#letsby's freestyle challenge

[risingphoenix761]

Original Prankster

Summary: Your favorite fictional hunter turns up in your kitchen, and your boyfriend knows more about it than he's letting on

Word count: 2,572

Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader, Gabriel

Warnings: Pure crack not to be taken seriously. And let's not kid ourselves. There's nothing in here you won't find on the show.

A/N: written for @letsby’s 500 Freestyle Challenge, @bamby0304’s 4k Fourth Wall Smash, and @spnfanficpond’s S14 Weekly Challenge, weeks 14 and 15 (also tagging @mrswhozeewhatsis as instructed). Also filling my Gabriel square for @heavenandhellbingo and my “Piano Man” square for @spnsongchallengebingo. Various prompts are bolded throughout. Unbetaed, so I'm taking all the blame for this nonsense. Enjoy!

###

I've always had a soft spot for Sam Winchester. Such a serious, straitlaced stick-in-the-mud with a stick up his ass, and pushing his buttons never gets old. I've tried to get him to loosen up over the years and he never seemed to appreciate it, and I guess I can't blame him. Entirely, that is. The universe at large, and my relatives in particular, seem hard up to raise hell and somehow or other the Winchesters always get involved.

Martyr complexes, if you ask me.

It took long enough, believe me, but I finally got him to crack. Lighten up. Live a little. And who'd'a thunk it, but that stick in the mud actually has a sense of humor! I know, right? Not only that, but he apparently has a history of hijinks with his big bro. My kind of hijinks. So not only did I discover Sammy Boy's humor, I also discovered a partner-in-crime. A trickster-in-training, if you will.

Because the only thing better than screwing with Sam? That, boys and girls, would be screwing with Dean.

***

Dean woke up on the bathroom floor, a little too close to the toilet for his liking. That he'd passed out wasn't a surprise, given how much he'd been drinking the night before, but how the hell he managed to squeeze himself between the commode and the bathtub to sleep was beyond him. His head pounded, and there was a sour taste in his mouth that told him he probably puked recently.

Slowly getting to his feet, groaning and cursing as tired muscles and cramped joints stretched, he scrubbed a hand over his face and stumbled to the sink. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water, and it wasn't until he turned off the faucet that it occurred to him...motel bathrooms didn't have sinks in the bathroom. This was someone's house.

Moving quietly, wincing as movement made his head spin, he opened the bathroom door--

And you were stuck. What happened next was as much a mystery to you as to potential readers.

Tapping the end of your pen on the table, you stared at the page and hoped words would appear on it. You had a deadline to stick to. Several, in fact, and you had vented enough about all of them to enough people that your pride more or less hinged on pulling through. That all of your deadlines were for fan fiction? You may or may not have kept that part to yourself…

You were almost too spaced out to hear the soft footsteps down the hall, pausing on the creaky floorboard, and you jolted out of your reverie in a heartbeat, pulse kicking up several notches. There was no one else in the house...right? Unless it was a burglar?

There was movement in the kitchen doorway, where you sat at the counter, and a man stepped into the room. Pretty tall, pretty bowlegged, and just plain pretty, with a chiseled jawline, a scattering of freckles, and eyes a very particular shade of green… Fanfiction green, one might say…

Dean frigging Winchester was standing in your kitchen.

You sat gaping at him while he didn't look terribly fazed--terribly hungover, but not fazed. He rubbed at his eyes and blinked a few times before speaking. “Morning.”

“Good--good morning,” you replied, gobsmacked.

He looked at you for a moment or two, then said, “Sorry, but I don't think I remember your name…”

“Y/N,” you answered. “I...uh...I...can't believe you're...here?”

“What, you think I'd cut and run at dawn?”

“Well, um…” Discreetly, you gathered up the pages you had been working on and turned them facedown where he couldn't read them, offering, “Do you want some coffee?”

“God, that'd be awesome,” he groaned, sitting down at the kitchen table and massaging his temples.

“Aspirin?”

“Please…”

You poured him a cup of coffee, then hurried down the hallway to the bathroom, mind flung into a tailspin. What the hell was going on? What was Dean Winchester doing in your kitchen? Taking a bottle of pills from the medicine cabinet, you returned to the kitchen, and the fictional monster hunter seated at your table.

Damn, he sure was handsome, you found yourself thinking as you handed him the aspirin. “Here. Help yourself.” He downed a few pills and you sat down again, still as clueless what to do about this. “So, um, what do you remember about last night?”

“The bar,” he replied. “My brother told me about this joint that just opened up in town. The music sucked, but the drinks were on another level. And the food…” His eyes rolled back in his head and he let out a moan of appreciation that made you raise your eyebrows in surprise. “The food was awesome.”

“That's...that's cool…”

“Wait a second.” His gaze suddenly focused on your purse sitting at the far end of the table. You always carried a book with you, which rarely fit completely inside, which meant the spine often stuck out in clear view, as it did now. And with the sun beaming in through the windows, the title was plain to see.

Supernatural: The Devil You Know

Your eyes widened and you looked from Dean to the book and back again. He heaved a sigh and said, “You're into Supernatural?”

“Uh, yeah,” you answered. “Ever since the first book was published.”

“You've...you've read all of them?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

He nodded and became doubly interested in the coffee, and you wondered if he was feeling awkward about the details of his life being known, even if he didn't know none of it was real. You knew you'd be embarrassed if you were him, all the horrible things he'd been through set out in black and white for the world's entertainment. Not to mention everything else Carver Edlund wrote… Like Dean told Sam in The Monster At The End Of This Book, he was full frontal in there.

“Do you...remember how you got here?” you asked, thinking of all the possible explanations. This was like a weird reverse of Changing Channels!

He shrugged. “I remember walking into the bathroom,” he said. “I felt a lot more wasted than I should have, I hadn't had that much by my standards, so I asked the bartender and apparently, it was double shot night.”

You groaned at the idea.

“Exactly,” he agreed. “I headed to the can after that, and I remember pushing the door open, and after that?” He spread his hands as if to say what can you do? “Best drinks I ever had, though.”

“Oh, well, that's...good, I guess.”

The sound of the front door opening carried through the house and Dean was on alert in a heartbeat, but you explained, “It's cool. It's just my boyfriend.”

He froze, looking more wary than ever. “Boyfriend?”

“Honey, I'm home!” a voice sang out from the hallway.

“He's a bartender,” you added. “How's that for irony? He goes jogging after work, but he's back a little late this morning.”

Cheery whistling sounded out along with the jingling of keys and he appeared, thick dark blond hair windblown from exercise, glasses sliding down the bridge of his long nose, and scruffy beard slightly scruffier than usual. You smiled at him and greeted, “Morning, babe,” then turned back to Dean.

Green eyes were wide with shock and disbelief as he stared at the newcomer, mouth hanging slightly open. He was dumbstruck for a moment, then he burst out, “You?”

“Are you okay?” you asked.

He ignored you, still staring. “I don't believe it,” he said. “I thought you were dead!”

The man looked from Dean to you, confused. “Honey, who is this?” he asked.

“This is Dean,” you answered. “Dean, this is my boyfriend, Rich.”

“Hi, Dean, nice to meet you,” he replied, extending his hand to shake.

Dean's shock slowly turned to a look of indignation and he glanced at the offered hand as if it offended him. “Are you frigging kidding me?” he demanded. “Rich? I'm not buying the crap, pal! You better tell me what's going on!”

Rich drew back, looking askance. “Whoa, calm down, man--”

“Why don't you shove it up your ass? Have you just been hiding out this whole time while we've been dealing with apocalypses and angel wars and whatever other load of bull the universe decides to dump on us?”

“Dean, are you drunk?”

“It was double shot night!” He paused in his outburst, brow furrowed in sudden thought. “Wait a sec...you were the bartender last night. It was dark, but I thought you looked familiar.”

“Yeah,” Rich agreed slowly, “I work as a bartender…”

“But that doesn't make sense!”

You and Dean froze, having said it at once. “He can't have been your bartender,” you reasoned, “he's--”

“An angel,” Dean interrupted.

“Well, I agree, but it's not possible.”

“No, really, he's an angel, but he's supposed to be dead!”

“You don't understand!”

Both of you spoke at once again, and Dean tried again. “Listen, sweetheart, whatever this guy's told you, he's not who you think he is.”

“Who do you think he is?” you asked.

“Gabriel, the archangel.”

You looked from Dean to Rich, who merely shrugged and twirled a finger in a circle at his temple. Crazy.

“He didn't have a beard or glasses,” Dean went on, “but that's him. Lucifer killed him, or so we thought.”

“In Hammer of the Gods?” you asked.

Dean turned back to you, gears clearly whirling in his head. He reached across the table and took the book out of your purse, reading the summary on the back cover. “Chuck kept publishing?” he muttered to himself.

“Who is Chuck?” Rich asked.

“Carver Edlund's real name,” you answered. “He wrote a self-insert and made himself a prophet, it was kinda wild.”

“Are you talking about Supernatural again?”

“Well…” You heaved a sigh. “This is going to sound crazy…”

“Oh, trust me, he knows,” Dean chimed in.

“This is Dean Winchester,” you went on, ignoring him. “As in, actually Dean Winchester.”

Rich paused for a moment, silent, then pointed at the book in Dean's hand. “That Dean Winchester?”

“Yep. That one.”

“Uh huh…”

“I'm not crazy,” you insisted.

“Well, we all go a little mad sometimes…”

“You don't believe me?”

“Can it, already!” Dean snapped at him. “I'm sick of your crap, you son of a bitch, now tell me what the hell kind of game you're playing this time!”

“Now, listen,” Rich shot back, starting to sound annoyed, “I'm telling you, Dean, I have no idea what you're talking about, now if we can't remain civil, then you can skedaddle.”

“He can't, honey,” you replied. “He's fictional. He belongs in another reality.”

Dean pointed at you in agreement. “Whatever you've done, put it back right now,” he demanded. “And face up to your crap while you're at it. You think Kali would be cool with you hiding all this time?”

Rich heaved a sigh and took off his glasses, looking exasperated. “Dean, why did you have to bring her up?” he asked, snapping his fingers. In an instant, he was clean-shaven, and he seemed to carry himself differently, not quite as laid back but still at ease, with a cool confidence and an easy manner but with an aura of power surrounding him.

Your jaw dropped and you stared at him. “It's...it's true?” you sputtered. “Gabriel? Like, that Gabriel?” You pointed at the book in Dean's hand, as Rich himself had done--no, Gabriel, archangel Gabriel, who was also the Mystery Spot trickster who dropped the Winchesters into several television universes and died trying to stop Lucifer...and had a fling with Kali the goddess.

