention from its master.

Sam crumples on his shoulder, letting his back rest against the blankets beneath the three of you. You rise on your elbows and sit up, readjusting your legs. Your eyes trail over their nude bodies. They catch on the way Clark ruts himself against the crevice between Sam’s hip and the mattress. Sam’s flushed length stands stiff between their bodies, oozing the first beads of pre despite being untouched for the most part.

You’re only left neglected for a few seconds more. Sam manages to guide Clark’s lips down onto his neck. He then tilts his head back and reaches for your wrist.

“Don’t think we forgot about you,” he says with a small tug.

You follow along with the direction and scoot closer. Clark’s still got his mouth attached to Sam’s neck, kissing and licking at the curve of his throat. The recipient of the touches sighs at the dull sense of bliss it brings. Clark grinds himself harder against the bed, letting out a strangled moan before lifting his head.

His eyes are drooping with desire too now. The blown out pupils flit from Sam to you.

“We couldn’t forget about you, baby,” he adds, his mind seemingly just catching up with the words your other lover said.

Grabbing you by your waist, he drags you over Sam’s body and gets you flat on the mattress under him. You can feel the heat of his length against your thigh. Sam sits up beside you and strokes your cheek with two of his long fingers. He studies you for a few moments, looking at you with such intensity. Even in the heat of the moment though, you know he’s different. His normal reverence is absent. There’s hardly any affection in his gaze. It feels empty in a sense. As if his actions are guided by pure carnal need.

“I’ll let you have her pussy, Clark. Think her and I need to make up with something closer,” he says as his thumb pulls your mouth open by pressing on your bottom lip.

The plan receives no argument from Clark. It probably would have had he been the one resigned to your mouth, but he had no protests about getting to fuck you.

“Sounds good to me,” he grins and moves to kneel between your thighs. He tugs you closer by your hips, getting you in the position he wants. “You ready, princess? This won’t be too much for you?”

It’s not said with genuine concern. You’re sure the result would be the same regardless of if you nodded or shook your head. His tip is already nudging at your hole, more than ready to be inside.

You feel his cock sink in and split you open in time with Sam pushing his thumb further into your mouth. A moan bubbles up from you before you close your lips around the digit and suck. You shut your eyes too, allowing the physical sensations to overtake you.

Clark works himself in inch-by-inch. To your surprise, he doesn’t jerk himself all the way in, but he doesn’t go slow either. His desire rolls off him in waves. It’s only a matter of seconds before his tip is kissing your cervix and the thin patch of dark hair above his cock is pressed to your pelvis.

Sam pushes down on your tongue with his thumb. You continue sucking. Having it there soothes you in a way. It staves off any remnants of overstimulation, gives you something to focus on besides the thick cock stretching you apart.

But then he removes it. You whine. Moments after it leaves you, Clark draws his hips back and then slams in again. Now he’s set on picking up the pace. You don’t get a break. He doesn’t take a while to figure out a rhythm. He pounds back and forth, already settling into the one he likes.

Sam is rising up next to your head too. Before you realize what’s happening, he’s tapping the head of his dick on the seam of your lips. Your eyes lift to his face, which looks down at you with a condescending smirk.

“Open up, baby,” he purrs.

Obediently, your lips part. He thrusts himself inside with the same force Clark used on your cunt. You screw your eyes shut to try and repress the urge to gag. He chuckles up above, though it sounds distant to your ears. Being full of them on both ends spreads your senses thin. They try to keep up with everything happening, but they can really only catch the most intense pieces. Everything else blurs into a flurry around you. Clark’s needy grunts, Sam’s satisfied hum, the wet squelches coming from your core. All of it mixes together into a hazy bluster.

Sam’s cock drags over your tongue. It’s much heavier than his thumb. Warmer too. You suck on it all the same. You don’t use too much force or bob your head more than necessary. Even if his personality had been different as of late, you know what affects him on a physical level no matter what. You swipe your tongue over that specific vein and press up on the sensitive ridge that makes him buck. He hisses as you’re able to get him going with only a few small maneuvers.

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” he grunts. His hands land on either side of your head and hold you in place. “It’s much better when you’re using your mouth for this instead of all that worrying.”

As he grips your skull and begins rocking his hips back and forth, Clark rabbits himself harder into you. His fingers dig into you with such force, you’re sure you can feel the bruises forming on your skin. Normally, Clark was more conscious of his strength. He made sure to never pull too hard or hold too tightly. But when that little red stone sits strapped around his wrist, all concern for those kinds of things leaves his mind. All he cares about right now is the feeling of your pussy wrapped around his cock.

“She’s so fucking tight. Like more than usual. Thinks she likes us better like this,” Clark moans as he continues fucking into you with fast, needy strokes.

“Yeah? That true?” Sam huffs. He thrusts forward and drags your head all the way down on his cock. 

In place of an answer, you gag. One set of your fingers claws at the bedding while your other clutches one of his thighs. He holds you in place for a moment. You can’t breathe. Your heart pounds with panic while your pussy squeezes extra tight around Clark. You hear him whimper at the sensation. It sounds far away, fading almost.

