#unbeta’d forgive my mistakes

[runraerun]

Billy with hanahaki disease ?🌸?

Pain!:’)

I love it! Here ya go🌸🩸

Fic prompts are: OPEN if anyone else is interested 💌 -> 📬

Tw; blood, slight body horror.

—

It started shortly after Billy moved to this shitty little town in the middle of assfuck nowhere. He chalked it up to the air quality being dogshit compared to California, or maybe he was allergic to that pungent smell of manure that the locals seemed totally nose blind to. The absolute last thing he would have considered was a goddamn plant had started growing inside of him–a love plant.

It was rare. You were only susceptible to it if you had a certain gene that you inherited from your maternal line. Lucky him.

Guess he can’t say his mom left him with nothing when she packed her shit up and skipped town. No, instead of a forwarding address, Billy’s mom left him her shitty, fairy genes. Thanks, Mom. Real swell of you.

“Has there been anyone you’ve had your eye on?” The school nurse asks, voice pitched low, gentle, like she was trying to soothe some kind of volatile beast.

Billy spits another mouthful of blood into the pan he’s holding, the crumpled up flower petals that he’d just finished hacking up look like chunks of his lung rather than a part of a plant. Runs his tongue along his teeth to try and fish anything out that may have gotten left behind in the carnage.

“No.” He says, stubbornly. He doesn’t look up from the pan.

“Well, Hanahaki disease can only take root under very specific circumstances. It feeds off a pheromone our bodies release when we experience a certain emotion; the stress of a love that’s unrequited. It’s the only–”

“I said no, alright?” Billy barks, voice still a little ragged from his coughing fit. Like he’d swallowed with a mouthful of gravel. “Get off my back.”

The nurse sighs, but she doesn’t move to stop him when he puts the pan down beside him and gets to his feet.

“It’ll only get worse if you ignore it, Mr. Hargrove.” She warns.

“Don’t fucking call me that.” Billy mutters, but he doesn’t have the energy to put any heat behind his words, so it doesn’t do much to wipe that stupid sympathetic look from her face. He grabs his jean jacket and leaves, shoving the door open with enough force that it slams back against the wall.

Despite his repeated denial, Billy knew who was responsible for this fucking mess.

Steve Harrington.

With his perfect hair and his stupid fucking Bambi eyes, lighting up every goddamn room he strode into with those long legs of his. Jesus… How could Billy ever have stood a chance?

Just thinking of him brought a tickle to the back of Billy’s throat. He suppresses a cough into his fist as he stomps down the hallway, now empty due to everyone else having gone home for the day. Except Billy, who of course couldn’t fucking breathe after gym class today after getting a little too rough with Steve.

It hadn’t been anything out of the ordinary, but something about the way Steve elbowed Billy away, how he barked at him to give him some breathing space, yelled at Billy to fuck off already—it had Billy’s chest acting up.

He held out for most of the class, fighting against the fucking petals that were pushing their way up through his fucking esophagus by beating at his chest, shouting to clear his airways, but then in the showers, Steve had avoided him completely. Had somehow managed to slip and out of the stalls without Billy noticing, depriving him of their usual naked back and forth banter that Billy had come to look forward to.

It was one thing for Steve to hate him, but it was another thing entirely for Steve to be indifferent toward him. That was way fucking worse.

The sting of rejection quickly turned to a coughing fit, worse than any he had experienced before. Like he’s hacking up a fucking lung. A few of the other boys had asked him, ‘you okay man?’ or, ‘should we get the coach?’, and worst of all, ‘oh shit is that blood?’

Billy was barely able to shove his legs back into his jeans and shoulder one of his classmates out of his way before he stumbled into the nurse’s office.

Fat lot of good that did him…

He’s gotta pick up Max. He can’t afford to hang around and talk about his pathetic, one-sided love with a complete stranger anyway. Billy leaves the school, gets into his car, puts the windows down and cranks the music as loud as he can stand it, and he tries very hard not to think about Steve and this ever growing thing that’s taken root inside of his chest, steadily consuming him from the inside out.

Christ, who knew he was such a fucking romantic…

[ilovemesomekillianjones]

Mokamotani - A Captain Swan Neverland New Year One Shot

A/N: Thank you to the @neverlandnewyear moderators for hosting again! This is one of my favorite events because I just love all the Neverland goodness packed into one month. Unbeta’d, please forgive the mistakes that I’m sure exist but really hope are not there.

Mokamotani - to speak straight, tell the truth

Manitou - peace

Summary: Emma thought the time for truths had passed with the Echo Cave, but a newly rescued Henry and a magical snack prove otherwise. If Emma thought the Echo Cave had been soul-baring enough for a lifetime, she has another thing coming. Hopefully Hook can step in and help save the day. Who am I kidding, you know what I write, of course he can. Fluff, Humor, some ugly truths, some funny truths.

Rated T

Words 4.6k

ao3

ffnet

Under the cut, for realsies

It had been A. Day. Emma looked around at the people who surrounded her. The maddening rush of thoughts in her head wouldn’t allow her to listen to the jovial goings on as everyone chattered about Henry’s rescue. She was having a hard time processing, difficulty unwinding, everything was falling into place, yet she still couldn’t relax.

Her son was alive, he was safe, they were going home. She glanced from her parents to Regina, to Neal, and finally to Hook, where her son sat talking animatedly with the pirate about some jungle berry, or something. She couldn’t concentrate as errant thoughts swirled in her mind. An orphan, is that really what defined her?

She shook her head as negativity started to intrude once more, trying to focus on all the family around her instead. She liked them all enough, though she wanted nothing to do with some of them, and she loved others. She chuckled under her breath as she realized that it really was a thin line between love and hate.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head against the tree trunk where she sat poised to just watch the crowd. The lost ones, all bustling and milling about, collecting what scant belongings they had, were coming home with them, which made preparation for the voyage a little more in depth. And while the Jolly had been readied, they would need to wait till sundown if they intended to follow the stars of the night sky home. Gold had not needed Pandora’s box after all, nor had Henry been Gold’s undoing. As such, both the Dark One, very much alive, and Pan, very much deceased, would be making the trek with them, though Pan would be receiving a burial at sea before hitting Storybrooke.

My parents want a new baby…

Hook is going to win my heart?

David almost died and he lied about it…

Neal is alive…

What is shared custody going to be like?

Is it worse to have to share custody with the Evil Queen or your ex?

An orphan… Fucking Pan and his fucking games.

~/~

“Are Mokamotani berries poisonous, Captain?” Henry asked, holding out a handful of deep purple berries.

“No lad, they’re not poisonous, though they do have some properties that may or may not be… welcomed by the person who ingests them.”

“Awesome!”

“Don’t you want to know what they do?” Hook asked.

“I already know what they do,” Henry answered with a bright smile. “Thanks!”

“Be careful what you do with those, the secrets they hold can be dangerous,” Hook warned as Henry bounded off across the camp.

“I will,” the boy called over his shoulder.

“Hook!” David called, holding up a tangled knot of rope. “Give us a hand?”

“I’ve only got the one left, mate,” he called back cheekily, but headed over to help the prince anyhow.

~/~

“Mom!”

Emma jumped as Henry’s excited voice jarred her from the fitful sleep she didn’t know she’d fallen into. He plopped down next to her and she immediately wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“What’s up, kid,” she asked, a genuine smile creasing her lips. Having him close made her feel grounded.

“Have you ever heard of Mokamotani berries?”

Emma shook her head no as she peered down at the dark purple berries in Henry’s palm. They looked disturbingly like the nightlock berries Katniss had offered Peeta at the end of Hunger Games, though Henry’s hand was marginally cleaner. “You have to be careful, Henry! They could be poisonous.”

Before Emma could brush them out of Henry’s hand in a panicky surge of overprotectiveness, he pulled his hand back. “They’re not mom, I’m 11, not stupid. Plus I asked Hook, he knows everything about Neverland.”

Emma laughed at Henry’s sass and ruffled his hair. “I know you’re not stupid, I just didn’t know you’d already checked with an expert. Since when are you and Hook buddies?”

“He’s pretty cool, mom. And you wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t offered the Jolly Roger.”

“When did you get so wise,” she asked, narrowing her eyes as if studying him.

“Grandma says I’ve always been wise beyond my years.”

“Hmmm, Grandma’s pretty wise herself, so she must be right.” That was going to get some getting used to, Mary Margaret as a grandma.

“Want to try one?” Henry asked, holding the berries out to her.

“Sure.” Emma reasoned that if Hook and her son both said they were safe, then they must be safe before grabbing one and popping it in her mouth. “Mmmm, those are delicious.” When she went to grab another, Henry pulled his hand back. “Hey, you’re not gonna share with your mom?” Emma asked, giving him her best puppy dog face.