What the hell was going on here?

“It's kind of a lot to take in at once,” he conceded.

“Kind of?” you burst out, flabbergasted. “You're not real! Neither of you! What are you doing in my kitchen? Am I crazy? This is a dream, right? I'm making this whole thing up?”

“Reality is highly subjective,” he replied. “The human world is a mess, you know. You all tend to believe whatever you want, or whatever anyone can convince you of. So, who is to say what's real and what's not?”

You stared at him, and so did Dean. He rolled his eyes and said, “Dude, whatever. Just tell me what you're doing here and why I'm here.”

Gabriel heaved a sigh. “It was supposed to be fun, and you ruined it,” he said. “You guys stopped the apocalypse! You didn't need me! I was on sabbatical in a world where all of that was just your imagination. I met Y/N. I had a normal job. It was great!”

“You told me you moved to the city to get away from family problems!” you said. “The problem was the apocalypse?”

He shrugged. “You met me at a very strange time in my life.”

Understating, much? You sat listening, still trying to process all of it, then asked, “So, how did Dean get here?”

“That's where I think I screwed up. Sam and I thought he needed to cut loose and--”

“Wait,” Dean interrupted, “Sam knew you were alive?”

“I thought you'd get a kick out of meeting your favorite hero,” Gabriel went on, “so I made sure he had fun and brought him here afterwards.”

“What do you mean, fun?” Dean asked.

Gabriel took his phone out of his pocket and opened a video, then handed the phone to you. You hit play and Dean leaned over your shoulder to watch.

Dean was standing behind a mic, a drink in one hand and a monitor reading out lyrics nearby, and by the look of him, it was definitely double shot night.

“I did karaoke?” he said, sounding shocked.

“He says son, can you play me a memory?” he belted out in the video, slurring his words slightly. “I'm not really sure how it goes…”

You glanced at Dean, not sure what to make of what you were seeing, and he once again looked indignant. “Billy Joel?” he said. “Everything I could have gone with, and I picked Billy Joel?”

“Don't knock him because you butchered his song,” Gabriel chided.

“I thought my performance was quite magnificent,” he replied defensively.

“But if it makes you feel better, I picked the song.”

“After that story I wrote?” you asked, suddenly curious.

“Bingo,” Gabriel confirmed. “That drunken excursion sounded exactly like what our boy needed.”

“How far along in the story did you get him?”

“Oh, he went all the way, baby.”

“Wait, what?” Dean broke in, looking anxious. “What story? What excursion? What happened?”

“Nothing,” you replied quickly.

“What are you talking about?”

“You got trashed and did bad karaoke,” Gabriel answered. “But hey, you won the contest that night!”

Dean narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “What else?”

“You, uh,” you said, trying to phrase it as carefully as possible, “you lost a bet with a bunch of bikers and almost got arrested paying up.”

“Paying up, how?”

“A little public indecency, a little vandalism,” Gabriel replied, “harmless, run-of-the-mill stuff.”

Dean nodded slowly, taking a deep breath. “What else?”

“That's it,” you said. “The end of the story.”

“For real?”

“Every word of it, sir, is the Gospel truth,” you lied.

He'd find the tattoo on his own, eventually.

[blackleatherjacketz]

Night Light

Tony Stark x Reader

Summary: You’re a vendor at the Stark Expo and run into Tony at your hotel bar. 

Notes: This is for @letsby and her 500 Follower Writing Challenge! Congrats! I’ve never written Tony before and wanted to branch out. I also haven’t written smut in a while, so bear with me. 

Word Count: 2,324

Warnings: NSFW, Alcohol, The Stark Expo, One Night Stand, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Tony’s Personality, Lots of Sass

Tags: @negansdirtygirl22 @annablack1102 @genevievedarcygranger @tonystarkxreader

The hotel bar was quieter than you thought, the only other patrons scattered across the room as they drank their beers and watched TV together in the corner. Their conversation was interesting enough, ranging from sports and politics to aliens and other conspiracy theories. You didn’t recognize them from the expo this morning, but they seemed to be pretty knowledgeable on the topics.

“Scotch on the rocks, please.” A new voice perked up your ears. “And keep the tab open. Thank you, Jordan.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” The bartender quickly grabbed a bottle of Glenlivet and poured it into a fresh glass with two ice cubes. “Long day, Mr. Stark?”

“Oh you know, the usual; smiley happy expo stuff.” He picked up the glass and took a sip of the amber liquid, swirling it around in his hands before looking over at you. “Hey, didn’t I see you there today? You were with uh…” he started snapping his fingers to jog his memory, “Becky, Bucky…”

“Beckman,” you corrected him, getting your boss’ name right. Your turned in your chair to face him.

“Beckman! Right! She invented the internal biofeedback medicine pump, and now she’s working on…” he looked around the room as if the answer was written on the walls.

“You’ll just have to come by tomorrow and see for yourself, Mr. Stark.” You took a sip of your drink, the sparkling tartness making your nose crinkle as you took in his handsome features.

“You’re not gonna give me any hints? Any clues?Three Words? Five syllables? Sounds like Schmedical?” He rose his eyebrows and searched your face. “Not a thing?” He shrugged his shoulders dramatically and finished his drink. “Well then, it looks like I’ll just have to trust you.” He set his empty glass on the bar, licking the liquor off his lips.

“I guess so,” you smiled, amazed that the founder of this convention was actually talking to you.

“Are you guys enjoying yourself at least? You and Doctor Beckman, I mean. You aren’t here with anyone else, are you? I mean… Any of my inventions make you want to switch careers and come join the big dogs over here at Stark Industries?” He took his sunglasses off and set them next to his glass, looking you up and down with sparkling brown eyes.

“Not yet. My doctorate is in nursing, not mechanical engineering, so I don’t see what good I’d do your company.”

“Your doctorate’s in nursing? You’re a doctor of nursing? Seriously? Why not just go to medical school?” Jordan handed him another drink.

“My minors are in pharmacology and education, Mr. Stark. I know that may not seem important to you, but Doctor Beckman and I have been doing research together for years, and it’s been fruitful enough to warrant an invitation to your expo at least three years in a row. So yeah, I’m JUST a nurse.” You finished your drink.

He stared at you in awe, his mouth agape as his fingers loosely gripped his glass.

“Sorry, I get defensive when I feel a little out of my element,” you admitted.

“No.” He shook his head, scooting in closer to you. “I love a woman who doesn’t put up with my bullshit. In fact, you aren’t out of your element at all. I mean, are you sure you aren’t a lawyer? Or an assassin?” His lips parted in a genuine smile, the skin around his eyes wrinkling softly into crow’s feet.

“I’m sure.” You laughed as a wave of warmth washed over you, his smile making the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

“So what are you drinking, Team Beckman? Is that apple juice?” He leaned in closer and grabbed the bottle in your hand, spinning it around to read the label. “You know, they DO serve alcohol here, just in case you were wondering.” He winked at you and nodded at Jordan again.

“It’s a hard cider, and thank you.” You smiled as the earthy scent of his cologne flooded your senses as you stared at his lips.

“So, you got a name? A phone number? Hotel room?” He paused and thanked Jordan for getting you another cider. “I’m kidding. Unless, you know… I’m not.” He winked and put his elbow on the bar, refusing to take his eyes off you. “I could keep calling you Doctor Beckman, but unless you’re into role play, I don’t think you’d like that very much.”

Your smile widened even more, his advances making you cross your legs to hide the sudden heat you felt between them. You knew that Mr. Stark had a reputation of being a playboy, but you never thought those talents would be aimed toward you. You thought that he was just one of those guys, one of those charmers who complimented anyone that came across his path. It was part of the reason he was so rich and successful, after all.

You decided to tell him your name, figuring there wasn’t any harm in it, and that he would just look you up tomorrow morning if you tried to be secretive. “And I’m in room 325, actually,” you nodded upwards toward the center of the building.

“No shit?” He stared at you, surprised that you took the bait. “You wanna get out of here? Give me the dime tour?” He sipped his drink, finishing it before placing a wad of cash on the counter. “As the founder of the Stark Expo, I need to make sure we are putting our guests up in the very best accommodations available.”

“Well, I was actually supposed to meet Doctor Beckman here, but it looks like she’s a little late.” You pretended to look around the bar for your mentor, not wanting to seem too eager.

“Let her cry her heart out.” He nodded toward the exit. ——————

“So this is you?” He walked into the luxurious room you’d only recently settled into, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

“This is it.” You shut the door and locked it, hoping for the best case scenario as you walked up behind him.

“I see you have a bed, a bath, and ...beyond.” He turned around to face you, his joke wasted on your close proximity. “Are we providing you with everything you need?” His caramel eyes darkened as they darted over your face, thick lashes pulling his lids downward as you came closer.

“Not everything,” you whispered, fingering the hem of his gray jacket to the middle of his waist.

“Are you saying your needs aren’t being met?” He rose an eyebrow and palmed the small of your back, bringing your hips into his.

“Something like that,” you leaned in and kissed him, the faint flavor of scotch hitting your tongue as you grabbed his waist, pulling him in even closer.

Your eyes closed as he kissed you back, his hands smoothing their way up your spine to the zipper of your dress. He slid it down to the base of your hips, exposing your back to the lukewarm air of the hotel room. He let his hands wander before finally peeling the fabric off your shoulder blades, igniting a fire that trailed down your extremities as your dress fell to the floor.

You wrapped your fingers around his tie, tugging on it as you stepped out of your clothes before backing up against the bed. Without thinking, you removed his tie and jacket, making quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt before noticing an aqua blue glow. You stared down at the bright circle in the center of his chest, running your palm across its surface.

“Is this bothering you? Because I can’t turn it off. It doesn’t have a dimmer on it or anything.” He tapped it with his knuckles. “On the plus side it’s kind of like a night light when we go to sleep later.”

“You think I’m gonna let you sleep here?” you laughed.

His mouth dropped open, an audible gasp escaping his lips as his eyes widened. “Oh, you’ll be so tired by the end of this…” he reassured you.

“It doesn’t bother me at all.” You pointed to the arc reactor, glancing up at him as it glowed a cool purple through your fingers. “It’s beautiful, actually.” You traced the outer circle with your index finger.

“Do you have your stethoscope here with you? We could play doctorate of nursing and you could listen to my heart rate while I go down on you and… owe!” He grabbed his shoulder as you playfully punched him in the arm.

