#and in this moment i made peace with sam's casting | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rebelliousmuse · 4 months ago

Text

Mine – S.G.

Once again, for the Sam and Colby fans.

Warning: degrading (once I think), jealousy, f!ngering, unprotected p in v (don’t).

-----------------------------------------------------------

The day's golden light cast long shadows across the house. Inside, laughter drifted out from an open window. You peeled off your sundress, and slipped into your favourite turquoise bikini, the one that always made you feel confident. A grin spread across your face while you looked at yourself in the bathroom’s mirror, a dip in the pool sounded like the perfect way to end this summer day. Grabbing a towel, you headed downstairs. Through the open patio doors, you saw the sparkling blue expanse of the pool. Sam and Colby were already there.

You squirted a dollop of sunscreen onto your palm spreading it on your arms, the scent of coconut mingling with the warmth of Sam's touch as he began spreading it across your back. Suddenly, the sound of fabric ripping pulled your attention away. Colby stood there, muscles rippling beneath the thin cotton of his t-shirt, a playful glint in his eyes as he peeled it off, revealing the tattoos across his skin.

A small, guilty part of you couldn't help but appreciate the view. Just a fleeting glance, you assured yourself. But when Colby winked your way, a blush crept up your cheeks. Sam saw it all, the way your cheeks flushed and the slight turn of your head. His smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of jealousy crossing his features.

Then, Colby jumped into the pool. Sam's voice, rumbled lowly beside you. "Are you serious?" His hand tightened on your waist.

You turned to face him. Shame washed over you, your lips met his in a quick kiss. The tension seeped out of Sam's shoulders, replaced by a sigh.

Sam's fingers brushed your cheek as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. But before you could lean into him, a loud voice shattered the peaceful moment. "Hey, c'mon love birds!" Colby's voice boomed from across the pool.

You dipped a tentative toe into the cool water. The fabric of your bikini clung to your curves. You eased yourself in slowly. Suddenly, you became hyperaware of the two pairs of eyes fixed on you. You bit your lip, self-conscious under their combined gaze.

Just as you reached mid-calf depth, a figure shot past you with a whoop. Sam launched himself into the pool, sending a spray of water that momentarily blinded you. You sputtered and blinked, wiping the stinging droplets from your eyes. Across the pool, you saw Colby throwing his arms up in mock defense. He grinned at you, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Before you could react further, a coordinated attack of splashing ensued. Two sets of hands sent waves of cool water crashing against you, sending out shrieks of laughter and surprise.

The laughter from your water fight echoed as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the pool in a warm, orange glow. You realized that twilight was approaching, and with a sigh, you decided to call it a day. Hauling yourself out of the pool, you grabbed a towel and padded towards a sun-warmed sun chair.

As you stretched out with your back to the sky, a comfortable silence descended. A few minutes later, you heard the boys exiting the pool. Sam plopped down next to you, his gaze lingering on your face (though you kept your eyes closed) and then slowly traveling down your sun-kissed body.

Suddenly, the peaceful moment shattered. Colby, with a loud bark of laughter, emerged from the pool and shook himself off like a giant, enthusiastic dog. A spray of icy water droplets rained down on your warm skin, sending a shiver and a wave of goosebumps erupting across your arms.

"Hey!" you shrieked, lifting your head and peeking at him through one squinted eye. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips, even as you playfully rolled your eyes at his antics.

Colby grinned, unfazed. "Oh yeah, you're so mad at me," he teased, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "Roll your eyes all you want; you know you love me."

The playful words hung in the air. A smile curved your lips "I guess I do," you admitted.

But the real problem wasn't the playful affection you shared with Colby. It was the sharp pang of guilt that stabbed at your heart when you saw Sam's expression change. Here you were, uttering three precious words to his best friend, words you'd never even said to him. Five months you'd been dating, and yet those three little syllables remained stubbornly unspoken.

As the sudden change in Sam’s expression was evident, a knot of tension tightened in Colby's shoulders as he grabbed a towel and began drying himself off. Then, he announced, "I'm gonna take a shower." With one last pointed look at Sam, he disappeared back into the house.

You stole a glance at Sam, who had a serious frown. "So, you love him?" he asked.

"We were just playing," you stammered, trying to force a smile.

As if to punctuate your lie, a sharp, undeniable sting ripped across your ass cheeks. You yelped at his spank.

"Answer the question," he demanded, his voice a low growl. You opened your mouth to explain, but the words died in your throat.

"He's a good friend," you managed finally, your voice barely a whisper.

Sam scoffed. "A friend?". Just then, his hand clamped onto your wrist.

You gasped, yanked to your feet before you could react. "Come on," Sam muttered through gritted teeth. Sam didn't stop dragging you until you reached his bedroom.

The worn doorknob turned under Sam's grip. He shoved the door open with unnecessary force. Before you could react, he grabbed your wrist, he didn't ask, he ordered "Inside." His voice was a low growl. You stumbled across the threshold. The lock clicked into place with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.

"Take it off," he commanded. You fumbled with the knot of your bikini bra. Slowly, you shed your entire bikini, feeling exposed and vulnerable under his unwavering gaze.

When you were finally bare, you instinctively covered yourself with your hands. Sam stalked towards you. His jaw clenched tight. He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours, easily prying them away from your body.

A harsh shove sent you sprawling onto the rumpled bed. You gasped as you landed on the soft mattress. He loomed over you.

"I'm gonna teach you a lesson you won't forget," he hissed. He ripped the t-shirt from his body with a violent motion.

His hands slammed against your knees. The force of it ripped a gasp from your lips as your legs were yanked apart, spread wide. He stood between them. His right hand reached your folds. You bit your lower lip so hard you tasted blood, desperately trying to stifle the whimper that threatened to escape.

The air crackled with a tension so thick it felt suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut. A choked moan escaped your throat as Sam's fingers began a relentless exploration in your pussy. Your right hand went up, covering your mouth, avoiding the moans to be heard by Colby.

Suddenly, his touch stopped. You cracked open your eyes to see him staring at you. "Don't you dare," he growled, “I want him to hear how good I make you feel” the words laced with a possessive anger that sent shivers down your spine. He ripped your hand away from your mouth.

He slammed his fingers back between you, two more joining the first in a swift, brutal motion. Your back arching as a gasp escaped your lips.

"God, Sam, I-" you stammered, the words tumbling out in a desperate plea. "I-I need to cum".

"Yeah?" he sneered, “Too bad”. He stopped his movements abruptly, leaving you hanging, a wave of frustration crashing over you.

Sam's grip on your waist tightened. "Turn around," he commanded.

Your body obeyed on autopilot. He pushed down, not gently, but with a force that sent your face crashing against the mattress, making your ass stay up, leaving you in all fours. A choked gasp escaped your lips. Then, you heard the swish of fabric. Sam was taking his swimsuit off.

The brush of his body against yours sent a fresh jolt of desire through you. He positioned himself behind you, his hard dick brushing against your folds, making you gasp loudly.

The force of his entry took your breath away, leaving you gasping for air. It was rough, urgent, with none of the usual tenderness that marked your encounters. His hand found your hair, gripping and pulling it tightly in a way that sent a jolt through you. A sharp sting on your ass cheeks jolted you further. A choked sob escaped your lips.

The way he claimed you, the way his voice rasped with a possessiveness you hadn't heard before, sent a shiver down your spine.

His movements were frantic. Each thrust was forceful, leaving you breathless. His voice growled questions that demanded answers.

"Whose pretty slut are you?" he demanded.

The answer tumbled out, "Yours," you moaned, the words catching in your throat. Tears welled in your eyes from the pleasure he was making you feel.

He pressed on, "Who owns you?" he demanded again.

"Y-you," you stammered, the tears blurring your vision.

"Say it," he commanded in a low growl.

"I'm yours," you choked out. Your orgasm was near, you could feel the knot forming in your stomach.

He surged forward then, “That’s right” he said, his movements going impossibly faster, “Mine” he stated as you came all over his cock, your body convulsing as you released. He followed moments later, a shudder racking his body.

He got off you as he fell next to you, enveloping you in his warm embrace. His right hand held your jaw firmly, making you look him in the eyes "You're mine," he whispered against your lips before pressing them gently together in a tender kiss, letting go of your jaw.

"I love you, Sam," you finally confessed, gazing deeply into his eyes.

"I love you too, babe," he replied, his smile illuminating his face with affection.

You lingered in each other's arms for a while, until hunger pulled you both back to reality. Together, you went downstairs to the kitchen where the aroma of dinner greeted you. Colby stood by the stove, focused on cooking.

"Hey, Colby," you and Sam greeted simultaneously. Colby turned around, his expression lighting up at the sight of you.

“You know, I heard everything” said Colby with a mocking grin, making you blush hard and getting a loud laugh out of Sam.

#sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby imagine #sam and colby x reader #sam and colby smut #sam and colby #sam golbach #sam goldbach smut #xplr club #xplr #sam and colby fluff

112 notes · View notes

the-winter-spider · 15 days ago

Text

Champagne Problems | Drabble

Word Count: 922

Parings: Bucky x Reader

Warning: Angst, heart break 💔

A/N: Soorrryyy 🫶🏻

—-

It was supposed to be a night you’d never forget, a milestone in a lifetime of moments with Bucky.

The party was buzzing, soft lights twinkling as laughter echoed through the halls of the old house that Bucky had rented out for the occasion. He wanted everything to be perfect, and he’d managed to pull it off. Friends and teammates were gathered, toasting to nothing in particular, yet everyone was certain there was something special in the air tonight.

Except you.

You stood in the corner of the crowded room, gripping a glass of champagne, watching Bucky from a distance. He was with Sam and Steve, laughter spilling from him with the ease of someone who finally felt like he belonged, finally at peace with who he was and where he was headed.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to be with him. You did—more than you’d ever wanted anything. But when he’d looked at you earlier, his eyes filled with a certain spark, you knew. And it terrified you.

Eventually, Bucky spotted you, excusing himself from the others. He crossed the room, a smile softening his face as he came to a stop beside you. He leaned in, lowering his voice so only you could hear.

“Got a minute to talk?” he asked, his tone gentle but filled with an unmistakable excitement. It was that hope, that thrill, that broke your heart the most.

You nodded, unable to form words. He reached out, his hand warm and steady as he took yours, leading you down a quiet hallway and into the cozy, softly lit study he’d reserved just for this moment.

When he shut the door, he took a deep breath, his hand still holding yours, thumb brushing soothing circles on your skin. The air was thick with anticipation, and you could see his heart in his eyes, as clear as the night sky.

“Listen,” he began, his voice unsteady, filled with the weight of the moment. “I don’t know if I ever thought I’d get here. To a place where… where I could be with someone like you, where I could let myself love again.” He paused, his eyes searching yours. “But I want this. I want you.”

He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a small, velvet box. You felt your chest tighten, your breath catching, a tear slipping down your cheek as he opened it to reveal a simple, beautiful ring.

The sight of it—of him, waiting, hoping—tore you apart inside. He was giving you his heart, his future, his entire world, and all you could think about was how much you didn’t deserve it.

“Bucky…” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I… I can’t.”

He froze, the light in his eyes dimming as his face fell, uncertainty casting a shadow over his features. “What… what do you mean?”

You swallowed, struggling to find the right words, but they wouldn’t come. Instead, you reached out, closing the box gently, your hand lingering on his, the pain in his eyes piercing through you like a blade. “I don’t think I can be the person you need.”

He took a step back, his hand slipping from yours. The hurt in his eyes was almost unbearable, and you could see his mind racing, trying to understand.

“Is it… is it something I did?” he asked, his voice breaking. “I thought… I thought we were on the same page.”

You shook your head, wiping away the tears that refused to stop. “It’s not you, Bucky. It’s me. I don’t… I don’t think I’m ready for this. For everything that you deserve.”

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he tried to process your words. “I don’t want ‘deserve,’” he whispered. “I want you.”

Another tear slipped down your cheek as you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. You wanted to be the person he saw, the one he believed in, but deep down, you knew you weren’t. You knew that you’d only bring him down, that he’d wake up one day and realize he’d made a mistake.

He took a step toward you, reaching out as if to hold you one last time, but stopped himself. His voice was a whisper, filled with heartbreak. “Then why did you stay?”

You swallowed hard, your hands trembling as you finally met his gaze. “Because… because I love you,” you admitted, your voice barely audible. “But I can’t be enough for you. Not the way you deserve.”

The silence between you was suffocating, filled with all the dreams you’d shared, all the memories that would haunt you both. You could see the pain etched across his face, the disbelief, the betrayal. He’d let himself believe, let himself hope, and you were tearing that away.

“I would’ve given you everything,” he said, his voice cracking. “I would’ve done anything to make you happy.”

You forced yourself to nod, swallowing back the sob that threatened to escape. “I know. And that’s why I have to let you go.”

He took one last look at you, his heart shattering in his gaze, before he turned, leaving you alone in the empty study with nothing but the memory of what could have been.

As the door clicked shut, you sank to the floor, clinging to the ache in your chest, knowing you’d just lost the best thing you’d ever had. Because while he might have been ready to give you his whole heart, you couldn’t risk letting him hold the broken pieces of yours.

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x y/n #sebastian stan x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes angst #bucky x y/n #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes drabble

49 notes · View notes

runawaymaven · 22 days ago

Text

Guilty as sin? paul x reader part 4

It had been a few days since Paul explained what imprinting was, and while the idea still felt overwhelming, you found some comfort in knowing Emily had gone through something similar with Sam. The pack had been busy, leaving the house quiet, and Emily had suggested spending the afternoon together.

The sun peeked through the clouds, casting a soft glow over La Push as you sat with Emily on the porch, sipping the tea she had made. The sound of the waves crashing in the distance filled the silence, creating a peaceful moment. You hadn’t known Emily for long, but there was something warm and calming about her presence. She made you feel at home in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I know it’s a lot to take in,” Emily said gently, as if reading your thoughts. She smiled softly, looking out toward the ocean. “When Sam imprinted on me, I was just as confused as you are now.”

You glanced over at her, curiosity bubbling up inside you. “What was it like?” you asked, unsure of how to word the millions of questions swirling in your mind. “I mean, when he told you... did it feel strange at first?”

Emily chuckled softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her cup. “Strange doesn’t even begin to describe it,” she admitted. “When Sam first told me about imprinting, I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t understand how something so powerful could exist. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny the connection I felt. It was like... the moment he looked at me, nothing else mattered.”

You nodded, trying to wrap your head around the idea. The bond between you and Paul wasn’t something you could fully grasp yet, but the way Emily described it made it seem so simple, almost natural.

“Did it scare you?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Emily smiled softly. “At first, yes. I was scared because I didn’t know what it meant. But Sam was so patient, so understanding. He never pushed me into anything. He made sure I felt safe, that I understood this was something neither of us could control. But over time, I realized it wasn’t something to fear—it was something to embrace.”

You let her words sink in, feeling a flicker of hope in the pit of your stomach. Maybe it didn’t have to be as overwhelming as you thought. Maybe, in time, you could come to understand what this bond with Paul truly meant.

“What about... the scars?” you asked suddenly, your eyes flickering to the marks on the right side of Emily’s face. Your cheeks heated up with embarrassment at the sudden, prying question.

Emily didn’t flinch at the question. Instead, she reached up, her fingers lightly brushing over the scars. “Sam was the one who gave me these,” she said quietly. “It wasn’t his fault. He couldn’t control his anger that day. He phased in front of me... and I was too close.” She paused, her gaze softening as she looked at you. “But I don’t blame him. Not for a second. It’s part of who he is, and I love him for it.”

You were quiet for a moment, taking in the depth of her love for Sam. Despite everything, despite the pain and fear she must have felt, she didn’t harbor any resentment. Instead, she loved him with an intensity that was almost hard to understand.

“I guess... I’m just trying to figure out how I fit into all of this,” you confessed. “Paul... it’s like I can’t stop thinking about him, even when I’m not around him. But I don’t know what it all means.”

Emily placed her cup down and turned to face you fully, her expression gentle and understanding. “That’s the thing about imprinting,” she said softly. “It’s not something you have to figure out all at once. It’s not something that has to make sense right away. The bond is there, and it’s powerful, but it grows over time. You and Paul are connected, but you’re still your own person. You can take your time to understand it—there’s no rush.”

Her words brought you a sense of relief. You hadn’t realized how much pressure you were putting on yourself to figure everything out, but now, sitting with Emily, you felt like you could breathe a little easier.

“It’s okay to be confused,” Emily continued. “It’s okay to feel unsure. The important thing is that Paul will be there for you, no matter what. Imprinting is about more than just attraction—it’s about protection, care, and respect. He’ll give you all the time you need.”

You smiled softly, feeling the weight of your anxiety begin to lift. “Thank you, Emily,” you said quietly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Emily reached over and squeezed your hand gently. “You’re family now,” she said with a smile. “And family sticks together.”

As you sat there, the waves still crashing in the distance and the warmth of the sun on your skin, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. Maybe this bond with Paul didn’t have to be so overwhelming. Maybe, just like Emily and Sam, you could grow into it—on your own terms.

And for the first time since arriving in La Push, you felt like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

#twilight #paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #paul lahote x reader #paul lahote x y/n #paul lahote x you #twilight wolfpack

26 notes · View notes

impala-dreamer · 10 months ago

Text

Tourniquet - Chapter Four

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

Please see MASTERLIST for full info/warnings/chapter links.

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

The Things She Carried

She hadn’t seen him in years.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to. God, she wanted to so badly. She wanted to run into his arms, bury her face in his chest and fall asleep. She wanted to wake up next to him, count each freckle in the golden light of dawn. She wanted it all, she wanted him.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to track him down, drive across the miles and land at his doorstep. She couldn’t imagine facing him after so long away, couldn’t bear the thought that he’d cast her away like some old trinket destined for the bin.

She couldn’t risk it. She was road-weary and drained to the point of constant pain. Every muscle ached; every bone felt hollow and brittle. She was exhausted in her soul. She was done.

Late at night she would lie awake and stare at whatever ceiling was overhead replaying her life, her choices good and bad.

Maybe things would be different if she had run away with him when they were kids. Maybe she should have crossed the little stream sooner, hidden with him in the tall grass until they could escape and disappear forever. Would life be so different? Would they be together? Alive? Would the world still be turning if not for the sacrifices he’d made?

What about the sacrifices she’d made? What about all the days she spent alone, holding herself as blood seeped through her fingers? All the times she dropped everything to be there for him, all the days she spent worrying, all the nights she spent giving him whatever he needed whenever he needed it. Would anyone even remember her when she was gone? Would he?

Fuck him. He ruined one of the most important moments in her life. He stole her chance to say goodbye. While she reeled from his kiss, tried to make sense of his affection, the only other man she had ever loved had died.

He died and she wasn’t there. He died knowing she wasn’t around.

Fuck him for that. Fuck him for sleepless nights on the phone calming him down, listening to every trial and tribulation of his life. Fuck him for miles spent rushing to his side to wrap her heart around his wounds, staunch the flow.

Fuck him for every kiss.

Fuck him for every touch.

For every fucking moment.

The boy with the green eyes.

Roswell, New Mexico, 2015.

A string of murders of suspicious nature led older residents to announce that the aliens had returned to take revenge on the naysayers and folks there only to make a buck on the sacred landing spot.