You blink slowly. Your head jerks a little. It’s not a conscious choice. Just the natural survival instinct that drives you to fight for air. You don’t receive it at first. Sam keeps your throat full for a few seconds more before pulling out and allowing you to suck in a breath.

You cough at the sudden influx of oxygen. A few droplets of spit spew forward and flank his v-line. He pets your head, stroking you in a way that seems almost caring.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, “You didn’t even move that much. Kept nice and still like you’re supposed to.”

“Of course. She knows just how to take us,” Clark agrees.

“I guess that’s true,” Sam says, thumbing at your cheek before sliding his cock between your lips again.

He’s not as forceful this time. You don’t stop breathing as you suck and lick at him. He keeps his thrusts pretty shallow. One of his hands rests on the top of your head, maintaining contact without grabbing you.

Simultaneously, Clark’s cock throbs inside you. It aches with the urge to spill. His balls that slap against your ass feel tight, more than ready to drain into you.

Sam can tell he’s close from how hard he’s panting. He doesn’t say anything, just watches. His eyes linger on Clark’s hips as they lose rhythm. They buck against you, sputtering as the rush of release creeps up on him. Sam can feel it approaching for him too. He tilts his head back and lets his eyes fall shut. His hand stays firm on the top of your head, using its position for leverage to start thrusting with a little more fervor again.

You whine around his cock. The faint vibrations only serve to coax Sam farther along. Things feel more blurry for you than it does for either of them. While they feel the clear signs of their impending orgasms, yours arrives suddenly. It explodes within you, snapping like a taut rubber band. Your body twitches and spasms. You feel the urge to arch your back and buck your hips, but you’re stationary for the most part between them.

Clark cums after you. He bursts with a sharp groan. His hips slap against your ass, jerking you upward. He maintains the same firm grip he’s had the whole time. You feel the thick, warm ropes flood you in a few spurts. It feels good, relaxing in a way to know the end is near.

Then your attention is swept up by the man occupying your mouth. Another hiss zips through his lips before you feel the sticky heat of his spend hit the back of your throat. You swallow every drop. It’s not like you have much of a choice. He doesn’t pull out or give you any room to do anything else but accept it.

He holds himself there as his length twitches and then softens. When the pleasure has reached its zenith, he finally begins to slip himself out. A thin string of saliva hangs from your lips and the head before he falls from his knees and sits beside you. He watches as Clark slides out too. Unlike the man by your upper half, he doesn’t pull away. Instead, he collapses on top of you.

His body heat seeps into you, his weight crushing your smaller frame. He nips at your neck. “See? It’s so much more fun when you’re not so tense, baby,” he breathes.

“Mhm,” you hum and let your eyes shut.

Sam sinks down next to the pair of you in bed. He doesn’t speak for a couple minutes. Wordlessly, he observes the way Clark holds you beneath him.

“You are much cuter when you’re tuckered out like this,” he says, his voice low and quiet.

You tilt your head against his shoulder and keep your eyes shut, a gesture to show that you’re trying to doze off. Your main hope is that they’ll follow suit. Luckily that seems to be the case as they remain quiet. You hear Sam’s breath even out beside you. Clark stays still on top of you, pressing a lazy kiss to your skin every so often, but it’s not long before you can feel those puffs of air become deeper and more steady.

Once you feel semi-confident they’re both asleep, only then do you open your eyes. As carefully as you can, you shift slightly and reach for Clark’s arm. You keep your movements slow so as to not wake either one of them. When you have his muscular limb held up enough, you hook your fingers around that bracelet and pull. With a little force, it pops free. You don’t know if it’s real or imagined, but you swear you feel his muscles relax.

From your spot on the bed, you toss it towards the closet. The farther it is from Clark the better. You suppose you should probably try to hide from Sam, but for some reason, you don’t feel like he’s set on using it again. Getting it off was pretty easy. Maybe he planned on you doing exactly this from the moment he slid that thing onto your other boyfriend.

Either way, you shut your eyes. You won’t let yourself sleep, but you can at least rest for right now. You and Clark could deal with Sam later. With one of them back to normal, you could figure out how to do the same for the other.

[jadeshifting]

— SUPERNATURAL SCENARIOS ( romance w/ Dean, sibling bond w/ Sam vers. )

˚　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　 ˚　　　　 . ★ ⋆. ࿐࿔

MOTEL RITUALS

there's truly nothing like the mundane but essential routines of the hunter lifestyle—checking into yet another sketchy motel, dumping weapons onto the bed, flipping through a dusty lore book under flickering yellow light

you and Sam bicker over who gets the room with the least stains, while Dean throws himself onto a bed with a sigh, boots still on ( you give him a rancid look for that. ) maybe you all order greasy takeout, end up patching each other’s wounds in the bathroom, or perhaps you sit in silence, loading bullets and preparing for the next day