“Well, maybe just one more won’t hurt.”

“You have like 30,” she said, grabbing three more berries and popping them in her mouth.

“Mom, don’t!” Henry yelled, but before he could stop her, they were down the hatch.

“Wait,” Emma said, a slight frown on her face, “what do you mean ‘won’t hurt’?”

“Well… er… uh,” Henry stammered.

“Henry, what’s going on,” Emma whispered, worry making her chest constrict and her stomach drop.

“It’s just that, Pan told me about these berries-”

“Pan! I thought you said Hook told you about them?” Emma’s voice rose as fear coursed through her veins like ice. Or maybe like fire, suddenly she was a little hotter than just Neverland hot.

“What is it, love,” Hook approached with a cavalier gait, “I heard you call out my name,” he smirked, making the sentence sound as lewd as it possibly could.

“You’re so goddamn gorgeous, Hook,” Emma spit as if that was a reasonable response to what he’d just said.

Hook did a double take, all the cocky bravado wiped from his face as he dumbfoundedly looked at her.

The camp suddenly went extraordinarily quiet, and for a split second, no one moved, all eyes were on Emma. When the moment passed and everyone started tending back to their tasks, Mary Margaret, David, Regina, and Neal were all suddenly within very close proximity.

Emma’s eyes turned as big as the helm of the Jolly Roger and she physically slapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she’d actually just said. Substantial horror spread on Emma’s face, her eyebrows raising toward her hairline. “What did you do, Henry?” she mumbled from behind her hand.

Henry had a slightly chagrined look on his face as he watched his mom’s cheeks burn with embarrassment. “Umm, Pan told me about these truth berries and I asked Hook if they were poison and he said they weren’t.”

“So you decided to try the truth berries on me?”

“Well, I just wanted to…”

“Have I lied to you about something?” Emma asked with exasperation in her voice.

“Take it easy, Em,” Neal said.

Emma shot him a death glare, but before she could commence with the string of angry words that felt like bullets that needed to be fired, her son spoke again.

“Pan says all adults lie,” Henry mumbled before two of the biggest tears Emma had ever seen rolled down her son’s cheeks.

“Pan’s a liar,” she said through gritted teeth. Framing his small face with her hands, Emma looked into her son’s eyes. “Everything Pan told you was probably a lie.”

“He said you didn’t love me enough and that’s why you gave me up.”

“Henry,” Emma half-sobbed before wrapping him in her arms. “I love you more than anything.”

“You do?” he murmured.

Pulling him back so she could make eye contact again, Emma grasped both his hands and held them in hers. “Of course,” she whispered, “you’re my baby.” She wiped Henry’s tears from his cheeks and smiled at him.

“I love you too, mom,” he gushed. “I remember, I know you gave me up to give me my best chance.” Henry wrapped his arms tightly around her neck.

“If I’d had any other options, I would’ve kept you,” she cried.

“I know,” Henry said, “I’m sorry I doubted you.”

“It’s not your fault, you do not need to apologize,” Emma said, straightening up and standing. “That’s Pan and his fucking games.”

“Language, Miss Swan!” Regina chastised.

“Oh, don’t even correct me, Madam Mayor, the stories I could tell about your behavior are less than savory for our son.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Please stop with the prim and proper act. You need to get laid, you were much more manageable when Graham was plucking your apples.”

Regina folded her arms across her chest and did that annoying thing with her mouth that Emma hated. It actually made her want to laugh a little right now and oh shit, did I really just say that out loud?

“Lad, how many did you give her,” Hook asked.

“Only one, but then she took three more,” Henry said with a guilty look on his face.

“Perhaps next time you’ll heed my warnings, young sire?” Hook chuckled.

“You think this is funny?” Regina spat.

“On the contrary,” Hook answered nonchalantly, “it could get quite ugly. I’d suggest you all take your leave.”

“What do you mean by ‘quite ugly’?” David asked.

“Will she be okay?” Mary Margaret added.

“Oh, aye, she’ll be ok-”

“Stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emma interrupted. “Please just tell me what these truth berries do?”

“They’re called Mokamotani berries, and they enhance one’s desire to… speak the truth.”

“Okay, so… what’s wrong with answering truthfully.”

“I can see inside that head of yours, Swan. You’ve a lot to say and you probably haven’t said most of it to a soul. Everything you’ve bottled up over the-”

“Who are you, Dr. Phil? Just… no one will ask me any questions and we won’t have any problems. How ‘bout that?” Emma was beginning to feel as though she were under a magnifying glass. Or like Alice in Wonderland, when she drank the potion that made her bigger than everyone else and she was a spectacle to stare at. Hook’s psycho mumbo-jumbo wasn’t helping either, which is why she’d cut him off.

“Well, I don’t know who this Phil fellow is, but back to the issue - that might’ve worked if you’d just had one berry,” Hook hedged.

“But…” Emma rolled her hand at the wrist prompting Hook to continue.

“Well, one berry causes one to speak straight and be honest if asked a question. Two berries would make one inclined to elaborate and go into finer detail when waxing poetic on their truths. But three or more Mokamotani, well, that makes the lucky individual feel compelled to give breath to every truth that weighs on their mind, regardless of what is asked of them. It’s like the Echo Caves… but at a catastrophic level.”

Real dread filled Emma as she stared at Hook. He was telling the truth, she could read it all over his ridiculously chiseled face. All the thoughts she’d been battling before she dozed off under the tree began to bombard her senses. The Echo Caves had been catastrophic, hadn’t they? At least for her, a person who hated verbalizing feelings, it’d seemed pretty terrible to have to confess truths out loud. Emma considered herself much more of an “actions speak louder than words” type of gal.

Movement caught her eye off to Hook’s left. “Coward,” Emma spat.

“I beg your pardon, love,” Hook asked with all the affront that a man who’d just been wrongly accused of being a coward should feel.

“Not you,” Emma answered. Neal turned around and caught her eye. “Leaving?” A small smile tilted up the corner of Emma’s mouth as she sneered at her ex. “Situation getting too tough for you again? Afraid everyone here is going to find out what really happened?”

Neal held his hands up, a pleading expression taking over his face. “Babe,why can’t we just let bygones be bygones, or at least discuss this in private.”

“Do not call me babe!”

“Oh, the pirate can call you love, but I can’t call you babe?”

“The pirate has a name, Neal, and he never did anything to land me in a ja sl fr evnmmfs,” Emma’s words began to garble at the end of her sentence as she once again clamped her hands over her mouth. No one needed to know that Neal’s ass-hattery had landed her in jail for eleven months.

“What?” David boomed.

“In where,” Henry asked?

“How about you and I go make sure that we are all prepared for the trip home,” Regina told Henry, wrapping her arm around the boy's shoulder.

Emma continued muttering into her hands as the questions were asked, unable to stop the impending rant, but very much wanting to spare herself the pity. She looked at Regina and nodded her head up and down, to take Henry, while also not wanting to risk saying anything aloud.

“She better not have said what I think she said,” David menaced as he turned to face Neal squarely, hands on his hips and a deep frown etched into his brows. “That would make you worse than a coward.”

“You were just going to up and die without a word to anyone,” Emma blurted out before Neal could respond to David. Dammit, she cursed herself, Hook was spot on. She hadn’t even been asked a question that time. “Sorry, I didn’t… well I did mean it, but… ugh!” She resorted back to just covering her mouth again.

David’s face twisted with guilt, unsure of what to say, knowing that any sort of explanation would likely only bring on more of a verbal attack from his daughter. While he knew Emma had valid cases to make, he also knew his daughter well enough at this point to know she did not desire a public forum to vent any of the issues that were weighing her down.

“Emma,” Mary Margaret said, edging toward her daughter, “I know you have a lot to say and I know you have a lot of hurt. Why don’t we go to Manitou Spring and I can be your sounding board. We can just talk until these berries wear off.”

Emma shook her head no. It was almost burning her throat to not answer with the truth of how she felt about the idea. But that would just be hurtful to say what was resting at the tip of her tongue. Perhaps she should just separate herself from the group since none of them were heeding Hook’s advice to take their leave.

“No, you don’t want to go to the spring or no, you don’t want to-”

“I wouldn’t ask her questions you don’t really want the answers to, milady,” Hook interrupted Mary Margret, a sympathetic tone coloring his words..

“I can handle the answer,” the former bandit assured, inhaling deeply and looking at her daughter once more. “I just want what’s best for you, Emma. You don’t want to go to the spring, or you don’t want to go with me?”

“I don’t want to go with you,” Emma whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

Mary Margaret nodded her head in understanding. “And that’s okay. What do you want, honey?”

Emma thought for a moment as such a broad question brought hundreds of thoughts to her brain. A grilled cheese and onion rings sounded absolutely fucking fantastic, but somehow she was sure her dinner preferences were not what her mother was referring to at this time. She really wanted to talk, it was such a foreign concept, wanting to express words, but she also didn’t want to hurt anyone.

