#dean would break their wrists. but they’d keep doing it

[samdeancrimespree]

perhaps a controversial opinion and like. no hate to anyone who likes femsamdean because i like it too but. there is some distinct element of samdean that relies on them being dudes. like….. if they were girls (esp afab girls) do u know how much they would have to be doing to warrant the same “why are they so close… that’s weird” reaction?? the amount of casual affection that girls/girl passing ppl can get away with is insane compared to guys that look like sam&dean. they could be walking about arms linked, kissing each other on the cheek and saying cute nicknames and ppl wouldn’t find it Suspicious. there’s something so jarring (esp in smalltown, usa) about seeing two giant muscly Dudes be touchy with each other. if hunters heard that there were 2 sisters that were badass hunters and their relationship was weirdly close they’d be falling over each other to beg for a threesome. but no. sam and dean are huge and scary and could crush any hunter with one hand. AND they make lovey eyes at each other and sit way too close and live together in their 30s. and no one can say a damn thing about it even tho it’s fucking WEIRD. and that’s what makes it so GOOD. but if they’re girls that part is so diminished. don’t even get me started on how the dynamic with john would be jfc

[moonlit-imagines]

Misbehavior (Part 1)

Jason Todd x batkid!reader

warnings:

a/n: tysm anon!!

prompt: anonymous: “Hello Lacey! Hope your doing great! Could I please request a bat family x batsis!reader where the reader is Kind of the middle child (I was thinking older than Damian but younger than Tim) and she’s always forgotten and in the back. Maybe some scenarios can be that no one listens when she talks or they forget to invite her to do stuff. So then one day she acts up in school like maybe punching someone for no good reason because she’s craving attention but instead of Bruce showing up to get her Jason shows up and he sees that she’s actually really sad and starts to question her until she tells him everything and maybe spills some tears and it ends with just Jason comforting her and cheering her up. Just some soft Jason for my soul! Also have a great day and I hope that you feel better and more motivated now after your break! 😘”

part 2

No matter what you did, none of your deeds went unnoticed. Good or bad.

You always heard how Dick was so independent, the one everyone should use as an example.

You always heard how Barbara could do it all, she never failed to impress.

You always heard how Jason was reckless, someone who needed to get his act together.

You always heard how Tim was such a prodigy, he was one of a kind.

You always heard how Steph was so determined, she had such amazing goals.

You always heard that Cass was perfect, they’d never change a thing about her.

You always heard that Duke was so strong, he’d never give up no matter what stood in his way.

You always heard that Damian was dangerous, a kid that needed to be guided.

But what about you? What did they hear about you? Nothing. No one ever spoke of you, they didn’t have the time. It seemed as if you were just unimpressive, there wasn’t one thing that needed to be mentioned. Stuck in the middle of a bunch of bats and birds, no way to stand out in the crowd.

Maybe not in a mask or a cowl, a dress or a suit, behind a computer or among the darkness, but there was one place you couldn’t be ignored...

You sat at your desk, picking at old tape with the tip of your fingernail. The teacher had nothing interesting to say, so what was the point of being here? What made Gotham Academy so special that you just had to attend this place?

The uniform was overkill, the classes went nowhere, the students were too preppy, and you didn’t have a single thing in common with anyone here.

Anger was starting to bubble inside you as you continued your internal self-loathing. Your mind was only focused on the negative, but it was shifting from school back to home.

No one was ever there for you, not even on patrol. You’d called for backup several times on missions and nearly lost it all when you had to go in alone. If it were anyone else, a teammate would have met them in a heartbeat.

Your plans were always overshadowed whenever you tried to set up a mission or even just a day off. You wanted cookies? Too bad, Tim wants brownies. You wanted to watch a movie? Too bad, everyone chose a TV show. It was the little things that irked you the most. Half the time, you never even got the memo.

And what about when you all come back from patrol with all sorts of injuries and Alfred comes to patch you up? Well, not you. He’ll run to check on cuts and scrapes. Meanwhile, you had a broken wrist and a black eye.

You’d finally run out of things to pick at around your desk which resorted in you tapping instead. There was a brief bit of zoning out as you remembered the time that Damian’s plan for evading Killer Croc’s attack was to push you in the way. Or the time that Jason hid his guns in your bed for reasons he didn’t care to explain. Or when Dick drank the last of the milk and didn’t tell you until after you poured your cereal. Or when Tim told you that you weren’t fit for the mission he had been planning. Or when Bruce blatantly ignored the story you told out of pure excitement, giving you nothing but a “sounds like you had fun.”

While you were in a horrible daze, you felt a hand on your shoulder that snapped you out of it faster than the Barry Allen. Without even evaluating the situation, your reflexes caused you to turn and twist your classmates arm backwards as he screamed.

“Hey! Stop, ow, that hurts! Stop! Stop it!” You processed his words too late and knew exactly what was coming next.

“Y/N L/N!” You teacher shouted as you drew your hand back. “Dean’s office. Right now.” Her sharp voice sent a chill down your spine, not even the Joker could do that. You’d be able to explain the situation pretty easily, you just didn’t want to make it worse. But there was one ankle that sent you off the edge. Another student tripped you on your way through the aisles, and that student caught a fist to the face. The audience gasped and shouting from your teacher ensued, but you didn’t listen, you’d take the punishment at this point. So you walked right out and headed for the dean’s office without so much as a hall pass.

“Mx. l/n? What’s this about?” Dean Williams was surprised to say the least, you’d never been sent in for discipline before. Was there a certain way to do this?

“Well, I zoned out and some kid behind me grabbed my shoulder, I accidentally twisted his arm.” You retold your story, the abridged version. “But on my way out I punched a kid in the face because he tripped me. That one’s on me.”

“...Well,” the dean frowned at his obligations, but had to go through with some kind of punishment, “I’m going to have to suspend you for physical contact with a student. I’ll call your father to come pick you up.” You shrugged and slouched back in your chair, giving up on any hope of talking your way out of this. It might as well just happen. You listened to the clicking of the buttons on the dean’s phone as he typed in the Wayne Manor phone number, obviously reaching Alfred almost immediately.

“Wayne Manor.” You eard his faint voice through the speaker.

“Hello, this is Dean Williams from Gotham Academy, may I speak to Mr. Wayne? I have his child in my office.” Your dean explained over the phone, peeking back at your for a split second. You were completely unbothered, it was baffling.

“Is it Damian?” You heard him ask, causing an involuntary eye roll.

“Y/N, actually.” There was a long pause before someone else picked up the phone. “Mr. Wayne, this is Dean Williams at Gotham Academy. I have y/n sitting across from me right now, they seemed to have gotten themself into a physical altercation with two separate students, I have no choice but to suspend them.” You heard a deep sigh over the phone, then the handheld piece was handed to you.

“Bruce?” You asked.

“Really? Fighting at school?” He sounded unimpressed. Nothing new, even when you do something new.

“Something like that. Whoops.” He hung up on you right after that, so you handed the phone back and told your dean, “Guess they’ll get me soon.”

“You call your father by his first name?” Dean Williams had nosily questioned.

“I’m adopted.” He obviously didn’t know you as well as your more troublesome sibling, it was time he just minded his business.

After a good thirty minutes of silent waiting while listening to keyboard clacking and papers flipping by the front desk, the office door opened, and to your surprise, it was one of your brothers.

“I’m here for y/n.” He mumbled, signing the piece of paper and showing his ID.

“Alright, Mr. Harper, I just have to check some paperwork really quick...” The receptionist went into your file and checked for your emergency contacts. “You’re all set. Now, y/n has been suspended for two weeks. I suggest you get to the bottom of their little ‘outburst’ before they’re able to come back to school.” It actually pissed Jason off to hear her say that.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” His sarcasm wasn’t subtle. “Come on, kid.” Your brother gripped your arm and led you out of the office, noticing your bitter expression that he couldn’t even rationalize. Was that normal? “So what happened. Bruce just told me to come get you.”

“Of course he did.” You rolled your eyes on the brink of tears, he didn’t even come to get you himself. Jason opened the car door for you and nudged you inside, slamming it once you were clear.

“You better have a good reason,” he warned as he started the engine, “I was in the middle of a poker game.”

“Oh, yeah, ‘cause I’m such an inconvenience.” You were starting to remind him of himself. That was never a good thing.

“Okay, my bad. I didn’t mean it like that.” Jason began speeding down the block, you’d never once seen him obey a speed limit. You’d think someone with a fake ID and a death certificate would want to avoid any run-ins with the cops, but Gotham was just one of those cities.

“Yeah, right.” You reached for the radio knobs and felt Jason’s hand wrap around your wrist.

“No music until you explain yourself.” You fell back into your seat to pout, muttering some curses under your breath. “I won’t tell Bruce or anyone. I swear.”

“I just zoned out. Reflexes.” You bluntly replied.

“What?” He still didn’t have any context to go off of.

“I twisted someone’s arm backwards. Honest mistake.” Jason knew there was more to this story. “But on my way out of the classroom, I punched this kid who tried to trip me. That was on him.”

“As much as I condone payback, you can’t do that at school.” He sighed. “You’ve never been sent home before. That I know of. So why now?”

“Yeah, you know, maybe that’s the issue? You couldn’t tell me if I’ve ever gotten in trouble before. None of you could. You couldn’t tell me a definitive thing about me. When’s my birthday, Jason?” He was at a loss for words. “That’s what I thought.”

“So this was all for attention?” Jason asked. “There’s a hell of a lot of better ways to go about that.”

“Tried them all, this one barely even worked.” You replied with a crack in your voice. “How come none of you care about me? Why am I always looked over? I’m just like the rest of you. I put on that stupid suit every night and kick ass, I get my job done, I get good grades, I’m resourceful, I’m special—” You’d let that last one slip in your rant to your older brother, it shocked him so bad he stopped the car.

“I know what you mean.” Jason stared straight ahead at the empty road. “I felt the same way when I came back. After everyone was used to me being back, it was like nothing ever happened. Bruce just went back to calling me careless, irresponsible.”

“At least you get noticed, Jason. Your identifiable.” You turned to him with a pained look and he risked his confidence to look you in the eye. Once he did, he couldn’t look away. It hurt him to see someone so familiar to himself have tears running down their face because they felt forgotten. No kid should ever have to feel like that. That was why Bruce took him in. That was how Jason became Robin.

“Fuck this.” Jason hit the gas and turned the car around. “We’re getting ice cream. Do you like ice cream? That’s a serious question.”

“I...I guess.” You were somewhat confused by his sudden literal change in direction.

“Good. You’re my kid for today, all my attention goes to you. I’m sure Bruce won’t notice if you’re gone for a few hours.” Jason’s jaw dropped at his last comment. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, you’re right and you should say it.”

taglist: @thatwaspossession // @ravenmoore14 // @thisetaernallove // @kinoko-kai //

[demxters]

𝑎 𝑠𝑎𝑓𝑒 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑎𝑛𝑑－𝑐ℎ.1

50s!bucky barnes x actress!reader

summary: When Y/N Y/L/N is discovered by Bucky Barnes in a local Los Angeles diner, her wildest dreams finally become a reality. The fame, fortune, and glory is right at her fingertips. But her acting skills alone are just not enough to get her on the A-list of actors in Hollywood. Romantic affairs and scandalous outings give Y/N the push she needs to make her a star. However, the closer she gets to stardom, the further away it brings her from the ones that matter to her most and the one person who truly loves her.

wc: 3,016

warning(s): none! (but please let me know if i missed anything)

series masterlist

a/n: i hope you guys like the first part of this series :) please let me know what you think!

The roar of the crowd fills your ears as the presenter calls you onto the stage. A hand over your heart and another on your mouth makes your shock evident to those around you as they let out joyous laughs at your victory. Upon making your way onto the stage, gold, silver, and black cloud your vision as you stare out into the sea of celebrities. You couldn’t believe it. All your hard work was finally paying off. Y/N Y/L/N was soon to become a household name. No, Y/N Y/L/N, Academy Award winning actress, is what they’d call you. Flashes of light and faint calls of your name flood your senses when you take your award in your hands. It’s heavier than you imagined. Your name is being chanted as the cameras continue snapping pictures until the lights become too bright. The lights are too bright and the calls of your name are too loud as you stand there overwhelmed. 

“Y/N… Y/N… Y/N…!”

“Y/N! Rise and shine, sweetheart! We’ve got a busy day ahead of us and we don’t want to keep the boss man waiting.” 

With a groan, you roll away from the window and blindly throw one of your pillows at the intruder. “Go away, Barnes,” you grumble under your breath. 

Bucky yanks open the curtains making you glare at him with squinted eyes, messy bed hair and all. The strap of your silk night gown was loosely falling off your shoulder, leaving it bare, and it takes everything in him not to stare. The scene was too surreal–too domestic– and he wanted it too much. “Come on, sunshine. Up, up, up!” Bucky gestures for you to get out of bed as you roll your eyes and flop onto your back. 

“I’ll be ready in ten,” you sigh. 

“Make it five!” He jests, amused by the irritated moan you let out. Bucky backs out of your room, gently shutting the door before he lets out an exhale of his own. If only things were different. If only you didn’t see him as just your best friend. Maybe then he could call you his own. But it was wrong, wasn’t it? To want you in that way. Yet the way you looked at him like he was James Dean gave him just a sliver of hope that you wanted him too. However, Bucky knew that your new movie would change everything. It would no longer just be you and him going to auditions and slumming it on the weekends. You were going to be a star, that much was certain. He knew you were bound to steal hearts (more specifically his) the moment you flashed him that smile in the little diner downtown. A quick glance at his wrist watch breaks Bucky from his thoughts and he saunters back to your bedroom door. He lands three rhythmic knocks onto the wood and just barely opens his mouth when you’re swinging the door open in haste. 

“All right, all right, I’m coming. Whose bright idea was it to schedule a meeting at 10:30 in the morning?” you huff under your breath. 

Bucky laughs at your grumpy morning state while offering you his arm, which you begrudgingly take (but not before you smack his chest with the back of your hand). “Come on, darling, it’s not so bad. We just gotta meet with Steve real quick about the premiere next week and then you’re free to do whatever you want.” 

“Whatever I want?” You ask him with a sly grin. 

Catching the mischievous lilt of your voice, Bucky corrects himself. “Whatever you want as long as it follows the terms of your contract.” 

You had a reputation for being a little troublemaker when it came to following the conditions of your contract under MGM. You were a free spirit who wished to do whatever you liked. That’s how you found yourself in Los Angeles with nothing but a dollar in your pocket and a suitcase filled with dreams. When you signed your studio contract, they gave you a grocery list of things you could and couldn’t do, things you could and couldn’t wear, and what you could and couldn’t say. It was exhausting, infuriating. It went against everything you stood for. You’ve tried to convince Bucky to have a little fun every now and then but he was such a goody two shoes when it came to his job that you had no luck in getting him to let loose.  

“You are absolutely no fun, James.” You pull your arm from his hold with a pout, your bottom lip jutted out and chin held high in the air. 

“Y/N,” he draws out your name. You only let out a quiet “hmph!” before he’s chasing after you like a puppy. “Y/N, you’re really gonna do this right now?” 

Your lack of response answers his question. 

He shrugs nonchalantly, stuffing his hands into his pant pockets. “Alright, then I guess I’ll have no one to share a delicious strawberry shake with from Donny’s after the meeting. Maybe I’ll ask Sharon if she’s available…” 

Turning around in an abrupt stop on the sidewalk, you narrow your eyes at the man. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

You were right. He wouldn’t. Bucky just loved to tease you every chance he got, especially when it got you all riled up like you are right now. “Maybe I would.” 

A soft gasp of disbelief leaves your lips. 

Bucky chuckles and continues to stroll down the sidewalk as he hollers over his shoulder, “Unless you quit ignoring me, then maybe I won’t have to.” 

Your heart skips a  beat at the flirtatious wink he sends you and you roll your eyes at his childish antics.  “You are insufferable,” you scoff, bumping your shoulder into his. 

“Yeah, but you love me.” He affectionately grins and slings his arm around you as you lean right into him as if it were second nature. 

You only shake your head with a light laugh from the irony of it all because you do love him. You just couldn’t bring yourself to admit it. 

_____

If Steve opened his mouth one more time, Bucky was sure he was gonna lose it. The sweltering heat of the Los Angeles afternoon wasn’t helping the fact that he was already sweating through his dress shirt at Steve’s proposition. 

“You want them to do what?” he questions, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“It wasn’t my idea,” Steve holds up his hands. “It was your boss’s.” 

“Pierce?” You turn around in your seat to meet Bucky’s gaze with wide, helpless eyes. 

It was no secret to him that you hated his boss, Alexander Pierce. Multi-millionaire and President of MGM studios. Bucky hated him too. The guy was a greedy jerk who loved to abuse his power. If he had any other choice, he would’ve left the studio years ago. But he was the reason why Bucky wasn’t living on the street right now and why you still had a job. So if Pierce had talked to Steve, there must’ve been a good reason why. “Why the hell would Pierce suggest that?” 

Sam Wilson, whom he forgot was in the room with them up until this point, cleared his throat in an attempt to interfere. Yet Bucky’s ice cold glare told him his input was not welcome. 

“Buck,” Steve continues. “It’s not a bad idea.” 

“No, it’s not. It’s a terrible idea. Why does she need to date Wilson for her career to be successful? You’ve seen her, Steve. Y/N’s incredible in this. She doesn’t need another man’s success to create her own.”

You smile gratefully at Bucky as he continues to defend you. Your chest is warm and your palms are sweaty at how much he cares about you; at how much he believes in you. 

“I agree, but Pierce has a point. No one knows Y/N’s name beyond anyone who’s seen her first film.” 

