#they’re over in the corner dicking around and almost getting their identities exposed

[redkelpfish]

“A superhero problem must be solved by investigative journalist Clark Kent and forensic specialist Barry Allen” but what they forgot to account for was that their wives are both journalists and better than them

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Piercings

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐌𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Request: ok hear me out, the mother nature character is innocent and all, but what if she low key had some crazy secret like she has nipple piercings or something crazy like that. and the gang find out bc jubilee was there the day she got em or maybe warren finds out when they’re making out and he feels them. idk just a thought

Warnings: sex/smut —everyone in this story is 18+— nipple piercings, nudity, and language

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: usually Mother Nature is very sweet and innocent, but we can indulge in some spice, as a treat. Also I didn’t really mention her eye color or mutation because it wasn’t too relevant for the story! Enjoy!

Other Warren works here!

All he could think about was how she’d taste on his tongue. How the only coherent thought running through his head would be to explore her body like an undiscovered corner of the galaxy. 

How her grip on his hair would tighten as she got lost in the euphoric feeling of his mouth. Or how the bruises on his body from the latest mission would be identical to the ones she gave him. 

He practically ran up to her, kissing her hello. She could feel his smile against her lips as he kissed her. He hugged her tightly, never wanting to let go— his hands traveling a little lower than usual. 

“Later,” She whispered. “You stink.” 

He smiled and patted her head, telling her he wouldn’t take long. 

Warren rushed through his shower, thinking about her— how much he’d missed her, craved her— just being in the same room as her satisfied his need for her, even if only for a little bit. 

His cock was already hard just thinking about her. He groaned, water pounding down on him. He wrapped his hand around his cock, slowly moving up and down. Thinking about her.

Her voice, how he could listen to her speak for hours without getting tired of listening, and how she made the prettiest noises when they fucked.

He shivered at the thought of her, whining and moaning, begging for him. 

Her face— how he’d kissed it a million times before, and he would do it again. How she would bite down on her lip so hard, trying to stifle moans, it would sometimes bleed. Or how her head fell back— her eyes closed, hips bucking towards him, her breathing rapid— he’d do anything to see her like that, for she was always beautiful, putting all of nature in its beauty to shame.

His mind flashed back to his hand on his cock. He bit his lip in frustration, wanting to edge himself on and finish, but he knew waiting for her would be better than his hand in the shower. 

She was laying on the bed, propped up against his pillows, mindlessly scrolling through her phone. 

Warren stepped out of the bathroom only in his underwear. He laid down on the bed, his thighs spread over hers, lightly straddling her. 

“Hi,” He whispered.

She tore her gaze from her phone and looked at his face— lips pouting, eyes tired, damp strands of hair framing his face. She set her phone aside and kissed his lips, finally greeting him. His hands lazily grabbed on to her hips. 

As their kisses deepened, his grip on her hips tightened and traveled upward. She sighed in pleasure. 

He swiped his tongue over her bottom lip. (Y/N) let him in her mouth and they became nothing short of in sync.  He tugged on the hem of her shirt, causing them to break apart for a moment so she could slip it off. 

“Want me to take my bra off?” She asked, eyes shining.

“If you want to.” Warren didn’t want to seem desperate and forceful.

“Just so you know—” She reached her hands behind her back to unclasp her bra. “—My nipples are like, really sensitive, so just, be careful with them.” 

“Oh, okay. That’s fine.” Warren wanted to know why, but he wasn’t going to push. “Just tell me if I get too aggressive.”

“Oh, no, it’s not like that I just—” Her bra fell down, exposing her breasts. Warren’s gaze fell to them immediately. 

They were beautiful. Her whole body was, but his gaze was stuck on her nipples.  

They each had a small piece of metal going through them. 

Warren blinked in realization.

They were pierced.

“When did you get these done?” 

“While you were gone… Do you like them?” 

Warren nodded, “Yeah.” His voice was shaky as if he was restraining himself. 

His dick was rock hard. He knew her nipples would be extra sensitive— he wanted to take one in his mouth. Feel the metal against his tongue, see if he could make her cum without touching her lower half. 

Probably not, but he’d try and relish in her moans and whimpers. 

“Did it hurt?”

“The first one didn’t, but the second one was awful. I almost cried.” 

Much as his lust-filled judgment liked her nipple piercings, he’d rather she didn’t have to suffer through any pain. 

He kissed her shoulder, “Do they still hurt?” 

(Y/N) chuckled, “No. They’re just really sensitive.” 

“Mhmm… Where’d you get them done?” He asked, continuing to kiss her.

“That tattoo and piercing place down on 23rd and Rosewood. Jubilee went with me. I tried talking her into getting her nose pierced, but she didn’t want to.” 

Warren’s eyes widened with surprise. “Jubilee huh?” 

“Yeah. She held my hand through the whole thing.” 

Warren began to kiss down (Y/N)‘s body, inching closer to her core with every moment of lip to skin contact. She quickly removed any clothing she’d left on. 

“Thank you,” He breathed once his lips met her clit, sending a slight shiver up her spine. 

“I didn’t get them done for you. It was for me… And if anything this is more torture for you because the healing process can take anywhere from six to twelve months.”

“I know, I know,” He looked up at (Y/N). Her head resting against his pillows, hands loosely gripping his hair. “But I really like them. They’re hot— you’re hot.” 

She laughed a little, “Does it turn you on knowing I fulfill the ‘innocent yet secretly dirty’ cliche, baby?” 

“Yeah,” He kissed the skin right above her center, and then slowly began to rub his thumb on her clit. “It does.”

He gently nipped at her thigh, before moving his mouth over to her pussy, licking it up. Warren used his other hand to grip one of her thighs and keep her legs open. He added another finger to add sensation to her clit. 

(Y/N) whined, and Warren couldn’t hold back his smile. 

His mouth got more aggressive, trying to take her all in. Her thighs pressed up against the sides of his head. His fingers sped up on her clit, still rubbing in a circular motion of sorts. One of (Y/N)’s hands was tangled in Warren’s hair, and the other was holding one of her breasts, careful of the nipple, but still clenching on to it as she let out breathy moans and bucked her hips upward. 

He removed his hand from her clit and (Y/N) whined at the sudden loss. 

“Sorry, baby.” He cooed. 

(Y/N) huffed. Warren quickly replaced his mouth with his hand and inserted a finger inside her.

“This good?” He asked. She nodded, biting down on her lower lip to stifle her moans. Warren added another finger, her cunt adjusting to it. 

He began to rub her clit again, with his other hand, as he pumped his fingers in and out of her, curling them every so often. 

(Y/N) was a mess of breathy moans, and choked out curses. 

Warren smirked, reveling in the pleasure only he could give her. 

He left soft, tender kisses on her stomach; contrasting the rough, hard work his hands were doing. 

“Are you close, baby?” He asked, looking up at her, his eyes gleaming with feigned innocence. 

“Uh-huh,” She nodded. Warren’s thumb sped up on her clit. He felt her cunt clench around his fingers. 

He continuously worked in her pussy and on her clit, helping her ride out her high and reach her climax until her legs stopped twitching and her breathing became steady. 

Warren pushed himself forward making his body parallel to hers, leaving kisses all over her neck. 

“Angel, baby,”

“Yeah?” His breath was warm against her neck. 

“Don’t leave marks.” 

“Can’t you cover them? Your neck looks so pretty covered in flowers.”

“Mmm…” She squinted her eyes as if she was in deep thought. 

“No.”

“No!?” He repeated. 

“No,” She kissed his nose. 

“Please?” He pretended to beg.

“No,” She repeated. 

He smiled, “I’d say you’re terrible, but I can’t lie to you. I love you too much.”

“I love you too, Angel.” 

[unholyplumpprincess]

Aren’t You Curious?

First part of a mini series I wanted to do for @hurtled-into-chaos-you-fight ! Introducing: Caustic horny for both the Bloodhounds!

Summary: Curious. Such a simple word and yet so immeasurable with its extent. It could mean numerous things. Curiosity is what led to many fantastic discoveries. Many invaluable experiments and documentations. And yet. What did ‘curious’ mean to Alexander as of recent? The Bloodhounds. Or: In which Caustic catches one of the Bloodhounds jerking off in the dropship and can't help but sneak a peek. Not that they mind the attention either...

!!!Minors DNI, this is adult content and it makes me v uncomfortable for you to interact. Plz respect my boundaries!!!

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Bloodhound - Caustic/Bloodhound

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Bloodhound (Rune) has a dick, Sprite’s Bloodhound headcanons and my own mentioned, voyeurism, just Caustic and his good ole right hand, Caustic is also turned on by violence and this is mentioned

Words: 3k

__________________

Curious. 