“Do you always talk this much?” You started unbuttoning the rest of his shirt.

“Only when I’m nervous,” he started, sliding his arms out of his shirt. “Or when I’ve had too much caffeine, or when I’m really excited, or when I’m around beautiful women who desperately want me.”

“Is that so?” You smirked, unbuckling his belt and tossing it onto the floor. Despite his goofy nature, you still wanted to touch him; to feel his skin against yours as his sweat mixed with your juices and you were nothing more than a pile of flesh.

“Yup,” he nodded, watching you unbutton his pants and slide them down to his ankles. He stopped his jokes as you stood back up, caressing your shoulders as you rose to your normal height. He let his palms feel the fine hair on the back of your arms before taking your hands in his, kissing the tops of them tenderly.

“Now, where were we?” Tony asked, pushing you onto your back. “Oh yeah, right about here.” He slid out of his boxer briefs, stroking himself before climbing on top of the bed. He smiled and kissed your navel, slipping his fingers beneath your underwear as he slid them down your hips.

In utter disbelief, you watched him kiss your belly button, licking circles around it as he glanced up at you with hungry black eyes. His mouth moved down lower, kissing and sucking as he pulled your panties down around your ankles. The moisture of his mouth drenched the mound above your most sensitive spot, a light purr humming from his lips as you ran your fingers through his mahogany locks.

“Mr. Stark…” you started, his lips finally reaching the sensitive spot between your thighs.

“Please, call me Tony,” he winked at you before diving back in.

A stifled breath escaped your lips as he painted your length with his tongue, that purr intermittently vibrating your clit as he pulled on it with each upward lick. You let your hips push into him, rocking back and forth in sync with his kisses as they became deeper and more intense.

He hummed and moaned as if the act of pleasing you was just as pleasurable for him, if not more so. He continued his work as his spit dripped down your length and onto the freshly washed comforter, making an audible squish as he slid his fingers inside of you. He curled them upward as his muffled moans got louder and his thrusts got deeper.

“Tony!...” your chest started to heave as his fingers hit the spot you’d almost forgotten was there. He licked and sucked on your clit like it was the most delicious candy he’d ever had, pulling and biting it as he shoved his fingers in even deeper. You grabbed his hair with both hands now, gripping so tightly you were afraid of ripping it out.

You could feel the muscles in your ass and thighs start to quake. Bolts of lightning started to spark in between them where his mouth and fingers continued to work their magic, forcing you to buck your hips into his knuckles.

He paused and pulled away from you, his goatee drenched in your moisture as his lips curled into a satisfied grin. “How we doin’ up there, doctorate of nursing?” He pulled his fingers out, sucking on them as he climbed on top of you.

“You stopped…” you whined, too needy in the moment to be ashamed of your tone.

“Not for long,” he smirked and slid his fingers past your lips, forcing you to taste the delicious mixture of his spit and your arousal. “Still don’t want me to spend the night?” He rose an eyebrow and tilted his head. “Offer still stands.” He pulled his fingers out of your mouth, giving them one last taste before brushing his cock against your sopping wet entrance.

“You can spend the night, now get over here,” you smiled and rolled your eyes, bringing him in for a kiss before he leaned down and slid inside of you.

Those bolts of lightning returned immediately, without losing any voltage in their spark. They worked their way up into your stomach as he stretched you out and filled you up, his rhythmic thrusts sending your abs into a convulsive dance in tandem with your hips and thighs. You ran your hands through his hair again as he continued to kiss you, your body lighting up like a thunderstorm on a hot summer day, jolts of electricity shooting through your limbs to the very tips of your toes. You wrapped your legs around his waist as you vibrated on a frequency you never knew was possible.

He continued to pump his hips wildly into yours as that blue circle in the middle of his chest glowed brighter and brighter. The sweat from his forehead landed on your neck, sending your already sensitive skin into overdrive. You stared at him as he climaxed, his eyes rolling back into his head as he spilled into you and moaned one last time.

“Oh man,” he whispered, resting his head on your chest. “I’m definitely tired now, are you tired?” He looked up at you and smiled, quickly kissing your lips.

“Yeah,” you admitted, clinging onto him as he rolled into his side. “I could use a night light.”

[coffee-obsessed-writer]

I’ll Handle It

Negan x Reader x Bart (OMC)

A/N: This was written for @letsby ‘s 500 Freestyle challenge. My prompt was: “What’s bothering you.” The line is bolded in the fic. This was my first time really writing Negan, so please be gentle. 

Summary: After working her way up the ranks in The Sanctuary, (Y/N) is tired and has had enough of one other Savior’s forward advances. When Negan gets wind of what’s happening, he gives her the opportunity to handle it.

Warnings: Language, Violence, Assault, non-consensual groping, angst, character death

WC: 4K

Tags: @kazosa / @sorenmarie87 / @negans-wife / @wings-of-a-raven /  @buckyscrystalqueen // @crowleysreigningqueenofhell  // @rawr-bitchess //  @fictionaldemon // @thewalkingbucky // @spnhollis // @hanaissupergirl // @sourwolf-sterek32 // @alyisdead // @gemini0410 // @his-paradox // @mrsalliej47

Getting stuck on clean-up duty wasn’t too bad unless you were doing it outside in the middle of a heatwave. Things around the Sanctuary were always hardest when the temperatures rose. If you were inside the factory, it was stuffy and warm with not nearly enough functioning windows to allow a breeze in. Outside, it might as well have been a sauna. Throw in the stench of the dead ones rotting on the fences, and it was almost impossible to stomach.

But you did. You had too. You learned early on how to handle your shit.

Being new there meant you had to work your way in; earn your keep. It was worth it for protection from the decaying world around you. Too many unlawful men and women roamed the world now, and you had plenty of that before the world went to shit; no need to continue the same patterns while also fighting for survival.

A couple months had gone by, and by doing everything they’d thrown at you, you were granted an upgrade in accommodations. You understood the hierarchy and worked hard to prove not only your worth but also your loyalty. The Sanctuary was ruled with an iron fist, all the highest tier people keeping a watchful eye over the day-to-day operations; while Negan watched over them. You kept your eyes down but ears open anytime they were within earshot, never knowing when you could pick up something useful.

The taller one, Simon and his friend Bart liked to talk shit behind Negan’s back. The minute the big boss was anywhere close, they would fall right back in line and kissing Negan’s ass. This went on for a couple more months and as you settled into a new life at the Sanctuary, your past traumas from time out in the wild were starting to fade.

Until it was brought back, thanks to that drunk piece of shit, Bart.

The hard work and understanding of your place in the pecking order, helped you move quickly up the ranks. It was those swift promotions that put you in direct contact with Bart Richmond, who answered directly to Simon. You were part of the canvassing crew, one of the groups that were treated well and with a good amount of respect when you walked the floors of the home base. You were out risking your life, looking for others to take in, new resources, supplies, other groups—whatever you could find really.

Coming back from an outing, it was late, and the rations had been low, so you were hungry and beyond tired. Before that run, Negan had Simon move you into one of the small apartments where you had your own bathroom, small television, and a kitchenette. For the last day or two of the trip, all you could think about was getting back to the Sanctuary and your little slice of Heaven there. As you were winding the halls back to your room, a looming shadow cut off the minuscule bit of light that guided you towards your room.

“Where ya goin’?” Bart asked casually. You couldn’t really see his eyes or his expression, but you could feel them on you which was not pleasant.

“Going home,” you mumbled and tried to move past him.

He blocked your path and grinned in a way that reminded you of the Grinch. “What’s the hurry?”

“I’m tired, Bart. Please move.”

“Aw, come now, sugar. You can’t be too tired for me?”

You looked at him incredulously and crossed your arms over your chest. “Move.”

“No,” he growled and took a step closer, ultimately pushing you to step back and hit the wall with no way to get around him. “I won’t. If you like that cushy little room you got and wanna keep it, you might wanna be polite and invite me back there…”

The closer he got, the more you could smell the booze on his breath. It was repulsive on him and mixed with the sweat from the day made him downright nauseating. The rank odor he wore reminded you of that night out on the road, weeks before landing at the Sanctuary. The men that found you sleeping in the hollowed-out tree had smelled similar; you could still feel their hands on you, holding you down and trying to rape you…

You shook the memory away and tried to maintain your composure but remain firm.

“What is your problem? I’m sure there are plenty of women here that would be thrilled to ask you back to their room. I, however, am not one of them. You wanna threaten me, Bart? Go ahead. I’d rather go back to cleaning rotted guts off the pavement then have you anywhere near me,” you growled and quickly ducked under the arm he had blocking your way.

Before you could get far, he spun and grabbed the top of your arm and squeezing hard enough to make you cry out. His other hand pressing against your stomach working its way towards your breasts.

He went to speak but was immediately cut off by a piercing whistle cutting through the halls. The ping of Negan’s bat, lightly bouncing off the metal railing that ran down the adjacent hallway wall caused Bart to stand up straight, immediately releasing your arm. Unfortunately for him, it wasn’t before Negan saw the forceful grip, he had on you.

“Well, hey there, Bart,” he purred, flashing his eyes your way, squinting slightly as he tried to remember your name.

“Negan,” he said and went to kneel, as did you.

“No, no, get up, it’s fine. I was just shuffling by, thought I heard a little scuffle. Some sort of shit I can help take care of here?”

“No sir,” Bart said, standing straight as he could despite his mild intoxication.

“Wasn’t fucking asking you,” Negan frowned, then met your eyes. “I was askin’ the lady, here. Everything alright…?” he trailed off, still uncertain of your name.

“(Y/N), and yes, everything’s fine. Bart was just saying goodnight,” you answered, the second part came through gritted teeth as you glared at him from the corner of your eye.

“Seems to me that maybe Bart was a little too rough with you, (Y/N). You sure there isn’t a problem?”

“No sir,” you reaffirmed.

“If there is, I want you to know you can come to me. Especially if Bart here is getting handsy. You know Lucille’s rule, Bart… if the lady says no, she says no. No forcing yourself on anyone while under my roof.”

“Y--Yes sir, I know the rule,” Bart’s eyes twitched towards Negan’s companion Lucille, the dim light once again reflecting off her barbed wire accents.

“If you’ll excuse me… it’s late and I’m exhausted,” you said, cutting through the tension. “Night Negan,” you smiled at him gratefully and then threw another piercing look to Bart

As quickly as you could, you moved passed him and into your room, promptly closing it and locking the door.

