#if they had really known what they were doing Sam getting that tattoo back would have been a THING on screen

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Remember when they burnt off Sam's anti possession tattoo in 9.10 Road Trip and didn't bother to confirm on screen that he had it back until 13.19 Funeralia.

[sukunasteeth]

Picking You Up From Work

Sukuna leans on the bumper of his Camaro, hoping a drop of rain doesn’t land perfectly on the tip of his cigarette and snuff it out. He’s pretending not to watch the front door of your workplace, like an anxious dog waiting for his owner to come home, but it’s ten minutes past the time you said you’d be out, and he was ready to take you to his apartment and settle down for the night. It had been a long day- he wanted to forget it in the taste of your whimpering on his tongue.

Customers pass him on their way into your workplace. Sukuna wonders briefly what has them whispering to each other and sneaking glances over at him: the nearly sixty year old car or the man covered in tattoos leaning against it?

Fifteen minutes pass before he checks his phone again. It was unlike you to be late, you knew Sukuna had a pet peeve of not being on time and, despite how hairbrained you were, he knew you tried to meet him halfway. Looking over his shoulder, he peeks at the flowers sitting on the passenger seat waiting for you. If he had known you'd be a minute, he would have put a splash of water in the bottom of the flower wrap holding the bouquet together. He clicks his tongue in disappointment, hoping they don’t wilt by the time you get to them.

“I’m sorry, I have to get going-” Your voice chimes through the sound of the rainfall like a cleansing bell, bringing Sukuna’s attention snapping back towards the exit of your work.

You're standing halfway between his car and the building, directly in the middle of the parking lot. A man dressed in a similar uniform to yours is standing a little too close to you for Sukuna’s comfort.

He flicks the ash off of the end of his cigarette and takes a drag.

~

“Are you sure?”

It’s been a long day.

“We could go get some coffee and just hangout for a bit-”

A really long day.

Granted: working customer service you expected long days. Grating days. Days in which you questioned your faith in humanity. But, that all usually ended when you clocked out for the night and headed home. You could easily forget all of it at the door. Tonight, however, the annoyance of having to save face continues.

You had been trying to give this guy a hint all day as he followed you around, desperate to catch your attention and doing anything to gain a brownie point. It was really starting to tick you off.

Not only that, you knew Sukuna was waiting for you somewhere in the parking lot and it was only a matter of time before this man was decapitated before your very eyes.

Dammit, you just wanted to go home.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I’ve got someone waiting for me. Have a good night!” You try to wave him off, offering a polite smile before you turn your back to him.

"Who's waiting for you?" Sam calls out, still not catching the hint.

Before you can reply, a hand reaches around your waist, securing you to a familiar side- but you've been on edge all day, just waiting for your coworker to make one bold wrong move. On instinct, you snatch the wrist at your hip with a deathgrip before realization is able to save you.

Your eyes whip up to meet Sukuna's smirking gaze, his smile flashing into that serpentine grin that makes your fight or flight mode go off.

"Ohoho-" He chuckles, and there’s a mischievous darkness lurking beneath it. 

"'Kuna!" You ease your grip immediately, cradling his hand in sympathy. Part of you is instantly relieved he’s here to sweep you away, and the other part is sweating over how he’s going to handle this situation.  

Sukuna could be a bit possessive. 

"Good grip." He purrs, snatching up your own hand instead and continuing his original plan of tucking you securely into his side. "You turned your back to the scum bag, though." He tsks quietly. "My brat should know better."

Sukuna easily turns the both of you around, lifting you slightly to move without tripping you. You’re forced to face your coworker once again, although you notice that your unease has dissipated with Sukuna next to you now. 

“Is this...? A-Are you guys…” Sam sneers at Sukuna's sudden appearance, his poorly shaven lip curling up in disgust. 

Sukuna merely hums in response, “Every night while you’re wet dreamin’ about it.”

“S-Sukuna!” You interrupt, squeezing his fingers. Heat burns in your ears and you can feel them going pink under Sam’s now incredulous stare. “Is… my… yes.” You finish quietly, trying to avoid either one of the men watching you. Letting people into your personal life was not something you liked to do, even though you're sure your fiance would love it if you screamed it from the rooftops.

“Aw,” Sukuna makes a fond, sentimental noise and you press your elbow into his rib cage when you hear a mischievous lilt to his tone. 

“You and this guy?” Sam gives Sukuna an obvious once over, crossing his gangly arms over his chest in disapproval. “He’s not even your type!”

Oh.

Maybe this guy deserved a good beating.

Even you were too afraid to look at your fiance at that moment, you could tell by the look on Sam’s face that Sukuna wasn’t happy. 

The scariest part about Sukuna getting angry, was the lack of reaction. There was no glaring. No muscles going rigid. No shouting. There was only this overwhelming sense of danger, like a prey animal realizing it was about to meet its predator. 

Sam tries to fix it, sensing the murderous intent hanging in the air, but his ego still tries to bite: “Look, dude, I don’t mean any harm. I just think she needs a gentleman.”

…

Now that piques your interest.

You need a gentleman?

You almost completely forget about Sukuna for a moment, your head snapping in your coworker's direction with breakneck speed. 

“Gentleman?” You repeat, scoffing. “Are you fucking kidding me? You’ve been breathing down my neck like a fucking animal in heat all day. Practically begging for half a second of female attention in any form you can get it and you’re standing here-after trying to follow me to my car like some fucking pervert- and you’re trying to tell me you’re a gentleman?”

When you try to take a step forward, you're reminded of Sukuna's unrelenting grip on your hip bone, holding you in place.

“Calm down- all I wanted to do was walk you to your car.” Your ill-favored coworker rolls his eyes, although you can sense his discomfort in the way he takes a few steps away from you. His ego speaks again, and you see red. “You don’t have to be such a bitch about it.” 

What.

“Alright, alright” Sukuna is shoving something cold and jagged into your hands, distracting the sudden confused rage that washes over you. Before you can expel it, he unfastens his hand from around your waist and nudges you in the direction behind him. “Go start the car.”

You blink up at him, taken back by the entire situation. His keys dangle in your frozen fingers, clinking together. 

Sukuna knows you're mad. Knows the only thing on your mind is curb stomping the man in front of you. And you know he won't let you get anywhere near that.

“Come on, Duckie.” He purses his lower lip in a mock pout when you don't turn to leave immediately. There’s something dark glittering behind the faux playfulness in his eyes, reassuring you that nobody was going to get off easy, asking you politely to turn your gaze from what he was about to do.

His calloused thumb sweeps over your fingertips, gliding over the deep red nail polish there. The kiss he presses against your knuckles is one meant for royalty. Soft and sweet. And incredibly persuasive. “I just got these nails done. Lemme keep ‘em pretty for ya.” 

~

When Sukuna opens the driver side door and slides in, fifteen minutes have passed. There’s a smear of blood on his cheek that matches the one on his knuckles, the red catches his eye in the review mirror. He licks his finger, using his spit to try and wipe it off before he turns to meet you, smiling sweetly. 

“What should we get for dinner?"

[idesofrevolution]

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

[ofthecaravel]

You Don't Go To Parties

A Danny Wagner/Sam Kiszka fic

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: Danny hates going to parties with Sam. It's Sam he likes.

Tags: Pining, angsttttt, fluff, the girls are fightingggg

Words: 3.3k

A/N: ...hi. I don't know. Nothing wild, just a little conflict and then conflict resolution. Inspired by 'You Don't Go To Parties' by 5SOS (which you should really listen to while you read it.)