YOU'RE BAIT

during a hunt, you’re chosen to play the bait ( yay? )—maybe for a vampire nest, a shapeshifter, or a demon deal gone wrong. Sam’s reading over the plan, looking skeptical, while Dean's smirks at you mockingly, saying, “You sure you can pull off the helpless act, sweetheart?”

of course, when the moment comes, you hold your own way better than expected—Sam's grinning and clapping you on the shoulder triumphantly, and even Dean has to gruffly admit that he underestimated you

ROAD TRIP ROMANCE

you, Dean, and Sam are on a long-haul road trip between cases, taking turns driving the Impala down empty highways at night and napping in the passenger side or the backseat

Dean teaches you how to drive Baby ( very reluctantly at first, because no one touches Baby, but eventually he enjoys watching you take the wheel. ) his hand guides yours and he directs you with an unusual calmness, the kind he really only reserves for you ( he's never been that nice to Sam when he makes a mistake driving )

you and Dean share quiet, stolen moments at roadside diners, and he always insists on ordering for you, claiming he “just knows what you’ll like.” you roll your eyes, but when he keeps ordering things that you actually like, you slowly realize he's been paying a lot more attention to you than you realized

A HUNT THAT HITS TOO CLOSE TO HOME

one of the cases you go on mirrors something from your past a little too closely—a town you once lived in, a victim who reminds you of someone you lost, a creature linked to an old trauma. you try to play it cool, but Sam notices, Dean notices, and by the time the hunt is over, you’re staring at the motel ceiling, totally unable to sleep

Dean tosses a beer at you from across the room, the cure-all that he thinks can dull the pain of anything ( works for him ) muttering something about, “you’re thinkin’ too much. can't do that with this job.” though you see the way he looks at you out of the corner of his eye, the sympathy

A CLOSE CALL

after a hunt goes sideways, the three of you barely escape. no one talks as Dean drives off into the night afterwards, the Impala cutting through the darkness and providing the only bright spot you've had this whole job. from the passenger seat, Sam’s staring out the window, lost in thought. you’re in the backseat, watching the reflection of neon lights flicker across the windshield

while Sam isn't paying attention, Dean takes the moment to reach back and rest a hand on your arm, providing some wordless reassurance after the tough few days you've had

HIGH TENSIONS

you and Dean end up in an unusually high-stakes situation—maybe a cursed object binds you two together, or a witch’s hex forces you into an emotionally charged confrontation. the point is, the tension is thick. your faces are inches apart, the heat of the moment demands something break it. Dean smirks, “you gonna stab me, sweetheart, or finally admit you wanna kiss me?”

( i'm not coming up with what happens after that girl that's all you. go get your man. or stab him. up to you no judgement here !! )

CLASSIC "HUNTER'S FIRST TIME" CHALLENGE

early on in your time hunting with them ( regardless of whether they're teaching you to hunt from scratch, or you have experience ) Dean and Sam decide to test you ( it's Dean's idea )—maybe it’s your first time handling a shotgun, setting up salt lines, or exorcising a demon. Dean's making jokes the whole time, Sam is decent enough to try to explain things scientifically and guide you

it's up to you whether you completely botch it and end up having to scramble to fix it, or get saved after your mess-up, or if you totally blow it out of the water and shock both of them with your competence

INTEL GATHERING AT A SMALL-TOWN BAR

you guys have to pull a classic hunter move—blending into a small-town bar to gather information

Dean is flirting with the bartender for leads ( and you're giving him the nastiest look out of the corner of your eye, though you're trying to act like you don't care. Dean brings you one of the free drinks she gave him as an almost-apology, though it's up to you whether you forgive him or not )

Sam is trying to stay on track ( while failing to keep Dean in check ), and you’re somewhere between the two—maybe charming a witness, maybe listening in on a suspicious conversation, maybe getting dragged into a bar fight that you absolutely didn’t start, but that Dean definitely finishes for you before you all head back to the motel

MIDDLE-OF-NOWHERE EMERGENCY

one random night, the Impala breaks down on some forgotten road, no cell service, no town for miles. Sam’s got the map out, trying to figure out where the hell you even are, while Dean is cursing under his breath as he's halfway under Baby’s hood, lamenting how this could've happened when he takes such good care of her

the forest around you is too quiet, shadows stretching unnaturally long. maybe it’s just a busted radiator. maybe someone did it, and now something is watching

DANGEROUS JOB

on a particularly dangerous hunt, you get injured—nothing fatal, but more than enough to scare the shit out of Dean. whe you wake up, you're in a motel room, bandaged up and with a dull ache emanating through your body, though it's bearable

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, jaw tight, refusing to leave your side. he’s pissed, but not at you—at the world, and this stupid job, and himself for putting you in danger. the air is thick with unspoken feelings, and when you try to joke about it, he just mutters, “you scared the hell outta me, sweetheart.”