By the time you were safely locked away, your heart was pounding, and your hands had begun to shake. You only hoped Negan hadn’t noticed. He had no use for a nervous and jerky soldier on his front lines.

Bart didn’t bother you again for several weeks. Until that afternoon he cornered you in the garden, you thought he was purposely steering clear of you. Negan, however, had seemed to take an interest in your day to day activities. Ever since that night he inadvertently stopped Bart from coming after you, you felt his eyes on you more and more.

Normally that unnerved you. Even if it wasn’t Bart or Simon… anyone that looked too long or eyed you in a certain way made you uncomfortable. Trusting people in this world was almost impossible; not that you could do it more easily before. Your life had been a series of bad choices and bad relationships. Always trusting the wrong person, whether they be a friend, employer or lover, you’d find yourself on the bad end of it because you trusted the wrong person.

Yet, when Negan was around, you felt safe and confident in what you were doing. The man himself was quite the showman, always making big entrances, a grand show of his power over the people, and how generous he could be. It was grating at times, but in a world where everything else was in decay, there was something about his arrogance that was alluring.

That afternoon In the garden while gathering food for a two-day supply run, Bart once again tried to get you in his favor by being an overbearing prick. Grabbing your ass as he walked by was not new, but then taking you by the shoulder, spinning you around and pushing you forcefully into a corner was not something you were going to tolerate.

“So, you change your mind on me yet?” he hissed through his filthy teeth.

“Fuck off,” you growled and brought your knee up into his balls.

He fell to the ground like a sack of potatoes, giving a huge sense of satisfaction. Bart was on his side, knees were drawn up into his stomach and groaning with pain. You crossed your arms over your chest and was about to make a snide comment when he suddenly got up, and as he went to lunge at you, you were once again saved by Negan’s timing.

“Bart!” he yelled sharply from the doorway. Negan, Dwight and Simon stood in the entryway between the garden and the interior of the Sanctuary. All three wearing scowls of dissatisfaction. “What in fuck’s name is going on out here?”

“She kneed me in the balls!” he whined. “This bitch should be kicked back down to the fence crew!”

Negan rolled his eyes and then looked in your direction. “(Y/N), did you kick Bart here in the nuts?”

“I did. He grabbed my ass and pushed me into the corner. Not the first time he’s done it, either.”

Negan clicked his tongue several times as his expression oozed disappointment. “Seems Bart here needs a reminder of the rules. Simon, take him up to my office please so he and I can have another fucking conversation about fraternizing with his peers.”

“Yes sir,” Simon replied and grabbed Bart by his collar, yanking him inside.

Once they had left, Negan approached you carefully, but his gaze remained intense and curious as he tried to read you.

“How long as this shithead been giving you a hard time?”

“Its nothing I can’t handle,” you said stoically.

“Maybe. Maybe not,” he said, his mouth frowning and his head ticking back and forth in consideration. “I don’t want him to get away with anything. But as big of a dipshit asshole, as he is, he’s one of my best scouts. You see my dilemma here?”

“No need for any severe punishment, I can handle myself where Bart is concerned. What’s best for The Sanctuary comes first.”

Negan was more than a little amused by your answer. “Hot damn, I think we got ourselves a keeper! You know, I gotta say, I love it when you strong ass women pop up and take me by surprise. Too fucking bad your type is in short supply.”

His tongue ran over his bottom lip, as he studied you. “Tell you what. We’re going on a run tonight, two days… max--”

“Yes sir, I was out here gathering food for that when Bart approached.”

“Great. Because I want you with us. You ride with me. 10-4?”

“Yes sir,” you repeated, pushing your shoulders back and standing up a bit taller.

“Good. Be ready to go in an hour. Don’t wanna waste daylight.”

On the second night of the trip, the necessary supplies had been loaded up into one of the following vehicles, but since it had taken longer than planned, Negan opted to set up camp for one more night before starting the trek back home.

Part of the haul had been several crates of liquor, including bourbon, scotch, vodka, and tequila. He handed out a few and told the group to enjoy, but still stay alert to any of the dead that may be lingering around their camp.

A few hours into the night, you went with Arat to go to the bathroom. Traveling in pairs was mandatory, and having her with you made you feel more comfortable then it being one of the men. Before you headed back, a twig snapped from behind, causing both you and Arat to unsheath your knives and prepare to kill. Bart appeared from the thicket instead and Arat put hers away, but you hesitated.

“Sorry ladies, had to take a squirt and got lost comin’ back,” he slurred, clearly intoxicated. “Arat, go on back, I need to talk to (Y/N) here.”

Being her superior, she gave a hesitant nod and did as was asked. The second she was out view, Bart swiftly moved around and blocked your path back to camp. He grabbed your bare arm and squeezed tight enough that you feared he may snap it.

“You fucking little bitch… you got me in trouble with the boss again. What’s with you, huh? I should snap your fucking neck,” he growled, bearing his teeth and his toxic breath.

“Get off me,” you warned through gritted teeth and tried to pull away.

He tightened his grip, pulled you in and grabbed one of your breasts with his other hand.

“Just let me get a feel,” he breathed, churning your stomach as his hand twisted your flesh under his fingers. “At least make gettin’ in trouble worthwhile.”

Struggling to get away, he yanked you further in towards him, then shoved you away, and your other arm straight into a branch jutting out from a tree. It was sharp enough to leave a cut that instantly began to bleed.

Bart just laughed and went to walk around you. He didn’t see the foot you stuck out just enough for him to trip over, sending him face first into a sticker bush.

“You bitch!” he roared and tried to get up to his feet.

You took off through the woods and found your way back to the camp, bursting through the bushes that lived at its perimeter. Conversations stopped as you came through, as all eyes turned to see what caused the commotion.

Ignoring them, you went back to your seat around the fire, and one person away from Negan. Once you sat down, you took a piece of rag from your backpack and used it to clean the blood off your arm. You were too intent on what you were doing to notice Negan swap seats with the person next to you until he spoke up.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice low and smooth.

“Fine. Tripped coming back,” you lied, annoyed that you had to deal with Bart once again.

He leaned forward, got a good look at the arm Bart had squeezed and saw the very clear remnants of a handprint.

“Tree do that to you, too?” His tone dripped with sarcasm, but you continue to wrap your cut.

“Yep,” you replied, even surprising yourself with how short you were being with him.

"Don't you ever get tired?” he asked with an amused tone.

"Of what?"

"Carrying around that big, goddamned chip on your shoulder?"

“I don’t have a chip on my shoulder. I do what I need to in order to survive.” If you didn’t stay steely against all these incidents, even more of these shitheads would try to take advantage of you.

"Woman, you are exhausting." Negan smiled, "I'm not gonna lie, I'd like to see that energy put to better use."

From out of the same brush, Bart stumbled out and tossed a glare your way. When he saw you talking to Negan he quickly averted his eyes and found a place off the main group to sit. You noticed Negan’s eyes following him, then looking back to you for confirmation that Bart was once again at the center of your problems.

“Sure you’re alright?” he asked again, still calm in tone, but his dark eyes were ablaze with trouble.

“Yes si--”

“Negan. You can drop the sir, bullshit. You aren’t an ass kisser like them. I like you, (Y/N) your a ballsy chick. You handle your shit and I appreciate that.”

Unsure of what to say, you just nodded and thanked him. He sat, staring at you, then turned his gaze into the fire for a quiet, contemplative moment. You watched curiously as he suddenly stood up and garnered the entire group’s attention.

“I just wanted to raise one last salute to a job well done. When people can come together, work for a common goal and understand that their own personal needs don’t outweigh the needs of many, it always warms my big fucking heart.”

He moved slowly around the campfire, Lucille resting on his right shoulder as he smiled and praised the group for the haul they were returning home with.

“It just reaffirms what I’ve said from the beginning. We are all Negan. Working towards making the Sanctuary a place of order and safety. Giving to those who work hard, and caring for those workers that make our lives that much easier. The offer of food, shelter… protection, it's what brings the people in. For the most part, it works. The people I trust the most, work hard for me and that means I have to work fucking hard for them.”

Negan paused and searched the attentive faces in the small crowd. You watched as his eyes flickered from person to person until he landed on Bart.

“Unfortunately, there are some in this that don’t like the fucking rules. They think, in their dipshit brains that they can kiss my ass, then go behind it and do, whatever the FUCK they want.”

A soft murmur began to trickle through the crowd, and Negan paused long enough for it to happen. Something was coming, but you never really could tell with Negan, so it was anyone’s guess what he was about to do.

“Now… before we left on this trip, I had a talk with Bart. Didn’t we, sunshine? We had ourselves a nice fucking chat up in my office and he did just that… kissed my ass then comes here and breaks the rules, again.”

You swallowed thickly, and as if sensing your unease, Negan turned towards you and extended a hand for you to stand up.

“Twice in the last few days, Bart has decided to put his hands on (Y/N) in a manner to which she did not approve of. Did you?”

“N--No. Negan, this isn’t--”

“Shh, shh, just let me finish…” he winked at you and placed an arm around your shoulders, walking you around the campfire towards Bart.

“Bart here told me you were being a tease… said you’d flirt and then when he would make a move, you’d reject him.”

A sudden burst of anger filled you, and you wanted to choke the life out of the drunk.

“But you see, what I think happened is that he forced himself on you, and had you not fought back, would have committed one of the Sanctuary’s biggest sins.”

Bart stood up, his face twisted in anger. “Bullshit! You can’t prove nothin’! I don’t know what she told you but that gash is a liar!”

Negan gently raised up your arm marked with Bart’s handprint, that was already showing hues of a bruise in the shape of his long, gnarled fingers.

“I may not be a fucking expert, but this doesn't fit your fucking narrative,” Negan purred, taking great delight in the fear that washed over Bart’s face.

“Negan… I--I--she’s lying! I didn’t--I never--”

“Fuck you, asshole!” you yelled, unable to stay indifferent any longer. You thought about all the times he’d made sexual remarks or grabbed you as he walked by, the time he cornered you in the hall or in the garden, and especially just now. You could still feel the heat of his sweaty hand on your chest. “You’re a vile piece of shit who doesn’t understand what no means unless its Simon asking you if you want the ball gag out!”

Negan roared with laughter. “God, DAMN, I like this girl!” Once he stopped laughing, he turned his attention to Bart.

“Bart… I just… I can’t let this shit go anymore. You know Lucille’s rule, no force, no rape and you tried to break it after being warned to stop. So…”

Negan took Lucille from his shoulder and held her out to you. Your eyes went wide with surprise. Negan never let anyone use Lucille; hold her as an intimidation tactic, yes, but actually, use her to hurt someone… only he had that honor.