Let me know what you think!

~~~

It was the evening of Sam’s 21st birthday, but Danny already knew he was a cruel drunk. 

He had grown accustomed to a routine. They’d show up at the party together, Sam would stick like him to glue through his first and second drinks, staring up at him with doe eyes and a smile Danny had learned to associate with disappointment.  By his third drink, he was halfway across the house draped over a girl he had never met, most times leaving without telling Danny. But it was worse when he did see him before he left, when they’d make eye contact while Sam was leaving. He’d bring the girl to his lips once before slipping out the door, never peeling his eyes away, leaving Danny clenching his jaw and wondering why in the hell it made him feel so sick. Danny could’ve told him he didn’t want to go to parties anymore, but it was hard to say no to Sam. Sometimes, it was hard for him to say anything at all to Sam. 

Luckily, this party was at Sam’s house, so it was far less likely for him to disappear completely. Danny had been helping set up since the morning because, in typical Kiszka fashion, Sam had waited until the day of his birthday to actually get any party stuff together. But Danny didn’t mind. He liked ferrying Sam around from store to store, listening to him chatter from the passenger seat with his legs on the dash and a cigarette bobbing between his lips while he yelled at passing cars. He liked their bickering back and forth while he hung streamers in all the high places Sam couldn’t reach, with Sam complaining and blowing hot air into balloons all with a grin on his face. 

“You just like putting me to work,” Danny accused after Sam had curled up on the couch with a mountain of balloons on his lap that he claimed kept him from getting up to show Danny exactly where he wanted things. 

“Absolutely I do,” Sam agreed, tossing a slow moving balloon at him. “And you love the work.”

“You’re the real work,” Danny said in faux exasperation.

“Exactly,” Sam affirmed.

Danny rolled his eyes and turned back to the crepe strand in his hands, pretending to be annoyed. But it was true, wasn’t it? 

He had a feeling Sam sort of knew that he loved him in a way that he didn’t like to think about. Maybe he had known from a very early point and decided it didn’t need to be acknowledged, and Danny was more than happy with that. He planned on going the rest of his life without letting Sam in on a few key feelings he harbored towards him. Sam was his best friend. But there were some things that he didn’t need to hear. Danny worked to make his life as easy as possible, and keeping him out of the loop on some aspects of his inner monologue was among the easiest of tasks. 

“This party is going to be the party of all parties,” Sam piped up from behind him, bringing back the lighthearted atmosphere. 

“You’re going to be the drunkest man in Michigan,” Danny laughed. 

“In the United States, more like.”

“In the northern hemisphere.”

“In the world!” Sam argued determinedly. “How dare you doubt me.”

“Whatever, man, but I’m not cleaning up your puke,” Danny teased. “Again.”

“That was one time,” Sam grumbled. “Let it go already, God.”

“Never,” Danny grinned. “And no tattoos!” 

“You’re no fun.”

“How many people did you even invite?”

“Everyone,” Sam replied, a smile in his voice that Danny didn’t need to look to know was there. 

“Lord have mercy on your security deposit.”

“Party of all parties, man,” Sam echoed. “Just you wait.”

By the time the sun had faded and the house had reached full capacity, it really did seem like Sam had invited everyone they knew. Or maybe everyone in the world. It was shoulder to shoulder, a sea of smoke and laughs and liquor heavy breath that Danny couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose at. Danny always got a rush being swept up in the chaos that Sam brought to his life, and he had no problem being pleasantly buzzed and chatting up all his friends. However, after a few hours, he was sweaty and a little dizzy and his social battery was starting to drain faster and faster. As he looked out over the crowds, he just wanted his best friend. He thought about how quickly Sam had shot down his idea of getting drunk and hanging out on the roof, just the two of them.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Sam had scoffed. “It’s a big birthday. It has to be special.”

Danny had laughed and agreed, even though the idea had seemed pretty special to him. He knew what Sam meant, of course, but he replayed a daydream of what it might be like if they had just laid out under the night sky and a cool breeze and talked until the sun came up as he looked around for him. He managed to track down Jake and Josh, but they were as high as Mars and had no clue where Sam had gone off to. Danny was pretty sure they didn’t have a clue about much of anything as he listened to them squabble and pass a blunt back and forth, so he bid them a polite goodbye and kept searching.

On a whim, Danny wandered upstairs. The guest rooms reserved for Jake and Josh had been firmly locked to prevent any hookups, but Sam’s room was open just a crack. When Danny lightly opened the door, he could see the glow of the lamp on his bedside table and the window open. The light of the lamp lent him some vision in the pitch black of the late night, and he saw a familiar head reclined against the slope of the roof and the smell of cigarette smoke tinting the air. Danny let himself in, navigating the familiar layout of the room easily in the dark. He stuck his head out the window, holding back a sigh at the feel of the cool air against the sweat that had settled on his skin. And there was Sam, laid out against the weathered shingles with his hands behind his head and a cigarette stuck to his bottom lip.

“I thought you said this would be no fun,” Danny said quietly and Sam smiled with his eyes closed, as quiet and somber as Danny had ever seen him. Awake, that is. 

“’s not so bad,” Sam hummed, his foot tapping to an unheard rhythm. “Join me?”

It was a command (it was never a request if it was coming from Sam) so Danny hauled his tall frame through the window in a practiced way that never failed to scrape his knee ever so slightly. He left a foot of space between them, stretching out to be as comfortable as he could be on the scratchy surface. It was the warmest April on record, but the chill of the night air still made his skin prickle. Still, it was far more refreshing than the cramped, steamy environment in the house that thrummed below them.

“How is it in there?” Sam asked after a minute of silence.

“Hot,” Danny answered, flipping through his senses. “Loud. Everybody’s in good spirits. You were right, it’s the party of all parties.”

“Good, good,” Sam murmured agreeably, taking a long pull of his cigarette and sending a big plume of smoke up. Danny watched it to prevent himself from turning to try and read Sam’s expression.

“How long have you been up here?” Danny asked tentatively.

“Mmm,” Sam pondered, his foot tapping a little faster. “45 minutes? Hour?”

“Why?”

Danny heard the fabric of Sam’s jacket scrape noisily against the shingles as he shrugged, and he was just drunk enough to be annoyed at his lack of explanations.

“Are you feeling okay?” Danny pried further and Sam laughed mysteriously through his closed lips, finally lolling his head to the side and opening his eyes. His pupils were big and his lashes were starry and suddenly Danny felt all the alcohol in his veins slam into him all at once. His fingers curled against the air, holding onto nothing.

“You’re my best friend,” Sam breathed.

“You’re high,” Danny replied, deciding it as he said it, watching the frantic way Sam’s eyes leapt over his face. There was no other explanation for it.

“You were right,” Sam continued. “This is special.”

“I don’t know,” Danny laughed weakly, feeling heat rise in his cheeks. “This is a mostly one sided conversation.”

“Ask me anything,” Sam slurred, turning fully onto his side, cradling his head against his hands curled under his ear. “Quick, before I wake up.”

“What?”

“Before I’m sober,” Sam giggled. “You know what I mean. I’ll be honest.”

“I thought you were always honest,” Danny retorted. “You pride yourself on it.”

“I’m a liar.”

“Alright, fine,” Danny agreed, his heart racing. “Why aren’t you downstairs?”

“I don’t like parties,” Sam whispered conspiratorially. Danny barked a laugh.

“You love parties! You drag me to one damn near every weekend. You’ve been plotting this one since last year.”

“I love having an excuse to get drunk,” Sam explained, his words still blending. “I love being able to disappear in a crowd. I love making connections with zero risk.”

“You love leaving early to go fuck randoms,” Danny sneered, his lip curling. 

“Yeah,” Sam chuckled breathily. “I especially love never talking to them again.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier.”

“Than what? Actually committing to something?”

“100 times easier,” Sam agreed. 

“I guess,” Danny said, not wanting to linger on the topic of Sam waking up in a different bed every weekend. He thought about it enough already. “If you hate parties so much, then why do you always go?”

“You always say yes when I ask,” Sam answered plainly. Danny squinted at him.

“Sam, I fucking hate going to parties with you.”

There it was. He’d been dying to say it, and he felt the sting of it on his tongue as it left his mouth. And yet, Sam didn’t even flinch, a smile still ghosting his lips, his eyes happy and blank.

“I know,” Sam whispered. 

“I know you know,” Danny snapped. “So, why?”

“Because I like that…” Sam trailed off, flipping onto his stomach to take a final drag of his cigarette and smother it against the windowsill. “I like that we go together.”

“What?”

“I like that you always show up 5 minutes early,” Sam continued, resting his chin in his hand, his elbow digging into the asphalt. “Because you know I’ll be late. I like that you honk the horn and threaten to drive away, but never do. I like that we go halfsies on the music we listen to on the way there, even if it’s only a 10 minute drive.”

Sam paused, his eyes closing and his mouth cracking a dreamy smile. 

“I like that people know that we’re going to be there together so they leave us alone for that first hour,” Sam went on, Danny’s stomach flipping. “I like…I like that there are people around that know I’m a lightweight so they don’t look twice when I’m all up in your business.”

“Sam, stop,” Danny whispered. He felt sick. He didn’t know why.

“I like that you stay, even when I go,” Sam persisted, his voice soft. “I like that you look for me in the crowd when I run away.”

“Stop,” Danny repeated, covering his eyes with his arm, staring up into the weight of his skin against his burning eyes. He felt drunker than he knew he was. “You’re being mean.”

“I’m being honest,” Sam disagreed. “Better late than never.”

“I don’t even know what you’re saying,” Danny laughed, tipping his head back ever so slightly so that any tears that pushed their way out would slip back into his lash line. 

“I’m just saying that parties are better than being alone with you sometimes,” Sam said, and Danny took it like an arrow in the gut. He took his arm off his face and sat up suddenly, glaring at Sam.

“So I’m not your best friend,” Danny spat, hurt. “I’m just your fucking lapdog?”

Sam blinked in surprise. Danny threw the look right back at him.

“What?” Sam slurred, and Danny could’ve strangled him over it. 

“You don’t like hanging out with me?”

“No, that’s not-”

“That’s what it fucking sounds like!”

They had both sobered up in five seconds flat, staring at each other fiercely.

“Just forget it,” Sam said hurriedly, raking his fingers through his hair in an anxious practice Danny had seen since middle school. “I’m drunk. I’m sorry.”

“No, no, say what you mean, Sammy,” Danny hissed, a bubble of suppressed frustration rising to the surface. “Tell me what you really think of me. That you just like having a yes-man to follow you around. That’s what you meant, right?”

Every insecurity Danny had had in their friendship had been unleashed, and Sam sputtered wordlessly as Danny’s face flushed angrily.

“Say it!”

God, Danny hated fucking parties.

“I can’t!” Sam yelled, his voice shrieking in a desperate way that Danny had never heard, and it caught him so off guard he physically recoiled. Sam swallowed and looked out over the tops of the houses, his skin lit up golden in the lamplight and his profile so painfully pretty that Danny wanted to roll right off the roof to avoid looking at it. 

“This is a perfect example of why I have to leave you at parties when I’m drunk,” Sam finally said, his voice oddly thick with emotion as he laughed tunelessly. “I’m bound to say something dumb and ruin everything.”

“So say the dumb thing,” Danny replied. “I’d rather you say it than we pretend like this never happened.”

Sam looked down at the space between them. It felt like miles.

“I’m scared to be alone with you sometimes, that’s all,” Sam murmured.

“Why?” Danny asked for the millionth time in the past 10 minutes. 

“I just…” Sam tried to meet his eye but couldn’t, instead stopping halfway and staring at the fervent thrum of a heartbeat in Danny’s throat. “I just worry that I’m going to start something.”

“Like…a fight?”

“Like a-a something. I don’t know what it would be. But it would be different and scary. And I know you’re scared of it too.”

All the breath rushed out of Danny’s lungs. He couldn’t quite grasp what he was hearing. He was certain he was just interpreting it to be what he wanted to hear.

“Then you know that maybe I…” Danny’s mouth had never felt so dry. “I want it too.”

“I know you do,” Sam said quietly. “I’m not stupid. I wish you’d just say it.”

For a minute, they just listened to the muffled sounds of the party still raging below, frozen in their place.

“I like you, Sam,” Danny croaked, barely audible. “A lot. Is that-”

“Yeah,” Sam cut him off, his lips finally tilting up ever so slightly. “How long?”

“Forever,” Danny breathed, meaning it. The word hung in the air for so long that they could almost see it. Finally, Sam looked up at him, somehow shy. Danny didn’t know he could be shy.

“You?”

“Not forever,” Sam admitted, his pupils still huge, his eyes round and doll-like in the dark. “High school, maybe. I don’t know. I tried not to think about it.”

“Same,” Danny chuckled, the relief rushing through him. It had to be 4 or 5 am now, but he had never been more awake. “I don’t even know what it is sometimes.”

“I don’t blame you,” Sam laughed too, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his cheek against his knee. “I’m a lot.”

“Nah,” Danny whispered, reaching out and playfully punching Sam in the shoulder, even that briefest of contact setting his skin on fire. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

Sam gave him another shy smile, and Danny realized that he was quickly becoming addicted to this bashful version of Sam that was revealing itself. 

“Hey,” Danny said, harnessing another rush of adrenaline and scooting closer to Sam, who tensed ever so slightly when Danny’s leg brushed against his shoe. “Happy birthday.”

“Thanks,” Sam rolled his eyes with a grin. “You wanna know something weird?”

“I don’t think anything will ever be weirder than the conversation we just had,” Danny pointed out and Sam full on laughed, his smoky breath puffing a cloud in the chilly air. 

“That’s so true,” Sam agreed, his eyes still glittering with uncried tears that had bloomed during Danny’s yelling spell. “But the weird thing is I’ve actually sort of wished for this. I mean, not this exact scenario, but the past couple years on my birthday, when I blow out the candles, I always wish that I’ll finally get the balls to say something to you.”

“Really?” Danny asked quietly and Sam nodded, finding himself relaxing under Danny’s stare for the first time in a really, really long time.

“You’re my best friend,” Sam repeated, echoing his drunken declaration. 

“You’re mine,” Danny agreed, his breath hitching in his throat as he cautiously drifted his face closer to Sam, who nervously glanced at his lips before making eye contact again. 

“Yeah,” Sam breathed, looking down at Danny’s lips again, his heart slamming so fast it stole all his breath. He tilted his chin out and batted his lashes, wishing that one of them would just take the leap. He watched Danny’s eyes dance over him in the careful, needy way that he was so used to.

“Can you promise me one thing?” Danny asked, so close that the warmth of his breath fanned over the high planes of Sam’s cheekbones. 

“Sure,” Sam agreed blindly, a little desperately.

“Don’t invite me to any more parties,” Danny begged, knitting his dark brows. “And don’t go home with anyone else ever again.”

“That’s two things,” Sam teased, reaching a brave hand up and cupping Danny’s cheek. His skin was red hot and Sam’s cool fingertips melted against it, his fingers drifting into the wild curls at Danny’s temple as his thumb swiped over the apple of his cheek.

“Promise me,” Danny whined, his arm snaking over Sam’s waist, his large hand resting gingerly on the sharp bones of Sam’s hip, almost afraid that too much pressure would crush him. 

“I promise,” Sam murmured as the space between them finally closed when Danny leaned over and caught Sam’s lips in a gentle, nervous kiss. It was Sam who applied the pressure, sitting up further and slotting their noses together while he lightly dug his nails into his skin, drinking in the lingering scent of Danny’s cologne and the sharp, weedy sweetness on his tongue. 

Danny, on the other hand, was convinced he was dreaming. Sam’s sleek waves of chestnut hair kept grazing his cheek, his head spinning when he caught a whiff of the pricey coconut shampoo he used and boasted about religiously. His lips were as smooth and soft as Danny had daydreamed about, and when he nipped his bottom lip between his teeth experimentally, he chuckled with satisfaction when Sam let out a muffled yelp and hum. He grasped Sam’s hip firmer and pulled him over onto his lap, moving him as easily as if he were made of paper, but they broke apart with a start when a shingle skidded under Sam’s hand. 

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this on the roof,” Danny panted and Sam laughed, nodding in agreement but making no move to climb off of him, instead wrapping his arm around Danny’s neck and pushing a stray curl off his face. There was something unspoken between them where they both knew damn well that they’d stay up on the roof until the first rosy rays of dawn started to peek over the skyline.

And as he looked up at the beautiful boy in his lap, Danny had never been so happy to not be at a party.   

~~

A/N: Questions? Comments? Concerns? I'd be happy to keep writing every once in a while if y'all wanted. No smut, though...

Taglist: @s0livagant  @holdingup-fallingsky @t00turnttrauma @the-starcatcher @streamsofstardust @spark-my-nature @joshkiszkashusband

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

No Comfort in Demonic Possession

Summary - Part 26 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist 

A/N: I just want to apologise in advance for any future delays in the chapters or scheduling. I will try my best to keep up; however, my university semester returns soon and so I will have a little less time on my hands, especially once my assessments start piling up.

You stand on the curb scanning the traffic frantically for a cab while listening to the dial tone on your phone. After way too many rings for your liking, Sam finally picks up.

“Hey, Y/N. What’s up? Dean piss you off already?”

“I don’t have time for your sibling rivalry right now, Sam. A demon took Dean. I gotta get him back. It’s all my fault it was a trap. I should’ve seen it. I’m so stupid.”

“Enough! If a demon took Dean we don’t have time for the guilt and blame game. Tell me everything, I’m on my way.”

A taxi finally drives past so you wave your arm out to get the driver’s attention. When the taxi driver pulls over you tell him the name of the hotel where you and Dean were staying and get in. You can hear Sam moving around and packing in the background but you continue knowing he can multitask. 

“We were investigating the chapel and we split up. We thought it would be fine. We thought it was a spirit that was after recently married men. At least that’s the information Andre gave us, but now I’m starting to think he’s been possessed since he called me a few days ago. It really would explain a lot. I just can’t believe I led us right into a trap.”

“Hey, you didn’t know. How could you? It’s gonna be okay, I promise. Just tell me what else happened.”

“When I was casing the chapel for EMF I got cornered by a demon who claimed she’s been tracking me since before I lost the baby. She said her boss wanted it, she was quite specific about wanting the Winchester heir. I never even thought about it that way, it was just our baby. But now I just have a thousand more questions that need answers before I can even consider trying again. I know you’ve got demon blood, but Dean?”

“We’ll figure it out. What do you know about Dean getting taken?”

“We split up and I haven’t heard from him. He’s not answering his phone. The demon said someone had him. I sent him straight into a trap.”

“There is no way you could have known. And Dean’s a damn good hunter too, he knows what he’s doing. And I promise even if it was a trap he won’t blame you. I guarantee he’s way more worried about you right now and is fighting his way back to you. In the meantime, just do what you can. Check on your friends and keep working. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Dean’s strong, he’s gonna be alright. We’ll find him, I promise. Just be careful and stay safe.”

“Thanks, Sam, I’ll be careful,” you say and then you hang up. 

As soon as the driver pulls up in front of your hotel you hand him a $50 note and jump out. You impatiently wait for the elevator, tapping your fingers on your thigh as you watch the little illuminated numbers count down to one. The second the doors slide open you slip in and press the number 12 and the close doors button. After what feels like an eternity the doors finally slide open again and you rush down the hall to Andre and Danny’s room and knock loudly and continuously, impatience and fear overtaking all of your senses. After a few seconds, the door swings open to reveal Danny. Relief washes over you briefly as you push your way into the room looking for Andre. 

“Are you okay?” Danny asks.

“Is Andre here?”

“He’s in the shower, why?”

“He hasn’t got any tattoos by any chance? One like this?” you ask as you lift your pant leg to show him the anti-possession tattoo on your ankle. 

“No, why? He told me a little about what you guys used to do, is he alright?”

“I think he may have been possessed by a demon, I’m not sure for how long or if he still is. I need to make sure he’s okay … Because it’s all my fault.”

“Possessed?”

“Yeah, demons can take over human vessels and make them do and say things that they normally wouldn’t. I think a demon is or was using him to get me here. But I promise I can exorcise it and he’ll be back to himself without any complications.”

“How can I help? How do we tell if he’s possessed?”

“Easiest is holy water, but I’m guessing you don’t have any of that on hand, so if he’s possessed he will flinch at the name of God. Just act natural and get him to come out here. If he is possessed I’ll exorcise the demon and he’ll be fine.”

While Danny goes into the ensuite to lure his boyfriend out you search the kitchenette for salt, you only find a few single-serve sachets, you just hope it’s enough. Then you pull out your phone and scroll through your files for the copy of the exorcism Sam gave you. Just as you find it Danny and Andre come into the room. 

“Cristo,” you say firmly as they walk in. When he doesn’t flinch you breathe a small sigh of relief. But you’re not entirely convinced so you turn back to the kitchen and fill a glass with water and then with your back still to them, you tip one of the salt sachets into the water. You swirl it around a few times and then turn back to the boys and hand the glass to Danny. He gives you a sceptical look so you subtly nod your head towards Andre and he holds the glass up to Andre’s lips to encourage him to drink it. You both watch him cautiously while he drinks it but his only reaction is to scrunch up his face in disgust. 

“I’ll have a glass sans the salt now if you please,” Andre says. Then he adds, “I’m not possessed anymore. The filthy bitch smoked out while I was in the shower.”

You nod and then show off your ankle tattoo again, “I told you to get one of these a long time ago.”

Andre nods with a grimace, “Yeah, you’re right. I think Danny and I have our afternoon plans sorted. Time to find a tattoo parlour. Are you good, where’s Dean?”

“He’s … following up on the case you uhh … the demon sent us. I’m gonna go meet up with him now. Do you mind if I borrow your car? I can drop you off at a tattoo shop on the way.”

“We can walk. There should be one on the boulevard. So, yeah, feel free to borrow the van,” Andre says as he walks over and hands you the keys. “I was conscious in there you know … I’m sorry about everything that was said. I wasn’t in control.”

“In control or not, I know how you feel about my choice of partner, the demon didn’t make that up. All things considered, it could’ve been much worse. Just make sure you both get that tattoo. You don’t have to hunt or want any part of this life but at least be smart and protect yourselves.”

They both nod and you walk out and make your way down to the car park to their hired van. On your way, you send Sam a quick text to say that your friends are safe and no longer possessed so you’re going to start looking for Dean. 

As you sit in the driver’s seat you realise you don’t even know where to start looking. All you have is the guy’s name from the marriage certificate earlier, but that’s also all Dean had when he left the chapel. Hopeless, depressing thoughts start to nibble their way into your heart and mind. In an effort to dispel them, you turn on the engine and just start driving. You know you won’t find anything sitting here in the hotel car park, the least you can do is drive around and try to find Baby. Even if the demons took him elsewhere it’s the best chance you have at retracing his steps and tracking them down. 

You spend the next hour driving up and down streets and through every hotel and motel car park you can find but unfortunately, there’s no sign of that beautiful Impala anywhere. With your heart racing and mind wandering to the darkest thoughts you pull over. Taking a few deep breaths you try to ground yourself and focus on the task at hand. 

You’re a hunter! You were a hunter before Dean and you can do this on your own now too. You’re good at your job, you can find him. 

Then after a few minutes of hyping yourself up, it’s like a lightbulb explodes in your head. You kick yourself for not thinking of it sooner rather than wasting time driving around endlessly. You pull out your phone and try to track the GPS on his phone. You wait a few seconds for it to ping, but nothing happens. In desperation, you try to call him again, but it goes straight to his voicemail. In a fit of frustration, you throw your phone onto the passenger seat and slam your hands on the steering wheel. Taking a few more deep breaths you try to calm yourself down and hype yourself up again. 

Come on, Y/N! Pull it together! Sam’s still hours out and Dean needs you! Dean wouldn’t give up if it was you, he’ll be fighting to get back right now, so keep fighting for him. 

Once you finish your pep talk you put the car back in drive and start towards the hotel hoping you can come up with a plan before you get there. By the time you park the van back in its allotted bay your only plan is to treat this like any other case and start back at the top. 

Back in your room you pull out your laptop and start researching Cooper Gary from that girl’s marriage certificate. That’s the last thing you know Dean was doing so it seems like the only place you can start. You figure he would’ve taken the hands-on approach and gone door to door asking about him (forcefully if necessary) but that’s never been your style if you can avoid it. It’s not that you’re conflict-adverse, I mean you’re dating Dean Winchester for Christ’s sake, almost every day includes conflict. You just prefer not to bring too much attention to yourself in public in an attempt to keep the difficult and awkward questions to a minimum and keep innocent minds innocent. 

As you scroll through the results that come up for Cooper Gary you reach out for the stuffed bunny sitting on the bed beside you and squeeze it close to your chest. It gives you the slightest comfort but really only serves to make your heart ache even more for the man that gave it to you. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0, @nelachu2423

[spnhunter4life]

So Long

Summary: Jenna and Dean have known each other since she was 9 and he was 11. Their fathers often hunted together, so they grew up in next door motel rooms, keeping each other company and watching out for Sammy. They were inseparable until their dads inevitably fought and stopped working together. Shortly after Sam left for college, her father had been killed on a hunt and his dad had been more and more distant, so they started hunting together. In a world where everyone has a tattoo of their soulmate’s name that appears somewhere on them on their 16th birthday, it took them a ridiculous amount of time to figure things out.

Word Count: 4.6k

A/N: I’ve always really loved the soulmate cliché, so I decided to write one of my own. As I was figuring out the basics of what I wanted to do, Niall Horan’s song So Long came on my playlist. It’s a beautiful song and I realized how well it fit the story I was trying to come up with, so this is based off of it.

A/N 2: So I just jumped back on the Supernatural bandwagon. While I was never truly off the wagon per se, it was more of a background appreciation for it while I was interested in other things. But I finally convinced myself to finish season 15 and now I'm all in again.

I remembered this fic I started like four years ago. I never posted it because it wasn't finished. It's still not, but I went back and reread what I have so far, and I'm actually super happy with it. So, that being said, I'm going to admit that I'm a super inconsistent writer. I might be super motivated to write for a few days (which I definitely am right now) and then not write again for a year. That's half the reason I never posted it. The other half is because, while I don't actually write things down often, I make stories in my head constantly and I've realized that I often go back and change details to fit the new direction I've decided to go in. And so I didn't want to post this until I was all done in case I wanted to make changes. But I decided I can edit and let people know things changed if it comes to that. I'm hoping if I can get some people to see this and get a little feedback, it will keep me motivated to write. All feedback is appreciated! Tell me what you liked. Tell me what could improve. Let me know if you find any grammar errors or inconsistencies. As long as it’s said nicely, I’m glad for absolutely any comments you might have.

My plan is to update weekly to give myself time to get the next chapters done. The second chapter is currently done/super close to done. Not sure if I want to add more to it or move it to another chapter. I’ve got a decent start on chapter 3 also. With the outline I have currently, this story is set to be 8 chapters. That could easily change though. 

Also, shoutout to @jerkbitchidjitassbutt​. You probably don’t even remember, but you read this chapter over for me way back when I first wrote it, so thanks for the support you gave me then!

Sorry for the super long note, and thanks for reading this far if you did!

Series Masterlist

Looking back through changes Where we started from Don’t know about you but I Knew it wasn’t wrong

Ages 16 and 17 June 25, 1996

I woke up, not exactly expecting to feel different, but maybe hoping. Today I would find out who my soulmate was. At least, I’d get a first name. Even though I knew it was stupid to get my hopes up, I couldn’t help but secretly want it to be Dean’s name. I was also nervous. Did I really want to know? If it wasn’t Dean, how would I deal with the disappointment? But if it was Dean, how could I possibly approach a subject like that? And even then, it wouldn’t mean it was Dean Winchester I was meant to be with. There were other Deans in the world. And wouldn’t he have said something by now if my name was tattooed on him somewhere?

Taking a deep breath, I looked over all of the skin currently exposed by my pajamas. Nothing on my arms or legs from the knees down.  I looked at the clock and saw that it was already 9:30. I couldn’t believe I’d slept that long, that my dad had let me!

I jumped out of bed, grabbing my towel and clothes for the day, heading straight for the shower. I’d made one friend in this small Louisiana town, a very outgoing girl I’d bumped into while getting groceries with Sam and Dean. She’d been excited to meet someone new, saying all of her friends were on vacation for the summer, and she and I were supposed to meet up soon to spend the day together.

I started the shower to let the temperature adjust and then started the process of removing my clothes, checking each inch of revealed skin for a name. Nothing yet, then. Supposedly, the name showed up around the time of day you were born. I had no idea what time that was, so I would let Alyssa distract me for the day and check again tonight.

When I came out of the bathroom wearing shorts and a t-shirt with my hair in a ponytail to combat some of the summer heat, my dad was just closing the door, chocolate chip muffins, my favorite breakfast food, in his hand.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled. “How does it feel to be sixteen?” He asked this question every year, but this was the big year, and it held a little more weight behind it. “It feels… pretty much the same as every other year I guess.” I told him honestly. Other than my nerves being slightly on edge with the upcoming soulmate reveal, it felt like any other day. “What are you still doing here? I thought you and John would’ve left by now.”

“That was the original plan, but I couldn’t leave without seeing my daughter on her birthday. I wanted to have the chance to eat breakfast together. The case can wait a couple hours.” He told me, sitting down at the table.

“Where are those two shadows of yours?” He teased as I took a seat across from him and grabbed a muffin. I knew he wouldn’t ask about my tattoo. He didn’t like people prying into his life and he didn’t pry into mine. He knew I’d tell him if I wanted to.

“I have no idea,” I replied as I peeled the wrapper off my muffin. “I haven’t seen either of them, but I just got up. Thanks for letting me sleep in by the way.”

“I figured one day can’t hurt. But don’t think you can go slacking off. It’s back to morning runs and training after this.” He said before taking a bite of his own muffin. “I still don’t understand why those boys aren’t here. You three make such a big deal out of each other’s birthdays, I half expected them to break down the door.” He mused.

“Maybe they forgot. And we don’t make ‘such a big deal.’ One present and a movie night isn’t too much to ask. Besides, it’s mostly Sam. Dean always made a big deal about his birthdays growing up and so Sam learned to do the same for us.” I told him.

“Yeah but a bunch of kids scrounging up enough money to get those presents for each other is a big deal.” He said with a fond smile. Taking the last bite of his muffin, he stood and grabbed something off of the counter. “Speaking of presents,” he said as he handed it to me.

“Dad, you didn’t have to.” I told him as I grabbed it. 

“I know I didn’t, but it’s not every day your baby girl turns sixteen. It’s not much, but I thought you would enjoy it.” He replied a little awkwardly.

I grinned and wrapped my arms around him, Backstreet Boys CD clutched in my hand. I had found them on accident really. It was all Alyssa’s fault. I generally enjoyed the same music as Dean, but she had showed me one of their songs and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Dad had heard me humming it one day which led to an embarrassing confession.

“Don’t tell Dean.” I pleaded, knowing the endless teasing and likely judgment I would be on the receiving end of if he found out. “Oh, I wouldn’t dare.” Dad laughed, pulling away from the hug.

“I should probably go find him though,” I said, glancing at the clock. “I’m supposed to meet Alyssa soon and he said he’d drive me.”

“Have fun!” I heard him shout as I left our motel room. I saw the Impala parked by the room next door, so I knew he was here at least. Since Dean has legally been able to drive, John gave it to Dean and the two of them take either my dad’s truck or the one John had purchased after gifting Dean the Impala. As I raised my hand to knock, the door flew open.

“Oh!” John said, startled. “I was just going to tell your dad we need to get going. I’m glad you’re up.” Then he was in the motel room I’d just abandoned, not waiting for my response.

“Hi to you to.” I mumbled under my breath. I walked through the door John had left open to see Dean sprawled out on the couch. He turned to me when I closed the door and grinned.

“Hey, there’s the birthday girl!” He exclaimed, prompting Sam to run out of the bathroom, dressed and looking fresh from the shower, toothbrush in his mouth.

“Jenna! You’re here! I wanted to go to your room a while ago, but Dean told me to let you sleep. Were you sleeping?” Before I could answer him, he rushed on. “He told me you’re going to spend the day with your friend, but we’re still going to have our movie night, right? We have to have our movie night. It’s our tradition!”

“Breathe, Sam.” I chuckled. “Of course we’re having movie night. It wouldn’t be a birthday without it. Now how about you go finish brushing your teeth before you start drooling on the floor.” Content with my answer, he hurried back to the bathroom, hand cupped under his chin where toothpaste bubbles were trying to drip down.

“So,” Dean drawled, getting up off the couch. “The big 16. How’s it feel?” He walked over to stand next to me and, not for the first time, I was struck with how effortlessly gorgeous he was. His hair was tousled and still slightly damp from the shower he must have taken this morning. He wore his usual jeans, t-shirt, flannel, and boots, the amulet Sam had given him hanging around his neck, but somehow, he was the most attractive guy I had ever seen. I knew it wasn’t a biased opinion, every girl in every school always drooled after him.

“I assume it feels the same as you felt a year ago.” I replied once my brain started functioning again. “You still good to take me to meet Alyssa?” I asked.

“Sweetheart, have I ever bailed on you?” He asked, mock offended.

“Well…” I trailed off, remembering the handful of times Sam and I had been left to fend for ourselves while he was off with a girl. When I saw him looking at me expectantly, I sighed. “Not when it really counted, no.” I relented.

“Did you ask her yet?” Sam questioned, reappearing from the bathroom and heading for Dean. Dean sighed and looked at me. “Is it ok with you if Sam comes with to drop you off? I don’t know why he’s even asking. I know you don’t care, but he wouldn’t leave me alone about it this morning.”

“That’s not true!” Sam denied. “He told me I could come if you said yes, and I know you usually don’t care, but since you’re 16 today I thought you might want to talk.” He stated matter-of-factly.

“Talk about what?” I asked, brow wrinkled in confusion. There’s not much Dean and I didn’t talk about in front of the kid. I don’t know why he thought there was suddenly a need for privacy or what being 16 had to do with it. “About-” he started, but then cut himself off, looking anxious. “I don’t know.” He continued, head down and shuffling his feet. “Just… being 16?”

I looked to Dean, hoping for some kind of explanation, but he just shrugged his shoulders, although he seemed a little annoyed, like he knew more than he was letting on. I wasn’t in the mood to press the issue though.

“Ok…. Well I don’t have any super-secret conversations that need to be had with your brother, so if you want to come along, that’s fine.” I assured Sam. 

“Good! When are we leaving?” He asked excitedly.

“If Dean’s ready, then right now would be good.” I replied, looking to Dean. He answered by shrugging on his leather jacket, plucking the keys off the table and holding the door open for me.

With everyone piled in the car, Dean started toward the mall where I was supposed to meet Alyssa. It was a typical car ride, Sam chattering away in the back, and Dean humming along to Led Zeppelin. I told Dean where to park. Alyssa wasn’t there yet, but I was content to sit and wait with the boys.

“I thought we might have to wait until tonight to give this to you, but I’m glad we don’t have to.” Sam said excitedly, pulling a box out of his jacket pocket. “It was my idea to get this kind of present for you, but Dean helped me pick it out.” He looked to his brother with a proud smile before handing the box to me.

I was a little nervous to open it. Sam was so excited, I didn’t want to disappoint him if I didn’t like it. Although he’d never say anything, I could tell Dean was a little nervous too by the way he tensed his shoulders and bit his lip. I carefully opened the box and gasped.

Inside was a bracelet made from ribbons of silk. It was twisted around so that it looked like four different strands. The top and bottom of each ribbon was an olive green while the middle was mulberry. One of the ribbons wrapped through a gold button that was used to adjust the size. I couldn’t believe something so beautiful was for me.

“I love it!” I told them as I took it out of the box to place on my left wrist. I noticed Dean’s quiet, relieved exhale and turned to hug him. “Thank you.” I whispered. He wrapped his arms around me before mumbling a quiet “You’re welcome,” into my hair.

“And thank you too!” I said, pulling away from Dean to face a fidgety, giddy looking Sam in the back. He flung his upper body over the seat to get a hug of his own. “You’re gonna have a pretty hard time topping this one.” I informed him as I sat back. Sam just grinned.

“My friend at the last school had a bracelet that she wore all the time and I asked her if that was a good idea for a 16th birthday present for you,” he explained. “She said if you like jewelry it was a good idea, and I know you like Dean's amulet, so I told him about my idea and he said we’d keep an eye out for anything you might like. There was a lot of stuff I thought you would like, but Dean kept saying they weren’t right.” I glanced at Dean and saw a slight blush gracing his freckled cheeks.

“He liked that one as soon as he saw it. I didn’t know why you’d like it any better than any of the ones I pointed out, but I know you guys know each other really well so I just told him to make sure you knew getting a bracelet was my idea.” He finished, slightly out of breath.

Before I could say anything to assure Sam I appreciated his efforts and relieve Dean of his embarrassment, there was a knock on my window. Startled, I jumped a little before facing the window where Alyssa stood waiting. Turning to look at the boys, I thanked them again for the amazing present and then opened the door to get out of the car and say hi to her. As I was closing the door, I heard Dean say my name.

“Just a second.” I said to Alyssa before opening the door again and sticking my head in. “What’s up?” I asked.

“I was just wondering when and where I should be picking you up.” He replied. “Oh, right. I didn’t even think about that.” I said, turning to Alyssa to figure out the details. “Cleary.” He teased. I looked back at him, sarcastic comment at the ready, but I saw the twinkle in his eye and knew he was just joking. I shushed him and closed the door, turning to once again face Alyssa.

“I can drive you back, it’s no problem.” She assured me. 

“Are you sure? Dean doesn’t have anything else he needs to be doing, and I know he likes to do it anyway. He’s a bit protective like that. The first time he dropped Sam off at a friend’s I thought he was going to sit outside the house the whole time.” I told her, smiling at the memory.

“It’s really no problem. I don’t have any definite plans for the day so I wouldn’t know what to tell him anyway.” She said. 

“Ok…” I trailed off, giving her one last chance to change her mind. She gave me a look, clearly stating that she wouldn’t so I passed the information on to Dean.

“You don’t even have a guess about when you’ll be done?” He asked. I knew he liked to have a timeline so if someone wasn’t back when they were expected he would know something was wrong. If he didn’t have any schedule to follow, he’d spend the whole time worrying, unsure if something had happened or we just weren’t done yet. 

“Well I have to be back in time for movie night,” I reminded him with a wink in Sam’s direction, “so I won’t be gone any later than… say 8:30? That should give us time to watch a couple of movies before Sam passes out.”

“Yeah, ok.” Dean relented, slightly less on edge now that he had a set time. “Have fun.” He smiled. I closed the door and watched them drive off.

“Are you ready to do some shopping?” Alyssa asked with a grin.