“What’s so wrong with that?” Bucky challenges. 

“If Y/N wants to take her career to the next level then she needs people to see her in this. Bucky, you said it yourself, Y/N is amazing in this movie. We just need to create enough traction to get people interested in seeing this movie because Sam’s name alone is not enough,” Steve explains. 

“That’s where our fake relationship comes in,” Sam finally speaks up after moments of silence. “You know people love celebrity drama. If we make it seem like we’re together more people are going to want to see this film. It’s the easiest way to get her name on every other director’s radar.” 

Bucky lets out a heavy breath, still not convinced that this was the best idea. His shoulders were taut and raised right up to his ears as he thought long and hard on the situation. 

Noticing his hesitation, you softly speak up. “It’ll be ok, Bucky. It’s just for a little while until after the film comes out, right? After that we could stage some break up and go our separate ways?” You look over to Steve for confirmation. 

“If we could get the film to take off the way we want it to, then yes. This won’t last forever,” he confirms with a soft smile. 

“Although, I don’t think that’s anything you need to worry about, Y/N. They’re going to love you, I just know it.” Sam sends a reassuring grin your way as he takes your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

Bucky grunts and shakes his head, still not on board with this ruse. Seeing Sam grab your hand is the last straw and suddenly, he’s storming out of Steve’s office and down the hallway towards the stairs. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he thinks. He’s frustrated with himself for letting his feelings cloud his judgment. He’s furious at Pierce for putting you up to this ridiculous charade. Most of all, he’s jealous that he’s not the one who gets to be with you, even if it’s fake. A firm hand lands on his shoulder, one that isn’t Steve’s and one that definitely isn’t yours. Bucky sharply turns around and is met with none other than Sam Wilson. “What the hell do you want now?” he snaps. 

Sam’s stance doesn’t falter as he steps closer to Bucky who looks about ready to tackle him onto the floor. “You care for her, don’t you,” he says more as a statement rather than a question. “More than a friend should.” 

Bucky’s hand curls itself into a fist at Sam’s words, irritated at how easily he was able to read him. “What makes you say that?” 

“Buck,” he pauses for a moment to meet Bucky’s stare. “Can I call you Buck?” 

“James is just fine,” Bucky says through his clenched jaw. 

“Ok, James. I spent a lot of time on set working with Y/N. Which means I spent a lot more time observing the two of you when we weren’t filming. I’d have to be blind to not see the connection you two have.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

“Because I want you to know that I have no romantic intentions from this ‘relationship.’” Sam emphasizes the word with air quotes. “I’m doing this for her as a friend and for her career. Nothing more.” 

Bucky is taken aback by the sincerity of Sam’s words. He has met many movie stars in his life.Within seconds of meeting a celebrity Bucky’s bullshit detector goes off, which most of the time, is correct. Most celebrities were snobby, rude, and acted their way through a lie to get whatever they wanted. But not Sam. No, he may not have known the man long, but there was something about his aura and the kindness in his eyes that told Bucky that he meant it. That he wouldn’t dare try to make a move on Y/N. He nods in a silent thank you, which Sam returns, making Bucky feel a little bit lighter about this deal. 

“You all cooled off now, slugger?” You question Bucky, eyeing him carefully as you take another sip of your vanilla milkshake. After that tense meeting, the two of you needed a break. And what better way to do that than with a milkshake from Donny’s, just like Bucky had promised you?   “You looked ready to give Sammy a knuckle sandwich back there.” 

Bucky only nods, not daring to meet your eye. 

“Hey, you know I wouldn’t do something I don’t want to do. I can speak up for myself.” You take his hand that is curled up in a fist on the counter into yours and see his body relax a little. 

“I know. I just worry,” he whispers softly as his heart hammers in his chest at your touch. The way your thumb runs over his knuckles and that soft look in your eyes that’s only ever reserved for him has Bucky weak in the knees. 

“You don’t gotta worry about me all the time, Bucky.” You give his hand a light squeeze. 

“I can’t help it.” 

He looks up at you with those baby blues that you absolutely adore and it takes everything in you not to kiss that frown right off his face. “I’ll be ok, honey. Besides, you’re not going to leave me or anything are you?” You nervously laugh. Despite trying to lighten the mood, there’s a big part of you that’s afraid one day he will. One day when the job becomes too much and you barely have time for one another. One day when he finally realizes there’s more to life out there than you. 

“Of course not.” Leaving you was the last thing he would ever do. That, Bucky swore. 

_____

The moment word of your relationship with Sam Wilson reached the press, it spread like wildfire. Everyone was intrigued by the new actress who caught the eye of Hollywood’s heartthrob. The paparazzi was swarming you left and right for pictures and questions about your new relationship. After every question, you replied with a stern, “No comment,” just as management advised you to. 

The whole ordeal was crazy and almost had you losing your head. Like clockwork, every day at two in the afternoon you and Sam would take a stroll down Rodeo Drive hand in hand with planned kisses on cheeks and “oblivious” moments of intimacy. And every evening, the papers would be filled with stories of Sam Wilson’s new belle. The premiere was only a few days away, and everything was going according to plan. 

“Good grief, this week has been–”

“Unbearable, horrible, quite possibly the worst week of your life?” 

“I was going to say it was exhausting. This week has been exhausting.” You plop down next to Bucky who’s sitting on the leather couch in your living room, laying your legs right across his that rest on your coffee table. “I feel like I’ve barely had a moment to myself.”

The lazy smile falls from Bucky’s lips as he scrambles to get up. “Sorry Y/N, I didn’t even think that, I could go–”

“No!” You exclaim almost too eagerly as you pull him back onto the couch. “No, I want you to stay,” you tell him timidly as you try to fight the heat that creeps its way up your neck. 

Bucky immediately sits back down at your declaration, placing your legs back on top of his and pulling you closer into him. The two of you sit in silence, basking in each others’ warmth and comfort. He clings onto you tight, just in case this is the last chance he’ll get. The impending premiere date has him on edge. Not only for his sake, but also for yours. Don’t get him wrong, he’s proud of you and your work, he’s just afraid of what the industry will do to you. Bucky has seen many celebrities fall off their game because of this industry and you were the last person he wanted to see tainted by its wicked games. You shift slightly in his arms, pulling his attention back to you. The crease in between your eyebrows and the way you rubbed your palms against the fabric of your pajamas told Bucky there was something wrong. He could practically see the gears turning in your head. “What’s on your mind?”

“Everything’s going to change, isn’t it?” 

Bucky pauses for a moment while tightening his hold around you for comfort. He feels you start to relax and brings one hand from your waist to your arm, gently rubbing up and down before placing a soft kiss atop your head. A shaky exhale leaves you and Bucky’s lips pull into a melancholy smile as he rests his head on yours.  “I would be lying to say that it’s not.” 

“But I don’t want things to change,” you tell him so quietly, he’s certain that he almost missed it.

“Sometimes change can be good.” Bucky ponders as you tilt your head up with eyes glistening with tears and your hair slightly disheveled. “Sometimes change leads to bigger things, better things. If things don't change and we stay stagnant forever, we’ll never have room to grow. And for you sweetheart, I think change will help you for the better. I mean, you’re only this much closer to your dream. Why stop now?” Your silence urges him to continue. “No matter what changes, no matter what comes next, you and I will never change, you hear me? I promise. Besides, it’s you and me ‘til the end, right?”

“”Til the end.” You nod stiffly in his hold, settling yourself further into the cocoon of warmth his arms provided. His scent surrounded you, he surrounded you–finally you were home. 

You wish you knew to hold onto this moment for as long as you possibly could before you threw yourself head first into the storm. Because like all things, nothing good lasts forever. Not even those promised. 

feedback, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!

mcu taglist:  @sunflowerbecca @beth-winchester21 @thebadassbitchqueen @iasdfghjkl @whatthefuckerr @thatoneleoslytherin @thesewordsareallihavetogive @pixieyosi @theosbucky @pansydaisy @the_fuck_up_of_today @happelu970 @bibliophilewednesday @aryhyuuga @wanniiieeee @i-love-scott-mccall @scxrletrecsmarvel @julesclues @poisxnedmind @omgkatinka @enlyume @supraveng @gitasor @winth0rsoldier @meliq @gimaximoff @mugi-chwan95 @jemimah-b99

[writinginthesecrettrees]

On Camera

 a fic for @writethelifeyouwant about Sam. On camera.

I think it ended up a bit over 500 words. Sorry not sorry.

-

Sam looks around nervously, a final check that everything’s in place. Bed made, door locked, roommate out for the next few hours, lights adjusted the way the studio told him to. Lube and a “realistic” dildo in easy reach, and he’s wearing loose gray sweatpants and a Stanford-red hoodie.

Tripod with camera aimed at the pool of light on the bed, and he wishes he could keep his face out but the studio pays more if they can see his face, his reactions, and he’s more than a little desperate since discovering that his scholarship doesn’t cover books or meal plan and he needs cash fast. Luckily there’s a market for pretty boys in financial need, he doesn’t even need to let someone else touch him and the studio loved his jack-off video. 

This’ll pay more.

Deep breath. He hits “record” and moves around to sit on the bed.

“Hey, so uh… I’m Sam, and you all liked my first vid so much, I’m making another. And it’d really help me out if you could leave a comment about what else you’d like to see from me.” He scrubs his hands on his sweatpants, laughs a little. “I’m still a bit nervous, so any encouragement you all could give would be… yeah.”

The studio told him not to worry about music or anything, they’d add some when they edited the video he’s sending them, but he can’t help wishing he could have something playing. Anything to get his mind off the camera in front of him and the blinking red light. He knows his cheeks are flushed red from embarrassment, but the studio loved that. “Ya look all innocent and shy... that gets lots of subscribers. Keep it up!”

He rubs the back of his neck, glances up at the camera, and feels himself blush harder. The problem is he’s just not in the mood, but if he doesn’t drop this tape in the mail today, he’s gonna start really falling behind on his classes. And maybe he shouldn’t, because that’s what got him into this new line of work in the first place, but he can’t break a habit of a lifetime, so he closes his eyes and thinks what would dean do.

Tries not to feel shame as he pictures Dean in his position and his dick starts to take interest immediately. He strokes it lightly, teasing through soft cotton, enough so it plumps up to tent the fabric before sliding his hands up his chest, rubbing at his nipples until they stiffen.

what would dean do

Sam opens his eyes, grins at the camera. “Think I should take it off?” He pulls the zipper of his hoodie down a couple inches, bites his lip, drags it further until the N and F are separated. That’s enough to trail his hand up between his pecs, up his throat, pushing his head back as he draws his fingers up over his chin to tease at his lips. Pretends it’s someone else’s hand (pretends it’s dean’s) as he sucks the tip of his index finger in and moans softly. He brings his free hand up to squeeze his pec, and blushes again. It’s not a tit, but he’s been touching himself the way Dean touches girls for so long he’s not sure he can get off without it.

Slowly, he pulls his finger out of his mouth, makes it pop loudly before tugging the zipper down completely and shrugging out of the sleeves. “You’ve got a great bod, kid, let us get a good look,” the studio said, so he pauses there, flexing his muscles, running his hands over his abs and gasping as he tickles his own sides. Goes back to his chest to squeeze and tweak his nipple, pinches one hard and gives it a little twist that makes him gasp. His eyelids are heavy as he looks into the camera again.

“I like when it hurts, just a little.” He barely recognizes the husky voice as he confides in the camera. In the thousands, maybe millions of faceless men who are going to watch this. Sam lets his eyes fall shut and pictures Dean standing there. “Wish you could touch me.”

what would dean do

Sam lets his hands fall, caresses his dick through his sweatpants with a groan. “Ready for more?” He falls back onto the bed, lifts his hips to slide his sweatpants off his hips, scoots back as his cock springs free of the waistband to thump against his belly. It’s hard and heavy, aching for attention but he avoids touching it. Frames it in his hands as he kicks his sweatpants off to the floor, pressing on the base with his thumbs to make it stand straight in the air. “Big, huh?” is not false bragging. He knows what average is, in real life and in porn, knows that he’s larger than most. Knows that he looks even bigger shaved bare, like the studio instructed. “Too bad it’s wasted on me.”

He pulls a leg up, raising his ass a bit higher, feels the tension in his abs as he reaches around his thigh to grab a cheek. Spreads himself wide, shows his hole to the camera. “What I really like… I like playing with this.” He braces himself on one elbow, reaches further, and rubs just the tips of two fingers over his hole, dry. His dick twitches, precum beading at the tip and smearing on his skin. Sam presses lightly, then harder, gets a finger in halfway to the first joint. A quick glance over his shoulder and he’s able to stretch his arm back to the bottle of lube on his nightstand. He flicks the lid open with his thumb and drizzles slick over his fingers and hole, hissing slightly at the chill.

The lube makes everything slippery, lets his first finger sink in completely and he’s got a second shoved in with a happy sigh before he remembers what the studio said. “Go slow, make ‘em wait for it.” He pulls his fingers halfway out, shoves them back in, starts slowly fucking himself and crooks his fingers up to hit his prostate. His dick leaks out more precum, a steady drip like a string of drool from where the head bobs in the air to his belly. His hips jerk, fucking back at his fingers and he bites his lip. 

“Could come like this, but you’re here for something else, right?” Sam pants, pulling his eyes back to the camera. He doesn’t stop fingerfucking his ass, feeling the soft heat clenching around his knuckles, just adds another finger and moans at the stretch. “Betcha wanna see me take… something… a bit bigger.”

He presses his fingers tight into his hole, rubs against his prostate and moans as he reaches his other hand out, grabs the dildo standing on the stand. It’s as long as he is, thick as his wrist, and he doesn’t think about how he’d picked it for its resemblance to Dean as he brings it to his lips. The position isn’t the most comfortable, but his tests showed him that it gets his face in frame without losing his ass, lets the audience see him wrap his lips around the thick mushroom head of his dildo while his fingers continue to thrust and stretch in his hole. The chemical taste of the fake dick is familiar, hours of practice for his own sake and he’d never planned to show off on camera but it is what it is. Slowly, carefully, he pushes the dildo into his mouth, opening his throat for it, doesn’t stop until the balls are pressed against his chin and he’s gagging on the length down his throat.

When he pulls it out, it’s glistening with spit. He’s gasping for air and his eyes won’t focus. His lips feel swollen when he licks them, tries to speak and has to cough to clear his throat. “Need it now,” Sam manages to say, and he pulls his fingers out of his hole, teases around the rim with the cock. “Need you so much…”

Sam struggles to relax as he pushes the head against his hole, pushes out against it, gasps and pants and whines until it finally pops through the ring of muscle, then lays there, clenching around the shaft until the burn of toothicktoomuch subsides. He fumbles for the lube, finds the bottle in the rumpled blankets where he dropped it, drips more slick onto the dildo and pushes it in farther. His back arches as he gets the toy deeper, each fraction of an inch a struggle. It’s his first time fucking himself with anything other than fingers and he’s almost sobbing with the pleasurepain of it, tears streaming down his cheeks. “De…” 

did i say that out loud?

It doesn’t matter. He’s got the whole of it inside him, filling him more than he’s ever been, and he wants more. Wants to feel weight on top of him, pressing him into the mattress, wants someone else pulling the thick shaft out and thrusting it back in, wants to feel hips pressing into his, swiveling the way he used to see Dean swivel in girls. All he’s got is his hand and a heavy chunk of silicone, so he gets a good grasp on the balls and starts thrusting and grinding the dick into him.

what would dean do

He wraps his other hand around his own cock, squeezing tight at the base, stroking himself roughly in time to the thrusts. His hips jerk back onto the dildo and forward into his fist and he throws his head back, bites back a howl and turns it into a long, low moan. It’s hard to keep a rhythm and he gives up on that, focuses on the feel of being stretched wide and stuffed, grinds back to try and get it just a little deeper, and his vision goes white as he comes harder than he ever has, spattering up his chest and he feels a few drops land on his chin before he collapses, boneless, on the bed.

Sam takes several tries to roll over, pushing himself up on his elbows and knees, but he finally gets in the studio-requested position and lets the dildo slide slowly out of his slicked-up ass, lets the camera linger on his gaping, puffy hole for a long minute before standing up with a groan, walking on shaky legs to turn off the camera. He pulls out the tape before he can chicken out, shoves it in the pre-addressed envelope and wipes himself off before getting dressed and heading out to drop the envelope in the mail, and he resolutely doesn’t think about it as he heads back to the showers to scrub himself clean.

-

Dean pulls the package out of the PO box and tries to pretend he’s doing this for noble reasons as he shoves $5k of pool hustling and poker cash in an envelope to mail to Stanford. Tries to pretend he’s gonna destroy the tape without watching it, tries to ignore the fact that the last tape was worn out from watching it before he finally broke it in pieces and burned it by the side of the road.

But if Sammy’s desperate enough for money that he’s willing to do this, Dean’s gonna make damn sure no one sees what’s supposed to be his. And if he does watch the videos Sam sends “the studio” a few times (a few hundred times) before getting rid of them, well… Dean figures he’s paid good money for these, and it’d be a shame to waste it.

[estrel]

for #spnwomenweek day 3: women of color

↳ kaia’s not okay. after being stuck for two years alone in the Bad Place, she ends up in the same place she started.

The third week in a row that Kaia wakes up sweating in the middle of the night, Claire calls for an appointment with the doctor. 

Kaia’s holding Claire’s hand until she can’t any longer, staring at the hair ties and bracelets on her wrist until Kaia is whisked away and she’s back to square one: staring at the white walls of the psychiatric hospital. 