NO ONE TOLD ME IT WAS THIS MESSY

there's a moment for you where you realize hunting isn’t just cool lore and cool weapons—it can truly be brutal

maybe this moment happens when you’re stitching up a deep wound in a gas station bathroom ( yours or one the boys' ), or dragging a body to salt-and-burn it while trying not to gag. Dean slaps you on the back like it’s nothing, Sam gives you an approving nod, and you stare down at your hands, wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into

DEAN ( JEALOUS MESS )

you run into another hunter ( maybe an ex, maybe just someone overly flirty ) who’s a little too friendly with you. Dean acts like he doesn’t care, of course, but his entire demeanor shifts—his jaw clenches, he gets snarkier, and suddenly he’s pulling you closer, his arm resting on the back of your chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world ( you know he's never done that before )

later, when you call him out on it jokingly, he doesn't laugh—he grumbles, “I just don’t like people touching what’s mine, alright?” or some variation of that

SAM ( RELUCTANT WINGMAN )

Sam catches onto your and Dean’s growing romance before either of you even admit it. he's constantly giving you knowing looks, poking fun at Dean relentlessly, and occasionally drops casual remarks like “would you two go somewhere else to do that?” while you and Dean are going back and forth, making you both glare at him

he also becomes your confidant in the whole thing—originally, he gets grossed out when you talk about his brother with him—he ends up being someone who genuinely listens when you need to talk about Dean’s walls and your own feelings

GOING IT ALONE

in a reckless moment, you decide to try to take a case on solo, perhaps in an attempt to prove something ( to yourself or to them )

Dean and Sam find out too late, and they have to race to get to you before things go south. maybe you handle things yourself perfectly fine, or maybe you don’t and they have to save you. either way, after they show up and it's all said and done, you see the fear in both of their eyes at the realization that they could've lost you, though Dean's is quickly masked with anger. “you ever do that again, I’m handcuffing you to the goddamn Impala.”

HIGHWAY CHASE

a run-of-the-mill case takes a turn for the adrenaline-fueled and cinematic—you’re flying down an empty highway in the Impala, Sam loading a shotgun in the backseat while Dean grips the wheel, radio blaring classic rock. maybe you’re being chased, or maybe you’re doing the chasing. either way, the energy is sky-high and the air crackles with the electricity of a thrilling hunt

DOMESTIC MORNINGS AT THE BUNKER

imagine a slow morning at the bunker where you're not being chased by a demon or the gods: Sam reading at the table with a cup of tea, you curled up on the sofa with your coffee

Dean walks in, his spiky hair sticking up in all different directions, grumbling about how you and Sam wake up way too early

you tease him for being lazy, he steals a sip of your coffee in retribution ( even though he has his own and he doesn't even like yours. ) Sam rolls his eyes at your playful back-and-forth. it’s rare, these quiet moments, but you cherish all of them

HEART-TO-HEARTS IN THE IMPALA

hunts are tiring—physically and emotionally—and after one particularly taxing one, you and Dean drive alone in Baby, silence filling the space between songs on the radio. Sam is asleep in the backseat with his face mushed against the window, and the road stretches endlessly ahead

you both talk about the things you’d normally never say in the daylight. he tells you about his fears, his regrets, things you've never heard him say out loud, especially not with Sam around. maybe it ends in a kiss, maybe just a promise, or maybe it dissolves into silence as the two of you mull over all the things you said. either way, it’s a turning point

A HUNT GONE WRONG

a simple salt-and-burn ghost hunt turns into something much worse. the spirit isn’t what you expected—maybe it ends up being a vengeful god, an ancient curse, or something that shouldn’t even exist. point is, it's unbelievably far off from what you were expecting

the three of you barely make it out, retreating to the Impala, covered in dirt, breathing hard, the realization settling in: “we weren’t prepared for that.” it’s a humbling moment for you guys, a reminder that even experienced hunters don’t always have the upper hand

QUESTIONING EVERYTHING

during one of your run-of-the-mill hunts, you find out that the creature isn’t evil—or maybe the real monster is human. you’re forced to make a choice, one that goes against everything hunters are supposed to do, everything you've learned so far. maybe you keep it a secret to protect the object of your hunt, or perhaps Sam and Dean find out. either way, you’ll never look at hunting the same way again

DIVE BAR CONFESSIONS

you, Dean, and Sam hit up a dingy dive bar after a hunt. Sam’s rolling his eyes at you and Dean trading flirtatious jabs at eachother, but when Dean gets up to grab another drink, Sam leans over to you and gives you that classic protective brother talk ( you're shocked, Sam's never like that )

he gives you the whole "Dean’s been hurt before" rundown ( as if you didn’t know that, come on ) and that if you’re in this, you’d better be "all in." you're wide-eyed and nodding

later, Dean finds you outside the bar under the neon glow of the overhead lights, asking what Sam said. you can feel the weight of his past in his eyes, and it's up to you whether you tell him or not

SOMETHING IS FOLLOWING US

this is a long-term arc, something has latched onto the three of you—maybe a ghost that won’t move on, a demon keeping tabs, or an entity drawn to your energy. no matter what town you’re in, it’s there. watching. waiting

you're more perceptive than the boys, and you notice that something is up. the hairs on the back of your neck stand up sometimes, you're whipping around in an empty room to check behind you, eyes flicking to the empty window, just because you feel eyes on you. the boys don’t fully believe you at first, they think you're just paranoid from hunting, but the signs are undeniable

you eventually get your big fat "I told you so," moment, and it's one of the most satisfying things in the world