Such a simple word and yet so immeasurable with its extent. It could mean numerous things. Curiosity is what led to many fantastic discoveries. Many invaluable experiments and documentations. And yet. What did ‘curious’ mean to Alexander as of recent? 

The Bloodhounds. 

Fascinating couple they were. They participated in this blood-sport as one, despite if they had to shed blood of their significant other in the process. Hound was the smaller of five foot or shorter and arguably deadlier of the two. Quieter and willing to snarl in your face in a low tone no matter how big you were in comparison. 

Alexander had been on the other end of that hatchet numerous times, his chin tilted upwards and their red goggled gaze seeming to burn into his soul as they’d hum out. “You think yourself worthy of my ammunition, Doctor? Do not think so highly of yourself.” 

Before the blade would cut in and the medical bay is where he’d awaken in cold sweat and in need of a shower with a slight adjustment to the front of his pants and a grunt in his voice.

~Rest under the cut~

Then there was the other of the Bloodhounds, Rune. Towering over even Alexander, they stood at 7’4” and gave him a chance to feel small in someone else’s presence for once. Rune was a curiosity in themself as well, always sticking near the smaller of the couple and becoming more playful around them and the other legends they liked. Alexander had seen them in battle and also had been an...active participant in their bloodshed. 

They were blood thirsty, always seeking out battle and preferring close combat where they could sink their serrated teeth into you instead of a gun. 

Rune was more vulgar than their quietly taunting spouse, always taking to stalking Alexander back until he hit a wall with a hand removing their respirator just so Alexander could see their full lips tug into a wide grin full of serrated teeth. “Oh, Doctor,” They’d begin with their low voice curling in his ears. 

“How I can taste your heart pounding. From fear or-” They’d reach him by then, twisting fingers into his gear and yanking his clothing so he’d have to lean up to them and feel their snarling breath over his own mask. “-something more pathetic?” 

He’d awake in the med bay the same way, in need of a shower, adjusting the front of his pants, and in need to slow his heart beat from the very same guessed thing of ‘something more pathetic ’. 

The Bloodhounds were a curiosity, separated only in the arena visually by their heights and the differences in patches and charms on them. Hound having a wolf patch, Rune having a raven. Hound having a moon charm on their weaponry, Rune having a sun- a call back to their preferred pet names to one another. 

Otherwise, their uniforms were identical, and even that clever Giant could mimic Hound’s voice to perfection to even fool teammates, enemy squads, or the audio over the feed that people watched from home and in bars. 

These findings were all, of course, written within the confines of Alexander’s notes in a journal. Keeping tallies on both allies and people who could become enemies was merely part of his own protocol. It made working with people easier, and finding yourself in the grips of someone you once called ‘ally’- it made exploiting their weaknesses much easier. 

Of course, this is what he tells himself at night when his mind wanders and he presses his soft thighs together and clears his throat. Glasses perched on the bridge of his freckled nose and his eyes wandering over their pages, feeling a stirring in his stomach. Seems he was not one of the lucky people who were unaffected by the duo. 

Even the brief sketches and outlines filling the pages of his ‘The Bloodhounds’ sections would prove where his interests lied within them. Their hatchets drawn out, their preferred charms and patches. Even notes regarding their most spoken words in the Old Norse and Icelandic tongues that they spoke, carefully translated so he could observe their conversations more closely. 

The more recent page had yet to be fully filled out, however. On to where that pesky smaller bloodhound had gone off to. 

It just seemed one day Hound had just left, leaving Rune behind to carry the mantel of what Alexander was certain was an act of worship of participation and bloodshed. This had been about a month ago, and no matter how much snooping he did, there seemed to be no answer. Perhaps an injury? Duty to take care of back home? 

Either way, the Syndicate didn’t care. As long as a singular Bloodhound remained to cause familiar bloodshed, then there was no need to fear. And Rune certainly performed just as terrifyingly as they had done before. Even without Hound to face nor be at their side. 

But there was a new thing added to their daily mannerism now that Hound was no longer in the compound. 

Phone calls. 

It seemed simple, really, Alexander supposed it made sense to want to hear your long-time partner’s voice every day when you had not been separated in a long time. He couldn’t hear the conversation occurring, the drop ship’s walls being thick enough to provide that much privacy. Even if they were made of glass, most of the legends had taken to using blankets or netting to cover the glass to provide more privacy when they were on their few days of journey to the battle grounds. 

The Bloodhounds had taken to putting up netting on either side, making it hard to see through, but not impossible. Alexander’s desk was pressed to their wall, and most times he would consider himself to be a good roommate by not snooping into their business. 

Or at least, pretending he wasn’t. 

Like now. Where he was very much not snooping and most definitely just writing in his journal. Not at all peeking over occasionally over his glasses as he pretended to reach to the side to grab a different pen or pencil. 

That would just be asinine. 

It’s not that he meant to direct his attention off his journal, it’s just that he kept seeing movement through the netting and it was distracting. Where dark amber hair keeps shifting in one specific spot and the flash of flesh and tattoos keeps catching his eye. Though he can’t make out what they’re saying exactly, the walls only muffing them so much. He is still able to hear the deep sound of their natural voice and the growl to each purr seeming to rattle the very walls around them. 

Alexander slumps a bit in his seat, lifting his eyes and noting he can see perfectly through the hole of the net to see half of Rune’s body. 

Rune’s... 

Very. 

Very. 

Almost naked body. 

With only a mesh shirt lifted up to expose what Alexander could see of their abdomen, his eyes wander down to where he can see everything from abdomen to their knees. Where they’re exposed. A strong hand wrapped around their tattooed and, frankly, large cock. Stroking it in a slow, methodical way. Their hips rolling back unsteadily on the hammock in a way he can only imagine was them fucking themself onto something. 

Suddenly Alexander realizes why the hums of their voice through the wall make more sense as to why they were so well timed. Moans and words- possibly filthy words being spoken to their partner through the phone. A phone that Alexander can see if he subtly tilts his body downwards and looking up towards their body through the mesh of the net. 

The phone is tucked against their shoulder and ear, and he can only imagine their blissed expression. Alexander can only just see how their sharp teeth bite into their full lower lip briefly, a light part of them in a soundless gasp and smirk of their lips before forming words he cannot hear but can imagine. 

Privacy, Alexander chides himself as he sits up straight. 

He tries to focus back on his journal instead, recapping the events that happened within Olympus’ grounds. He’d had the pleasure of being in a duo match with Bloodhound- or rather, Rune, who sat in the room just in front of him. He learned an interesting weakness of heights that day. However, he also had learned that in order to get the Giant down from a high location they had accidentally landed during drop- proved to be quite difficult.  

It took coaxing and a promise that he stuck to for once, gripping their hand and helping them down. Alexander’s cheeks flush when he recaps the way their hand had clapped his shoulder with a low laugh in their chest of, “Thank you, Doctor. I shall spare your humiliation the next time we cross weapons. Unless, of course, you find it to be more rewarding that I do humiliate you?” 

He grunts to himself, rolling his neck to try and make the thoughts vanish of just how those damned Bloodhounds had humiliated him in the ring time and time again. He always got vengeance, of course, but that didn’t stop the swelling in his pants at the images of the both of them flashing behind his eyelids. 

Hound was crueler, especially if they had a score to settle. But Rune’s sheer size always made Alexander feel small, even when he was just backed into a corner by them. Either way, they both had him feeling more than a little something stirring within him. 

Alexander grunts again, a hand squeezing between his legs to try and soothe the ache that had started. Normally he had a tough time getting hard, but it appears today would not be one of those days. A mild hindrance, but nothing that would provide too elephantine of an issue. 

Just perhaps...mild discomfort, he thinks as he adjusts in his chair with a clear of his throat and a tug around the collar of his button up. 

He rests his cheek on his fist, elbow on the desk and feeling depraved as his other gives another squeeze to his cock through his trousers. He was like any other human, he had needs, just needs he never felt the desire to act upon often. Plenty of people here ready to catch you off guard. 

Alexander doesn’t mean for his thoughts to trail off, daydreaming felt so platitudinous. Overdone, undesired, and unneeded. Especially for a man of science, such as himself, who relied on realistic limitations. 

But...perhaps he could indulge. 

Just this once. 

His mind was both his biggest help and biggest weapon. He’d seen the Bloodhounds without their helmets before on the times they’d rarely join a party and he would follow. Hound preferred sporting a lower mask, a respirator of demonic likeness he had assumed in the case of colder climates, but for the most part he could see them. And what a sight they were. 

Worthy to the godly and royal pet names that their spouse referred to them as. 