“Fuck,” she says one night, when Kaia realizes she’s been staring out the window so long that even the sun got tired and left. It’s better to stare at what’s real as an anchor, to distract from the thoughts swimming through her head, than to live in them completely. As a dreamwalker, she learned that the hard way.

They don’t give her a room mate. Kaia can vaguely remember an incident in the dining hall, elbowing and kicking and screaming, because they’d gotten too close, that was her meal, her water, and it was running low already. The last rain was so long ago, who knows when she can get more, if she’ll get more. Kaia needs it for her twisted ankle. For her...

She looks down. She’s in bed, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and she leans forward to reveal her perfectly healed ankle. “Christ,” Kaia sighs, rubbing at her head. “It’s not real.”

But here she is again, alone. Not in the Bad Place, but it was close enough. No Claire, no Jody or Patience or Donna or Alex. Not even her Dark self to keep her company, or a room mate or anything. Not even...

“Jack,” she tries, “holy shit. I don’t even know if you answer to prayers, but, uh...if you do...” Kaia lets out a breath, eyes flitting around her darkened room. She picks at her nail polish, largely feeling like an idiot. 

“You asked me for your help once. I’m...asking for your help now, if you’re willing to...to lend me a hand again. I gotta, um,” she bounces her leg, anxious, “I gotta get outta here, man. I-I know it’s only because my family is worried about me. I know that. But it’s... it’s too much like the Bad Place,” she whispers.

The silence surrounds her. Or, the near silence. Further off in the building, sounds of chatter carry down hallways, faint and unintelligible. The AC hums in the next unit. Kaia’s about to accept that Jack’s not coming, settling further into her blankets, when there’s the pop of the lightbulb in the hall and static in the air that makes a strand of hair stick to her face.

Jack lifts a hand, grinning in the middle of the dark room. “Hello!”

She quickly sits up, holding out a panicked hand, “Shh! Jesus Christ!”

“No,” he frowns, whispering, “I’m Jack....remember?” Jack brightens, “You prayed to me!”

“I know, I know, buddy,” Kaia whispers back, running a hand through her hair, “I just...wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

He walks towards her bed and sits down by her legs. Jack shifts a little to face her better, “Why not?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, “it’s the middle of the night and you have better things to do? Like...sleep?”

“Oh, Cas and I don’t sleep. Well, not really. I prefer naps. Naps are fun.”

Kaia nods like her heart isn’t still trying to calm down from Jack’s jump scare. “Lucky me, then.”

“Yes, well, what are you waiting for?” he stands, “Get your things and we can go.”

“What...just like that?” Kaia pushes the blankets off of her, looking at Jack incredulously, “It was a way bigger deal last time.”

He shrugs, “I’m bigger now. And Cas has been teaching me some things. But,” Jack stops her on her way to the closet, a hand around her upper arm. Kaia stills to look at him. 

“What?”

“I get why you need to leave, but you have to promise me that you’ll talk about it. You can’t keep this all to yourself, Kaia. It’s too much.”

She looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard your prayer,” he insists, “you’re still seeing the Bad Place in your head. This place...I don’t think they can really help on this big a scale. But your family...they can. If you let them.”

Kaia stares at him a moment. Jack’s eyes cry sincerity, all concern and good intentions. Sam and Dean and Cas have taught him well. Eventually, she tears her eyes away, “I...can’t.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t...I don’t think it’s something I can talk about yet. Not with family or even...Claire. It’s just. They wouldn’t understand.”

Jack looks down, eyebrows creased like he’s thinking hard. He lets go of Kaia’s arm, and she slowly moves to the closet to pack, if that’s even still in the cards.

“I think I know someone who would,” he says finally. Kaia turns back around, a soft laugh halfway out of her mouth. “Jack—”

“Cas,” he says. It’s not the answer she’s expecting, so Kaia listens. “You’ve been somewhere where no one has come back from, and you were there alone for two years. The only other person I can think of who might understand that type of darkness and isolation is...Cas.

"He was in the Empty for a while, until I pulled him out. He’s not a therapist, or anything, and he’s not your family. But,” Jack tilts his chin up, “he’s my dad, and I think he could help. I’ll help you break out of here if you promise me you’ll give it a shot with him. Okay?”

Kaia mulls it over, weighing her options. Being stuck here with no friends or anyone to talk to is making her worse, and at least with Cas he might...understand, to some degree. It’d at least be nice to have someone to talk to and...despite Claire not outwardly admitting it, Kaia’s gotten the impression that is a pretty good guy.

“Okay,” she nods, smiling softly, “okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

[@spnwomenweek]

[blackshinychevy]

Let Me Go

Summary: Dean has to make a heartbreaking decision that effects both of you.

WC: 1.6k+

Warnings: Angst, Character Death

Pairing: Dean x Reader

It’s late when Sam gets back to the bunker. There’s a huge thunderstorm outside that has most of the roads flooded and blocked off. He’s barely made it back with the take out he’d gone to get for he and his older brother, but the question of whether or not Dean will actually eat it is another matter.

Sam’s starting to become extremely worried about his older sibling. Dean’s always been a strong lover of food, the greasier the better. But Sam has noticed the drop in his brother’s appetite, as well as the newly made hole in his belt now that his jeans are becoming too loose around his waist.

As he walks into the kitchen, he sees Dean sat at the kitchen table, nursing a beer that has probably long since become warm. But Sam doesn’t miss the other five empty bottles beside him, as well as an empty whiskey tumbler.

“Hey.” He greets, dropping the plastic bag of food in front of him. “Got you a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and a side of fries.” Sam smiles in encouragement as he piles Dean’s favorites onto the table. “And...” Sam pulls out the last treat with a grin. “...cherry pie. Best around for miles apparently.” Sam’s smile wilts when Dean doesn’t even show he’s heard him. He merely continues rolling the beer bottle back and forth between his hands. “Where’s y/n?” The younger Winchester asks, glancing around the kitchen.

“In our room.” Dean states gruffly.

Sam knows at this point he needs to tread very carefully. One wrong word and Dean could snap again like he did the other night. It had taken Sam hours to put the library back to rights after his brother had torn through it like a hurricane during a drunken rage.

“Dean.” He sighs softly. “Don’t you think it’s time now? You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

Dean drops the bottle down with a clunk, raising himself to his feet and marching towards the door. “I’m going to bed.” He states, not even glancing at his brother as he leaves the kitchen.

Sam throws the takeout box onto the table in defeat. He’d tried. But he knows he can do no more than what he’s already doing. The next step has to be entirely up to Dean.

****

Dean stumbles into your shared bedroom, shutting the door with a little more force than was probably necessary and groaning at the headache that was forming behind his eyes. “Hey, baby.” He grins at the sight of you perched on the edge of the bed, a small smile on your face as watch him.

“Hey.” You greet him back, brow quirking as he makes his way over to you with a sway in his step. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough.” He groans, towing off his boots and throwing himself face first on to the bed, eyes drooping closed almost immediately.

You sigh sadly at his pain. Dean’s never been good at dealing with his emotions, choosing to bottle everything up until it all reaches a boiling point. The other night was proof of that. You’d heard his drunken yelling as things smashed against the walls, as well as Sam’s voice, pleading for his brother to calm down.

“Dean.” You call softly, leaning over his body, lips almost brushing his ear. “Dean, we need to talk.”

“Later.” He grumbles. “Need some sleep.”

Your heart breaks even more. Unlike Dean, you don’t have the option of bottling everything inside. The both of you need to talk desperately. Because you can’t continue the way you’re going. It’s not fair to him and it’s not fair to you.

“Dean. This has to stop.” Your voice cracks at the end. This is going to be the hardest thing either of you has had to do. But it’s time. “You need to let me go.”

His eyes snap open and his body jerks off the bed to sit himself up right, and he looks at you with an expression that can only be compared to terror. “No!” He roars. “How can you say that?! Ask me anything, baby. I’ll do anything you want. Just don’t ask me to do that. Please.” Tears brim in the corners of his eyes and you hear the quiver in his voice. Your heart shatters in your chest as you keep your eyes on his.

“You have to.” You press. “This isn’t healthy, baby. You need to let me go. I don’t belong here anymore. We both know that.” A tear trickles down your cheek. “It’s not your fault what happened. You can’t keep punishing yourself over it.” You smile.

He sniffs, wiping roughly under his eyes to rid his cheeks of the tears. “Why’d ya do it? Shoulda been me.” He bares his teeth in anger.

It was supposed to be a simple hunt. A werewolf been terrorizing a small town and when the three of you had tried to take it down, things had gone horribly wrong. The werewolf it turned out, had a partner, and after it tried to strike Dean from behind, you’d jumped in between the two of them to save the man you loved. The next time you left the barn, Dean was carrying your cold and bloodied body in his arms. That was three months ago, and here you are still. Trapped in the veil, unable to move on due to Dean’s grief and guilt. The brothers had burned your bones on a hunters pyre, and despite not tying yourself to anything on earth, your spirit still lingered. Dean’s soul had latched tightly on to yours, desperate to keep you with him and unable to let go.

“I jumped between you and that werewolf, because you’re the only man I’ve ever been in love with. Only one for me. I could have the chance to do that day a hundred times over. And I’d still jump in front of you.” You sigh sadly. If only you’d known about the second wolf. Maybe you’d still be there with him. Able to hold his hand and kiss him awake every morning. Feel his warm skin on yours as he made love to you under the stars in the back of the impala. Maybe you’d have grown old together, had a couple of kids and gotten married. But that was never going to happen now. His heart was still beating. And your’s had stopped.

“How do I do this with you?” He whispers, eyes red as fresh tears fall. “I don’t know how to...”

You raise your hand, brushing it along his cheek, desperately wishing you could feel the heat of it against your palm. He leans into you, feeling nothing but cold air instead of warm flesh. “You’ve got Sammy.” You soothe. “He needs you too. More than I do. And you did just fine before you met me.”

“But I need you.” He whispers. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too. So much. And I’ll be waiting for you. But you need to move on from me, Dean.” He looks horrified at your suggestion, and you offer another smile of comfort. “You need to go on living. Find another girl, fall in love again. Have children with her. Marry her if she makes you happy. And one day, if I’m still what you want, I’ll be waiting for you on the other side.”

Dean’s head falls forward as he sobs into his hands. He tries desperately to catch his breath, feeling his heart splintering behind his ribs. If they could, tears would pour from your own eyes at the sight of him so distraught.

“I don’t want to let you go.” There’s an almost pleading tone to his voice, begging you to stay.

“We know what happens to ghosts that stay too long.” You say sadly. “Please don’t make me become like that.”

Dean runs a rough hand through his hair. It’s getting longer. Another thing he’s neglected since loosing you.

“I have to don’t I? I have to let you go.” He cries silently.

“Yeah, baby. You do.” You nod. You place your hand on his knee, and Dean stares at it wistfully. His eyes close as his mind flashes back to when you’d do the same thing from the passengers seat. Laughing over at him as he sang along to Metallica and you’d both head bang to Motörhead.

He remembers the first time he’d met you on a vamp case just outside of St. Louis. They’d needed backup and Garth had sent you their way with a quick phone call. Dean would never deny how he’d fallen head over heels the first time he’d seen you. Covered in vampire blood and swinging a machete like it was your own limb. He recalls the first time you’d said you’d loved each other. It had been in the middle of a heated argument after you’d been injured on a ghoul case. You’d walked away with a sprained wrist but Dean had acted like you’d lost your entire arm. He’d tried benching you and after you’d promptly punched him in the jaw for being such a Neanderthal, he’d blurted out that he refused to let the only woman he’d ever really loved kill her self out of stupidity. He’d made love to you for the first time that night. The best night of his life. He knows he’ll never love anyone the way he loved you, but if that’s what you want for him, he’ll do it. He’ll honor your memory and keep on living. He’ll do it for you.

Dean lets out a long sigh as he opens his eyes. He turns his head to look over at you and he feels his heart disintegrate in his chest. You’re gone...

*****

There you go guys! Another oneshot! I hope you enjoyed it and stay safe and stay tuned for more. More updates this week. Xx

[writethelifeyouwant]

Paint It Black

Pairing: Sam x Dean 

Rating: 16+

Tags: wax play, unholy thoughts in church, incest, making out, angst

Word Count: 3.8k 

Created for: @spnkinkbingo - Wax Play Kink | @anyfandomgoesbingo - Locked In | @first-time-wincest-fest 10x16 Paint It Black 

Dividers: @firefly-graphics

The dreary grey of the Worcester sky matches the mood Sam is in as they trudge into the church on the main drag of the historic town centre. Dean is so convinced there is a case to be had here, but so far, Sam hasn’t seen any concrete proof. Just – as he had predicted – some unfortunately angled nude selfies on one of the deceased's confiscated cell phones. He had been less than pleased about that – to Dean’s endless amusement.

Sam leaves Dean with Sister Mathias to do what he does best, though Sam does have doubts about whether his brother’s charms will work on a woman sworn to celibacy in the service of Jesus Christ. Still, she wouldn’t be the most unlikely person to have succumbed to Dean’s flirting – Sam definitely holds that prize. Shaking himself from those thoughts – what a place to think about your weird incestuous crush, Jesus – fuck. Sorry, God – Sam follows the EMF meter in a circle around the perimeter of the congregational hall. The readings are consistent but low level, like a background energy of spiritual activity which, for a church, is not actually all that concerning to him. When a stronger surge registers at the entrance to a side chamber, Sam pushes at the door, happy to find it unlocked, and he ducks into the dark room after checking over his shoulder and seeing Dean standing quite a bit closer to the nun than strangers should be to each other.  

Inside, Sam can’t find the light switch, so he grabs his phone and turns on the flashlight, aiming it at the EMF metre to get a look at the readings. The spike that had registered outside the door a moment ago has died out, and only small blips are twitching the needle on its face. He shrugs to himself, but figures he may as well check out the rest of the room now he’s here. In the short beam of light from his phone, he can see stacks of bibles and hymnals, boxes of hosts, and piles of candlesticks – your typical Catholic accoutrements. A creak behind him makes Sam spin around, only to find Dean ducking into the room, looking furtive.

“Hey, man. Find anything?” Dean keeps his voice down.

“No,” Sam shakes head, holding up his EMF reader to demonstrate his lack of supernatural evidence.

“Yours broken?” Dean looks quizzically at Sam and reaches to retrieve his own from his pocket. “Mine was reading off the charts outside…” but he trails off when he sees his own metre is just as blank as Sam’s.

“Weird, right?” Sam shines his light towards Dean and makes his way back to his brother, when the light on his phone flickers and goes out.

“Dude, turn the light back on,” Dean demands in a hushed tone. Sam shakes his phone frustratedly, but he can’t get the light to reignite. His whole phone has gone dead.

“What the hell?” Sam mutters to himself, shoving it back in his jeans and carefully stepping the rest of the way to Dean. “Mine’s dead – try yours?”

“Mine’s in the car.”

“You didn’t bring your cell phone?” Sam asks, incredulous and exasperated. Dean is such a fucking idiot sometimes, it astounds him.

“Shut up,” Dean scoffs. “Let’s just get out of here.” He turns to open the door and step back into the church vestibule – but it’s stuck.

“Dude, open the door,” Sam shoves at Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m trying, dude. It’s locked.”

“You locked us in?” Sam hisses, resolving to smack Dean’s head against the door to get it open, if that’s what it takes.

“I didn’t lock us in, douchewad. I think this place is haunted – spook must’a blocked the door somehow.”

“Well, un-block it.”

“I’m trying, it won’t budge.” Dean hammers at the door, jangles the knob, kicks the baseboard – nothing. “Find some light, will ya? Can’t see a damn thing.”

Sam huffs, annoyed, but turns toward the table with the stack of candlesticks he’d seen earlier and grabs for a couple tapers. He passes one to Dean and pulls a packet of matches out of his wallet to light his, then taps the flame to Dean’s candle. Sam drops against the table, brooding, and not wild about being trapped in a small, dark room with his brother.

Things had been tense between them since Dean’s return to humanity. Sam isn’t precisely sure why, though. From his perspective, he’s relieved to have Dean back after spending so long separated and worried about whether the brother he had known had permanently dissolved into a demonic version of his former self. Dean, on the other hand, hasn’t been acting very relieved to see Sam. Sam isn’t sure what’s running through Dean’s brain these days, but whatever it is, it’s something he’s trying to keep off his brother’s radar, that much Sam’s sure of.

“So what’s your plan of action here, Rambo?”

“I don’t know, use some of your hair gel to grease the lock?” Dean snarks, crouching down to peer at the keyhole. Sam laughs reluctantly at the jibe, then hisses as a pearl of hot wax drops onto the back of his hand. Dean turns, concerned at Sam’s outburst, to see his little brother shaking his hand agitatedly. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Sam flexes his fingers to break off the wax that’s drying there. “Just dripped some wax on my hand.”

“Kinky,” Dean grins and waggles his eyebrows.

“Shut up,” Sam grimaces, hoping it’s too dark for Dean to see the blush creeping up his neck. Please, God, do not let him know about…

“Ooh, touchy subject?” Dean pouts, tauntingly. “What Sammy, got a wax kink?”

“Dean, shut up,” Sam realises too late that denying it is the wrong move. He absolutely just confirmed for Dean that he does have a wax kink.

“Well, well, little brother,” Dean grins, eyes glinting like a wolf’s in the dark of the small cupboard. “Someone is more adventurous than I gave him credit for – guess church is the place for confessions, heh?”

“Dean, I swear…” Sam grits his teeth, coming up blank on a decent threat to follow up with.

“Aw, don’t be like that, Sammy.” Dean is stalking closer to Sam now, his resemblance to a predator more and more pronounced with each step towards his brother, who is inconveniently trapped against the table he’s sitting on. The candle in Dean’s hand is dripping down its body, the trails of wax building over themselves, the rivulets driving their way towards Dean’s skin. “S’just a little wax, nothing scary.”