Y/N hadn’t been able to resist such a ridiculous scene and spent a week there investigating.

In the end, they were just regular old murders committed by a regular old crazy person. No demons, no ghosts, and certainly no aliens were to be found.

With nowhere else to be, she hung around the desert for a few more days, enjoying the sun and the dry air.

She almost didn’t answer the phone when it rang, but curiosity had brought her to New Mexico in the first place, so there was no reason to deny its hold.

Luckily, it wasn’t him.

It was Sam.

“Well, if it isn’t baby boy Winchester.” She laid back on the hood of her car and kicked up a knee.

“Hey, Y/N.”

He sounded terrible. Lack of sleep or too much stress, she couldn’t tell. She didn’t know Sam as well. Hadn’t studied him as closely, hadn’t learned every tick of speech, the meaning behind every subtle sigh.

Still, he didn’t sound great.

“What’s going on, Sam?”

He hesitated, swallowed hard, shifted the phone to his other ear. “I hate to ask you, I know you’re… Well, you’ve got your own thing going on, but-”

Her eyes closed, her stomach churned.

“Is he OK?” She couldn’t stop the tremble in her voice and she hated it.

Sam cleared his throat. “No. No, I don’t think so.”

“Shit.”

Last she’d heard through the grapevine, Dean had died, again, and come back as a demon. She didn’t get a call back then, so for Sam to ask for help now- it was bad.

“I think he’d, uh… really like to see you.”

The eleven-hour drive seemed endless, but it gave her time to think.

No matter what she did, he would always be a part of her. No matter how far she ran, tried to hide, he would always win out in the end. It was useless to fight it, stupid to even try.

Sam had given her directions to their place and Y/N stood outside of what looked to be an industrial hobbit hole.

She leaned on her car and stared at the hill. There was still time to turn tail and hit the highway. He’d never even know she had been there.

She fiddled with the chain around her neck, sucked on the metal pendant. It was warmed from her body heat though she always believed it got hotter when he was close.

“Damn it, Y/N/N, just go in…” She groaned and turned away, too scared to go inside. Scared or mad, she didn’t know which.

Just as she put one foot in the car, the big doors opened and Sam appeared.

He was tall and tired, with a shadow on his jaw and worry in his eyes. She wondered vaguely if she had ever seen Sam without that crease in his aura, if he’d ever been truly calm and happy.

“You gonna come in or-”

She sighed and shut the door. “How’d you know I was here?”

He shrugged and gave her a mischievous look. “I may have been tracking your phone.”

“What! Sam…”

He smiled and then pushed at the door, holding it open for her.

“You coming?”

“Well, it’d be stupid to run away now.”

She followed him into the hobbit hole and through another, heavier door. The first room was basically a dark hallway, four steps down from the outer doors and a few paces to the next. The walls were old concrete and the light was dim. She held no hope for nicer things to come.

She was very wrong.

Her little gasp echoed when she walked through the second door. The cave-like entry gave way to an expansive room that took her breath away. A wrought iron balcony met intricate stairs that wound down forever. The room below was set up with a large, map-covered table that glowed, antique computers and machines that looked as if they were sourced from a 1950’s horror movie.

Clasping the rail, Y/N leaned over a bit, trying to comprehend the size of everything but her head hurt. She looked back at Sam and shook her head, eyes wide with awe.

“You live here?”

Sam nodded and shrugged. He smiled at her wild wonder and stood beside her at the railing. “There’s more. It’s, uh- it’s a really big place.”

“Tell me you have a bowling alley or an arcade hiding somewhere in here.”

He laughed. “No, but we do have a tv. Well, I do. In my room.”

Y/N whistled, mockingly impressed. “Wow. Real rockin’ bachelor pad, Sam.”

He licked his lips and looked down at his hands. His knuckles were pale, fingers cold against the metal. “Yeah, well, we don’t get many visitors.”

She covered his hand with hers and squeezed gently. “Wanna show me the rest?”

The Men of Letters Bunker was just as impressive as he made it sound. They toured the halls while Sam explained how they came to be there, speaking candidly about his grandfather’s reappearance and how strange it was to finally have a real place to call home.

She listened to every word, now and then offering a kind word or an interested hum. Her mind was reeling at the enormity of the Bunker. She ran her fingers over the dips between the tiles on the walls, listened carefully to how Sam’s voice echoed off of the cathedral ceilings and back again. She counted their steps, tried to construct a map in her mind so that she could find her way back to the front door, but the path was full of turns and every corridor looked the same as the last. The numbers on the doors changed, however, but they weren’t in any order that she could define.

They stopped in front of door number eleven, and Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. His gaze narrowed on the gap between the door and the jam. The light inside was on, but he knew Dean wasn’t there.

“This is his room?” she asked, wanting to push her way inside but afraid to pry.

Sam cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

She placed her hand on the door and closed her eyes. She wanted to go in and wait for him, be laid out on the bed like some porn star when he walked in, but she knew better.

The kitchen was impressive in an old restaurant that had never been upgraded kinda way, but the pantry was pitiful. Thankfully, there were a few eggs in the fridge and a half of a loaf of white bread on the shelf. Sam left her to it and she got to work making an utter mess of the counter and stove.

She didn’t expect him back soon and he hadn’t expected to see her at all.

“Y/N?”

Her entire being tensed when she heard his voice and she took a breath, closed her eyes, and turned around. Spatula dripping in her hand, she screwed up a smile.

“Surprise.”

Every emotion imaginable flowed over his freckled face and Y/N waited for him to process before saying another word. Green eyes worked her over, lingering on the smudge on her cheek and the mess on her shirt.

Finally, he smiled.

“Nice surprise.”

Her body relaxed. “Is it?”

“Of course.”

Dean rushed forward, rounding the giant stainless steel island, and scooped her up into a hug.

Relief trickled down her spine and she wrapped her arms around him, pushed her face into the crook of his neck. He smelled like whiskey and sleepless nights.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you.” He whispered into her shoulder and held on a little tighter.

He was big and strong, solid and safe. She melted into him; listened for the comforting, steady beat of his heart.

The necklace burned into her chest and she smiled.

After a minute, she pushed at his shoulders but he refused to let her go.

“You’re gonna make me burn your toast!”

He stood up straight and held her arms. “Toast? You’re making a real big mess for toast.”

She squirmed out of his grip and turned back to the stove. “It’s French.”

They sat at the little table in the corner and drowned the snack in maple syrup and butter.

Y/N couldn’t stop staring at him. His face was thin; his beard slowly sneaking out of captivity. His eyes were dark, lined with red, and he held himself differently, as if every second was painful, as if he was having trouble sitting still.

He was staring just as hard, shocked that she was there after being gone for so long.

“Your hair’s different,” he said around a mouthful of French toast.

She cocked her head and ran a hand through her locks. “I guess,” she laughed. “It’s been a while since I cut it. Probably should.”

Dean shook his head gently. “Nah. I like it.”

It wasn’t even really a compliment but she took it as one. Her stomach flipped and she hated herself for enjoying such a tiny amount of attention. She was older now, wiser, stronger. She didn’t need his approval or his affection.

“Thanks.”

“This is…nice. Thank you for cooking.”

Y/N laughed and choked down a corner. “It’s terrible and you know it.”

Dean shrugged and took another forkful to his lips. “It ain’t that bad.” He shoveled it in and then cringed, plucked a crunchy bit from his tongue. “I… think there’s shell in this one.”

She grinned. “I’m surprised there’s not more, actually. You know I’m a shitty cook.”

He laughed. “Always have been.”

“It’s kinda my thing.”

A strange moment passed between them like an autumn breeze. The air was warm but the wind was too harsh, chilling their cheeks. Y/N looked away, crossing her arms and rubbing her hands up the sides. Dean swallowed and sat back; knife and fork in his fists beside the plate.

“So, how ya been?”

Y/N looked around, pretending to inspect the kitchen walls, but only trying to buy herself time to think up an answer.

“Oh, you know me, Dean. Another day, another highway, another monster to kill.”

He licked a drop of syrup from his lip. “Musta been busy.”

She nodded. “Yeah, pretty busy.”

“Too busy to answer a text? Pick up the phone now and then?”

Her guts churned. “Dean, it’s not like that…”

He slumped forward, set his forearms on the table. “Oh, it’s like that. You vanished, Y/N/N.”

His tone was biting and she shivered.

“Dean-”

“You just took off. No goodbye, nothing.”

Anger was brewing inside and her leg bounced uncontrollably under the table. “Dean.”

“We burned him. Without you.”

Something inside of her shattered. The words cut through her like a scythe; his tone burned like salt in the sliced flesh. She clenched her jaw, closed her eyes, and tried to push it all aside.

“You left,” he seethed, upper lip trembling and exposing his tiny canine teeth. She always thought they looked like fangs, always loved the way they scraped across her throat. “We burned him and you weren’t there. I- we needed you and you left. You ran away to God knows where and that was it. We needed you, Y/N. I… I needed you.”

With fists balled, she stood up, spun away from the table. She bit her tongue so hard she was sure her mouth would fill with blood.

Dean laughed sarcastically. “Yeah. Walk away again. That’s awesome.”

Her spine twitched. Nails dug into her palms.

She tasted blood.

“So fucking good at walking away when people need you.”

She snapped.

“Excuse me?”

Her spin around was so fast, her hands slammed onto the table so hard that Dean startled and dropped his utensils. Unconsciously, he sat back, putting as much distance between him and the lioness he’d just unleashed.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Her words curled but there was no question. She was giving him a speck of a chance to apologize before she truly exploded. “Well… are you?”

Dean sucked his teeth, crossed his arms, sat forward. He met her gaze head on. His nostrils flared.

“You left,” he said again, slowly, venomously.

Y/N pulled in a deep breath but instead of calming her, it only added to the fire. “You didn’t ask me to stay, Dean.”

He shook his head, confused. “Huh?”

“You didn’t ask me to stay, Dean,” she said again, injecting as much slashing accusation into her voice as she could. “You never do. You expect me to show up whenever you want me, drop whatever I’m doing to come meet you somewhere so you can fuck your frustrations out on me then kick me out of bed in the morning. Do you know how many bruises I have from tripping over the curb when you drive away? How many nights I’ve stayed awake worrying about you? Praying for you? Not to mention all the nights I had to stay on the phone with you while you blubbered on about this and that, and your brother, and your angel, and your destiny. Do you know how much of my life I’ve spent waiting on a fucking phone call from you? How many days I’ve wasted just hoping you’d ask to see me? You can’t imagine it. You wouldn’t. Because you don’t care.”

Anger and guilt flooded his face. He swung his legs around from under the table and stood up, towering over her with a puffed chest and searing eyes.

“You think I don’t care about you?” He hunched his shoulders, leaning down to let it all sink in. “Is that really what you think?”

She took a step closer. She wouldn’t back down no matter his size or the angry fire pulsing off of him. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“Yeah, Dean,” she said sharply. “It is. Because it’s fucking true. You don’t give a shit about me, you never have. I’m just a goddamned Band-Aid for you. Something you put on when you’ve got a booboo and then rip off and toss away. And the one time I needed you. The one fucking time…”

Dean was seeing red; his blood was boiling and brightening his pallid face.

“When? When the fuck did you need me so badly!”

She grit her teeth, showed her fangs for once. “He was my father, Dean.”

He scoffed. “No. He wasn’t.”

“Fuck you for saying that! He was my father the same as, if not more so than he was yours and he died while I was in the dark wondering how I could help you. You! You fucked me up in that hospital room and then you left me alone to deal with it. And he died while I was in there! He died and I wasn’t there because I was dealing with you!”

Dean straightened, but he didn’t move to speak. He only absorbed her ire and let it burn inside of him.

“Always dealing with you! My whole goddamned life revolves around Dean Winchester! And you know what I got for all the care and time and worry I poured into you? Nothing. I get fucking nothing. I have never been so lost as when he died and you… You didn’t ask me to stay. Didn’t… didn’t check on me. The only calls I got were from you begging me to help with Sam and to meet you in Oswego for a fucking booty call. That’s all I am to you. I’m your fucking whore.”

He huffed, chewed his lip. “That is not true!”

She wouldn’t stop, couldn’t. The simple act of raising her voice, of confronting him after everything had opened a tap that she couldn’t close.

“And you spent a whole goddamned fucking year with her. A year! I didn’t even know if you were alive, dead, nothing. You promised to call me. You swore. And nothing. You went to her. You- did you even think of me? Did you even think, ‘oh, maybe I’ll go be with Y/N for a while’? Well? Did you?”

His eyes closed. “No, Y/N. I didn’t.”

“I have given you years of my life and you’ve just… Fuck, I don’t even know if you take me for granted or if you don’t even notice if I’m around or not. I honestly don’t know.”

She turned away, exhausted and aching.

She couldn’t see the way he rubbed at the curse on his arm, didn’t notice the rage glowing in his eyes. She didn’t feel the danger because she never felt it around him. She could scream all she wanted, but she knew Dean wouldn’t hurt her.

“If you hate me so goddamn much, why are you even here? Huh? What, did Sammy call you? Tell you I wasn’t doin’ so well?”

Each word snapped at her like kitchen shears and Y/N spun back around.

“Fuck you, Dean.”

As tears fell, she raised her right hand, ready to slap him hard; show him she wasn’t fooling around.

The Mark swelled on his arm and shot demonic power into his veins.

Dean grabbed her wrist before she made contact with his cheek and took two steps forward, forcing her backwards into the wall. He slammed her hand onto the plaster and followed suit with her left hand. She gasped, scared but daring him, and he sneered down at her.

“Don’t. Fucking. Ever. Hit me.”

The Mark glowed beside her head and she looked from it to him, stuck and devastated.

“Do you hear me!”

Strength pulsed through him and Dean lifted her away from the wall only to crush her back into it.

Her eyes blurred, her head ached; her ears rang.

“Dean-”

“You think you know anything about me? You don’t know what I’ve been through! You haven’t been around!”

His grip tightened on her wrists and she felt the bone in the right twist.

“Dean! You’re hurting me!”

It seemed he couldn’t stop, wouldn’t let the anger dim. His breath came out in heavy pants through tight lips and clenched teeth; his eyes were like lasers targeting her arteries and setting him up for the kill.

“Dean!”

Another tear trekked down her cheek and it caught his attention.

Dean blinked quickly, clearing his head, and then backed away. He dropped her hands and covered his face, turned his back on her.

Y/N couldn’t move.

Silence filled the room and their heads. Guilt ravaged their bodies.

Her knees gave out and she slid down the wall, slumped to the floor.

When she could finally speak, her voice was small and pathetic and she hated herself even more.

“I… I’m sorry, Dean.”

Calmer now, Dean turned to find her in a heap on the floor and sank down as well. “Don’t be sorry, Y/N/N. I… fuck. Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head and sat up straight, kicked her knees up to her chest.

He crawled to her, tried to lay a hand on her knee, but she flinched away.

“Shit,” he hissed. “I’m so sorry.”

Y/N let out a hard breath and let her shoulders fall. She trusted him. She didn’t trust that thing on his arm.

She nodded toward it. “Is it really bad?”

He rolled up his sleeve and showed off his brand. Curious and horrified, she unfurled herself and leaned in, running a careful finger across the Mark. The flesh was hot, the skin raised and rough. She covered it with her hand and looked up into his face.

“I can’t take it much more,” he whispered. “It’s gonna take over and I don’t wanna go back there.”

Her heart hurt. “You don’t have to let it take you. You’re strong. You’re so fucking strong, Dean. So brave. So good.”

He smiled softly and bent over; kissed her hand.

“I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

She sniffed back the tears and reached for him.

“I coulda just kept my mouth shut,” she confessed.

Dean lay his head on her shoulder and tugged her close. “No. You shouldn’t have to. I’ll be better, I promise.”

“You don’t have to be better, Dean.” She turned inwards and pressed her lips to his ear. “You just have to be you.”

His arms closed a little tighter, he breathed a little slower.

“I really don’t deserve you, you know that?”

She sighed and rubbed at the nape of his neck.

“Shut up, Dean.”

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303 @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean/reader #dean/you #angst #series #tourniquet

69 notes · View notes

1-800-local-slut · 1 year ago

Note

You should make reader a civ that helped Dean and sam. Now she lives with them at the bunker and researches

You're Forgetting Something

I hope you enjoy this! Let me know how it was please, this is my first one shot!

_____________________________________________________________

It was early in the morning when Dean and Sam rolled into Maryland, Dean's hands tapping on the steering wheel. Music blaring over the speakers as he sang along and Sam scoffed at him in annoyance. A normal Tuesday. The brothers were on their way to Maryland, tracking down a possible Woman in White and thankfully they knew someone there who could help. A friend of their dads who John went to school with. Dean doesn’t remember that man being a hunter. He had a wife, three daughters, a son, and they lived in a nice house. The man knew about them though. He knew and offered help, food, shelter, information in return for John getting rid of anything that could possibly harm his family. Every now and again, they’d simply go for a visit while passing through the state. It had been a few years since they last needed to enter Maryland, so it had been a few years since Dean saw her.

She was sitting in a coffee shop, reading a horror novel, and sipping tea from a mug. Her hair was in microbraids, and she was scribbling something down in a notebook next to her. A claw clip held her hair up behind her head. She looked serene. She had a beauty that made Dean slightly nervous to talk to her. He was nervous to talk to a woman, maybe it wasn’t a normal Tuesday after all.

Dean still thought about her. He thought about her during the long nights when he was driving down long winding roads. He thought about how much fun they had in their youth together. He still remembered the day he sat in her living room drying his wet hair from a shower, they watched the rain together. He remembered how she snuck him in while her parents were on a date, and wouldn’t be back for the weekend. How he watched her look out the window and for a moment wanted to hold her while they looked out at the rainy landscape together. Yet he didn’t.

It was the first time in ten years he had seen her. She greeted him and his brother with a warm hug like no time at all had passed. She felt warm, smelt like cocoa butter and vanilla. While his brother did not, Dean hugged back, relishing in the moment. They let go, and she offered the two gentlemen some hot chocolate which she ordered from the waitress. She conversated with the two men, asking how they had been. And Dean responded with his usual vague answers. He always did, filling the answers with random words that didn’t even relate to the question but just enough to make sure it wasn't lost on them. It worked every time too. No one ever really pays attention to answers to the questions you ask simply to be polite.

And after a few minutes of catching up, Dean learned she had just graduated with her doctorate in psychology, and was still living in her home. But something about her seemed hauntingly kind. Her eyes glanced around, and like she was nervous about something.

“So, how’s your dad been? Do you mind if we talk to him?” Sam asked while fidgeting with his hands. Dean nodded and he looked at Sam and then looked at her again. When he did, her brown eyes were studying his features. She giggled softly, a noise that was rather pleasant to Dean’s ears.

“He warned me that you boys may be rolling around again soon. I’m sorry, but he’s unable to meet you.” A nostalgic but peaceful smile kicked at the edge of her lips and Dean lifted an eyebrow.

“Is he unavailable?” Sam’s eyes shot to his brother, Dean shrugged his shoulders. He brought his green eyes back to the woman before him, whose two toned lips connected with her mug.She placed it down tenderly on its saucer and her brown eyes shot through Dean like a knife. Dean held her gaze, wanting to fall deep under the spell her eyes seemed to be casting.