Rune, on the other hand, liked the attention, Alexander assumed. Judging by their more beguiling and eye-catching attire. Mesh shirts, long dark gowns with sparkling sleeves, or too tight of pants with a left open button up. They certainly liked when people would look over too often, flushed to their chests and drinking a little too heavily in the hopes of liquid courage. 

Of course, that liquid courage would quickly be shot down if Hound didn’t like your approach, sometimes a snarl ricocheting off the walls of Witt’s bar and sending a pleasant shiver down Alexander’s spine. And fear through others. 

Rune’s taunting voice lingers in his mind as his mind begins to swirl up arousing ideas. 

He pictures them standing, taunting him and daring to lean down into his face to get close and taunt him, their breath spilling over his lips. He imagines smashing his lips to theirs, drinking in their taunting laugh as he’d spin them around in the bar’s bathroom. The hurry to yank down their pants and to see that perky, muscular ass he’s sure is covered in tattoos much like the rest of their body. 

Would they growl or moan if he dragged his tongue along their cock? Would they curl their fingers in his hair or would they grip the sink behind them and allow him to taste them? So many questions for a simple fantasy, one that his mind helpfully supplies as he fishes his cock out of his trousers to start stroking in real time. 

The fantasy continues, sinking his fingers into their ass and hearing them practically purr for him. Able to feel them clench around his lubricated fingers and imagining just how tight they’d be. The older dog laughing breathily down at him, taunting him and using that voice to their advantage. Asking when he became such a whore. And if they knew he had such a mouth on him, they would have used him long ago rather than making quick work of him in the ring. Other ways of humiliating the doctor. 

Alexander’s breath catches, the hand on his cheek sliding to cover his mouth instead as his brows furrow and his hand jerks himself off with a harsher squeeze. His hand sliding down to squeeze at his heavy balls and gliding his fingers back up to grip himself roughly. 

He imagines them gasping as he’d whip them around and fuck them from behind. Their breathy, low laughter rumbling in his chest as he’d fuck them from behind. A hand grabbing their jaw and tipping their head to the side as they’d smirk at him and croon between growls, “Enjoy your last show, Doctor? ” Only to be broken up by the sound of their low groan when he’d thrust into them to the hilt and press on their hips to drag them back with a snarl. 

He’d want to bruise them, mark them as best as he could. Whether to prove a point or maybe to rile up their spouse that he knew would tear him apart if given the opportunity. 

Their earthy scent would plague his nose as he’d bury himself to the hilt inside of them, biting into their shoulder when he came into them and hearing them pant and huff in his ear in turn. Just like the dog their title claimed they were. Being bred by him. 

He imagines how they’d cling to his arms, digging their nails into his pale flesh and making him grunt from the pain as he tells them to take it  as they howl. Releasing their own cum all over the sink. 

Alexander’s eyes are blurry as he flutters them back open, his heart pounding and his hand covered in cum. His cock gives dull throbs in time with his heart beat, met with a shaky exhale as he reaches on his desk to grab a tissue to clean up the mess. Feeling a bit filthier than he had before, but feeling less pent up. 

When his heart finally settles down, Alexander clears his throat, using a wet wipe to clean off his hands and remove any further evidence. He grabs his pen to go back to his journaling, even with his flushed face as he tries to not recap on what just happened. Flashes behind his eyes when he closes them briefly to try and take a breath and steady himself. 

A knock on the glass in front of him makes him jump, looking upwards to see the net pulled back and Rune standing there with only pants hanging low around their hips and a smirk on their lips. Their head is tilted, their eyes calculating as if Alexander were looking at an inconsequential little experiment running a maze and unable to get out. 

Locked in the eyes of a predator. 

Their smirk transforms into a cockier look when they seem to take in Alexander’s flushed and disheveled look, only making him furrow his brow and try to play it off as if nothing was amiss. He gives them a questioning look, but watches as their lips spread into a predatory grin of sharp shark-like teeth and their red gaze flickering down towards his lap. 

Alexander follows the gaze to where his cock is still out of his trousers. Burning red to his ears as he rushes to tuck himself away and hearing the muffled laugh of Rune from behind the glass from them being so close to it. Alexander refuses to look up from their journal, his head bowed and feeling humiliated. 

He could weep at the fact his dick gives another harsh jerk at the debauched feeling. 

When he finally braves himself enough to look up, Rune gives him a wink before they let the netting fall back down. Walking back to their resting area of the hammock and leaving Alexander to sit there in his aroused shame, and only feeling more aroused by the second at being caught. 

When he finally decides to rest for the night, Alexander can’t help but wonder what is to become of him from the smaller of the Bloodhounds. If they even snarled at a drunken bystander trying to flirt with their spouse, what would they do when the knowledge that Rune was being watched would surely reach them? 

There was no way they didn’t tell each other everything. 

Alexander groans aloud when his cock twitches again at the thought of a knife to his throat and harsh words snarled to him from the smaller of the couple. How they’d probably step on his cock in the middle of the ring, call him filthy and disgusting for indulging in something so sinful as voyeurism- 

He runs a hand over his face, reaching over and turning off his lamp and feeling just as filthy as earlier as he reaches under the sheets with new fantasies arising in his mind. 

This time entailing both the Bloodhounds. Plenty of snarling, plenty of hungry hands squeezing him and depriving him of air. 

Curious indeed. 

[team-free-will-oneshots]

Breaking Point

Title: Breaking Point (part five of the ‘Buried Secrets’ series) Summary: Dean realises exactly how badly he messed up - but you’re not ready to forgive him. When you and Sam get even closer on a hunt, how much of a rift will be driven between you and Dean? Will you ever be able to cross it? Pairing: Sam x Reader, Dean x Reader (fem pronouns) (mostly sam x reader in this part) Warnings: some swearing, Angst™, canon-typical violence, also more angst :(  Word Count: 4,811 (its a long one, sorry...)

note; ok so this part is based around 11x07, ‘Plush’ - I stayed somewhat true to canon but ended up tying up the hunt a lot more quickly and easily than the episode for my own convenience lmao. also sam isn’t having the visions from “God” in this series, at least it’s not gonna be brought up bc that’s all just A Lot for me to try and keep track of and i wanna keep focus on the fic plot not canon lol, sorry! anyways hope u enjoy this part!

Part One | Two | Three | Four

Masterlist

It was too bright, and his head hurt. It was almost enough to make him forget the events that had transpired the night prior - almost.

Dean rubbed his tired eyes as he stumbled to the kitchen, brewing a pot of coffee as he bit back a yawn. He poured a cup and stared at the nearly-full pot for a few moments before realising no one was coming to join him. Right - Sam had taken your side.

The anger raging through his veins had burned out long ago, replaced only with a hollow feeling of guilt that made him feel sick to his stomach as his brutal words bounced around the chambers of his mind. The hurt in your eyes was branded into his brain, and he clenched his jaw as he recalled your timid voice, your shaking hands as you fled from him as though you were scared of him.

Scared.

Of him.

As if he could ever hurt you.

But you did, his brain whispered. Dean slammed his mug down on the table, hot coffee splashing onto his hands, the tiny droplets scalding his skin as he swore and shook them off. He clenched his fist midair, bringing it to crash back against the wood of the table. He felt so guilty - why did he feel so guilty? You lied to him, lied to Sam, to Cas, to everyone - and he was the one feeling bad?

But the spark of anger fizzled before it could grow, and he resolved to set his feelings aside, at least for now. He was good at that - avoiding things. It was practically in his Winchester genes to ignore his emotions until they broke him. And he wasn’t at breaking point - not yet, at least.

Dean’s fingers found his phone, and he toyed with it absentmindedly, thumb hovering over your number, and then Sam’s. After staring at it a little longer than he’d have liked to admit, he slipped it back into his pocket. You weren’t coming back - not yet, at least. But even though you were gone, Amara was still a threat. Weird connection to her or not, he needed to find a way to get rid of her.

Assigning his pain to the backseat, Dean hit the books.

---

“Hello, Dean.”

The eldest Winchester started awake, the shape of the book before him sharply imprinted onto his cheek. He rubbed it, wincing his bleary eyes at the discomfort.

“Cas?” he groaned. “What is it?”

“Have you slept?” The angel’s voice was weighed with concern, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Obviously,” he muttered, wiping the dried spit crusted at the corner of his mouth as he swallowed back the unpleasant taste an unexpected nap always left. “Found anything?”

“Nothing new,” Cas said, glancing around the empty bunker. “Where are Y/N and Sam? Shouldn’t they be helping you research?” he asked disapprovingly, and Dean chuckled dryly.

“I haven’t heard from them in two days,” he said, plastering on a humourless grin. Castiel’s brow creased.