“Woman to woman,” he smiled big, clearly amusing himself, “Lucille wants to help you manage your shit. Have at him, sweetheart.”

Negan nodded towards Bart, and the two men on either side of him each grabbed a shoulder and shoved him into the middle of the camp to face you.

Taking lives wasn’t something you enjoyed doing, though you had taken more than you cared to remember. With everyone’s eyes on you, and Negan so close, watching every twitch of your muscles, you had to make a choice.

Bart was a cancer to the community. You knew you weren’t the only woman he harassed, and chances are he did force himself on the workers or weaker willed women. Your mind flashed through all the times he’d put his hands on you, or had you cornered in fear. It was what compelled you to reach out for Lucille.

The weight of the wood in your hand felt good. You saw why Negan liked it. You turned to face Bart, he tried to struggle away from the men still holding him.

Good, you thought, struggle against them, I hope they’re squeezing the fuck out of your arm.

Negan leaned close to your ear, so only you could hear him.

“What’s bothering you, sweetheart? Don’t you want to see justice served? Bart broke the rules,” he purred lowly, his voice causing you to clench your fingers against the handle. “Show him how you handle your shit.”

Suddenly, the fear in Bart’s eyes gave way to something darker, less scared and more scary.

“Go ahead, you fucking cunt. Hit me. Take me out in front of all these people. Show them what a badass you are. But you watch, one day it's gonna be you here, while he taunts someone to do this to--”

You swung, hard, bringing Lucille to hit Bart right between the legs. His light blue jeans instantly staining red with blood as the barbed wire tore at his flesh. No one made a sound except for Bart, who screamed out in pain which gave you a sick sense of satisfaction.

Your breath was heaving, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you cocked the bat back to swing again; this time hitting him in the arm, right where he had grabbed you as he continued to writhe on the ground.

As Bart continued to bleed out in front of you, you turned around to see Negan’s satisfied expression. His grin went from ear to ear as his dark eyes were drinking you in. Even over the unending moans of intense pain from Bart and the growing murmurs from the crowd, you could pick up Negan’s deep, throaty chuckle.

Negan took a few steps closer to you, then slowly cast his eyes down at the bloody mass on the ground.

“Going to finish him, or are you going to make the rest of us suffer having to hear him whining?”

That was when you took notice of everyone watching you again. All the best scouts, Negan’s inner circle and a handful of workers looked on as you decided Bart’s fate.

With one last encouraging wink from Negan, you picked up the bat one more time and raised it over your head. “You should’ve followed the rules, shithead.”

Bringing the bat down with all the force you could muster, Lucille impacted the side of Bart’s head, finally making him quiet. You stepped back from his lifeless body and nearly dropped the bat to the ground. You had the presence of mind to instead turn around and hand it back to Negan, who seemed appreciative of the gesture.

Reclaiming his girl, Negan exhaled deeply and turned back towards the onlookers, who were half scared, half unphased by what just happened.

“And THAT, my good friends, is how we handle our shit here at the Sanctuary. Now, who's got the Polaroid? Let's add him to the wall for prosperity!"”

[likedovesinthewnd]

Conflicts of Interest

Letsby’s Freestyle Challenge

Prompt: “‘Well,’ he stammered at last, ‘it’s - it’s certainly original.’“

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

A/N: This is my entry for Letsby’s Freestyle Challenge. It’s an aesthetic plus a little drabble. Sorry it’s late, Vicky but better late than never eh? Congrats on the 500 followers too! You deserve every last one, babe! This is my first time writing anything from the MCU so be gentle on this soft girl. FEEDBACK is greatly appreciated!

Summary: You propose a threesome to your two guys and hope it goes over well.

You paced anxiously across the living room of your shared apartment, trying hard to focus on how you should word it. It wasn’t like they were that old fashioned. Up until now Steve and Bucky had been fine with almost every suggestion you’d made in the bedroom, sometimes even surprising you with ideas of their own. But even you had to admit, this particular request sounded a little crazy. It wasn’t every day you asked two of the most gorgeous, serum-enhanced humans you’d ever seen to have a threesome with you. Then again, was it really such a crazy proposal? The three of you were already cohabiting together, with both Steve and Bucky content in splitting you (pun intended).

You had moved into their apartment early on as your relationship blossomed, falling hard and fast for them both. Steve was truly perfect in every way imaginable. Your fiercely loyal protector with a heart of gold. Then there was Bucky, who was all things dark and broody, yet mischievous in the best of ways. As the benefactor of all their budding dualities, you'd never been more satisfied. They complimented each other perfectly. So perfectly, in fact, that at times you found yourself fantasizing about what it might be like if they were together with you at the same time. 

Steamy vignettes of taut muscles rutting against each other, deep in the throes of passion, flashed through your mind until the unbearable ache between your thighs drove you to one of their rooms for relief. Your mind conjured up these scenes more often than you’d care to admit, subconsciously planting a seed that grew invasively until you finally sat them down to ask for what you really wanted.

Steve and Bucky’s eyes followed you back and forth as you paced across the room. Finally loosing his patience Bucky stood up, placing his arm on your shoulder to still your movement.

“What’s the deal, doll? You’re making us both nervous over here,” he spoke softly, leading you to sit between himself and Steve on the couch.

You looked between the two of them, their gorgeous faces giving you their full attention as they patiently waited to hear what it was you had to say. You took one hand from each of them, grasping them tightly, hoping desperately that some of their courage would magically rub off on you.

“Ok, here’s the thing. I want to be with both of you.” Your words came out louder and faster than you’d hoped. You blamed your nerves.

Steve let out a breathy chuckle, finding your nervous delivery quite adorable.

“Well, sweetheart, isn’t that kind of already the situation?”

He didn’t get it.

“No, I mean, at the same time. The three of us... together,” you clarified, feeling more confident this time around.

Now he got it. As did Bucky, who was sporting a very smug grin on his face. It seemed as though you hadn’t scared your boys off, but instead intrigued them.

“Well, it’s— it’s certainly original, wouldn’t you say, Buck?” Steve said, coyly biting down on his plump bottom lip as if he hadn’t already decided to take the bait.

Your body felt flushed as you looked between them, both men staring back at you with the same spark of lust in their eyes, the air electric between you. With a lick of his lips, Bucky stood up, both his hands outstretched for you and Steve to take. 

“What do ya say, pal shall we give doll-face what she wants?”

[amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes]

Reclassification

I’m super late but this is my entry for @letsby 500 Freestyle Challenge. I want to take the time to thank her so much for allowing me to submit this late as March and April have been hell for me. My prompt is “I don’t know where you get your information from” and it is italicized. This will have multiple parts. 

Paring: Thor x Reader (not in this part, I’m getting there)

Word Count: 1,909

Warnings: None right now 

You had to admit that as far as jobs went, this one wasn't too bad. It wasn't bad at all. It was surprisingly amazing and you couldn't help but be suspicious. When the HR representative called you to offer you the position, you almost asked if it was a joke. Sure you had sent your resume to Stark Industries but you never expected a callback. After you hung up, you immediately went to type up your resignation letter to your current employer and prepare what you were going to wear.

The first year went by in a flash. You were nervous but more than ready to show that you could prosper in the big leagues. And you couldn't get much bigger than Stark. You caught on to the the work quickly and the higher ups noticed your hard work. They also noticed your quick wit and never back down attitude. When you knew you were right, no one could tell you otherwise. It was your strength and weakness. You may have ruffled a few feathers but no one really said anything, to your face anyway, because they knew you were right.

This Monday morning started about the same. You all had been sent a new employee contract addendum to review and “let us know if you have any questions” was noted at the bottom. After reading through the document, you scoffed; did they really expect the workers to agree to this crap? Pursing your lips, you searched your desk for your favorite item, a red felt tip sharpie pen. You went to work and an hour later, there seemed to be more red ink on the papers than black. When you handed it to your supervisor, he looked at you like you had lost your natural mind.

“You do know that this came from the higher ups. Like higher than higher ups? It wasn’t really up for discussion. They're telling you what's it gonna be.” your supervisor Andy spoke slow and hoped you would catch the hints he was dropping. You tilted your head and crossed your arms. There really were things that needed to be changed and if they sent it to everyone with that note, they must have wanted input.

“It does say to let them know if we have questions.” you replied simply with a shrug. The two of you stared either other down for a few seconds before he released a strained sigh. He knew trying to get you to concede was a losing battle. Looking at the documents again, Andy took a deep breath before rubbing his temples in frustration. You were going to be the death of him.

“Okay, I see your point. But you know if I send this up they'll come down hard on you, yes? I may not be able to protect you.” Andy sighed again while his eyes were still glued to the papers.

“I'm a big girl. I can handle a little heat.” you smirked, flexing your arm into a muscle. Andy snorted and shook his head. He opened his drawer to pull out a manila envelope to place the documents in. You watched as he carefully fastened the small metal clasp and turned it over to write on it. After he finished, he handed you the envelope which you took with a polite smile and curtsied as you left his office. You heard him snort as you dropped the envelope in the inner office mail basket and walked back to your desk. Your coworker, Desiree, had been watching your little trot to the mail basket and eyed you curiously. Sitting at your desk, you made eye contact with her and blew a kiss at her.

“What have you done now?” she asked in a faux annoyed tone. You grinned at her and offered her a shrug. When you didn’t verbally respond to her, she shook her head and let out a small laugh.

Desiree was the first person to speak to you and take you “under her wing” when you first started. And let her tell it? You took off and found your own wings. She was about 15-20 years older than you but was still as spry as “you young folks.” For every disagreement and discussion Desiree was in your corner. and you defended her to anyone who dared question her. You considered her a mentor and loved her with very fiber of your being.

“I’m sure I’ll find out eventually if you have a hand in it.” she teased with an over exaggerated roll of her eyes. You looked away from her, the smile still plastered on your face. You sent a silent prayer that your revisions would be considered and you wouldn’t get fired for being too outspoken. The next day you didn’t even think about the documents until you were coming back from lunch and a man dressed in all black stood by your desk. You had never seen him before and your mind went to the worst possible scenario: he was here to escort you off the premises. Approaching reluctantly but with your head held high, you cleared your throat to gain his attention. Might as well get this over with. He acknowledged you with a curt nod as he turned to fully face you.