~~~~~

“You have to have a swimsuit!” Alyssa insisted as we walked by racks of them at Kohl’s. “Not if you never go swimming, you don’t.” I countered.

“But what if you do go swimming? What are you going to wear then?” She argued. “I don’t know. I’m sure if the opportunity came up, I’d just go buy one.” I told her. “Then why not buy one now?” She asked.

“Because,” I sighed. “We move around a lot. We’re not exactly hitting up five-star hotels with pools or renting homes that have one. I think the last time I went swimming was when I was 12 and the house we were renting had a pond.”

“Ok, well I have a pool, it’s the middle of summer in Louisiana, and I might invite you over to swim sometime. Besides, I’m buying so you can’t really argue that much.” She said, flipping her strawberry blonde hair as she turned and pulled me towards the swimwear.

“That’s a nice bracelet,” she commented, looking at my wrist where I was half-heartedly searching through a rack of one-piece swimsuits. “Yeah,” I smiled. “Sam and Dean gave it to me for my birthday.”

“It’s pretty. I didn’t think boys were any good at finding decent jewelry.” She remarked as she moved on to the next rack. She didn’t like the one-pieces anyway and had only been humoring me, ironic since I was only humoring her about the swimsuits in general. 

“I swear Dean has some sort of sixth sense for what people will like. Well,” I corrected, “not people. But me and Sam.”

“This one! You have to try this one!” Alyssa said excitedly, breaking me out of my thoughts. I looked to where she was holding a white and blue two-piece. “I know you didn’t want a two-piece, but this isn’t a bikini. It doesn’t show much more than a one-piece would.” Seeing my hesitation, she continued. “Just try it on. If you hate it, we’ll put it back.”

“Yes!” She cheered, seeing my resignation. She handed the suit to me and led the way to the changing rooms.

It was definitely a nice-looking suit, I’d give her that much. The top piece was thick enough all the way through that there was no danger of anything showing. It had a clasp in the back and three strings to tie around my neck, two white and one robin’s egg blue. The bottom piece started like a normal bikini bottom, but thicker. Above the hips it cut in to cover only the front of my torso, leaving my back and sides exposed, and went up to the bottom of my ribs. There were three strings encircling my back, keeping the material up. It was decorated with flowers in shades of blue, and as much as I liked it – although I’d never admit it to Alyssa – I didn’t think I would be comfortable wearing it in public.

“Are you ready yet?” I heard her ask through the door. 

“Kind of. I have it on, but I don’t know if I want to come out.” I admitted. 

“Come on, you can’t look that bad.” She encouraged.

“It’s not that.” I told her. “I’m just not comfortable showing this much skin. I live in jeans, you know. The only reason I’m wearing shorts is because I might actually die from this heat.”

“Just come out. No one’s going to see you. I promise there’s no one else around.” She encouraged.

I sighed before opening the door and peering my head around. I was met with an unimpressed look. “Alright, I’m coming.” I relented. I stepped out of the changing stall and was greeted with a wolf whistle from Alyssa. “Cut it out!” I blushed.

“Why? You look great!” she exclaimed. “As much as I like that bracelet, it really doesn’t match the-” she cut off. 

“What?” I asked nervously? 

“Umm… did you find your tattoo yet?”

I was a little shocked. It was an awfully personal question to be asking someone you’d only known for a couple of weeks. “No. Why?” I asked a little defensively. She nodded toward my left side where my hand was hanging by my hip. I impulsively lifted it to my face, scanning for the name. 

“Not your hand,” she said.

I slowly looked down to my left side just above my hip where, just as she said, I could see the top of thick black letters peeking over the swimsuit.

~~~~~

“Alright, right’s wrong?” Dean asked, pausing the movie. We were halfway through our second movie of the night, Mission Impossible, and while I was enjoying it, I couldn’t seem to sit still. I was sat between the two boys, Dean’s arm resting on the back of the couch behind my head, our usual seating situation on movie nights. Sam was slouched over, starting to drift off. He could never seem to stay awake for more than one movie.

“What? Nothing’s wrong. Why do you think something’s wrong?” I asked him.

“Well, you haven’t sat still for more than five minutes at a time and I can see the wheels spinning in your head. You know you can talk to me about anything right?” He sounded genuinely concerned. 

“I know.” I sighed.

“Nothing happened, right? You’ve seemed a little off since you got back.” He pushed, not for the information he knew I wasn’t ready to give, but for assurance that I was alright. 

“I’m fine,” I told him honestly. “It’s just… I found my tattoo while we were trying on clothes. I’m still trying to wrap my head around it, figure out how I feel.” I confessed.

“Oh.” Was his only response. I could tell he wanted to press for more information, but he stayed quiet.

~~~~~

“I can’t look at it. I don’t want to know what it says. What do I do?” I asked. My breath was coming faster and I was starting to panic.

“Hey. Hey! Jenna! Look at me. Deep breath.” Alyssa calmly instructed, demonstrating and breathing with me until my breathing was back to normal. “You’re going to have to see it sometime. It’s unavoidable. Right now, it doesn’t change anything. It just gives you a name. You can do whatever you want with that name once you have it. It doesn’t decide anything for you.”

I knew she was right and steeled myself to look at it, Alyssa waiting patiently. Carefully, I pushed the swimsuit strap down just enough to reveal the name underneath.

DEAN

 Ages 14 and 16 January 24, 1995

Dean’s POV

I stared at the ceiling, willing myself to find the energy to get out of bed. I heard Sam moving around, getting ready for school, but I couldn’t bring myself to do the same. I knew that by the end of the day I would have letters inked into my skin. Letters that spelled out my soulmate’s name. I had no illusions about my family’s lifestyle and what it would mean for my soulmate. It would be a bittersweet moment, finally learning her name, but knowing I could never allow myself to be with her, to put her in that kind of danger.