˚　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　 ˚　　　　 . ★ ⋆. ࿐࿔

[hermits-crab]

JANUARY 2025 FIC RECOMMENDATIONS — STARDEW VALLEY

NOTES: This is something I’ve wanted to do for a while and with it being a new year, I thought this was the perfect opportunity to start! I’ve been doing something similar on Spotify for the past 5 years now where every month, I make a playlist that features all the songs I listened to the most in that month. I’ve also been inspired by @stardewfanficwriters and the monthly rec lists they post! Includes direct links to both the fics and authors’ profiles.

YOU REALLY GOT ME — softwisp

[Sam/Sebastian, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Drug Use, Anal Sex, Voice Actor Sebastian]

Sam has started losing his mind recently. He can’t tell what exactly it is, the shift in weather.. the time of year. Even the slightest breeze sets his skin aflame.

It has nothing to do with his best friend. Even if his dark eyes and plump lips swarm his thoughts and dreams.

He’s been lying awake at night, in a cold sweat, unable to sleep. His days start to blur together, he’s not acting like himself. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He needs to fix it. Maybe something online can help?

TEAR AWAY FROM THEIR SPINES — avidsim

[Sam/Sebastian, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Prostitution, Implied Sexual Content]

Sam and Sebastian move to Zuzu City for the good of their band. The good of their finances and mental health? Not so much.

A SONNET IN GREEN — iltuopreferito

[Elliott/Female Reader, Smut, Jealousy, Possessive Behavior, Vaginal Fingering, Praise]

Elliott gets jealous. You've never seen your new boyfriend so possessive. He demands your attention and wants to make certain he'll keep it.

INFLUENCED BY THE BOOK — VampiricAngel18_Yin_Right

[Elliott/Female Reader, Smut, Sexual Roleplay, Mild Rope Play, Pet Names]

Spending the night with the farmer, Elliott goes through her books, and finds a well loved dark romance. After a few days, he role plays with the farmer.

EUPHORIA — Angel_with_an_assbutt

[Sam/Sebastian/Female Player, Smut & Fluff, Loss of Virginity, Threesome, Oral & Vaginal Sex]

“Seb, I think I need you to help me lose my virginity.”

Fluffy/smutty one shot in which Sam requests his best friend's help in losing his virginity, but he didn't think Sebastian would take it so literally.

OPERATION: BIRTHDAY DINNER — Mongoosing

[Harvey/Female Reader, Smut & Fluff, Praise, Dirty Talk, Vaginal Fingering, Soft Dom Harvey]

You're not very good at asking for what you need. Harvey intends to help you with that.

WET SPRING HEAT — CastielCoven

[Sam/Sebastian, Smut, Vibrators, Sex Toys, Public Sex, Coming in Pants, Public Humiliation]

Sebastian wears a vibrator for Sam during the Stardew Valley Fair, it almost goes south.

STRESS RELIEVER — fanfictionally, @beholdthebangs

[Sam/Female Reader & Kent/Female Reader, Smut, Rough Sex, Daddy Kink, Vaginal & Oral Sex, Free Use]

Sam invites himself and Kent over to your house for dinner one night, seemingly an opportunity to get to know your boyfriend’s father better after his recent arrival to town. Things take a turn when you try to give Kent some ideas to relax, Sam having his own thoughts on the subject when he offers you up as a solution. Only under his supervision, of course.

— PLEASE GO SUPPORT THESE AUTHORS!

[rosemariad]

1 Day in Purgatory:

Hey Cas.

Kind of a dick move to ditch me like that, you son of a bitch.

But seriously, thanks for protecting me. You coulda stayed, though. I ain’t as weak as all that. I’ve fought off a few freaks already.

How’s it going for you? Must’ve killed dozens of them by now, huh?

I never cared much for this praying thing. A little too one-sided for my taste.

I missed it when we could talk on the phone. That way, I could actually hear you back.

So, uh…night, I guess.

1 Week in Purgatory:

Heya Cas —Time flies when you’re running for your life, right? It seems that way to me.

It feels like it's been a week, but in some ways, it feels like it's been longer than that.

How many have you killed? I’ve killed about a dozen or so. I feel like John McClane. Or I guess Rambo, just need the headband and machine gun.

Oh, right. You wouldn’t get who I’m talking about. I need to get you to start watching movies.

So, are you alright? I hope you are. That you’re safe.

Don’t worry, Cas. I’m gonna find you. I promise.

1 Month in Purgatory:

Cas, it’s me. See, this whole praying thing—one of the reasons I don’t care for it is its one-sidedness. I never know if you’re listening to me or just tuning me out and ignoring me. Kind of hurtful, just saying. Given how many times I've prayed to you, I feel like I’m owed a response at some point.