“Are they on a hunt? They could be hurt, we should-”

“No, they’re not on- Y/N’s a witch,” Dean blurted, and Castiel’s eyebrows flitted skywards in surprise.

“A witch?”

“You heard me,” Dean growled, turning back to the books. “She- she used a hex bag on me, so I kicked her out. Sam went after her - texted me, told me not to follow ‘em.”

“That doesn’t sound like Y/N,” Cas remarked, and Dean scoffed.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She said it was to help me, whatever that’s meant to mean,” he muttered. Cas gave him a knowing look, and Dean’s defences shot up.

“What? I’m fine, I don’t need help!” he said angrily, and Cas made a disbelieving sound.

“Right. Of course not. Have you considered that Y/N might just have been worried about you, and really did want to help?” Cas prompted, and Dean rolled his eyes.

“Of course I have, Cas. But that doesn’t justify her lying about being a monster! We’ve known her years, and she never told us the truth!” he exclaimed. Cas hummed disapprovingly.

“Dean, you know that witches aren’t all bad. You just happen to have a great deal of experience weeding out the… bad apples,” he said slowly. “Can you really blame her for keeping it a secret, considering how you’ve reacted?”

Dean’s jaw ticked, and your teary face flashed again into his mind. He wondered how long you’d cried - if Sam had comforted you, like the big softie he was. If you’d thought about him at all the last few days. If you wished he’d reacted differently. ‘Cos god, he was wishing that right about now, too.

“She-she’s dangerous,” Dean protested lamely.

“If you really believed that, you would never have let Sam go after her alone,” Cas reminded him gently, and he couldn’t find the words to argue back. He let his eyes fall on the yellowed paper before him, the fading ink blurring into a meaningless jumble of letters as he struggled to make sense of the mass of emotions tangled amongst his thoughts.

“Why was I so angry?” he asked eventually. “She lied to me, and- and I was so pissed. But now I just… I miss her,” he admitted. Cas offered a tight, sympathetic smile.

“You do have a tendency to lash out when you’re hurt,” he informed the Winchester. “I know that better than most. And it’s understandable that you could feel… betrayed,” Castiel continued slowly, and Dean grunted in agreement.

“Yeah, well, she did lie to me,” he muttered.

“So has Sam. And I, in the past. Don’t be angry, but… you do tend to latch onto small things to push people away. And I know,” Cas interjected as Dean opened his mouth to protest, “this isn’t exactly a tiny secret. But I think that the reason why she kept it was quite clear. The real question is - why did you feel the need to push her away in the first place?”

Dean swallowed hard, hating that the angel was right in his analysis, and hating even more how obvious the answer seemed to him now. Why had he pushed you away, just as you were starting to get close?

The answer came to him as easily as the alphabet. Because he didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve your concern, your care, your smiles. And above all, he certainly didn’t deserve your love. He didn’t deserve to be happy with you - he knew he’d only bring you down.

And so, Dean had done what Dean did best - found a means to push you away. To alienate himself from you, so that even if he changed his mind, you wouldn’t want to be with him after the way he had wronged you. So that you could be free of him. And it just so happened that your newly exposed identity as a witch was the perfect excuse to slice a rift between you.

Dean ran his hands over his face as he groaned. “God, Cas, she was just trying to help. She was trying to help me and I was such a fucking dick to her. How do I go back from that?” he asked helplessly, voice cracking as he raised his head to meet Castiel’s eyes. The angel’s face was solemn.

“I’d imagine you start with an apology.”

Dean sighed, mouth half open to speak when his phone vibrated against the table. His jaw fell closed, and he shot Cas a tense look before holding the phone up to his ear.

“Dean,” he muttered.

“Hiya, Dean!” Donna’s cheerful voice greeted. “Look, it could be nothing, but I might have a case for ya…”

---

You glanced up from your book as Sam’s phone vibrated across the room - the youngest Winchester had gone for a walk to clear his head from the seemingly endless lore and news articles the two of you had been picking apart since your hasty departure from the bunker. Sighing, you heaved yourself to your feet, rubbing at your temple absentmindedly as you glanced at the caller ID.

Dean.

Breath catching in your throat, you set your jaw and purposefully declined the call. Thoughts of the eldest Winchester didn’t bring you sadness, not anymore - instead, they fuelled your system with rage. How could he treat you like that, say those things to you after all you’d been through together? You humphed in annoyance, and just as you were about to re-take your seat, the phone began its incessant buzzing once more. Defeated, you held the phone up to your ear, bracing yourself for what was to come.

“Sam’s phone,” you said tersely, and the line fell dead silent.

“Y/N?” Dean asked, voice barely rising above a whisper. You cleared your throat, careful to keep your voice steady as you responded.

“That’s me - the one you kicked out, remember?” you said brightly, though your voice was underlaid with acidic anger that corroded your cheerful tone.

“I remember,” Dean muttered. “Y/N, I-”

The door opened, and you exhaled in relief as you pulled the phone from your ear. “Sam, it’s your brother,” you said stiffly, and Sam quirked an eyebrow before accepting the phone in your extended hand.

“Dean?” he asked in surprise, and you picked up your book again as Sam walked into the bathroom, closing the door while he continued the conversation with his brother. You heard his voice rise in irritation, but after a few more moments, he walked out with a defeated expression.

“Donna needs help on a hunt,” he said apologetically, beginning to gather his things. You jumped up and began to prepare your own, but paused at the confused expression clouding Sam’s face.

“Uh… Dean’s gonna be there. You don’t have to come,” he told you, and you shrugged half-heartedly.

“I feel so cooped up in here, I honestly don’t care. A hunt would do me some good - help me get out some pent up anger,” you explained, and Sam frowned but didn’t object again. “So, what are we looking at?” you asked.

“Uh, Dean said something about a “killer bunny,” Sam said, and you shot him a confused look.

“A what?”

“That’s all he said - it might not even be our kind of thing. I say we go down, give Donna some peace of mind, and if it’s not our kinda gig we let the police take it from there,” he said, and you nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s hop on down and check out this killer bunny,” you said, smiling cheekily. Sam groaned.

“Really, Y/N?” he asked, though his tone was tinged with amusement. “Puns?”

“Hey, maybe it was an accident - you really ought to stop jumping to conclusions,” you defended, and he rolled his eyes.

“An accident? Yeah, I doubt it - you’re hardly being subtle,” he replied, and you grinned slyly.

“I guess you could even say I’m dangling a carrot in front of your face,” you pressed, and Sam turned to you in exasperation.

“You done?” he asked, despite the smile playing on his features. You grinned.

“Not even close.”

“Well, I’m putting an official ban on rabbit puns for at least the ride down,” Sam said, and you pouted.

“Why?” you whined, and he shot you a playful grin.

“They’re just not bunny.”

---

A pun-filled car ride later, the two of you strode into Donna’s precinct in your FBI getups, where Dean was already waiting for you.

“Sorry if we’re a hare late, traffic was a nightmare,” you greeted, pointedly ignoring Dean as you gave a laughing Donna a hug. Sam rolled his eyes fondly, and you winked at him before your sights fell on Dean. His eyes met yours, and he quickly lowered his gaze, clearing his throat before turning to Donna.

“So, what makes you think this is our kind of thing?” he asked. Donna explained the situation - gruesome murder, and an apprehended perp whose mask refused to budge. You whistled as she finished.

“Well, it’s certainly a hare-raising tail, but I’m not sure it’s our thing,” you said with a mischievous smile. Donna laughed, Sam rolled his eyes affectionately, and Dean tried a tentative smile of his own.

You ignored it.

“Yeah, but if uh, you’ve got a wild hare...” he added playfully. “See what I did there?” Donna laughed again, but you rolled your eyes and acted as though he hadn’t spoken, refusing to even meet his gaze. His heart sank, and the smile fell from his face.

A short while later, Donna led the three of you to the holding cells, where you frowned at the sight before you.

“Any witnesses?” Sam asked, and Donna nodded.

“Ex-wife - thought she was next, but the bunny just up and walked out the door!” she exclaimed.

“You ID him yet?” Dean queried, and Donna shook her head.

“Nope. No wallet, cell… ran his prints, but no prior record. Couldn’t even get our hands on him long enough to check for any identifying marks. Only thing we do know is he’s caucasian, roughly eighteen to twenty-five… and terrifying,” she breathed.

Donna was called away by Officer Stover, leaving the three of you, plus bunny, alone. You frowned, stepping closer and squinting at the bloodied mask.

“Are we sure it’s not just a really committed furry?” you asked slowly. Sam’s brow furrowed.

“What’s a-”

Dean frantically shook his head at his brother. “You don’t wanna know,” he interrupted, and the exaggerated fear in his voice brought a smile to your face. You quickly composed your expression, clearing your throat as Dean stepped forward and threw some mocking quips at the masked figure.