“I’m not scared, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but his hackles are up. He’s not scared of the wax – he is scared of how his body will react if Dean drips wax onto him as he’s threatening to do right now.

“Hold out your hand.”

“What?” Sam is genuinely nonplussed.

“Hold out your hand.” Dean’s voice rumbles through the small space left between them, and Sam can’t explain it, but he obeys. Like Dean is a magnet and his body is no longer under his own control. His hand extends towards Dean, stilling in the pool of light flickering beneath the candlestick in the older man’s hand. Slowly – cautiously – Dean tips the candle, directing the flow of the wax to Sam’s outstretched fingertips. The first drops sizzle against Sam’s skin, his nerves burning from the heat of the wax and the heat of the arousal that’s blooming in his belly. Dean moves the tip of the candle to drizzle over the tender skin of Sam’s upturned wrist without needing his eyes to guide its path, because the green orbs glinting in the warm candlelight are focused solely on Sam’s hazel ones, which are watering with the effort of not flinching.

“So” –Sam can feel Dean’s words against his cheek– “do you confess?”  

Sam gulps. Looks down to the pearly splashes on his skin, outlined in blush. He looks back up to Dean, who’s standing taller than him for once because he’s still leaning against the table, and he takes a deep breath.

“Agents?” A knock sounds at the cupboard door and it creaks open, dousing the brothers in light. They fly apart, and Dean drops his candle, the flame going out against the stone floor.

“Father,” Dean squawks, brushing his hands against his trousers like he’s cleaning them off, and pushing them in his pockets. “What time do you hear confession today?”

Sam hovers to the side of the confessional, trying to look like he isn’t eavesdropping, which is difficult because he is listening to everything Dean is saying about ‘Gina’ to the surely perplexed priest. They’d agreed, after connecting the dots on the murder/suicide victims’ relationship preferences, that Dean confessing his womanising ways to Father Delaney would be decent bait for this spirit. Sam had helped Dean work out a brief ‘script’ based on the infidelities of the previous victims, and he was pleased to hear that so far, Dean had mostly stuck to plan. He surreptitiously sneaks his EMF metre out of his pocket to check if the readings had picked anything up. Small jumps are registering and disappearing so fast Sam isn’t sure he’s actually seeing them but that has to mean a spirit is listening in – right? – even if they aren’t nearby right now, maybe they can still hear Dean, who has been in there for a while now, it occurs to Sam.

Sam sidles closer to the wooden partition and listens. Dean’s voice is quieter now but he is still talking to the father.

“–there’s things, people... feelings, that I- I want to experience differently than I have before. Or, maybe even for the first time.”

What on Earth was he talking about? That was definitely not part of the script they’d agreed on, so those words must really be Dean’s. Dean’s actual confession.

“–just starting to think that … maybe there’s more to it all than I thought–”

Well, that could mean anything, Sam told himself. More to what? He jumps back to Dean’s first statement in his mind. People and feelings that he wants to experience differently. Sam can’t help but think – me. He wants to experience me differently. He wants to experience his feelings for me differently. He remembers all the times Dean has shown his utter devotion to Sam, to their bond, their family of two. How do you experience that depth of love differently? Sam can only think of one answer, and his heart jackrabbits against his ribs at the thought. Could Dean actually want him the way Sam wants Dean?

The confessional door squeaks open and Sam breaks out of his reverie and moves towards the doors of the church, but not before Dean clearly noticed that he had been standing close enough to the wooden booth to be listening in.

“How’d I do Samwise?” Dean asks under his breath, smirking as they make their way down the aisle of pews.

“Well, hopefully, jerks like you are just what our ghost is looking for,” Sam smiles tightly, distracted by his own thoughts racing around his mind, and follows Dean back to the car.

Ghost roasted to the recommended internal temperature, and promiscuous nun left permanently behind them, Sam steers the Impala onto the freeway exit and starts them on the long drive from Massachusetts back to the Bunker. Dean had opted for the passenger seat when they packed up their gear at the motel, which was Sam’s first indication that something was most definitely not right. His mind flashes back to the confession he overheard the day before. People… feelings, that I want to experience differently… or maybe even for the first time. Sam hasn’t been able to keep his brain from playing the words on a loop since he’d heard them.

“So,” Sam hums, needing to fill the silence but not knowing how to keep himself from blurting out what he desperately wants to ask, “just back home, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Dean nods, looking over at Sam. “You know, unless we find something else to do along the way back,” he shrugs. Sam’s brain unhelpfully supplies, I know something else we could do, before he shuts that back down again. He glances away from the road and towards his big brother, sitting sullenly beside him. Seemingly of their own accord, his eyes scan downwards, coming to rest on the view of Dean’s hand in his lap, fiddling with a loose thread on the seam of his jeans next to his zipper. They go over a pothole and Sam’s eyes slam back on the dark highway in front of them.

“You know...” Sam tugs the corners of his lips into a tight smile, trying to inject a casual levity in his voice. He can’t just let this hang, he needs to know. “You were in that confessional a long time.” He looks back to Dean, trying to judge the stony face for a reaction. Dean’s mouth gives a half hearted twitch as if to say ‘yeah, so?’, so Sam tries again. “Look man, I’m just saying… I’m your brother. If you ever need to talk about anything, with anybody, you got somebody right here next to you.” If Sam could just make Dean see that it was okay to have emotions and feelings, and it was okay to need to talk to someone about them, maybe Dean would pick him to do that with. And even if talking is all it ever is, that’s fine with Sam. All he’s ever needed is as much as Dean is willing to give him.

Sam looks at Dean again, waiting for some kind of response, but all he gets is a short, dismissive, “Okay.” He doesn’t know why he expected more from Dean the Wordless Wonder, but he decides to try again from a different angle. Whatever these things are that Dean wants to ‘experience differently’ or ‘for the first time’, Sam knows why he’s worrying about that right now.

“I heard,” Sam starts again, “what Sister Mathias was saying about, you know, hiding pain by taking on a mission and, I- I know that’s what you’re doin’, a little bit, and it’s okay” –Sam’s rambling now– “I mean, it’s fine. I get it. I’ve done it before, too. But… I don’t buy for one second that the Mark is a terminal diagnosis. So, don’t go making peace with that idea.” Sam can’t have Dean make peace with that, he can’t have him sitting back waiting to die on him, that’s not gonna happen. “There has to be a way. There will be a way, and we will find it. That’s what we do. So believe that.”

“Okay, Sammy.” Dean looks at Sam forlornly, no doubt knowing he’s causing Sam some amount of pain, but not knowing how to fix it without giving up his own surly conviction that this Mark is gonna end him. Sam knows Dean isn’t ready for that, yet, but he can’t help pushing him.

“You wanna—” Sam scoffs, feeling like he knows the answer, but resolving to ask anyhow “— uh, try that again like you mean it.” I need you to mean it, he thinks to himself. He looks at Dean again, letting the puppy dog eyes surface in the vain hope Dean might give him what he wants. Dean blinks at him blankly, but then the crease around his eyes soften, just a touch.

“Okay,” he grunts, going back to staring at the road ahead.

It’s a twenty three hour drive from Massachusetts back to Kansas, so Sam pulls them over at a motel sometime in the middle of the night to get some shut eye and rest up for the next leg of the journey. Dean hasn’t said much since their last conversation – if you could even call it a conversation – so Sam has had a few hours to stew in the tense silence that swarmed the cab of the impala and think through all the possible permutations of meanings that could be behind Dean’s admission to Father Delaney.

As much as Sam doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and he really really doesn’t want to give his inner depravity even the slightest hit of open air – not after he’d spent so long burying it in the deepest recesses of his mind – he cannot come up with any explanation for Dean’s words than the one he so desperately wants to believe is true. That Dean wants him the same way that Sam has wanted Dean for so long, that Dean wants to know what it’s like to be more than brothers. And as soon as Sam let that thought form in his mind about a hundred miles back, he couldn’t shout himself down. And if it’s true… if Dean wants him… he has to know.

Sam watched Dean sling his bag onto the foot of the springy motel bed and slouch off to the bathroom to piss after their long drive. When he’s done Sam scurries into the bathroom, wondering how he’s going to do this. Because if he doesn’t ask, he knows he’ll never get to sleep. He splashes some water over his face and drags his hands through his hair, tugging hard, hoping the pain would help ground him. Then he takes a deep breath, and pushes back into their room.

“Dean,” Sam starts lamely, not knowing what he wants to say and floundering to the first thing he can land on, “are you sure you’re okay?” Fucking great, Sam, you know he’s not gonna answer that.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean grunts, tugging his t-shirt off and chucking it on the floor.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam sighs and steels himself, “what you said, in the confessional—”

“I knew it,” Dean points his finger at Sam accusingly. “I knew you were listening in.”

“Why shouldn’t I have been, it was supposed to be a fake confession,” Sam defends. Dean huffs, full of derision, and turns away from Sam. “Talk to me,” Sam pleads, moving closer to Dean. “Tell me what’s eating you. Because I know something is. You’ve been different with me since you got back, so just... tell me,” Sam reaches out for Dean’s shoulder. Dean spins and catches Sam’s arm in the air, the Mark shining against the skin of his forearm.

“You wanna know what I was talking about, Sammy?” Dean growls, grip tightening on Sam’s wrist. “You want me to tell you just how much this thing on my arm has messed me up? All the shit that’s been in my head since I was a demon? All the fucked up things that demon made me think? About my own brother?”

Sam’s breath catches in his chest. “Tell me,” he whispers, eyes locked on Dean’s face. On his lips.

Dean surges forward – man of action over words that he is – and kisses Sam violently. It’s not tender, or loving, like Sam had dreamt about since he’d been a boy. It’s hungry and desperate, and Sam doesn’t have a problem with that. If Dean wanted to eat him alive he would let him. They break apart, chests heaving, the last pieces of them touching are Dean’s teeth clawing at Sam’s lower lip. Sam’s eyes peel open slowly, as if this will all evaporate when he looks at Dean, as if this is all still in his head. The pain in Dean’s eyes is radiant, and Sam realises that Dean thinks he’s ruined things now. Dean thinks Sam will leave him for this.

Dean backs up slightly, putting even more space between him and Sam, waiting on tenterhooks for the outburst that he’s clearly expecting from his little brother. Sam approaches Dean cautiously, like he’s trying to calm a cornered animal. He raises his arm and Dean flinches, but he continues to reach forward and lays hand against Dean’s neck, his grip stopping the older man’s further retreat. When Sam kisses Dean it’s slow and measured. He tries to pour every ounce of reassurance he can muster into Dean’s body, tries to tell him it’s okay. Tries to tell himself this is okay. Because even if they both want this – does that really make it alright? But when Dean kisses him back, Sam decides he doesn’t care anymore.

Sam starts to back Dean towards the bed, pushes him down on the edge, straddles his lap, doing everything he can to be just that little bit closer to his brother, just a little more connected – together.

“Wait, Sam,” Dean pulls back, his hands on Sam’s chest. “Wait, don’t you wanna talk about this… or something?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head and ducks in for another kiss, scared that Dean will manage to talk himself out of this if they stop now.

Dean pulls back again to protest. “We aren’t moving kinda fast here?”

“No,” Sam insists, kissing down the side of Dean’s neck. He can feel Dean is hard beneath his own arousal and grinds them together, sending both brothers into shaking groans. “Want you, De,” Sam pants against Dean’s lips.

“Okay, little brother, okay,” Dean gives Sam another kiss, his hands running comfortingly up and down Sam’s back. “But you’re sure you don’t want me to make our first time a little more special? You know, I could take you out to dinner, get you a little tipsy, do this right.” Sam pulls back to look at Dean, thoroughly confused as to where this romantic side of his brother has come from. “I could even get some candles, huh? Really set the mood.” Dean raises his brows and grins at Sam as if to say ‘Huh? Yeah? My idea rocks, right?’, and when Sam realises Dean’s making fun of him he reaches for a pillow and whacks him over the face with it.

“Fuck you,” Sam tries to pointedly shut the teasing down, but he’s knows he’ll never be able to get Dean to let this one go.

“Oh, I plan to fuck you, don’t worry,” Dean grins, and in a flash he’s flipped them over and pinned Sam to the bed beneath him. He pulls Sam’s shirt off and begins to kiss down his brother’s body, keeping his eyes on Sam his whole descent. “We can keep our first time vanilla, but don’t for a second think I’m gonna forget about that wax kink, baby brother,” Dean winks and mouths over Sam’s erection through his jeans. Sam wants to protest, but the heat of Dean’s mouth feels so fucking good, his head is already starting to go fuzzy. He settles on trying to catch Dean off guard instead.

“Only let you do it to me, if I can do it to you too,” Sam’s voice is far breathier than he’d hoped it would be. Dean glances up at him through his lashes, not at all nervous or off-put like Sam had been aiming for.

“Oh, you have so got yourself a deal.”

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[smol-and-grumpy]

Confidentiality - Chapter 1: The Conference Call

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Summary: Four months. Four long months that she’s been hiding in lockdown. So when everything starts to go back to normal again, she’s going back to work as Jensen’s handler for the first Supernatural convention after the pandemic.

Chapter Warnings: A little angst, a dash of fluff

WC: 1703

A/N: For this fic, let’s pretend Jensen is single and the pandemic was over and done with after four months. Also I’m sorry ugh, it’s been a while since I wrote Jensen. 

Beta’d by: @dean-winchesters-bacon​​ <3

Series Masterlist ~ SPN Masterlist

Become a Patron ~ Buy me a coffee

It’s Monday and Y/N is sitting in a darkened room as she starts up her laptop for today’s work meeting. She had drawn the blinds already, hiding her surroundings from her workmates.

The light on the nightstand illuminates the room enough for the people in the video call to see her features. That’s all they need to see, really. 

Logging onto her laptop with her password, she clicks open the email client, and selects her calendar. The cursor travels over the highlighted block and she clicks on it, searching for the login link to the Zoom meeting. 

It’s 4.56 PM, she still has four minutes left. Wonders if she should click on the link and let the computer connect or if she should wait. She’d hate to be one of the first ones because that’s always awkward. She would spend time talking nonsense with whoever was as eager as her to join a meeting too soon. 

4.58 PM. Now is a good time, probably. Not too early and she’d hate even more to be the last one. 

Moving her mouse over the link, she clicks on it and a window with the meeting pops open. There’s another click and then she’s there, her laptop camera lights up with a green light, signaling that she too can be seen. 

Seeing herself on screen is not something she enjoys. She nervously rights her hair, arranges it so nobody will notice the hickey that she tried to hide with concealer ten minutes before. It’s a fresh one, one he just gave her an hour ago, even though he knew full well that she’s going to have a meeting. It's her own fault because she had let him, always gets so fucking weak when he nibbles at her throat.

Y/N joins as the six people are talking about something. Nonsense, she guesses. She doesn’t really listen. 

There should be ten people in the meeting to discuss the upcoming Supernatural Convention. The first convention after the lockdown. 

“Hi,” she says and waves, because that’s what every newcomer does and she’s greeted with Hello’s and Hi’s back. 

But there’s one guy already sitting in there, looking like he owns the whole fucking internet, and she doesn’t know how he does it with the lighting but he looks downright pretty. It’s not really fair. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jensen greets her by name. Of course he does, because he likes to rile her up. He’s also the only one who’s so abso-fucking-lutely cheery. “How are you?”

She smirks, “I’m fine, thank you. I hope you are too.”

Keeping it professional, that’s what she can and will do.

“Good,” Jensen nods and opens his mouth to say something more but he gets cut off by her boss who’s taking the lead. 

Y/N doesn’t say much, doesn’t have anything to say anyway during the first ten minutes of the conversation. Lowering her face, she takes notes because it’s a prep meeting where they get informed how it will work out and to see how the spirit of the people involved is for the upcoming convention — which she’s really excited about. It has been a while. 

Jensen and Jared do a lot of talking, as they want to know the details on how to make the experience great for the fans after everyone’s been holed up for so long. And she loves that. She always loved how they actually really care, unlike other show’s leads. There are some points that still need to be talked through and Y/N just sits back and watches. She could watch Jensen talk for days, it’s really mesmerizing. 

His hair is long, his beard too. Jensen’s new look is completely different from Dean. It makes him look softer, and rounds up the edges of his jawline. The graying of his beard doesn’t make him less attractive, and that’s also something that she thinks it’s unfair. She hopes they will let him keep it for the convention. Hopes that he won’t let them talk him out of it because ‘some fans might want to meet Dean and not Jensen’. It’s going to be another month until they go back to filming, so it’s actually feasible. She’s sure that apart from a select few, the majority of fans would love to take a photo with this look and she can’t blame them one bit.

It’s going to be weird when the look is gone. Honestly, she needed some time to get used to it herself, but it has really grown on her. Maybe she’ll mourn the loss — just a little.

“So, let’s recap,” Gina, her boss, says and Y/N snaps her mind back to reality, “Jared’s flying in on Friday already because you want to visit some friends, right?”

“Correct,” Jared nods his head in approval. “You did book the hotel for three nights for me, right?” The question is directed to her co-worker, Julian, who’s responsible for the boys' travel arrangements. 

“Yeah, I did,” Julian says with a nod of his head.

Gina nods, “Good, so Jensen, I see that you’re flying in on Saturday evening as per usual?”

“Yes.” Jensen says. He looks into his screen and licks his lips. She hates that she knows that he’s looking at her.

“I want you girls to be there on Friday evening at the latest? We’ll also go for dinner on Saturday and go over the Sunday schedule.”