“No, he died.” The response left the two men off guard. Dean’s eyebrows shot all the way up. Why would she say that so casually? Dean’s brain attempted to connect the dots, but it was like she just threw a big rock at him. Totally not a normal Tuesday. Sam’s mouth gaped open and then shut before opening again.

“We’re so sorry to hear about that.” Sam finally replied.

“Yes, he and my mother. About eight years ago ” The story was clearly amusing to her, a glint in her eyes like she knew something.

“Together?” Dean asked, leaning in and pushing his own mug out of his way.

“Yes, they passed on together.” Replied the woman. She stood up, extending backwards in a stretch. Rising to his feet, Dean was now standing right in front of her face. He gritted his teeth, and racked his eyes over her. Something about her was off, but still intrigued Dean in a way he wasn’t normally intrigued.

“Well sweetheart, we’re sorry to hear about that. Do you mind telling us a bit more about the accident?” He sounded more aggressive than he should’ve. Her expression was blank as she turned to face him.

“You know, I often wondered what type of man your father was. My question was answered for me though. You’re hunters, aren’t you?” She whispered, raising an eyebrow. She ran a nail over her bottom lip. Dean jumped softly. He laughed nervously. Not every Tuesday you’re just out right asked that.

“My father protected you lot for some time. Too bad he didn’t have the sense to protect himself.” She responded and left a ten and a five dollar bill on the table. Dean just realized her tea was finished, and she was preparing to run out. Something about her was definitely off but what? What was she hiding?

“Our house is still open to you boys if you need it. I’ll even make a pie if you still like it.” Sam was on his feet now, he realized she was well on her way to the door. On her way out though, she tossed a note on the table that read ‘OPEN ME’ in a dark purple pen. Sam raised an eyebrow trying to figure out if it was just a decoy, and Dean glanced away for just a second.

Both men were distracted by the fake out, and by the time they looked up, she was outside and climbing onto a bike. With a glance towards Dean, she shot her eyes towards the note and then buckled her helmet, speeding off. Confusion littered Dean’s face, while Sam tenderly lifted the note and then opened it. He began to pat Dean’s arm with aggression.

“Dude, look at this.” Dean looked at the note, snatching it from Sam who scowled at him and Dean shoved him lightly in response. His eyes showed his full expression.

I can’t say it here. 34 Bright Thorne Ave in 20 minutes, come if you want answers.

P.S. and pie :)

Okay. Definitely not an average Tuesday.

______________________________________________________________

“It’s just weird. Why couldn’t she just tell us in the cafe?” Sam asked as they pulled up to the large home.

“I don’t know, but she’s the best lead we have on this case. The crime scene isn’t being investigated anymore, and it’s not like we have the funds at the moment for a motel. Sure she’s a weirdo, but she’s our best and human hope right now. Who knows, maybe she knows something about Dad or learned something about him before her dad kicked the bucket. Maybe he passed through here.” Dean’s mouth twitched as he stepped out of the car with Sam. They stood in front of the house they both had varying degrees of memories in. The front door swung open and the woman stood with a cigarette in her mouth.

“Don’t just stand there, come on in.” The two nervously glanced at one another, and walked up the steps and the porch and into the house.

“Sorry about the cafe. There’s a saying, bushes have ears.” The apology caught Sam off guard, who muttered an ‘it’s fine’.

“Well I don’t usually forgive women who run out of restaurants mid conversation. Gives a bad look.” The woman laughed at the joke and Dean gave a tight lipped smile. But they needed whatever she knew. And her house had air conditioning, better than the Summer heat getting the two while they slept in the car.

“Yes, apologies. But I’m afraid a few people there weren’t too pleased with my presence but I had to wait it out while you were there.” She plopped down onto the couch and eyed the two men standing before her.

“Now, why don’t you tell me what it is you’re looking for?” A dark blue mug was snuggly in her hands and Dean glanced at Sam. He gave him a reassuring nod. It seemed safe enough.

______________________________________________________________

“Your mother can’t be the woman in white. You’re still alive.” Sam was looking through a stack of books she had presented them with. They were her fathers, she explained. Never hers. She made it abundantly clear that she was a regular woman. Certainly no huntress.

“That’s the deal sweetheart. Women in white are born from cheating husbands, then they murder their children and themselves. And you seem pretty alive to me.” Dean was eating a piece of apple pie from his plate, chewing on the apples.

“Did you make this?” Dean asked while he wiped his mouth with his thumb.

“I did, this morning. After you boys called the house last night, I wanted to at least do something. A bit of a welcome to the neighborhood.” She replied, seemingly proud of herself. She needed to be. This pie was literally incredible.

“Dude, stop stuffing your face.” Sam scolded, and Dean stuck his tongue out at him.

“But unless you're a ghost, your mom is ruled out sweetheart.”

“Who told you I never died?” Both men stilled. Well fuck. Could ghosts bake pie? Was Dean eating a ghost pie? Sam pursed his lips and Dean’s head cocked to the side. Seeing the confusion, the woman laughed.

“My mother got news of my father having an affair. She couldn’t take it, the poor woman. Decapitated my younger siblings in their sleep, came downstairs and got me good. I played dead for about two minutes and she ran out the door screaming like a crazy woman. I was able to stay conscious long enough to call for help. I tried for like 10 minutes to stop the bleeding and I passed out. When I woke up, my Uncle was crying about me flatlining or some shit. I died for like 12 minutes, and in those 12 minutes, my mom found my dad and his mistress and killed all three of them. I’m not sure if that would count, since I was dead when she killed herself.” Pulling up her top, she showed them a large healed wound. It was a diagonal cut, deep as well. Like a butcher's knife made repeated contact with her side. It was clear her mom tried to literally cut her body in half, but the knife didn’t go all the way through. Instead it resulted in a deep wound.

“Lazarus Syndrome?” Sam quipped with a finger on his chin and glanced up at the woman.

“What the doctors said. Anyways, for a while now, every now and again a car will drive up to the house. A man will get out sometimes, then peel out like crazy. I did some research of my own. Infact, I basically did your job for you.” Dean frowned and hid an eye roll but still. If he could just go, make the kill and then return home he would certainly be a hell of a lot more comfortable. Reaching underneath a couch cushion, she handed Dean a folder. Damn. She really did do their job for them.

“The men drive by or too Claire Bellum motel, basically pound town with nice sheets. Then they find some reason to pull up here. Each time they escape from here. I always see a woman. She was in a wedding dress. I honestly think it's her dress. Then they get found 10-15 miles around the motel. And guess where my mom pulled the trigger?” She asked, ashing her cigarette. Sam took the folder and looked through it. Everything was neatly typed and printed out for them.

“Pound town with nice sheets?” Dean asked while folding his arms.

“Pound town with nice sheets.” The confirmation came as a nod.

“Well…it could count. She was dead in those 12 minutes, so her mom technically did kill her children and herself.” She watched the two men back and forth, observing her guest with wide brown eyes.

“Or I could be wrong. Her body is buried in the backyard, you can have at it.” She pointed at her kitchen, revealing a window.

“Do that, be on your way if you want.” She continued, lifting her mug and bringing it to her sink.

“So you just want us to light your moms body on fire? Not a single care?” Dean approached cautiously, hoping to at least get some more pie. A pleased smile came across her lips and Dean took notice.

“She hacked me with a butcher knife while I was eating a turkey sandwich. I love her and everything but come on now. She’s murdering people all over the town.” She noticed him approaching and cutting him more pie. Her eyes met Dean’s for a moment and he gave her a charming smirk. She gave him her own smile that said ‘you want it come get it’ and Dean definitely wanted it.

“Well…let’s at least make sure you’re right. It’d be a shame to just burn your mom for no reason.” Sam reasoned, Dean stuffing another piece of pie in his mouth.

“You boys have fun. I’ll be upstairs if you need anything. There’s beer in the fridge, cigarettes in that box on the table if you want any, the doors and everything are locked don’t. Bathroom upstairs is the third door on the left, the bathroom downstairs is down the hallway next to the laundry room.” She continued.

“Oh uh…goodnight. Thanks for your help!” Sam called awkwardly. Dean’s eyes watched her walk up the stairs. She wore a long maxi skirt that breezed elegantly as she moved. A tied top with feathered sleeves added to her feathered elegance. And Dean loved a woman in a skirt, he didn’t see that as much as he wanted anymore. Her hips moved as she walked up the stairs and Dean’s eyes moved with them.

“Thank me when you finish your job.” She laughed and Sam chuckled in response. Dean plopped down next to Sam who made himself comfortable on the couch.

And once she disappeared up the steps the rest was history.

______________________________________________________________

“Shoes, keys, wallet.” Dean muttered the list to himself, tapping his pockets to make sure his list was accurate. There was a case on the other side of Kansas. Haunted frat house, some chick was getting it on when the lights cut out. Before anyone knew it there were two dead kids in the middle of the hallway. Her guess was the ghost of a girl with a cheating boyfriend, Dean’s was the ghost of a jealous girlfriend and Sam guessed they should knock it off with the guessing.

“Sammy! You ready to go?!” Dean bellowed through the bunker.

“I’m by the car jerk!” Sam replied from the garage. With a roll of his eyes, Dean grabbed his bag and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Alright babe, I’ll see you later.” Dean called to his girlfriend who was sitting on the couch and looking at a book. She lifted a tea cup, and pressed her glossy lips to the mug. Flawless, as usual. Even in his large flannel, bed slippers, and one of her bonnets (that he wore when she wasn’t around, but don’t tell her that) that complemented her golden skin. Dean was tempted to stay and admire her all day like he does sometimes. Days when she was sitting on their bed, doing research for some case. Days when they went off to the grocery store and drove in mutual silence with Dean’s eyes watching her closer than the road.

She was the one who found this case. Six more like it in fact in that same frat house over the past 30 years. She, like their first time meeting, had perfectly made an organized folder with all of their information. Dean adored that meticulous spirit she had. Those days when she would come visit for a few months and give them all of their information before Dean would run out. Then he’d come back and get it the way she told him with her eyes all those years ago.

“You’re forgetting something my love.” Her soothing voice prompted Dean’s head to snap towards her direction.

With a soft ‘ah’, he pulled her up from her seat. Dean pulled her into a searing kiss. A kiss that said ‘I love you, I’ll miss you.’. Dean didn’t want to end it. He never wanted to not feel her soft arms wrapped around his neck, to not taste whatever tea she was drinking. He learned that he was a fan of tea, especially when she had been drinking it.

“Not that.” she giggled while she drew small swirls on his chest. He clasped her smaller hand in his

“Not that?” He responded and she shook her head, her curly afro shaking. Dean loved her hair, the way it sparkled in the light.

“I love you?” He asked.

“Not that either.” She slyly pulled his loaded gun out from behind her back. Dean formed a soft ‘o’ with his lips then he smirked at her.

“My gun, of course. Can’t leave without this. Gotta use the gun to do the stuff.” An embarrassed chuckle escaped his throat. A devilish smirk came across his face. She only teased him this way when she really wanted his company. She wanted him to stay nearly as much as he wanted too. She’d hide his stuff, lay in front of him playfully, keep him trapped in bed underneath her and much more.

“If you wanted me to stay you could’ve asked.” Wrapping his hands around her hips and pulling her chest against his. He loved her teasing and she knew that by the smirk on her face.

“Hit the road, the sooner you get back,” She placed a small kiss on neck and his grip tightened.

“The sooner me and you can have some special time.” she pressed another small kiss to his neck, he hesitated to let her go. Worming out of his grasp, she pushed his gun back into his hand and pushed him out the door.

“Have fun! Love you! Call me when you two get to the motel, let me know if you have any problems. The room is booked under Deborah Morgan!” He smiled and waved to her from the car before pulling out and onto the open road. He sped down the road as fast as possible, eager to return.

#dean winchester #supernatural dean #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural x reader #x black reader #black reader #sam winchester #the winchester brothers #sam and dean

93 notes · View notes

randomperson99sworld · 4 days ago

Text

Hope

~ Chapter 37

Summary: Dean and Sam Winchester save a young woman —Natalie Johnson, from a coven of witches who are after her deceased grandmothers spell book. At first Dean doesn’t trust her, will he ever? Natalie is just simply a woman who gets roped up in the supernatural world from a mistake her grandmother made.

Pairing: Dean x OC

Warning: Age gap, slow burn, SMUT, language, gore.

Word Count: 3,932

A/N: Hey guys I’m back! It’s late I know but I can’t sleep! I’m so sorry for the long waited update, things haven’t been good for me lately if I’m being honest. Had to take some time away but I promise to post another chapter this week sometime! Hopefully this chapter makes up for it! lol 😉 Happy reading! ♥️

The soft light of early morning filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Dean blinked awake, feeling the unfamiliar but comforting weight of someone next to him. His arm was draped over Natalie, her body curled up against his, her head resting on his chest. For a moment, Dean just lay there, soaking in the peace of the moment. It was rare for him to wake up feeling like this—calm, relaxed, and not immediately on edge.

He glanced down at her, her face still peaceful in sleep, her hair slightly messy from the night. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he gently brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. She stirred slightly at the touch, her eyes fluttering open, blinking away the last remnants of sleep.

“Morning,” she murmured, her voice still soft from sleep, as she turned her head slightly to look at him.

“Morning,” Dean replied, his voice low and warm. He couldn’t help but admire how peaceful she looked, how natural it felt waking up next to her like this.

For a moment, neither of them moved, content to just enjoy the quiet before the day officially started. But eventually, Natalie sighed and stretched, her feet slipping out from under the covers.

“I’ve gotta get ready for work,” she said, though there was a hint of reluctance in her voice.

Dean smirked, watching her with a teasing glint in his eye. “You could always play hooky, stay in bed.”

Natalie laughed softly, shaking her head as she sat up, the blanket falling away. “Tempting, but I’m pretty sure that fake doctor’s note I typed up last week would only work once.”

Dean chuckled, propping himself up on one elbow as he watched her get out of bed. She moved around the room, grabbing her clothes and getting ready for the day. Even in the mundane routine of getting dressed, she looked... right. Like she fit in his life, in a way he hadn’t let himself believe could happen before.

As she finished getting ready, Natalie shot him a smile over her shoulder. “You have any plans for today? Besides, you know... hunting the supernatural.”

Dean grinned, stretching his arms behind his head. “Just another day on the job. You know how it is.”

She smiled, pulling on her shoes. “Well, stay safe, okay? And don’t burn down any buildings.”

“I make no promises,” Dean replied with a smirk, but his eyes softened as he added, “But I’ll be careful.”

Natalie shook her head with a laugh, grabbing her bag. She leaned over the bed, pressing a quick kiss to his lips before standing back up. “I’ll see you later, Dean.”

“See you later,” he murmured, watching her as she left the room, the door clicking softly behind her.

Dean lay there for a moment longer, the warmth of her presence lingering even after she was gone. His mind wandered back to the night before, to the quiet understanding they had reached without needing to say anything. Whatever this was between them, it was good. And for the first time in a long time, Dean was letting himself enjoy that.

Later that day, Dean met up with Sam, and they headed out for another case. This one was gruesome, as many of their hunts often were—another unsolved murder that had the local authorities stumped, complete with strange symbols and plenty of blood. Dean and Sam had been in this business long enough to know they were dealing with something supernatural, but the exact details weren’t clear yet.

Still, as they drove to the crime scene, there was something different in the air. Dean was... happy. He wasn’t the type to throw that word around lightly, but it was true. Waking up next to Natalie again had done something to him, something that made everything feel a little bit lighter.

Sam noticed it, of course. He always did.

“You’re in a good mood again today,” Sam commented as they pulled up to the crime scene, his tone casual but curious.

Dean shrugged, trying to play it off as no big deal. “Yeah, well... things are good.”

Sam shot him a knowing look but didn’t push. “Glad to hear it.”

They stepped out of the Impala, flashing their fake FBI badges to the local police and getting to work. The crime scene was brutal—a couple torn apart in their home, blood everywhere, strange symbols painted on the walls in what looked like blood. It was classic supernatural stuff, and the smell was enough to make anyone gag.

But as they worked the case, gathering clues and interviewing witnesses, Dean found that his usual stress and tension were dulled. He was focused, sharp, but there was an ease to it all, like everything was clicking into place. He wasn’t weighed down by the usual heaviness that followed him like a shadow. He could do his job, take care of business, and still feel like... himself.

Sam noticed it too. They worked well together, as they always had, but today there was something smoother about the way they moved through the case than usual. Dean wasn’t snapping at every small frustration, wasn’t growling in irritation when things didn’t immediately make sense. Instead, he was calm, collected, and—dare Sam say it—almost cheerful in the face of the usual horrors they dealt with. And he knew why.

As they wrapped up at the scene and got back into the car, Sam finally gave his brother a look. “You’re way too happy for someone who just spent hours in a murder scene.”

Dean smirked, starting up the engine and pulling away from the crime scene. “What? Can’t a guy just be in a good mood?”

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “You’ve been smiling all day, man. You’re practically... glowing.”

Dean let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Glowing? Really, Sam?”

Sam crossed his arms, giving his brother a pointed look. “Yeah. So, is it... Natalie?”

Dean glanced over at him, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, it’s her.”

Sam grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I knew it. You really like her, don’t you?”

Dean didn’t respond right away, but the way his hands rested more easily on the steering wheel, the way his face softened as he thought about her—it said everything. “Yeah,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter. “I do.”

Sam’s grin widened. “Good. I’m happy for you, man.”

Dean nodded, his eyes on the road ahead but his thoughts on Natalie. “Thanks.”

For the rest of the drive, they talked about the case, but Sam could tell that something had shifted in Dean. He was happier, lighter, and it wasn’t just because of the case. It was because of her.

And Sam knew better than anyone how rare that was for his brother.

Dean and Sam spent the next few hours piecing together the clues from the crime scene. The strange symbols, the method of the kills—it all pointed to a revenant, a particularly nasty one that had been brought back through some dark ritual. It wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with something like this, but it was brutal. The revenant had been tied to the grave of a notorious serial killer, which explained the bloody mess left behind.

It was straightforward enough once they knew what they were dealing with: salt and burn the body, take out the source of the dark magic, and the revenant would be done for. Still, it wasn’t the easiest hunt, but that didn’t seem to faze Dean. In fact, despite the gritty nature of the job, he remained in high spirits.

They drove to the graveyard under the cover of night, the cold air biting at their skin as they dug up the grave. Normally, these jobs were tense, the silence filled with the anticipation of something going wrong. But tonight, Dean was different. He worked with a sense of focus, sure, but also with a lightness that Sam hadn’t seen in a long time.

Once they finished digging, they opened the coffin, revealing the remains of the serial killer who had been resurrected as the revenant. The body was decayed, twisted and grotesque, but that didn’t stop Dean from cracking a joke as he poured salt over the bones.

“Guy looks worse than I feel after a night of whiskey,” Dean muttered, lighting a match and tossing it onto the remains.

The flames caught quickly, and soon the bones were engulfed in fire. The ritual that had brought the revenant back was broken, and the murderous spirit was finally put to rest. As the flames flickered out, Dean stood back, wiping his hands on his jeans with a satisfied grin.

"Easy enough," he said, watching the last of the fire burn out. "Another one bites the dust."

Sam chuckled, patting his brother on the back. "You’re really enjoying this tonight, aren’t you?"