“What, took too much molly? Super-glued your mask to your head? Got paranoid, stabbed a guy? Been there,” he chuckled, and you scoffed. Dean turned around, frowning at your reaction, and the bunny seized the moment of distraction to grab him by the neck and slam him against the bars of the holding cell.

Sam busted out the holy water, to no avail. “Not a demon,” he remarked. You stood to the side, panic flaring in your chest at the sight of Dean struggling. No no no no no!

“Well, he’s strong!” Dean snapped, and Sam grabbed the bunny’s hands, trying to pry them off his brother’s neck. You rubbed your temple, trying to soothe your stress headache and willing yourself to think when it hit you.

“Wait, I’ve got this,” you muttered, pushing Sam back as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes.

“Any time now, Y/N!” Dean pressed.

“Shut it!” you snapped, before thrusting your hands forward. A surge of power had the attacker flying backwards and slamming into the wall. It didn’t seem to faze him - he got to his feet and stood perfectly still, those fake, glassy eyes seeming to stare straight at you. Dean winced, rubbing at his neck. As the adrenaline seeped from your veins, you felt your headache fade away.

“Thanks,” Dean muttered, and you folded your arms, resolutely ignoring him. Meanwhile, Sam’s eyes fell on the bunny’s t-shirt - Minnesota Tech - and the tattoo on his arm - ‘Kylie Forever’.

“Kylie forever,” he mused. “That’ll work.”

It didn’t take you long to compile a list of potential ‘Kylie’s’, and Dean whistled at the length of it. “Alright, Y/N and I will take the first ten. Sam, you can-”

You cleared your throat. “Uh, actually, I’ll go with Sam,” you interjected, and Dean raised his brows in surprise.

“But- but we always team up,” he objected, voice ringing with hurt. You shot him a tight smile.

“Yeah, well I wouldn’t want you to have to swallow your disgust, would I?” you spat, and Dean flinched at your words as the reality of the situation crashed over him. How could he forget?

“Listen, Y/N…” he began, but you shook your head.

“Just… leave it,” you grumbled. “We’ll check in later. C’mon, Sam,” you dismissed, grabbing Sam’s arm and walking away. Sam shot his brother an apologetic shrug, letting you guide him towards the exit.

Dean watched as you left, expelling a deep sigh as he ran his hand over the side of his face before shaking his head to himself. He jumped when Donna’s voice echoed from behind him.

“What’d’ya do to get her knickers all up in a bunch?” she asked, and Dean barked a dry laugh that died on his lips.

“I messed up, is what I did,” he informed her. “Things were good. Great. Better than, even - we were… well, we were about to be somethin’, anyways, but I… said some things I shouldn’t have. And now I dunno if she can forgive me. If I even deserve to be forgiven.”

Donna frowned. “Sounds like you should try apologising, bud. Don’t be afraid to go real sappy, neither, just make sure ya bein’ honest,” she advised, and Dean grunted.

“Yeah, I would if she’d actually talk to me,” he scoffed, and Donna hummed.

“Well, if she needs space, you gotta give it to her,” she said simply. “Can’t expect a girl to give ya a civil conversation if you didn’t give her one to start with, can ya? Piece of advice, though - if ya wanna patch things up, ya betta get in sooner rather than later. She and Sam are lookin’ real chummy,” she said, elbowing him slyly. He frowned.

“Her and Sam? No way. Really?”

Donna whistled. “Oh, yeah. Besta luck,” she said, patting him lightly on the back. “Catch ya later.”

As the blonde left, Dean stood for a moment, stewing in his own overwhelming emotions and chewing on the advice Donna had offered. You clearly wanted your space… and if you really were moving away from him and towards Sam… well, wasn’t pushing you away exactly what he’d wanted in the first place? Wouldn’t it be better for you to be with his kind, thoughtful brother instead of being stuck with… well, whatever kind of a mess Dean himself was?

He sighed, shaking his head and ignoring the hollow aching in his chest as he forced himself back to work. He could deal with this later - he wasn’t at breaking point.

Not yet.

---

It didn’t take long for the puzzle pieces to fall together - once you realised you were dealing with a ghost and managed to piece together a list of the costumes he was attached to, it took near no time at all to sort it out between you, Sam, Dean and Donna. You’d stuck with Sam the whole time, communicating with the others in quick phone calls and texts.

Sam was by your side when you tossed a match on the final costume, watching the fire sear through the fabric and the reeking smoke drift into the air as the ghost of Chester Johnson was eaten up by the tongues of hungry, flickering flames. You exhaled heavily as silence fell across the forest the two of you had found yourselves in, an echoing quiet broken only by the crackling of the fire.

“Well, that’s that,” you murmured. Sam swallowed, nodding.

“Yeah. Nice work.”

A smile sloped your lips. “You too. Now what?”

Sam’s phone buzzed before he could reply, and he tugged it from his pocket, glancing at the screen before his eyes met yours.

“Now we meet up with Dean and Donna,” he said. You were quiet.

“Right. Dean.”

“Y/N… maybe you should listen to what he has to say. It seems like-”

“I can’t, Sam. Not right now, not after he… it’s just too soon,” you mumbled, and Sam offered a tight, sympathetic smile.

“Yeah. I get it. But you can’t stay mad at him forever,” he reminded you. You averted your gaze, eyes cast downwards.

“I know. But… I can’t forget. Not yet.”

Sam’s eyes softened, and he rested his hand soothingly on the curve of your waist. You ignored the stutter of your heart.

“Come on, let’s get back.”

The car ride back to the station was quick to draw the lingering tension between the two of you, replacing it with easy banter and refreshing laughter that still bubbled on your lips as the two of you stumbled into Dean.

“Hey - is it done?” he asked, and Sam nodded.

“Yeah - he’s gone. Everything’s burned,” Sam confirmed, and Dean grinned, clapping his brother on the back.

“Great work, Sammy!”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s Sam,” he corrected affectionately, and Dean brushed him off with a nonchalant,

“Pssh.” He turned to you. “Good work, Y/N - you always could handle yourself on a hunt,” he complimented, and the smile died on your lips. Your jaw was taut as you avoided his gaze.

“Yeah. Thanks,” you muttered. As much as a small part of you appreciated that Dean was making somewhat of an effort, the memories of that fateful night weren’t so easily erased. Years of friendship reduced to ashes in a single moment as Dean’s rage sent you packing - the echoes of his words still cut you, and you were yet to determine whether their scars would be permanent. At any rate, you knew you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet.

Dean sighed. “Look, Y/N… can we talk?”

You half scoffed, feeling your defensive walls rise as you shook your head. “You didn’t exactly give me the liberty of a discussion the other night, did you?”

Your words came out harsher than you intended, and you felt a flicker of guilt at the hurt in Dean’s eyes that you quickly forced yourself to quell. Dean shook his head in disbelief, the action paired with a sharp intake of breath as your words slammed into him like a brick.

“C’mon, man… I was angry. It was a lot to take in, you can’t expect me to just-”

“Dean,” Sam warned, cutting his brother off before he could raise his voice. Dean took a breath, nodding, and you interrupted him as he opened his mouth to speak.

“Whatever, Dean. I’ll be seeing you.” The words were cold, your tone colder as you spun on your heel, stalking back to the car. Despite the hurt welling in your chest, you found yourself half-hoping that he’d follow you, that he’d properly apologise, that things could go back to some semblance of normal…

But Dean watched as you left, Donna’s words ringing in his head. “If she needs space, you gotta give it to her.” As much as every bone in his body longed to follow you, to hug you and kiss you and whisper the words that would fix everything, he stayed put. There were no magic words, no embraces nor kisses that could fix the mess he had made.

And so, with a heavy heart, he let you leave.

---

The car ride back to the motel was draped with a silence so thick you could have sliced it with a butter knife. You didn’t want to think, not right now, so you busied yourself staring out the window at the scenery, leached navy and grey in the moonlight. The road was quiet at this time - the two of you were alone, your only company the yellow glow of the headlights bouncing back at you from the green road signs you passed.

You could feel another headache coming on, so you popped some aspirin and swallowed them dry. The pills were bitter and powdery as they started to crumble on your tongue, and you winced as you finally got them down. Sam glanced over at you when he heard the crinkle of the aluminium sheet of tablets, but maintained his silence.

When he pulled into the parking lot, you headed to the room in sullen silence. You collapsed onto your bed still fully clothed, kicking off your shoes as you sighed. Your conversation with Dean had left a hollow sensation in your chest you weren’t quite certain how to shake. Glancing over at Sam, you saw him climbing into bed and shooting a concerned glance your way. You met it with a ghost of a smile.