“I want to go sit in a tree house,” she giggled a little as that thought came unbidden, but they’d passed many while on their treks through this jungle.

“You shouldn’t go by yourself,” David and Hook pointed out in unison.

“I’d say that pretty much makes us mates now, prince.”

David rolled his eyes but nodded approvingly.

“I want Hook to go with me,” Emma added, biting her lip nervously as she looked at her mom.

“Hook?” Neal spat.

“Yes,” Emma growled, turning to shoot daggers at Neal through slitted eyes, “and I don’t like your mustache.” She sighed deeply and hung her head as the jibe escaped her lips. After a moment to regroup, she turned back to her mother to gauge the woman’s reaction. She was relieved to see a calm acceptance instead of hurt or anger.

Both women smiled at each other and then looked toward Hook. His eyebrows were furrowed, one raised slightly higher than the other, and his head was cocked to one side as if he hadn’t quite heard her correctly.

“Earth to Hook?” Mary Margaret called out. “You up to the challenge?”

“Oh , I love a challenge, Your Highness,” Hook sassed, seeming to snap out of his stupor, “besides, there is no ugly truth you can say to a one-handed pirate with a drinking problem that he’s not heard told before.” Stepping up to Emma’s side and giving her an introductory bow, he stated, “Killian Jones, at your service, lass.”

“I love your accent,” Emma confessed, then blushed a deep red. “For fuck’s sake, how long is this going to last?”

“Mokamotani berries don’t exactly have a timer, Swan. But if you drink a lot of water it will help to quicken their course.”

“Well, let’s go find us a fresh water source then or I’m liable to start drinking David’s magic water just so I’ll stop embarrassing myself.”

Hook laughed loudly at this as they both looked toward David. Rumple had tricked Pan, (which was no small feat), into telling him how to truly cure David’s nightshade poisoning, so even though David was cured, they were still bringing a large amount of the healing water home with them to study the properties and hopefully reproduce them.

“Just kidding, Dad,” Emma smiled, “and you know I’m not lying.”

~/~

They’d walked together in silence, and although it’d been peaceful, the buzz to just talk and say every little thing that crossed her scattered thoughts was building under her skin.

“Let’s get these filled.” Hook pulled the canteen from around his shoulder and held out his hook for Emma’s canteen. “I suggest you start drinking.”

Emma knelt down at the shore’s edge and scooped up water in her hands. Though not the easiest or most convenient, she knew he was right. Once he’d filled both canteens and Emma had drank as much as she could handle for the moment, he pointed out a treehouse about 50 yards away.

“I’m gonna have to pee in no time.” Emma rolled her eyes as she spoke the words that really didn’t need to be anyone’s business.

“I figured as much,” Hook stated matter of factly, “that’s why I chose this locale, it has water and this particular treehouse’s owner was quite savvy in building an outhouse of sorts. It won’t be what you’re used to, but it’s better than the jungle floor.”

“You really are a gentleman, aren’t you?”

“Said I was, does that surprise you?” he asked with a wink.

“It actually doesn’t anymore,” she admitted. Then chuckling, she added, “And you have a terrible wink. I mean it’s definitely cute when you do it, but it’s only supposed to be one eye and yours is more like one and a half.”

“Cute,” he muttered, “you could get a pirate executed for calling him cute. Puppies are cute. I, on the other hand, am devilishly handsome, or as some might say, goddamn gorgeous.”

“Oh my god, you’re never going to let me live that down, are you?” Emma fretted.

“Never,” he agreed, “but it can be our little secret.”

“I’m pretty sure the whole camp heard.”

Hook just chuckled and then pointed her toward the outhouse. He then pointed toward the treehouse with his hook, “Much easier than climbing a beanstalk, though I can wait for you down here if you want. I just thought you’d like your privacy.”

“I’ll meet you up there,” Emma answered with a shy smile.

Once she’d relieved herself, she made her way up the tree ladder. When she entered, she was amazed at her surroundings, a makeshift bed and table. Tree branches fashioned into drawers and decorations even. “Whose was this?” she asked, curious as to what lost boy kept such a tidy space.

“This was Wendy’s home.”

“That makes sense, no wonder there’s an outhouse. She was very organized and innovative. I guess you’d have to be when you’re one of the few girls on an island full of orphans.”

“Aye, she held her own.” Hook patted the spot next to him where he sat with his back against the wall.

“I’m an orphan,” Emma murmured, apropos of nothing as she joined him in sitting on the floor-bed. Except for that is when the Mokamotani floodgate opened. A veritable diary’s worth of secrets and losses and hurts that had weighed on her soul since the beginning of cognizance began to pour out of her.

Emma told him about her parents giving her up and why they did it, and how it made her feel as a child, and how it made her feel now. She told him about growing up in the foster care system and some of the families who were great and others who were not so great. Lily, her best childhood friend came to her mind and she told him of their shenanigans and eventual falling out. Hook made her laugh when he’d called her a pirate in the making as she told him about her days as a thief. She told him about meeting Neal and the heartbreak of that eventual betrayal, her time in jail, and how she couldn’t even look at Henry when he was born because she was afraid to make the wrong decision if she were to even look at him; she may have shed a tear while talking about giving up her precious baby boy.

Emma was calm throughout her confessions, like she was telling a story, and Hook, for his part, sat and listened avidly. She told him how she got into bail bonds, and what her life was like before Storybrooke, how she found it lacking, how she’d been surviving but never really thriving. She told him about Henry showing up at her door after a simple birthday wish and the entire rest of the journey that had brought her to Neverland.

When she came to the conclusion of everything that had been weighing on her soul, well most everything, she found that the urge to spill wasn’t quite so dire as it had been just moments before. She felt a catharsis wash over her and a relieved sigh rushed from her lips.

“Thank you for trusting me,” Hook softly spoke.

“I do, you know?”

“You do what?”

“I do trust you. And I knew, even way back then, I shouldn’t have left you on top of that beanstalk, but I was just so scared of being wrong about another man. You helped me get back to my son though, and here, you helped me save my son’s life. Can you forgive me, Killian?” she asked as tears began to brim her eyes.

Hook wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her into his side. His breath caught in his throat at the sound of his name on her lips and he needed to hear her say it again. “Hush, there’s nothing to forgive. I understand your reasons, darling, I understood them then.”

Emma rested her head on his shoulder, delighting in the comfort she felt in his presence. After a few moments, she could feel the buildup of more truths gathering, wanting their chance to be heard. She had already said so much, and she’d been able to avoid any confessions involving the man by her side. Realizing that was quickly coming to an end, Emma started to fidget.

“Why me, Swan?”

Emma inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. She’d known this question would come eventually, and really the answer was already on the tip of her tongue. Sitting up straight, she turned to face him and despite the raw desire to tell the truth, she still analytically felt the hesitance, it was a bizarre combination.

Looking right into his eyes, Emma laid the entirety of it on him. “Because we are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in you. And for some reason, I just know that… you won’t judge me. You won’t pity me. You won’t let me fall. You won’t let me feel alone, but you won’t smother me either. You know I am not just an orphan, or the product of true love, or the savior. You understand me, you know me, as impossible as that sounds.”

Emma felt a shift in the air around them, like something had been cracked open, and maybe it was her heart, but in a good way, or maybe she was just imagining it, but a once tenuous connection had just been sealed as solid, of that she was sure. For some odd reason, she also knew that the Mokamotani had almost completely worn off. She didn’t feel the compulsion anymore, like that last confession had cleansed her soul.

Hook was blushing, and focussing quite steadfastly at a spot on the ground.

“You weren’t expecting all that, huh?” she chuckled as she placed her hand under his chin to make him look at her.

“Emma, you’ve woken my long dead heart, and I hope you know that I meant what I said in Dark Hollow.”

“I know,” she nodded her head, “and if I’m being honest, which… I’m pretty sure I’m not being forced to be anymore, you’ve already started to win my heart.” She placed her hand on his face and swept her thumb over his cheekbone.

That brilliant smile, the one he always gave her when he was just too pleased for words was slapped on his face and she wanted to kiss him so badly. Leaning in closer toward him, she made one last confession, “But I did lie to you about one thing.”

“What’s that, Swan?” he uttered, glancing down at her soft full lips, just inches from his.

“It was never going to be a one-time thing.” Emma didn’t waste another moment with words. She’d talked more this afternoon than she had since they’d gotten to this forsaken island. Her fingers glided from his cheeks up into his hair and she pressed her lips to his, just a tentative, gentle thing, the most innocent of kisses. “Let the fun begin, Killian,” she whispered.