Dean shrugged, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, it’s a good night. We saved some people, took care of business. Why shouldn’t I enjoy it?"

Sam didn’t argue. After everything they’d been through—the losses, the constant fighting, the never-ending weight of hunting—it was nice to see Dean genuinely happy. And Sam couldn’t help but think that Natalie was the reason behind it. She had brought out a side of Dean that Sam hadn’t seen in a long time.

After the hunt was over and the revenant was nothing but ash, the brothers headed back to the bunker.

When they arrived at the bunker, Dean parked the Impala and turned to his brother. "I'm gonna head over to Natalie's," he said, almost casually, but Sam could see the spark of excitement in his eyes.

Sam chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder as he got out. "Yeah, I figured. Don't be a stranger, alright?"

Dean smirked, giving him a quick nod. "You know me."

As Sam headed inside, Dean revved the Impala back to life, steering the car out of the bunker's entrance and back onto the open road. His heart raced a little, a thrill he hadn't felt in years coursing through him as he sped toward Natalie's place.

Dean arrived at Natalie's house in record time, his excitement practically palpable as he parked the Impala in front of her place. He got out, his footsteps quick as he made his way to the door. He had texted her on the way over, letting her know he was coming by, but the thrill of seeing her again made him feel like he was showing up for the first time.

The door opened just as he reached it, and there she was, fresh out of the shower, her hair still damp and her skin flushed. She wore a simple T-shirt and shorts, looking comfortable and completely at ease, but to Dean, she looked radiant.

"Hey," she said, a soft smile lighting up her face as she took him in.

Dean's grin widened, and before either of them could say another word, he stepped forward, pulling her into a kiss. It was soft at first, gentle, like they were taking their time to remember the familiar rhythm between them. But soon it deepened, his arms wrapping around her as she melted into him, her fingers threading through his hair.

When they finally pulled back, both of them a little breathless, Dean rested his forehead against hers, his hands still holding her close. "Missed you," he murmured, his voice low.

Natalie smiled, her eyes shining as she looked up at him. "Missed you too," she said softly. "How was the case?"

"Messy," he replied, his tone light, as if he was brushing off the details of whatever horrors he'd just seen. "But we handled it."

Natalie gave him a small smile, reaching up to touch his cheek. "Glad you're back."

Dean's heart swelled at her words, a warmth spreading through him as he looked down at her. This was what he hadn't known he was missing for so long—a place, a person who made him feel like he could let down his guard. She was his calm in the storm, his one bright spot in an otherwise dark and chaotic life.

Without another word, she took his hand, leading him inside and closing the door behind them. They settled onto the couch, and for a while, they just talked—about the case, her day at work, little things that made the night feel normal, even cozy. It was the kind of comfort that Dean had never really allowed himself, but with Natalie, it felt natural.

As the night wore on, they settled into an easy rhythm, their laughter filling the room as they shared stories and jokes. Natalie leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder, and he draped an arm around her, pulling her closer.

They stayed that way for a while, the quiet sounds of the house and the soft hum of their voices the only things breaking the silence. It was comfortable, intimate, and for once, Dean didn't feel the need to rush or hide anything.

At one point, Natalie shifted, looking up at him with a thoughtful smile. "You seem... different tonight. Happier."

Dean glanced down at her, his thumb gently rubbing her shoulder. "Yeah, I guess I am."

She studied him for a moment, her eyes soft and warm. "I like seeing you like this."

Dean's heart raced a little, his gaze never leaving hers. "I like feeling like this," he admitted quietly. "I didn't think... I didn't think I'd find this."

Natalie's smile widened, and she reached up, cupping his face as she pulled him into another kiss, one that was soft and lingering, full of the quiet promise between them. They didn't need to say anything else; the unspoken understanding was enough.

When they pulled back, Dean gave her a small smile, his hand brushing a damp strand of hair behind her ear. "You know, I could get used to this."

"Good," she replied, "Because I'm not going anywhere."

He kissed her again, this time with more urgency, his hands finding their way under her shirt, his fingertips grazing her skin as if he couldn't get close enough. Natalie's breath hitched, but she didn't pull away. She welcomed the intensity, the heat of him pressing against her.

Dean's heart pounded as he felt her body respond to his touch, her warmth pressing against him as their kiss deepened, igniting something between them that felt both familiar and entirely new. His hands slid up her sides, fingertips brushing along her skin, and he felt her shiver beneath him.

"Is this what you want?" Dean's voice was rough, low, as his hand gently cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips.

Natalie's heart raced, but there was no hesitation in her eyes. She nodded, her voice barely a whisper but firm. "Yes. I want this. I want you."

That was all Dean needed. With a groan, he kissed her again, deeper this time, more urgent, his hands sliding up her back to her shoulders as he pulled her closer, feeling the heat of her body against his. The kiss deepened, their mouths moving together with a hunger that seemed to have no end, no restraint.

Dean stood, lifting Natalie with him effortlessly, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her toward the bedroom. She clung to him, her lips never leaving his, and the world outside seemed to disappear. There was only them now—only this moment.

They reached the bedroom, and Natalie's breath came in soft gasps, her hands tugging at the hem of his shirt, eager for more. Dean pulled back just enough to remove his shirt, tossing it aside with a soft rustle before reaching for hers. As her fingers moved to his belt, she gasped when his hand squeezed her sides, pulling her even closer, as though he couldn't get enough of her.

Dean's fingers worked quickly, pulling her pants down as she shimmied out of them. Their clothes tumbled to the floor, piece by piece, until there was nothing left between them but the heat and desire that was building between them. Dean laid her down gently on the bed, hovering over her as his lips trailed down her neck, savoring the taste of her skin, the feel of her beneath him.

Even though this wasn't the first time they had been together, there was still a quiet tenderness in Dean's movements. He paused for a moment, his eyes searching hers, making sure this was what she wanted. The weight of the moment wasn't lost on him. They were taking their time, building something real, something more than just this. And he needed to know she was sure.

"You're sure?" Dean asked again, his voice low, rough, but filled with care.

Natalie smiled up at him, her hand resting on his cheek, tracing the stubble there as she looked into his eyes with complete trust. "I'm sure, Dean. I trust you."

That simple sentence hit Dean harder than he expected. It wasn't just about what was happening between them physically. It was everything—the connection they had, the way she had let him in, the way he had opened up to her in ways he hadn't for anyone else.

With that, Dean brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed it tenderly. Then, Dean lined himself up at her entrance and with one swift motion, Dean entered her, and a moan escaped her lips, the sensation overwhelming. She wrapped her legs around him, pulling him closer as he began to move. The intensity of their connection sent shivers down her spine, and she could feel the heat building inside her.

Dean quickened the pace, each thrust hitting her sweet spot, sending waves of pleasure coursing through her. "You feel so good," he gasped, his eyes locked on hers as he pushed deeper, wanting to lose himself in her completely.

He leaned down, biting gently at her shoulder, the slight sting mingling with pleasure. His mouth traveled to her breast, sucking her nipple, and Natalie gasped at the sensation, her back arching off the bed. The combination of his actions drove her wild, pushing her closer to the edge.

"Dean!" she moaned, her fingers digging into his back as she tried to pull him even closer, feeling the heat radiating from their bodies.

"Just like that," he encouraged, his voice thick with need. "You're so responsive."

With each thrust, he found that perfect angle, their bodies moving in a rhythm that felt primal and intoxicating. The room was filled with the sounds of their pleasure, echoes of their shared passion reverberating off the walls.

"Don't stop," she pleaded, her breath hitching as she felt the tension coiling tighter within her. "I'm so close!"

"Me too," Dean replied, his voice strained with desire. "Let go for me, Natalie."

He increased the pace, driving deeper into her, their bodies colliding with a fervor that set them both on fire. The pleasure peaked, building until it felt unbearable, and with one final, powerful thrust, Natalie felt herself spiraling over the edge, the world around her shattering into blissful fragments.

"Yes!" she cried out, waves of ecstasy crashing over her as she tightened around him, pulling him into her climax.

He groaned, his own release following hers as he buried himself deep inside her, their bodies intertwined in the throes of passion.

As they lay tangled in the sheets, their bodies pressed together, they both caught their breath, the world outside feeling miles away. Dean's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his fingers tracing small circles on Natalie's back as they basked in the afterglow of their connection.

Dean leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. Natalie closed her eyes at the gentle touch, a content smile spreading across her face. She felt his warmth, his steady heartbeat, and the undeniable sense of peace that came with being in his arms.

A strand of hair fell loose from where it had been tucked behind her ear, and Dean reached up, brushing it back with a tenderness she hadn't expected. His thumb lightly grazed her cheek, and he cupped her face gently, coaxing her to look up at him.

Natalie met his gaze, her heart swelling in her chest. She could see the rawness in his eyes, the vulnerability he rarely showed, and it made her pulse quicken.

Dean cleared his throat, his voice thick with emotion. "You make me happy," he said quietly, his words carrying weight. "I never thought I'd have this. I never thought I'd have someone like you... not after everything."

Natalies heart softened, her breath catching slightly at the sincerity in his voice. She placed her hand on his chest, feeling the steady beat beneath her palm, the steady rhythm that somehow mirrored her own.

"I'm right here, Dean," she whispered, her voice gentle but firm. "And I'm not going anywhere."

Dean's eyes softened, his thumb continuing to brush over her cheek as he took in her words, letting them sink in. For a moment, the world seemed to disappear, and all that mattered was the woman in his arms.

"I just want you to know that," he added, a hint of uncertainty still lingering in his tone. "I don't take this for granted. I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm thankful for it every day."

Natalie reached up, cupping his face gently in her hands, brushing her thumb over his cheek with a touch that was both soft and sure. “You do deserve me, Dean,” she whispered, her voice filled with conviction. “You’ve done so much, sacrificed so much for everyone else. You’ve saved the world, carried so much on your shoulders… been through more than anyone should have to.”

He looked down, as if embarrassed by her words, but she lifted his chin, making sure his eyes stayed on hers. “It’s your turn to let someone care about you, to let someone be here for you,” she continued softly. “You’ve earned that.”

Dean’s breath caught, the sincerity in her words easing some of the weight he carried inside. Natalie leaned in, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that was tender and full of promise, letting it say everything they hadn’t put into words. He kissed her back, letting himself fall into the moment, letting go of all the insecurities that had haunted him for so long.

When their lips parted, they didn’t need to say anything more. Dean wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and she nestled against his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and strong beneath her cheek.

They lay together in comfortable silence, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The quiet peace between them felt as strong as any words they could have spoken, a silent promise of acceptance and belonging. Dean’s hand traced slow circles on her back as their breathing fell into sync, and the tension of the day melted away.

Eventually, with her head resting on his shoulder, Natalie’s eyes began to drift closed, and she felt Dean’s fingers gently combing through her hair. She held him close, anchoring them both to this moment.

In the quiet of the night, they fell asleep, wrapped up in each other, secure in the knowledge that neither one of them had to face the world alone.

8 notes · View notes

shimmerwindow · 9 months ago

Text

I Never Really

Part Twelve

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings: Cigarette use

Playlist | Masterlist

Tag list: @jazzyfigz @dont-go-home-without-me @poochiesworld @stardustcatcher @83rkblogs @jaketsguitar @dannys-dream @gretavanfan @do-it-jakey-baby @gvfpal @ignite-my-fire @gardensgatekeeper

Finals week turned out much better than you’d expected. You had sufficiently prepared yourself, and your hard work paid off in the form of A’s and low stress across the board. The minute you turned in your final test of the semester, you felt a horrid weight lift from your shoulders. This moment, right here, was what made the rest of it all worth it. You had a bounce in your step as you walked back to your dorm, for once not annoyed by the bustle of campus.

The building was as crowded as ever, with all of the students moving their things out all at once. A girl nearly ran you over with two massive suitcases as you tried to exit the elevator onto your floor. It was nice to not have such an interaction immediately set you into a mood of annoyance for the rest of the day.

You couldn’t help but smile when you finally flopped onto your bed, letting out a sigh that carried with it the finality of your stress. You knew it’d start up all over again in a few weeks, but for now, you would live in the moment. And that moment would start with a nice, long nap. The first you'd consciously allowed yourself in ages. In was dreamless, just a moment of unconscious, blissful peace.

You awoke in a daze an hour or so later, though time was not something you would stress yourself about during these weeks of rest. A text was waiting for you, with a familiar name. Sam.

hey! saw we aced that project, we totally need to celebrate :) want to come over?

The sense of jubilation over the end of the semester wiped any doubts out of your mind regarding whether or not you actually wanted to see him, or the rest of the men in that house, for that matter.

would love to!

cool, the guys are out so it'll just be me and u if that's ok

So maybe this was some kind of divine intervention to finally get the two of you alone, in a room, to talk. The words of the twins echoed in your mind once again – you needed to do this. As much as you would gladly run from him forever, you needed to talk to him. It would do you no good to cut him off with no closure.

that's chill!

He went on to tell you he’d already moved all his things out, but would swing by to get you whenever you were ready. Better to get this out of the way now. As you readied yourself for his arrival, you rehearsed a script in your head, spoke out loud the words you would want to say to him. The anxiety of it all was making your stomach churn and your palms sweat.

You headed down to the ground level, and watched his car pull around through the windows in the lobby. You could see his thumbs tapping on the steering wheel with whatever beat was coming through the radio. The two of you were quiet on the drive over, the music filling the silence. Though it was not uncomfortable, you still tapped your fingers together anxiously in the passenger seat.

The ambiance of the house felt different when you pulled up, in large part to the new set of decorations. Carefully curated by Josh, you figured. A flawless Christmas tree sat in the corner of the living room, its branches laden with a nearly obscene amount of ornaments, ribbons, and strings covered in all types of materials. Four stockings hung above the fireplace, hand-knit with the initials of the four brothers of the house.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, hanging his coat on the rack by the door. “You want anything? Water? Tea?…Tequila?”

You were certain nothing would sit calmly in your stomach right now. “I’m alright, thank you.” You took a seat on the couch, wrapping your arms around yourself. The cold from the darkened world outside had begun to creep in, casting a chill over the house. It was an old place, and clearly didn’t have the best insulation.

“Well, congratulations to us, huh?” He gave you a wide smile.

You shot back the best fake grin you could muster. “Thank god it's over.”

“I hear that. I need a break. You cold?” He pointed a finger at you as you curled into a ball on the couch.

“No, I’m okay–”

“Actually, it’s fuckin’ freezing in here. Any objections to a fire?”

“That sounds nice, actually.” With any luck, you’d be gone before the last of the embers burned out.

He vanished for a moment, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You rehearsed the words you planned to say for the millionth time, and sent up a silent prayer that they would come out properly.

“Cheaper than turning up the heat,” Sam said when he came back in the room. He smiled at you as he set down the carrier full of logs, fresh from the storage rack they kept under the eve of the house. “Jake gets pissed when the electrical bill gets too high.”

“Well, it’s not like you live here,” you commented.

“I do now,” he sighed. “For now, at least.” He pulled up the sleeves of his sweater and started up a fire. There was something so intimate about it, sitting in silence as you watched him work. The flames roared to life, under his skillful touch.

“So what do you feel like doing? And answer quickly, or I’ll start giving you a tour of the record shelf.” He turned back at you to smile.

The humor was lost on you, and you felt a deep guilt as the smile washed from his face and he turned away when you didn’t laugh. This was it. It was time to say those dreaded words. “Actually, I think we should…talk.” Your mouth was dry, and your heart pounded in your chest. Blood was already rushing to your cheeks.

“About what?” He turned his head back to you, still absently poking at the fire. Clueless, it seemed.

“Well, like…”

“Hey, if this is about that one day, where you passed out in–” his voice faltered, and he cleared his throat. “When you fell asleep. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d moved until–”

“It’s not about that.” You cut him off, not sure you could handle dwelling on that day right now. “I just wanted to know if…” you paused, thinking of how to word it correctly. You'd rehearsed this moment so many times, yet the words still stuck to your tongue like honey. “If I’m intruding on something.”

He stared at you blankly, his lips parted a bit. “What?” He laughed the word, only a small smile on his face.

Suddenly, you felt rather stupid. “I don’t know, I just saw you with that other girl–”

Everything around you screeched to a halt. You couldn’t even hear the crackling of the fire anymore. Other girl. It had come out so naturally, you hadn’t even considered the implication you were making with that single word. You suddenly realized just how many of those little implications you were making all at once. Foremost, that you and him were doing anything more than just being friends.

“Oh, her?” He stood, dusting off his hands, and sat down on the other end of the couch, his legs tucked beneath him and his fingers nervously fidgeting in his lap. “Just a friend.”

“That so?”

He couldn’t seem to meet your eyes anymore. “Yeah. Just something to pass the time, I guess.”

“Well, that's not a very respectful way to refer to a fling, Sam.”

“There I go again. Saying shit that makes me look like an asshole.”

“You seem to be pretty good at that.” It came out meaner than you’d meant, but it was cathartic nonetheless.

“Anyway. It's not that serious. You're not intruding on anything.”

It was both a wonderful and terrible feeling that washed over you in that moment. A thousand thoughts showed up at the front lines of your mind, warring against each other. So, it wasn’t serious. But serious enough that you didn’t even need to say a name for him to know what you meant. Something was telling you that you needed to get closer, now, while you had the chance. But you’d lost that right, given it up the moment you’d fallen into Jake’s arms.

“That’s good to know,” you said, quietly.

“Is that why you’ve been so distant lately?” He asked, his lips stumbling over the words like they were forced from his mouth.

You hadn’t done a very good job of hiding it, clearly. “Yeah, I guess so. And finals had been killing me. Just glad the semester is over.” The topic was starting to shift too close to home. “And you've been distant, too.”

“Well, I figured you just kind of…didn’t like me as much anymore. Not since Halloween.”

Your stomach dropped hard enough that you could feel a knot forming in your throat. He knows. It repeated in your mind like a broken record, loud and screeching. “Why would you think that?” Your voice was small and far away.

“I barely even saw you that night. You would just vanish any time I was around.” A profound sadness lingered behind his eyes. “And then you just disappeared. You didn’t even say bye before you left.”

You could almost physically feel your heart breaking inside your chest. This can't be real. All of it, all the pain you’d endured for the past months, was it really all over nothing? Had you really allowed yourself to be so easily swayed into hatred for him by something as simple as a few hookups? It didn’t feel real, nothing in the room felt tangible at this point. The heat from the fire did nothing to soothe the icy chill that crept into your veins and made you shiver.

You’d been backed into a corner, trapped into either lying, or telling a devastating truth. “Yeah, I didn’t feel great, so I went home.” The lie came out so effortlessly it made you feel sick. Even if he wouldn’t care, it would forever taint whatever you’d built with him if you were honest with him now. If it wasn't tainted already. He must be lying, you thought. There's no way he didn’t see the marks his brother had left all over you.

“You should have told me!” He gave you a tap on the arm. “I would have helped you. Or at least walked you home.”

There had been such unspoken animosity between you, that night after the party, when you’d seen him on the roof. Or, at least, that was how your mind had interpreted the interaction. You began to doubt every notion you had about him. Maybe you’d just taken it all the wrong way, maybe this had all just been a gigantic misunderstanding on your end.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, no longer able to meet his gaze.