“Uh, yes. I’ll be there,” Hannah and Kristin say in unison. Kristin is responsible for Misha but since Misha is also attending Sunday, she sits into the meeting as a formality.

That’s Y/N’s cue.

“I-I’m, uh, sorry, I’m still in the middle of booking my flight but yeah, I’ll be there on Friday.” 

It was a huge issue with Jensen and they’d argued today about the flight. He doesn’t want her to leave until the last possible minute but now she has the confirmation that she has to be there on Friday already.

She sees Jensen raising an eyebrow and hates him for it because he distracts her.

“Okay,” her boss nods, “Jared and Jensen, I’ll have someone picking you up.”

Jared smiles, “Okay.”

“Great,” Jensen huffs out. She can see that he’s a little irritated about something.

The others don’t seem to have noticed, but she does. Jared notices as well, but apart from him clearing his throat, he doesn’t say a word.

“Right, I need to hurry to another meeting. Boys, I’ll see you Sunday!” Gina addresses the boys before waving goodbye, and disconnects. People in the meeting follow her and disappear one by one.

Y/N too, disconnects and is about to shut down her laptop when a skype call interrupts her.

Ugh.

It’s Jensen.

As soon as she picks up, her screen lights up and the view of his face almost blinds her. Honestly, it’s like staring into the sun. Nonetheless, she rolls her eyes because of the things he pulled in the meeting. 

“Why are you rolling your eyes at me?” He asks, seemingly oblivious. 

She groans with another eye roll, “Because you tried to distract me the entire conference call!”

“Excuse me? I wasn’t the one who was trying to undress you with my eyes.”

Y/N cocks an eyebrow, frowning at him. There’s a beat of silence until he groans.

“Fine, alright, I did. Sorry, okay? And why didn’t you say that we’re going to fly in together on Saturday like we said we would?” There’s something about the way he looks and she detects disappointment. 

“As far as I remember, we did not settle on that because you ended up distracting me again and gave me a fucking hickey. And besides,” she sighs, “Nobody should know.”

“Would it really be so bad, Y/N?”

“Jensen, are we really going to have this conversation over Skype?”

“Fine,” he scoffs and stands up abruptly, walking out of the frame. 

Great.

Abandoning her laptop, Y/N proceeds to walk to the window to open up the blinds again. Walking back, she switches off the only other light source, and as if on cue, the door opens.

“Shall we have the conversation face to face instead?” Jensen asks as he barges in, walks to the bed of his guest room, and sits down. He rubs a hand through his long hair, scratches at his beard before he looks at her. 

“I rather not have it at all, but yet here we are, huh?” She strides over to stand in front of him and Jensen looks up, his features are so fucking soft, it makes her weak.

“Why don’t you want them to know? And I’m sure they would let it slide if you flew in on Saturday instead of Friday. You’re only responsible for me anyway and we’re a good team.” His hand reaches out for her, tugs at her wrist, uses his strength to pull her onto the bed with him. 

Y/N lands on her back with a squeal and Jensen takes the opportunity, looming over her and looking down at her. Her hand goes up, strokes his hair back, fingertips tracing along his beard.

“Because the only reason I’m still employed is because you let them put in the contract that you want me as your handler and no one else. They would absolutely hate it if they found out I was fucking their talent.”

Jensen chuckles, his nose touching hers, “That’s not true.”

“What’s that?”

“If anything, it’s me fucking you.” His irresistible smile makes Y/N melt a little before he kisses her. 

He lingers too long, kisses her too softly, too sweetly, knowing what effect his kisses have on her. 

Pushing at his chest, she makes him break the kiss, “I should look for a flight.”

“No,” he chuckles and pecks her lips.

“Jensen!”

“Okay, fine,” he pushes himself up, “but only because I have an interview scheduled.”

Right, he does. It’s going to be an hour long.

“You want me to make dinner to have it ready when you’re finished?” She asks while she sits up and walks over to her laptop.

“Nah, I’ll eat you,” Jensen winks before he walks out.

Chapter 2

Please share your thoughts with me, I’d love to hear your feedback.

[icefire149]

You are good at angst so 28 bestie <3

I hope this was angsty enough for you Rubi! I spent yesterday and today's warm up on this one. I swear all the prompts I've done, they've all gone in directions I wasn't expecting. This definitely wasn't the scene I meant to write, but I quite like it. Please enjoy <3

#28 – When I am dead – Dean/Castiel

“I know I’ve screwed up more than any of us could have predicted, which is….impressive in it’s own way, but….I’m glad that you have Jack.”

With the tips of his fingers, Dean lightly twisted and turned the beer bottle on the bunker’s kitchen table. As he spoke, he was still hunched over and watching the last third of his drink splash and move against the glass. The silence stretched longer than he’d hoped. He glanced up to find Cas staring at him confused.

“Oh, come on,” he breathed. “We all know I haven’t done a bang up job.”

Cas’ eyebrows pinched together. “Jack idolizes you. You know that, right?”

A painful laugh tore from his throat. “You really need to introduce him to….honestly anyone would be a better role model.”

“It’s not your call. Dean, he loves you.”

“He’s a toddler. He doesn’t…..” Dean pushed the bottle aside and ran his hands roughly through his hair. Exhaling, he leaned back in his chair. “Cas, he didn’t even get to be a baby because I shot him not even an hour after he was born.”

Cas sighed exasperatedly, “Maybe you’re right.” He held Dean’s gaze for several heartbeats before letting his head slowly tilt. “What’s important is that Jack has all of us. He’ll always need you.”

“Even without the Michael situation….” Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not the same. He’ll have you. You’ll have each other long after the rest of us are dust in the wind.”

“Dean.”

“What! It’s true.” He picked up his beer again. His eyes locked on the lip of the bottle. “I’m glad you’ll have each other. I don’t want you to spend the rest of existence alone.”

Cas sighed, but this time his stare softened. “Dean, I….” His voice was laced with pain.

“I know,” Dean cut in. “It’s heavy and I’m not aiming for any kind of big emotional moments here, but...with Michael trapped-” He tapped the side of his head with his left index finger. “I figure I don’t have a lot of time.”

“You have decades,” Cas said firmly. “We’re going to solve this problem just as we’ve always done and you’re going to be here to see Jack’s 5thbirthday.” He stood up and laid both hands on the kitchen table. “And then his 10th, 16th, 21st, 25th, 30th, 40th, and 50th!”

Coughing, Dean put his beer down and raised his hands, hoping that Cas would calm down. “Do you realize how old I’d be?”

“Yes,” Cas said with a deadly serious aura. “I’ve done the math, several times.”

“You might wanna run it again,” Dean joked. He wasn’t able to stop his tongue. “If you ask Claire she’d tell you that I’m already geriatric for a hunter.”

The corner of Cas’ lip twitched. “I don’t doubt her assessment. If you remove hunting from the equation, then there’s no reason why you couldn’t see any of those milestone birthdays for Jack. Claire’s milestone birthdays as well.”

“You’re asking an awful lot,” Dean shook his head. He could still vividly remember the days where he honest to God thought that living past 30 was a pipedream, and now, Cas was expecting him to see his 90s….

“It’s the bare minimum.” Cas sat back down in his seat. He still had the palms of his hands resting on the cool table.

“As long as you’re in the wheel chair next to me,” Dean grinned. The thought of living to a ripe old age was terrifying, but he could do it if Cas was there with him. His nervous heartbeat started to settle the moment he imagined the angel there at his side. His hair would be more than peppered with gray patches. He’d probably be wearing reading glasses so much they’d be glued to his nose. And he’d have a closet of colorful, chunky knit sweaters to replace his long worn out trench coat.

Cas’ warm smile quickly wobbled and wavered before some other emotion won in his eyes. Dean almost chased it, but then it too was replaced with something else: a more teasing glint. A hint of Cas’ teeth caught his eye now. “I’ll try my best, but I’d imagined I would be kicking your wheel chair to every event.”

“Oh right,” Dean mumbled, remembering the whole point of this conversation. “Angels are eternal.” He laughed. “People will eventually think you’re my grandson.”

“I was thinking…..more like nurse, or doctor.”

Dean swallowed sharply. He nodded, trying to ignore the way his ears burned.

The look dimmed in Cas’ eyes, and his shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I don’t want you to give up. I can’t imagine this world without you in it.”

“I get it,” Dean said, losing himself to his memories. There was something about that kind of pain that made any complication seem solvable. Like it wasn’t until he’d been cleaved open by death’s scythe that his truth was free.

Dean still remembered his father pulling Sammy free from his arms as their house burned down, and how even still his mouth couldn’t stop whispering to empty air the same promises: I love you. Dad will fix this. We’re safe.

What felt like a life time later, he remembered whispering almost the same words into his brother’s hair as he bled out in his arms. I love you. I’ll fix this. I’ll bring you home.

The worst was when his hands shook uncontrollably in the dirt and ash outside of Kelly’s cabin in North Cove. Dean waited from the moment the light extinguished from Cas’ eyes all the way until the final coals cooled for a miracle. He waited for Cas to rise. He waited for his world to start spinning again.

It wasn’t until he was down on his knees with his wrist buried in the pyre’s remains that he was torn in half. The sun was never gonna shine again. And now there was no warmth to hold, hair to comb, and skin to touch. Dean cried until he was too exhausted to keep spilling out the same words over, and over again: I love you. Come back to me. I’m so sorry. Please, don’t leave me.

His throat hurt like he was suffocating on the pyre’s smoke. Dean’s gaze slid back to Cas, and he was able to breathe deep again. Cas’ studied him like he was desperately trying to uncover what horrors he was reliving again, so Dean downed the last of his drink, but he couldn’t bear to break the eye contact. Like a part of him was still afraid that Cas would turn to ash dusting the meadow’s flowers once again.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Dean lied. How do you tell someone that you’re incapable of loving them until they’re dead? “I just….” Dean shook his head. “Can you promise me something?”

“Anything, of course.”

“When I die-”

“Dean.” Cas leaned back in his chair.

“Dude, just listen. When I die, I need you to promise me that you’ll come visit me. Break me out of whatever memory loop I’m in.”

Bewildered, Cas’ eyebrows furrowed. “Okay.”

“There’s something I’ll only be able to say then.”

Cas leaned forward in his chair. His stare pierced into Dean, unwavering, like he was certain that he could learn all he needed from his eyes alone. “Dean, you can tell me now. You can always tell me, anything at all.”

“I know, but just promise me this. It’ll be worth the wait.”

Ask me more writing prompts (I’m using these as warm ups so send a number and a ship)

Prompts I've done so far

[buckyownsmylife]

v e l o c i t y - chapter ix

The one where John’s your true mate, but he doesn’t want you to be his.

In a universe where fate grants you a new mate whenever you lose yours, John has lived quite comfortably for many years with the knowledge that he was alone after Mary. That all comes crumbling down the second that he meets you. How could the universe choose someone so young to be his omega?

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

A/N: Okay so, my bad. One more chapter after this one!

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I had a hard time sleeping since that night in the laundry room. Well, it was hard to go to bed alone, knowing only one wall separated me from John, knowing the only thing missing for him to claim me was time. He needed time to get over the image of me as a child, accept that I was another person, a woman now - and his mate. And I needed to find some sort of patience to hold onto while he got there.

That didn’t mean I was a saint, though. My desire was still there, even stronger, I dared to say. Now that he had recognized that he truly wanted me, it felt too easy, it felt simple and I just wanted to reach out and have him touch me - really, anywhere.

But I wanted to give him the space he needed to come to terms with this. So I resorted to long nights of touching myself to the thought of him, wondering what he was doing on his bed, if he thought of me when the bunker’s silence grew almost deadly and the sky became darker than a demon’s eye.

And then one night, I heard it.

It was a woman’s moan, coming from the room next door, and instinctively every nerve in my omega body stood in attention, ready to pounce. Who the fuck was with John? Why would he do this? But then his groan reached my ear, sounding much closer, much clearer, and by the time I heard another male’s voice panting, I knew what was happening.

John was watching porn.

The thought thrilled me to no end, even though I couldn’t really explain just why. Maybe it was the fact that he was doing something that intimate, right next to me, not knowing I could hear…

Or maybe he did, and that’s exactly why he was doing it. That had me drenching my panties, quickly getting rid of my clothes before laying back on the bed, a hand between my legs as I tried to listen to his every sound.

Only a few grunts and pants seemed to come from him, the rest mainly from the movie he was watching, but I could distinctly identify the wet, rhythmic slap of his hand meeting his navel along the sounds of the television, and that was the tempo I followed as I started to touch myself.

I got lost in the memories of when it was his fingers inside of me, his scent drowning mine, yet my attention never wavered from the room next door, trying to memorize every little thing about his search for pleasure while I did the same. I just knew it wouldn’t be enough to get me off until his pace quickened, a growl escaping the depths of his chest as he reached his release, and the thought of his cum covering his naked body had me mewling as my cunt clenched around my own digits.

Suddenly, it was all too quiet. All too very quiet. 

“Are you touching yourself, little one?” His voice came closer than I expected it to - not that I expected it at all - and it had me gasping in surprise, imagining him on the other side of the wall against which my bed rested, trying to hear me do the exact same thing he’d been doing seconds before. “Are you touching yourself to the sounds of me getting myself off?”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. How the fuck was I supposed to resist him?

“Are you soaking wet?” The questions just kept coming, prompting my movements to grow quicker, more desperate at the clear desire dripping in his tone. “Because of me?” A simple chuckle shouldn’t sound this hot. “No James here to prepare you this time, huh?”

And that was all it took for me to reach my high, cumming around my fingers with a strangled moan as John’s low laugh resonated from my left. “Atta girl. Bet you’ll sleep real good tonight.” And just when I thought he was done and I could finally breathe again, “I know I will.”

Oh, shit. I was trying to be patient and give him his time, but if he thought I’d let this sort of teasing just go by, he was in for a treat. Better get ready for war, Winchester.

John’s P.O.V.

I knew I was playing with fire, but no one could have prepared me for the special type of hell I was forced to live in during the next few weeks.

It was like she was doing anything she could to make my resolve break. She wanted me to lose control, take her again just like I did that time when I thought another Alpha would try to lay claim on her.

And I had to give it to her - the memories of when she was young were nothing but distant flashbacks I could only remember if I tried to think back on why I was trying to resist her.

Even then, it was like that little girl was someone else entirely, someone I didn’t know anymore - certainly not the young woman who was currently caressing the inside of my thighs and slowly getting closer and closer to my crotch in the middle of this fucking diner.

I took advantage of the fact that Dean had left the table to hit on one of the waitresses and Sam had left to ring someone to finally hold her wrists, stop her quest for control over my dick and my nerves.

“You keep trying to test my patience, you little brat. You wouldn’t like what I’d do if I actually lost it, right here, right now.” Her sharp inhale was music to my ears, a smirk taking over my face as I looked down on her by my side.

But of course, she couldn’t just let it go.

“What would you do, old man?” My chest inflated as I took in her defiance, glancing at the door and Dean to make sure no one would come back soon before turning my body fully towards her, caging her against the wall in the booth.

“I’d put you over my knee, rip those pretty jeans and spank the shit out of you, omega. I’d let everyone watch me bruise your skin, I don’t even care that all these alphas are staring at you. I’d let them see, so maybe they’d know they ain’t got no chance with you.” The sweet smell of her arousal was easy to catch, so I knew she was soaked by now - and my smirk warned her of just how much I was aware of my effect on her body.

A few seconds of silence followed my words, both of us breathing heavily as we stared at each other, trying to hold back. Until she broke the spell, simply by being her.

“God, can you get any kinkier?” I wanted to be mad, I really did, but it was just impossible. My whole body shook under the power of my laughter, and I knew Dean was looking back at us now, just like some of the other patrons.

“Try me,” I provoked, raising my eyebrows at her as I reached for my mug of coffee again. She just kept staring at me, lips pursed in a pout, arms crossed in front of her body, the perfect picture of annoyance.

“You’re hot, but you’re very mean. Did you know that?” I choked on the hot liquid, almost spilling it all over myself, not having expected to be so casually called hot by someone as attractive as her in a million years.

“But you know what?” She pressed on, not giving me any time to recover. “I can be meaner.” That sentence, whispered in my ear as she pressed her body against mine, sent shivers down my spine. “Game’s on, Winchester.”

… What had I gotten myself into?

Y/N’s P.O.V.

The fact that we had managed to get John Winchester to go to a club was mind-blowing and hilarious to me. He looked so out of place - much older than most around, and underdressed in comparison to the guys his age, who were all displaying the same type of clothes as the fuck boys who were so desperately trying to get with anything that moved.

“You have something in your hair,” I commented, using this as an excuse to press my body tightly against his when I reached out to fix his locks, and even though he was quick to push me away, keeping me at a distance, there was a smile on his face.

“You need to stop doing that.” I bit my lip as I looked up at him with the most innocent expression I could muster. It was honestly hard not to laugh.

“Doing what?” John scoffed, letting me go to turn back to his whiskey, but once the liquid was in his lips again, his eyes traveled up and down my body, almost undressing me.

“You like my dress?” I asked, twirling so he could get the full view, even though I already knew how he felt about it. There was an entire discussion about the piece of clothing before we managed to leave the bunker, and I still believed it was the entire reason why he decided to tag along to my night out with the boys.

“I think we’ve established this is barely even a dress, little girl.” Giggling, I stepped closer to him again, using the excuse some drunk dude gave me when he lost his balance and wobbled in my direction, my hand falling precisely over John’s crotch as I pressed our bodies together once more.