With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. I rubbed my eyes before standing up and starting to get ready for the day. I had decided I wasn’t going to look for the tattoo. I would put it off for as long as I could and see it whenever I happened to stumble upon the patch of skin it showed up on.

~~~~~

It had been a pretty good morning. My anxiety had faded to the background when a smiling Jenna came into our room with bacon, eggs and toast for breakfast. It wasn’t elaborate by any means, but it was more than we usually had and the fact that she took the time to make it for us, for me, made it that much more special.

The two of them had given me the gift they picked out right away this morning when an excited Sam decided he couldn’t wait until after school. He halfway disappeared under the bed for a few seconds, wiggling his way back out with a box clutched in his hands. He proudly handed it to me and then watched in eager anticipation as I opened two new movies, Jumanji and Batman Forever.

“Now we have something to watch for movie night too!” He exclaimed. I thanked them both and then we headed to school, Jenna’s dad dropping us off.

Now I was sitting in the locker room, changing back into my regular clothes after gym class. I had opted out of a shower, not wanting to find my tattoo in this miserable place, surrounded by strangers I would have to guard my reaction around. I had my foot up on the bench I was sitting on, switching out my sweaty socks for a dry pair, lost in my thoughts when I heard someone to my left snicker and say, “Isn’t Jenna your sister?”

My head whipped around to look at Matt, the guy who had spoken. He was a sophomore like me, and while he wasn’t wildly popular, he sure thought he was something special. “What?” I snapped, confused about why he was asking about her. My protective instincts flared up. We had only been at this school for a week, but I was well aware how attractive Jenna was, and if this kid thought he was going to try something he had another thing coming. “Why?” I asked, failing to keep the suspicion out of my voice.

“Didn’t the two of you show up around the same time? And I’m pretty sure I’ve seen the two of you coming to school in the same car,” he mused. “So you must be her brother. That’s gotta be pretty awkward. Unless you know another Jenna?” 

“I don’t have to explain anything to you,” I snapped.

“Dude, don’t they have different last names?” Chimed in a freshman whose name I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure if I should be grateful for or irritated by his input. “So unless they have different dads or something… I don’t think they’re related.” Irritated, I decided. He hadn’t said anything offensive, and his analysis wasn’t wrong, but I found I didn’t like the way he was obviously looking for Matt’s approval.

“Really? How do you know that?” Matt asked. Without waiting for a reply, he continued.

“Well that’s a relief. It would be pretty weird if your sister was your soulmate.” He laughed. “Too bad though,” he continued, having gained the attention of most of the locker room. “She’s not half bad looking. I might ask her out anyway, see what she really thinks about her pathetic, loser soulmate.”

I clenched my jaw. Having lived in tight quarters for years, Jenna and Sam had learned to back off at this, that it meant I was seriously pissed off. Matt had the misfortune of not knowing me so well. “Leave her alone.” I warned. I had managed to keep my temper so far, but if he actually made a move on her, all bets were off. 

“Don’t worry,” Matt drawled on. “I’ll test her out for you. Let you know if she’s actually worth your ti-”

Before he even realized I was moving I had crossed the couple of steps to him, grabbed a fistful of his shirt, and shoved him back into the lockers. “I don’t know what you’re even talking about,” I seethed, “but you better stay away from her or I’ll make sure that my pathetic loser face is the last thing you see before I put you in the hospital.”

I turned away from him and, after taking a step, ducked, effectively dodging the punch I had seen him getting ready to throw. I spun back around and landed a solid punch to his face before grabbing my shoes and walking out the door. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the bleachers lacing up my boots that I saw it. Inked into the skin of my left ankle was her name.

JENNA

Chapter 2

[densi-mber]

Tattoos and Sexy Pirates

A/N: Today’s prompt and story idea provided by @mashmaiden. As usual, I flipped the idea a little bit from the original. Set in the last couple of seasons.

***

Kensi sighed as she walked into the airport terminal, dragging her luggage behind her, a carryon bag hung over her right shoulder. After a month away for a series of specialized trainings, she was glad to be back home. Sure, she’d learned a lot, and more importantly, increased her job security, but hopefully this would be the last long trip for a while.

As much as Kensi appreciated the opportunity, she’d missed working with the team, missed the warmth and familiarity of LA, and most importantly, missed Deeks. They’d both been so busy most days that they only managed short calls, or texts if they were lucky.

Speaking of Deeks, he had arranged to pick her up today. Kensi glanced around the terminal, anticipation running through her as she searched for his familiar frame and blond hair.

Deeks saw her first, stepping forward, and Kensi barely recognized him. “Kensi, I’m so glad you’re back home,” he said, enveloping her in a tight hug. He picked her up, twirling her around a few times.

When he set her down Kensi could only gape for several seconds.

“Oh my god, baby, what did you do?!” she gasped, pressing her hands over her mouth. She walked around him in a slow circle, taking in his appearance in disbelief. Hair longer and pulled back with a hair band, an earring—she reached out to touch a flower within a skull on his forearm, but dropped her hand at the last moment.

She’d known he was feeling a little weird about his age the last couple years, but she didn’t think that it was this bad.

Deeks watched her with a raised eyebrow and a look of bemusement.

“Ok, I was expecting a little bit more of a warm welcome,” he drawled.

“Deeks, you got tattoos while I was gone. What am I supposed to say? I was only gone for a few weeks. If you were feeling this bad, you should have called me.” She inhaled deeply, realizing she was almost shouting when Deeks’ eyes widened. Then she caught sight of the tattoos again, which covered him from bicep to wrist. Something red peaked out from the collar of his t-shirt.

Oh god.

“Kens, what the hell are you talking about? I got called in on a joint undercover job the day after you left. Didn’t you get my text?”

“Yeah, you said you were going undercover, but I thought it was something simple. So this is…?”

“Oh babe, I’m sorry. Yeah, they’re just temporary,” he said, running his finger over a spider near his elbow. “I had to look the part of a longtime gang member.”

“So naturally you let your hair grow out, got fake tattoos, and a fake earring.”

He fingered the small hoop in his left ear and cleared his throat. “Uh, actually, this is real.”

Kensi’s mouth fell open, and he quickly rushed to explain.

“Listen, it had to be believable, and I figured just getting one piercing would be a lot easier than having to deal with one that could fall off at any moment. I’ve had that happen before, and believe me, it kind of ruins the vibe.”

“Ok, I can deal with an earring,” Kensi decided, pinching them bridge of her nose between her index finger and thumb. “I’m sorry I basically attacked you. That wasn’t the best greeting ever.”

“It’s ok. I probably should have warned you,” he said with a shrug. Then he grinned. “I surprised Sam too.”

“Now that I would have loved to see.” She kissed Deeks’ cheek, looping her arm through his, and they started making their way to the exit. “How was your undercover? Sounds like it was kind of dangerous.”

“Things got a little tricky. But I was spectacular as usual, and everything ran fairly smoothly.”

“Oh, I bet you were.”

He chuckled softly, drawing her closer. “What about you? How were your classes?” he asked.

“Pretty amazing. But also really long.” She paused, and added more softly. “I’m glad to be back.”

Deeks’ response was another, lingering kiss that probably tested the boundaries of propriety for their current location.

“So, what were you talking about me feeling bad before?”

Kensi flushed, suddenly feeling embarrassed about her massive leap.

“Oh, well you know, recently you’ve been a little down about your hair, and aging and—”

“You thought this was the result of a mid-life crisis,” Deeks surmised with a raised eyebrow.

“Not because I think you’re actually middle-aged,” she defended herself quickly. “But kind of.”

“Well rest assured, I am feeling very secure about myself right now, so you don’t have to worry about me doing anything crazy.”

“Good. Speaking of crazy, how long before these wear off?” Kensi poked a surprisingly accurate rendition of a dagger.

“Uh, about three weeks, give or take,” he answered. Kensi closed her eyes, holding back a groan. “We didn’t know how long I’d be under so we had to make sure they’d last a while.”

“Right. We’re going to need to buy you more long sleeve shirts,” Kensi said.

“Ok, but I think I might keep my hair this way for a while. And the earring.

I’ll be like a sexy pirate.”

Kensi inclined her head, considering.

“Oddly enough, I don’t completely hate that idea,” she decided.

[tartt9]

@harmsdealer // Jamie's ego is something that he's worked hard to tame. A strange beast, the ego of Jamie fucking Tartt is. Prior to 2019, it didn't exist. Jamie knew that he was talented, of course. People didn't get their call up to their senior teams at 17 if they weren't talented. At City, though, from the ages of 17 to 19, he was treated like dirt by his teammates, by his captain. His inferiority complex was so large, there was no room to develop an ego. Then Pep came around, and he made it very clear that there was no space for an ego in his dressing room.

Jamie's ego only developed when he was 21, in the hands of Rupert Mannion and George Cartrick for the first time. An owner who told him he could be better than everyone who had played his game before - Zava, Beckham, Pelé, Maradona, Kent - among many other things, all of which was incredibly high praise for a loanee. And a gaffer who let Jamie get away with dozens - if not hundreds - of things that Pep would've shut down in a heartbeat.

And now, at 24, Jamie has had to teach himself that the way he absorbed Mannion's praise was wrong. That he has value as a player not because of the way he plays alone, but because of the way he plays on a team. He's one of eleven, even if he's also one in a million. He's a well-trained combination of Pep, Ted, Roy. Richmond's starboy he is, but he didn't become Richmond's starboy by fucking around, by scoring solo goal after solo goal, by never passing the ball. He's a regular for England not because of his ego, but because of his lack of one. Because he's made himself better. He hopes that comes across. Loan year Jamie wouldn't have even thought to entertain a conversation like this, unless his ego was being stroked a little bit more, or if he'd felt a little more insulted - it could've gone either way.

"Don't tell anyone this, but, when I were growing up, my 'eart was at Stamford Bridge, too." Publicly, Jamie Tartt was always a City boy. Sky blue head to toe, in his veins. But, at home, he had a Chelsea scarf draped over the back of the sofa. He chanted he's here, he's there, he's every-fucking-where along with the crowds in the stands in London. He cried when Chelsea won the Champions League when he was fourteen. If you'd asked Jamie at any point before his seventeenth birthday which club he most wanted to play for, he'd have said Chelsea.

Maybe news of his behaviour towards his teammates hadn't made its way across the globe yet. Jamie tries not to frown, his lips pursing up into a pout instead, at the thought of being perceived as the way he was during his loan year. Arrogant, uncaring about his club, cold. "My club's my home," he says, sincerity thick in his voice. His hand comes to touch his chest, where his badge would sit if he was in his kit, where he's gotten the Richmond greyhound tattooed on his skin. There will never be enough words to describe how this club gave him a home when he had nothing else. He'd do anything for any one of his teammates, no questions asked. That's the least Jamie can offer, especially with the amount of grace they'd given him in the time they've known each other.

"Right..." Jamie draws the word out slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly. There's the wording of a typical sharp-dressed man. "Kei." He tries not to visibly get his hackles up, like a dog in an unfamiliar, nerve-inducing situation. "Erm... what... corporation are you representing facelessly?" It's not Ms. Welton's job nor obligation to tell her players when she's meeting with people from corporations. But, ever since Akufo with Sam, and truly, ever since his childhood, Jamie's wary of men in suits looking to have conversations behind closed doors with his owner. "'Cause I take it y'ain't in London t'catch a Chelsea match, and, even if y'were, this isn't really the place to do it."

@tartt9 / From meticulous research, Kei is well aware that Jamie occupies the niche of working-class hero, up there with Rashford or Carragher. It was one of the main points gleaned about Tartt—alongside has his own theme song and possesses a sense of fashion best described as distinctive. So Kei is being judicious with what he shares about himself, bearing a badge no different from any other visitor of Welton's.

"Something like that," he says, a little gingerly. "I'm afraid my allegiance belongs to Stamford Bridge, but if it's any consolation—whenever I actually have time to watch a match, we lose."

He waves a hand—que sera, sera—but under his breezy demeanour lies genuine concern. He follows Chelsea because his father does. His father, a man so stressed about how his son is faring in London that it's now getting to Kei. It's of some relief that, while Richmond isn't the only club Kei's been sent to chat up, its leadership has certainly been the least work so far, with big egos few and far between.

Kei's slightly surprised that he could say the same about Tartt. Now he recalls a fourth note he'd made about Richmond's star: arrogant... maybe with good reason.

"You surprise me, though," he holds up his palms, "pleasantly, of course. I just didn't have you down as a player who cares much about warmth and goodwill to his club." One raised hand is redirected to gesture at himself. "Kei, by the way. To put a name to the faceless corporate representative."

[dominimoonbeam]

Why the duck?

Why the duck? posted on ao3 but also right here below...

Another David & Darlin relationship building fic because I guess this is my new favorite thing!

Based on the ask I got earlier for a grocery shopping fic! 

David pays Darlin a visit to take a look at their refrigerator and see if it really is as bad as Sam says.

tags: scars, traumatized character, Darlin is a mess, David is a king, trust issues, trust building, relationship building, grocery shopping.

Why the duck?

“Did Sam snitch?” Darlin asked, obviously shocked by the idea.

David snorted and walked past the other wolf into the apartment. He had only been there the one time to confront them about everything with Quinn. He hadn’t really looked around. But the other night at a pack barbeque at his house he’d gotten into a conversation with Babe and Sam, comparing their mate’s bad food habits and complete lack of cooking skills. Sam mentioned how Darlin had no food in their house and he always had to order something for them. David had laughed it off as an exaggeration at the time but it kept coming back up in his head.

Darlin wasn’t exactly known for selfcare. Kind of the opposite in fact. He was starting to realize they neglected their own health in a way that was almost deliberate—almost like it was punishment.

They groaned and dropped their head back in an exaggerated sulk as David walked into the apartment. It was small. The couch that had been there when he was last visiting, covered in blood stains, was gone and replaced with another piece of shit couch—minus the blood stains. How often did that happen? Darlin was notorious for not going to healers. It was one of the many reasons David liked their match with Sam. At least Darlin wasn’t likely to die of something preventable with him around.

The place wasn’t exactly a mess.

Asher’s rooms had always been a mess before he moved in with Babe, stuff everywhere until the floor itself disappeared. But Darlin’s apartment was…empty. Nothing on the walls. No piles of stuff. No desk. No computer or even tv. Just the couch, a coffee table, and their phone. He glanced down the hall, getting a peek into their bedroom and wasn’t surprised to see a mattress with no bedframe and a few pieces of clothing tossed about.

“I’m surprised Sam hangs out with you here,” David griped on his way to the kitchen.

Darlin smirked and leaned against the counter. “I offer more than ambiance…”

David bit back a smile. “I bet you do.”

He opened the fridge. It really was empty. A half a burger in a bundle of wrapper, a full blood bag, and a rubber duck. He glanced back at Darlin. “Why the duck?”

Darlin looked around him to see what he was talking about. How could they forget it? They shrugged. “It was there when I moved in.”

David stared. Were they serious? “Who the fuck are you renting from?”

Another shrug.

He guessed that they had found a place in the worst part of Dahlia so that no one would ask any questions or kick them out for coming home a mess, probably naked sometimes, and of course bleeding on couches. The freezer had one half-empty bottle of vodka. He checked the cupboards and found salt, a bag of crackers he suspected was also left by the previous tenant, and painkillers. He raised an eyebrow at his wolf.

Darlin shrugged again.

David groaned. “Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

He didn’t like the way Darlin always tensed when he said they were going somewhere, unsure and maybe even a little afraid. There wasn’t much in the world that could scare Darlin anymore, but David knew he was one of them. He had power over Darlin, both physically and socially, in a way that no one else did and he knew that rattled something deep—something that had already learned time and again not to trust people with that sort of power. He didn’t let his gaze linger on the network of scars up the side of their neck, from ear to shoulder like a strange tattoo of interlinking circles. Bites. Vampires liked to bite when they fought and Darlin had fought plenty. He also tried not to wonder how many of those had been Quinn, done before they even split ways.

David walked toward the door. He didn’t move fast or poke around anymore than he already had.

Darlin sulked but put on their boots and grabbed a jacket.

They stepped out into the hall and David stopped, staring. “Aren’t you going to lock it?” They were in the worst building in town.

Darlin blinked at him, face scrunching up. “Why? What are they going to steal, the rubber duck?”

David glowered.

Darlin groaned loudly but relented, going back in to get a key and coming out and locking the door, waving the key in his face before pocketing it.

David didn’t smile—but he almost did. He secretly loved when Darlin was an asshole. It felt right and they looked happiest then.

He led the way to the stairs and Darlin followed him out of the building, squinting at the daylight like they weren’t used to seeing it. Maybe they weren’t… Darlin had always kept vampire hours and now they were dating an actual vampire.

“Where are we going?” Darlin asked but got into the truck.

“Grocery shopping,” he said, turning on the engine and pulling away from the curb.

Darlin snorted like it was a joke. “Seriously, where are we going?”

David didn’t say anything, he just drove to the nearest grocery store and pulled into the parking lot. Darlin sat forward, eyes big in surprise before looking at David. “You’re joking.”

David got out of the truck.

“Why?” Darlin practically yelled, following him. “I don’t need groceries. I can go out and get food when I’m hungry.”

“You should have food in your home,” David said before frowning hard at them. “So, you just eat fast food all the time? Every day?”

Darlin blinked, like they weren’t sure if the question was a trick.

“Fuck,” David groaned. “And I thought you’d probably die in a fight. Now I have to worry about clogged arteries, high cholesterol, and malnutrition…”

Darlin laughed. “I’ll still die in a fight way before any of that becomes a problem and it’s not like you need to worry about it. It’ll just be one less problem for you—”

David stopped walking and turned fast, staring at them. Did they really think that? That he thought that? Darlin looked surprised again, this time because of how he was looking at them. “You are not a problem.”

Darlin took a step back from him, confusion and discomfort clear on their face. They had a scar through their left eyebrow and another through the corner of their lip. They were a tank and one of the strongest wolves he had ever seen. But they could barely hold his gaze for more than five seconds at a time. They forced another laugh. “But here you are, having to take me grocery shopping…”

David reached out, slow enough that it couldn’t be misinterpreted as an attack. Maybe someday they would get to a point where he could touch them without clearly signaling it beforehand. Maybe someday they’d even get to a point where they could roughhouse like he could with the others. But not yet. He slid a hand into the side of their hair, palming the back of their head. Darlin’s eyes widened and then closed, mouth tight and body leaning into that contact despite how much they tensed. Contact was important in the pack. It was important for most animals. It was connective and reassuring. But that sort of contact wasn’t something Darlin was used to. They always braced for pain rather than anticipating comfort. He tugged them close, his temple touching theirs when he said again, “You are not a problem.”

Darlin exhaled shakily, body so tightly wound that if he didn’t know how perfectly in control they were, he might worry they’d shift.

David let go but slung an arm over their shoulders and steered them toward the front doors of the store. “But your apartment is absurd and you should have some fuckin food in it at the very least.”

Darlin laughed but held on to the cart he swung in front of them. “What next? A coat rack?”

David hadn’t even considered furniture. “We could hit up IKEA… You need a couch.”

“What? No. I was joking. And I have a couch!”

“No. You have what looks like a piece of trash you dragged in front the street.”

Darlin didn’t say anything and David had to step to the side to look at them. “No. You didn’t.”

“It was just sitting there when I brought the other one down… It was a trade. It was basically meant to be.”

“That thing is going out when we get back.”

“Fuck you, it’s just a couch! It’s not even messed up yet!”

“What qualifies messed up enough to dump it?”

“When it’s got more bloodstains than not.”

David considered this, tugging the cart to walk them into the fruits and vegetables section of the store. “How many couches have you been through since you’ve been back?”

Darlin knew a trick question when they heard one and shrugged.

Fuck. They were going to IKEA today and getting a couch. Maybe even a white one.

Darlin frowned at the shelves. “What is all this shit?”

“God you better be joking…” David swore. “You’re worse than Angel.”

Darlin sulked and wandered toward the options but he heard them mumble, “I like Angel...”

It warmed something in David. Everyone liked Angel but Darlin had only met them a couple times and Darlin didn’t exactly admit to liking much of anyone.

Darlin wrinkled their nose. “Why are there so many different salads? Where’s the shredded shit that goes in tacos?”

David leaned on the cart for support. He was going to need it.

[bi-bard]

Please Say That You're Joking (Pt.1) - Chuck Shurley Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Please Say You're Joking (Pt. 1) [You can read part 2 by clicking here!]

Pairing: Chuck Shurley X Winchester!Reader

Requested: Nope

Word Count: 2,930 words

Warning(s): mentions of sex, threats of violence

Summary: (Season 4; Season 11) (Y/n) had a single one-night stand while coping with loss in a not healthy way... if only they had a clue about the weight of their actions.

Author's Note: I was recently going back through some of the "lighter" episodes of Supernatural because I wanted to watch something I could chuckle at. That's where this came from.

This might be the most crackheaded thing I've written in a while.

Also, the amount of things I had to bullshit my way through this is actually ridiculous.

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

Sam, Dean, and I walked into the motel room. We were all confused and slightly scared.

We had gone to a comic book shop to do some work on a case. However, we were then called fans.

Fans of what?

Well, fans of a series of books about our lives.

I was the middle Winchester child. Two years younger than Dean, two years older than Sam. I was beyond confused when I saw some weird, romanticized version of me on the cover of a book.

"This is so weird," I mumbled, plopping onto one of the beds in the room.

Sam jumped onto his laptop and started researching. Dean was holding one of the books, reading through it. I didn't even want to touch it.

"I don't like how he describes (Y/n)," Dean commented. "It's weird. It's like he's in love. Listen to this..."

Dean dramatically clears his throat and starts to read in an even more dramatic voice, "'Even after a hard hunt, (Y/n) could easily be seen as the most beautiful of the siblings. They mimicked the beauty of their mother more than their brothers. There's no bruise or cut that could take the loveliness away from the natural curves of (Y/n)'s face. If only they could see how everyone else would stare-"

"Okay, ew," I muttered, walking to the table. "What'd you find?"

"Well, it seems like Carver Edlund is a pen name," Sam shrugged. "And the fans are intense."

"As in," Dean asked, closing the book and joining the two of us at the table.

"Well," Sam handed me the laptop so Dean and I could look at it, "there's fanfiction. About all of us."

"What's this, 'Sam/Dean'," I asked.

"It's... me and Dean... together."

"They just don't care that we're related," Dean asked. Sam nodded.

"God, this is so weird."

"So, how do we find this guy," I asked.

--time skip--

We managed to find the publisher of the novels and found her house.

"So, you published the 'Supernatural' books," I asked as we walked in.

"Yep," she nodded. "Yeah, gosh. These books... they never really got the attention that they deserved. All anybody wants to read anymore is that romance crap."

"Could not agree with you more," I said. "We're hoping that our article can shine a light on an underappreciated series."

"Yeah, because, you know, if we got a little bit of good press, then maybe we can start publishing again," she replied excitedly.

"No, no, no," Dean immediately shut her down. "I mean, why... why would you want to do that? It's such a complete series with Dean going to hell and all."

"Oh my god, that was one of my favorite ones," she rambled. "Dean was so strong and sad and brave. And Sam... I mean... the best ones are when they cry... like in 'Heart' when Sam had to kill Madison; the first woman since Jessica he'd really loved. When Dean had to call John in 'Home' and ask him for help. Or when (Y/n) went back to the motel room after getting kidnapped and just had to sit in their own head and had to truly process not only the death of their mother but now their father. The mixed feelings were amazing."

"You're a really big fan," I noted. She nodded.

"Gosh, if only real men were that open about their emotions."

"Real men," Dean asked.

"I mean, no offense," she replied. "How often do you cry like that?"

"Well, right now I'm crying on the inside," he muttered.

"Is that supposed to be funny?"

"Lady, this whole thing is funny."

"How am I supposed to know this is legit?"

"Oh, trust me," Dean mumbled. "We're legit."

"Well, I don't want some smart-ass article making fun of my boys," she snapped as she sat in her chair.

"Oh, never," I replied quickly. "We actually are big fans."

"You read the books?"

"Cover to cover," I promised.

"What's the year and model of the car?"

"1967 Chevy Impala," Dean smiled proudly.

"What's May 2nd?"

"That's my- uh... Sam's birthday," Sam replied.

"Sam's score on the LSAT?"

"Umm... 174," Sam said nervously.

"(Y/n)'s first hunt?"

"Vampire in Washington," I answered. "Dean was at the motel sick and (Y/n) almost chopped John's head off when he scared them."

"(Y/n)'s favorite memory that's not related to hunting?"

I smiled, "Helping Sam get ready for a date when he was a teenager because Sam didn't trust what Dean had told him."

"Dean's favorite song?"

"It's a tie," Dean replied. "Between Zep's 'Ramble On' and 'Traveling Riverside Blues.'"

She finally laughed and smiled again, "Okay, okay. What do you wanna know?"

"What's Carver Edlund's real name," Sam asked.

"Oh, no. I can't," she shook her head.

"We just wanna talk to him," Sam continued. "You know, get the 'Supernatural' story in his own words."

"He's very private," she shrugged. "Like Salinger."

"Please," Sam tried again. "Like I said, we're um... big fans."

Sam unbuttoned his shirt enough to show his anti-possession tattoo. Dean pulled his shirt to the side to do the same. I rolled my eyes and yanked the arm of my jacket down and pulled up the sleeve of my t-shirt. I don't wear as many layers as them and I had opted to put the tattoo on my upper arm because I thought it looked nicer.

"Awesome," the lady mumbled before standing up. "Y'know what?"

I looked away as she pulled her pants down.

"I got one too."

"Wow, you are a fan," I slapped Dean's arm. The lady fixed her clothing before grabbing a pen and paper.

"Okay," she said. "His name's Chuck Shurley-"

And I stopped listening after that. I knew that name... why did I know that name... oh... oh no. I'm gonna kill him. We're going to meet this man and I am going to end up killing him.

I followed Sam and Dean as they started walking out of the woman's house.

"Excuse me," she called as we reached the door. We looked back at her. "I'm sorry, but you look exactly like how I picture (Y/n) when I read the books."

I chuckled, "Thanks."

"He describes (Y/n) with so much detail," she smiled. "You could play them in a movie."

"Thank you," I waved as we walked out.

"'You could play them in a movie,'" Dean teased.

"I know who Chuck is," I said, ignoring him.

"What," he asked. I nodded. "How?"

I pointed to get into the car. I got in the back seat and Sam and Dean sat upfront. Dean started driving to the address the lady gave us before I started speaking.

"Okay, when you went to hell, Sam's not the only one who ran off," I explained. "I wasn't gone for four months... just two weeks. In those two weeks, I got involved in a single one-night stand. The name he gave me was Chuck Shurley."

"You screwed the man who wrote books about us," Dean asked, sounding angry.

"Do you think I knew he was writing books based on our lives?"

"He had to have known who you are," Sam added. "This isn't an accident. He has to get visions or something."