“Do you mind…”

He chuckled. “C’mon,” he invited, nodding to his bed. A breathy laugh fell from your lips as you crawled into his bed, letting him tuck you against his chest. You’d slept beside him every night you’d stayed in the motel thus far - his warm presence helped you drift off better than any of your hex bags ever could. Your magic couldn’t replicate the gentle rise and fall of his chest, nor the patterns his fingers would trace over your spine.

“This is just a mess, isn’t it?” you asked weakly, and felt the sudden sinking of Sam’s torso as he sighed.

“Maybe a little,” he allowed, shooting you a small smile that you instinctively returned.

“I just… I don’t know how to feel. I wish things could just go back to the way they were, but… that’s not going to happen, is it? Not now that he knows,” you whispered. “God, I wish I wasn’t… me. Everything would be so much easier.” Sam fell into a thoughtful silence, and you almost thought he’d fallen asleep until his voice broke the comfortable quiet hanging over the room.

“Things won’t be the same,” he said eventually. “But… maybe that’s not a bad thing. Maybe this is something you needed, something to push you towards…” He trailed off, sighing again as he shook his head. “I dunno. But I don’t think you should just give up on things getting better,” he said. “And you definitely shouldn’t regret being true to yourself. You… God, you’re incredible, Y/N. And if Dean can’t see that, then that’s his loss.”

You smiled at his soothing words, glancing up at him in the darkness. Shadows clung to his skin, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the perfect disarray of his hair. He caught you staring and chuckled, the dimples in his cheeks protruding at the action.

“Thanks, Sammy,” you said eventually, and he shook his head, fingers moving to comb through your hair, gently tugging out the knots. You stared at him a moment longer, your lips forming your next words before you’d even realised you’d spoken.

“Why do you let me call you Sammy? You always correct Dean,” you realised, and Sam laughed sheepishly, the sound swallowed by the darkness. He shrugged.

“I dunno. I guess… when Dean says it, I know he’s seeing me as just his kid brother. But when you say it… it feels different. Almost comforting.” He shrugged again, ducking his head in embarrassment. “That probably sounds stupid…”

You shook your head. “No - not at all,” you breathed, breath catching as his eyes flitted to yours. You were vaguely aware that at some point during your conversation your headache had faded, the space it occupied replaced with Sam’s smile, the warmth of his voice, and solid presence of his arms around you.

His proximity seemed to become more apparent as you became aware of your heart thumping against your ribs. If he noticed, he kept it to himself, though you knew there was no way he could miss the sudden hitch in your breathing as he adjusted to nestle you snug against his side. The simple, caring movement unleashed a wave of emotions you’d been fighting to hold back for longer than you cared to admit - feelings you’d bottled up and pushed away, dismissing them as faint impossibilities, distant fantasies that would never see the light of day.

And so, how fitting it was that you found your breaking point under the dark protection of the night.

Before you could stop yourself, your mouth was slanting against his, sleepy and soft and slow. Sam froze beneath you, and you quickly pulled back, but before you could panic he was returning his lips to yours. Your eyes fell closed as his thumb found the side of your face, brushing along your cheekbone as he tilted your chin up to gain better access to your mouth. Sam’s hand wandered to your waist, clutching you close against him as he twisted his neck to deepen the kiss, the press of his mouth on yours a far more important cause than maintaining his own comfort; your smile, captured in the gentle exploration of his lips over yours, made the straining of his muscles worth it.

But as all good things do, the kiss came to an end. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you leaned into Sam’s chest, closing your eyes as his lips found your hair, whispering his goodnight into your scalp. But as sleep began to carry you off in her gentle waves, your mind couldn’t help but drift to Dean - in the bunker that felt more than a thousand miles away, the other side of his bed cold but for the empty bottle he was surely nursing. Dean - still sleeping alone.

His tired, green eyes were the last sight your mind conjured, before sleep finally washed you away.

__________

Read part six here!

Buried Secrets tags: @clarinette07 @demonsofhunting @carryon-doctor-lock @coupleofgoons @colie87 @non-exclusive-trash @txnii-hxrdyy @spaghettiwoes

Forever Tags: @babygirloreo @calaofnoldor @lmpala97 @sebastianshoe @81mysteriouslyme @castieliswatchingoverme @spnlovr73 @kina666 @liviaolivia @simplyxparker @helpmeluci @demonsofhunting

Sam tags: @sammys-dimpless

Dean tags: @polina-93 @justagirlinafandomworld @coupleofgoons

If you want to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know!

[sammyintheskywithdeanmonds]

Winchester are in bed, Dean laid on his back and Sam is on top, looking at him in the eyes. Dean's jerking off while Sam is riding Dean's face with his dick, balls and his hungry hole until Dean comes. Sam didn't come yet... surprise me ;) 

It’s 9pm in Arkansas. The weather? Chilly. The birds? Asleep. Sam Winchester? Pissed.

Some would call it a romantically lit motel room but truth is, it’s so shitty that the lights aren’t working properly. 

What’s working though, for Dean’s absolute pleasure, is the magic fingers device. 

John left them alone for the night, maybe even days. As soon as the door closed behind their father, Dean had inserted some quarters in the machine and thrown himself on one of the queen beds, ready to be rocked into heaven. 

Sam watches him from the corner of his eye, annoyed that Dean’s first choice now that they have some privacy is to jump on the bed and not on…well, him.

He doesn’t want to seem needy, even though he freaking is. 

A week ago, Dean couldn’t keep his hands out of Sam’s pants, the risk of being caught making them as drunk and horny as the other’s scent. But now, his big brother is acting like he doesn’t crave a dose of the sweet forbidden time they both grew addicted to. 

Did he go to some girl? Maybe Dean needs something Sam can’t give him anymore.The thought makes his heart feel both hollow and filled to the brim with a feeling he can’t identify. It’s like nausea but instead of wanting to puke, he wants to strangle something. Or someone. 

Dean’s eyes are closed and Sam turns to the dirty mirror in the tiny bathroom. He looks at himself and sighs. He’s too thin, so Dean can’t pretend he has boobs. Good thing is, he has no facial hair. Aside from his pubes and messy hair, he’s pretty much smooth. He unbuttons his plaid shirt and takes it off. Beneath it is a tight t-shirt who barely fits him anymore. 

It’s not that he doesn’t have shirts his size, it’s that he chooses on purpose to wear one that rides just above his waist line. 

At a gas station a few days ago, he spotted some gay magazines and most of them featured young men in tight clothes. He can’t go clothes shopping but what he can do is wear clothes he’s outgrown. 

He wants to be sexy for Dean, even though he’s still figuring out how. So much effort and some random bitch could have caught his brother’s attention.

A few days ago, he’d been left alone at the motel and when he turned on the radio, he had heard the song The boy is mine. His father and Dean would have laughed at him for listening to something other than classic rock but he didn’t care.

He remembers thinking ‘Will I have to fight for Dean like that someday? Tell a girl he’s off-limits?’ He can’t imagine yelling at one of the pretty waitresses or bartenders who fall under Dean’s smile and, at the same time, he can’t stop thinking about doing so. 

He approaches the beds and Dean seems to finally notice him.

“Why aren’t you enjoying some magic, Sammy?” 

“Mine’s broken.” It’s a lie but who cares? Not Sam. 

“I’m almost done and then you can use m-" 

Sam doesn’t let him finish his sentence and straddles him, his bangs getting in his eyes and thankfully hiding the blush creeping up his neck for acting so bold. 

Dean seems just as surprised as him. He sits up a bit and inserts a new quarter in the machine. 

“Or we can share, I guess.”  

It’s infuriating, how chill Dean acts when they’re in a so familiar position. The last time Sam sit in Dean’s lap, they had no clothes on and he was choking on his brother’s thick fingers while being pounded without mercy. He remembers feeling every bump on the road for days after that.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Sam can’t hold it in any longer. It’s been a week since he waited for them to have some alone time.

Dean has the audacity to direct his ‘Don’t know what you’re talking about’ look at Sam. It may work on stupid police officers and teachers but, come on, Sam can see through his brother’s bullshit since he was five years old.

He pounds his fist on Dean’s chest and when his brother grabs his wrist and lets his fingers linger there, they both shiver. Dean lowers his eyes before looking at him again. 

“We’re going back to school soon. Dad told me last week.”

Sam doesn’t understand what that has to do with anything. What that has to do with them.

“I thought that maybe you’d want a girlfriend.”

Dean’s tone is neutral, almost cheerful but he can’t fool his brother. He doesn’t say it but Sam isn’t stupid. What he means is Maybe you’d want to be normal. 