“Oh, jeez, don’t be sorry.” Out of the corner of your eye, you watched him run his fingers through his hair. “I should have hung around you more. It’s on me.”

A part of you ached to just tell him the truth. The dejection that hung off of every word he spoke was killing you, slowly. With any luck, he would hate you, and you could go the rest of your life pretending he had never existed. But the mere thought of hurting him in such a way was so unfathomable to you, the truth may very well have not even existed to you. It would never leave your mouth, not even long after you left this cold, dreary town. A dirty little secret you would be forced to carry with you, forever.

“Oh!” He suddenly jumped, pointing a finger at you. “I almost forgot to ask! Speaking of parties, where are you gonna be for New Year’s?”

“Nowhere, really. I don’t really care about that stuff. I always just sleep through the countdown.” You sounded unbearably boring, and you knew it, but you also knew what was coming next. And you hoped to turn him off from it before he could–

“You’re coming to the party here.”

“Sam,” you smiled, shaking your head. “I–”

“Shush.” He held a finger out towards your lips. “You’re not spending New Year’s alone.”

It didn’t feel right. You came here with the intention to be having the exact opposite of this current conversation. Spend it with your waste of time, you want her more, you wanted to scream. This was not at all how you’d expected this to pan out, and it was giving you whiplash now having to change your tune.

The truth was dangerously close to your lips, stuck in your throat hard enough to make you want to gag. Instead, you choked out a “fine.”

“Bitchin'! Oh, we are gonna have iii such iii a good time!”

The knot of anxiety in your stomach started to unravel, seeing him so genuinely happy about your potential presence. You doubted yourself now, doubted your conviction to pull yourself away from this entire situation. Maybe there was a way out of it, a path you couldn't see just yet.

The night was easy, all of your original plans having been thrown out the window. By this time, you’d expected to be in bed, alone, crying yourself to sleep over a ruined friendship. The two of you caught up on your lost time, and he told you all about the strange and interesting experiences he’d had over the past several weeks. He seemed to be the kind of guy that attracted strangeness.

“It’s too quiet in here. Music?” He asked, bouncing up from the couch and making his way over to the bookshelf full of records against the wall.

“Sure.”

“How do you feel about…” his fingers danced along the frayed paper edges that jutted out from their wooden cubes. “Christmas music?” He raised an eyebrow at you, his fingers coming to a stop. “Are you a Christmas music lover or hater?”

“Uh–”

“Lover?” He cut you off with a laugh. “Perfect! I knew we were a good match.”

“Actually, I was gonna say–”

“How about this one?” He shouted above you, cutting you off once again. “What do you know about my man, uh…actually, I don’t know who this is. Hope it’s good.” He pulled a record from the shelf and set it on the small turntable that sat on what looked like an end table. “They just don't make album covers ugly like this anymore." He showed you the cover, clad in gaudy shades of red and green.

“Can I give my thoughts, or–”

“Only if they’re good ones!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics as the room was filled with the warm, crackly sound of the record playing. He picked up the fire poker, twirling it between his fingers for a second before using it to adjust a few of the logs.

“Any plans for Christmas?” He asked, as he absently poked at the fire.

“I was gonna go home, but the weather's not looking like it’ll cooperate.” A brutal winter storm was due directly over the path to your hometown, and you weren’t interested in fighting with multiple canceled or delayed flights.

“So you’re just gonna be here alone?” He dusted off his hands and he sat back down on the couch, eyes fixed on his handiwork.

“It’s alright. I didn’t go anywhere last year, either. I’ll see them when summer comes.”

You both sat in silence for a bit, lost in whatever trance the human mind entered when staring at a burning fire. You felt peace, for once, for the first time in a while. The blush finally left your cheeks, and the sweet scent of the fire clung to your body like a warm hug. There was something about this place that struck you each time you found yourself in it. Like it was somewhere familiar, down to each exposed beam in the ceiling and every scuff in the hardwood. The way the floor creaked when you walked across it, the feel of the antique door knobs in your hands, it all made you feel like you were always supposed to find yourself in a place like this.

You looked over at Sam to find he was looking at you, too. As if he’d heard your internal monologue, he gave you a smile. “Glad you’re here.”

“Better than the dorms.”

Without warning, he hoisted himself closer to you. “You look like you've lost some of that sunshine lately, miss eclipse.” His eyes scanned over your face, remarkably close, so close that if either of you leaned forward just a few inches– “What’s got you so down?”

Your voice came out as barely above a whisper. “Did you have to get so close just to tell me I look sad?”

“Just wanted a better view.” He looked you over one last time, and collapsed back onto his side of the couch. “Seriously, though. What’s wrong?”

You’re the entire problem. It’s all you, however I look right now, it’s because of you. Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just been a bit exhausted from finals, that’s all.” Jake’s words rang through your head, how he’d pointed out your bad habit of saying that’s all when something was wrong.

Thankfully, Sam didn’t seem to have his older brother's sense of clairvoyance. “Well, it’s over. For now, at least. We can relax, finally.”

Relaxing was the last thing you would be doing in the coming week leading up to this party you’d so foolishly agreed to.

Despite the plethora of unsaid words between you, talking with him felt so easy, the way you both seemed to follow the progression of conversation so naturally. When your eyes began to feel heavy, and the fire began to die, a rising sense of unease in your heart became difficult to ignore.

“Want me to take you home?” Sam’s voice startled you out of a half-sleep you’d slipped into.

That was where the unease was coming from. You didn’t want to go home. You had no desire to return to the fluorescents, the uncomfortable bed, the bittersweet loneliness of your room in an empty building.

“Not really,” you mumbled, curling yourself up sideways on the couch. You’d inched a bit closer to him, and you could feel the tips of his fingers, draped across the back of the couch, lightly brush against your shoulder. “That place sucks.”

“You can sleep here, if you want, but…” He glanced at the front door. “The guys will probably be back tonight. Maybe, I don't know.”

An implication, heavy as the snow that had begun to fall outside, settled on both of you.

“I’ll sleep on the floor in your room,” you said, only half-joking. “Probably would still be more comfortable than those dorm beds.”

“You could always just sleep in my bed.”

“With you?”

Your eyes locked, and a sensation like sticking a fork in an outlet jolted through you. You could just barely hear the suggestion of a gasp from him, though it may have been from your own lips, you couldn’t tell.

“That’s not what I meant…but…”

Just say it. Say something. You’d never wished for him to make any kind of move before now, but it was unbearable how badly you wanted him to just do something. He was only one small movement away from you. You needed him to break this tension, say he wanted to kiss you, say he hated you, say he wanted to fuck you, anything.

“I mean–”

You cut him off. “Maybe I should just go home.” Ever the self-saboteur you were.

“Maybe you should.”

The record had reached its end, an eerily still silence befalling the room.

“That means I have to drive you.” He said it like he was hoping you would say something to the contrary.

“I can just walk.”

“It's freezing. And snowing. You're not gonna walk, you didn’t even bring a coat.”

“That’s true,” you mumbled. Now what? You were astounded at your own ability to put yourself in the most awkward positions. Go home, and wallow in what could have been? Or gamble your entire friendship on this one chance? As it would turn out, you wouldn’t need to make the choice at all.

“How long are we going to do this?” He huffed.

You blinked at him, clueless. “Do what?”

“Act like this.” he motioned between the two of you.

“Sam, I don’t know what you’re getting at.”

“This…tension.” He sighed, his breath sounding shaky. “Am I crazy?”

“Tension?”

“Maybe I am just crazy. It just feels like every time I’m around you, we both get kinda weird, and it's like, there's so many things I want to say, but I don't know what they are.”

There it was again, that tone of speaking where his words tumbled over one another trying to leave his mouth as quickly as possible. You could almost physically feel your brain straining, trying to think of a way out of this. But every time, you circled back to the same point – there was no way out.

This was it. This was the peak that all your pining had been building towards. The fear of rejection was loud, but his words seemed to be saying something you'd pushed away for far too long. The thought that maybe, just maybe, he wanted you too. Though it wasn’t really a maybe, was it? The way he’d been so angry with you for thinking you’d hooked up with Jake, the darkness in his eyes when he saw the bruises on your neck, the way he’d looked at you when your head was in his lap, the little touches, the glances, the nickname, it all meant something. Something that you’d refused to even acknowledge as a possibility until this very moment.

Maybe he wanted you, too.

“Can I just–”

You moved fluidly in time with him as he leaned across the couch and caught your face in his hands. Your body worked faster than your brain, placing your fingers over his forearms. You were so close you could nearly taste him. There was nothing you could do to stop the small, surprised gasp that left your lips.

“This is it, isn't it?” He asked. “This is why you've been this way lately.”

“Sam…” the single word came out of your mouth in a pathetic, pleading tone.

“You’re…jealous, aren't you?”

It wasn't the first word you'd use to describe how you felt, but it was certainly one of them. But you didn’t want him to know that. Jealousy, in your eyes, was an ugly emotion you were ashamed of. Yearning was what you’d spent the last several months doing, not being jealous. Yet you were lying to your own face – you knew that deep down. There was no telling what you wouldn’t give to be his little waste of time.

You paused for too long, your thoughts blaring too loudly for you to speak. He spoke for you. “Look at you.” He paused, a smile slowly lighting his eyes as they darted across your face. “Can’t speak?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

“We can just cut the shit and actually talk for once, how about that?” It was a brutal thing to say, but he was right.

“I thought you didn’t like me. Not like this.” You punctuated the last word by digging your fingers into his arms a bit harder.

“Who says I do?” He couldn’t keep a straight face when he spoke.

“Let go, then. Take me home.” You shocked yourself with just how calm and collected you sounded, even as your heart felt as if it may beat out of your chest at any second.

“We’re still not talking. We just keep going around and around…” he moved your face in a small circle with his hand. “In circles. Over and over.”

“Just say whatever you’re trying to say, Sammy. Please.” You couldn’t take much more of this, your willpower starting to crack at the seams.

“I don’t think I can put it to words.” He pulled you the smallest bit closer, and you went willingly. “Can I just kiss you?” The words left him first, though they may as well have come from you as well, given the way you leaned forward.

Your lips brushed against his. His fingers tightened their grip on the sides of your face. You wrapped your arms around his waist. A series of actions that seemed to happen in stop-motion, unbearably slow but all too fast at the same time.

There had to be some catch, you figured. Something would stop this, like a poorly-written movie. Someone was bound to come crashing through the door at any moment to spoil what was happening right in front of your eyes. But nothing of the sort occurred. Instead, you shut your eyes and let him come to you. And he did so.

Your lips felt perfect in his. A kiss unlike any you’d had before, he moved flawlessly in tune with you. He didn’t rush, only gently exploring the curves of your lips with his own. When he broke away from you to take a deep, shaking breath, you had to stop yourself from chasing him back down.

It was like the entire world had stopped, even the embers in the fire hushing their crackles to give the two of you a moment of silent reflection. It began to sink in. You’d kissed him. You kissed Sam. The taste of him flowed over you in waves, a taste you would never forget until the day you died.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“For what?”

“I didn’t wait for you to answer.”

It felt ridiculous that it would even occur to him to ask in the first place. As if the two of you hadn’t been dancing around this moment for months now, as if there was anything you’d wanted more.

You finally found the strength to open your eyes. The sight of him was breathtaking, in the most literal sense. Those half-lidded eyes and the way his hair framed his face, the way you were so close you could see the lightest hint of stubble on his chin, all of it was powerfully beautiful. You were suddenly struck by the sense that you would never be able to find the words to describe this moment.

You had no control over yourself as you gripped around his waist tighter, leaning back in, capturing his lips in yours. The softest groan rose from his throat, a sound so melodic to your ears you could hear it a thousand times and never get tired of it. “Yes,” you whispered between breaths.

“What?” His reply was cut off by another kiss.

“Yes, you can kiss me. And yes, I'm so jealous.”

Every other word between you was communicated in the way he pushed against you, laying you back onto the couch. His fingers wrapped in your hair, his other hand gripping the arm of the couch so hard you could hear his fingernails scratch against the fabric. He asked you how jealous? by pulling away from you a bit. You answered you have no idea in the way you chased him and pulled him back with a hand in his hair.

He wandered across your jawline, down to your neck, where he planted a few soft kisses before gently nipping at the skin. The whine that came from you caused both of you to pause. You were back in your body, but your head was so far up in the clouds you could barely remember where you were. You’d barely registered how his thigh had come to rest between your legs, and the way you were lifting your hips to grind against him. It was embarrassing, how desperate you were for contact with him.

A shiver coursed through your body when it finally clicked it was him. None of this felt real, at all. Sam was biting at your neck, your fingers were tangled in his hair, and it was real. It felt impossible to wrap your head around it all.

“How long?” You asked, before you could stop yourself.

“Hmm?”

“How long have you wanted this?”

“Since the day we met.” He sank his teeth into you, awarding him a gentle gasp.

So many firsts were transpiring all at the same time. You were quickly becoming overwhelmed, tears of excitement and joy and emotions you couldn't place prickling at the corners of your eyes. You pushed him back from you with a gentle touch, and he went so willingly it was as if he was weightless to you.

“Fuck, do you need me to stop? I’ll stop.” He was already climbing his way off of you, his eyes fixed on the tears welling up in your eyes.

“No!” The word came out broken, a sobbing gasp, pleading and desperate. “Tears of joy, I swear.”

“Needed it that bad, huh?” An obnoxious, cocky grin graced his features. A smile you’d seen before on a certain someone else. “We could have cut to the chase a lot sooner if you’d just said something.” He combed his fingers through your hair.

“You didn’t need me.” It hurt like hell to say it out loud. “You had your little waste of time, and I…” I had your brother. “I had myself.”

“I did need you, though.”

As if by some kind of grand comedic timing, the sound of tires crunching on asphalt broke through the silence, and headlights flashed through the gaps in the blinds.

“Shit.” He scrambled his way off of you, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to fix his disheveled appearance.

“Who’s that?” You asked, righting yourself on the couch and trying to come back down to earth.

“Don’t know. Thought they’d be at that party all night.” He ran a hand over his face, letting out an exasperated sigh. “I didn’t tell anyone you were coming over.”

“Are they gonna be mad?”

“Only if one of ‘em has a girl with them.”

Your heart rate climbed ever higher when you heard keys rattling in the lock, and the creaking of the door opening. A familiar face stared back at you through the mesh of the screen door.

“Jake!” Sam called, waving at his brother as he came in through the door.

You watched Jake’s eyes flit between you and Sam, his jaw set in a way that looked particularly pissed off.

“Hey.”

“Where’s the others?”

“In someone’s bed somewhere.”

The tension between the three of you was thick enough to cut with a knife, and the occasional pops from the dying fire felt like gunshots in your ears. You shot Sam a worried look as Jake hung his coat on the rack next to the door, but he looked unbothered.

“You didn’t say anyone was coming over tonight,” Jake said, digging in his coat pockets.

“I was just about to take her home, actually.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty tired,” you chimed in, though your voice wavered.

“Alright. Have a good night.” He made his way up the stairs, and you could feel your body relax once he was out of sight.

“Surprised he didn’t have a girl in tow,” Sam whispered to you once you both heard Jake’s bedroom door shut.

You forced out a small laugh, your head still spinning from the pace of everything that had just transpired. “Guess I’ve gotta go home, then, huh?”

He shrugged. “They wouldn’t mind if you stayed.”

Stayed, and…did what, exactly? Jake was here now. If you went up to Sam’s room, sharing a wall with Jake’s, he would know. Did it matter, though? You had the one you really wanted, now – but did you, really? You’d only kissed, after all. There had been no confession, no declaration of anything other than attraction. And you knew you did not have it in you to say it.

“I don’t want to be a bother,” you muttered. “Just take me home.”

When you finally collected yourself and stepped out into the night, the frigid air felt refreshing on your flushed skin. He held the door to his car for you, a simple gesture, but one that meant the world to you. His hands gripped the wheel tightly as you stared out the windshield, trying to think of anything to say. Some kind of comment or joke to lighten the unbearable tension in the car.

“So…” he began, clearing his throat. “I’ll be gone for a bit. Next time I’ll see you is New Year’s.”

“Right.”

“We’re still doing the same shit.” He glanced at you, a small smirk on his face. “Not talking.”

You only hummed in agreement, not trusting any of the words that were lined up behind your lips. You could only replay the way Jake’s eyes had harbored a specific type of anger you couldn’t quite put your finger on. And the way he had barely acknowledged your existence.

He pulled the car up to the entrance to the residence hall and threw it in park, slinging an arm over the back of your seat. “I hope I didn’t ruin anything. Like, our friendship.”

You shook your head. “Quite the opposite, actually.”

“Sorry we were interrupted.”

You leaned yourself a bit closer to him, your elbow resting on the center console. “It’s alright. I’ll see you soon.”

“Yeah.” He caught the side of your face in his hand, his fingers trailing through your hair. “I’ll see you soon. And I’ll make up for tonight.”

He kissed you gently, just barely touching his lips to yours. It felt so sweet, and so right, to say goodbye to him this way. He leaned his forehead against yours, and you wished that this moment would never end.

You couldn't get yourself to pull away. You needed to say so many things, but the words simply would not come. It must have been written all over your face, from the way Sam smiled at you and nodded towards the door.

“Go get some sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, you pulled yourself away from him. “See ya.”

You couldn’t help but watch his car pull away once you were inside the building. It hurt, and you didn’t want him to leave, but you needed this night alone. It all started to wash over you, glimpses of reality hitting you like stray bullets with every step you took back to your dorm. All of that had been real.

The smell of him hung off of your clothes, that sweet incense aroma and whatever cologne he wore. Like he was still following you, even as you collapsed into your bed, not bothering to turn any lights on. This moment was supposed to be a somber one – you'd expected the literal opposite of where you were now. He’d offered to let you sleep in his bed. There was no doubt in your mind that if you’d taken him up on that offer, the two of you would have absolutely–

You brought your hands up to slap the sides of your face, knocking that thought off its tracks. That was far too much to think about right now. All you could seem to focus on was the warmth of his body on yours, the sweet taste of his lips, the soft sounds he had made against your mouth.

So, it had been mutual all along. A part of you was almost angry at him, for keeping it from you. But you were not innocent, yourself, as you'd never made any moves either. It was still unclear if he wanted anything more from you than your body, but even that would be more than enough for you.

It felt like starlight was coursing through your veins, a bright energy racing through all your thoughts. Every color seemed more radiant, every light seemed brighter. When you couldn't get yourself to sleep, and went for a cigarette on the roof, the stars seemed to be shining extra bright. Little points of light you’d never noticed before stuck out to you, and for once, you wished Sam was there beside you to point them out. With any luck, you had just walked through the one door you'd been searching for. And there was no turning back.

#warning: christmas music #greta van fic #greta van fleet fanfiction #greta van fleet fic #gvf fanfiction #gvf fic #sam kiszka fanfiction #sam kiszka fic #sam kiszka x reader #sam kiszka x y/n #inr #i never really

39 notes · View notes

fangbangerghoul · 9 months ago

Text

My week has felt so looooong and it's only WEDNESDAY!

My spoons are low, and I have released a new chapter of Fleeting Pleasures recently! I haven't gotten to write as much as I wanted but its mostly due to my school work. They really have me reading and writing 24/7.