"Yeah, I know," I nodded. "He made money off of my name and then screwed me."

"Damn," Dean mumbled. "I missed a hell of a lot."

I rolled my eyes.

--time skip--

I knocked on the door loudly. Sam grabbed my arm, shaking his head at me. The door was opened and I smiled obnoxiously as Chuck. He was in a robe, his boxers, and an old white shirt. He looked tired and like he hadn't had a goodnight's sleep in days.

"Chuck Shurley," Dean asked.

"Chuck Shurley that wrote the Supernatural books," Sam added.

"Nice to meet you," I said. "This is Sam... Dean... and I'm (Y/n)... the ones you've written books about."

Chuck sighed and went to shut the door. I stepped in, stopping it with my foot.

"Listen, I appreciate the enthusiasm, I really do and I remember you," he motioned at me, awkwardly grinning before seeming to shake the memories out of his head. I almost slapped him right then. "But please... go get a life."

"You see," Dean followed me, helping to force our way inside. Sam made sure the door shut behind us. "We have a life... and you're selling books about it."

"Okay, this isn't funny," Chuck mumbled.

"You're right," I said. "We just wanna know how you're doing it?"

"I'm just a writer, I'm not doing anything."

"Then why do you know so much about demons and tulpas and changelings?"

"Is this some kind of 'Misery' thing? Ah, it is, isn't it? It's a 'Misery' thing!"

"No, it's not," I shook my head. "Believe me, we're not fans."

"What do you want then," he asked.

"I'm Sam... and that's Dean and (Y/n)," Sam tried again.

"Those are fictional characters," Chuck yelled. "They aren't real!"

Dean grabbed him and pulled him outside.

"Wait, wait-"

"We aren't kidnapping you, calm down," I rolled my eyes. Dean opened the hidden compartment in the impala's trunk.

"Are those real guns?"

"Yes," I nodded. "And real rock salt, real fake IDs."

Chuck let out a laugh at it, "Well, I gotta hand it to you guys. You really are my number-one fans. That... That's awesome. So, I-I think I've got some poster in the house."

"Chuck, stop," I rolled my eyes, grabbing his arm as he went to walk away.

"Please don't hurt me," he begged.

"How much do you know," Sam asked. "Do you know about the angels? Or Lilith breaking the seals?"

"How do you know about that?"

"Have you not been listening," I asked. "The real question is how do you?"

"Because I wrote it," he explained.

"You kept writing?"

"The books never came out because the publisher went bankrupt," he furrowed his eyebrows.

I stepped back, letting go of his arms.

"Okay, wait a minute," Chuck crossed his arms. "This is some kind of joke, right? Did Phil put you up to this?"

"Oh my god," I muttered, pinching the bridge of my nose. I grabbed his robe. "I'm sorry but I'm really tired. Nice to meet you. I'm (Y/n) Winchester, these are my brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. You wrote and published books about us, probably knew who I was, and then you still slept with me."

He stared at me in shock.

"What," I asked.

"The last names were never in the books," he mumbled. "I never told anyone about that. I never even wrote that down."

"Then I guess we have a lot to talk about," I let go of his robe.

The three of us followed him inside.

--time skip--

"I got a visit from Cas," Dean explained as he walked in. "I've some important information."

After talking to Chuck and getting a draft of what was supposed to happen, we were all panicking. Dean told us to wait here. Lilith was going to come for Sam and we both thought it'd be harder if there was more than one of us here at all times.

Now, Dean was coming back from seeing Chuck.

"And that important information is...," Sam trailed off.

"He's a prophet of the lord," Dean said, smirking at me.

I shut my eyes, letting my head fall forward.

"Please say you're joking," I mumbled.

"Nope," Dean replied.

Sam looked over at me. He only started chuckling after his brother broke.

Dean was laughing his head off within seconds, "You screwed a prophet!"

"Shut up," I groaned. "I'm gonna kill him!"

"Archangel will kill you."

"I'll happily pay that price," I muttered. "I slept with a prophet."

"At least that means he didn't write himself to sleep with you," Sam tried to comfort me.

"Yeah, God just decided I was supposed to sleep with the guy publishing books about my life," I replied sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Come on, it could be worst-"

"Sam, love you, but don't finish that sentence if you even kind of value your life," I muttered.

I was desperate for this conversation to just end.

--time skip--

After all was said and done, and Chuck accidentally helped us chase Lilith away for a while, we gave Chuck a lift back to his place.

I followed him up to his door, offering to look around and make sure that he's safe. He shook his head.

"I have an archangel protecting me," he reminded me. "Can't get any safer than that."

I nodded.

"I'm sorry, by the way," he said. "About us. I didn't recognize you until after... it all... and I didn't say anything because I didn't really know how to explain it. The whole event makes me feel all scummy."

"It's alright," I replied with a chuckle. "It's fine, I promise."

He offered me a nervous smile, "Y'know, in all of my visions, you're the most vivid thing."

With a grin, I leaned over and kissed his cheek gently. I stepped back and headed back toward the impala. I made sure to take note of his nervous and flustered face.

"See you around, Chuck!"

"You... You too," he called after me. I got in the backseat and got comfortable.

"So... screwing the prophet wasn't that bad," Dean asked.

I just rolled my eyes, waving through the window at Chuck as Dean pulled away from the curb. Leave it to a Winchester to end up in a situation like that.

--time skip (season 11)--

Sam and I followed Dean with our guns ready. Dean was following the amulet that he had owned for a long time without even knowing it could show us where God was.

Everyone had been infected by Amara only minutes ago but now it was okay and Dean's amulet was glowing.

"Holy shit," I mumbled, seeing who was walking over to us.

Chuck.

He was supposed to be dead. That's why Kevin's prophet powers had been activated.

"No way," Dean said.

"Hey," Chuck... or God said. "We need to talk."

Despite our understandable hesitation, Chuck reached forward, teleporting all of us back to the bunker. I stepped away from him, slightly overwhelmed.

"(Y/n)," Chuck walked over and tried to grab my arm. I instinctually slapped him. I was nothing but confusion and anger. "I deserved that. Just, please?"

I stepped away again.

From behind Chuck stepped Kevin's ghost. My breath caught in my throat. The poor boy had been through so much shit because of us.

Kevin told us about how we looked stressed and that we should listen to Chuck.

Then, Chuck waved his hand. Kevin turned into a ball of white and blue light before ascending beyond the bunker.

"Where'd he go," I asked.

"Heaven, where he deserves," Chuck promised. I nodded.

I listened to the rant about how Chuck had abandoned us all and how awful things were. Then, the conversation turned to the plan to stop Amara. The boys talked about needing Lucifer and Chuck got incredibly upset. In a fit, he went to leave. I stepped in front of him.

"No," I said bluntly. "Even if you want to avoid the subject of your estranged son, you can't just leave."

"(Y/n)-"

"Sam, Dean," I looked at them. "Give us a minute?"

They both nodded, glaring at Chuck on their way out. I tried to ignore the instincts that were telling me that Chuck was just selfish.

"(Y/n)," Chuck mumbled.

"Just answer my questions," I said. "Then we can discuss what to do with Amara without you storming away recklessly. Okay?"

He nodded.

"Have you been God the whole time," I asked.

He nodded.

"You wrote all of our stories?"

Another nod.

"Did you write that I was going to sleep with you?"

I felt manipulated and angry. I was desperate for an answer. I knew that this could've made me feel like dirt, but I needed to know.

"No," Chuck said. I clenched my jaw, ready to call him a liar. "I told you. I had been pretty much hands-off for a long time. Did I know who were? Absolutely. I'm sorry I lied to you about that. But I didn't plan anything between us. We weren't some divine plan."

I nodded, looking down.

"You know how Dean and Amara are connected," he asked. I nodded, looking back at him. "We're like them."

"And that's not a divine plan-"

"I'm not doing a good job explaining this," Chuck shook his head. "It feels like we're like them. Like there's this bond that just happened as soon as we met."

"You lied to me, for years," I said. "Saying we have some bond isn't gonna fix that."

"I know."

We both fell silent. Slowly, I started laughing. Chuck furrowed his eyebrows, "My only one-night stand... and it was God."

Chuck started laughing with me while I really processed what I had done.

I slowly stopped laughing.

I didn't notice until it was too late that Chuck had slowly gotten closer to me. As soon as his lips brushed mine, I pushed him back. Not hard, but enough to get him to step away.

"No," I mumbled. "Not that, no."

Chuck nodded, "Got it."

"Now," I sighed, "we need to actually plan to stop Amara, and if we need Luci-"

"We don't," he said bluntly. "We can do something else. We don't need him. Okay?"

I nodded. In my gut, I trusted him. Maybe that was me being an idiot but I did trust him. For now at least.

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

Masterlist

What I Write For

Request Guidelines

Musical Prompts

Small Moments With…

When Worlds Collide (Doctor Who Crossover Series) Masterlist

Some Original Characters

folklore/evermore Writing Challenge (and Masterlist)

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Texas relief, @padaleckimeon donated $100 and requested Dean Jr. meeting Sam and Dean in heaven. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts) 

(read on AO3)

When Dad dies, Dean takes a week off. It wasn’t sudden, or a surprise. Dad had been sick for a while, his body starting to fail him. At first Dean had been scared, and then he’d been angry. He was only twenty-four when Dad got the diagnosis and it wasn’t—fair, in some stupid but essential way. He’d barely graduated from college and, yeah, Dad was kind of old, older than a lot of his friends’ parents, but—he thought, somehow, that him dying just wasn't… applicable. Dad was just—there, always. Solid, supportive, kind of boring maybe but also stronger than anyone Dean had ever known, or would ever know, and it wasn’t right that he could just be sitting in his apartment midway through a novel and get a call and kind of sigh, because he was in a good part in the book, and then to sit up straight with his hair standing on end to hear Dad say, quiet, I'm sorry, buddy. We need to talk about something. That’s what he said, first. That he was sorry.

There were treatments, but not many. Dean had flown out and gone to a few of the appointments with the oncologist and Dad had been quiet, listening to the options. He’d researched a lot of this on his own, because Dean had done the same thing, and they’d both been nodding along during the options. Injections, radiation. Chemo. Dad had asked, polite, what the life expectancy was for each option, and Dean had watched the side of his face and not the doctor, and when the answer was given Dad had closed his eyes briefly, and then looked away from both Dean and the doctor, out the window at the snowy day, and Dean had known, then.

Dad made it past Dean’s twenty-fifth birthday. He had a party with his friends, at his girlfriend’s apartment, and they tried to keep his spirits up but it was a pretty shitty party, all told. The next day, his actual birthday, he flew back out to Dad’s house and he was in good spirits—had a mini-cake, even, with a single candle that he made Dean blow out—but he was thin, and his hair was growing back in snow-white and tender-soft, and when Dad fell asleep in front of the crappy old cowboy movie that Dean had picked just because he knew Dad for some reason liked it, Dean went out onto the porch into the nearly-springtime air and he cried, pissed at himself. Pissed at everything. Then just—unbearably sad, because he liked his current girlfriend but he didn’t think he was going to marry her, and that meant that whatever girl he did marry would be one his dad would never meet—if he had kids, they’d never know how his dad concentrated like a motherfucker on crossword puzzles and obsessed over documentaries and knew every single piece of the inside of that behemoth car in the garage and was just the smartest kindest most stubborn person. Just—the best person. They’d listen to Dean’s stories maybe but they wouldn’t know, because Dad would never meet them, and that was just—unbearable, that night. In the morning, Dad made oatmeal and Dean added a bunch of sugar because Dad’s oatmeal was inedible otherwise, and Dad smiled kind of rueful like he always did when Dean did that, and then Dad said, I’m sorry, again, kind of quiet, and Dean reached out and held his hand—thin, and the bones feeling frail—and he said don’t be sorry, Dad, and four months later, Dad was dead.

Dad was always pretty up-front with him about most everything, especially after he and Mom split up. When he was twelve, Dad explained the supernatural very carefully, telling him that he was safe but that other people might not be, and why. When he was thirteen, Dad told Dean that Hell and Heaven were both real and that there was, definitely, confirmed, a God, and maybe it wasn’t the same God that other people knew but that Dad said he was kind, in his own way. The person in charge of Hell, Dad said, was maybe less so, but she wouldn’t hurt Dean, ever. Dad said he knew that for fact, and he said it so certainly, looking Dean in the eye, that Dean believed him. When Dean turned eighteen, a few months from graduating high school, Dad took him to a tattoo parlor and said for maybe the first time in Dean’s life that something was non-negotiable, and Dean hadn’t cared because what other kid in the senior year was going to walk at graduation with a kickass demonic tattoo?

There were other things, though, that they didn’t talk about. Dad said one day a lot when Dean was little but then, when he was older and it was clear that one day would be never, he just said—I can’t, buddy. I wish I could.

After the week off, rattling around the old house, and the cremation with no service that Dad had insisted on, Dean drives out to the lawyer in Sioux Falls. She’s nice. Respectful but not cloying. The Samuel Winchester Estate that Dean is the sole beneficiary of is—a lot of money. A lot more money than he knew Dad had, or that he could have ever earned. Dad has assigned some of the money to go to charities, and to some people Dean doesn’t know—the lawyer doesn’t say who in the specific, but says they’re kids of some of Dad’s old friends. Dean didn’t know Dad had many friends, much less ones who’d get trust funds in inheritance. Aside from the stock options and the accounts and all the money left over, Dean inherits a list of assets. The house, of course. The Chevy in the garage, with the stipulation that he can never sell it. A safety deposit box, from which the lawyer has already retrieved the contents.

She leaves him alone, to go through the box. Neatly organized, like everything else in Dad’s life. File-folders of pictures, printed out all old-fashioned. Some of Dean when he was a baby. Some of when Dad and Mom were still together, leaning against each other, Dean hugged between them. Some—much older, creased and faded, stored in little plastic sleeves so they can't degrade. He recognizes a few from the framed copies Dad always had in the house. Some he hasn't seen. Most of them—almost all of them—are of his Uncle Dean, who died before he was born, and he looks especially at one that just—hits him in the gut, in this awful way where he has to sit there looking at the soothing taupe paint of the conference room wall before he can look at it again. Uncle Dean's facing the camera, sort of, although he's laughing about something and not really looking into the lens, and there's Dad, laughing too. He looks… young. Younger than Dean is now. He flips the picture over. Dad's handwriting, careful: 2006, Bobby's house. Almost fifty years ago. An entire life he didn't know. He thinks again of his imaginary future kids. These lives they have, grandfather to father to son, that overlap like a venn diagram but—not enough. Not close to enough.

*

What's a life? How to summarize, from beginning to faded end, in a way that would make sense to anyone but who it happened to?

Dad left letters, explaining, but he's gone and the context is missing. There are so many questions Dean wants to ask but he can't, of course, anymore. The first letter is attached to the key to the bunker, where he would never take Dean when he was alive, and on winter break from med school Dean flies from Boston to Kansas and rents a car and drives alone through the snowfields.

Dark, inside. He throws the big switch and the lights crackle, hum on, almost reluctant. He has no idea how it's getting power. Dust, but not as much as there could be. A library, a kitchen. Archives upon archives. Dad had explained, but what little he'd said both in life and in the letters didn't come close. It was home, he wrote, for over a decade. The only one we had with four walls, for our whole lives, although we didn't think of it that way. I didn't, at least. Dean doesn't know what that means but he looks into the bedrooms and sees… emptiness, plain bunks and old desks and funny lamps. I just picked a random room, Dad said, and as Dean's looking he really can't tell which was Dad's. Figures. Their house when Dean was growing up didn't change a bit, no matter how terrible that wallpaper was. It's only when Dean pushes open the door to room 11 that there's any personality, and he flicks the light and stands there blinking, surprised. Guns and knives on the wall. Books, piled up. Empty beer bottles crowded on the little table. Dust, but—not as much as there could be. He walks in, cautious, this feeling in his gut like he's in someone's home and they've just walked out, and could return any moment. A food bowl on the floor. A shirt flung over the chair. On the desk: more books and magazines and a folded actually-on-paper newspaper from 2024, and a job application, half filled out. Dean Winchester, it says at the top, in mostly-neat capitals, and Dean rests a hand on the back of the chair and feels… strange. He tries to picture it—the man from the pictures, Dad's brother, filling up this space. Drinking beer and reading pulp westerns and checking out—oh, weird, magazine porn. Dean shakes his head. Impossible.

In the letters, Dad said: Hunting was all we knew how to do. With everything we knew, it was our duty to use the knowledge the best way we could. I went back and forth on it. Your uncle never did, even if I know there were times he wished he—that we both—could be something else. I don't want that for you. I want you to live exactly the life you want for yourself. No expectations, okay? Not from me or anyone else.

There are printed files that go back a hundred years. More than. Paper files, but old SSDs too, with connectors Dean has to find adapters for. Dad: If you want to know what we did, it's digitized. I know I always said I'd tell you one day, but I never knew how to say it. I'm sorry for that. I always thought I'd be one hundred percent honest, if I ever got a kid, because of how we were raised. I didn't know how hard that could be. Stuff that you'd want to say, but when it came time to just open your mouth and say it there weren't any words.

Dad wrote up all the old hunts, it turned out. Simple notes about where/when/how, the kind of monster it was, the number of people who died and the people who were saved. The people they had to explain things to, who knew now about the supernatural underbelly to the universe. He noted, too, if there were injuries, and Dean reads with his hand over his mouth a long, long litany of Dean W. shot, right arm; Sam W. broken bone in hand; Dean W. concussion; Sam W. strangled. On and on. No wonder Dad didn't make a big fuss when Dean broke his leg in the fourth grade.

He sleeps in the bunker overnight, in one of the spare bedrooms that's not room 11. There's a fan on the ceiling, dusty office supplies on the desk. By lamplight he reads the letters, on his back on the stiff terrible mattress, his eyes stinging and past-midnight tired. Our lives weren't the kind of thing anyone would want, Dad wrote. I spent so long trying to get away from it because I thought 'it shouldn't be this way' – and I was right, you know? It shouldn't have been how it was. But it was that way, anyway, and in the end that was something I was okay with. We were making what difference we could. We were happy. A lot of people have it worse.

'We'. Dad hardly writes Uncle Dean's name but he's in every letter. We, we, we. Dad told Dean stories, of course, the dumb stuff they got up to when they were teenagers, or the (sanitized, Dean's sure) adventures they had as adults, but despite the pictures on the wall at home and the pictures in the deposit box and the whole life that's here, Dean can't—see it. Beer bottles on the table in the bedroom, one on either side of the tiny table. The shirt slung over the chair. We were happy, he says, but—how? Dean can't imagine it.

In the last letter Dad wrote, I think I'm writing this when I've got a month or two left. Dr. Hendricks isn't sure. I wish I had more time, to explain how it was. Who we were. I never told you the most embarrassing thing in the world, but I'm old and I'm not going to be around and not much will be able to embarrass me anymore, so screw it. (Fifty years ago I would have gotten really mad at myself for that kind of comment; more things age can fix.) There are books about us. There's a hard drive, in the bunker. It's labelled BURN THIS. (That's your uncle's handwriting.) They're true, more or less. Written by a really crappy, amateur writer, but he was a kind of prophet, and he knew everything there was to know about us, and he wrote books for about five years, based on our life and the real things we did. Some of it is exaggerated and melodramatic. A lot of it is just how it happened. You'll have to decide which is which. I don't come off too well in some of them but I hope you'll understand that the world… I don't know how to describe it. Somehow the world felt different, then. It was just us, trying our best. I hope it gives you some idea of the life we had. No matter what happened, I'm glad that life led me to you.

*

What's a life?

Dean marries. Not the girl from college but a woman, later. Red hair, blue eyes. Absolutely no sense of humor beyond puns. Hates cooking and has strong opinions on movies from the 1980s. They have three kids, a girl and then a boy and then a girl again. All dark-haired, smart. Dean gives the boy the middle name Samuel and his wife holds his hand, says it sounds great.

He's a doctor. He meets hunters. He sets bones for free and prescribes medication when needed and when it will be needed. A woman, last name Novak, calls him and says you know, your dad was one of the greats?, and he meets people—older than him by twenty, thirty years, with scars and dangerous lives and guns hidden in every corner, and he hears stories. Sam Winchester, who saved the world. Dean knows—he's read the books—but there are more years that the books didn't cover, more people who didn't die because of his dad's intervention. "They were the best," one man says, shrugging, and gets no argument, nods and shrugs from every hunter in the room, and Dean goes home that night and kisses his littlest girl where she's already tucked up in bed, and he thinks: what will she know, about who her grandfather was? Who their family is? What could she possibly know?

Dean's wife dies in her eighties. An accident. A broken hip, an infection following. Still happens, even in this new century. The kids are grown, have kids of their own, and the funeral is big, and there are people at his elbow who say to him we're so sorry and who share anecdotes of her life and who support him to his chair, even though at ninety he's perfectly capable of getting to his chair himself. He's a cranky old man, he realizes. She would've laughed at him. He thinks, inevitably, of his own father's death. Silent and unmourned, except by one. What's a life.

He writes letters, for his children. The estate is handled. He calls the oldest girl and explains to her that she's going to be the executor, and that there are things she has to keep. A key. A car. Pictures, so that her boys will know where they came from. "Of course, Dad," she says, placating a little because he's old and clearly starting to lose his grip, but she'll do it. She's a good kid. Dean learned how to raise a kid from the best.

When he dies, he's expecting it. The trip to the hospital. The monitors. He knows the pain meds even if he's retired and his doctor looks like an infant but she gives him the good stuff. It's—easy. A slipping away. He closes his eyes to sleep and there is a moment where he thinks with surprisingly clarity, this is okay, isn't it, and has the feeling of someone's hand laid on his, and then he sleeps, and doesn't wake up again.

*

He opens his eyes in an armchair, in a house that he doesn't recognize but that feels instantly familiar. Music playing, somewhere, and a gold-tinged afternoon spilling through the window, and tone-deaf singing from the kitchen. His mind feels clearer than it has in… Tears come to his eyes but it doesn't hurt. He puts his fingers to his mouth and smiles, breathing in slow, and thinks—well, this is it. Heaven.

Time is no longer time. Space is—immaterial. There's a house, not their house, but it's roomy and it has what he needs and the bed he crawls into with his wife at the end of a day is comfortable, and that's what matters, as he lays his hand on her hip where he used to lay it always, and she sighs against the pillow and squirms and tucks herself into a fetal pretzel, like she always used to. The spill of her hair red against the pillow. Her warmth, plush against his bones. She smells not of honeysuckle or vanilla but just like warm, human skin, the faint bite of salt-sweat at the nape of her neck, the must in the morning in thin bluish light when she turns over and finds him awake, and smiles. Incredible. The weight of her is real, and the spot between her breasts when he kisses her there is real, and he'd always believed in some distant way that what his dad had told him was true—that there was a heaven, that there would be some kind of justice after death—but it was distant, and academic, because of course there was a life to live and patients to care for and children to raise and a wife to bury and a death to get through. What a thing, to come to. This place, with her hair on the pillow, and her smell. He hadn't forgotten it, in the end, after all.

The house sits in some place that feels like South Dakota. Home, or close to it. A lake among trees. A distance between things. He reads, and plays games he barely remembers from being a kid, and he watches the Ghostbusters movies again because his wife insists and they are, he has to admit, still funny, but he makes fun of the weird museum guy anyway, and she kicks him where her feet are tucked in his lap, and he tickles her in retaliation, and then—well, the movie will be there, later, when they're done.

She rides her bike every day. One day she comes back and says she was just visiting her mother, and Dean sits up and says, "What?" But—of course. What's time? What's a space, between this shared slow heaven and another? She shrugs—his mother-in-law says hi—and he sits there on the couch with his game paused, watching her go into the kitchen and shake her sweaty hair back from her face, redoing it into the practical twist at her neck like she always does, and he thinks—okay. Okay, maybe now.

The bookshelf has every book he could want, and seems to know what he needs to read before he does. Raining outside, spattering gentle on the eaves, and his wife made a huge pot of tea and took it to bed upstairs and left him just a cup, and so he sits at the kitchen table with his cup of tea and opens the book—Home, by Carver Edlund—and reads it, lingering, even if he's read it three times before online, his thumb brushing over the cheap too-thin pages of this physical copy. There's a poltergeist, preposterous. The psychic, odd and familiar. The brothers, united, and he reads the next-to-last chapter very slowly, lingering, as they find the box of pictures, as they get into the car together. Drive off, to meet some new dawning day.

He finishes his cup of tea. Puts on a clean shirt, combs his hair. "I'll be back," he says, to his wife, and she blinks at him from her nest of blankets with her own book and then only nods, and Dean goes downstairs and gets into his car and finds the road, beyond the garden gate, and drives.

He doesn't know where he's going but that doesn't matter. He turns on the car radio and it's playing—oldies, but really oldies, the stuff that was old when he was little. What childhood sounded like. Farms appear, melt away. Trees rising, through hills. He sings along, under his breath, remembering: a roadtrip to his grandma's house, Mom sleeping in the passenger seat and Dad driving through the night, and Dad singing very, very badly, as quiet as he could, and Dean thinking even as a kid that this was some private thing, to see, and he had to be silent and not show that he was awake or it would disappear. That feeling, it crept up on him at the oddest times, when he was an adult, and later. That sensation of the armored tank of the car moving through the dark, and the silence around them, and the quiet music inside, and Dad, in a world of his own, entirely separate from the world he shared with Dean.

Another hill. Climbing a mostly-paved road. Not raining anymore but the sun coming in slanted gold through the trees. Distance, and a curve, and then: a house. Old-looking. Older maybe than the one Dean and his wife share. In front of it, a car. The car.

Dean parks. He gets out, and the air smells washed-fresh, a little fecund. Like summer. He puts his hand on the hood of the Impala and it's sun-warm and he tears up, completely unexpected, and has to sit on the hood and hold his hands over his face, his heart—full, in a way he's felt since dying, but not in this particular way, this way of feeling that he thought had mellowed, a lifetime ago.

So much for putting on a good face. He wipes over his mouth and dashes his eyes clear. A porch, with new-carved railings. A door, painted blue. He knocks, his body feeling empty and clean and young, terribly young, and before he's quite ready the door opens, and it's—his uncle, in a purple plaid shirt and paint-spattered jeans and grey socks, frowning at him, saying, "Uh, hi?"

He looks—almost exactly like he looked in the pictures. Maybe forty, lines beside his eyes and heavy stubble on his jaw. The age he was when he died. Dean opens his mouth, can hardly dredge up what to say, and then he hears a voice say, "Dean?" and Dean and his uncle both turn their heads to see—Dad, young too, completely shocked, standing on the far side of the porch in running gear with sweat slicking his hair back from his head, and Dean drags in air and says, "Dad," and Dad grins at him, that big creased dorky-looking dad-smile that Dean only got once in a blue moon, and he steps forward and they're hugging, then, and it's—heaven. That's all he can think. Heaven, Dad's arms tight around him, his shoulders slotting in under Dad's because—Dad was so tall, and this is where Dean fit and never would fit again once Dad was gone. Here, under Dad's arm. Like being a kid again.