“I’m here to take you upstairs. If you would follow me.” he spoke formally. You glanced behind him to see Desiree watching the exchange warily; worry etched in every muscle of her furrowed brow. Giving her a reassuring wink, you turned to the man and motioned for him to lead the way. He lead you to the elevators and using a key-card that you didn’t recognize, he pressed the button for the 22nd floor. You tried not to fidget as the elevator made its slow assent. The man stood unnervingly still and you wanted to ask him what was about to happen to you. Seconds ticked by and you were growing more anxious. Having enough, you were about to tap his shoulder when the elevator finally dinged and the doors opened slowly. He gestured for you to get out first and you followed his direction too on edge to do otherwise.

Once you were off the elevator, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. This floor was not at all set up like a work floor. It was more like a condo with glass windows and a white sofa built into the pristine marble floor. You stared out the window in amazement. It offered a breathtaking view of the city below and you found yourself walking deeper into the room to get to the window. Like a moth entranced by the flame, you reached your hand to the glass. A snicker caught your attention causing you to jump and snatch your hand back.

“It’s about time you showed up.” the voice spoke and you whirled around to find its source. When you did lay eyes on it, your eyes widen in disbelief. Standing at a long bar that you failed to notice was Tony Stark. He was dressed in a grey suit with a black dress shirt underneath; the top two buttons undone. In his left hand was a glass of whatever he was drinking. In his other, a manila envelope with familiar writing on the front. You knew immediately what was inside: your documents. Your mouth went dry as the severity of the situation hit you. You were about to be fired by the owner personally. There would be no coming back from this. Your mind raced as you thought of what city you were going to have move to and what your new name would be because if your were blacklisted by Tony Stark, you may as well throw your name in a garbage disposal.

“Do-” Tony began as he moved closer to you. Your fight or flight response threatened to kick in and you took a reflective step back. This did not deter Tony as he stopped a few inches away from you. “I don’t know where you get your information from…” he trailed off before looking at the documents again. “Do you have a moment to go over this?” he finished holding the documents up you as if to give them to you. Before you could respond or even reach for the papers, Tony began again. “This is smart, kid. Real smart. You go to school for this? Grad? How long have you been with us? ‘Bout a year? Sound about right?”

You stare blankly at him as he hurdles question after question in rapid fire; the words reaching you with a three second delay.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, year.” you managed to finally stammer out.

“Not very articulate I see but we’ll work on that.”

“Hey wait I-”

“So here’s the thing. We need like an editor or whatever and I think you’d fit the bill. Whaddya say, kid?”   

“But I already work for you, Mr. Stark. And I’m not an editor.” you responded with a tilt of your head and crossing your arms. “And I’m not a kid. I finished in the-”

“Good so you’ll do it. Here.” Tony had cut you off yet again while handing you a small, plastic card. You huffed and took it from him. Bringing it to your face, you examined the item that looked more like a credit card. You frowned in confusion. Tony must have noticed and answered the questions swirling in your head.

“It’s a key-card that’ll give you carte blanche to the building. You’ll love it, kid. And don’t forget to try the spa on the 18th floor. You’ll love.”

“Mr. Stark please. What are you- hold on there’s a spa here?”

Tony gave a laugh at that as he walked over to the bar. You took it as a cue to follow him and perched yourself on one of the high metal stools that looked more like fancy upside down bird cages rather than a seat. While his back to you, you allowed yourself the opportunity to examine the different carafes of varying colored liquid. The clanking of a glass brought your eyes forward as Tony filled a glass with ice and had turned back to you.

“What’s your poison? Vodka? Whiskey? Gin? Rum?” he asked while pointing to each carafe. You stared at him bewildered at what he was suggesting.

“I’m on the clock though.”

“Bourbon it is. Good choice.” he winked as poured the dark liquid in the glass. The spiced scent of almonds hit your nose and you gape at the glass as if it was talking to you itself. It was the good, expensive stuff. Way too expensive for your salary. He slid the glass towards you as he began to fill his own. You regard the glass, and him, suspiciously.

“Is this a test?” you accused, eyeing the man who was now bent over the counter watching you. He grinned impishly before raising his glass in a toast.

“Welcome to the team.”

A/N: Can yall tell that I have no idea what bourbon tastes like? 

Taggong just a few: @letsby, @pocmarvelworks, @risingphoenix761, @alwaysenjoythelifeyoulive 

[letsby-writes]

They’re gonna think it’s awesome because everything you write is awesome. Self-indulgent stuff is so much fun to write!

Writing/drawing something INCREDIBLY SELF-INDULGENT

[risingphoenix761]

Talk Like That

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing: Negan x reader

Word count: 3,008

Summary: You don't talk back to him like that and get away with it.

Warnings: Language (come on, it's Negan), impact play, oral sex, daddy kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex, orgasm denial, D/s relationship

A/N: For @letsby and her 500 Freestyle Challenge! Let me just say that I have. Absolutely. NO. EFFING. CLUE. Where this came from, but here it is. My prompt was "I'm actually a biology student," and the rest just kinda... happened. And maybe ran away with me. Enjoy!

***

You've done it now. You've always pushed his buttons and you know he usually gets a kick out of it, but now you've actually pissed him off.

It's easy to tell, the grip he has on your upper arm as he marches you through the Sanctuary and the rough, grunting growl he makes when he breathes. You made eye contact only for a moment before he seized hold of you, and those lively hazel eyes were dark with ire. He wasn't pleased you had left the suite the other wives spent their days lounging around in, he was annoyed that you interrupted a meeting with his men, but he was downright livid when you had the nerve to run your smart mouth to him in front of them.

He half dragged you all the way to his office, never pausing or saying a word until you both were inside and he closed the door. He yanked you close and leaned even closer, looming over you as he spoke into your ear. "You fucking know the goddamn rules, I fucking know you fucking know, so why the fuck did you fucking break the goddamn rules?"

"I'm bored," you replied, though he wouldn't take that as an excuse. "I haven't gotten to see you in ages, you're always busy with your men or getting your dick wet with one of the other wives--"

He squeezed your arm tighter and caught hold of your chin with his other hand, so you couldn't look away from him. "You fucking watch your motherfucking language, doll," he warned. "I've just about had it with your wise ass bullshit."

"What are you going to do about it?" you taunted, part of you wondering where the fuck you got the balls to keep talking like that to him. Not that you thought for a second he would actually hurt you, but he didn't take well to anyone challenging his authority. Not even his wives. Not even you.

His jaw tightened and his eyes flashed and his voice was low and gravelly. "I'll fucking tell you what the fuck I'm gonna fucking do about it," he said. "I'm gonna bend you over that fucking desk and tell you only once, lift up your skirt and drop your panties and show me your ass. Then I'm gonna fucking take off my goddamn belt and beat that ass until you fucking apologize for breaking the goddamn rules. Understand?"

You nodded slowly, for once unable to think of a quick retort.

"I want words, doll. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?"

You swallowed, knowing the anticipation he felt because you felt it, too. "Yes, Daddy."

The ghost of a wicked grin flickered across his face and he released you, turning you towards the desk. "You heard me, princess," he told you. "Bend over and get that skirt up."

You walked to the desk, the surface hitting just below your hips. The perfect height. You leaned forward and reached for the hem of your fancy black dress that was almost a uniform for Negan's wives, hiking the skirt up to your waist. Behind you, you heard his hum of appreciation. "Panties next, baby girl," he said.

Sliding your thumbs into the waistband, you pushed the black lace down farther and farther, off your hips and over your ass until gravity took them and they fell down your legs to hit the floor around your ankles, and you stepped out of them before bending onto the desk, bracing yourself on your elbows.

It drove you crazy not to see what he was doing, relying only on sound. There was the chink of a belt as he undid the buckle, and judging by the quiet smack of leather, he had folded it in half and snapped it together. "You know I don't wanna do this," he said, "but rules are rules, doll, and they're there for a reason. Now. What are they?"

You had to take a breath before your voice was steady enough to respond. "Stay in the suite unless Daddy calls. Don't interrupt his meetings. Don't talk back to him in front of his men."

Negan waited for you to continue, and when you didn't he prompted, "Is that it, princess?"

You swallowed again, then nodded.

"Are you sure?"

You nodded again.

"Oh, sweetheart," he said, his voice pitched in disappointment though you heard the glee in it as well, "now you've gone and fucked up again. Tell me, what do I think of my baby girl using foul language?"

"...not outside the bedroom..."

"Exactly. I wanna be the only one that hears that sweet voice say those filthy things, and you know that. You fucking lied, doll. And you know I don't like a goddamn liar, so you're gonna get it for that, too." He put his hand in the middle of your back, holding you down on the desk, and you felt leather brush your skin as he rested the belt against your ass. "Leaving your room without permission," he said, then he swatted you with the belt.

You gasped loudly at the sting, hot and sharp across your cheeks. You knew he wasn't about to cause serious damage, but he would not go easy on you, either. He took punishment seriously.

You knew that from experience.

"Interrupting an important meeting," he added, then struck again, and you bit down on your lip to hold in your cry of pain. "Getting mouthy in front of my men." Another stroke, and you crammed your knuckles into your mouth to stifle a wail. "And lying right to my fucking face."

The belt cracked across your ass one more time and you couldn't keep quiet anymore, letting out a short cry that turned into heaving sobs as he beat you one, two, three more times and you burst out, "I'm sorry, Daddy! I'm sorry!"

He tossed the belt down onto the desk and stroked your hair, resting a hand on your shoulder as you cried. "Yeah, I bet you are," he said, moving from your shoulder to pat your ass, and you flinched a little, still sensitive. "You're gonna have so much trouble sitting around looking pretty for a good while, doll, but you'll fucking remember next time, won't you?"

You nodded, sniffling loudly and wiping at your eyes.

"Hey, now," he said in a much gentler tone, "it's all right, baby..." He drew you into his arms and held you against his chest, kissing the top of your head. "You're still my girl even when you fuck up. Daddy's sassy girl, ain't that right?"

"Actually," you replied, "I'm a biology student."

He didn't reply, didn't even react at first, and when he did he laughed to himself, holding you so close you could feel the motion. "Goddamn, sweetheart," he said, "you just don't know when to keep that smartass mouth shut, do you?"

"I'm sorry, Daddy," you said, trying to be coy.

"Oh, no," he told you, sounding more and more gleeful, "that won't work this time, princess." You felt him fumbling behind you, unzipping your dress and pushing it off your shoulders to gather around your waist. "You're gonna get it," he promised, "and get it good."