They’ve been sharing space since forever. Sometimes, intrusive thoughts take as much space as bodies in a tiny bed. And right now, the bed they’re lying on is so cramped it’s suffocating. 

“Why? Do you want a girlfriend?”

The song keeps turning on repeat in Sam’s head, the thought of someone else touching Dean, kissing him, receiving smiles meant for him…Something dark awakens in Sam and his fingers close in a tight fist. 

He belongs to me. He’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine, he’s mine. 

A part of his brain starts whispering that he knows how to make bodies disappear. He’s a bit frail but he could do it. He could make it look like an animal attack. Or a…

“No.” 

A simple word from Dean makes the darkness in Sam recede a bit. It’s like a fire being put out with a lid and Sam blinks, unable to believe that, for a few seconds, he could actually see disembodied pretty girls, their bodies ruined and cold. The boy is mine. 

Sam leans forward, pining Dean’s larger body to the bed as best as he can. His eyes roam over his big brother’s perfect face and here comes the darkness again. This time, it’s directed at Dean. He fights off the urge to lock him up where no one could lay eyes on him ever again. Where Dad couldn’t find him and send him on dangerous hunts again. He would be Sam’s only.

Sam is distracted from his obsessive thoughts by Dean’s warm hand on the skin exposed by his riding up shirt. 

His breath hitches but he can’t chase the dark whisper locked in his head and heart. 

“You’re mine, Dee.”

His eyes don’t miss the way Dean’s Adam’s apple bobbles up and down. 

“Am I now?”

Sam groans angrily and pounces on his mouth. 

“Yes!”

He’s lost in the familiar leathery and musky scent that his body has learned to identity as Dean. Home. Mine. Sam fears the way he’s shaking isn’t due to the magic fingers’ vibrations anymore.

Sam gasps when Dean’s entire body comes to life. He feels a powerful arm close around his waist while the other grabs his hair. They start kissing and it’s not pretty nor delicate. Sam hisses when Dean bites on his tongue and his lower lip and he scratches his big brother’s neck, tugging impatiently at his clothes.

Dean sits up and tries to remove his shirt. Sam whines and grabs his neck for another kiss, licking into Dean’s mouth while grinding their hips together. Dean forgets anything that’s not Sammy and almost tears the indecently tight shirt from his brother’s body.

“’Have no idea how hard it was, Sammy.”

Sam scratches Dean’s warm skin some more, completely lost in the way his brother has started sucking on his neck and collarbones.

“Mmmh?”

His nose buried against Sam’s skin, sucking hard on a nipple, Dean tugs on his brother’s jeans and underwear until he has access to one of the reasons he’s definitely going to hell. His fingers rub Sammy’s smooth hole and he almost comes in his pants from the way Sam’s arches his back and begs for more.

Sam grabs him for a kiss again and pushes him into the bed so he can get up and struggle out of his pants and boxers. The second he’s naked, he’s back to rubbing himself on Dean’s still clothed body.

Sam’s all whines, pants and sloppy kisses. Dean seizes his chin to look at his needy face and Sam’s glassy eyes devour him. Sam then starts lazily sucking on two of his own fingers. He’s about to use them to finger himself but Dean grabs his wrist and brings the wet fingers to his own lips, sucking on them until Sammy starts dry humping his leg in frustration.

“C’mere Sammy.”

Dean lies flat on the bed and manhandles Sam’s body to make him sit on his chest, close enough to his face that he can blow on the head of his dripping cock.

“F-fuck,Dean…”

“Language.” His stern word is followed by the tip of a finger breaching Sammy’s tight hole.

Sam moans in surprise and bucks his hips forward, filling Dean’s warm mouth with his dick. He grips the bed’s squeaky headboard and starts humping his brother’s face. It’s so good he can feel his eyes tear up a little, turning his vision into a blur of faded flowery wallpaper and Dean sucking him.

He rocks on his brother’s thick finger and cries out when it’s two digits opening him up.

“D-Dean…”

Dean makes him stop moving his hips long enough to free Sam’s dick from his lips. He licks it without breaking eye contact. His fingers stop fingering his hole and Sam doesn’t have time to whine. His thighs circle Dean’s neck and face and he shuts his eyes, overwhelmed by the sloppy kiss Dean gives his balls and then, his needy hole. He’s always brought back to the first time Dean ate him out.

It was after a werewolf hunt. Dean had pushed him against a tree, bared his ass and made him scream with his tongue. The full moon above them, the blood of the fresh kill on their clothes and skin. In other words: a perfect date night, Winchesters style.

Behind him, Sam hears Dean fumble with his pants to free his own hard-on. Sam wants to help him take care of it but is too focused on riding Dean’s tongue in the hope that it will be enough. But he needs more. So much more.

“Dee…I want it now…”

Dean groans under him and pushes a finger next to his tongue in his sloppy make out. Sam tightens his thighs against his head to make him understand how badly he craves it.

“Fuck me…Fuck me now…”

Sam reaches blindly behind him to grab Dean’s cock and he encounters Dean’s tight fist around it. As soon as Sam’s slender fingers grab the shaft, it pulses and releases come shots that land on Sam’s hand and Dean’s clothes.

Dean’s body jerks under him and Sam sits up above him, releasing his cock and ass from his brother’s grasp.

“What the fuck, Dean? M’not there yet.”

Dean’s eyes are glassy from his orgasm and though his chin is full of spit and Sam’s fluids, he still manages to look like a handsome son of a bitch when he smiles up at him.

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“Jerk.”

Infinite moments of intimacy pass in the blink of their eyes. They stare at each other and Sam rolls his eyes to hide the smile tugging at his lips. He’s still frustrated though. He sees Dean’s come on his fingers from earlier and brings it to his mouth, licking it like he does with ice cream and lollipops. Dean groans and grabs his hips. In a second, his lips are around his brother’s dick again and he apologizes for the lack of fucking with an eye-fucking and a blowjob that make Sam’s body tremble.

Two fingers are back up his ass and Sam’s suddenly feeling more forgiving. He rides them urgently and lets ou tfamiliar incoherent whines, signs that he’s close. 

When Sam starts coming, he fills his big brother’s perfect mouth but then pulls his dick out and paints Dean’s chin and cheek with the last spurts. 

The boy is mine. 

Sam feels an unspoken satisfaction at having marked him like that. For a second, he wonders what Dean’s reaction will be but his brother licks Sam’s still stiff cock and doesn’t wipe the come off his face. Not yet. 

The magic fingers vibration has resumed by now but Sam can feel his body buzzing from pleasure and contentment. Dean still owes him but Sam knows his big brother always delivers after some rest. 

When they’re both lying on the queen bed, smelling like each other, the taste of Dean’s come still on his tongue, Sam closes his eyes. The boy is his.

The dark rumble in his soul is at peace. For now. 

                                           🍒

hey there babe, sorry for the delay but here is your prompt. 💕

if you don’t like it, you’re free to come fight me in the cute coffee shop near me (no, it’s totally not an excuse to see your pretty face, don’t know what you mean ~)

more seriously, I really hope you like it. 💕 I’m sorry the fic I wrote for you fell victim to my headcanon that sam really loves 90’s and early 2000’s r&b songs (watch out for my “no scrubs” fic). thank you so much for your prompts my cherry pie, love you always. 💋

[dailyironfamily]

day 05 - soulmate au

Day five of my November Fic Challenge is a personal favorite, soulmates! I went with soulmate identifying marks as the particular trope, always a classic.

This fic features Tony/Rhodey morphing into Pepper/Tony/Rhodey and takes place mostly pre-IM1 and some during IM2.

When Jim wakes up on his twelfth birthday and sees the partial soulmate mark on his skin, he’s both exhilarated and frightened. Not everyone gets one, and he’d been worried he’d be one of those people. Now that he sees it, however, bright blue mark like a beacon on his inner thigh (and that’s going to be an annoying spot, isn’t it, but at least it’s easy to hide), he’s more worried about what it means. The thought of having someone out there who’s supposedly your one true love is pretty big for a twelve year-old to process.

From what he can see, it’s some sort of triangle pattern inside a circle, but he won’t be able to tell for sure until he finds the person who has the other half of the design. Though...it’s awfully small to be half a soulmate mark. It looks kind of like there’s more missing than there should be.

He shows him mom and asks her if something’s wrong with him, that his mark is even less complete than it’s supposed to be. She hugs him and tells him there’s nothing wrong, but he’s pretty sure that’s what moms are supposed to say in situations like these.

Ughhh, he really should not have drunk that much, Tony laments as he pulls a pillow and all the blankets off the nearest bed, dropping them on the floor and then laying face down on top of the pile. He’s only met the roommate of his current drinking buddy a couple times—James something—but he’s sure he won’t mind.