Dad's hand on the back of his head. A startled, shaky, deep breath in, and then hands gripping his shoulders, and being shoved reluctantly back to have Dad look down at his face, serious and worried. "How long has it been?" he says. "Are you—you didn't—?"

"I was ninety-seven," he says, and Dad's eyebrows go high and he smiles, big and glad and real, relieved. He touches Dean's face and Dean smiles back, tears rising again for no reason and for so many reasons. "I look good, don't I?"

Dad huffs a laugh. "You look great," he says, and then his eyes lift over Dean's head, and Dean has to turn around because—

What to call him? Uncle Dean. Standing there with his shoulder against the doorframe, his mouth tucked in on one side. Like from right out of one of the pictures, returning Dad's look. His eyes drop after a second to meet Dean's and Dean feels this odd jolt, in his chest. Bizarre, to see. He's real. All Dad's stories, the wall of memories, the books, and here he is, in grey socks, looking all over Dean's face like he's seeing it for the first time. "Guess you got your looks from your mom's side of the family," Uncle Dean says, finally, and Dad says, behind him, "Nice, dude," and Uncle Dean shrugs, unrepentant, but with an unexpected dimple quirking into his cheek, and holds out his hand to shake, and Dean takes it and has another shock at it, warm, callused, firm, real—while Uncle Dean says, wry, "Well, I guess some introductions are in order, huh?"

Uncle Dean and Dad share the house. It's nice, inside. Old fashioned in a way that feels comfortable, as Dean's come to expect. (He wonders, in a few hundred years—will new arrivals to heaven expect old-fashioned arcologies?) Uncle Dean brings beers from the kitchen and Dad takes his without even looking, drinking in Dean's face when Dean's doing the exact same to him. He looks so young. Younger, maybe, than he was even in the few pictures Dean has of him being a baby, held tiny in the crook of Dad's massive arm—some past time, some time Dean doesn't belong to, but Uncle Dean clearly does. Dad shakes his head after a few seconds, huffs again, rueful. "I don't even know where to start," he says.

Uncle Dean rolls his eyes, behind him, and says, "How about you ask the kid how he's doing, genius." Mean, but he squeezes Dad's shoulder too, and Dad bites his lip, looks at Dean, his head tipping. Asking.

It's awkward, but only in the way Dean would expect. To see his dad after so long—and both of them dead—and to explain… what? A life. Being a doctor, meeting a wife. Children. Grandchildren. "Great-grandpa Sammy," Uncle Dean fake-whispers, "told you you were old." Nudging Dad, half-sitting on the arm of his chair. Looking proud enough he could burst, although Dean doesn't know exactly why.

"Are you going to make dinner or are you just here to heckle?" Dad says, looking up, exasperated, and Uncle Dean raises his hands, says, "Oh, I'm here to heckle," but he gets up, too, says, "You get tired of the inquisition, kid, we've got more drinks in the kitchen," and cuffs Dad around the back of the head before he disappears down the blue-painted hall—and music comes on, after a moment. The kind of music that was on Dean's radio as he drove. Comfort sounds that go deep into some space beyond his bones.

"He's a lot, sorry," Dad says, after a second.

"I know, I read about it," Dean says, and Dad blinks at him, mouth half-open, before he remembers.

They have dinner. Uncle Dean makes burgers, fries, a spinach salad that Dean and Dad both groan at, and he looks at them across the table with his burger in his hands and shakes his head. No salad on his plate, Dean notices. They talk but about—nothing. Uncle Dean asks if the Broncos ever won the Superbowl again and Dean tries to dredge up an answer. Dad asks what his wife did for a living. Dean wants to ask things and doesn't know how. There's time, he knows, but for now all he can do is—watch. Dad leaning back in his chair with a beer, smiling at him while Uncle Dean tells some probably well-worn story about trying to fix the Impala in a rainstorm, and Dad was pissed for some reason and so kept handing him the wrong tools. "It was too dark to actually read the grip numbers," Dad says, patient like it's the hundredth time, and Uncle Dean says back, immediately, "Who needs the numbers? You can feel the weight in your hand!" Old arguments, well-worn, in the well-worn house. The way they move around each other, washing dishes, putting plates away. The way Dad's eyes will jump across the table, half a second before Uncle Dean's even opening his mouth, a smile already waiting to be pushed back down.

When it's night he says he should get back to his wife. "I'd like to meet her," Dad says, "some day."

"Gotta see who's willing to put up with a Winchester," Uncle Dean says, eyebrows waggling.

Dad sighs but nods, too. Dean gets folded into a hug, there under the tuck of his arm, and then he hugs Uncle Dean, too, impulsive and just—wanting to, feeling like a kid. Uncle Dean startles but hugs him back right away. "You're good, kid," he says, quiet against the side of Dean's head, and Dean nods and says, "Thanks," for more than he can say other than that, right then on this particular day, and then he gets into his car and pulls away from the house and looks back to see Uncle Dean gripping Dad's shoulder again while they watch him move away—and when he's home, after a blurring drive that's long enough for him to settle himself, he comes up the stairs to where his wife's warm in bed and slides in beside her and she says, sleepy, "How was it," and he says against her hair, "Perfect," because—it was. It was perfect.

*

Dean comes alone to their house twice more, on days when he needs it and doesn't see a reason not to. He brings his wife, the third time, and Dad's extremely polite and Uncle Dean asks her about engineering and Dean enjoys it, from the couch, while she gets the same interrogation he did, and they're driving home with her at the wheel, his eyes on the passing trees, before she says, "They're an interesting couple," and it doesn't strike him, for what may be a mile of blurring distance, why that sentence wasn't quite right.

It should be a shock. It isn't. That it isn't should, itself, be a shock, but he sits with it for a few days, the easy rhythm of heaven sliding around them.

He goes to see his mother, finally. She's in a place on a lakeshore. Her first husband, kind but remote, giving them space. She presses his hands between her own and he goes through the list of answers to all her questions, smiling, feeling déjà vu, and then says, cautious, that he's been to see Dad. "Oh!" she says, and doesn't seem upset. "How is he?"

"Good," he says. They never married, his parents—Dad had told him, much later, that it just didn't occur to him to ask—and he knew they didn't resent each other, but there wasn't much closeness there. He didn't realize how little until he was married himself. Still, he's cautious as he says: "He and my uncle have a place. Uncle Dean, you know?"

Mom sits back in her chair. "Well, then," she says, soft. She's youngish, too. Fifty maybe, her hair shot with grey. "That sounds about right."

He doesn't know how to ask but there's no way to do it other than just—to ask. "What do you know about him?"

Mom smiles, slow, and looks out at the lake. "Honey, your dad's a good man, but I think you know as well as I do that he doesn't give a lot away." Dean follows her look. A boat, far out on the water. Not close enough to hail. "He didn't talk about his brother, much. That said more than I think he knew it did. All those pictures. Well, you remember." She shakes her head, looking down at her lap. "I resented him for a while. A dead man. Silly of me. But then I suppose your dad could have resented Luke, if he'd—cared more. Sorry. That sounds like I'm angry, but I'm not. There just wasn't much left in Sam, that's all. He loved you and he loved someone that wasn't here anymore and there just wasn't room for me, or at least not room for what I needed. I wished I could've known him. Dean, I mean. I would've understood your dad a lot more, I think, but then—I don't think I would've ever met him, if Dean were around."

When he gets home he pulls a book off the shelf. Frail, the spine cracked badly. Supernatural, the first book in the whole series. When Dad was at college and the whole thing started. He sits on the floor by the bookshelf and lets the cup of tea his wife brings go cold on the rug, and reads again and again the scene—coming down the stairwell, finding the car in the garage, going through the details of the voice on the tape, on where their dad (Dean's grandfather) could possibly be, and Dad says there's this interview he can't skip. His whole future, on a plate. In the story, it's Dad's point of view, and he looks at Uncle Dean and Uncle Dean smirks, and Dad thinks, This is exactly what I was getting away from. Dean drags his thumb over the page, looks at the shelf. All those books. All the years in them, and the horrors in those. Hell, and apocalypse, and none of it euphemisms or easy metaphor. All the things Dad wanted to get away from—and then all the years, after, where he stayed exactly where he was. And then—a lifetime later—to come back home to a house, with a blue door, and his eyes not bothering to follow his brother as he leaves a room, because he knows without doubt that he'll be back.

In bed, he asks his wife, "When do you think the kids will get here?" and she turns over and stares at him, and says, "Hopefully not for years?"

He shakes his head, folds his arm under his head. "Duh," he says, and gets her to punch his chest lightly. "Ow. I meant… I don't know. What do you think their lives will be? Like… who will they be? I can't even imagine."

She stops trying to lightly beat him and goes thoughtful. Her thumb finds the little scar on her chin and rubs it, as is her habit, and her eyes slip over his shoulder to the distance. "They'll be—them." He raises his eyebrows, and she shrugs, rolling closer. "I mean, what do you want from me? I knew Abbie for fifty-one years and I still think that girl's a mystery. When she's… probably a grandmother herself, now, I guess. Is she still at Notre Dame? Are she and Andre happy? Are the boys healthy and do they like each other, and did she ever get Jacob to stop drawing cartoon dicks on the walls?" Dean laughs—god, he'd forgotten that—and she smiles at him, props her head on one fist. Says, softer, "Did she live the life she wanted to have? I don't know. I guess when she gets here we can ask her, but we'll never…"

No, they'll never. Dean touches the scar on her chin and she focuses on him, instead of some other world they're no longer privy to. "It's a venn diagram," he says, after a moment. "All of us. Abbie, overlapping with you and me, and then us overlapping with our parents, and on and on, all the way back. I guess we don't get to know what's outside the center parts."

"Even if there's a hundred and four crappily-written books about the other parts," she says, raising her eyebrows, and Dean shrugs, caught. She grins, shaking her head at him, and then squirms in close, tucking in under his chin. Kisses his throat, sighs. "Why not stop at a hundred? Seems random."

"I don't know, maybe the publisher wanted him to stretch it out," Dean says, and she hums, and puts her nose on his collarbone to settle in. He smooths her hair back, away from her shoulder. His favorite book is Swan Song, probably. The final one, as far as most people knew. His dad, the hero, saving humanity and the world, but that wasn't the best part. The best part was the army man, stuck in the door. His dad, looking at that, and meeting his brother's eye, and that being—enough. Just that, and all the life it represented. Enough.

"Venn diagrams," he says, aloud, quietly.

"Yes, you're very brilliant, Dr. Winchester," his wife says, mumbling. "Now go to sleep."

He kisses her hair, and does.

[stylesluxx]

9:41pm – p.lahote

[warnings: angst but eh and like two swears and horrible writing]

summary: in which y/n distances herself from paul in an attempt to protect him | requested!

word count: 4,539

masterlist

Being best friends with Bella Swan meant you were always in a state of worry. You were worried she'd trip over air and fall into the middle of oncoming traffic, or she'd stab herself with a plastic spoon and Jasper Hale would cause a scene in the middle of the lunchroom. And it's not like you had anything against the Cullens, you were all good friends, but you knew how Jasper could get. And it also didn't help that your boyfriend, Paul's, words were always in the back of your mind about the "leeches." But you knew the Cullens first and knew not to judge them too harshly.

Bella Swan shook up the town of Forks, whether she recognized it or not. You grew up in Forks, loved the quietness and scenery. You weren't too excited to have to leave for college but figured you'd find somewhere that was similar to your hometown. You were pretty quiet and kept to yourself and maybe that's why you and Bella got along so well. But once she befriended you and introduced you to the Cullens, you figured you were entering the new normal.

It had slipped out when Bella was talking in her sleep during a sleepover that the Cullens were supernatural beings and it was a well-known fact that your friend wasn't a good liar. So when you confronted her about it and she was stammering, not giving you a real answer, you just gave her a knowing look.

"I won't tell anyone. I mean, you'd be the only person I tell," You shrugged and she nodded.

"It's a complicated thing, but I trust you. Just... don't think about it around Edward."

You looked at her warily before just nodding your head in agreement.

Of course, Edward already knew thanks to Alice and both you and Bella had to deal with Rosalie's death stare, which bumped her down to being your least favorite Cullen.

And when they left town and left a hole in your best friend, you and Jacob picked her back up and put the pieces together as best as you could, but deep down, you knew only Edward would be able to fix her completely.

And then, Jacob left. You were hurt by this since you two had grown closer. He was like yours and Bella's little brother and him disappearing like how your vampire friends did was painful.

The second time Bella went to confront the boy, you went for moral support. Your arms crossed over your chest as you stood behind Bella, who patiently greeted Billy Black.

"I can't believe this brat is sleeping," You scoffed, but Bella was already out the room, ready to confront the group of guys that just walked on the Black property.

"Bella, no," You called out while following her onto the grass.

"What did you do?"

You reached to grab her arm, ready to go home, but she yanked it out of your grip.

"What did you do? What did you do to him?" She angrily questioned who you assumed to be Sam Uley, pushing him roughly.

He looked exactly how Jacob described; aged beyond his years. He had copper skin, brown eyes, and was about 6'6". Almost as tall as Jacob. And he had the same tattoo Bella said Jacob had.

You looked at the other three boys and they had the same one in the same spot. You recognized Embry, giving him a weird look before turning your attention back to the raging girl in front of you.

"What did we do? What did he do? What'd he tell you?" The boy that spoke was menacing and looked at Bella as if she were below him. He was intriguing despite his demeanor, but deep down you knew he was just bad luck.

"Bella-" You started but were ignored.

"Nothing! He tells us nothing because he's scared of you," She responds, making the boys in front of you laugh.

You had enough at this point. It was already enough Bella was ignoring you but now being laughed at, you were over it. They weren't necessarily laughing at you but what Bella said was exactly how you felt as well. It felt as if they were invalidating your worry.

"Oh fuck off!" You scoffed, though you weren't spared a glance from the boy. You went to reach for the keys in Bella's coat pocket but were taken aback by her swinging her arm back and slapping the menacing boy.

The muscular, six-foot boy went from shaking with laughter to shaking with anger, causing your eyes to widen.

"It's too late now!" Laughed the boy to your left but his comment and Sam's warning fell on deaf ears.

"Isabella!" You spoke sternly, grabbing her arm and slowly backing away from the group.

The boy in front of you disappeared and in his spot, a huge, dark silver wolf stood. If you knew nothing about the supernatural world, you could've sworn this was a nightmare but once you saw his eyes, you knew it was the same boy.

You and Bella turned around, facing the Black house as you started running, losing your hold on her.

"Bella! Y/N!" The brat, as you called him, shouted, jumping off his porch and running toward you.

"Run! Jake run!" Bella screamed, attempting to warn him, but he kept running ahead with no intention of slowing down.

She jumped over Bella as she clumsily tumbled to the ground, making you groan and turn to pull her up. But in the midst of trying to rescue your friend, you see the other turn into a russet brown wolf, standing taller than the silver one.

"It's always something when I'm with you, I'll give you that," You mumbled and watched the two wolves go at each other, breaking Billy's boat and tumbling into the woods.

"Take them back to Emily's place," Sam directed the remaining two before running into the woods.

"Guess the wolf's out of the bag."

You rolled your eyes at the corny joke as you pulled Bella to her feet.

"The next time I say we leave, let's just leave, yeah?" You huffed and started toward the big red truck.

You arrived at the small brown home in the middle of the woods and you sighed, still trying to take in the events that happened less than 10 minutes ago.

Embry and the other boy jumped out of the truck, leaving you and Bella in the two-seat truck, her on your lap.

"Hey, I think we should go back and see if Jacob's okay," Bella suggested as she rolled down the window.

Honestly, you weren't thinking about the well-being of either of the boys. But instead, you replayed the whole interaction with the silver wolf before he changed. You have to ask Jacob what his name was, but casually so he wouldn't try to tease you about a crush.

"Have Paul sink some teeth in him. Serves him right!"

So the menacing one's name was Paul. You nodded as you took the information and set up a folder for him in your head.

They were talking about some bet before stopping and turning to look at the two of you in the truck.

"Come on in guys, we won't bite!" Embry called, giving you two a boyish smile making you chuckle. You always thought he was adorable, like a little baby you wanted to squish.

"I know we're a bit shaken up, but come on Bells, with the other people we hang out with, we really aren't in the position to hesitate," You said, patting her thigh as encouragement.

She got out of the car and you followed behind, giving Embry a small smile.

"You know, I liked you better with long hair," You teased the lanky boy as you walked up the steps to the house.

"Gotta keep it short so my fur isn't too long," He answered with a grin on his face, walking behind you. "Oh hey, about Emily, Sam's fiancée: don't stare. It bugs Sam."

"Why would we stare?" You questioned before walking inside the house, immediately met with warmth and the smell of muffins.

"You guys hungry? Like I have to ask," You heard the melodic voice tease the boys.

"Who's this?" She asked after looking up and giving both you and Bella a smile.

"Y/N Y/L/N and Bella Swan. Who else?" Jared introduced you two as he sat at the table.

"Hm, so you're the vampire girls?" Emily teased.

"Ehhh, I'm more neutral territory," You chuckled, hoping to help ease Bella so she could take over talking for now.

"So you're... the wolf girl?" Bella added on, after thinking a bit for a comeback. "Guess so- well, I'm engaged to one."

You watched as Embry sat and Emily brought the fresh muffins over to the table. The boys immediately reached out for them.

"Save some for your brothers. And ladies first. Muffin?"

You looked over at Bella and nodded as she mumbled a quick "sure."

You grabbed a muffin hesitantly (you didn't want to overstep even though you were offered one).

You zoned out as Bella talked to Emily and the boys, and you settled on thinking about "Paul." You replayed the interaction and how he kept his fierce brown eyes on Bella, his target. Why was he so defensive about whatever Jacob did or didn't say? The way his emotions changed so quickly gave you whiplash. He went from being defensive to laughing and then pissed (which you don't blame him for, Bella shouldn't have slapped him). You knew this wasn't someone that you would necessarily enjoy being around. He just seems loud and like he can never just have a relaxed moment; he's fueled off of his emotions. But you couldn't help but think about his brown eyes, tanned skin, and toned body. You couldn't stop yourself from picturing a quiet day in with him, staying on the couch and watching movies all day. In this dream, you had tamed him and he was relaxed and just wanted to be up under you all day.

You were taken away by your thoughts when Sam walked in, though you were hoping it was Paul. You frowned when you realized who it was and just watched as he walked over to Emily and started kissing her.

You put your head down, not wanting to watch their intimate moment, but your cheeks began to flush because only moments ago you wished it was you and Paul. You looked over at Bella and saw she was looking down too, causing you to grab her hand and squeeze. That was your small attempt at pushing Edward out of her mind.

Yours and Bella's heads both snapped toward the door as your heard footsteps move toward the house. You watched Jacob playfully shove Paul and laugh before they came up the stairs and into the house.

Paul walked by the two of you and sat at the table, grabbing a muffin.

He turned to look at Bella and said, "sorry" with a cocky smirk on his face.

He turned back to eat his muffin but Jacob cleared his throat and crossed his arms over his chest while he leaned on the doorway.

"To Y/N too," He told Paul sternly, making the boy sigh.

"Oh that's alright-" You started but you were cut off by the sound of Paul inhaling sharply.

He was looking in your eyes, getting really to apologize before he inhaled and his eyes widened in shock.

You blinked uncomfortably as he sat there silently eyeing you. It wasn't how he was looking at Bella earlier, you weren't a target, but you were all he could focus on. You chuckled shyly and used one hand to scratch the back of your neck and used the other to squeeze Bella's hand tightly.

It was then that you noticed that the whole room went silent, making you even more flustered.

"Um, can we talk, Jake?" Bella initiated the conversation, giving you an exit, which you were thankful for.

He hesitantly nodded, tearing his eyes from Paul and focusing on the two of you looking at him, practically begging for an escape route.

"Thank you so much for the muffin," You softly smiled at Emily as you and Bella walked toward the door. You gave everyone a wave and gave Paul one last glance before shutting the door behind you.

The three of you started walking, but it was a while before anyone said anything. You were still flustered by Paul freezing up at the sight of you. It was weird, but still, not the weirdest thing to happen today.

"So... what the fuck was that?" You blurted out, pulling yourself out of your thoughts.

"So, you're a werewolf," Bella said at the same time, hands in her pockets as if this were a normal conversation.

"Last time I checked," He sighed, avoiding your question. "Few lucky members from the tribe have the gene. A bloodsucker moves into town... and the fever sets in."

"Mono," Bella raised her eyebrows, chuckling at his pathetic lie.

"Yeah, I wish."

"Well, can't you find a way to just stop? I mean... it's wrong."

Oh, here we go, the morality police.

"It's not a lifestyle choice, Bella."

"Bella, he literally said it was in his genes," You interjected, giving her a weird look.

You three had stopped walking, and you and Jacob turned to look at the girl who wanted to play God.

You loved Bella, you really did, but she was dating a vampire. You thought it was weird she was trying to police Jacob.

"I was born this way; I can't help it," Jacob continued. "You're such a hypocrite! What, I'm not the right kind of monster for you?"

You silently agreed with Jacob, nodding your head.

"It's not what you are... it's what you do," Bella attempted to argue. "They never hurt anybody. You've killed people, Jake."

"Mmh, but didn't- never mind," You shook your head, deciding not to get involved.

"Bella, we're not killing anyone."

"Then who is?"

"What we're trying to protect you people from. The only thing we do kill. Vampires."

"No, Jake, you can't-"

"Don't worry, we can't touch your little precious Cullens unless they violate the treaty."

You were bored of the conversation and tuned out, trying to kick around a rock that was stuck in the sand.

Had this been any other time, you would've been intrigued but you only wanted answers to your question. What happened the fuck happened with Paul?

"So... you're not gonna answer my question?" You asked once the two sorted everything out.

"That's something you have to talk to Paul about," Jacob answered, making you roll your eyes.

"Okay, well, you know how I get weird around new people. I was weird with you for like a month," You frowned.

"I don't think it's gonna be anything like that. It'll feel natural to be around him."

"Right."

You sat at the lunch table between Bella and Mike Newton as Alice talked about throwing a graduation party at the Cullen residence.

"Another party, Alice?"

"It'll be fun," She spoke optimistically, making her smile.

"Yeah, that's what you said last time," Bella huffed, making you nudge her.

"Well, I'm excited, Alice," You spoke up, giving her a small smile that she returned.

But the smile was quickly wiped off her face as she zoned out and sat back in the chair. Edward turned his head, seemingly zoning out as well, causing you and Bella to turn toward the regular teens next to you, hoping to distract them.

"Hey, Angela?"

"Yeah?”

"Do you need some help with those?" Bella asked as you both reached over to look at whatever she was working on.

You and Bella both shared a look of concern before turning back and helping your friend.

At the end of the school day, you and Bella walked out of the school together, you looking for Paul's truck and her looking for Edward.

You spotted your boyfriend pulling in, and you turned to face Bella, gripping onto the straps of your backpack.

"When Edward spills, fill me in," You told her, making her nod.

"Definitely. I think you're the only one that can communicate with the pack right now. Jacob isn't talking to me so... if anything were to happen, only you could tell them."

You nodded sullenly, hoping it wasn't something that needed the pack's attention. You were hoping it wasn't something big.

Paul pulled up right in front of you, greeting Bella politely, making you smile.

"See you tomorrow, Bells," You promised as you opened the truck door and got in.

"Hi Lover," You greeted your boyfriend and leaned over to peck his lips.

"Hi Little Wolf," He smiled and helped you take your backpack off. He set it in the backseat next to his before pulling out of the parking lot.

He drove from the school to Emily's house, grabbing your bags out of the backseat once you arrived.

You two would do this every day after school: go to Emily's and do homework with the news playing in the background just in case.

"Hi, Em!" You greeted the woman that seemed to be making a bunch of pasta for dinner. "Would you like some help?"

"No, I'm okay. Go get some work done," Emily assured you, and you nodded, going into the living room.

You greeted the boys and wrapped Jacob in your arms. "Hi Brat," You teased and pinched his back.

"Hey," He chuckled and pulled you into a headlock. "Missed me?"

"I saw you yesterday. You better stop before I get Paul to beat you up," You said and pushed him away. "I hate you."

"You don't."

You playfully rolled your eyes before sitting next to Paul on the couch and pulling your homework out of your bag.

"He's so annoying," You mumbled to your boyfriend and rested your head on his shoulders.

"Tuh, I already knew that," He scoffed and kissed the top of your head.

You sighed and started working on your biology homework, tuning everything out until you felt Paul tightly grip your hand.

"What?" You asked, looking up at him before turning to the tv.

The news anchor was talking about all the disappearances in Seattle, and because you knew what you knew, you knew it was something that the pack and the Cullens would have to get involved in.

You frowned and returned Paul's squeeze, quickly growing worried. Is this was Alice's vision was about earlier? Did they know about this? Did they have a plan?

Once the news transitioned to the weather forecast, nobody moved a muscle. You figured they were in shock or were trying to figure out a plan

"Alice had a vision today, at lunch. We're just waiting for Edward to spill," You spoke up and turned to look up at Paul, examining his face.

His face was serious but scrunched with determination until he turned to look back at you. He let the tenseness fall away and gave you a small smile to try to get you to relax.

"I don't want more people getting hurt," You mumbled.

"We're gonna do what we can to protect Forks. Hopefully, it stays in Seattle, but until this dies down we're going to do more patrolling. We can't afford to slack off," Sam spoke sternly.

Paul turned and nodded at his alpha's words but pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, as if you were to vanish.

The next day, you were walking to the cafeteria with Bella and Edward, and you knew you had to say something before you got to the table.

"It was about the Seattle thing, wasn't it?" You asked the two, clutching onto the books in your hands. "The pack plans on doing more strict patrols."

It was silent for a moment, both of them hesitating to speak.

"What is it?" You sighed, prepared to hear the worst.

"It was about you, Y/N," Bella said then but her lip tentatively.

"What about me?"

"We didn't want to tell you because we didn't want you to worry-"

"But it was only right," Bella cut off her boyfriend, making your eyes furrow in confusion.

You stopped walking, and so did they. You guys let the hallway clear out before Bella continued talking.

"I've told you about Victoria."

"Yeah, and Jacob told us the pack killed her friend with the dreads," You nodded, but you still didn't understand where this was going and what it had to do with you. "What does she have to do with me, or anything for that matter?"

"For some reason, she has her eyes set on you. I was able to talk to Paul when he left your house after dropping you off last night. We agreed to take turns watching you," Edward broke the news to you as calmly and gently as he could.

From the corner of your eye, you could see both Alice and Jasper waiting outside of the cafeteria. It explained why you weren't freaking out, but you wondered what it would be like once you weren't around him. You knew you'd try to stay calm for Paul's sake, but what happens when you get home and you're alone in your room? Will it all hit you then, or will it already be bottled by then?