Tagging the usual! @silurisanguine @eridanidreams @staticpallour @toxiclizardwrites @bearlytolerant @a-cosmic-elf @lisa-and-shadow @aislingdmdt @booburry @therealgchu @samcoesclub @5oh5 @staticpallour (if i forgot you holla at me and I'll add you!)

No one is obligated but it's fun to see you post! Feel free to tag me so I can see your work!

Under the cut is a snippet from Chapter 10 of Fleeting Pleasures!

The tall grass repelled from their movements and tickled the bare skin of his hands. The winds of the planet woefully sung their warning that less than peaceful weather was nigh. The night was just ahead of them but the star that warmed this planet bore on their backs still fighting the horizon and gallantly displayed a warm hue of sunflower kissed yellow. The two of them had just finished up their current excavation and Sam was grateful for it to not only be over but for this planet to be breathable unlike the last four they had journeyed too.

She walked ahead of him, taking her time and her hands softly swinging with the grass. This was one of the rare times her luscious curly green hair was down and the winds whipped it around like two kids fighting over a doll. When she turned back to check on him, her cat-like eyes reflected the planet’s sun like topazes which was a stark contrast to the dark skies behind her.

“Are you coming?” She asked the same topazes staring straight through him, making the storm of feelings within him just as violent as the breeze around them.

“Yeah, just taking a moment to appreciate the view.” He felt a smile creep up on his face as he looked at her in wonder. Sam always wondered if she knew how he really felt. Ghoul put her hands on her hips and stood there trying to patiently wait but they both knew her patience was about as far as she could be thrown.

He started to take a step forward itching to meet her where she stood but something stopped him. It was a sudden and sharp pain in his left side and it made Sam groan out in pain. Ghoul’s face flashed with concerned and as he looked down, he saw crimson stain his shirt and his hands immediately went to apply pressure to the magical wound. When he looked up again the sweet yellow hues from the horizon behind him were gone and the winds picked up rolling the storm from ahead into their area. Ghoul’s face was pale, jaunt, and her golden eyes dimmed as if she were a lifeless corpse. Her mouth twisted in dismay and pain as if frustrated with him.

“I told you, you shouldn’t of came.” She said coldly, her face relaxed into resignation with every ounce of empathy washed away from her.

His surrounds became black, the floor beneath him now replaced with manmade metal in place of the soft earth that was there before. They were on Sondoor. He was here with here again. The pain spread throughout his veins and he felt a sharpness within his chest. His instinct was to reach out to her, for her to grab his hand but she now was adorned with Crimson Fleet attire and took a step away from him. Shadows that shouldn’t be there casted along her face painting a new picture that produced crashing waves of sorrow within himself.

Then he woke.

#starfield #sam coe #starfield fanfiction #the coemancer crew #fang writes #starfield oc #ghoul vibes only #wip wednesday #a bitch is tired

15 notes · View notes

themosleyreview · 4 months ago

Text

The Mosley Review: Horizon: An American Saga - Chapter 1

Before Star Wars, before Marvel, DC or any type of superheroes, the true back bone of cinema was born in the wild west. No other genre has had the most influence and variety of stories based on fact, fiction and sometimes folktales. The majority of you would say that the Western film genre has been dead for years and you'd be right. Yeah, we occasionally get a film that's an modern day original story, a remake or biopic about the legendary gunslingers and lawmen of past, but those films are so far and between. Nowadays, they're mostly straight to on demand. Some films and shows like Deadwood, The Harder They Fall, Hell or High Water, Godless and recently the Yellowstone franchise have re-invigorated the genre. It brought a smile to my face to actually walk into a theatre and sit down knowing I'm about to see a Western on the big screen again and this film did not disappoint. What makes this film unique is that it feature at least 4 different types of classic stories that all have a similar destination. Something like this you would see in a long running TV series and to witness it in on the big screen is truly special.

This cast features just about every current and veteran actor that has ever been in or associated with a western. For that, I'll focus on the standouts from here on in. Sienna Miller was truly fantastic and strong as the widowed mother, Frances Kittredge. The emotional journey of loss and the amount strength she carries for her daughter was encouraging to witness. Sam Worthington was honorable and upright as First Lt. Trent Gephardt. He commanded his screen time with ease and I loved the chemistry that was built between him and Frances. Michael Rooker is always great and as Sgt. Major Riordan, I liked his more tender nature. His Irish accent was a bit spotty at times, but he was so great that I could understand what he was trying to convey for the most part. Luke Wilson was great as the frontier caravan leader, Matthew Van Weyden. I loved his portrayal of the guy that was thrown the position as leader and the all the weight that comes with it. He led with respect, but didn't hesitate to stand up to a challenger amongst the group. Jena Malone was a firecracker that never fizzled out as Ellen/Lucy. From the moment she was on screen, she gets your attention and her protective fury is felt. Jon Beavers was great and scary as the Junior Sykes. His determination and towering presence was intimidating and welcomed. His younger brother Caleb was wild and menacing as Jamie Campbell Bower brings the character to life. His devilish smile and petulant violent nature was fun to watch and brought great tension in one particular stand off. Kevin Costner was excellent as the quiet hero with a possible bloody past, Hayes Ellison. I always love when a hero is wanting peace and somehow gets pulled back into trouble and has to always look over his shoulder. Kevin did that expertly and his chemistry with the flirtatious and trouble seeking Marigold, played wonderfully by Abbey Lee, was cute at times. Owen Crow Shoe was great as the young and war mongering Pionsenay. He was the leader of the many indigenous raids on the American settlements and I liked his defiant nature. I sense we are about to get an interesting and sad story with him in the future.

The score by John Debney was haunting, emotional, fun and perfectly fit the era. What I loved the most is the visual representation of each territory. The Santa Fe territory was that amber and dry type of hot versus the cold, gray and cold bluish tone of the Wyoming territory. Now if you're wondering if there's action in the film, there is and it is not glorious. What was brilliant about it is that the horrific nature of the attacks on settlers was brutal, unflinching and purposefully made you uncomfortable because you're watching families die. The cycle of vengeance is explored through the eyes of the young in this film and that was a great perspective. In the end, this film was a great set up for the following second chapter and I can't wait to see how it unfolds and how each story ends up in the titular location. Let me know what you thought of the film or my review in the comments below. Thanks for reading!

#horizon an american saga #kevin costner #sienna miller #sam worthington #jamie campbell bower #luke wilson #michael rooker #jena malone #jon beavers #owen crow shoe

4 notes · View notes

norabrice1701 · 2 years ago

Text

Shadow

A dark!hypnotist Brühl x Fem!Reader AU

Summary: His phantom still lingers. His shadow is always with you.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Explicit 18+ NSFW smut (including heavy dub-con/non-con sexual intercourse); explicit language; social anxiety; manipulative character; morally irredeemable use of hypnosis; reader trauma & distress afterwards; seriously, this is dark

A/N: Before my Sam Neill character spiral continues, wanted to get this one finished! Please heed the warnings on this one - there is very little redeeming about this one.

"Just one more look at you, my heart has been hypnotized" - "Hypnotized", Years & Years

His voice still haunts you.

Despite the doctor's reassurances. Despite the mind-numbing medication. Despite your husband's insistence.

His phantom still lingers. His shadow is always with you.

“You’ll never get me out. You’ll never let me go.”

A shudder courses through you even though you’re safe under the covers of your bed. Cold rain sluices in sluggish waves against the window, and grey light paints your bedroom in shrouded colors. The warmth of your bed covers does little for the pallor of your cheeks, though.

How could it when his fingers still whisper against your skin? When the hellfire of his touch still sears and brands you?

“Oh, my angel. When the devil wants to dance, do you think you can refuse him?”

You close your eyes against the persistence of memory.

The party dragged on for hours now. Even before marriage to your society-pages husband, you found the endless parade of formal events in stuffy mansions tedious. Fortunately, your husband didn’t insist that you stay on his arm all evening, and you could escape to find quiet moments of reprieve. Moments where you could breathe and try to reign in the anxious nerves that always made you uneasy during large social gatherings.

You’d never been able to explain why crowds made your skin crawl and your heart race. But your parents had heard none of it, and your husband wasn’t willing to listen, either. So instead, you found your own refuge. The heavy mahogany doors of the host’s library were open when you found them, but you closed them swiftly behind you. Mercifully, the din of the party beyond faded, and you reveled in the silence around you.

The gentle crackle of a dying fire along the opposite wall soothed you as you took deep, calming breaths. For the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe. Taking steps into the cozy, shadowed room, you scanned the imposing collection of leather-bound volumes, stately bookcases, and plush furniture designed for hours of mental pursuits. A smile tugged at your lips - your first genuine one of the evening. If you could spend all of your evenings tucked away in such a room, you would want for little else.

You walked up to a bookcase opposite the fireplace, running your fingers along the textured spines. The warmth of the fire danced along your skin as you breathed the comforting scents of old leather and musty paper. All of it soothed your unease, bringing a sense of calm peace that you hadn’t known since arriving on your husband’s arm.

The heavy door whispered open on a silent hinge, but dark movement caught in your peripheral. You withdrew your hand from the books, ready to make your fearful apologies to the host. You weren’t a thief, and you weren’t snooping - hopefully the host would understand. Except… the man half-veiled in shadow wasn’t the host.

Honestly, you didn’t recognize him, and you couldn’t discern too much about him. He wore a dark, formal suit as befitting the party, and well-coiffed brown hair crowned his head. The flickering firelight cast handsome, intriguing shadows across his visage, but his glittering brown eyes were worlds unto themselves.

A fearful shiver raced down your spine as you forgot how to breathe, how to move. “I-I’m sorry - please, I wasn’t prying.”

He shook his head dismissively. “You needn’t apologize to me. This is not my home.”

You fought the urge to wring your hands under his unnerving stare. “I know, but I… I-.”

“You also needn’t be so nervous.” He walked further into the room, the dark fabric of his suit melting into the surroundings. “In fact, you look positively stricken, and - if I’m being honest - you have all evening.” His voice carried a mellifluous cadence with a lush, deep rasp, and it wrapped around you like velvet. “I would love to help you, if I may.”

His sharp gaze held yours with focused intensity, and your mouth went dry. You wet your top lip, fumbling for words against a growing fog in your mind. “How did you even know that I was here?”

The illuminated corner of his mouth lifted, and you instinctively recognized its sinister edge but your body continued to relax as he spoke. “Any man would notice an angel of your beauty taking her leave.”

Heat flared on your skin despite the weight of your wedding ring that suddenly felt like lead. “I-I’m a married woman.”

“Then, it is most telling that I found you here while your husband did not.”

Your head swam and you knew you should leave, but your feet refused to move. You drew another deep breath, unable to look away from him. “If you knew him, then that wouldn’t surprise you.”

He hummed, the sound low and enticing. “I do know him, and this does not surprise me.”

His mesmerizing gaze continued to bore through you, and the creepy severity of it flickered in your mind before evaporating just as quick. “Well… I-I don’t know you.” You said, taking a breath of the unnervingly thick and cloying air. “W-who are you?”

His mouth upturned in fleeting dismissal as he waved an elegant hand, the motion spidery in the dancing firelight. “I am no one of consequence, and my name is… irrelevant.” He took a step forward, staying half-concealed in the shadows and backlit against the fire. “Especially when there are far more interesting pursuits for the course of our conversation.”

Fear crawled up your spine but you were powerless to heed its warning. You gasped for breath, heart pounding and impossibly dizzy as the fire’s heat burned your skin. What was wrong with you? Had you fallen ill?

Another discomforting shiver raced through you.

He shook his head gently, the shadows playing over his pale skin. “But this simply won’t do.” He beckoned you forward with a gentle wave of his hand. “Come closer, my angel.”

Your feet moved without your permission as your eyes saw only him. You shouldn't - you knew that you should run for the door as the scent of his intoxicating cologne filled your nose - but with each passing second, that knowledge faded into oblivion. And the weight of your wedding ring vanished.

Up close, glints of amber sparkled in his dark eyes. Golden shards that flayed you open and stripped you bare. The force of the thought floored you, warring with a different heat growing on your skin and burning between your legs.

His mouth curled with an insufferably pleased edge as he continued to look at you. “And now, my angel.” His voice dropped to a low octave, thick and enticing with poisoned honey. “Tell me why this evening has you so unsettled.”

A drunken haze clouded your thoughts, and you couldn’t summon the will to resist. “I’ve… never liked being around so many people.”

“And why is that?” His words purred so close to your ear, and his cologne suffocated you.

“I-I never know what to say. Afraid that I’ll say the wrong thing, afraid that I’ll….”

His fingers brushed your arm, the touch scorching and electrifying and… wrong. "You may be able to hide from everyone else, but not from me." His breath burned the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Tell me.”

“... A-afraid that I’ll say too much, and… people will judge me for who I am.” You cringed at your admission and the unrelenting, dizzying presence of him. Your body continued to betray the dying protests of your mind, heating under his touch with the ache of arousal.

Disgust rippled through you but you couldn’t break free. Revulsion flared in your gut as his hand continued to trail up your arm even though your core smoldered with liquid heat. Words formed in your mind to call out for help, but they choked in your throat.

His lips danced against your ear, his rumbling voice bypassing the last vestiges of your sanity. “The divine does not fear the judgment of mortals, my angel.” A strong hand fell to your waist, drawing you closer, and you inhaled sharply as his words continued to pour into your ear. “Flowers bloom with no regret. Flowers bloom with no fear. And, so should you.”

The world spun, and you lost your feet. Your back pressed against the plush cushions of the couch under his enveloping weight as the breath knocked from your chest. His touch felt too hot, his skin too soft, his lips too rough. His kiss consumed you, and you struggled to respond. Feebly, you raised a hand to his shoulder, pawing at the fine fabric of his suit. He groaned, the sound captivating and numbing.

A tear stung your eye as you tried to push him away with deadened movements. Your tongue felt impossibly thick in your mouth as you whimpered. “Please… d-don-.”

“Oh, my angel,” he rasped with smug satisfaction as the heavy weight of his hand settled to your thigh and crept under your dress. “When the devil wants to dance, do you think you can refuse him?”

Another whimper passed your lips as his fingers branded your inner-thigh on his journey upward. His groan washed over you in a wave of delirium, and his voice fueled the haze in your mind. “How have you bloomed for me, my angel?”

You whimpered, shame flaring in your chest as he teased through your dripping folds. He stroked you several times, coating his fingers and letting you feel how thoroughly your body had betrayed you. When he started to stroke with maddening, circling pressure, your hips rocked unbidden into his touch.

The corner of his mouth lifted, dark and predatory. “No regret, no fear - remember?”

Another tear stung your eye as his fingers found a delicious rhythm, sending sparks of dark promise up your spine. With each pass, your core ached for satisfaction, drunk on his touch and lost to his words. You didn’t recognize your voice as you moaned for him and clutched his broad shoulders.

The pressure mounted inside you with alarming speed, but his fingers disappeared all too soon. You gasped for breath, whimpering as you bit back the urge to beg him for more. You didn’t want this - you didn’t want him - you didn’t want his pleasure pulsing through you.

… Right?

“Open your eyes, my angel.” His words commanded your obedience, and you squinted against the sharp firelight.

His beautiful eyes shone black with hunger, his face dark with wicked sin. The flickering golden light caught on his fingers that glistened with your aroused slick. Shame washed over you at the evidence of your unforgivable desire. As if in a dream, you watched his eyes fall to his wet fingers and draw them to his lips. He moaned, savoring your taste for a long moment before he purred with deep-seated satisfaction. “Ripe with such sweet nectar. Divine as I knew you would be.”

His damp hand moved to yours, bringing it between his legs to press against his straining erection. You gasped as revulsion crawled down your spine. Sluggishly, with arms that didn’t feel like yours, you tried to pull back, but he pressed your hand tighter against him to draw a low moan from his chest before he spoke. “But I am not so callous as to satisfy my own thirst at the expense of my angel’s.”

Your hand fell limp back to the sofa and the distant shuffling of clothing sounded over the dull buzz in your ears. After all, without his voice, what else was there to hear? He braced himself, pressing against you, and the thick, imposing weight of his cock settled against your soaked entrance.

He swallowed your cry as he pushed inside, the stretch of him stinging and burning with pained pleasure. Your world reduced to the thick pulse of him inside you, touching the deepest parts of your being. You drew a shaking breath, trembling against his lips. “Oh, God….”

“Yes,” he breathed. “Call me God - for surely, being inside you must be heaven.”

His hips rocked back before he surged forward, searing you from the inside out. Your mind splintered and your soul fractured as your body reached new heights with each thrust. Numbly, you clutched at him, and helplessly, you listened to him. “You’ll never get me out.” He growled, filling your body and clouding your mind. “You’ll never let me go.”

And blindly, you surrendered to him - shattering around the deep press of him in devastating rapture.

Even now, almost two weeks later, you don’t know how long you had stayed on the sofa afterwards until your husband found you. He said you were stunned and slurring your words, babbling as if drugged. He said you were assaulted, and pressed you for any information about your attacker. He said you were in shock from trauma, and with time, you would find yourself right as rain again.

But how can that possibly be true? When every time you close your eyes, you see those glittering drops of amber in dark brown seas? When all you hear is his enthralling voice in your mind? His sickening words that roil your stomach and churn shameful arousal in your core?

You can’t explain it. Perhaps you never will be able to. It’s impossible to understand how one man has so effortlessly taken you apart and rebuilt you in the memory of his shadow. His shadow that lurks at the foot of your bed, beside you, inside you as the medication takes hold.

#daniel brühl fanfic #daniel brühl x reader #daniel brühl x you #daniel brühl

27 notes · View notes

mingain · 2 years ago

Text

“Hold Me While You Wait”

Pairing: Milo/Sweetheart (Redacted Audio) Characters: Milo Greer, Sweetheart Words: 823 CW: Life threatening injury, near death experience Additional Notes: AU where Milo and Sweetheart meet as children. Hurt/comfort. Prompt

AO3 Link

Tags: @epsi-l0n

It was not uncommon for Milo Greer to run off alone as a child - frequenting a small pond in the woods near his home. He was caught each time, alone, though he always claimed there was someone with him.

Like clockwork, he would run off to find his friend but as soon as he was found, they disappeared. His parents dismissed them as a figment of his imagination, and over time, he began to believe them.

As he grew older, his visits to the pond grew fewer and further between. The urge to return never diminished, but responsibilities got in the way. His last visit was when he was 14. Or at least, it was the last for a while.

Years and years later, he returned, bloody, beaten and bruised.

The pack had made a move against Quinn. The fight was ongoing, but he was no longer fit to help. His mother and Sam were overwhelmed and exhausted - he wasn’t going to add to that, even if it meant that this would be his last fight.

As he pulled himself into the small clearing in the woods which housed the pond, his mind raced with childhood memories.

The moonlight cast an ethereal glow on the crystal clear water while a chorus of crickets gave the silent scene in front of him the background noise it so desperately needed. Even while in a state so close to the end, this place calmed him.

Unfortunately, his calm was soon broken by the rustling of leaves, before someone gasped.

So he couldn’t even die in peace? Knowing his luck, this wasn’t a pack member that knew healing magic.

He was wrong on both twice over on that assumption.

“…Milo?”

He knew that voice.

Why did he know that voice?

They aren’t from the pack.

Is he sensing a stealth aura?

Why did he know that voice?