With a growl, he pulled her onto his lap, her knees straddling his thighs and he pulled her mouth back to his. This time was as fiery as the first, all tongue and teeth, biting and sucking of lips, fingers tangled into hair and gently grasping as if afraid the other might disappear.

“Say it again, love,” he panted when they broke to inhale deeply before diving right back in.

She smiled against his lips, “Kiss me, Killian,” she demanded, before sucking the tip of his tongue into her mouth and circling it with hers.

“As you wish, Emma,” he groaned into her mouth, once she’d allowed him to speak again.

They made out in the treehouse like teenagers hiding away from the world; touching and teasing, cuddling and rubbing. It was perfect, and it was enough… for now. The future would hold more, and an innate sense of home washed over them both as they continued to kiss. The fun had begun, indeed.

Tagging some lovelies, please let me know if you would like to be added or removed - @laschatzi @xhookswenchx @hollyethecurious@kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @qualitycoffeethings @hookedonapirate @teamhook @resident-of-storybrooke @kday426 @jennjenn615 @gingerchangeling @djlbg @elizabeethan @lfh1226-linda @tiganasummertree @xarandomdreamx @alexa-fangirl-forever @lifeinahole27 @ultraluckycatnd @vvbooklady1256

[maeve-writes]

Heroes

Pairing: Stripper!Bucky Barnes x Reader x Stripper!Steve Rogers

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI 

Warnings: Adult situations, alcohol consumption, allusion to mild cheating(??). More to be added later.

Summary: It’s your friend’s birthday and you’re dragged to the Heroes club. You’re not one for that kind of place, but you quickly change your mind after you get to play the damsel in distress for a pair of Brooklyn babes. 

a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. This is the second story I’ve written in a while. Forgive me?

You normally don’t go to these sorts of places but it was your friend’s 30th birthday and it was on her bucket list. Luckily, you weren’t talked into planning any of it, just had to toss in some cash for the fee to get in and the never ending flow of drinks, plus the very special Birthday Girl Dance package.

It took you three years after the second Magic Mike movie came out to watch the first one. The idea of male strippers seemed odd. But, when you really thought about it, so did female strippers. 

Nevertheless, the night ultimately wasn’t about you, it was about your friend and her birthday. You were happy to be there with your friends, enjoying the celebration and drinks, seeing hot guys take off their clothes was a weird added bonus.

Heroes was the club to go if you wanted to see buff dudes bare it all. Tara, the birthday girl, had been raving about it for months. She found videos of it online and shared them in your group chat. That, of course, had your other friends looking for more videos and all of them started to have their favorites.

“Girl, some of them even give private shows,” Sonya, the oldest and who was supposed to be the responsible one of your group, mock-whispered excitedly.

You tried not to roll your eyes as your gang was escorted to the front table near the stage. It was a semicircular booth where small round tables came up from the floor, big enough for drinks, but small and spaced out enough to allow for bodies to move around and in between.

Your host was a slender built guy on the younger side, barely old enough to be allowed in. He had a baby face and a boyish smile, but his muscles were well defined as the club forced him to be shirtless save for the small bow tie around his neck with a spider in the middle, and the tiny pair of shorts that cupped his rear which stayed there by what you guessed was his will or magic. Maybe both.

“Here you are, ladies,” he guided, instructing Tara to take her seat near the middle. “The name’s Peter- uh Spider-Man. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.”

That set off a fit of giggles from your friends which caused a full body flush from your waiter. His embarrassment tugged at your heartstrings. “New at this, Mr. Spider,” you asked.

His flush darkened and he rubbed absently at the back at his neck after he passed out the menus. “It’s Spider-Man,” he corrected you, “but is it that obvious?” You tilted your head and scrunched up your nose, parting your pointer and thumb a small ways apart. He laughed in return, his shoulders relaxing a little. You gave him a wink and a smile before the rest of your friends attacked the poor kid with their drink and food orders.

You felt sorry for the guy, but he seemed to have loosened up a bit since your small, playful banter and your friends ate up his boyish charm. 

While you waited for your turn to order, you looked around the club to find its sleek design, not something you thought a strip club would offer. The walls were painted black, accented by silver framed posters of the dancers. Above each were white neon lights that spelt out their Hero name.

The rest of the booths were like your own, made of soft black cushions, black metal bases which were illuminated underneath by white light. The tables that sprang from the ground were polished silver necks with textured tempered glass tops to keep drink slipping and spilling to a minimum.

Of course, all of the booths surrounded the stage, which was mostly closed off by a thick black curtain, save for the large catwalk that split half of the sitting area in two. It was wide enough to fit three large men comfortably across it, shoulder to shoulder, and from some of the videos your group shared, they had done so before.

When Peter- there was no way you were going to refer to him by his Hero name- got to your order last, you could hear other rowdy groups start to file in. A couple of bachelorette parties, a girl’s 21st birthday, and a Happy Divorce Finalization Day were all joining you. Your friends quickly became friends with everyone in the room, so even if the show sucked, at least all of you could get drunk and have fun.

“Excuse me, ladies,” a voice rang out above you. Cheers burst from the crowd and every light in the room popped out and stayed out until the room fell silent. “Now that I have your attention…” A tall, dark man walked out from the split of the curtains. He wore a wireless microphone over his ear, an eyepatch over his eye which rested just above a self assured smile. Dressed in a fitted pair of leather pants and combat boots, he strode to the center crossroads of the stage and catwalk, “My name is Director Fury. I will be introducing you to your Heroes tonight.” He paused for another round of catcalls. “And hopefully we can save you from the Villains, too.” That drew out louder screams from the crowd.

“Now, what do we do to the bad girls like you,” he paused, looking pointedly to the crowd, “we contain,” he pulled a piece of rope from the back of his pants and tossed it into a group nearby, “detain,” he pulled out cuffs and twirled them around a finger before he threw those out as well, “and entertain.” With that, the bass dropped and the curtain flew open, behind Director Fury were the Heroes (and Villains) in all of their sweat slicked glory. 

Once the Director stepped aside, the seven dancers on stage began their opening routine. Dressed in black vests and tear-away leather pants, the men paraded around the stage and catwalk to the thump of the music, pulling off pieces of their clothing as they went. The women around you went wild, snatching at whatever was tossed their way, fighting playfully for it. While it seemed incredibly silly, Tara was having the time of her life and you absently sipped at your Tequila Sunrise while you scrolled on your phone. 

The dance number finished not two minutes later with a screaming cheer and standing ovation from the rest of the already slightly tipsy crowd. Director Fury came out while the dancers disappeared into the back to get ready, he worked the crowd, mentioning the brides-to-be and promised them a very special wedding gift before the night was over. “But I heard there were a couple of birthdays here,” Fury said, looking between your group and the one behind you. “Now, I’m going to get the young gun back there in a moment, but… a little bird told me that you,” he pointed to your friend, “are a very big fan of our first Hero of the night.” 

Tara squealed and stood up, “Fuck yes, I am. God bless Captain America! ...and dat ass!”

It was obvious that Director Fury was trying to keep his composure, but the corners of his lips twitched like he wanted to join in on the laughter from the crowd. “Well, he is certainly blessed,” he replied, “and ladies, you will be, too, when you see him at full salute.” He winked and started to walk off stage, “Captain? Duty calls…”

Some sort of abomination of the Star Spangled Banner started to play, remixed with drum and bass. You looked up to see what kind of horror show would come from something treasonous as what bled from the speakers around you, you were met with over six feet of muscle covered in a fitted blue suit, fingerless leather gloves on his hands, and a round metal shield on his back painted red, white, and blue. 

The Captain’s background was what looked like a large war ship with painted ski-masked bad guys spread throughout the levels. His stage allowed him ramps and poles to move up and down, which he used freely. He used a mixture of acrobatics and dance to move across the stage, tossing the shield around, “fighting off the bad guys” and losing his clothes in the process. By the end of the song he was left in just the leather gloves and a very tight pair of shorts, much like the ones Peter wore, except the Captains had the same pattern of his shield printed across the backside. 

Tara’s screams knocked you out of your daze and you realized you hadn’t stared down at your phone at all during the Captain’s dance. You watched all five minutes of it and couldn’t tear your eyes away. Heroes wasn’t about getting drunk women horny, they wanted to put on a show, too. You clapped lightly, though it was drowned out by the cheering around you, but unbeknownst to you, it wasn’t unnoticed. 

Fury was out once again and he brought up the first bachelorette of the night. He put her in a chair on the catwalk and gave her a candy-garterbelt. Then he asked her waiter, a guy named “Ant Man”, to remove it with only his tongue, which he happily obliged. 

Peter cut off your view with another drink, one you didn’t order. “On the house,” he said with a lopsided grin and placed the red, white, and blue layered drink next to your nearly empty Sunrise. Before you could ask him who ordered it, the candy garterbelt was being tugged between the bachelorette and her waiter. It ended in a tongue-y kiss and the ladies went wild. 