"Well, what's new, I guess? Forks is in mortal danger, and the supernatural has come together to save the town," You huffed and slapped your hands on your thighs before blowing a raspberry in the air. "Can we grab lunch now?"

Bella and Edward shared a look while you walked ahead, going into the cafeteria.

The day dragged on longer than it usually did, but you were one of the first people out of the building. You didn't even wait for Bella at her locker like you usually do. But you concluded because of what was happening that Paul was waiting outside for you. You figured he was sitting there at least 10 minutes before you got out of class.

Once you were out the school doors, you felt yourself growing tenser. You were out of Jasper's reach, and your emotions were finally starting to hit you.

"Hi, Little Wolf," Paul greeted you, trying to act like everything was normal. He hated making you worry, and you knew that.

"Hey," Your response was short, and you didn't even look in his direction. You kept your eyes on your lap.

"I'm not your Lover?" He teased, pulling out of the school parking lot.

"I just wanna go straight home today," You mumbled.

"The leech told you-"

"Bella told me. I don't want to argue, Paul. I think it's best if I go home."

He wanted to argue, you could tell by the way he was gripping the steering wheel that he disagreed with your decision, but just like you, he didn't want to argue. So, he took you home, no questions asked.

And when you were getting out of the car, you told him you'd drive yourself to and from school tomorrow.

"Y/N-"

"Just until this whole situation dies down. I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me, especially you," You said, and shut the door behind you once you got out of the car, leaving no space for him to argue.

You gave him one last smile before walking inside your house and locking the door once you shut it.

In the evening, you were at your desk completing homework, but you were still so paranoid. Your eyes looked out the window, searching for anything in the trees that might be a threat to you. But there was no threat, just a dark silver wolf laying in between the trees, keeping watch.

You frowned, feeling bad that you were pushing him away, but you didn't want him to get mixed up in your mess. You felt ten times safer with him watching you, but you knew he had to be exhausted; after a long day of school and patrol, who would want to stay up all night being a guard dog?

You moved away from your desk, deciding it was time for bed. You took a shower and did your night routine before laying in bed, pulling the covers over your body.

You didn't get much sleep that night. You didn't get much sleep for the next two weeks. It was hard being without Paul and your friends. You were so scared about something happening in your sleep that you were barely getting any. And the fact that you haven't been face-to-face with Paul in weeks put a real strain on you. Your physical and mental health was all messed up. The separation was difficult, but not being able to explain any of this to your parents made it much harder. You had no one to talk to, and you know you did it to yourself, but the well-being of your friends and family always came first, so you wanted to stick it out despite how you felt.

For two weeks, you stayed alert, listening to every noise, watching every shadow, though your paranoia made most of it up.

But this time, you knew you heard a sound and it made you shoot out of bed. Not hesitating, you reached for your phone and called Paul. You didn't see him resting by the trees when you got up to go shower. You assumed that he was finally getting some rest and now you felt even worse about calling him; the day he decided to get some rest, you were interrupting him.

He didn't answer the phone, which you expected, but you still opened the window in your bedroom, letting the cold air blow through. He'd let himself in once he got there.

You didn't expect him to get there as quickly as he did. It had only been three minutes of you biting your nails anxiously and staying far away from your door.

He came through your door fully clothed and immediately pulled you into his arms, warming up your freezing body and calming your nerves.

"Were you asleep? Where were you? You weren't here," You bombarded him with questions as you dug your face into his chest.

"I was just running a bit late. I was already on my way when you called. Why did you call?" He asked, rubbing your back soothingly.

"I'm sorry, I just- it's already so hard being away from you, and I've been scared, and I thought I heard something downstairs. I don't know," You rambled and held onto your boyfriend's waist tightly.

"If it were a leech, you probably wouldn't have even heard them coming. It was probably just your dad grabbing a snack or something. You know he's always up for a snack," He assured you before kissing the top of your head.

"Yeah, that's true," You quietly giggled and let all your worry dissipate. You kept your head resting on his chest as he rocked your two back and forth. "I missed you."

"I missed you, too. Let's never separate again."

"Agreed."

[AN: hey so, I didn't know what to name this so I just named it off of the time it was requested. anyway, I kinda don't like this so uh yeah]

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Alone Together

Summary: After an awful breakup you were expecting to spend Christmas alone. You and Steve end up spending it together.

Pairings: tattoo artist!Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson sister!reader. Abusive ex boyfriend!Brock Rumlow x reader

Warning: mentions of abusive relationship, smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @donutloverxo @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris @brattycherubwrites @love-more122

(A/N: yay I made it! Merry Christmas guys! Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

——————————————————————————

Okay yeah so it was stupid. You should have known better when you’d done it. Well, you did you just... well you don’t really know what you were thinking.

Red flags just look like flags when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, yeah fuck off you stole that from Bojack. So when you were with your ex and doing all this dumb just you thought would make him happy it ended up being kind of awful in the end.

When they finally came off you noticed the things you dealt with. Scared to piss him off so you started treating okay times like they were really good. All the stupid things he had you do to prove yourself.

You were paying for this one right now. Right in another parlor. Covering up that mistake with something you actually liked. Not that most people could see it because it was on your underboob. Said he wanted it to be this hidden thing all for him that no one else was allowed to see.

The first time he asked you’d laughed and said no thinking it was a joke. The second time you it happened you tried to be a little more firm. Except that just meant you couldn’t prove your love for him. That you were devoted. That he’d get a tattoo for you on his arm that he never had time to get for some reason.

It was so fucking dumb you know. The cursive Brock tattooed right under your boob. You could see it every time you took your shirt off and it really bothered you. It always had, but you were trying to convince yourself that you loved him before. Now you looked at it and saw the new of a person you wished you’d never even met.

Steve was your older brother’s best friend. He ran this super popular tattoo shop. They’d met in the military and the friendship just stuck. It’s kind of why you ended up moving to New York. You were kind of the outcast of the family, but Sam never treated you any different. You were his baby sister.

So after a few weeks you asked him if he could cover it up. Except his only available day was Christmas Eve. You didn’t go home anyway and Sam was going to meet his girlfriend’s parents this year. Not that you weren’t invited, but you just wanted this thing covered up. Maybe that would make you forget.

You winced as the needle dug into your skin. Not like it wasn’t worth the pain. “Hey, relax, okay,” he said, softly rubbing your arm. He’d been so much help since the breakup. It was funny. Brock hated him. Was always ranting about what an asshole he is. You could tell he didn’t like your brother either. You really didn’t know what but you knew it was something over their friend Bucky or whatever.

Yeah it was a whole thing. Not that you really knew the details.

Normally you’d spend the holidays with his family. Though a little uncomfortable it was nice being with him. So this was your first year in three that you were alone. Hanging with Steve was nice.

“I’m fine,” you were trying to keep a brave face.

He was almost done. Just had to finish up the shading. Honestly you’d been expecting him being that close to you to feel weird, but it was actually nice. It’d just be nice if you didn’t date another tattoo artist.

Yeah Brock also tattooed. He’d met Steve because they’d worked at the same shop once. You remember how Brock was seething when he found out that Steve had opened his own.

You wish you could go back in time and tell Leila to never go into that damn shop. To never ask you to go with her because she was nervous for her first tattoo. Somehow it ended up with Brock promising you a discount if you let him tattoo you if you gave him your number. Being a cliche you got a butterfly on your shoulder.

Somehow it didn’t bother you as much. Maybe because it didn’t look like anything resembling him.

“You sure? We can take a break,” he offered.

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.” You chuckled with a smile.

He chuckled before clicking his tongue. “Alright. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“How’s your mom’s trip?” You asked. His mother had decided to vacation to Hawaii with his step-dad. Which is also why he was here. Not that he couldn’t have went with Nat and Bucky to his parent’s house. Except last time he’d done that, he ended up having to sleep next to Bucky’s incredibly touchy aunt. He was better off spending it alone.

“She’s great. Talked to her this morning.” He chuckled, “apparently she’s bringing me back a Hawaiian shirt.”

“You could pull it off.” You replied trying not to laugh too much.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah just keep it unbuttoned and don’t wear a shirt under.”

He stopped to laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I dunno. Just doing a service for the girls,” you said. “Don’t act like you don’t know that you’re cute.”

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Why Miss. Wilson, you’re not flirting with me are you?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Just... stop. You know you’re hot.”

His jaw dropped as he grin. “Now you think I’m hot?”

You sighed dramatically. “Look, Steve. I’m just joking.”

He went back to work with this kind of goofy look on his face. You couldn’t deny it. Steve is hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. Your eyes traced along his tattooed forearms. The sleeves of his flannel pushed up to elbows. Until you were distracted by his broad shoulders.

Your mind finally started to relax. Kind of enjoying the buzzing of the gun. You kind of missed that sound you loved going to the shop with a Brock while he worked.

Your only days off were weekends and since he usually had shit to do on those days, you’d be there while he worked. Sometimes even helping out when their secretary was out.

“And, done,” he said taking a deep breath and smiling down at his work before turning off the machine. “How you feelin?’” He grabbed your hand to help you to your feet.

“Well, a little sore, but good.”

You turned to look at it. Smiling at the flowers that were there now. “It’s beautiful,” you said, looking at Steve before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey,” he pulled away to rub your arms, “I got you.”

He was so close, eyes trained on your lips. So you started wondering maybe this was why Brock hated Steve. Saw how magnetic he was that he could definitely pull you in.

That couldn’t have been it, though. Brock never saw you with him alone. His dislike went much deeper than you. Today had kind of added insult to injury. Not only did you cover up that thing, but he was the one to do it. It’d be a slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you did it. Except you’d always liked Steve’s work. You’d seen so many pieces he did or sketches he made and had wanted him to work on you for the longest. Maybe next time it would be something you didn’t need to cover up.

Your phone went off and you groaned softly pulling away. “Hey, Sam,” you greeted your brother. Of course it had to be him of all people.

Looking back over at his best friend who was cleaning up the station now. It was probably a good thing because your heart had started to thump in your chest. You didn’t need that.

You raised your shirt up so you could see it finally. “Just calling to check up on you. Steve’s lazy ass taking a break? I don’t hear buzzing in the back.”

“We just finished actually.” You laughed.

“How’d it come out?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tell Maya I said hi.”

You finished talking to Sam before finally hanging up. When you finally looked at your new tattoo, a smile grew on your face. It looked so much better than before. “Like it?” Steve asked.

“I love it,” you replied. You grabbed your bag so you could pay him.

“Um, excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Your money is no good here.”

“What? I’m not going to have you do all this work and not pay you, Stevie.”

He sighed. “Think of it as a Christmas present.”

You rolled your eyes still taking your money out. “I can’t-“

“I’m not taking it,” he pressed.

“Fine at least let me give you a tip.”

“I’m not taking that either.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. For such a nice boy he was always so stubborn. “Fine. Then... dinner. I’ll make dinner. If we’re spending Christmas alone then it might be fun to spend it together.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

“Great.” You looked into his eyes again. They were like the prettiest blue ever. Especially with those little specks of green.

After a trip to the store, he escorted you back to the apartment you shared with your brother. You could have moved out, but you were kind of afraid to live alone. That’s why Sam had been a little surprised that you’d declined the invitation to go with him. It was nice to have Steve there.

You’d decorated the apartment even though you hadn’t planned to do anything. You still wanted to be a little festive. Maybe it would pull you into a better mood. It worked a little.

You quickly started on dinner. Steve helped by cutting up vegetables. He’d taken off his sweater letting his incredibly muscular tattooed arms taunt you. Okay so yeah you had a little bit of a crush on him. Like a lot of other women, you just liked to look.

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get home cooked meals a lot.”

“Can’t cook?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah I’m pretty hopeless at it.” He shrugged.

“So do you want to watch Christmas movies after this?” You asked.

He laughed. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

The night was going by kind of quick as you settled down to watch A Christmas Story. You were a little tipsy honestly, but you and Steve were sharing a fluffy blanket. Which meant he was close.

You’d carefully showered so you didn’t get your tattoo wet and changed into a sweater shirt and s pair of matching shorts. Getting all bundled up so you could curl up beside him. “You look so warm.” He chuckled as he got a little closer.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” You asked.

“No I’m okay,” he replied.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked because the thought had crossed your mind again. This time you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why don’t you and Brock like each other?” You asked.

He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve had to save from him. He and Bucky used to be close and I noticed him kind of spiraling. Rumlow was pumping him full of all of these drugs and I dunno I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

Your stomach started to turn. This was the first time you’d ever heard of any of this. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Sam said we needed to let you make your own mistakes. To not push you away. There were so many times that I thought about... look I just know that I’m never letting him hurt you again. Okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. This glazed over look in your eyes. Steve noticed and pulled you closer pretty much placing you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay, Honey.” He rubbed your back. Trying to at least comfort you a little.

“No I’m fine,” you replied leaning into him. The soft fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare legs. It was nice to have him comfort you like this. “You know I think the worst thing to me is that and I’m sorry if this is too much information, but he’d use Sam against me. Say that if I didn’t do what he wanted he’d tell Sam about the things we did in bed.”

Steve sighed. “You know he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know, but it still felt embarrassing. He knew how secretive I was about it. None of my friends even know the kind of things I’m into.” You took a deep breath, trying to relax because you felt way more tense than you wanted to.

He chuckled. Trying to lighten the mood. “I get it. I used to be the same way until my last girlfriend put it all out there when we broke up.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah I remember that.”

“Yeah. She was something else.” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “One night she came to the shop, talking about how she’d let me tie her up one more time.”

“Brock used to say stuff like ‘come on, Babygirl, do what Daddy says or else I’ll tell your brother what you’re up to.’ It used to grate on my nerves.”

“God. What a fucking asshole,” he said, hoping you didn’t notice when he felt himself get suddenly hard at hearing you say that.

“Yeah, but I’m so glad this thing is covered.”

“Yeah. Glad I could help,” he said with smile. “Shit do you mind actually if I take a picture of it? For Instagram.”

You nodded. “Yeah that’s fine.”

He took his phone out of his pocket while you laid down across his lap, rolling your sweatshirt up so that it was exposed. “Perfect,” he said as he snapped the picture the flash making you close your eyes all tight, making you move your hand so you could rub your eye.

Making your entire breast become exposed. “Shit,” you said, pushing it back down as you sat back up. Your eyes connected to his again and that’s when he kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to do it back. Your mouth moving against his ever so softly. Like the two of you were afraid to really do what you want, but also didn’t want to pull away. Until he finally started to deepen it.

You stroked his beard as he held onto you tightly. You came to straddle his lap as he cupped your ass. He started to lay you back.

Your phone interrupted you, making you jump away. You scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey. Just checking on you,” Sam’s voice came through.

“Oh. I’m fine, Sam.” You took looked over at Steve who closed his eyes and stood up.

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah he walked me home,” you said. “Actually I have to go I’m going to shower.”

“Okay. Text me before bed.”

“Okay.”

Steve was gathering up his things to leave by the time you got off your phone. You watched him move around. He shrugged his coat on. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“Yeah...” you pursed your lips.

He licked his lips. “I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me... I-“

“No. It’s okay,” you replied taking a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You watched as he walked away heading towards the elevator. You still couldn’t believe that happened. Lips tingling from the way he kissed you. Apart of you was cursing Sam from ruining your moment.

Another part of you was kind of happy that he did because as much as you hated it, Brock still had this hold over you. It wasn’t that you felt guilty. It was more like you were afraid of what would happen if he found out.

God, you wish he didn’t have this hold on you. You were starting to close the door when Steve came back. This time he didn’t stop himself as he kissed you. Or picked you up, kicking the door shut behind him. Didn’t stop himself as he carried you to your room.

He laid you down on your bed, getting on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Trying to be as close to him as possible. Fuck he felt so good on top of you.

Scratching at his muscular shoulders. He pulled your top off first. Exposing your tits. His mouth went to them as he tried to avoid your tattoo. He swirled his tongue around your nipple.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He’d switched to the other one to give it the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful.” He started kissing down your body so he could take off your shorts and panties. He kissed along your thighs, still looking into your eyes as he parted them.

Before he could put his mouth on your pussy, he went back up. Kissing you again. “Is this okay?” He asked resting his forehead to yours.

You nodded, reaching out so you could start undoing the buttons of his flannel. He helped you, pressing his lips to yours again. This time he put his tongue in your mouth.

Kissing him was different than Brock. Steve’s lips seemed to mold with yours better. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt like it was about to burst, but like you wanted it to. You really shouldn’t be comparing them, but Steve was making you feel so good and you were kicking yourself from having missed out on this as you wasted your time.

He pushed his shirt off his body then undid his pants. Sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. He got back on top for you, kissing your neck. Leaving little nibbles and sucking on your skin like he knew your body already. “Daddy,” you cried out, then sat up when you realized what you said opening your mouth to apologize.

“Oh yeah, Baby. You want me to be your daddy?” He asked, going back between your legs. “Want to be a dirty girl for me only?”

You nodded suddenly feeling drunk off of his words. Never did you think in a million years that Steve would be talking to you like this. He was getting you so wet just from that. He started licking your clit first.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he feasted on you. Pussy juices making a mess on his beard. “Yes,” you gasped out as he started to finger you at the same time.

That same bursting feeling in your stomach was getting intense. You cried out for him as you felt yourself reach your peek. You grabbed his hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

You took a deep breath as you tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “I’m not done.” He growled. “Hold still while Daddy makes you cum, Honey.”

You nodded bracing yourself as he went back to eating you out. It didn’t take long for him to bring you to another orgasm or another one after that. When he was done he kissed you, making you taste your juices on him.

As you made out again he went back to rubbing your cunt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said. “Gonna make you cum over and over again. Gonna take care of you.”

“Oh god yes,” you whimpered.

“Fuck I don’t have any condom,” he said, as he’d started to line himself up with your entrance.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on birth control.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you so bad, Daddy.”

He grinned as he kissed you softly. “I want to know your safe word first, Honey. Just in case.”

“Strawberry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. He pushed into you as your tongues came into contact. Your tongues carassing against each other.

You stretched around him and you started to understand why he’d spent so much time eating you out. Fuck he was thick. You stretched around him looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered into your lips. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much!” You cried.

“You can take it, Honey,” he kissed you again. “Be a good girl and take Daddy’s dick.”

He started fucking into you a little harder. You could feel yourself leaking around his dick. He’d really worked you up first even if he was still too damn thick for your pussy.

You scratched his back, biting his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep. You don’t think you’d ever been fucked this deep before. You’d definetly never been stretched open like this.

“Right there! Don’t stop!” You begged as he started fucking into your spot. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“That’s it, Honey. Cum for me.” He groaned because your pussy was so tight. Especially as you came. You were tightening around him and if he wasn’t so determined to give you a few more he would have let go inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy!” You cried. He didn’t let up. Fucking you through it.

“Nasty girl, squirting for me,” he said getting on his knees so he could watch you.

“Oh god!” You didn’t stop. Your pussy gushing around him. He bent your legs back with his hands on the back of your thighs. Watching his cock all slick anytime he’d pull out only to push back into you.

He chuckled as it happened again. Your eyes all clouded over as you came again just like that last time. More juices squirting out of you.

“Please,” you said, but didn’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Baby?” He asked.

You couldn’t say anything back because you were to far gone. Thoughts had officially left your head. All you knew was him and the he was fucking you so damn good. Still pressing into your spot.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he hissed, getting back on top of you with his bicep wrapped around your thigh so he could keep you spread open. He kissed you again this time deeper. Fucking your mouth with his tongue.

You moaned into him and thrusts became to falter as he started to pump you full of his cum. He thrusted into you deep as he gave you every bit of it. Wanting to completely fill you up with him.

He laid on top of you trying to catch his breath. You were panting underneath him. Not even wanting him to move because he was so warm. You buried your head into his neck.

It took you a minute to come down from your highs. He smiled down at you, kissing you softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shook your head, already closing your eyes because you were so comfortable like this. “I’m great.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smiled lazily as he finally rolled off of you. He brought you close to him, kissing your nose again. “Stay with me.”

“There’s literally no other place I’d rather be,” he said.

You’d spent all night messing around. Taking little cat naps in between. Right now he had you on your stomach as he fucked you from behind. You never expected to spend your holiday with him, but now you couldn’t picture spending it with anyone else.

You hadn’t even thought about your ex and the meltdown he’d have if he knew about this. It was nice feeling so free. Especially as Steve’s tattooed arms wrapped around you from behind.

Hints of daylight had started to break through the slits of your curtain. He chuckled. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear as he didn’t even let up the way he was fucking into you.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Gonna spend Christmas letting me make you my girl?”

You nodded trying to peek up at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Your girl?”

“After this I’m not letting you go,” he said, kissing your cheek from behind. “We might need to make this a tradition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[atruththatyoudeny]

Happy 28th! A new month - so new fics for you to find and enjoy! I can’t say it enough: all the authors in this fandom are truly amazing! Thank you so much for continuously sharing your hard work with us ♥ Here are the 14 fics I read and enjoyed this month:

A Hungry Heart | jacaranda_bloom | Great British Bake Off AU - famous/not famous - cliches - pining - angst - smut - 27k Harry Styles, florist and Great British Bake Off contestant, loves many things. He loves his flower shop, he loves baking, and there’s also that little crush he has on pop star Louis Tomlinson. But when Louis arrives on set as the surprise guest judge, Harry’s worlds collide. Throw in a cup of cuteness, a teaspoon of teasing, and a pinch of pining, and there’s all the ingredients for an epic love story, or absolute chaos. Or the one where the Bake Off tent has never been so hot, and it’s got nothing to do with what’s in the ovens.

Teenage Rebellion Never Worked Out So Well | panda_bear21 | arranged marriage - friends to lovers - 55k “I’m an adult!” He glanced down at Harry, who seemed anything but at the moment, where he was definitely on the brink of a temper tantrum. “We’re both adults!” Jay glanced to Anne again, before breathing out a heavy sigh. “Yes, but you’re both adults that do not have jobs and who live off of our money… Which means, you have to do what we say… or you’ll have to find a new place to live.” “You wouldn’t do that.” Louis dared, hoping his glare was enough to guilt trip his mother into calling the whole thing off. Or to tell them that it had all just been a huge joke and they weren’t actually being forced into marrying a complete stranger. “Oh, but we would.” Or the super cliché arranged marriage fic where things escalate way too quickly.

Heartbreak Hotel | noellehenry | time travel - 1950s - historical - pining - 29k British popstar Harry Styles is thrown back in time after an unfortunate accident on stage. He wakes up in a small town in the US in the 1950's, where life is slightly different from 2015. With help from Niall and Liam he tries to adjust to his new life; without mobile phones and a world wide web to keep up with the world and where showing interest in nice cute boys with bright blue eyes is a no-no. Time travel and 1950's AU where Liam is an English teacher, Niall owns the Best Song Ever record shop, James runs Corden's Diner, Elvis fan Louis is the cute boy with the blue eyes and Harry..... just tries to survive really.

Playdate | Larry_you_know | getting together - misunderstandings - kid fic - fluff - 7k When Harry’s sister asked him to pick up her son at a kids' birthday party he sure didn’t expect to be stunned by the blue-eyed brother of the birthday twins. Using his nephew to see Louis again, he falls hard and fast. But how does one turn a playdate into a real date?

tread lightly on my ground | fairytalelights | a/b/o - mpreg - touch-starved - miscommunication - friends to lovers - touch deprivation - smut - 21k No, that's the tragic part of this, the part that makes Harry feel like the universe is playing a cruel joke on him. The father of his baby is exactly right, exactly who he always imagined himself having kids with. He just imagined them married, bonded. Happy. He didn't imagine them barely talking, tip-toeing around each other because neither of them is brave enough to talk about what happened between them. He didn't imagine the father of his child not loving him back. or, the one where Harry is having Louis' baby, but Louis doesn't know it's his.