Better yet, how did they know his name?

There was silence for a long moment before they rushed to his side.

He didn’t look up. He didn’t have the strength.

As he suddenly felt a warmth fill his veins, he finally let himself sleep.

——————————

He woke in a cold sweat, eyes darting around.

His breathing sped up the longer it took him to figure out where he was. It was day now, but that was all he could figure out as he looked back and forth.

There was that stealth aura again… and was that humming?

He slowly got up, wincing at the aching encompassing his whole body as he did, and made his way out of the bedroom, following the sound of singing.

He was led over to the kitchen where someone was cooking.

“Hello?”

They turned around, seemingly relieved. “Milo, you’re awake! How are you feeling?”

“Where the hell am I? Who the hell are you?” In hindsight, it probably wasn’t in his best interest to immediately give the person who saved him an attitude, but he was Milo - no one would have expected anything different.

They looked down. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t recognise me… it’s been a while since you came to visit me at the pond.”

His eyes widened. They were real. They were a stealth. They must’ve cloaked whenever his parents came to find him.

They’re real.

“I hope you don’t mind that I healed you.” They were fidgeting with a ring.

“I… why were you there?” He’d stopped coming long ago, they had no reason he could think of to be there.

“I started going there before you did. I liked having a quiet place where I could think and then when you found it, I liked being able to talk to you.” They looked back up at him. “I’m glad I needed space to think last night. No one else would’ve found you…”

He stared wordlessly for a second before crushing them into a hug.

“I remembered what you said your favourite food was. I’m not sure if it’s still the same, but I made it for you so you wouldn’t go hungry. Do… Do you have anyone you can call to tell them where you are? I’m sure your parents and your pack are worried-“

“Thank you, sweetheart” He loosened his grip slightly, not wanting to let them go but wanting to be able to see their face.

——————————

Milo called his mum, who inevitably made a fuss over him running off. The rest of the pack doted on him and Christian was… bearable for a while. It was annoying, but he could bear it. Especially now that he had the number of this childhood friend.

They stayed in contact and over time, growing closer and closer until what Milo can only think of as a natural conclusion. Only a few month after their reunion, the wolf and the stealth began their relationship off of the foundation of years of friendship.

He found them. He wasn’t going to let them go ever again.

#redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart

27 notes · View notes

fandom-space-princess · 2 years ago

Text

In Dulci Jubilo

Fandom: Supernatural Rating: Gen Length: 7.1k Pairings: Michael/Adam Milligan Characters: Michael, Adam Milligan, Gabriel, Raphael, Lucifer, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Jack Kline Tags: other implied relationships (brief), dean/castiel, sam/gabriel, sam/lucifer, nobody is dead! everybody lives!, holiday fic, half character study half domestic vignette Summary:

It was a compliment, dear one. I wish only for my Brothers to see the mercy of you. For them to see our peace. ----- Invited to a holiday dinner, Adam and Michael explain to each of their siblings their choice to return to each other.

-----------------------------------------

For the Midam Holiday Exchange, a gift for @hectatess!

(Set in the same universe as "The Game of Us" and "None But Shining Hours," but you absolutely do not have to have read those to read this.)

Read below, or on AO3.

-------------------------------------

Once, I would have led the chorus of Heaven in your name. Imagine it: every voice in the Host, raised in celebration of you! For the fact of your fit to me, exultation would have been your due; your refrain, a rallying cry. A battle hymn.

“So they’d have known me? You’d have... what? Introduced me?”

… after a fashion.

“Come on, bud. Spit it out.”

Understand: we were family, yes—of a kind—but second. A distant second. First, in all things, we were shared obligation. Our bonds were fealty; our cause, war. Armies are made to glory, true, but only in swords and generals. I’d have introduced you as—as what you were to be. And your name, in their ears—in my ears—would have sounded no sweeter than your body would have felt, in my hands, as a weapon.

Silence, for a time. Then:

“You gave that up, though. Dean was your sword or whatever. Not me. I’m just... me.”

Indeed.

A shrug.

“So do you still wanna...” Adam tugged at a loose thread on his cuff, thinking. “I mean, you’re the one who wants to do the family thing. What exactly do you want them to look at me and see?”

Beloved, if you are a blade, you are a broken one.

“Hey!”

The impression of a chuckle, a fleeting fizzle of nerves.

It was a compliment, dear one. I wish only for my Brothers to see the mercy of you. For them to see our peace.

“Because I’d make a crappy sword?”

That, too.

-------------------------------------

[An hour before dinner, late in December:]

With the sunset, wet, fluffy snow had begun to fall on the city of Lawrence. They didn’t need to drive through it to reach the bunker. They did not, strictly speaking, need to drive anywhere—ever. But Michael enjoyed the nod to normalcy on Adam’s behalf; enjoyed the idea that he might still be able to be, at least this much, a human. That he might move between destinations on foot, or by car, feeling the passage of distance and of time. That holiday dinners with a family unit might be desirable, pleasant, or at least tolerable, in the multitudinous complicated ways of human relationships.

True, too: some things he enjoyed for himself. That the cold air and exertion from the walk might cast Adam’s cheeks in pink. That snowflakes might settle along his eyelashes, dust his hat and shoulders in downy white and remind Michael, for a moment, of down of other kinds.

“You’re getting more sentimental by the minute. I can tell. You’re doing that thing with your shoulders.”

I know.

The car they had abandoned half a mile back, edged up onto the roadside under scraggling trees already limned in frost. Doubled tracks led back the way they’d come; the snow crunched underfoot. No moon or starlight lit this part of the road, and past the outskirts of town the streetlights had petered out rapidly. Yet Adam was unbothered. For all that Michael tried to encourage him to keep hold of what little of his humanity remained, his eyesight was still far better than it had ever been in his first life. It wasn’t comparable to when Michael had actively possessed him, but—well. Some things would never entirely reset. The limits of human reflexes, human senses—even human mortality—were all less well-defined than they’d once been.

Michael, of course, could always see in the dark.

Around a curve in the road, and the bunker loomed up in front of them, upper stories vanishing into the swirling snow. No wind, and clouds in abundance; for winter in Kansas, the night was almost warm. Packing snow, Adam mused. Memories of snowmen, of snowball fights and sledding on pilfered lunchtrays down the big hill behind his middle school. He thought: if the night takes a turn and the mood needs salvaging, they could always come back outside for a while. Work on Michael’s first snowman, maybe. Remind each other how to laugh.

What are you smiling at?

Michael had stopped to wait near the bottom of the short flight of stairs leading to the bunker’s front door. Adam caught up the two steps he’d fallen behind. “Not much. Thinking about putting snow down Dean’s jacket later,” he replied. “And can you—y'know, out loud?” He gestured vaguely between them. “Just while we’re here.”

Not their usual preference, regardless of the distance between them or lack thereof, but in the company of others speaking aloud was... not easier, precisely, but markedly less of an invitation to prying questions.

Michael nodded. “Of course.”

Adam turned to face the door, considering it. A breath whuffed out of him, vapor ghosting away into the night. He pulled Michael’s hand into his. “We’re doing this?”

Another nod. “We are.”

His other hand found the doorknob, and without bothering to knock, they let themselves in.

----------[ Jack ]----------

Michael hadn’t had to inform Jack about how things lie between himself and Adam, once he had resettled in the world. Jack had already known.

It had been a secondary impetus for his resurrection, apparently. The primary one—that a universe-sans-archangels was destined for an imminent and messy collapse—notwithstanding, if the young godling had felt his predecessors fundamentally untrustworthy, the matter would have been settled before it began. And yet, inexplicably, Jack had trusted him. He had allowed him to return to life, had allowed him to come and go from Heaven as he desired; had extended to him a place in the rebuilding of it. In the boy’s position, Michael couldn’t say he’d have been as forgiving.

“Why?” he’d asked Jack, once, flying wing to shining wing.

They’d both tucked their physical forms away in a plane a few degrees to the left of the ethereal. Together they’d glided along the undergirding of an older corner of Heaven, inspecting it for structural damage, patching what they found as they went along with grace and will.

In angelic form, his nephew-god had no eyes. Which was to say that his eyes, like Michael’s own, were legion. Which was to say—that he saw everything, always, and understood what he saw. Often, he understood what he was seeing better than that which was being seen understood itself.

And with a child’s delight, he loved it all.

“When I told Adam about you, and about Chuck, and everything,” Jack had said, grinning to himself, running a wing along a strut, “he got so quiet. I didn’t know if I said it right. Cas said that I did, later, when I told him. But anyway... He sat for a minute, and then he asked me if I’d let you come back, too. He was so sure.”

Michael curled a wingtip up to cover a wide crack. Under the attention, the crack knit back together. Slowly, at first. Then Jack added his own wing, and the surface-that-wasn't above them smoothed out. Healed. Whole.

“I think it was the first time I ever saw a person that sure about anything that didn’t feel like it came with regret already built in.” Jack tumbled up at him, whirling, winking, playful. It caught Michael off-guard, at times, how alike Jack could be to a much, much younger Lucifer. Shine and certainty and sadness; authority, affection, willfulness. He reacted on reflex, skirling away, a momentary game of tag in a place-that-wasn't, with space enough to be alone forever, to run and never catch one another.

He let Jack catch him. He had always let Heylel win, too.

“And do you? Regret this?”

“No,” Jack laughed. In a nearby dimension, something young and green bloomed at the sound. “And he doesn’t either. I know.”

----------[ Sam ]----------

When Adam was finally forced to spell it out for Sam, it... had not gone great.

"I don’t get what’s confusing about this,” Adam ground out, into the strained silence on the other end of the phone. He took a deep breath through his nose. Deliberately measured his words. “Michael and I are a package deal. Again. Still. You feel weird about that, I—”

Sam’s voice was equal parts frustration and concern. “Adam, he—you know he went back to Chuck—”

“Yeah. Yep. That sucked for everybody. And he worked it out with Jack.”

“—he hurt us both, used you—”

“—I really don’t think you have any—”

“—he sold us out!”

“ Cope.” Adam’s temper got the better of him. “Look, thanks for calling. I don’t think I really do holidays anymore, but the invitation is appreciated or whatever. If you want to talk to me or Michael, you know how to contact us both.” As though aware of his place in the conversation, he felt Michael chime a question at the edge of his attention. He’d been busy in the kitchen, but Adam knew that if he didn’t lower his voice, Michael would join him on the couch, and the phone call would venture into new and exciting dimensions of annoyance.

From the other end of the line, there were the sounds of a scuffle, and muted grumbling. Someone dropped the phone.

“... hey, shortstack. That you?”

Ah. Great. “Nope. Bought this number on the black market.”

Gabriel’s grin was audible through the phone. “Giving Sammy a hard time? Never would have suspected it of you.”

“I’m not giving him the time of day. He’s the one who can’t deal.”

“Don’t know why he’s got so much sand in his shorts about you and Mikey. The big hypocrite.” Her voice was fond.

His stomach did something complicated that wouldn’t have been out of place at a gymnastics tournament. “He. I. Uh. He told you. About.”

“You know, I see what he sees in you. It’s your eloquence.” She laughed again. He hadn’t known her, before. He had only known her in this new incarnation; in the After that they were all navigating, now. But she seemed to be constantly laughing. He got the impression that she was making up for lost time. “Anywho. Big Bro did clue me in, in a manner of speaking. Family deals with family.” She paused. “That goes for you, too, by the by. We’ve been dutifully keeping your big news from Samshine here, obviously” — the scuffling sounds resumed, briefly; Adam got the distinct impression that Sam had just been sat on — “but you still get the joy of informing Deano, since Cassie isn’t squawking either. Nobody is.”

What sounded like muffled cursing, and the beep of keys being pressed. Gabriel’s voice came from far off: “Come to dinner, though! I wanna bug Mi—”

The line went dead.

----------[ Gabriel ]----------

In many respects, Gabriel had been the easiest place to start. If they were all to live this life anew, Michael wanted—more than most anything else—to do right by the three beings in the universe he had previously done so badly wrong. Among other things, that meant sharing this new part of himself with them. Gabriel had delivered messages, once. She had been charged with heralding momentous change, personal upheavals, the remaking of nations.

Was this so different? Surely, surely she would understand.

He found her on Earth. It wasn’t hard, once he went looking. What surprised him was where he found her: in a café on the outskirts of Lawrence, idly prodding the pile of foam atop a truly enormous latte with a wooden stir stick. He watched her for a handful of minutes from afar, as she alternately poked the touchscreen of a phone like the one Adam had, and shot furtive glances over the counter at the barista.

“You just gonna stand there all day and take in the ambience?” she called over to him, eventually. She turned her head to meet his gaze, with a grin that showed every one of her too-sharp teeth.

He took the chair opposite her. She clicked a drink into existence in front of him which bore a striking similarity to her own. Cautiously, he sniffed it. Caramelized sugars and the acrid tang of caffeine in abundance; the cloying, sweet-sour smell of steamed milk. Michael gave the drink a stern glare. It immediately and politely became a small paper cup of something that smelled of herbs and smoke, and which looked almost, but not quite, like coffee. Gabriel rolled her eyes, but let it be.

“So,” she started, chewing on the end of the stir stick. “How’s tricks?”

“You always choose your words so well, Sister.”

“Don’t I, though?”

“Mmm.” He found himself leaning across the table, not into her space exactly, but in a companionably human closeness. To his delight, he realized she was mirroring the posture. Whether this had been a conscious choice for her, it wasn’t for him, and a warm feeling spread through his limbs at the realization. This body was still new, made for him and him alone, and it had pleased him that his comfort with it grew by the day. “I am well, since you ask. I wanted to talk to you.”

“You know? Think I got that.” Her gaze wandered over his shoulder for a moment, then snapped back to his face. “Heard you’ve been keeping Jack and Cassie company as your new primary hobby. Fixing up the old digs. Which—just saying—a little manual labor looks good on you.”

She reached out to poke his shoulder with one long, white-tipped fingernail. Adam had told him that his own vessel didn’t register as obviously odd or inhuman in any way that he could discern—which made sense. Michael’s vessel was human, insofar as it went, although it housed no human soul; it had been crafted for him, in the days of the first humans, that he might walk the Earth among them. Gabriel’s vessel, though... she had resurrected, by choice, into an only partially human one. The glamor she wore to move through the world warded off alarm from all but the most psychically sensitive humans. But he had seen her without it, seen her eyes go from human hazel to serpent-slitted gold, seen her freckles morph to scales and her nails extend to dainty claws.

When he had asked why, she simply shrugged, and told him that she was trying something new.

He thought, perhaps, that they both were.

Michael raised a shoulder, a gesture he briefly wondered if he’d picked up from Adam. “I’ve been enjoying the work. That isn’t what I wanted to discuss, however. I wanted to let you know—”

“—that you’ve gone back to shacking up with your boytoy?”

His eyes widened. “Castiel told you.”

“Nah, Cassie didn’t have to. I just know you. What, you were going to get back to the world and not go straight back to the only person who’s helped you get your head on straight in millennia?”

“I think it’s a bit more—”

“It really isn’t,” she replied firmly. Her eyes strayed behind him again, for the length of a blink. “Look, I’m not judging you. What do you think I’m doing here?”

Michael sneaked a glance over his shoulder. “What has that man done to earn your attention?”

“The coffee guy? He just tells good stories.” She shook her hair out of her face, then raised her cup and drained it. “Sam’s taken a shine to him. They’re friends. The kid’s waiting on some big news about a couple scholarships. So I’ve been pulling a lever here, putting in a good word there. He’s gonna get a heck of a present under his tree this year.”

He studied her more closely, then. “You’ve been staying with Samuel Winchester.”

“What can I say? I like him. He’s decent company.” Gabriel laughed again, and finally stood. Her skirt trickled over her knees, swirled around her ankles, and her ash-white ringlets pooled over her shoulders, in constant motion even when she was still. She extended a hand, and he took it; she helped him stand. And unexpectedly pulled him into a hug.

There had been a time when he would not have known how to hug back. Now, he wrapped her in his arms. Felt her sturdiness and her strength, the surety of her presence.

“We both deserve this, Michael,” she said, chin on his shoulder. She squeezed him fiercely. “We can choose for ourselves what we want. Isn’t that great? Isn’t it fucking terrifying?”

“It is,” he said, and meant it.

----------[ Raphael ]----------

To tell Raphael anything, Michael first had to go and find them. He told himself that his nervousness about approaching them was only this: that they had, at Jack’s request, chosen to remain in the Empty. Not as dead and dreaming sleeper, no, but as steward and caretaker. Michael walked the sunless path leading to their domain, and listened to the skitter of gravel beneath his feet, the rustle of leaves and the murmur of the faraway sea. As this place was shaped by the will of its inhabitants, he was unsurprised that the environs surrounding Raphael’s home would have retained the character of the forest. Unbothered by anything resembling human civilization—in Michael’s experience, nature, or a facsimile of it, was where Raphael had seemed most at home.

Their front gate was tall, and wrought of bone in intricate curlicues. It opened soundlessly under the brush of his hand.

“Welcome back, Brother,” came a stone-dry voice, a climbing-vines and crumbling-walls voice.

Michael stepped forward, into a garden.

In truth, “garden” hardly did justice to the space. In the darkest heart of the land of the dead, Heaven’s healer had called forth life. The bower was enclosed not in walls, but fences, which extended mazelike in all directions. These—and many other surfaces—were overgrown with thick-creeping ivy, lush and lustrous. The maze was equally composed of stands of ancient trees: spreading willow and fragrant olive, cedar and pine and birch. He moved among the trunks and leaves until, at the shore of a central pond dotted in lilies, he found Raphael, seated on a low stone bench. His sibling scooted to one side, and Michael sat beside them.

“And I thought you’d seen enough of this place,” they began. Like Gabriel, they had chosen a form almost, but not quite, human; in Raphael’s case, a hamadryad. They extended one bare foot out to the edge of the pond, rippling the water there, and the skin along the arch darkened with the moisture like the bark of an oak in rain. Though their complexion was as deep brown as Michael’s own, it was a color undertoned with the suggestion of green—of sap, of spring. Where Michael had thick twisting curls, Raphael’s head was crowned by ivy. As he watched, it snaked over their shoulders, along their biceps, twining slowly but inexorably downward.

“I certainly have,” he returned. “I have not seen enough of you.”

“No?”

“No.”

They turned their eyes to him, then, black and bottomless and kind. “Well, you’re here, and so am I. What would you have of me?”

He took a deep breath. Breathing was unnecessary, especially here. He exhaled, then inhaled once more, regardless.

“I came to see how you were settling into your new duties,” he said, “and tell you of my own. And—tell you other things.”

“My duties go well enough. The dreamers sleep more soundly, with me near. I caretake what needs caretaking.” Raphael brought up a palm. In their hand they called a flower into being, spinning it out of silvery air: a dandelion, late in life, in full feather. They blew on it, and watched the seeds drift out across the water.

Then they smiled to themself, a little, chin turned down and eyes on the rippling water. “I like to watch the vines grow.”

He gently nudged them with his shoulder. “You deserve that. It does me good to see you here, like this.”

Raphael shook their head, still smiling. “And your own work? The dreams—the Heaven they show is more whole by the day.”

“It goes well. I find that repairing broken things suits me.”

When he did not continue, they glanced at him. “And yet you... have not resumed your post. Our nephew doesn’t ask you to his side.” It wasn’t a question.