Ever since meeting you, I’ve never prayed more. I guess it’s cuz I learned long ago that you don’t just wait for someone to save you—that’s how you die. Usually, you gotta take your life into your own hands and fight for it with all you got. That's how I learned to survive.

Anyway, I met this vampire. His name is Benny. He’s the first thing in this hellhole that hasn’t automatically tried to eat me. Apparently, he knows a way outta here. We’ll see if that isn’t total bullshit. He’s with me right now. I know, I know. Trusting a vamp? What am I thinking? But it’s better than being alone, stuck with only my thoughts worrying over you.

I hope you’re okay. Please be okay.

I’m gonna find you, Cas. I ain’t leaving here without you.

6 Months in Purgatory:

I've lost count of how many days I've been stuck here. But I ain't leaving you, Cas. Why do you keep running away, huh? If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were avoiding me. The lack of response ain't helping. Sucks that this is a one-way line.

As gnarly as this place is, though, it's simpler than Earth. Black and white. Haven't been able to see things like that in a while. It's pure in a way. I fight monsters. Don't have much time to think or do much else. Rest and fight, that's it. Fighting’s what I'm best at anyway.

I miss Earth. I miss Sam. Drinking, fooling around and driving. Sam better be looking after my Baby.

But this place is pure, that’s for sure.

Don't have to worry about nothing else but fighting off monsters. It's been a long time since my life has been so simple. No offense Cas, but meeting you made my life so complicated.

Where are you, man?

You know, when I settle down somewhere quiet, I get restless, but there ain't no room for that here. I hate it here, but I don't. I hate it cuz these hungry sons of bitches don't let up.

I hate it cuz you keep running from me, and I can never catch you.

But I like the woods, the quiet. It's unnerving and peaceful at the same time. Well, it would be if not for all the monsters. Maybe I should get a cabin of my own someday…

You know, if I ever catch up to you, we'll make quite a team. These mooks won't stand a chance: you, me and Benny.

9 Months in Purgatory:

You probably know how long we've been here in Purgatory land, right, Cas? You've always been smart like that. You'd have to be, as old as you are.

How old are you, anyhow? As old as the dinosaurs? Were they real? I never bothered to ask. I should’ve asked you. I should’ve asked you so many things...

Remember when you took me out to see the stars? How d’you know I'd like that shit, huh? And that beer? I've been on the lookout for it ever since you turned me onto it. Apparently, they only sell it in Oregon.

Why'd you do that for me, Cas? Were you feeling guilty about Crowley, then? Or did you just wanna do something nice for me? No one ever does that shit for me…not like that.

Why did you say that shit to the other angels? The crap about not being able to live in a world where I'm gone?

You know I'm only human, right? Someday, I'm gonna die. Never pay it much mind. I know I don't got long though. Hunters never do. My dad bit it at 52. Bobby died at 62. I'm lucky if I last that long. Given the shit I've gotten mixed up in the last couple of years, I'm lucky if I make it past forty.

I'm only still around cuz of you, Cas. Look at how we met. You found me in Hell. I was twenty-nine then. If you hadn't gotten me outta there, I might have stayed there forever. Dead at 29. Ain't that sad?

So why did you say it, Cas?

What am I to you?

Aren't we just friends?

I don't know. I guess you could say what we got is unique. It's hard enough for me to make friends as it is, but the way we met was…fucked up.

I don't let people see me, Cas. That ain't a luxury I got. I can't be weak – ever. But you met me at my worst. That's part of the reason you fucked me up the way you did when you walked into that barn. You were this otherworldly being I coulda sworn was made up, and you knew all this shit about me. You didn't say so, but I knew, like, instinctively.

Shit, I've been praying for a while now, huh…

You must be so ticked off. Well, that's what you get for ditching me in the first place.

Good night, Cas. I'm gonna find you.

Soon.

For anyone who was curious about the prayers Dean might’ve made to Cas during their time in Purgatory, my imagination got away from me 😅

Source: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61591894/chapters/157467775

[chaifootsteps]

i agree with the statement of, "we shouldn't judge creative leads who are later revealed to be bad people based on their work because its unproductive and there usually is no secret messages that reveal they were terrible the whole time and everyone was too stupid to see it except for the Smartest Bestest critical analysis enjoyers who don't trust any piece of media ever if it has even slightly problematic elements, regardless of the execution or the fact that fiction is a playground meant to explore interesting and darker topics in any way you want,"

but i feel guilty becaus i also genuinely believe there's exceptions for this rule. the guy who made the room is the first one that comes to mind, but only because his depiction of women has been compared to stella in helluva boss, which leads me to the other exception in my eyes; vivziepop.