He’s halfway into what he’s pretty sure is a coma when he hears the door open behind him and he says, “What, you strike out with Martha already?”

The voice that answers is definitely not the one he’s expecting.

“Who are you and why are you on my floor?” asks the mysterious roommate, James something.

“It’s Tony,” he mumbles, but when he tries to look over his shoulder it makes his forehead throb and he drops his head back onto the pillow he stole. He hunches his shoulders, clutching the pillow closer, and groans. “I’m in the middle of dying, so if you could leave me alone—”

“Hey, that’s—that’s mine!”

At first he thinks the guy’s just offended that Tony had stolen stuff off his bed, but James sounds shocked, and slightly horrified, which is a bit of an overreaction to borrowed blankets, in Tony’s opinion. So he forces himself up on his elbows, twisting around to see James pointing at him.

Tony looks down at where he’s pointing, then back up at the guy, and grins. “My ass?”

“No!” He takes a step forward, then stops as if thinking better of it. “That.”

It’s only then that Tony realizes his shirt had hidden up, exposing his lower back and, more importantly, the bright blue of his soulmark. He feels even sicker than he did a minute ago, the implication of James’s words hitting him like a sucker punch to the stomach.

“No way,” he says, sitting up the rest of the way, ignoring his aching head. James starts taking off his jeans and Tony panics even further. “What are you doing!”

“What—? Calm down, I have to show you—”

Tony decidedly does not want to see anything this guy has to show him under his pants, but he doesn’t look away, even as James kicks off his jeans and twists his leg to show Tony his inner thigh, a frighteningly similar blue mark on his skin.

“Holy shit.” He’s up on his knees in a flash, crawling closer to get a better look. It’s the same color as his, and the same design: the corner of a double triangle, with a circle around it, and lines connecting the two. Turning around, he tugs his shirt up and tries to look at his lower back, comparing the two marks.

James is staring too, one hand on the bedpost to steady himself. “Holy shit is right. Aren’t you like, twelve?”

“I’m fifteen,” Tony protests. “And I know you, you got in a year early, didn’t you? You’re only like, seventeen.”

James is still staring at his back, so Tony drops his shirt, pulling the hem down.

“Does it seem like…we’ve only got thirds?” James asks tentatively after a moment. Tony doesn’t answer. He’d suspected as much since he saw his mark for the first time as a kid, but seeing James’s mark now confirms it. They each only had a third of a mark.

“Christ.” James sinks down to the floor, sitting in the nest of blankets Tony had made. “There’s another one of us.”

Tony was way too drunk to process this right now. He’d already found it hard to wrap his head around the fact he had one soulmate, but two? It happened sometimes, sure, but not to him. Two people who could love him, supposedly for forever. It’s impossible.

James pulls him from his thoughts by holding out his hand. Tony stares at it, confused, before slowly taking it in his own hand. “I’m James Rhodes,” James says, shaking his hand. “I think we’re soulmates.”

“Hi,” Tony says stupidly, staring up at his face instead of their clasped hands now. “I’m Tony Stark.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Tony.” James smiles, and even through his drunken haze, Tony doesn’t think he ever wants to look at anything else but that.

Pepper has never shown her soulmate mark to anyone. She keeps it hidden, even from the people she’s dating. Sex complicates things a little, but if someone really wants to dump her for keeping a bra on the whole time, they weren’t worth dating anyway.

Regardless, most people assume she doesn’t have one, and she likes it that way. If there’s someone out there who truly is perfect for her, they’ll have to earn her love just like anyone else.

So the first time she sees Tony Stark’s lower back, and the mark on it, she chokes on her coffee.

“Don’t be such a prude, Potts,” he remarks idly, because she’s holding paparazzi photos of him naked on a beach, and clearly he thinks she’s horrified by the sight of his bare ass.

She clears her throat, gratefully grabbing onto the unintended misdirection he provided. “I just hadn’t expected them to be such…clear shots.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. I even promised Rhodey nobody would find us there.”

And that’s the real kicker, isn’t it. She’s only been Tony’s P.A. for a few months, but she knows that Tony and Rhodes are an item, of the soulmate variety, despite them keeping it on the very down low. But here’s Tony Stark, nude photos in hand, bearing the same mark she has carefully covered above her right breast. Even if she was mistaken about him and Rhodes being soulmates, she certainly wasn’t going to break them up because of a silly bit of ink.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Stark,” she tells him firmly, gathering up the photos. “I’ll take care of this. The photos’ll be gone before you know it.”

Tony smiles, that same grateful little smile he seems to direct at her more often than not, the one she’s never sure how to interpret. “You’re the best, Potts.”

“I know,” she agrees with a nod, then heads off to get to work.

It’s fine for years until finally it isn’t. She’s not sure where the tipping point is—the incident in Afghanistan? Before that? The night he danced with her and then disappeared? Whenever it is, she’s watching Tony tell the world he is Iron Man, and something breaks.

She loves Tony Stark.

He and Rhodey are still together though, and she’s not breaking up a relationship that’s gone on, from what she can tell, for over a decade. She loves Tony Stark and he doesn’t love her. Which is fine. She’s always thought this soulmate nonsense was exactly that: nonsense. Nothing in the world is perfect and fated and whatever other lies the media likes to tell about soulmates. Real people have problems.

Granted, most people’s problems don’t involve kidnappings and betrayal and giant metal suits, but Tony’s always been special.

It’s not until Tony’s handing her the keys to the kingdom, so to speak, that she personally snaps.

“That’s it! I can’t do this anymore,” she mutters, setting down her glass of champagne and grabbing the hem of her shirt instead.

Tony, understandably, freaks out as she pulls her shirt off. “Jesus, Pep, stop—you don’t have to have sex with me to get the company, that’s not—”

She ignores him, dropping her shirt, and tugs at the edge of her bra, revealing the blue mark there, almost too pale to see against her fair skin. Tony freezes, shocked into silence. Pepper takes this rare opportunity to speak.

“I haven’t said anything because I know you and Rhodey...you’ve got something really good, and I didn’t want to mess that up. You’re my best friends, and honestly, soulmates are ridiculous, you know? So what if we’ve got matching tattoos we didn’t ask for? Why does that have to mean—”

Tony finally finds his voice only to say, “Oh my God, Pepper,” and she startles, falling silent. Instead of saying anything else, Tony pulls out his phone, fingers flying across the screen, and she frowns in confusion.

“What are you—?” She catches sight of a series of what look like racy photos and she leans back, saying, “Don’t you dare show me a dick pic right now, Tony.”

“No, wait, listen.” He taps on one to enlarge it, using his other hand to cover anything indecent in the photo. It wouldn’t have mattered either way, because Pepper only has eyes for the mark on Rhodey’s leg—because whose else could it be? Her jaw drops slightly, staring at a second identical mark to her own.

“So you—you are soulmates?” Her brow wrinkles in confusion, looking back up at Tony.

“I think we’re all soulmates,” Tony says slowly, looking her straight in the eye, and Pepper sees only sincerity and, to her surprise, hope.

“I think you need to call Rhodey,” she says after taking a deep breath, picking up her shirt and putting it back on. “We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

“I can’t believe I told you we were soulmates and you didn’t tell us you were dying!” she shouts as soon as they’re all alone. Vanko’s done, Hammer’s in jail, SHIELD finally isn’t bothering them, the expo’s a mess, but at least they’re all together and alive.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” Tony says weakly, because it had sounded like a good idea at the time but now that he’s faced with Pepper and Rhodey’s wrath it was clearly a terrible idea.

“Oh yeah, because your behavior really rid us of any worry,” Rhodey snaps, then sighs, wrapping his arms around Tony and pulling him into a tight hug. “You idiot.”

Pepper hovers on the edge of the hug, uncertain, then steps in to throw her arms around them both. Tony just closes his eyes and basks in their warmth until Rhodey lets go and steps back, saying,

“All right, so let’s see it.”

“See what?”

He points to Tony’s chest and oh yeah, neither of them have seen the new reactor. Suddenly embarrassed, he pulls up the hem of his shirt, showing them the new design. It’s a circle, of course, with two triangles inside it, and lines connecting the outer triangle to the circle. Their full soulmark, finally complete.

“Oh,” Pepper says very quietly, hand covering her mouth.

Rhodey smiles, grabbing Tony’s hands and tugging them away from his shirt, drawing him back into his embrace. “You’ve always been a huge sap.”

“I’m still mad at you,” Pepper mumbles, but she doesn’t stop them from pulling her back into the hug too.

“I think I can live with that,” Tony replies, settling his hand on her hip, “as long as it means you’re sticking around.”

Pepper smiles, glancing between both men and their hopeful expressions. “Yeah. I guess it does.”