One hand reached for your breast, pushing your bra up and out of the way, while the other went between your legs, fingers working their way inside you with practised ease. You gasped aloud and covered the hand that covered your breast, kneading and squeezing and teasing your nipple, while you rocked your hips in time to his fingers pushing in and out of your pussy. It didn't take long to get you wet and writhing, trying to twist just right to get those deliciously calloused fingers on your clit, whimpers and moans tumbling from your lips as he covered your neck with hot kisses. His stubble against your skin drove you even wilder, tilting your head to the side and closing your eyes in ecstasy.

"You like that, don't you?" he asked, his deep voice falling on your ears as he fucked you with his fingers. "You like my fingers in your pussy after I've belted that sweet ass of yours?" He ground against you and your cheeks stung at the contact, but it felt so damn good.

"Bet this was your plan the whole time," he went on, moving to the other breast and you braced your hands against the desk as you leaned into his touch. "Get me all worked up and raring to go, knowing damn good and well how fucking hard I get when you push my buttons." He wasn't lying, either. You could feel exactly how hard he was as he rutted against your ass, and suddenly his fingers weren't doing enough anymore, not when you wanted his dick inside you as deep as you could take him.

He peppered more kisses up and down your neck, pausing to breathe into your ear, "You're so fucking wet, baby girl, it's a wonder you don't slip and fall. Goddamn, we could water crops with your pussy."

You felt your face go hot with embarrassment and arousal. Mouthy as you were, he could always get mouthier, and it turned you on as much as it made you feel shy and awkward. You squirmed a little more in his arms and he said, "Tell me what you want, doll. I want to hear that dirty mouth of yours."

"Fuck me," you replied. "Goddamn it, I want you to fuck me."

His fingers stopped moving and you gave a pitiful whine. "C'mon, darlin', you can do better than that."

Your whine turned into a growl of frustration. "I want your dick in my mouth," you said. "I want to suck you off until you're about to come down my throat, then I want you to pin me to your desk and fuck me raw until I'm screaming for you."

He let out a low hum of approval. "That's more like it, baby girl... What else you got?"

You reached for the hand he had in your pussy and brought it to your mouth, closing your lips around his fingers. Giving your best porn star moan, you sucked your own slick off his skin and turned your head to lock eyes with him, his irises swallowed by black lust. You cleaned yourself off him, then licked your lips and said, "I like how that tastes. You taste even better."

He stared at you for a second, breathing hard and his body tense before he whispered, "Oh, fuck, sweetheart," and released you, letting you slide to your knees while he unfastened his pants and drew out his dick, stroking and squeezing before wrapping his hand in your hair and pulling you closer. "Come here, doll," he urged, his voice rough and husky, "show me what else that mouth can do."

You scooted forward and leaned up, wrapping your hand around the base of his shaft and laving your tongue from your fist to the tip. He tightened his fingers in your hair and you relaxed your jaw as you took him into your mouth a little at a time, listening to him groan and sigh the instant you got him at the back of your throat. Breathing deeply through your nose, you locked your lips around him and bobbed your head, taking him in and out and pumping your fist in time, moving faster then slower, sucking harder then softer. You glanced up at him and his eyes were shut tight, his face twisted in an expression of intense pleasure. "There you go, baby," he whispered, "that's it, just like that...that's real good, darlin'..."

You hummed your appreciation and took him deeper, then took your hand off him. He opened his eyes and looked down at you and asked, "You want me to take over?"

You nodded slightly.

"Not gonna be gentle, princess," he warned. "You want me to do it, I'm gonna do it hard."

Closing your eyes, you moaned softly and nodded again.

"Fucking Christ," he murmured, moving his hand to the back of your head and rolling his hips forward, pushing his dick farther down your throat. You tried not to gag, to keep your jaw and your throat relaxed, and to keep your teeth the fuck out of the way, and he picked up his pace, holding you exactly where he wanted you and thrusting into your mouth. Saliva dribbled down your chin and your eyes watered as he pounded into your throat, and holy fuck, he was still talking...

"You look so fucking hot right now, baby, taking my dick so good...I wanna come all over that pretty face of yours and make you wear it so the whole goddamn world knows who you belong to...gonna back you onto my desk and fuck your pussy just like I'm fucking your face...gonna remember it every fucking time I walk into this office..."

You moaned around him and put your hands to your breasts, squeezing them and pinching your nipples and wondering how much longer he was going to keep you waiting...

"You ready for my dick, princess?" he asked, breathless and heated. "You want Daddy's big dick in your hot little pussy?"

You nodded, moaning even louder.

He gave a throaty growl and yanked you back by the hair; you coughed and choked as he slid from your throat so abruptly, but hurried to your feet as he grabbed your arm and hauled you up from the floor. You boosted yourself onto the desk and nearly stood up again immediately at the pain from the beating he gave you, but he pushed you flat on your back and brought your legs up to drape over his shoulders. You watched him line the tip of his dick up with your pussy and with one quick thrust he was inside you.

Oh God, it felt so fucking dirty. He was in you as deep as he could get, slamming into you over and over, your pussy so wet you could hear him sliding in and out. Your clothes were still half on you, dress rucked up around your middle and bra sitting high on your chest, with everything left exposed. At this angle, with your legs up so high and your ankles in the air, he would sometimes wet a finger and tease your ass while he was balls deep in you, and you hoped he'd do something like that right now...

"Play with your tits for me," he ordered, the command rough and shallow.

You put your hands to your breasts again, cupping and kneading and circling, and he growled, "Harder." You squeezed and pinched until it was almost painful, leaving you gasping and whimpering, your noise turning into a sharp squeal as he smacked you on the ass.

"You like that?" he asked, then he spanked you again and you bucked your hips up into him, lifting off the desk. You were incoherent, inarticulate sound spilling from your mouth rising into a scream as he leaned forward, pushing your knees nearly to your chest and hovering over you. "Don't hear any of your smart ass shit right now, do we, baby doll? Told you, you were gonna get it, didn't I?" He was breathing harder, panting faster as his rhythm picked up speed, and you were wound so tight you were ready to explode...

The barest smile crossed his face before he stopped moving, pulling out an instant later and standing up straight. He swatted your ass one more time before tucking himself back into his pants and chuckling. "Get dressed, doll. We're done here."

"What?" you nearly shrieked, praying he was kidding around. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what the fuck I said. Get dressed, fix your hair a little, and go back to your room."

"But--but I didn't...I didn't come..."

"Too fucking bad, sweetheart." There was no hiding that grin now, spreading from ear to ear and flashing teeth wolfishly. "Good girls get to finish. Wise ass little brats just get fucked."

You wanted to scream with frustration, your body thrumming with stalled pleasure, and you sat up again, spreading your legs wider and begging, "Daddy, please..."

"No can do, princess," he replied, though he licked his lips as he stared like he was thinking about diving in face first to get a taste. "Maybe next time you'll won't talk to Daddy like that, you think? I mean, goddamn. I sure as fuck hope so, 'cause I didn't get a happy ending either, so you being rude hurts us both, baby girl." He gave you a condescending pat on the cheek and added, "Now get dressed before I walk you out of this room with those pretty titties hanging out for everyone to see."

Still sulking, you readjusted your dress and underwear and ran your fingers through your hair, trying to get it back under some kind of control. When you were presentable, he put his hand on your shoulder and steered you towards the door of the office.

"One more thing, darlin'," he said before he opened the door. "You even think about finishing on your own, and you won't sit down for a fucking week, you got me?"

You tried not to let him see you roll your eyes, keeping silent.

"Hey," he said, turning you to look at him. "Understand?"

You sighed. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He held the door open for you and offered you a dazzling smile. "Enjoy the rest of your day. I'll see you later tonight and we can pick up where we left off."

You stepped through the doorway into the hall, walking somewhat bowlegged and still feeling the sting of the belt and the ache of being left unsatisfied. "Fucking asshole," you whispered under your breath.

"On second thought, doll," he called after you, "I've changed my mind." His smile grew wider and you realized he heard what you said. "I'll see you...tomorrow."

***

Tagging some peeps who might also be interested... @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @strangersangel9 @rckyfrk @negans-network

[risingphoenix761]

Welcoming Committee

Summary: A tragedy prompts a new start for Sam and his son Jack

Square filled: single parent AU

Word count: 1,226

Characters: Sam Winchester, Jack Kline, Charlie Bradbury, Dean Winchester (mentioned), Donna Hanscum (mentioned), Rowena MacLeod (mentioned)

A/N: written for @spnfluffbingo and also for @letsby’s 500 Freestyle. My prompt was “He brightened at the mention of tea.” This was the first time I set out to write fluff and it's a lot harder than it sounds. I'll get the hang of it, though… *nervous sweating*

###

Sam took the last box off the truck and carried it up the front steps and through the door, setting it down in the living room and heading back outside. The movers had already brought in what furniture there was, but there were still odds and ends in the driveway and he wanted everything in the house while there was still daylight. “Jack,” he called, “give me a hand with this stuff, then we'll grab something for dinner.”

A teenage boy hurried to answer the summons with a smile and a “Sure thing, Dad,” and Sam had to stop and take a breath. That smile...it was just like Jess's…

It was hard to believe it was only a few weeks since the house fire. A faulty light switch, a short circuit no one noticed… Sam had fallen asleep in the living room in front of a documentary and Jack had been in his own bedroom, but Jess was sleeping at the other end of the house and by the time Sam woke up to the smoke and the heat, it was too late to get to her.

Dean had been on the road but came home as soon as Sam called. Losing his home, losing his wife, he needed his older brother, and Jack needed his uncle. If Dean hadn't been there, Sam didn't think he would have made it these last few weeks without going crazy. They definitely wouldn't have found this house so fast, or this neighborhood.

There had been a few twitching curtains as they were unloading the truck, which wasn't surprising. The realtor who showed the house had not only been very chatty, but also happened to live down the street, and he had no doubt that once he told Donna the story, she told--well, maybe not the whole neighborhood, but a good bit. The looks he and Jack got from people passing by, he had no doubt they were an object of token condolences and sympathy.

It was almost dark by the time they finished moving what possessions survived the fire into the new house, and Sam was exhausted from the day's work. Nothing sounded better than falling into bed face first and trying to sleep, but he promised Jack dinner. He ordered a pizza and set to work unpacking a few necessary dishes while Jack set the table.

A knock on the door caught his attention and he frowned, glancing at the clock on the oven. It couldn't be the pizza man already… He turned on the porch light and opened the door to see a young woman standing at the threshold. Long red hair, a Yoda t-shirt under a denim jacket, a warm smile on her face and a foil-wrapped dish in her hands, and he figured the welcoming committee had arrived.