am i crazy for thinking that though? i just feel like part of why i can never take any charitable analyzing of either series seriously is because they're unaware of what kind of person she is and even if they can still come to a conclusion of, "viv has a problem writing women, abuse, coherent plotlines, foreshadowing and rape," they never seem to wonder WHY that is. it makes me feel like an insane conspiracy theorist when the way i sincerely feel is that viv just writes whatever she wants with no care of how the trials of time will age with it and no care besides indulgence and projecting whatever message she needs viewers to think about her characters so she can sell the most merch of them, thus leading to demons in hell never being allowed to be bad people or being the worst people ever thatre also loved by the writers to a ridiculous degree, without a speck of nuance or maturity in the narrative unless you squint hard with your rose tinted headcanon glasses and copium huffings that inspires statements of, "well, she'll probably address these things and make them better in the next season!"

do you get what i mean? or am i going too far down this rabbit hole? i just want people to open their eyes to this stuff when they notice these patterns, but i feel like it'll never happen until these shows end and NDAs expire so people behind the scenes making her half baked vision a reality with their actual talent go, "yeah she was bullshitting everything on the spot and just wanted to pretend she had broadway besties so that's why these shows suck lol" but i dunno if that'll even happen either. (and im not just talking jane, i mean people like sam and skye and brandon or even the expensive VAs themselves, although the last ones last likely since they gain nothing and arguably lose more by speaking out since they have successful actually professional careers they've worked their asses off for,)

Oh no, shitty people seeding their foulness throughout their works is definitely a thing. It's just when people go retroactively and say "It's obvious they were bad all along because they wrote X, Y, and Z." Because it's perfectly possible to write X, Y, and Z and be lovely in real life.

In Viv's case, she's not a bad person because she writes certain things...she's just a bad person in general and it comes through in the way she writes.

[chiisana-sukima]

Happy Wincest Wednesday!

What's one headcanon (cute, sexy, or otherwise) you have about the brothers and the Impala? Time spent in or on it, or things they've done in it, Sam indulging Dean somehow with it, or (etc)?

Happy Wincest Wednesday-Thursday, Phyn! Thank you so much for the ask. <3

I have so many headcanons about Sam, Dean and the Impala. The main one is that they're both very weirdcesty about it. They don't have a sexual relationship with--or even sexual thoughts about--each other. Obviously! That would be sick and bad, and especially in Dean's case, outright wrong. It would be the polar opposite of protecting and looking out for Sam, so clearly he would *never*.

...But it's hardly Dean's fault, or Sam's, that they've both banged chicks in Baby's back seat. That's just a natural outcome of the Impala being, for all those years, their only real home. And it's hardly his fault he's proud that Sam can pull such gorgeous babes, and that maybe when Sam was in high school and first started dating, Dean helped him out a bit by handing over the keys and telling him the best make out spots and giving him advice on what songs got which kinds of girls in the mood, and maybe even making sure he knew there were always extra condoms in the glove compartment (and although Dean *certainly* never looked in the glove box the next morning to see if Sam had gotten lucky, it's not his fault he has to replenish the supply so he does kinda keep track.) If he sometimes fantasizes just a little about some of Sam's chicks later himself when he's banging one out in the shower--about what they were like for Sam, maybe sweet and faux demure, laying on the worn back seat with their clothes still on but the door open to give Sam room to get his head up under their skirt, or maybe shameless and wild, going down on Sam at the drive in, with Sam still in the driver's seat and the soundtrack to whatever movie of the week was drowning out his cut off moans--well, if he thinks about those things on occasion, that's just because he's a red-blooded American man, and Sam has excellent taste in women.

Usually.

Sam usually has excellent taste in women.

There was the Ruby thing, of course. He knows--knows for certain, though he could never prove it--that when Sam would pocket Baby's keys and sneak out to get his fix while Dean seethed and pretended to sleep, that sometimes he and that demon bitch would bang right there in the Impala's back seat. Baby would stink of sulfur the next day, and Dean would hardly be able to contain his rage. But what was he supposed to say? "Alastair warned me you weren't the pure little Sammy I imagined and you'd get with any demon whore who'd give you what you wanted, so why didn't I come down off the rack and it could be me instead"? Obviously he couldn't say that. He only even thought it sometimes because Hell had fucked him up so bad.

And there was Rachel Nave. That one Dean had assumed was on him--so much so he'd still felt guilty years later and a djinn had made it the reason dream-him and dream-Sam were estranged. But okay, while he shouldn't have stolen Sam's prom date and definitely shouldn't have given in when she insisted she blow him parked behind the school only three days after said prom, it had all worked out fine. Yeah, Sam had been angry one of Rachel's friends saw the whole damn thing, but far from pulling him and Dean apart like maybe it should have, Sam had demanded Dean drive him to school the next day and pull Baby right up front; had paraded Dean around on his arm like--well. Like *Dean* was the prize in the exchange and there was no denying Sam won.

Anyway, that's all in the past now. These days, things between him and Sam are easy. Now when he gets an eyeful of a gorgeous naked babe like that Piper chick in Baby's back seat with Sam, it's just par for the course. She's hot, Sam's, you know, objectively hot too (what're you gonna do, Dean certainly can't help that). So whatever it's all about, maybe it's not exactly normal, and maybe Sam and him are both a little fucked up, but the world has bigger problems. It's only worth dwelling on in a good way.