“Let’s hope her future husband doesn’t mind,” you muttered and turned your attention to your phone once again. Director Fury, thankfully, broke up the awkward scene on stage and began to introduce the next dancers. It was a pair, brothers, apparently, and they worked on the good versus bad troupe. Thor and Loki were opposites in every sense of the word. Thor was a large blond with a commanding presence. He had a bright smile and sun kissed skin that looked great in his red and gold trimmed briefs. But his brother was slender, graceful - almost cat-like, with dark hair and a mischievous grin all wrapped in flawless alabaster skin. They didn’t look like brothers, but they moved around each other like they had been together all of their lives, and knew each other’s moves. 

You only caught half of their story, as you were already halfway done with, what you found out was called the American Glory drink, and half wondered if that was what Captain America tasted like. Fury was up again and had the young lady celebrating her 21st birthday take two shots and lick the salt from Thor and Loki’s still sweaty chests. 

Peter found his way in front of you again and said that someone needed to talk to you about your card being declined. You frowned and excused yourself from your friends to find out what was going on. There shouldn’t have been a problem, you got paid the day before, there was plenty of money in your account.

You were taken to a hall that connected what seemed like offices, the dressing room, and the route to the backstage. “Sorry,” Peter said sheepishly, “they said this was the only way to get you back here. Gotta go.” He waved and jogged back out to the lobby.

Confused, you were about to shout out after him when you felt a tap on your shoulder. When you turned, you faced that wall of American muscle beaming down at you. “Hey there,” he greeted, a smile almost blinding you from its perfection. “Don’t be too mad at the kid, I asked him to get you back here.”

“What,” was all you could get out. He was thankfully dressed, but his muscles were straining against the white tshirt and the gym shorts did not hide the package he carried. Even with all of that, what mesmerized you most was his eyes, sparkling blue and bright with amusement. 

“This next bit requires audience participation and he had someone in mind,” the Captain replied like he explained everything.

“We had someone in mind,” a voice corrected behind the door you two stood near. You tore your eyes away from the blond and eyed the wood barrier suspiciously. 

“Don’t worry,” Captain America laughed, capturing your attention once again, “it’s nothing too dangerous or embarrassing. You just have to sit there, pretend to be tied up, and me and Buck will dance around you.” He put his hands on his hips and tilted his head in thought, “Well, actually, you really will be tied up, but we promise we’ll let you go once we’re done.”

“Or not, if you don’t want us to,” came the voice again, which made the Captain laugh.

You blinked up at him and frowned, “What’s the catch?”

“There’s no catch,” he shook his head. “We might dance on you a little, if you don’t mind, the crowd likes it. But if not, we can work around that.” The thought of Captain America in those tiny shorts grinding on you was a very nice thought.

“‘Sfine,” you shrugged.

He beamed and reached out to squeeze you on the shoulder, his touch lingering and his thumb running along your collarbone. “I’ll let the stage team know.” Reluctantly, he dropped his hand and knocked on the door next to you both, “Five minutes.” When he heard a ‘yeah, got it’, the Captain motioned you to follow him. 

The stage crew took over and the Captain disappeared to get ready. You were told about the chair you’d be sitting in, the rope that would be tied around your chest and if you would be okay with it. There was some hesitation on your part, but ultimately you agreed. They brought you on stage, a winter wonderland of sorts and placed you on a log-like chair. The rope wasn’t tight, but it was obvious you were the damsel in distress. 

“One of you was taken,” Director Fury said from the other side of the curtain in front of you, “by The Winter Soldat. Will she survive? Will she be saved?” All of the lights turn off once again and an industrial heavy beat thrummed through the speakers, rattling your bones. Red stage lights shone down on you when the curtain pulled open and your friends lost their minds.

To your right you saw a figure stalk out of the dark, red light bouncing off a silver metal arm. A mask covered the lower half of his face, but his eyes were trained on you like you were prey. His black muscle shirt clung tightly to his chest, one sleeve missing to show off his arm, and his black tactical pants stretched against his thick thighs. You could feel the shaking of the stage from the stomps of his booted feet.

Eyes wide, you stared at him until he stopped short of your chair on cue with the music. His nostrils flared lightly before he moved again, the music flowing with him. He slung one leg over the side over your chair, straddling you. The metal arm clamped the wooden back rest of the chair and he narrowed his gaze. Lights flash around you, strobing from red to white and back again until they settle on the house lights. 

Soldat began to roll his body with the tempo, blue eyes locked with yours. You could hear the screams behind him as he dancing, but neither of you were paying attention. 

His hips circled until he’s seated on your lap, you’re practically nose to nose. He brought his flesh hand to the side of your face and you could feel it trembling against your skin. With him that close you could hear him mutter in some other language that isn’t English, you’re guessing Russian, but you’re not sure. Either way, you felt crushed by his weight and you liked it. You didn't want him to go. 

But the music changed and the lights started to flash again, red, white, and now blue mixed in. Captain America joined the two of you on stage and Soldat slipped from your lap. Just as Thor and Loki had before, these two moved around each other like they were made from the same mold. 

During the fight, pieces of clothing were tossed aside and at one point you were freed from your bonds. Soldat pulled you up from your chair and up against his chest, your backside pressed so tightly against him you could almost feel his heartbeat. He moved you with him as he continued to fight the Captain.

Until seconds before the song ended and the music swelled, the Captain landed one good blow to Soldat and sandwiched you between them. The Winter Soldier recalibrated and recognized his old friend and you. He pulled the Captain into a big bear hug and then picked you up bridal style, taking you off stage with cheers from the crowd.

Once you’re all off stage, he sat you down with a hearty laugh. “You did a fantastic job, sweetheart,” the Soldier praised, running his metal hand through his chin length brown hair. “Couldn’t have asked for a better dance partner.” Flushed from embarrassment and arousal, you continued to stare at him until you were joined by the Captain. “I told you she’d be great, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, Buck, you know how to pick ‘em,” the blond agreed with a smile.

“Thanks,” you replied breathlessly, finally coming out of your stupor. “That was… fun. I’m just going to go back to my seat now, I guess.”

“Wait,” the one named “Buck” jumped to stop you, “we were wondering if you wanted a private show?” You heard about those from Tara. You knew that they were exclusive and very expensive… and sometimes had happy endings. They seemed to sense your hesitation because they both added in unison as they eyed you up like you were a four course meal, “For free.”

“I never turn down free anything,” you shrugged. The pair turned to look at each other and their smiles turned to wicked grins. You aren’t sure what you got yourself into, but you’re pretty sure you were going to enjoy it.

a/n: Part Two coming soon... with smut!

[thirstworldproblemss]

On the kitchen table?!?? In front of the other TF boys?!?!

IT MUST BE WRITTEN

you and @keeper0fthestars have been called to a sacred task.

On the kitchen table?!?? In front of the other TF boys?!?! IT MUST BE WRITTEN you and @keeper0fthestars have been called to a sacred task.

Hi, anon friend!

I adore your enthusiasm, and I’m sorry to be slow with my reply--somehow I didn’t see this until another ask came in.  (Guys, I am really just a hot mess all the way around right now, and they just extended GS cookie sales for another month, 🤣😂😭 so please forgive me if I overlook things or am slow to respond.)

I’m gonna go ahead post what I’ve got for this, which is the lead up only, none of the actual eating out--Sorry!  (This is basically a cleaned up version of what I frantically typed into Keeper’s dms).  I don’t know that I’ll ever really write the whole thing, especially since it feels like it might be a rehash of the other Frankie-eating-you-out-on-the-kitchen-table fic I’m writing.  Maybe someday. 

[Confidential to the love anon:  It’s not too much, but it is taking me a whlie to gather my thoughts, so please have patience with me as you wait for my reply--It’s coming, I promise.  Thank you trusting me enough to ask.] 

Headcanon:  Frankie Agrees to Eat You Out In Front of the Other TF Boys

Pairing: Frankie x F!Reader (Triple Frontier) Words: just shy of 1k Rating: Mature, maybe? Content/Warnings: No actual sexytimes happening here--sorry, folks!  Just implied oral (m on f) and implied impending voyerism/exhibitionism during the same, then we fade to black. Unbeta’d.

----

So here’s the deal: you and Frankie are an item, and you tag along with the boys on one of their weekend trips to the lake house.

The “lake house” is actually more of a small cabin: just barely big enough for the five of you if the guys take turns sleeping on the couch, but at least you and Frankie get a room with a door.  Apparently not a very thick door though, because the boys overhear you crying out Frankie’s name one night (or day or afternoon), and of course they’re going to give you shit about it.