“You know there’s other people around us, right?” He whispered right by my ear, raising goosebumps all over my skin when the hand that wasn’t holding his drink settled over my ass. “This little skirt of yours is giving me all types of thoughts…”

I was just about to ask him to elaborate on that when his head suddenly snapped up, meeting my eyes instead of looking at my breasts. “Why on Earth aren’t you wearing any underwear?”

I giggled when I understood that he could feel the absence of other fabrics underneath the thin material of my dress since he was now rubbing and squeezing my butt. I was suddenly shy, more because I didn’t expect him to call me out on it than anything else, so I buried my face in his chest as he kept teasing me, “Do you have something against it? Is that it? Are you allergic to panties?”

He swayed us somewhat to the beat of the song that had taken everyone to the dance floor, and I just relished in his embrace before finally coming up with something to say. “You liked it so much the last time…” I reminded him, not expecting what he’d counter.

“Last time was a mistake.” Immediately, I pushed away from him, meeting his eyes in shock and hurt as his words pained me in a way I never expected him to do - not again. His eyebrows were furrowed as he stared back at me, obviously confused by my sudden reaction until he understood what he had said.

“No, no,” he called out, easily pulling me close again despite me trying to escape. I hated that I cherished that night so badly, desired him so ardently ever since, just for him to go ahead and write it off as a mistake.

“That’s not what I meant, ‘mega,” he tried to calm me down, nose rubbing over my scent gland in an effort to lower my heartbeat and suppress my anger. It worked perfectly, as much as I didn’t want it to.

“I just mean, I didn’t want the first time I touch you to be because of anger and jealousy.” His explanation drained all irritation from my body, leaving me slumping against his hard chest.

“I didn’t want it to happen like that,” he continued. “You deserved more than that.” My heartbeat was pounding to the rhythm of the music, not quite believing this turn of events.

“I mean… I didn’t even kiss you, for fuck’s sake.” The sound of his despair against his own actions had me mewling against him, absentmindedly rutting my ass against his crotch, not even realizing I was doing it until his fingers pressed tightly on my hips - not stopping me, just… holding me there.

“I want- I want our first time to be meaningful.” And that, right then, stole my breath away. Because I understood the implicit message. I understood that this was him, saying he was ready. “Hopefully, in a bed,” he continued, and I smiled to myself at his sweet plans for us.

“But if you keep teasing me so much, I’ll bury my fingers inside of you right here, I swear.” This last part was uttered against the shell of my ear, making me go perfectly still, at last stopping my movements against the bulge that had become more than evident in his old jeans.

“And Lord knows where that would take us,” he commented, hands holding me just under the curve of my breasts, making me shiver as he nuzzled against my neck from behind. “By now, you know how easily I can get carried away.”

And I did. Just the memory of it made me shiver, but maybe it was the man behind me, whose hands were now openly exploring my body as if we weren’t surrounded by people in a smelly club.

“Yeah, I know…” I panted, body sensuously moving against his without even intending to, just needing to feel the weight of his hands all over me, forever. “You’ve done it before.”

And that was the last thing I spoke for the next few hours because right then John turned me in his arms and took my lips on his, devouring me in the dark corner of the dance floor, while the rest of the club danced without a care in the world, not taking notice on two mates finally giving in to one another.

The only thing that mattered right then was him and I.

[thevioletcaptain]

Coals Aglow

11.4k | Explicit | DeanCas 

A years-delayed 13.21 coda, in which Cas uses his grace in ways that it is probably not supposed to be used, and gentle-doms Dean into asking for what he wants.

{i}

It’s been several hours since the rebels split off into groups—half retiring to their sleeping quarters while the others walked with purpose to keep sentry around the camp’s perimeter—and Castiel has made a point to visit every one, speaking with each of them until he understands as much of this place as he possibly can. Just in case.

Castiel supposes that he could have just asked Jack, but despite Sam’s unexpected return he’s been quiet all evening. Almost withdrawn. It makes sense, considering how Sam came to be here and who he’d been forced to bring with him, but it still makes Castiel uneasy. Even after all these years, after his slip-slide into feeling, the emotional discomfort is something he’s not quite accustomed to.

Close to one in the morning, he spots Dean sitting on a log by the remains of a fire at the center of camp, picking idly at the bag of Skittles he’d packed for the trip and referred to as “trail mix” to irritate his brother. Sam is nowhere to be seen now. Dean appears to be doing little more than quietly passing the time.

After what happened this afternoon, Sam’s absence from Dean’s side is noteworthy enough to make Castiel apprehensive about joining him, but he pushes past his reservations and powers ahead. He’d rather sit with Dean in silence than go anywhere else, and though Dean has never said so, he knows that he’s not alone in his preference for spending what little downtime they have together.

Up close, he can see that the fire has burned down to little more than coals and ash. Dean prods at the sole remaining log with a stick, disrupting sparks and dark plumes of smoke that curl up into the night.

As Castiel sits beside him, the log shifts, pressing down into the loamy earth. Dean glances over to look at him. The weak light of the embers casts him in its deep orange glow, reflecting in his eyes, bright as the long-gone sunset. Something in Castiel’s chest settles at the sight.

“You doing okay?” Dean asks, offering the bag of Skittles. Castiel can only shrug as he takes a few and pops them into his mouth.

Almost as soon as he starts chewing, they dissolve into their component parts—citric acid splitting into carbon and hydrogen and oxygen; sucrose molecules breaking down into fructose and glucose. With effort, he focuses on all of them at once and captures a glimpse of the intended taste, just for a moment, before an unfathomable number of branched chain starch molecules unravel on his tongue, overwhelming the bright flavor he’d briefly enjoyed.

He’s been working on this. Testing things, training himself to taste the sum and not the parts. It’s a work in progress, but it’s one that he’s resolved to see through until it’s an automatic process.

“Relatively,” he says, and swallows the candy before he has to taste it any longer. “How are you?”

“Relatively,” Dean parrots, folding the bag up and poking it into his jacket pocket. “What a day, huh?”

“Mm.”

“Where’s Sam?”

“With Mom and Jack. Sleeping. Don’t think he wanted to be alone while he’s in the camp.”

Dean doesn’t gesture toward the place they designated to hold Lucifer overnight, but Castiel looks toward it anyway. He imagines he can feel his brother’s cold, prickling energy down to the tips of his fingers. Like frostbite. He frowns and turns back to Dean; tries to soak in his warmth instead.

“You should get some rest, too,” he says.

“Yeah, probably. Tomorrow’s gonna be a bitch.”

“Even by our standards,” Castiel agrees.

Dean huffs, his mouth ticking up to the right, and scuffs his heel in the dirt. Castiel watches as he picks idly at the log they sit upon; the twitch in his cheek as he hisses and inspects his index finger before raising it to his mouth. The shape of his lips as he tries to suck a splinter loose from where it's buried itself beneath his fingernail.

“Damnit,” Dean mutters, pulling his hand back to look at it with a frown.

“Here.”

Reaching out, Castiel catches Dean’s wrist in one hand and his fingers in the other, expending a shimmering wisp of grace to work the splinter free. He’s not sure what compels him to make such a show of it — he could have healed the minuscule injury from where he’s sitting without touching Dean at all — but he can’t help himself.

At some point, years ago, his duty to help Dean and his desire to be close to him got all tangled up. He can no longer recall when he’d started healing him through unnecessary touch, but it’s the singular selfish thing that he does, and he’s not planning on stopping unless Dean tells him to.

The splinter falls silently to the dirt at their feet. Castiel curls the tip of his index finger against the tiny puncture in Dean’s skin, directing his grace as it knits back together.

Beside him, Dean lets out an unsteady breath, and a pulse of love stretches out from his soul to brush against Castiel’s true form. If he’s being truly honest with himself, this is another major reason why Castiel allows himself to touch him in moments like this; he knows that Dean enjoys it as much as he does.

Despite all his half-hearted blustering about personal space, Dean is a tactile person, and the moments when Castiel heals him are the moments when his heart is the most open. When he lets himself feel the way he feels without holding back, just for a breath or two. It’s enough. It’s always been enough.

But now—the feeling draws out longer than usual, shifting to something closer to hunger, to desire, and Dean’s fingers flex a little in Castiel’s hand. When Castiel starts to pull away they turn to gently grip him back. And this…

This is new.

Not the feeling—that has been there for years, poorly concealed and just below the surface—but the action that echoes it. Dean has never done something like this, and Castiel has never been brave enough to try it himself. He’s still not, he realizes as he looks down at their hands tangled together and tries to strategize a safe response.

He’s got no ideas, so he doesn’t move. Couldn’t move if he tried.

“Y’know,” Dean says, interrupting his thoughts with his voice pitched low, and Castiel glances back up to see that his pupils are blown wide. Apprehensive. Tense. Aroused, Castiel’s mind supplies, and he pushes the thought away just in time for Dean to make him wonder if he’d been too hasty in rejecting it. “I don’t think I can stand to be alone tonight, either.”

There’s a clear, deliberate weight to Dean’s words, and although Castiel recognizes it for what it is almost immediately, he hasn’t got the slightest clue how he’s expected to address it. How could he? They’ve kept such a delicate balance for so long that even this one sentence feels monumental. It’s as though Dean has casually dropped an anchor onto a scale that would have been thrown off kilter by a feather, and now he’s just sitting here, acting as though he hasn’t just thrown out the entire rule book of their relationship.

Castiel is afraid to respond at all. He wishes he wasn’t, but fear compounded by habit is hard to shake.

“I could watch over you,” he offers eventually, hating himself for taking the easy way out even as he says it, and waiting for the inevitable refusal. Dean exhales as he slowly pulls his hand away and shifts his gaze back to the glowing embers.

“Aren’t you tired, Cas?”

“I’m running a little low on grace, but—”

“No, I mean—aren’t you tired of… of this.” He waves between them with an open hand, the movement far too casual to be anything but calculated, and glances back to meet Castiel’s eyes. “We could die tomorrow.”

“You could say that about every day, for us.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean huffs. “Look, can we just—”

Pushing to his feet, Dean takes a few steps away before turning back to look at Castiel, his hands tense at his sides, clenching into fists and releasing, over and over as though he needs the movement to keep from… something. Castiel isn’t sure what. But his eyes are pleading. Begging Castiel to meet him halfway.

Castiel wants to. He’s just trying to figure out how.

“Can we skip this part?” Dean asks.

“What do you—”

“The—” Dean briefly lifts his hands, then lets them fall helplessly back to his sides. “The… I don’t know, man. The freakin’ confessions. The discussion. The… the whole what now thing. All that bullshit.” He looks up at Castiel. “Can we just skip it?”

Castiel blinks, slow.

“You mean—”

“I mean I’ve had enough, Cas. I’m tired, and I don’t— I don’t see the point in ignoring this anymore. I haven’t really seen the point in a while. Didn’t want to rock the boat, I guess, but now…”

“But now you’re tired.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re rocking the boat.”

Dean doesn’t respond to the question directly; just looks at Castiel with a determination in his eyes that leaves no room for misunderstanding, and says, “I’m going to bed. You should come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for a reply. Doesn’t even pause to see if his assumption that Castiel understands his meaning is correct.

Castiel is surprised at his confidence. Not because he’s wrong to have it, but because even though this thing that’s been growing between them for near on a decade has been more difficult to deny with every passing year, even though Castiel has been able to feel Dean’s longing for him as sharply as he’s been able to feel his own, Dean has still never acknowledged it in any concrete way.

For his own part, Castiel has given him more openings than his pride would like him to admit, but Dean’s played things so close to his chest the entire time that Castiel has always assumed he didn’t want to deal with it at all.

He just didn’t think they’d ever get here.

There’s always been something in the way. An apocalypse, a near death, an actual death. Something. When he came back from the Empty, miraculously alive again against all odds, he’d thought to himself, it’s now or never, and Dean had barreled into him, fingers pressed to the back of his neck as they’d embraced in a dimly lit alleyway, and Castiel had felt love radiating from him like light from a star, and still nothing had changed.

So, never, he’d thought. He’d made his peace with it. Being near Dean was enough, if being with Dean was not an option.

But now—

Dean is already nearing the dilapidated mess hall he’s been set up in for the night—the camp only has so much space for sleeping quarters—and Castiel hurries to catch up. He slips through the door behind him and into the dark.

Inside, the main room is cluttered and overfull with folding tables.

A dozen or so chairs are stacked along the walls, and the faint scent of instant coffee lingers in the air. Ahead, Dean maneuvers through a tight gap between tables toward a dark red door. When they make their way inside, it’s to find a cramped storeroom, where a thin bedroll and blanket has been set out for Dean on the floor alongside several unlabelled boxes and a shelf of cleaning supplies. His backpack sits at one end like a makeshift pillow.

Near the ceiling, there’s a single narrow window, and the moonlight that filters through its dusty pane catches on the buttons on Dean’s jacket, reflects bright in his eyes as he turns to look back at Castiel.

Years ago, in a similarly cramped storeroom in the Rexford Gas n Sip, Castiel had knelt on the floor to gather his things while Dean waited outside in the Impala, and wondered if perhaps one of them would be brave enough to ask for a single room at the motel they were headed toward.

He’d known already, even then, that what they felt for each other was far beyond the limits of friendship. Had felt it for a long time before that night, too, though it had taken an abrupt fall from Heaven and a brand new soul grown under the worst possible circumstances for him to truly understand what it meant.

But just for a few minutes, kneeling in that storeroom, he’d thought that perhaps this was the night. That Dean would make his move. That he’d summon the courage to make a move himself.

The way Dean had looked at him earlier that night had him feeling recklessly hopeful, and he’d been halfway convinced that they’d arrive at the Rexford Motor Inn, and their hands would touch as they walked to the room, and some understanding would pass between them.

That they’d fall into one another before they even managed to get through the door.

He’d thought about it in sharp detail. Imagined confessing to Dean, telling him how the first thing he’d felt when the angels stopped falling was the overwhelming desire to hear Dean’s voice. To see him. To hold him. To breathe him in.

How his fledgling soul ached every day that they’d been apart; how he’d realized, finally, that this thing between them was love.

He’d imagined it countless different ways as he pushed to his feet with a plastic bag in his hand, as he left the building and locked the door behind him, as he’d gripped the cool metal of the Impala’s door handle. As Dean’s hand had settled on the back of his seat while they reversed out of the parking space, fingers brushing carelessly against the back of Castiel’s neck.

He’s lost in the memory, still trying to wrap his head around what they’re doing here when Dean laughs aloud. Castiel meets his eyes, and feels the soul tangled up with his grace sing at the sight.

“Sorry,” Dean says, and there’s a touch of wild hysteria in his voice. “Just…” He gestures loosely around them. “Kinda hilarious that this is… we’re basically in a goddamn closet.”

Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh himself, and Dean’s gaze drops to his mouth. It’s not the first time that’s happened. It’s not even the first time Castiel has noticed. It’s different now, though.

Because this time, Dean doesn’t immediately look away. He doesn’t step back or crack a joke or lash out or deflect. He looks at Castiel’s mouth, and he keeps on looking. And looking. And looking. Castiel feels as though he might buzz right out of his body if he doesn’t just—

“Dean.”

Dean’s eyes lift to meet Castiel’s, and there’s a shade of reckless humor in them. Something devious and endlessly irritating that makes Castiel want to throttle him for making him wait, even now, when they’re supposedly not doing that anymore.

“Yeah?”

“What are you waiting for?”

The answer, as it turns out, is nothing. Dean grins, and crowds into his space, and kisses him. Just like that.

As though it’s always been this easy. Maybe it has been.

Raising one palm to rest against Castiel’s chest, Dean slides the other into his hair, thumb dragging soft against the back of his ear as he moves him into place, and Castiel lets himself be directed. Lets Dean push him back until he’s pressed firmly against the door. Lets Dean tilt his chin just so, and deepen their kiss.

The memory of Dean’s fingers accidentally brushing against his neck that night in the Impala comes rushing back full force now that Dean is holding him there so purposefully. Kissing him with a hunger that Castiel had resigned himself to thinking would never be sated.

Even now, he’s still not sure it will be. Dean is kissing him, but Castiel still longs for him as though they aren’t pressed flush together.

Castiel isn’t sure if his perception is skewed by love, but as Dean’s lips part, he decides that despite the molecules, Skittles taste better on Dean’s tongue, and it suddenly feels incredibly important that Dean knows. Not about the Skittles, but the rest. Everything.

Can we skip it? Dean had asked, but now that they’re here, Castiel realizes that doesn’t want to.

They’ve avoided talking for years, and as Dean put it—Castiel is tired.

With his hands on Dean’s waist, working under his jacket to pull him closer still even as he breaks their kiss, Castiel does what he hadn’t been brave enough to do in Rexford. He tells Dean the truth.

[keep reading on ao3]

[arbitraryloveright]

The Study of You

[Summary; Luke is a war hero, but Leia won't let him throw the rest of his life away. Forcing him to get his graduate degree he meets the mysterious man that's been appearing to him in his dreams. He's stirring up Luke's connection to the force that broke when Anakin came back to the light. The twins do some investigating, and Luke may accidentally fall in love with the cute nerdy literature professor, while he starts unveiling lies from every side.] Ch 1-8/15 can be found on my ao3 account @/CharlieDoesIt

Chapter One: Professor Djarin

A voice soft and deep pulled him. "I will figure out a way to get us out of here." He spoke. He felt sand and cool droplets of water that tasted like salt. A hand was in his own, a glove covered the warm skin. "Go, love." He felt himself say. He felt the hand slip out of his grip in its wake all he felt was cold.

---

When Luke woke from the dream his heart was raced. He grabbed at his bed to ground himself. The window above his bed allowed for sunlight to cast in, its blue tint took over space.  He had dreamt of the man so often he'd begun to lose count. He half hoped it was because his connection to the force would come back, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.