He returned their glance sheepishly.

“Ah,” they said, after a moment.

There was a protracted silence.

At last, their face performed a complicated press of lips and scrunching of eyebrows. Michael watched them, apprehensive.

“Would you ever have considered coming back for me? To me?” they finally asked. Nothing in their voice suggested anger or sadness, but Michael thought there was something subtler there, or many somethings: resignation, compassion, perhaps mirth. He thought he understood what it meant for them, to feel free to ask such a question; was surprised to find himself proud, that they had come so far in their own healing.

“Honestly?”

“I don’t want anything else.”

“I... don’t know. Truly. As I was?” He shifted in his seat. “I doubt it.”

Raphael’s brow smoothed out. They watched Michael fidget for a moment, then laid their palm across the back of his hand. He stilled. “You’re here now,” they said. “And you’re there with him. You’ll keep being there, for him.”

Whatever tension had been between them evaporated. Michael leaned back on the heels of his hands, smiling to himself.

“I think being a little bit human suits you,” Raphael said.

-------------------------------------

[Half an hour before dinner:]

Once inside, the bunker proved to be far more prepared for festivity than its exterior had suggested. Strings of lights lined the walls and stairs, and the large map table Adam remembered had been pushed aside in favor of filling the common area with an assortment of more comfortable seating. Sam and Raphael sat on opposite ends of a sagging, overstuffed couch, Sam tapping his hands on his knees, Raphael cradling a glass of some deep burgundy liquid between their palms. They had evidently taken a page from Gabriel’s book: the subtle magic they wore reshaped their face and limbs into a more human aspect. When they saw Adam and Michael descending the stairs, they hid a small smile behind the rim of their glass.

Sam rose, stumbling a little as he did so, and moved toward them. “Adam,” he said. He extended a hand, glanced behind Adam at Michael, and faltered.

“Sam,” Adam nodded back, and waved him off. He wasn’t sure whether his half-brother looked disappointed, or relieved. He looked past Sam’s shoulder. “Hey, Raphael.”

Raphael raised their glass in a subtle greeting. “I'm glad you’ve come.” The words were for Michael, but they directed them at Adam, with a raised eyebrow.

“Well, you know. Michael insisted,” he replied, staring at Sam. To his credit, Sam immediately looked apologetic. Before the awkwardness of the moment could deepen, it was interrupted by a thump from behind them. Gabriel strode out of the library, arms laden with garlands, trailed by Jack and Castiel.

“Adam! Mikey!” she called, dropping the pile of ivy and mistletoe in a corner. “You made it!”

Michael stepped around Adam, and pulled Gabriel into a brief hug. When they separated, Castiel offered a warm smile and clasping handshake. Jack had seated himself on the floor, partially ensnared by strands of ivy, and Michael settled next to him and began the patient process of untangling him.

Beside him, Sam exhaled audibly.

“Adam, I,” he started. Stopped. Started again. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Adam looked at him from the corners of his eyes. “Are we good?”

Just then, Lucifer’s head and shoulders appeared around the edge of the kitchen door. The smell of cooking drifted out around him. He called for Raphael. Sam watched them step carefully around Jack and Michael on their way to the kitchen. Michael’s head turned to watch them leave, too, and he smiled up at Adam before returning his attention to Jack.

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly, looking not at Adam but at the pair on the floor. “We’re good.”

----------[ Lucifer ]----------

Michael saved the hardest for last. In multiple senses.

Simply finding Lucifer was something of an ordeal. Wherever he was supposed to be—and Michael was unsure of that, hadn’t communicated with him more than in passing since returning to life—it wasn’t anywhere obvious to him. Heaven was out; Raphael didn’t know; and when he had tried asking Gabriel, she had simply shaken her head and replied that it wasn’t her place to say. This implied that she did know, and that puzzled him, but he did not push her. Instead, he had returned to Jack.

If anyone could find the Lightbringer, it would be his child.

So it came that he found Lucifer in the very last place he would have supposed: the basement lounge of a seedy back-alley bar.

From up in the corner of the stage, a graying man plunked out a melody on an out-of-tune piano. With his back to the door, Michael almost missed Lucifer, at first. But when the song ended, his head picked up, and his eyes caught the stage light: retinal reflection that shone, not human red, but owlish bronze. He did not turn to acknowledge Michael, gaze fixed on the old musician’s bows, but under the bar he held a palm open in his direction, and subtly beckoned him over.

Michael slid into the chair next to him. The basement was humid, and both the bar top and plastic seat were unpleasantly tacky in the close heat. Lucifer waved a hand, and after a moment the bartender slid two identical drinks in their direction. Michael took one. It smelled sweet, a little smoky, and a twist of orange rind circled a bright red cherry under the oily liquid surface.

Lucifer sipped his, grimaced, and sipped it again.

“So. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I wanted to catch up,” Michael said, lightly. “Though I admit that this did not head the list of places I expected to find you.”

“I wonder where you expected me to be?”

Michael shook his head. “Simply... not here.”

“Disappointed?” Lucifer pushed the ice determinedly around the bottom of his glass with the straw. He watched Michael as he did it. He seemed to be waiting for something, and Michael got the impression that it wasn’t him—whatever it was.

“No.”

“Well, I am.”

“Why are you here, then?”

“Killing time.”

“Until?”

“Until I decide I’m done,” Lucifer shrugged. At Michael’s raised eyebrow, he sighed. “Fine. I’m shirking my responsibilities, such as they are. They’ll keep. I wanted to sit for a moment and not be bothered. Satisfied?”

“I didn’t...” Michael sighed. Pinched the bridge of his nose. “ ‘Hello, Michael, it’s good to see you too. It pleases me to know that Earthly life is treating you well.’ There, I’ve gotten everything I wanted from our conversation. This has been approximately as pleasant as anticipated. Enjoy your idling.”

He made to stand, feeling irritated and, irrationally, impatient with himself for his irritation. But a hand landed on his forearm. Lucifer looked back at him from under quirked eyebrows, mouth set in a curious frown.

Rather than pull him back down to his seat, his brother pushed his unsatisfying drink away, and rose as well.

“Come on,” Lucifer said. “Let’s walk.”

They ascended a different flight of stairs than the one Michael had taken on entrance, and exited the bar out a creaking metal door that opened onto an alley. “Are we walking in any direction in particular?”

A nod. “Can’t shirk everything. Gotta check in.” He offered no elaboration, but Michael fell into step beside him anyway.

What exactly Lucifer needed to check in on, Michael could not begin to guess. But, apart from his curiosity, he was determined to see what he deemed relevant enough to show him. He slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket as he walked. Beside him, without looking, Lucifer did the same. It did not often occur to Michael to wonder what humans saw when they looked at him, but he thought about it now: two men emerging from the darkness between buildings, matched in height and build but otherwise, in many ways, as opposite as humans could be. Lucifer, starlight etched in mortal form, all but glowing under the streetlights, golden eyes and golden curls that haloed him as effectively as his own grace would have—and Michael, a shadow cut loose from the night, as earth-made as the first of the men he had been commanded to revere.

But here they were, side by side, identical in posture and bearing; no physical bodies could camouflage the way they carried themselves. Their heads unbowed and spines unbent. Adam had once told him that he walked as though his feet had never touched the ground.

Looking at his twin, he could see it.

Their way led them along side streets and byways. Across patches of crumbling city sidewalk; through an unused parking lot, dark and crusted near the edges with broken bits of concrete barriers; and, after several minutes of walking, around the back of a monolithic warehouse. A lightless dead-end alley and a brick wall greeted them. Nothing Michael could see that would deserve his Brother’s attention, or the practiced indifference with which he turned to face the brickwork.

The place was humming with power, though. Pitched below the background noise of the physical world—psychic potential.

Lucifer reached out a hand, carelessly, and sketched a sigil in the air before the wall. Light crept through the cracks in the grout. A moment more, and the glow coalesced into a portal, round, an armspan in diameter. Nothing but light came through, but as they stood watching, the light dimmed, then brightened, then dimmed again. This was, apparently, expected: while he gave no verbal reply, Lucifer nodded, with the impression of giving confirmation, or assent. Another ebb and flow of light, and then the portal receded as swiftly as it had appeared.

In the darkness that replaced it, Michael studied Lucifer, the close, hunched lines of his shoulders.

“Of all the tasks you could set yourself,” he began, watching Lucifer’s face carefully, “choosing involvement with Purgatory surprises me more than any other. What prompted such a thing?”

His Brother gave a noncommittal slump of one shoulder. “It’s what I’m doing right now.”

“For what purpose?”

“Just... can’t sit still, I guess.” They turned their backs on the brick wall, and exited the alley. Lucifer turned left out onto the sidewalk, and Michael followed. Walking without aim, now.

“Then why are you here on Earth at all?”

Lucifer sent a stone skittering far up the path ahead of him with the toe of his boot, and watched it roll to a stop. “Gabriel,” he said, by way of explanation. Another shrug. Then, more softly: “Sam.”

In profile, his expression was difficult for Michael to discern. “Gabriel implied she’d seen you. You’ve... also been staying with them?”

“Occasionally.” Passing under streetlights between pools of darkness, shadows crawled across his face like clouds. “Sometimes. Yes.”

He’d known his Brother long enough and well enough, at least, to know when he didn’t want to continue a line of conversation. Michael decided on another approach. “Why Purgatory, then, intermittently or otherwise?”

Lucifer scoffed. “Have you seen that place? If you think da— Chuck left Heaven a mess...”

“Why should that bother you?” He avoided mentioning the small slip in words, the sour look that had flickered across Lucifer’s face when he’d said it. “I would not have expected sympathy for the impure. Not from you. Forgive me, that isn’t intended as a slight. Merely an observation.”

The look Lucifer gave him was caught between narrow-eyed distaste and something more thoughtful. “Those creatures can’t help but be what they are. They aren’t like the demons.” The word came out sounding almost normal, with little of his usual scorn. He wouldn’t meet Michael’s eyes.

“Someone owes responsibility to the realm. Jack suggested I might have something of value to offer it.” At his son’s name, a flash of the pride Michael remembered so well passed over him. Then it was gone, his face smoothing. Lucifer glanced back at him. “Maybe I’m just eager to follow your lead. Jack says you’ve been busy. Helping out in Heaven?”

Michael returned his earlier shrug. With deliberate casualness, he said: “Sometimes, yes.”

“But you’re here now.”

“Yes. I’m on Earth now. I... live here. As strange as that is to say.”

Lucifer stared. “All the time?”

He took a steadying breath. “Well. With Adam.”

Abruptly, Lucifer threw back his head, startling Michael. A full-body laugh shook him from shoulders to heels. The sound echoed away up the empty street into a ghostly chorus, a reverberant cacophony. Then, to his amazement, Lucifer grasped a hand on his shoulder, hard but companionable. When the laughter passed, he stepped away, but rather than retreating entirely, Lucifer slid his arm around Michael’s shoulders. They set off down the street once again, this time knocking together in an astonishingly human closeness.

“Are you happy? You seem like you’re happy.” Lucifer asked. He ruffled his fingers through Michael’s hair.

For his trouble, Michael elbowed him in the ribs, and he fell back with a muttered oof and a grin.

“I am,” Michael answered.

There came a muted buzz. From his left jacket pocket, Lucifer extracted a phone, the glow of the screen reflected in his eyes. He gave it a slantways half-smile. “Do you ever have regrets? About... any of it?”

Michael watched the movement of his fingertips over the screen, and didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“I have many regrets,” he replied, hand closing over top of the phone—over top of Lucifer’s own. “Where I am now is not among them.”

Lucifer gave a small nod. He slid the phone back into his pocket.

“Is where you are now among your regrets?” Michael asked.

Another laugh, this one quieter. Lucifer looked away, then back at Michael; he grinned. Then he was gone, the stir of wings raising a breeze, the only mark of his sudden absence.

Michael smiled to himself, and then he, too, left the empty street behind.

----------[ Dean ]----------

Several days had passed, and Sam’s phone call had all but slipped his mind, when Dean appeared at Adam’s door. Considering that Adam (intentionally) had not told his half-brothers where he lived, this came as a surprise.

Two terse knocks and a muffled, “open up, kid, special delivery,” were all the warning he received before his living room abruptly contained two more bodies than usual. Michael had let them in. Adam shot a withering glare his way, but Michael ignored it. He was too preoccupied with Gabriel, who flopped down dramatically the moment she was through the doorway. Only once she was horizontal, legs kicked up over the back of the couch and heels knocking smudges into the wall, did she toe off her shoes and allow them to fall past her head and onto the floor.

“What are you, twelve?” Dean asked down at her with a smirk, as Michael collected her shoes and placed them neatly near the door.

Her hair fanned out behind her head, cascading off the edge of the cushions. Upside-down, she winked at him. “Why, you planning to put me in time out?

Dean snickered, and even Michael chuckled. Adam rolled his eyes at them. “Yeah, hey, hi and all, glad to see you, but uh... what? Why?”

Gabriel turned her gaze on him. “Why what, bucko?”

He gestured. “Why are you here? Did Dean... why is Dean here?”

Dean wrinkled his brow, in mock affront. “First: rude. Second: because Gabe wanted a lift.”

Adam stared down at her. “You can fly.”

“Yeah. But.” She wrinkled her nose. “That sounded like effort. Besides, Mikey invited me over, and Deanie boy needed to get out for some fresh air. Win-win.”

As Dean reached down to cuff her on the shoulder, Adam turned to Michael. “You invited her?”

“Well. Yes.” He moved into the kitchen and opened a cupboard, bringing out bowls and fussing with their arrangement on the countertop. "Gabriel asked if I—if we would contribute something to the upcoming holiday meal.”

He couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. “So you’re going to... Michael, are you going to cook together ?”

From her place on the couch, Gabriel chirped, “Yep!”

Adam could think of no coherent reply. Before his brain could find its footing again, Dean was putting an arm across his shoulder and steering him toward the door. “Come on, kid, leave them to it. It’ll be fine.” He frowned. “It’ll probably be fine. Let’s go get a burger. Get out of the way for a while.”

And without getting another word in, he was shuffled out his own front door and unceremoniously bundled into the Impala.

-----

“Relax,” Dean said, nudging Adam into a crackly plastic diner booth and taking the seat opposite. “Gabriel cooks in the bunker all the time, and the place is still standing.”

“Not really what I was worried about,” Adam replied. Then, after a moment’s thought: “Well. Not the main thing.”

“Then what’s the big deal?”

A waiter drifted past, accepting their order and leaving full mugs of coffee in his wake. Over the edge of his mug, he examined Dean. His half-brother seemed at ease. Posture relaxed, expression open: in their (admittedly limited) experiences with one another, Adam couldn’t recall ever seeing him anything but tense.

“I thought you’d be weirder about this, I guess. Not that I care, but—Sam was weirder about it.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “About Mike?”

Adam squirmed a little, digging his shoulders into the seat. “Yeah.” Then: “Who told you?”

“Nobody. He had to be somewhere. I worked out the rest.”

“You worked it out,” Adam replied, suspicious. “And you’re not going to rag me about it?”

“Believe this or don’t, but given the circumstances I am not only not surprised to find him at your place, I think I’m actually kinda relieved.”

“What? Why?”

“All the other possibilities were weirder,” Dean shrugged. “He isn’t with Jack and Cas full-time, and it’s not like he’s hanging out with Sam and Gabriel. He’s never around when Lucifer is. Still have no clue where Lucifer runs off to when he isn’t haunting our damn library, but my only other guess was to wherever Michael was holed up.” He frowned, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Whatever. Point is, he’s behaving himself when he’s with you. Right?”

Adam narrowed his eyes, and said, “He’s not a pet.”

“Yeah, sorry. Didn’t mean it like that.”

Their food arrived. Plates piled high with nearly-identical hamburgers and stacks of fries. Adam laid into his meal without hesitation, elbows on the table, but paused when he caught their reflection in the diner window out of the corner of his eye. Until that moment, he had never seen himself in either of his half-brothers. And yet. Across from him: Dean. Wolfing down a hamburger like he was forever one decent meal short of well-fed. Elbows on the table. And something else, too: a cautious contentment, written in the soft crinkling lines near his eyes and the slant of his shoulders.

Over the preceding months, Adam had watched Michael come to a similar ease in his newfound freedom. It let him move through the world differently than before. For the first time, Adam realized what that might look like not just on Michael, but on himself as well.

That he realized this through looking at Dean might have bothered him, once. Now, though, he felt only a sort of grudging fondness.

“So,” he grunted, around a mouthful of food. “Holiday dinner at your place, huh?”

-------------------------------------

[Now:]

“You might have to get Sam to do that one,” Jack said, peering doubtfully up at Gabriel.

“Call me short again, I dare you. I’ll just—there!” From the top of the ladder, she stretched up on tiptoe to the full extent of her reach, looping a garland over a light. Anyone with a more human sense of balance would certainly have fallen. Instead, she turned a gravity- and anatomy-defying pirouette, and sat down gracefully atop the last step.

Adam watched them past piles of dishes. Dinner had been excellent, and cleanup had been delayed in favor of pushing the table to one side of the room. No one (aside from Gabriel) had been especially eager to do anything in the wake of eating so much food. So Adam and Michael sat at one end of the longest couch, Raphael curled with a mug of steaming tea at the other end. Dean had dragged out a pair of old leather armchairs from somewhere deeper within the bunker, and he and Castiel occupied these.

Across from them, Sam had taken the smaller couch. He sat in silence, alternately glancing between Gabriel’s attempts to “add a little more color” to the bunker, and to the place where Michael held Adam’s hand in his own, idly tapping the back of Adam’s knuckles with the tips of his fingers. The little furrow between Sam’s brows was hard for Adam to parse, as was the slow way his right hand curled and uncurled into the edge of the couch cushions. He and Sam had spent more time together than he had with any other living soul. Under terrible circumstances, of course. But he sometimes wondered if they wouldn’t have understood each other better, had they known each other less well.

Lucifer sat cross-legged on the floor. He had started out sitting upright, but as Adam watched, he had been slowly but surely leaning himself more firmly against Sam. When, in the course of turning his head to watch his son and sibling tangle themselves in ivy once again, he set his chin on Sam’s knee, Sam’s attention turned to him.

Sam didn’t say anything. But he looked from Lucifer, to Michael, and back to Lucifer, and the frown between his eyebrows smoothed out, and his right hand uncurled from the couch and drifted up to scratch lightly at the nape of Lucifer’s neck.

“Oh the weather outside is frightful,” Gabriel half-hummed. At last finding satisfaction with the decorations, she descended the ladder. On the way down, she ruffled Jack’s hair. “So, what next, kiddo? Wanna get introduced to the joys of eggnog?”

Castiel asked, with a hint of amused indulgence, “As a holiday activity, I do not believe I have ever made a... what’s the term? ‘Snow angel?’”

As Jack’s face lit up at the idea, Michael leaned his head on Adam’s shoulder. He whispered in his ear: “I think you might find the opportunity you were seeking earlier, in relation to snow and your brothers.”

Adam understood immediately, and laughed. He turned his head and caught Michael’s mouth with his, a kiss and a grin all in one.

-------------------------------------

#spn #midam #michael spn #adam milligan #archangels spn #fanfic #gift fic

20 notes · View notes