It’s later that night, once you’ve all had a few beers--not enough to be drunk, but enough that you’re feeling pleasantly loose and warm, and the rest of the crew is even louder and more disorderly than usual--that they start razzing you about it.

At first you don’t mind much.  You can tell that Frankie’s keeping an eye on the situation, gauging if you need him to step in, but you’re glad he doesn’t.  It feels kind of nice to be included in their habitual teasing and shit-talking, even if it’s a little embarrassing. 

It feels less nice several minutes later when they still haven’t let up and you’re wondering if it’s possible to die of mortification.  By this point, you’re so flustered that you’ve stopped thinking about what you’re saying, and you eventually come out with:

“I’m sorry! I tried to keep quiet, but Frankie’s just so good with his mouth!!” 

There’s a moment of shocked silence, then delighted grins spread across three faces, letting you know that you’ve made a horrible mistake.  There’s no way they’re gonna let it go now, and they start back in ribbing both you and Frankie mercilessly.  

Eventually Frankie gets fed up, gives them all a flat look, and deadpans, “If you pendejos needed some pointers, all you had to do was ask.”

Dead silence follows, and then...

“How about a demonstration!” Benny calls out. (Of course it’s Benny. It’s always Benny.)

Santi picks it up next. “Yeah, ‘Fish show us how it’s done!”  And he means it to be teasing, but he also knows the look that shows up in Frankie’s eye once he’s said it. “Fuck. You’d really give us a demonstration?”

Frankie doesn’t say anything, just turns to look at you with his head cocked just so.  (The other boys have gotten all quiet too, watching you, but you only have eyes for Frankie.)

You’re floored, because you’ve never done anything like that. Not with Frankie, not with anyone. And okay, maybe you’ve fantasized about being watched sometimes, but you didn’t think that would really be Frankie’s thing.  But here he is, shooting you that look, eyes all dark and intense, and heat blazes through you, making your already overheated cheeks burn and your entire lower body clench because, fuck, you want to.

You want to.

You stare at Frankie, trying to figure out how you can possibly say that out loud, but you must take you too long. The look on his face starts to change: dark invitation giving way to uncertainty.  

Quickly, before he can overthink it, you close the gap between the two of you, stepping into his space.  The last thing you want is for him to open his mouth and take it back. 

Frankie’s arms come around you immediately, and he leans down to whisper, voice earnest and apologetic, “Sorry, baby, if that was too much--”  Then he breaks off because you’re already shaking your head no.  

“I’m yours, Frankie,” you tell his collarbone.  

His arms tighten around you until they feel like steel bands around your back, reminding you all over again just how strong he is. You will never be over the strength of him.  

Pressed against him as you are, from knees to nose, and there’s no mistaking the bulge of--fuck--his hardening cock against your hip.  You ache for him, empty cunt clenching around nothing, and for a moment you’re tempted just to say fuck it and ask him to take you to bed; to hell with the thin walls. The other boys can listen in and get their vicarious rocks off that way.  

You’re so, so tempted, but there’s something else you want more. 

Are you really doing this?  

You grip Frankie’s shirt with anxious hands, feeling like you can barely breathe through the rush of nervous excitement.   

You’re really doing this. 

Lifting your head just enough to meet Frankie’s eyes, you continue, “If you want to show off… If you want to show me off…?”  You trail off suggestively, quirking an eyebrow up at him, making it a question (one last check-in to make sure he’s really on board), completely unable to stop the shit-eating grin that’s spreading across your face. 

The meaning of your words seem to hit him in stages. Watching it break across his face knocks the smile right off yours and nearly brings you to your knees.  

First his eyes widen in surprise, then narrow, and his throat works as he swallows. Oh god, you want to lick right there almost more than you want your next breath.  

Next he sucks in a harsh breath through his nose, and you feel his cock flex, pulsing hot and insistent against your hip.  The answering clench of your body has you shivering in his arms.

His eyes are boring into yours, pinning you as surely as his arms are, and you can see the muscles in his jaw tick.  Finally, he gives you the tiniest of nods.  

Oh god. Oh god. This is really happening.  And you want it to.  You have never in your life wanted anything as badly as you want Frankie’s mouth on you right here and now, in front of God, the boys, and everybody.

Another shiver works it’s way through you, tightening your throat but you make your recalcitrant body drag in a deep breath so you have enough air to raise your voice and make it an announcement: 

“Let’s show these idiots how it’s done.”

.

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[jensengirl83]

All Out Of Love

Dean x reader

Word Count-2228

Warnings-Angst, language, a little fluff, confession of feelings

Summary- Y/N and Dean have a heated argument about a hunt. Dean decides to leave the bunker, but what will he come back to? 

A/N- This idea came to me while listening to “All Out Of Love” by Air Supply. I hope you enjoy it!

Lyrics will be in italics. 

Unbeta’d. So, all my mistakes are my own. 

Text dividers courtesy of @talesmaniac89​

“What were you thinking?! You could’ve gotten yourself killed!” Dean shouted as he threw his duffle down on the table in the library. 

“Well, I’m sorry! I thought you would appreciate that I stepped in and saved your ass from being werewolf chow! My bad!” Y/N yelled back, furious that he was doing this again. 

“I had it handled!” 

“You did?! It looked like he was getting ready to rip your throat out when I walked in. That didn’t look like you had it handled to me,” 

“Y/N…” he growled, anger that she could’ve gotten hurt overtaking his rational thought. 

“Don’t, Dean! I’m not doing this again! I’m getting really tired of this same argument every time we have a rough hunt. I was a hunter before I met you, and I was a hunter before I became your girlfriend, and I’ll be a hunter for the rest of my life. So, this argument is pointless. I’m not going to stop…” 

“What if you would’ve gotten hurt, huh? You expect me to stand there and watch?!” 

“Yes, Dean! Just like you expect Sam and I to do! We’re all hunters. Injury comes with our job!” 

They were standing toe to toe now, both yelling and throwing their hands in the air as the argument kept raging. Sam sat at the table in the library, waiting to step in if need be, just like the other times this same fight had been had. Dean would always freak out if there were even a small chance that Y/N could’ve been hurt. It always ended the same way, in an argument, but this time would end very differently than all the others. 

“I refuse to stand there and watch you die, Y/N! Don’t you get it? It’s not going to happen!” he yelled, grabbing his keys and walking past her. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, spinning on her heels to follow him. 

“I’m going out!”

“Of course you are! The big bad Dean Winchester is running away as usual when things get too hard!” she said, grabbing the back of his jacket, trying to stop him. She wasn’t letting him leave this time. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” he questioned her, his anger at a dangerous breaking point now. 

“It means that this is what you do every single time! You’re not doing it this time. We’re going to talk this out like adults!” she demanded. 

“You know what, sweetheart,” he growled, leaning down close to her, “Screw you…If you don’t like that, the doors over there,” 

With that, he turned around and walked up the steps and out the door. She stood frozen in shock as she watched him walk away. He had never spoken to her like that. They have had their fights, and harsh words have been said, but this was different. He had never told her to leave, never had the look of what she could almost believe was hatred towards her he had tonight. 

“Y/N…” Sam whispered, in as much shock as she was at his brother’s behavior. 

“It’s fine, Sam. I’m going to bed. Good night,” she faked a smile, kissing him on the cheek as she made her way to the room that before tonight, she shared with Dean. 

Dean had stumbled back in hours later, drunk, but finally calmed down. He had thought about their argument and realized he had taken things too far this time. He should’ve never spoken to her as he did, but his fear of losing her had won out this time. When she had tackled the werewolf on the hunt, his heart had stopped, terrified that he was going to watch the woman he loved die right in front of him. 

The woman he loved…

How had he not figured it out before now! He loved her. That’s what had changed; he was utterly and irrevocably in love with Y/N. The revelation made his heart swell and ache at the same time. He had always believed that loving someone or them loving him was an automatic death sentence, but he couldn’t help but smile. Thinking of being with her for the long haul made feelings bubble up inside him that he had never allowed himself to feel for anyone. 

As he sat at the table in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee to try and sober up a little, he let his mind drift to her. A goofy smile plastered to his face as he thought about all the things he loved about her. The way her Y/E/C eyes would sparkle when he would pull her close and how he could hear her breath hitch slightly when he would place his lips to hers. How she always knew what to say when he was having a bad day. Her words of praise and encouragement when it was just the two of them, his head on her chest as she ran her fingers through his hair. 

She was always there to make sure he and Sammy were okay, no matter how she felt. Always making a point to do whatever was necessary to make their lives easier. She was the most selfless person he had ever met, putting everyone above and beyond her needs, and he was going to change that. It was time that she was taken care of, made to feel like she was special because she absolutely was. Besides his brother, she was the most precious thing to him, and he had been failing miserably to show her that. 