He did a fairly good job to convince himself that he didn’t need it anymore. There wasn’t a need for force users when times were peaceful. The war was over for now, and Leia Organa wasn’t about to allow his life to go by. She forced him to finish school, and even then, the condition was he do it on Yavin. Luckily for him, it was one of the most beautiful planets he had ever seen.

All the greenery would have set the force on fire, hell without it Luke's body felt lifted. It wasn’t anything like Tatooine. Leia’s house was also only about a mile from the school. Luke was threatened into staying with her and Han, so he had no choice but to feel embarrassed about his lack of independence.

There was a knock on his door and then a shout to get up. “I don’t even have class today,” he groaned at her relentlessness. He threw off his comforter and walked towards the door.

“Yeah, you do,” she said her voice muffled by the door, “you have biogeochemistry today at two so we should get going at around 12.”

He swung the door open to see Leia’s smug smile. “How,” he threw his hands out. “How do you even know that?”

She shrugged, “I’m the dean,” and made her way towards the kitchen.

“That’s illegal you know,” he shouted as she turned a corner out from his line of sight.

He hit his head against the door frame, he might as well get ready for the day.

How was it barely Tuesday? His head leaned on the glass of her car window as he watched the forest pass by, he thought how much he wanted the week to be over already. He’d graduated with a Bachelor's degree why had that not been enough for his sister or even Han? Not to mention the fact that he was also a fully-fledged Jedi Knight.

Half a mile into their drive the car somewhere on the street in front of them backfired. The sound boomed in Luke's ears. It was like a flash had gone off in his mind. His heart raced, and his mind blanked out. He heaved. It felt like he was dying, and all he could see were lasers from Tie Fighters that missed him by a centimeter.

He felt a hand on his shoulder soft and present while everything else fell around him. It wasn’t enough. The world threatened to close in on him, and he was powerless against it.

When he came to, the car wasn’t moving. He was on the floor of the car, his knees pushed up against his chest, and his face was wet with tears. “Luke?” Leia whispered, scared to break him further. He sat up and forced himself to keep still, his body resisted and shook. He pulled his seat belt on and took deep breaths.

“This didn’t happen,” he whispered. It was mostly to himself until his sister opened her mouth to speak when he repeated the statement. He looked at her and used more force in his voice. She nodded resigned to do whatever her brother needed.

The after-effects of his little episode had caught up to him, once they’d reached that campus. He was drained. Somehow, he only had enough energy to make it into his sister's office and collapse onto her couch.

He woke up later than he meant to, the sun bright in his eyes. He twisted his wrist and looked at his watch. It was ten minutes to five, and his sister was nowhere to be found. He rubbed his eyes, and he didn’t realize that someone had walked in. “Hey Organa, did you…” his voice was deep and soft at the same time. Luke sat up and made eye contact with the man at the door. “You’re not Leia.”

Luke’s voice was still rough from when he slept, “Neither are you,” Luke said. His heart dropped down to his stomach when he fully took him in. His navy tie and black shirt perfectly matched the man he’d saw in his dreams. Right down to the mustache and boxy glasses. “Do you make a habit of barging into offices?”

“She usually lets me...” Before he could continue, he heard Leia's voice distantly as she apologized somewhere out in the hallway. As she walked into her room to turn in the light, she looked between the two men.

She tried to bury her worry in a typical motherly fashion. “I didn’t realize you were still in here.” Luke didn’t even need the force to see right through her facade.

“I accidentally slept in,” he sighed and smoothed over his shirt.

The intruder was still stood awkwardly off to the side. She set her bag down, as she motioned for the man to take a seat at one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Luke, this is Din Djarin head of the undergraduate Basics department.” He pushed his glasses up and put his bag beside him. He was kind of cute, but then again, he’d had months of intrusive dreams.

“Din, this is Luke Skywalker...my twin brother.” The man’s, Din’s eyes widened slightly, but he made no move to congratulate the war hero.

Before Luke could internally argue against it, his hands had pushed him off the couch. He asked if he could talk to Leia in the hallway. She closed the door tenderly behind them. “How are you?” She asked like she’d held it this whole time.

“Fine,” he said as he dodged the question, “I don’t want a strong reaction for what I’m about to say, because I still don’t exactly know what this means. So I just need you to stay calm.”

She nodded and straightened her posture as if she was bracing for a blow. “Have you ever shown me a picture of the man in your office, or do you think we’ve ever crossed paths?” She shook her head. “I’ve been seeing him in my dreams for the past couple of months.”

Her mouth twitched, it was the only sign of a reaction and besides that, she did very well to not react. “Does that mean that your connection is back?” He shook his head and she nodded again as she took it all in. “Okay, um, how about we do not get too disappointed or excited, we’ll keep monitoring it to see what happens.”

She looked up at him, a worried sparkle in her eyes gleamed. Luke knew what that meant and started to get nervous. He always knew his sister was capable of fearful acts. She shoved open the door. “Professor Djarin! Have you gotten a TA yet?” She smiled stiffly.

Din sat up, startled by the sudden intrusion. “Oh uh not yet.”

She clasped Luke’s shoulder. “Din’s TA dropped out and then disappeared to the outer rim, can you believe that?”

She sat in her chair and clapped her hands together. “Would you look at that I just found you the perfect candidate!”

[estrel]

suptober20 day 16 prompt: switch it up! (ficlet) | destiel | ~ 2k words

summary: 15x15 coda (sort of) wherein Dean accidentally flips a switch that puts him in Cas’ body, and vice versa.

Dean ran his hand along the wall, feeling the rough plaster under his skin until he reached a bump, something raised beneath the surface of the wallpaper.

“Did Rowena have a thing for uh…trick doors, or anything like that?”

Sam huffed a laugh from the other side of the storage room.

“Can’t say it sounds out of character. How come? You find something?”

By then Dean had peeled most of the wallpaper off of the raised surface without much difficulty. He was twisted awkwardly, back bent to reach into the space between the shelves where it was hidden.

He managed to finally rip the last bit off, and brushed away the remaining debris from what ended up being a metal box attached to the wall. Dean flipped it open, curiosity high for a moment before vanishing just as quickly.

“No, never mind. It’s just a light switch for something.” Dean flipped it, once, and looked around for any changes. Nothing. He flipped it back off, and then on again.

“Anything?” Dean asked.

Sam shrugged. “No? Pretty sure that’s just an old switch she covered up because it didn’t work. Rowena probably could have kept all of the electricity in this entire building running with just a flick of her wrist.”

Sam had a point. They were here for that exact reason, actually—to check one last time if any of her tomes said anything about how to defeat god. Because now…now they had to find another way. After coming up empty at the bunker, Sam had suggested one last look around the apartment.

Unfortunately for them, no luck so far.

Bzzt.

Sam took his phone out of his pocket and frowned down at it, fingers gliding over the screen to type.

“It’s Eileen. She thinks she might have something. I’m gonna…go…”

Dean waved him off, “Sure, go do your thing. I’ll keep looking here.”

He watched as Sam left and returned once again to the dusty shelves.

It was insane to think that not a single one of these had the answer. Dean rubbed at his mouth, wondering if it was even worth it to keep going, when he heard familiar footsteps stop a few feet behind him.

He didn’t need to look to know that it was Cas.

“Any luck?” Dean asked. They seemed to be banking a lot on “luck” these days.

Cas took another step, so Dean turned his shoulder to sort of face him. He was glad he hadn’t turned completely, because at the sight of Cas’ expression, Dean’s forcing his eyes away would have been made all the more obvious.

So, no luck there either.

“Dean, I know you’re angry,” Cas started. Dean shook his head, mindlessly moving books around the shelves to keep him occupied.

“I’m not,” he said. But he was. He was…he was…

“You are.”

“Why would I be?” Dean asked the shelf, loud enough for Cas to hear. “You were just going to leave. Again. Without telling us.”

Silence. Dean glanced at him now, gripping something small in his hand (a hex bag or a crystal or something, he wasn’t paying attention) to ground him.

“Why?”

Cas looked down. “Jack…asked me not to tell you. He thought—”

Dean turned to him fully now, brows furrowed. “No. I’m not talking about Jack.”

Cas’ eyes widened just a fraction, but Dean didn’t spare a moment to decipher it. He was too…

“Why do you put me through this? Why can’t you just…imagine what it’s like for me to keep seeing you walk away? Sacrificing yourself? Getting killed? Why is it so hard to put yourself in my shoes? To—to switch places, for once?”

Cas opened his mouth and closed it again.

Dean took a deep breath, letting the anger simmer down from boiling to lukewarm. His eyes caught on the switch again, and suddenly he couldn’t remember which way it was facing when he’d first seen it. Up, or down? He flipped it again once, just to be sure, just to fill the silence, when the entire building went black.

It was a few seconds, or maybe a couple of minutes, before the lights came back on.

Dean wasn’t by the shelves anymore, which was weird. He didn’t remember moving, but it wasn’t entirely out of the question that he had. The darkness had been pitch, fumbling around was probably what had happened.

Sam came rushing in not long after, looking perplexed and a little winded.

“Dean? Cas? What the hell was that?”

“The power went off when—when—” He heard his own voice say. But he was pretty sure he hadn’t said anything.

Dean balked and looked over. Where he had once been standing was….well, him. But obviously not him because he was right here, which was—

“Oh, shit.”

His voice was Cas’ voice. Deep, grumbly. His body….

Dean looked down to see himself clad in a trench coat and slacks and everything that screamed Cas. His heart clenched. He could smell Cas’ cologne on him, everywhere.

He thought for a moment that he might pass out, but then Sam was looking at him strangely, like he hadn’t heard him right, and Cas—the Cas he assumed was currently inhabiting his body—stood frozen a few feet away.

So Dean straightened in his new body, Cas’ body, it was Cas’ body, and leveled Sam with his best Cas impression.

“He flipped a light switch. Everything’s fine.” Dean turned to Cas. “A word?”

Cas nodded jerkily and followed him past Sam and into a corner of Rowena’s apartment far enough for Sam not to hear.

“Dean, what are you doing? We have to tell Sam that we—that we—”

“That we got friggin Freaky Friday’d, I know. But we can’t. Not…not yet.”

Dean found Cas’ exasperated head tilt to look weird on his own face.

“Why is that?”

“Because this is exactly what I was talking about! Look, I have no idea how this happened, I mean I knew that switch had some mojo crap in it—”

“And you still flipped it anyway?”

“The point is, my wish came true, Cas. I’m just asking for a day. One day, and then we can try to figure this out and go back to being ourselves.”

Cas sighed. Dean watched the way his features were softer, now that Cas used them.

“Fine. One day.”

—

And it was fine. At first.

They’d packed up and started home within thirty minutes after the incident, which was what they were calling it, and managed to keep their mouths shut long enough for Sam to believe they were still themselves.

How Cas managed it, Dean had no idea. From his point of view, everything down to the way Cas breathed in his body just screamed “Cas”, and he would’ve hounded his brother for being oblivious if he hadn’t been jabbering about whatever Eileen had said on their call for the entire duration of their drive.

All Cas really had to do was focus on driving and muttering a response here and there. Dean willed from the backseat with whatever angel mojo he’d recently inherited that Cas didn’t crash Baby, or else he might just break character and end this whole thing they had going here.

It must have worked, because they got to the bunker safe and sound about an hour later. Cas tried following him around a few times, but Dean gave him looks that said don’t, run along, and surprisingly enough, Cas did. He had a feeling that Cas was probably just as curious as he was about this.

That being said, almost the first thing Dean did was run into Jack.

It wasn’t exactly difficult, seeing as the kid was prone to running into things. He had turned a corner, intending to go to Cas’ room, when Jack showed up with a gleeful smile.

“You’re back!”

Dean blinked at him. He knew Jack was child-like, but sometimes he acted so mature that Dean was sure he was at least a teenager. He wondered now how much of that was a front, and what Cas had done to make Jack look at him like he was the sun. Especially after what Jack had told him yesterday.

“I…am, yes. How are you?”

Jack’s eyes were still filled with adoration. “I’m good. I was watching Scooby-Doo reruns while you guys were gone. Can you tell me about the time you guys met Shaggy and Scooby, again?”

Dean’s heart turned soft, despite his… frustration with Jack for being so selfless and self-sacrificing. Like his dad. Well, like all of his dads.

“Maybe later, k—Jack. Bedtime story,” He promised. Dean tried for a smile, and Jack grinned.

“Okay. I love your bedtime stories,” Jack said. His smile suddenly faded. “By the way, are Sam and Dean…around?”

Dean took just a brief moment to process that Cas actually read the kid bedtime stories before nodding.

“Yes. They are. In the kitchen, I think.”

Did Cas talk like this, or was Dean worse than he thought at Cas impressions? It was at least enough to fool Jack, for now.

“You didn’t…tell them, right? About…”

Dean felt his insides twist. So this was what Cas had to do. Lie. Cas was doing a lot of that recently.

“No.”

“Good, because I was thinking, it’d be unfair of me to keep your secret if you didn’t keep mine. But, your secret is still safe with me, Cas.”

Jack patted his shoulder and left before Dean’s mind could catch up to what he was saying.

Secret? Another secret?

He tried to reign his rage back down to a place of balance. In this body, who knew what he could do if he let it all out. Blow up the bunker, probably.

The rest of the day was almost pointless after that. The one thing he did try, between his conversation with Jack and his sulking about Cas, was to get a glimpse of Cas’ wings in the mirror. But he couldn’t figure out how to see into whatever dimension Cas kept them, so Dean gave that up pretty quickly.

After dinner, he visited Cas where he was watching TV in Dean’s room and closed the door behind him.

Cas let out a breath of relief and sat up in Dean’s bed.

“Finally. I’ve had enough of this today. I’d forgotten what being human was like. It’s very…time consuming.”

Dean nodded once. He approached the bed until he was at the foot of it, knees touching the mattress.

“I know,” was his response.

Cas did the head tilt again. “Yes, I’d assume so. You are human every day of your life.”

“No, Cas. I mean, I know. About your secret.”

Cas stared at him. “How?”

“Jack…Jack told me. Well, actually, he told you. But either way, I know now. You’ve been keeping more secrets from us. Did you think we wouldn’t find out?”

Cas stood up then, but didn’t try to close the distance.

“Of course I knew you’d find out. But I thought….I thought we’d have more time. I’m not anywhere near happy enough yet, Dean. And with Jack…”

Dean turned the words over in his head. Happy? What the hell was he talking about?

“Cas…what are you going to do?”

He shut his mouth—Dean’s mouth—and Dean suddenly wished he had power over it again.

“Were you planning on leaving us again? Or worse, sacrificing yourself? After—after everything, after trading places, do you still think I’m not enough for you to want to stay?”

Dean’s heart pounded. He didn’t want to hear the answer, didn’t want to know what Cas had done. What Cas couldn’t tell him.

It seemed like his body mirrored his emotions, because Dean saw himself begin to cry.

“It was to save Jack. It… Dean, I couldn’t tell you. I couldn’t let you have yet another burden to bare because of me. And—and I did what you would have done.”

“What I would have done.”

“Yes,” Cas said. “At some point…Dean, at some point we switched. I’m not the man I was when you first met me. I am who I am thanks to you. So don’t blame me for taking a page out of your book.”

Switched, huh? Dean took a step forward, feeling bigger now, even though Cas’ body was shorter than his in height.

His emotions were barely being held together as it was by a thin piece of twine that he knew existed there because of Cas. Now it was like the twine was being pulled, and his voice was tight with the last strain of it, a final effort before he snapped.

“So switch back.”

[ti-bae-rius]

Thomastair prompt

(Requested by @christinaherondale)

From @666-megabytes‘s prompt list. Prompt = “Something happened and we have to hide together in a really small space!!!!! we make out for 10 minutes but don’t worry we said no homo at the end”

Set at the end of Cast Long Shadows during Matthew’s plan to explode the South Wing of the Academy. 

“Come on, Kit,” Thomas urged, tugging at his cousin’s sleeve, which was dotted with burns. Christopher’s clothes never lasted long amidst the boy’s scientific experimentations. Though Christopher’s parents – Thomas’s Aunt Cecily and Uncle Gabriel – were patient enough, his sister Anna had since refused to lend Christopher any of her waistcoats. Thomas’s fingers clung to the worn material now, pulling his absent-minded cousin down the corridors. “Hurry!”

“Where are we going again?” Christopher asked, wrinkling his nose to stop his spectacles from slipping down. Anyone else would have spun to look at him incredulously and asked what planet Christopher had been on for the last hour as they carried out Matthew’s plan. Thomas did neither of those things and instead ushered Christopher down the Academy’s labyrinthine hallways with haste.

“The Dean will be suspicious if you and I are together. You go down to our room and I’ll go to the library,” Thomas instructed as they reached the top of the main staircase. He kept casting nervous looks over his shoulder back towards the South wing.

“Oh bother, I need to borrow a book,” Christopher said, and turned to Thomas. “I’ll swap you. I’ll go to the library and you to the room.”

“Fine, Kit, just go!” Thomas pressed, and Christopher set off down the stairs, clearly pleased with his bargaining skills. Thomas was about to start after him when he froze with a sudden realisation how incriminating it would look to see the two of them fleeing what was soon to be the site of an explosion. Instead, he loitered on the landing, waiting for enough time to pass as to be inconspicuous.

From below, Thomas heard running footsteps and pressed back into the shadows cast by the large grandfather clock near a door. They’d locked the door to the South wing so, unless someone was hellbent on getting into the disused wing, they’d have no risk of harm on their consciences. However, he heard someone throwing themselves relentlessly at the door and the old wood was starting to creak ominously. The person swore and Thomas’s chest squeezed with recognition.