Not Ready for This | berzerkshires | kid fic - single parents - smut - 18k Prompt for HLSummerFest2021: Louis and Harry are both single fathers and their children decide to go out on a date. The dads insist on meeting one another before they agree to let their child go out on this date.

Secret's Safe With Me | alltheselights | boss/employee relationship - secret relationship - toxic relationship (not h/l) - slow burn - smut - 59k But here’s the thing about secrets that people tend to forget—they’re deeply personal things. Tiny pieces of information about someone that they keep locked inside and only let out at certain moments, or to certain people, or not at all. Secrets have value, you see, even if only to the person holding them inside. If those secrets were to be told, if those tiny jagged pieces of someone, the parts they hold most dear, the parts they hide out of shame or fear or regret��if those pieces were exposed to someone, it would have the potential to change everything. When bad turbulence and three glasses of wine have Louis spilling all of his secrets to the man sitting next to him on the plane, it's embarrassing, sure, but it's also easy enough to shrug off and block out of his memory forever. Or at least, it was until Louis went into work on Monday morning and realized that the man from the plane is the new CEO of his company.

Marks On My Baby | thinlines | a/b/o - college/university - friends to lovers - hurt/comfort - angst - fluff - smut - 32k “What’s that?” Harry hadn’t meant for his voice to sound so sharp and even he winced at his own outburst. It was more of a hiss than an actual question, but for now, he was too surprised to care. “What’s what?” The omega asked, eyebrows raised and lips pinched. Harry knew he was probably mad at him for interrupting his rant, but the alpha was too on edge to bother pleasing the boy. “On your neck… Your bondmark spot…” His voice had grown low and deep, almost a growl. Who knew a single love bite on his omega friend's neck would trigger Harry this much? Certainly not the alpha himself.

Rogue | Laventriloque | a/b/o - werewolves - minor character death - hurt/comfort - past abuse - past rape/non-con - soulmates - smut - 95k “No, Liam! How many times do I have to… before you finally… NO WAY … a rogue in our pack?… cannot trust him … don’t care to know him … have enough members to worry about.” He hears more indistinct shouts before he hears pretty clearly: “His own pack didn’t want him!” Sitting here, his precious bag between his feet and everyone in the room looking at him, some with pity, some with disdain, some with curiosity, Louis feels like someone squeezed his heart in their hands and isn’t letting it go. He wills his head to stay up high and his posture to stay confident. He will not flee the room. He will not let that stupid lump in his throat get the better of him. He will stay here until Liam returns. He will take the rejection in stride and move on. Like he’s been doing all his life." -- Louis is a rogue Omega who's suffered through rejection and abuse for the biggest part of his life. He stumbles onto the Styles pack, quite possibly the kindest one he's ever met.

indian summer | docklands | strangers to lovers - hurt/comfort - banter - smut - 30k Harry runs a smoothie shop, which also happens to be an ever-moving caravan. He spends one week in each location and drives straight to the next, always eager for adventure. It isn't until his van breaks down and he needs to call for a mechanic that he starts to ponder his life choices. Louis, the said mechanic, is an anchor in Harry's wild sea, but his hard metal might be too much for Harry's unpredictable antics.

A Silver Lining In A Storm (You Were Lightning, I Was Born) | FallingLikeThis | arranged marriage - royalty - a/b/o - mpreg - minor character death - murder - non-graphic violence - angst - hurt/comfort - 7k Omega Prince Harry had always known that he was going to have an arranged marriage. But after the death of his first fiancé, a man who turned out far worse than Harry thought possible, his subsequent marriage to the man's brother leaves Harry finding it difficult to trust that everything will work out. Especially considering the only responsibility he’s aware of is to give his husband, the future king, an heir.

A Twist of Fate | myfearlesslou | a/b/o - strangers to lovers - soulmates - angst - 35k Since the moment Harry presented as an omega, all he's ever wanted was to have a baby. Fate had another idea in mind for him. Giving up on trying to conceive, he decides to adopt a new born baby boy. After months of loving and caring for the boy, a strange man comes into his life, taking him by surprise. Not wanting to lose the child he's loved from the moment he laid eyes on him, Harry does whatever he can to keep the boy safe and in his arms. Even if that means following the handsome stranger to a part of the woods he's never seen before.

Trust Me Tonight | 28sunflowers | historical - royalty - regency - arranged marriage - first time - mpreg - pwp - 10k After Harry’s eighteenth birthday, his father calls him into a meeting to say that he is to be married to Prince Louis of France in just over a week. Harry is excited, of course. The arrangement is better than any he could’ve hoped for, with such a young, handsome and kind husband. There is just one issue: Harry doesn’t know what happens on his nuptials, or how to get pregnant to give Louis the heir that he needs.

i got a heart (but i don't got a soul) | tempolarriefics | mythical beings Á creatures - enemies to lovers - childhood friends - famous/not famous - soulmates - angel/demon relationship - demon/human relationship - 19k “We’re soulmates.” Louis’ eyes flick from the tattoo back to Harry’s face, where his eyes are shining with excitement. Louis wonders if he is supposed to feel excited, too. He’s supposed to feel something, surely, besides his usual bitterness for Harry. He thinks back to how Lottie had described meeting Sam, how she had known in her heart that he was meant for her even before he said his phrase. He can’t help but wonder if he would be feeling differently if he hadn’t gone and sold his soul. Or, the one where louis sells his soul before meeting his soulmate, harry is a popstar with a heart of gold, niall is inadvertently responsible for harry's boners, liam is a meddling angel, and zayn is a demon who made a mistake

[inkandpen22]

Permanent Chaos (3/?)

Pairing: MGK x Female!Reader

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: mild swearing, mentions of smut, mentions of underage drinking 

Part Summary: Sam and Y/N are on The Late Late Show to promote The Seasons of Life. 

Masterlist

Before the interview, Nicole practices questions with me so I don’t get blindsided. Meanwhile, Sam and his manager, Steven, practice talking about our upcoming photo shoot for Vanity Fair. Steven is much more laid back than Nicole. Sam is free to do whatever he pleases. The country sees him as an average twenty-something. If he ever messed up he would be forgiven. Nicole emphasizes to me whenever she can that I have no room for error. I must be a saint as “America’s Sweetheart.”

There’s a knock at the door to our dressing room and Steven opens it. A man with a check board and a headset instructs, “Ms. Voss, Mr. Merka you’ll be on in five. If you could follow me.”

“We’ll be right off camera if you need us!” Nicole informs me and Steven agrees with a hum.

“Have fun guys!” he adds.

Sam holds the door for me and the two of us follow the man down the hall into backstage. Sam takes my hand as a precaution, just in case the chaos might separate us. Through double doors, we enter backstage and we’re stopped behind where we’re meant to enter. Loud music begins to echo from the stage and I recognize the song as one of Machine Gun Kelly’s. He’s all the rage now, one of those rockstars that girls fifteen and up obsess over. I don’t have much space left in my mind to obsess with everything going on. As we wait, I bop and sway my head back and forth to the beat absentmindedly.

The man says over his shoulder, “he’s great huh!”

I frowned confused, “wait, is he performing live?”

The man raises an eyebrow as if the answer is obvious. “Yeah, his interview was a few minutes ago. I’m surprised you didn’t cross paths when you got here.” He’s then pulled away by a lady dressed in all black. “I’ll right back! Stay right here!”

I scoff under my breath, the dude treated me like a dingus.

“Well, he was friendly” Sam mutters sarcastically under his breath.

“Right! Geez, he’s what? Only around four years older than you? At least he looked it. My bad for not knowing I’m apparently in the same building as a god!”

Sam snickers but covers his mouth since we’re not allowed to be loud. The song ends and the crowd goes wild on the other side.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Machine Gun Kelly!” The applause goes on and on with James attempting to speak over it into the camera. “After the break, we’ll have the breakout stars from the hottest show of the decade The Seasons of Life, Y/N Voss, and Sam Merka! So don’t go anywhere!”

The audience gets loud at the sound of our names and a shot of adrenaline rushes through me. People rush around backstage to get the music equipment off the set. Sam and I move up against the wall so people can get through. The crew is yelling to make the switch quick. Propping myself up against the wall, I watch the chaos happening. Sam leans against the wall and faces me. I don’t mind the tight quarters though. He acts like a wall, blocking me from the craziness.

“It never gets like this on set,” Sam says, scanning the stage.

“That’s because we don’t film live,” I remind him with a chuckle.

My arms cross over my chest and Sam props his elbow on my shoulder. If this was a photoshoot, this would be a great shot of us. We’re being ourselves, depending on each other as per usual. We’re comfortable with one another. To kill time, I glance around as people move about backstage. My eyes meet a lengthy, bleach blonde, tattoo-covered musician walking off stage. He instantly goes for the guitar case against the far wall in the corner. As if he could feel me looking, his attention snaps away from his guitar and toward me. His focused features gently fall as he stares at me from across the busyness of the show. A chill shoots up my spine and spreads across my face. Instantly, I'm drawn in and can't find the means to look away.

Sam steals my attention when he straightens up in my side view. “We’re on,” he informs me.

I immediately bring to focus and adjust my floral pencil skirt to appear put together.

The man from before leads us up to where he left us last. “Okay, here’s the deal. James will announce your names. There will be cheers, you will walk out together and sit on the couch. The order in which you sit doesn’t matter.” He pauses to press on his headset, “sure, alright, one minute.”

I shift my head to the side and yet again I see them, the same pair of eyes that made me freeze. I quickly snap my attention forward as though I’ve been caught red-handed. He’s not what I had expected. I’ve heard of Machine Gun Kelly, who hasn’t? I’ve seen pictures here and there. I’ve heard a song or two. Never in a million did I ever imagine we would meet eyes and he would make me stop breathing for a second. It was nothing short of groundbreaking. It’s dangerous and immaculate at the same time.

Soon, the noise of the audience dies down to signal the end of the commercial break. Sam and I are told to walk out so we cross through the corridor. Sam leads and reaches his hand back for me to take. I do so mindlessly since it’s what we always do. We wave to the audience and James stands up to greet us. He hugs Sam and they exchange a few words. I keep on waving to the audience and point towards a girl who has a shirt with the show’s title on it. Sam moves over so James and I can say hello.

“Hi, James! How are you?” I greet as we embrace.

“Excellent, how are you, Sweetheart?” He charms.

“Great! Excited to be here!” I gush as I shuffle to the side to settle on the couch beside Sam.

“Thirty seconds!” A man, whom I assume is the producer, announced loudly.

I sit down next to Sam on the light blue velvet couch. He sits back and crosses his arm over the back of the couch behind me then slides it down to rest over my shoulders. I lean into his side, crossing my legs toward him. 

“Five seconds!” James sits down in his black desk chair next to Sam and looks into the camera. He’s given the signal and he lights up. “I’m joined here by the two biggest young stars of the decade, Y/N Voss and Sam Merka!” The audience applauds loudly and I wave to all of them. James turns to us with a bright grin. “First off, how are you two?”

“We’re great, couldn’t be better!” Sam answers with a charming smile. He takes my hand and I rest them on my lap instinctively.

At the start of the series, our management and the show’s team encouraged us to be mildly affectionate in public situations to promote interest in our tv counterparts. Since then, it’s come so naturally to us because as friends we genuinely feel better when we have physical contact when on display. We’re security blankets for one another.

James continues, “you two play the power couple, Hollyn and Elliot, on the hit show The Seasons of Life, better known simply as Seasons. It’s all anyone is talking about lately! Has all the publicity changed your lives at all?”

Nervously, I tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear before I speak. “I can’t speak for Sam, but at least for me, I answer with a confident “yes!” The Seasons of Life has changed every aspect of my life. When we first started filming the first season, I was still living in South Carolina. I went to a normal high school and had to travel back and forth between here and there. Back then, no one really knew of me. I was your average teenage girl trying to have the best of both worlds.”

James nods, seemingly fascinated by my response.

Sam smiles in agreement, switching his sight between James and myself. “My story is basically the same except I was in college studying law.”

“That’s right!” James perks up, “There’s a decent age gap between the two of you!”

We glance at each other and nod, both of us grinning.

“Does that make the more romantic scenes between Hollyn and Elliot harder?” James inquires.

“No, not at all” I answer, squeezing Sam’s hand.

“Y/N has always acted with such maturity and grace that she makes it unbelievable easy onset. The eight years feel nearly nonexistent.”

“We haven’t had too many extremely romantic scenes,” I add jokingly, looking fondly at Sam.

He meets my gaze and hums in agreement. “Have to build up that suspense!”

James laughs at Sam’s remark and goes on with his questions. “Last year, during the season finale, Twitter blew up because your characters finally got together! And had that bow-chicka-wow-wow scene,” James wiggles his eyebrows. The audience cheers in excitement. Everyone was over the moon about the scene. “Y/N, what was going through your mind during that scene?”

“Sam, Jonathan, and the rest of the Seasons family never fail to make me feel so secure onset. For that scene, in particular, Jonathan made sure it was just the three of us on set so that space felt relaxed. It was my first time ever filming a sex scene of that magnitude and I was so lucky to have this fella right here to help me,” I gush as I place my hand on Sam’s knee with a pat.

“That’s lovely,” James feeds into the sappiness that the audience eats up. “Was there ever talk of getting a double for you?”

“I told our director, the producers, everyone that only I can do the scene. It didn’t feel right to me to have someone else play Hollyn. Especially for a scene that would have such an impact on the characters involved. The fans had been begging for Elliot and Hollyn to finally get together and I couldn’t pass up being a part of the moment when they finally did. It wouldn’t have been fair to the fans if it wasn’t me playing the role.”

The audience approves of my response with their loud reaction which eases my nerves immensely.

“Absolutely incredible,” James compliments. “I can’t imagine the scene being done without you two. I mean, you two have such chemistry! What were your reactions to watching the infamous final scene? Did you watch it together?!”

Sam and I side-eye one another then burst out laughing because I can recall my exact words. I’m sure he can too.

“This is a question for Y/N,” he points out between laughter.

I hit the back of my hand on his stomach, “why me?!”

“You said!” He chuckles, so he does remember my words.

I get the giggles as James pushes me to answer. I settle down and catch my breath. “Well, I had a watch party at my house with the cast, and right after the scene happened and the show cuts to the dramatic final credits, I yelled “yay! Hollyn finally got laid!”

James hides his face with his cards as he laughs. Laughs of all kinds spread throughout the audience and I can feel my face getting warm. James’s laugh is contagious and I can’t stop.

“You all know how uptight Hollyn could be! Maybe she’ll be a little more laid back!” I add with a shrug and James bursts out laughing.

“You two are absolutely hilarious,” he wipes his watery eyes. “And adorable! Please tell me you’re dating in real life!”

Sam hiss between his teeth and glances at me. “I’m sorry, we’re not…” he answers hesitantly.

“What!” James’s jaw drops, “but you two are so cute together! I mean, you’ve been holding hands the entire time!”

We shake our heads and Sam explains for us both. “Y/N and I are super close. We can see how people would assume we’re dating but in all honesty, we’re just really good friends. Considering, for example, to have done the final scene from last season we kinda have to be. We met when she was just a teenager and I was in graduate school. We’ve seen each other grow. We’ve been around the world together and since our characters are paired together, so are we. Meaning, we’re constantly together and I’m thankful we are because I’m so lucky to have such an amazing partner in all of this.”

“Aw, isn’t he the sweetest!” I pout playfully and rest my head on his shoulder.

“Ugh, can we change the whole “only friends” thing?” James begs. “I ship it!”

The audience agrees and then he moves on to talk about the next season. We say all that can be shared at the time being and we share some pictures from filming yesterday as a teaser for the season.

“Y/N, is that you crying here?” James questions.

The photo on the scene behind us shows the part where I cry because Elliot just told Hollyn she’ll only ever be a rich girl from Los Angeles.

“Yeah, the first episode is filled with drama! Elliot and Hollyn already have a rocky time.”

“No! You’re joking!” He whines, disappointed.

We flip through more photos and answer a few more questions. James says into the camera that when we get back we’ll be playing a game. The game is Who is Most Likely To? Between me and Sam who is more likely to…

After the commercial break, James looks toward the camera with the utmost enthusiasm. “And we are back with Y/N and Sam! I have given each of them a paddle! One side says Y/N and the other reads Sam! Now, the game is Who is Most Likely To? So, between the two of you, who is more likely to “fill in the blank?” We all set?”

“We’re good!” Sam and I say at the same time as if we practiced.

“Alrighty, question number one...” James reads his cards. “Who is most likely to sleep until noon?”

I instantly flip my paddle to myself without a second thought. Sam is such an early bird. The type to get a five-mile jog in by ten. I lean forward and Sam said me as well.

“I’m not gonna deny it. If I could I would stay in bed all day,” I giggle without shame.

“You have stayed in bed all day,” Sam teases and I playfully nudge him in the arm. The whole set finds it humorous.

“Who is most likely to get a tattoo?” James reads with a raised brow.

The audience “ooh’s” in anticipation. I flip my paddle to Sam’s side, never in a million years would I get a tattoo.

“Y/N, you flipped your paddle super fast. Why is that?” James inquires.

“Mhm, nope! There will be no ink on this skin!” I wave my head frantically. “Sam can do whatever he wants with his body but it’s a no for me.”

“We’ve actually talked about tattoos before and I plan on getting one here soon,” Sam describes.

James asks him about what he plans on getting and that conversation goes on a minute or two. Sam explains where he plans on placing the tattoo and when he’ll get it done.

James reads over the card and smirks, “who is most likely to date another celebrity?”

Sam, no doubt. I feel no urge to date, thank you very much.

“Oh! Looks like we got ourselves a mix-up! Sam said Y/N and Y/N said, Sam!” James laughs toward the audience.

“Me?!” I gasp, earning amusement from the audience.

Sam turns his body to face me, “why not?”

“You know, if you two dated this could work itself out,” James points out to get a reaction from the crowd.

“I’m not really looking to date at the moment,” I explain, and James is surprised. I explain further, “the show is important to me and this summer I just want to fun. Plus, my schedule is quite hectic and I would feel bad for dragging someone else into it all.”

He completely understands and asks the final question. “Who is most likely to get married first?”

I flip my board to Sam again. James starts to laugh and I comprehend that it’s the same case as last time. I check Sam’s and I’m right, he said to me.

“Why do you keep putting me?” I fuss playfully.

“Because it’s true! You’re such a little liar to say me!” Sam teases.

“You’re older!” I reason.

“Oh please,” Sam rolls his eyes and leans back into the couch.

“I’ll have to agree with Sam on this one,” James adds and I look to him betrayed.

“Y/N, you’re America’s Sweetheart! Every young guy’s dream girl!”

I hide my face in my hands and shake my head with a giggle.

“Doesn’t mean I’ll be the first to get married! I have no interest in anyone right now!” James and Sam beam as I finish.

“Ah, ah see! You said “right now,” James points at me.

These two are teaming up on me now.

“Thank you so much you two for coming in! It’s been a lot of fun!” James thanks.

“Of course, it was a blast!” I charm.

He stands and so do we. He hugs Sam then me, “you two make me laugh like no others.”

James looks into the camera and wraps up the end of the show. “Thank you, Julia Roberts, Adam Levine, Sam Merka, Y/N Voss, and Machine Gun Kelly for joining me today! Have an excellent night everyone! Until next time!”

The band starts their music. Sam and I dance to the beat and James join in. The produces yells that the show has cut to a commercial.

To hear my name and Machine Gun Kelly’s name mere seconds apart is something I never thought I’d hear.

“Thanks again for coming!” James repeats once the show is over.

“We had fun! Thanks for having us!” Sam compliments.

The duo shares a brief “bro hug” and James embraces me one last time.

Then, Sam and I head backstage to our dressing room. Nicole and Steven should already be back there since I didn’t see them on the set.

“That went well!” Sam mentions while we walk down the hall.

I hum, “totally not getting married first though.”

“Whatever, you’re lying to yourself,” he laughs as he opens the door to the dressing for me.

Nicole and Steven are waiting for us and instantly begin talking about the Vanity Fair shoot tomorrow. It’s never-ending.

____________________________________________________

Masterlist

Tags:  @canyoubuymetoast  @bri-3530 @asil1652 @andstilltryingtofindmyself @nadia2021 @olafsidehoe @mgkobsessed @fairywriting101 @ferrell-cat @naylanae-0308 @tonystarkswife10 @alexsa56 @brocksbabyyy @stormrider505 @magnificenthumancopangel @sarcasticfangirlus @lilramencup95beech @missyviolet123 @skeleton-gxrl @glitterybearllamaflap @margaritaville20 @amoresixx

[marvelatthetwilight]

No More Darkness

@fatiguing-thoughts this one is for you! And, as it’s Quil @clearwater-hoe might like this too?!

Quil was your best friend. You did everything together, your families had been friends for years and you had practically known each other since birth. You walked to school together, sat at lunch together, were partners in projects, hung out after school, shared your hopes and your fears, everything that best friends do. Embry and Jacob were like your brothers yes, but with Quil it was always different, like your souls were connected, and you knew each other in a way that no one ever could.

When Embry, and then Jacob disappeared off the face of the earth to suddenly join the Sam gang, you were furious for yourself, but you were devastated for Quil. The whole situation put him on edge, he was constantly anxious that Sam was looking at him in a way he couldn’t really explain, like he knew something Quil didn’t. That somehow Quil was next.

It was after school on a Friday. You were walking on the beach with Quil, talking about Jacob’s recent disappearance and Quil’s strange suspicions.

“I saw Jared and Paul this morning, from a distance of course, and they just had this look in their eyes. Like they were wary of me, watching my behaviour. It’s like they’re waiting for something to happen”. He looked defeated, like he was just waiting for the inevitable. “Y/N I just feel like the darkness is closing in on me, like it did for Embry, like it is for Jacob.”

“Quil you don’t need to feel like that, you know I’ve always been here for you, I will always be there for you. Even if you do join a gang” I nudge him slightly with this last comment and a small smile forms on his face.

“What would I ever do without you Y/N?”

“Lucky for you, you’ll never have to find that out! I don’t plan on going anywhere!” You stop walking and wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him in for one of your famous hugs.

“A Y/N hug never fails to disappoint” you can hear the smile in his voice as he replies as he wraps his arms around your body and gives you a small squeeze.

On Monday morning you head to Quil’s house to walk to school together like you always do.

You hadn’t seen him over the weekend as you’d been dragged to see you grandparents a couple of hours away, which you had told him. He said he was going to catch up on sleep and homework as he had been really tired recently, you thought nothing of it, he’s a teenage boy, that happens.

When he stopped replying to your messages on Sunday, you didn’t initially think anything was wrong, assuming he was just sleeping and hadn’t heard his phone. However, as the day went on, you messaged again, and still heard nothing. When you checked your phone as you woke up Monday morning, you could see he had read your messages but he had still not replied. Something was off.

So here you were, walking up the steps to Quil’s house, about to knock on the door...

The door opens, and you frown as you see Embry step out.

“He can’t see you Y/N, he’s sick. He won’t be coming to school, you need to walk in by yourself.” Embry won’t make eye contact with you, like he knows you will see straight through his lie, but you leave it. You’ve got a big test this morning, you’ll get to the bottom of this later.

“I’ll be back after school.”

“He’ll still be sick then and won’t be able to see you then.” This time he looks down at you, and you take in the changes in the person you saw as a brother. He’s taller, filled out with muscle, not the skinny scrawny boy you grew up with. He has a tattoo on his arm now too, the same tattoo you had seen on Paul and Jared.

“What happened Embry? You look so different. What did Sam do to you?”

He frowns at this. “Sam has helped me, helped us, like he’s going to help Quil. You just need to leave Y/N, I’m sorry.”

With that, he closes the door.

You keep texting Quil throughout the day, hoping that this wasn’t really happening, that you weren’t losing another friend. You heard nothing. The same ghosting as you had from Embry, and Jacob.

You never thought that Quil could ghost you, that your connection was so deep it couldn’t be broken. Quil would never do that, you thought.

There was so much more to all of this than either you or Quil had thought.

You get through your school day, acing your test, but sitting alone at lunch. Alone with your thoughts, putting together a plan. This was the last straw, you rolled over and accepted the loss of Embry, the loss of Jacob, but you weren’t losing Quil.

As the school day finishes you send Quil a final text before you walk back to his house.

I’m coming over. I’m not taking no for an answer. You won’t see me? I’m not leaving.

You walk up the steps to Quil’s front door, again the door opens before you have a chance to knock, but this time you recognise it to be Sam, although you’ve only ever seen him from a distance. Your text must have called in the big guns.

“He can’t see you Y/N, you know this.” He looks at you in sympathy and you can’t stand it.

“But why? Why are you taking all of my friends away? You know I’m completely alone now? Embry, Jacob, Quil, they were my life, my best friends, my family. Now I have no one.” Tears are rolling down your face before you can stop them and a heart wrenching sob leaves your mouth as the words ring true in your heart.

Sam glances behind him and you hear a slight commotion. “Let me see her” you hear. “Embry you know she won’t leave until I do, Sam, let me see her.”

Sam sighs as he pushes the door open fully. You gasp as your eyes fix with Quil’s, his eyes widen and he doesn’t break eye contact as you notice Embry and Sam smirking at each other.

“Er...Quil? Are you ok?” Your voice brings him back to reality, and he shoves Embry as he makes an aww sound whilst looking between the two of you. Quil looks to Sam, who nods and he quickly grabs your hand and starts walking with you towards the woods.

You slow your pace as you reach the edge of the woods. Quil stops, and turns so you are facing each other, he takes both your hands in his and looks into your eyes. He’s never looked at me like this before.

Something stirs inside you, feelings you’d put aside years ago, knowing that nothing would come of them, that Quil would only ever think of you as a sister. But something seemed different.

“There’s a lot I need to explain to you, a lot. But for now I just need to tell you that...you, and me, what we have is really special. For years I’ve loved you, and not like a sister line Embry or Jake. I love you. And now something in me has stirred to give me the confidence to tell you how I really feel.”

Your hands are shaking.

“Y/N, I don’t know if you feel the same, if you’ve ever felt that way about me but I needed to tell you...” Quil looks to the side before speaking again, “you know that darkness I talked about? That feeling of doom? Well, I when I finally understood what was happening, which I promise I will explain, I thought that darkness would disappear. But it didn’t. I still felt it, until that door opened and I looked at you.”

He brings your hands up to his face, kissing them softly.

“One look at you, and, poof, no more darkness”

He smiles softly at you. “You don’t have to say anything, I just needed to be brave, be honest.”

If Quil can be brave then so can I, you thought.

“...I’ve always been in love with you Quil, I feel like our souls are connected in some magical way, that we are, I dunno...it sounds stupid. Like we are soul mates or something.”

He smiles at you again, gently pulling your face up to his and kissing you softly on the lips. He laughs before speaking again.

“Yeah, or something”

Taglist

@volturidoll13 @like-rain-or-confetti @wallwriterstuff @megzdoodle @awesomebooklover17 @moviequeen51 @cncogirl18 @fatiguing-thoughts @clearwater-hoe