He stood from where he was seated in the kitchen and decided to march to their room to tell her everything. He was going to tell her how special she really was, how much he needed her in his life, and just how much he loved her. He would apologize and swear to her that he would try his best to stop picking fights with her about the hunts. He knew he wouldn’t ever be able to stop being scared of losing her, but he had to try and let her be the hunter she was. 

As the door to their room came into view, his steps slowed. The door was open, and the light was on. She never slept with the door open, and she should be asleep right now. His heart began to pound as he walked into the room, knowing something was wrong, and he was right. The room was emptied of all of her things, and a note left lying on the bed, his silver ring she had worn as a thumb ring lying next to the folded piece of paper. He read the letter with trembling hands, and it confirmed what he had been afraid of when he walked in. 

She was gone.

Weeks had gone by, and no word from Y/N. Dean had become a recluse, only leaving his room for food or a hunt. Once the hunts were over, he would shut himself back in his room. It had been a never-ending cycle, and it was driving Sam nuts. He hated to see his brother like this, but he didn’t know what to do. 

Sam was sitting in the library when Dean made one of his very rare appearances out of his room. 

“Anything?” 

“No, Dean. She was smart enough to turn her GPS off on her phone, and you know what her letter said. She would come back when she was ready,” he told his brother, wishing he could give him better news. 

“No. She said she might come back, Sammy. Big difference,” he sighed, wishing she would just come home. 

“I’m sorry, man. I don’t know what else to do but wait and see. We looked for weeks…”

“I know, I know. I’m going back to my room,” he whispered, his heart still aching at the loss of her. 

Once he was back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and grabbed his headphones. The majority of his time was now spent lying around listening to music and thinking of how he can find Y/N. He had to tell her how he felt, tell her he loved her, and beg for her forgiveness, but he had to find her first. With a sigh, he pushed shuffle on his playlist and closed his eyes. 

“What the hell…” he muttered, knowing the song playing wasn’t on his playlist. 

He looked at his phone and noticed that he had accidentally played her playlist, and the song was doing nothing to help his broken heart. As the lyrics filled his ears, a tear escaped and slid down his cheek. He wanted her home. No, he needed her to come home. He had texted her many times but had never gotten a response, but he had to try one last time. 

After sending her yet another text, he laid back and closed his eyes. He left her playlist on, knowing it would hurt, but if he couldn’t have her here, he could listen to her favorite songs and pray that she would eventually come back to him. He wanted so much to tell her how he felt, even if she didn’t feel the same. At least he would know that he had been honest and tried everything. With her on his mind yet again, he finally drifted off to sleep. 

“Dean, wake up, man,” 

Dean looked up to see his brother standing beside his bed, a smile on his face. He was in no mood to talk to Sam right now, rolling over and turning his back to him. 

“Dean! Get up!” 

“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” he grumbled. 

“She’s here…”

Dean was on his feet in a matter of seconds. Sam’s words causing his heart to race knowing she was back. He was running for his bedroom door when his brother stopped him. 

“Dean...Fix this, please. I miss my brother and my best friend,” Sam said softly, hoping that the two of them could fix their issues and Y/N move back in. 

“I plan on it, Sammy,” 

He made his way to the library as fast as his feet would carry him, turning the corner to see her sitting at the table, eyes cast down to the floor. He thought for sure that she would be able to hear his heart beating from where he stood, the fear of her leaving again, forefront in his mind. 

“Y/N…”

“Hey, Dean,” she smiled meekly, “We need to talk,” 

As he walked over to her, an idea came into his mind. He wasn’t very good at trying to articulate how he felt, but maybe this would work. He held out his hand for her to take, pulling her up and into his chest, holding her close. With one arm wrapped around her, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, pressing play on a song. As the music filled the air, he swayed them lightly around the room, singing the words to her. 

I want you to come back and carry me home

Away from this long lonely nights

I'm reaching for you, are you feeling it too

Does the feeling seem oh so right

And what would you say if I called on you now

And said that I can't hold on

There's no easy way, it gets harder each day

Please love me or I'll be gone, I'll be gone

I'm all out of love, I'm so lost without you

I know you were right believing for so long

I'm all out of love, what am I without you

I can't be too late to say that I was so wrong

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart! I realized what an ass I was and was going to apologize, but you were gone when I came home. I know I screwed up, and I’m begging you to forgive me. I love you, Y/N,” he whispered in her ear, his arms still holding her to him, afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

“Are you serious?” she asked, her eyes brimmed red with unshed tears as she looked up at him. 

“As a heart attack, sweetheart. Please stay,” 

“I love you too, Dean, but you have to promise to let me do my job. No more fights over hunts. I can’t do that anymore,” she told him, holding her breath as she waited for his answer. 

“I promise I’ll let you do your job, but I can’t promise that I won’t freak out if you get hurt, but no more anger about it,” 

“Okay, good, because I’ve missed you, and I want to come home,” she sniffled. 

He couldn’t contain his smile as he crashed his lips to hers. Nothing had ever felt as right as she did wrapped up in his arms, and he swore to himself that he would do whatever it took to keep her there. 

“I knew it! I knew you knew that song!” Sam yelled with a laugh. 

“Really, Sammy? You’re going to bring that up right now?” Dean huffed with annoyance. 

“Damn right, I am!” Sam cackled, “You big sap!” 

“Shut it, Sam!” Dean glared, his cheeks heating up with embarrassment. 

“Oh, it’s so good to be back home,” Y/N laughed.

@flamencodiva​​​ @foxyjwls007​​ @waywardbeanie​​ @emoryhemsworth​​ @valsworldofcreativity​ @hardcoresupernatural​​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @lyarr24​ @anaelsbrunette​ @akshi8278​ @halesandy​ @miss-nerd95​ @ellewritesfix05​ @winchest09​ @defenderrosetyler​ @hobby27​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​  @deanwanddamons​ @atc74​ @superfanficnatural​  @supernatural-love14​ @vicmc624​ @squirrelnotsam​ @tatted-trina6​ @xhannahbananax03​ @coffeebooksandfandom​ @nihilismworld​ @mrsfox79​ @malfoysqueen14​ @moron225​ @deans-baby-momma​ @lovelyrocker​ @fablesrose​ @queenofchaos7​ @maralisa124​ @deangirl93​ @aimee-ginge​ @anathewierdo​ @donnaintx​ @screechingartisancashbailiff​ @itsdesiree86​ @kyjey​ @roxytheimmortal​ @briagallen​ @aubageddon91​ @lunarmoon8​ @that-one-gay-girl​ @stoneyggirl​ @kitkatd7​ @wonder-cole​ @brilovesdeanwinchester​ @allonsy-yesiwill​  @krazykelly​ @440mxs-wife​ @rebelemilu​ @sarahbaker2010​ @onethirstyunicorn​ @tyferbebe​ @metalfangirl​ @vanessa27xoxo​ @mishacollins4evah​  @redbarn1995​ @thoughts-and-funnies​ @izzathequeen​ @heavensangel45135​  @entersand-man​  @michellethetvaddict​

[its--fandom--darling]

under the mistletoe

Pairing: Captian Syverson x Reader

Prompt: Sy meets a city girl at a family party and they get stuck under the mistletoe together romance ensues from @gearhead66​

Rating: PG-13 (drinking)

A/n Unbeta’d, forgive the mistakes

Sy would literally be anywhere than be at this dumb party. When his buddy from high school had invited him to his Christmas party he’d forgotten to mention the dress code which meant that Sy’d shown up in cargo pants and a t-shirt, much to the dismay of his friends wife, who’d grimaced at the sight of him. So his friend and had leant him a too small polo shirt to appease his wife and sent him into the crowd without introducing him. This was truly Sy’s idea of hell on earth. His buzzcut plus the chain to his dog tags made it painfully obvious that he was military and he was getting very sick of the small talk about his deployments very quickly. After about 20 minutes of that torture, Sy was eager for something stronger than beer and went on the hunt for something that would put a little more hair on his chest.

Weaving through the crowd of well dressed business types, Sy finally spotted the drink cart. Hope rising in his chest, he makes a beeline for it, sighing in relief he grabs a glass tumbler and pour himself a generous three fingers of whiskey.

“Save some of that for me, will you?” a lilting voice from behind him teases.

              He turns to spot the prettiest damn peach he’d ever seen. Your evergreen dress hugged your body in all the right places and your eyes glinted with mischief as he struggled to find the words to speak to you. Finally, he let out a soft scoff and held out the bottle for you. “Rough night for you too?”

You smile, “You could say that. I don’t know a soul here besides my cousin and he’s disappeared and left me to be hit on my his ancient his coworkers.”

              “Does your cousin happen to be the host of this party?” Sy asks, watching you fill your glass just as full as his and take a gulp, before cringing slightly.

“How’d you know?” you ask, with a soft smile.