“Hi, new neighbor!” she greeted cheerily. “I hope this isn't a bad time, or…”

“No,” he assured her, scrubbing a hand over his face and raking his fingers through his hair, brushing off his tiredness. “Not at all. I'm Sam.”

“Charlie,” she replied. “I live next door, just thought I'd come say hey and welcome.”

“Yeah, thanks…” She was so upbeat and bubbly, he felt even more out of it by comparison. “Sorry, it's just...it's been a long day…”

“Oh, totally!” she said. “Moving days suck! I figured you guys would be pretty beat and wouldn't feel like cooking, so I brought a casserole.” She held up the dish in demonstration, then added, “Well, technically it's a shepherd's pie, my girlfriend made it and she's 100% Scottish, so yeah. She's got mad skills, I swear she's magic. Here, you'll love it!”

“Sure. Thanks.” Sam took the dish and stood there, feeling awkward. Charlie stood opposite, still smiling at him, and he finally smiled back. “This was really thoughtful. I appreciate it.”

“No problemo. We try to look out for each other on this street. It's pretty cool, you'll get to know everyone really fast--”

“Hey, Dad, have you seen the--”

Jack approached, but paused when he saw Charlie, and Sam quickly introduced, “Charlie, this is my son, Jack. Jack, Charlie here lives next door.”

“We're quiet neighbors,” she reassured them.

“Nice shirt,” Jack said, nodding.

“You like Star Wars?”

“Yeah! Though I still haven't seen Return of the Jedi yet...”

“Oh, that one's my favorite! We should have a movie night with Ro, I've been trying to get her to watch for ages!”

“Dad, can we?”

“Uh…” Sam looked from one excited face to the other, unsure when the conversation had derailed. “Yeah...yeah, that sounds cool…”

“When you're settled in, of course,” Charlie added. “And I don't know if you guys have your kitchen unpacked or not, but that pie is a thousand times better if you don't put it in the microwave.”

“I'll preheat the oven,” Jack volunteered, heading back into the house.

Sam wasn't sure what was happening, but Charlie didn't seem in a hurry to leave. She looked around the porch, eyes moving from the swing at the far end with the creaky chain to the new screen door, and said, “I think you'll like this house. The Trans always took care of it before Kevin went to college and Linda downsized. And Rowena and I are right next door, feel free to knock anytime you like.”

“Yeah. Sure.”

She looked at him, and her expression mellowed. “So, uh...we heard about your wife,” she went on, hesitating. “That's just...that's awful. And it might not mean much since we just met, but for what it's worth, we're sorry for your loss.”

Sam lowered his eyes, looking anywhere but at her. “I, uh, I appreciate that…”

“And that's a real thing, we take care of each other around here. It's just, the world is kinda crappy enough, you need good neighbors, and sometimes the neighbors start to feel like family, and family sticks together.”

Sam nodded in quiet acknowledgement. “That's what my brother always says.”

“He sounds like a pretty smart dude.”

Jack came back outside, looking resigned. “Dad, the oven doesn't work,” he said. “The stove gets, but the oven isn't doing anything.”

“That's fine, you can use ours,” Charlie offered. “We can make it a dinner-and-a-movie date, if you want. Ro won't mind.”

Jack turned to Sam; Jess always joked that he could never deny being Jack's father, having passed down his puppy dog eyes. That pleading, eager look was too much to resist and it was odd but fitting to have it turned back on him for once. “Can we?”

He hesitated, not wanting to impose and unsure if he was even up to dinner with anybody, but Jack looked hopeful and Charlie sincere, so he agreed. “Sure. If it's not too much trouble.”

Charlie waved it off. “No biggie. And Ro loves having guests for tea.”

Despite his hesitation, he brightened at the mention of tea. “That sounds great, Charlie. Thank you.”

She grinned. “Sure thing! What else are neighbors for?”

It might not have been the welcome he was looking for, but this seemed like a good place to heal. And as far as fresh starts went, he was glad to start with friends.

###

Tagging @rckyfrk. Casual reminder that my tag list is open. Want on it? Let me know!

[risingphoenix761]

2019 Writing Summary and 2020 Resolutions

I'm awake, I'm caffeinated, and I've got time on my hands! I'm also glad I kept track of all this in Docs, as it'll make things so much easier even if having the truth of my failures laid out in black and white was a tad painful

This will get lengthy, so let's throw in a Keep Reading bar...

[[MORE]]

2019 Word Count

This time last year, I set out to write 100,000 words. I think I clocked in around 75k the year before, so I didn't think it would be that much harder to pop out that last 25k. Right? Right?? 😅

Final word count for 2019 was...

*drum roll*

64,014!

So...not quite what I was shooting for, but shit happens. I'd rather struggle to finish something I'm proud of than kill myself meeting the word count and produce garbage, so all's well that ends well.

2019 Writing Challenges

The thrill of victory! The agony of defeat! The satisfaction of learning one's limits and how to take them up a notch!

Annablack1102's Jeffery Dean Morgan Challenge - DEFEAT. I still owe her a John Winchester fic...

Letsby's Freestyle challenge - VICTORY! My Doc says I wrote three fics for this! *Snoopy cheer*

SPN Kink Bingo - 4/25. I'm not gonna sweat my progress on the bingos, as long as I got something on the board

SPN Fluff Bingo - 1/9. ......like I said, not gonna sweat it.

SPN Song Bingo - 2/16. Another two are current (ish) WIPs, so I did my best.

SPN Dark Bingo - 1/16. NOT GONNA SWEAT IT. I BLED FOR THAT ONE SQUARE.

SPN Rare Pair Bingo - 1/25. It is what it is.

SPN Poly Bingo - 0/25. DEFEAT.

Bamby0304’s Fourth Wall Smash - VICTORY!

SPN Trope Celebration - VICTORY! Technically. This was one of those learning experiences, and bless the mods who had to put up with me while I tried to avoid disaster.

Crowley Big Bang - VICTORY! Big fat victory! My favorite event of the year!

SPN Heaven and Hell Bingo - 4/25. A solid effort, all things considered.

Flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash's Negan Warm Weather Challenge - DEFEAT. Not counting this one out, though. I'll finish it come hell or high water.

Sam Winchester Bingo - 1/25. But I've got good prompts for future fics!

SPN ABO Bingo - 0/25. I....don't remember signing up for this...

Dean Winchester Bingo - 1/25. See Sam bingo about prompts!

Crispychrissy's Gif It To Me Challenge - VICTORY! One I'm pretty proud of!

Negan Bingo - 0/9. I've got several WIPs, but Supernatural owned my Muse this year.

SPN Dark Fic Bang - VICTORY! AND BET YOUR ASS IT WAS HARD EARNED!

SPN Swan Song Bingo - 2/15. I chose these prompts. In theory, this should have been easy!

Castiel Bingo - 1/25. More prompts for later?

SPN Classic Bingo - 1/16. It's fine.

Stusbunker's Break My Heart Challenge - DEFEAT. I still like the prompt, so....maybe a late gift fic?

SPN Rare Ship Creations Route 66 Challenge - DRAW. I finished one of my two prompts, but I'm not thrilled with it. The other is a WIP that has potential.

Crowley Bingo - 1/9. See Sam, Dean, and Castiel bingos!

Supernaturalnotcas's Prompt Challenge - DEFEAT. See Break My Heart challenge for good prompt, future fic.

Stu's Bad Smut Sprint - VICTORY! And I didn't see it coming!

Bethyl Smut Week - 0/7. I had honorable intentions, but I didn't even see the event was happening until it was in progress.

1000roughdrafts's Kink Poker - there's no deadline on this one, but I'm going for it this year!

SPN Trope Celebration Thanksgiving mini bang - DEFEAT. There goes one prompt that didn't get to fulfill its destiny...

SPN Trope Celebration Christmas mini bang - DRAW. Two prompts. One went up. The other was so close, and is now getting reworked into a New Year's fic

400 Follower Smut Fest - I took 13 fic ideas for this, and for now I'm not going to post any until they're all written, but that might change depending on circumstances...

2020 Resolutions

Let's pray I can rein in my chaotic impulses and NOT sign up for so much, for one thing. Also...

400 Follower Smut Fest - it WILL happen!

Achieve a bingo - I won't hold my breath for a blackout, but I'll be satisfied with this

Update ALL multi-chapter WIPs - even if it's just one chapter *side-eyes Warrior Shepherds*

WRITE MORE CROWLEY - the only resolution I feel confident keeping, tbh

Happy New Year! Time to write more stuff!

[likedovesinthewnd]

Thanks you for letting me be part of this challenge @letsby

Check out these incredible entries!

Letsby’s 500 Freestyle Challenge Masterlist

Big, mahooosive love to all who participated, and to all who have read and reblogged the entries. If you haven’t read all the fics yet please check them out and show these writers some love. I was blown away by the quality of the entries, both in terms of writing and also the different ideas you guys came up with. Can’t wait to hit 1k so we can do it all again. Love ya x 

Keep reading

[letsby]

The thing about writing from Negan’s POV is you don’t stand a chance of sticking to a pre-set word limit.

[letsby]

Can you do #15 with Peggy and Steve?

If by “you” you mean your good self then yes! Would love to have some Steggy written for my challenge 😀

[letsby]

Since I have impulse control issues...I'll take #13.

You’re my hero! 13 is all yours...hmmm I wonder what you’ll do with it?

[annablack1102]

Congrats babe!!! Signal boosting for this awesome lady ♥️♥️♥️

Letsby’s 500 Freestyle Challenge

Am I being forced to make good on this because I finally hit 500 followers? Yup. Is this probably a really bad time to be hosting my first challenge on Tumblr? You betcha. Am I gonna do it anyway? Absolutely. 

Since over 500 of you lovely people have climbed into my trash can I’m gonna celebrate all original content creators! Fics, fanart, poems and aesthetics are all welcome for the following fandoms - The Walking Dead, Supernatural and Marvel. After the deadline I will make and post a masterlist with all submissions. 

Below the cut are the rules and a list of prompts. Send me an ask with your chosen prompt and have at it! The deadline is the 29th of March. If you decide this isn’t for you I’d still appreciate the hell out of a signal boost x 

Keep reading

[letsby]

Congrats on the milestone! Of course I wanna join, but ugh, I can't decide on a prompt. They all sound promising. Pick for me? 😁

Than you! Oohhh the power... your prompt is “I’m actually a biology student”. Have at it!

[letsby]

Hey! May I join your challenge? I would like the "to church" prompt.

Of course you may! So glad you chose that prompt