“Alastair?” he said shyly and the Carstairs boy spun, scowling.

“Your stupid libertine friend, Fairchild, has moved all of my things to the South wing. Annoying bastard.” He gave the door another shove and it gave a worrying creak.

“You can’t go in there, it’s locked,” Thomas protested anxiously. It was only a matter of time now before the inevitable. Damn Matthew; he could never leave well enough alone. Thomas knew Alastair was beastly at times, but he didn’t deserve to be blown to smithereens.

“Not for long. Besides, who put you in charge, Lightwood?” Alastair sneered.

He threw his shoulder against the wood one last time and Thomas winced. One more and it would give. Panicked, he grabbed Alastair by the wrist and pulled him away into a nearby cupboard. He slammed the door and leaned back against the door, blocking in Alastair, who was looking down at the place where Thomas had grabbed his wrist, shell-shocked. Eventually, he snapped out of it and glared at Thomas.

“Move, pipsqueak.”

“You can’t go into the South wing. It’s about to –”

An almighty crash interrupted his sentence, shaking the floor beneath them. Dust from the crevices of the walls rained down on them like snow. A second rumble shook the floor and Alastair clutched Thomas’s arm, fingers digging in, to stop himself falling. A loud bang right outside the door made them both cry out, followed by glass smashing. Thomas winced, knowing exactly what that was. Then, in one last cosmic act of hatred, the witchlight bulb hanging overhead shook and fell, shattering between them and plunging them into darkness.

“—explode,” Thomas finished weakly.

 Alastair was sat against the door, thumping his head back against it in boredom. Thomas himself was anxious and lamenting the fact the cupboard in which they were stuck was too small for adequate pacing.

“I’m really sorry about your stuff,” Thomas said, for the eighth time.

Alastair finally rested his head back against the door and sighed. “Matthew Fairchild’s pathetic frivolities are neither your business nor your fault.”

“I swear I’ll replace all of your things. I swear it.” Thomas sank down on the floor before Alastair. “I never meant for you to get caught up in this. Matthew can be a prat, but he isn’t malicious. He’s just a bit of a fool.”

“You can’t,” Alastair said quietly and Thomas felt his eyebrows knit in confusion. As if he could pre-empt the question on Thomas’s lips, Alastair continued. “You can’t replace it all. My father bought me a mundane newspaper in the train station every time we left another place. They’ll have gone up like tinder in your stupid explosion.”

“I’m sorry,” Thomas repeated. “How about a trade? I can give you something that means a lot to me as a guarantee I’ll find you the most interesting broadsheets London’s curios shops have to offer.”

“Why do you care so much?” Alastair replied. He didn’t sound angry, just genuinely curious. “All of your friends hate me. They clearly speak ill of me to you, yet you still trail me like a puppy. Fairchild must loathe it so why do you do it?”

Glad for the darkness, Thomas felt his face go spectacularly red.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, then flipped the question back on the other boy. “Why don’t you tell me to shove off if you annoy you so much?”

“You don’t annoy me,” Alastair said after a long beat of silence. “I just can’t help but feel like you want me to tell you things so you can report it back to your little gang for ammunition.”

“I make up songs in my head,” Thomas blurted. “It’s a secret. I’d never tell the boys. Usually I do it when I feel lonely or…or invisible.”

“How could you ever feel that way?” Alastair scoffed. “Your family is at the very forefront of the council in such an interconnected web it borders on the incestuous. Your friends are always there and like you just as you are—”

“All my friends have a distinct thing that made them…them. Christopher is the mad scientist, James is the bookish hero, Matthew is—”

“The bane of the Nephilim’s collective existence?” suggested Alastair.

“—charming and funny,” Thomas corrected. “I’m nothing. I’m nice, and that’s the most lukewarm thing you can be.”

“You’re honest,” Alastair pointed out and Thomas rolled his eyes.

“Not nearly as honest as everyone thinks. Besides, I think I carry so many of everybody else’s secrets that it’s easy to ignore mine. That isn’t honest.”

“Do you have room for just a couple more secrets?”

“Yes,” Thomas nodded tightly.

He heard Alastair swallow in the silence of their dark holding cell, then he let out a shaky breath.

“My father never comes to collect me at the end of term, nor drop me off at the start. You must have noticed – Fairchild certainly has. And why is that? Because my father is a drunk who can hardly get out of bed before supper. It would be worse if he did show up, I think.”

“You’re ashamed of him?”

“I just…I’ve had to sacrifice everything, so my little sister didn’t have to deal with him.” Alastair put his head back against the cupboard door. “You can’t tell anyone.”

“I won’t,” promised Thomas. “So…what’s the other secret?”

“Come closer,” Alastair said and Thomas shuffled closer, resting back against the door beside the other boy. Alastair cupped a hand around his mouth and turned to whisper in Thomas’s ear. “This.”

Instead of keeping his mouth to Thomas’s ear, he dipped his chin and pressed a kiss against the boy’s cheek. Thomas startled but, instead of pulling back, found himself turning towards Alastair, lips meeting lips like a flame touching a wick. The burst of heat that bloomed between them was almost imperceptible – almost. Thomas was almost sad that his first kiss was with Alastair Carstairs; it wasn’t that he didn’t like the boy – in fact, it was the opposite. No girl he ever kissed would make his heart race like this, make him want to melt into their touch. This was his Icarus moment, Thomas sensed. This was as close to the sun as he could get before he was burnt, but he’d never feel this warm glow again safe on the ground.

Footsteps outside the door made them break apart, shattering the moment like a dropped champagne flute. Suddenly they were once again stuck in a dingy cupboard, waiting for someone to let them out. At once they were on their feet, banging on the door, shouting for the person outside to help.

“Hold tight, boys. We’ll get you out in no time,” the voice came.

Quietly, Alastair turned to Thomas. “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” he whispered, biting his lip nervously.

“Of course not,” Thomas replied, tugging shyly at his shirt cuffs.

The door creaked open finally and Alastair didn’t wait, just pushed past their rescuer, vaulted over the fallen grandfather clock that had blocked the door, and hurried off downstairs. Breathless, Thomas thanked the professor who’d freed them and set off to find Christopher with one more secret to keep. He didn’t mind. At least this secret left him with the feeling of walking on a spring-loaded floor.

Alastair Carstairs, Thomas thought dreamily. He really was an enigma.

[levitatingbiscuits]

what about codywan treasure hunters as a little prompt?

Cody often complained, when sufficiently smashed, that his husband was going to get them both killed one of these days. 

(He ended up complaining to his husband about his husband more often than not, considering the level of inebriation required for Cody to complain about anything. Then he’d have to sleep alone when his husband showed his remorse by exiling himself from their bed/tent/shared sleeping bag like some sort of penitent monk. Cody wished they could just have makeup sex like a normal couple.)

Obi-Wan, quite possibly, was going to get them killed today.

“You just had to touch it, didn’t you?!” Cody yelled, dodging a hail of poison darts and leaping neatly over a trip wire.

“It’s an ancient Je’daii holocron, darling, I couldn’t just leave it!” Obi-Wan replied with a rakish grin, artifact in one hand and Cody’s in the other. He gracefully sidestepped a pit trap filled with spikes.

“YES YOU COULD HAVE,” Cody bellowed, manfully resisting the urge to kiss his smug smile off his stupid face.

“And let Ventress find it first and sell it to the highest bidder? No thank you! One of these is equivalent to an entire library! All that knowledge, lost forever to some ignorant trillionaire who’ll use it as a curiosity rather than a treasure trove of historical knowledge? I can’t ethically allow that to happen!”

“All right, all right, cyar’ika, point taken!” Cody replied, pulling Obi-Wan down to avoid the pendulum blade that had nearly cleaved his skull in two. His husband, of course, barely noticed.

“And that blasted Vos helps her do it!” he continued ranting, as if the four of them didn’t regularly go on double dates. “You have no idea how lucky I am to have you now, Cody, the only good thing that reprobate ever did for me was introduce us.”

Kriff, and now he was giving him the eyes, half-soulful and half-coquettish. Cody determinedly digested his butterflies. They’d been married for years, those little bastards should have been long gone by now. 

Instead he still felt like he had the first time he met noted academic and famed archaeologist Dr. Kenobi. Vos had been Kenobi’s companion for remote expeditions, but the pair of them just goaded each other into more and more extreme feats of daring until Vos had ended up breaking an ankle and a few ribs when he’d fallen halfway down a mountain. Obi-Wan had insisted on continuing his work even with the wrist he’d broken catching Vos before he tumbled off a cliff, so Vos had gotten into contact with Cody, because survivalists and guides tended to run in the same circles. Cody took one look at the man with a nasty scrape on the side of his head and his arm in a cast cooing over a parasitic worm and was instantly smitten.

“Put the holocron away, at least. We still need to rappel down the temple wall.”

Obi-Wan actually pouted, the ridiculous man, but gently placed it in his bag while Cody jumped from tile to tile in the giant mosaic they had found earlier, careful to keep to the same order as when they’d come in so that they wouldn’t trigger yet more traps.

Soon they were climbing back down the sheer walls of the massive ruins. They must have been even more awe-inspiring during their prime; Cody could make out crumbling statues and carvings in the walls themselves, though he couldn’t recognize what they were meant to represent. His husband might have more luck, but Cody wasn’t going to let him spend the rest of the day in climbing gear clinging to a rock face with the ground a thousand feet below no matter how he tried to talk him into it.

They had only just touched the ground when they were on each other, kissing fiercely in celebration of their continued survival and success. Adrenalin always made Obi-Wan passionate, but Cody would never complain. He really had no leg to stand on. He just groaned deep in his throat when Obi-Wan pushed him against the temple wall and hauled him closer, one hand buried in his sweaty copper hair and the other pressed against the small of his back.

“Professor Kenobi?!” someone squeaked.

“Obi-Wan, are you really gonna make out with your husband now? You’ll traumatize the intern!” someone else said, mock-scandalized.

Obi-Wan broke the kiss, flexing his fingers against Cody’s hips. Cody groaned for a very different reason than before and turned to shoot a glare at Skywalker, Obi-Wan’s annoying pet grad student, who just smirked unrepentantly. The little shit had stopped being intimidated by him ever since he befriended Cody’s brother Rex, who worked as a holovid stuntman but whose true passion was razzing Cody for all he was worth. Behind him hovered Tano, the undergrad unfortunate enough to have Skywalker as a mentor. She was also friends with Rex, though fortunately her mortification over seeing her favorite professor ravishing his husband trumped her shit-stirring tendencies, at least for now.

“Did you find the holocron?” Skywalker was asking.

“We’re not amateurs,” Cody said, voice low and rough. Tano stifled a nervous giggle.

“Great! Dean Palpatine will be thrilled. If you give it to him he said he’ll have it restored on his own dime!”

“I don’t want this to vanish into his private collection like all the other artifacts I haven’t had a chance to examine,” Obi-Wan said tartly, and Cody smothered a snicker at Skywalker’s offended expression. “I find these artifacts to study them, not sell them. It belongs in a museum! Now if you’ll excuse us, I want to visit the river to take a bath. Cody?”

“It’ll be freezing this time of year,” Cody pointed out, but when Obi-Wan set out, leaving a moody Skywalker and a blushing Tano behind, he was right at his husband’s side. Just like always.

[dont-tempt-me-frodo]

Supernatural AU

So I’ve been playing with this concept for a while now and have finally started writing short snippets. Throwing this out into the void to see what sticks basically. Might actually write this properly some day. Who knows. 

Notes for this au - Castiel is about but not nearly as present in Dean’s life as in the show. Other than that, it runs fairly close to the shows arc. Except when it doesn't. 

Notes for this short - set late season 4 (On The Head Of A Pin). Alastair who?

Enough waffling. Have a Dean/Orias snippet. TW: torture (but nothing too graphic) 

This was his fault.

Dean knew he shouldn’t feel guilty. Orias was a demon. A very powerful, relishes in chaos, maliciously evil, demon. He’d seen the carnage Orias left in his wake. Had to contain the aftermath of some of his more vicious kills. But over the last two years, since making the deal with him to save Sam’s life, Dean had gotten to know Orias a little.

They’d drank together in a bar once. When Dean was too exhausted, too tired of being lonely, desperate for some sort of company. The demon had a fantastic sense of humour that Dean couldn’t help but get swept up in, as well as a keen eye and could spot a hustler a million miles away which had led to Dean witnessing the best hustlers-being-hustled-at-pool he had ever seen.

Orias was very different to a lot of the demons Dean had encountered. And… he was handsome. Short brown hair that looked almost auburn in certain lights, clear blue eyes, a soft jawline. He didn’t want to admit it, but he actually felt... something when he was around Orias and for Dean, that was huge. Especially with everything going on at the moment, especially since... coming back from hell.

Orias had even helped them out on occasion, more out of spite for his own kind than any sort of loyalty or friendship towards Dean but the Winchester couldn’t knock that the demon has been invaluable. But then, Dean had accidentally led the angels to him and now Orias was strapped by his wrists to a rack in the middle of a very complex demon trap with Uriel bearing down on him. One of the angel’s hands clamped to the demon’s throat, burning the flesh underneath, the other was buried deep inside his chest, prodding around in his very essence. The scream that ripped from Orias as he struggled curdled Dean’s blood, and he did, he felt guilty. This was his fault.

Dean had point blank refused to torture Orias for information, so Uriel, with a gleam in his eyes, had been more than happy to step up.

Dean was standing in the corridor outside the room, deliberately not looking through the meshed window as Orias’ scream reverberated off the walls. The Winchester was trying not to remember the pain of an angel’s touch, his own burn scar on his arm tingling unpleasantly.

When an angel touches a pure demon, it leaves a mark. He knew that Orias wasn’t possessing some poor sod. His body was his own. He was stronger and more powerful than most demons and Dean still didn’t fully understand it, but at the moment it didn’t matter because he was at the mercy of Uriel and his attempts of resisting the angel were failing.

“Come on. Let go. Let me in,” Uriel twisted his hand inside Orias’ chest and the demon’s scream climbed an octave, “that’s it. Come on demon. Tell me what you know. Tell me about the last seal.”

Dean wasn’t entirely sure how long Urial tortured Orias. It could have been hours, could have been days. But eventually the strain became too much, the angel too powerful, the demon too exhausted, and Orias broke.

“Lilith!” he screeched, “Lilith breaks the last seal!”

Uriel let him go, removing both his hands and Orias slumped forwards with a shudder. The only thing keeping him up were the braces around his wrists.

Dean felt sick to the stomach.

The angel strode out of the room with a smirk, quirking a brow at Dean and leering at him as he sauntered past. The Winchester ignored Uriel’s comment, eyes firmly fixed on the demon trembling in the other room.

Dean stood there.... for a long time. Guilt churning his gut. And another feeling. One he couldn’t place. Burning away in his chest.

He took a long breath and forced himself into the room.

Orias flinched as the door clicked shut, his head snapping up, his blue eyes barely focusing on Dean’s face. He looked scared. And that twisted painfully in Dean’s stomach.

“Fuck off Dean,” Orias muttered, hanging his head again, his entire body shaking.

“I... I’m sorry. It... it wasn’t meant to be you.” Dean hated how pathetic that apology sounded, and the demon’s lip curled.

“Brilliant. Now I feel loads better.” Orias’ voice was thin and pained.

“Orias...” Dean approached rigidly, pausing at the edge of the demon trap chalked onto the floor. He could see the sweat rolling off Orias’ brow, the skin of his wrists rubbed raw by his bonds, the livid handprint burn that covered the left side of his neck with the thumb just above his Adam’s apple, the fingers coming up over his jaw and onto his lower cheek. The demon’s breathing was laboured and the shudders that rolled through him rattled the metal rack he was strapped to.

“You can’t trust them,” Orias grit out, lifting his head and fixing now black eyes on the Winchester, “the angels. You can’t trust them, Dean. They’ve been lying to you.”

“What are you talking about?” A cold crept down Dean’s spine.

“Sam is Lucifer’s vessel. Who do you think is Michael’s? Huh? The Michael Sword. Think about it,” Orias sneered, “Lucifer, younger brother to Michael. Sam, younger brother to you.”

The realisation hit Dean like a ton of bricks and his knees went weak. He grabbed onto the pipes lining the wall to catch himself.

He had absolutely no reason not to believe Orias. It had occurred to him a little while ago that the demon was the only person in his life who had never once lied to him or betrayed him. He knew he shouldn’t, but he’d found comfort in that. Yes, Orias was a soldier of hell, but Dean knew he could trust his word.

“I’m Michael’s vessel.” He ran a hand over his face, “It all... it makes sense now. Why the angels are so-”

He was cut off by Orias tugging at his shackles and whimpering in pain, trying to curl in on himself with his eyes squeezed tight shut.

“Please,” the demon sounded so broken, and it hurt, physically ached in Dean’s heart, “just leave me alone. Please just go.”

Dean turned to hurry back towards the door, stomach in knots, heart thundering in his chest but he slammed to a halt as Orias choked back another whimper and he spun to face the demon.

“I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t know how yet, but I’ll figure it out,” he promised, blazing green eyes meeting watery blue.

After a moment Orias barked out a laugh.

“I’ll hold you to that Deanie bean,” he forced a grin through another wave of pain, “you owe me that much at least.”

Dean gave him a nod, determination burning through him. No matter the consequences, he would get Orias somewhere safe because something deep in his soul was telling him that he needed this demon, and right now, Orias needed him. He didn’t understand it. Couldn’t comprehend it. But it was what he knew. And who was he if he were to ignore his gut?

I’ll get you out, he promised again silently, and he was starting to form a plan. He just had to hope luck was on his side.