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.

[james-spooky]

this is a test

[quietwingsinthesky]

millie’s natural state is covered in blood (<- may or may not be her own) and shaking like a feral dog. because she’s normal.

[autumnrory]

this season of ted lasso saying sam should forgive racists who vandalized the restaurant and  then you know, dropping anything to do with that storyline immediately afterwards

and the saying jamie should forgive his abusive father bc hating him apparently isn’t good for him or whatever

doesn’t feel great tbh

[creature-once-removed]

.

[fadran]

Guys I just realized something

I’m reading Return of the King, and have just reached the chapter called “The Tower of Cirith Ungol,” in which Sam makes to rescue his master.

Something notable about this is that Sam has put on the Ring not once, but twice so far - and both times, his experience has been markedly different than Frodo’s.

Firstly, his vision is impaired. Everything he sees is somewhat obscured by a dark fog. It’s unclear whether this is an effect of the Ring entering Mordor, or if that’s just what it does to him specifically; after all, the Ring acts differently for each Wearer.

It’s the second effect that’s really interesting. You see, for some reason, the Ring improves his hearing. In both instances, he can hear orc-chatter from afar, as well as tumbling rocks and the foaming of Shelob. But what’s really wild about this is that the same never happens to Frodo.

Because the Ring reflects the Will and Strengths of the User, I can only assume this means one thing.

The One Ring empowers Samwise Gamgee’s eavesdropping.

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[lunaria-maharlika]

Amity parkers are feral and insane

-Gothamites.

Somehow, someway, Casper high finds their selves in Gotham.

It could be a field trip or a ghost shoved them in a portal, doesn't matter, they're in Gotham.

As they arrive in Gotham, the Casper teachers decide to turn this into something educational and hire a tour guide from Gotham Academy (or was it Gotham university? I forgot) GA agrees and also Sends some of their students to partner up with the amity parkers as a sort "buddy" and to hopefully teacher em the ways of surviving in Gotham.

To the gothamites, the amity parkers look like children who have never been exposed to crime in their life, never been mugged, never been been kidnapped.

But the truth is, compared to the BS amity is used to, Gothams issues are like kindergarten.

First thing the tour guide hears when she greets Casper high Mr lancer telling them to, "Please don't walk into danger, please don't try and provoke the joker, I know he's a bitch but still. If you find yourself in a tricky situation, do not hesitate to punch yourself to freedom, but ABSOLUTELY NO CRITICAL HITs these are NORMAL people they're not like us or the ghosts, they will not survive. Please do not give phantom problems, He's already failing in class he doesn't need more problems"

Its important to keep in mind that:

amity parkers and ghosts are buddies now.

The Ambient ectoplasm gave them a form of super strength, also making it so that they are able to touch ghost.

They join the ghost brawls everyone in a while and has some wins.

Most, if not all are liminal in a way.

Everyone knows that Danny is phantom but have signed an NDA that says they aren't allowed to tell anyone who isn't a native amity parker who he is.

Things is, The gothamites don't know about this and take it as if Mr lancer and the students are underestimating Gotham. So as a from of pettiness, all the Gotham students decided to bring their amity partner to the most dangerous places they can think of.

Niky has lead sam into a park that poison ivy frequents. Of course, poison ivy is there but instead of running away in fear like niky expected, Sam runs up to ivy, complements her and joins the path of eco terrorism.

Tucker and his partner Vic finds himself in the middle of a riddler attack, locked in a room with no way out, a countdown timer with 20 secs remaining and a riddle in a computer.

Vic is panicking as he tries to figure it out, he looked to tucker for help. Tucker just shrugged and hacked the computer, not even bothering to solve the riddle. It worked and Vic is baffled and the riddler is frustrated.

Danny find himself in the hands of the joker, (his partner ran the moment joker was seen) hanging upside down on top of a large pool of acid, because, it's classic for joker. He is also being live streamed.

The teachers in GA are panicking, the bats are panicking.

Casper high teacher took one look at the stream and shrugged. "Eh, he'll be fine." They also called the number that joker has displayed on the screen, just to say, "Daniel Fenton, make sure your back before in GA 6 pm or else were leaving you to find the hotel on your own."

The time is 5:30 pm.

It takes 25 minutes to walk from Joker to GA.

Danny sighs, might as well start walking.

He uses intangibility to free himself and fall into the vat of acid.

The Gothamites are shocked and screaming, the bats are shocked. Amity parkes went "oh" and continued placing bets on how fast Danny will get back.

Danny then proceeds to swim out of the acid pool, punch the joker in the face, knocking him out in a single hit and then proceeds to casually squeeze out the acid from his Casper high "I am a proud amitian" shirt as if it's regular water.

All of this was done in 5 minutes.

All of this was caught on stream.

The Gothamites are passed out, the bats are questioning everything. Batman is searching up everything he can about acid side effects and about Danny but ends up with nothing.

The amity parkers just raised their bets even further.

Danny somehow makes it back 10 minutes late and Wes wins the bet.