              “Because he invited me but forgot to tell me about the dress code, stuck me with this old thing that makes me look like a frat boy and then took off.”

You giggle as he gestures to the very snug navy polo that he’s wearing with his khaki cargo pants. “So you don’t normally make a habit of dressing in clothes that are too small?”

              He shakes his head, “No, no I don’t ma’am.”

You roll your eyes, “Please, call me (y/n).” You hold out your hand to him and he shakes it firmly.

              “Nice to meet you. Names Jude Syverson, but you can call me Sy, everybody does,” he says, with a charming smile.

You feel your stomach flutter before you take your hand back. “Do you wanna see if we can find a place away from all these dolts and finish off this?” you ask him, lifting the bottle with a little flourish.

              He smiles, “I like the way you think,” he murmurs, with a smile.

You offers the bottle to him. “Put those pockets to use, big boy.”

              He chuckles and takes the bottle, tucking it away in one of him many pockets. “Come on, I bet the back porch is clear.”

You nod and follow him as he starts to push through the crowd. The two of you almost make it out without anybody stopping you. However, your cousin pauses the two of you in the doorway to the kitchen.

              “Sy! I see you’ve met my cousin (y/n), she’s loads of fun. I’m glad you can keep each other company!” he says, smiling at the two of you drunkenly.

It’s not until his smarmy wife comes slinky out of the crowd and point above your head with a smile that you realize that you and Sy have been stopped under the mistletoe.

              “Fuck, we don’t have too,” he grumbles, looking across the room of people who now have their eyes on you.

You look at him, eyes flicking to his lips then back to his beautiful blue eyes. “It’s okay,” you whisper, placing your hand on his chest and pressing up to kiss him. He tenses for a second before placing his big, warm hands firmly on your waist, deepening the kiss briefly before you pull away and wipe your mouth gently as the crowd whistles.

              Sy flushes and rubs at the back of his neck. “Let’s get out of here,” he mutters, turning on his heel. You follow hot on his tail, fleeing the scene eagerly. When you find him out back he’s sitting in one of the lawnchairs, swigging straight from the bottle.

“Kissing me wasn’t that bad, was it?” you joke as you join him in the lawn chair opposite him.

              “Shit, it’s not that. I just hate being the center of attention like that.”

You sigh, “Me too. But you know what?”

              Sy gives you a sideways glance and offers you the bottle. You take it from him and smile at him. “what?”

“That was one hell of a kiss,” you mutter, before taking a swig too.

              He chuckles, “Thanks, I’m to hear that. Been a while.”

You look at him. “Really? For a hunk like you?”

              He flips you off, smiling at you. “I’ve been deployed regularly for the past decade. Doesn’t really leave time to find romance.”

“Well do you have any deployments in your future?” you ask, running your finger along the lip of the bottle.

              He shakes his head, “Nah, I’m getting to old for that shit. Got myself set up at the base, training greenies.”

You nod, slowly.

              “Why, do you ask?”

You shrug, “No reason, I was just hoping that we might be able to get dinner sometime.”

              Sy smiles, “You askin’ me on a date, darlin’?”

You shake your head and smile at him. “Yes, I am.”

              “I reckon that must be how they go about things in the city.”

You look at him sideways. “How did you know?”

              “The accent,” he mutters, “gives it away that you’re not from around here.”

You nod, “Well, I hope that it doesn’t get me in trouble.”

              “What do you mean?”

“I was transferred down here, starting next month. My cousin invited me tonight in hopes that I could make some connections.”

              “I’d say we made a connection,” Sy says, with a smirk.

You smile at him, “Well look at that you are right.”

              “What are you doing New Years Eve?”

You think for a moment, “I honestly don’t know.”

              “How about you come over to mine and I cook you dinner. Then we can watch shitty movies or the countdown or whatever you wanna watch really.”

You smile, “I’d like that a lot.”

              He smiles, “Perfect.”

You trade numbers, getting to know each other a little better as the whiskey bottle empties and soon you find yourself in his lap as the two of you kiss lazily, warm in each other’s arms. Once sleep teases both of your eyelids, you find yourself tucked into his side, the lawn chair reclined and the two of you gazing up at the stars. Soon enough you doze off, comforted by the steady beating of Sy’s heart. Before you know it, you’re being woke up. Sy’s rumbling voice, cutting through the sleep addled part of your brain.

              “Come on, darlin’, let’s get you cab,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Don’t wanna go,” you murmur, burying your face into his chest once more.

              “Come on, ya need to go home. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow and bring over some hangover food.”

You hum as he lifts you up, carrying you out towards the front of the house where there are cabs waiting to take people home.

“What about you?”

              “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be just fine.”

“You’ll call tomorrow?” you confirm as he sets you on your feet next to a waiting cab.

              “Promise, darlin’, now go home and get some rest. I think you’re gonna find you’ll regret trying to keep up with me.”

“Alright, see you tomorrow,” you murmur, pressing a kiss on his cheek before he opens the car door for you and sets you inside.

              “Night, darlin’,” he murmurs, smiling down at you.

You blink up at him and smile, “Night, Sy.”

              He presses a kiss to your lips and then steps back to shut the door, smacking the top of it to signal to the driver that youre good to go and watches the taillights disappear as it drives away.

              He heads towards his truck, having sobered up and gets behind the wheel and heads home. As he pulls into the driveway, his phone buzzes. He smiles when he sees it’s a text from you and heads inside for the evening, really glad that he’d gone to the party tonight.

 Tagging: @madbaddic7ed @henrythickcavill @hoeforhenry @feralrunaway @maizyistrash @connieisland @inlovewithhisblueeyes @cavillryarchive @hell1129-blog @beck07990 @littlefreya @fuckoffbard @salimahbicharara-comun @persephone-is-here-omg​ @viking-raider​ @killjoy-assbutt-1112​ @dancingwendigo​ @raspberrydreamclouds​ @asylummara​ @foodieforthoughts​ @crazybutconfidentaf​ @poledancingdinos​ @geralt-of-baevia​ @littlewrenofrivia​ @hope-to-hell​ @inthenameofcavill​ @soldatsaleannan​ @oddsnendsfanfics​ @summersong69​

[idreamofplaid]

My Omega

Square Filled: Omegaverse for @spnkinkbingo & Wincest for @spnabobingo

Characters:alpha!Dean x omega!Sam; Sam x Brady (past)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Dom/Sub; punishment; butt plug; paddling; orgasm delay; jealous Dean; mention of sex clubs, cock ring, orgasm denial, voyeurism, name calling; praise; handjob; hurt/comfort; aftercare

Summary: Dean is not very pleased with Sam’s past activities while he was at Stanford. When he acknowledges the role he played in what happened, he has a change of heart.

Word Count: 2510

A/N: This is smutty, angsty, fluffy Wincest. Dean safe words out without saying the word. It’s unbeta’d. Any mistakes are mine. If you’re interested in being a beta for any future Wincest, message me. It’s a specific taste, I know. The same for A/B/O. Message me if you’re into A/B/O and would be interested in beta reading for me.

Created for @spnkinkbingo & @spnabobingo

“You did what?” Dean put down the gun he was cleaning and turned to stare at Sam with a hard and disbelieving look.

Sam continued to work on engraving a devil’s trap into the bullet in his hand, looking up only briefly at Dean. He was unfazed by his Alpha’s disapproval. It wasn’t that Sam was a rebellious Omega, just the opposite. Pleasing Dean was his top priority, and he was a dutiful and submissive Omega; but he hadn’t been Dean’s Omega when he was at Stanford. 

Sam repeated, “I went to sex clubs.” His statement was nonchalant at best and defiant at worst to Dean’s ears.

Dean sat back in his chair, his head shaking back and forth and his mouth hanging open. “You got up on a stage and let people look at you being fucked by...by….” Dean flung his hand up into the air and let it fall back to the chair arm with a thud; his eyes began to darken with an intensity that meant he was ready to punish Sam for what he’d done and his attitude about the whole thing. 

Sam heard the tone in Dean’s voice, causing him to look up from what he was doing and see the dangerous expression in Dean’s eyes. He made an attempt to right his mistake, knowing he was walking a very fine line. “I didn’t say I was an exhibitionist, Dean. Just because you go to those places, doesn’t mean you perform for the crowd. Even if I had, you weren’t my Alpha then. We were still denying that.”

Dean stood, moved into Sam’s space, and somehow managed to tower over his 6’4” brother. “What did you say to me? I have always been your Alpha, Sam.” Sam knew he was in trouble, and it was causing the slick to begin to pool in his pants. “If anyone touched or saw what’s mine, you should be punished, shouldn’t you? Did that happen, Sam?”

Dean’s voice had dropped into a deeper register, and Sam had dropped the bullet he’d been holding. He lowered his head. “Yes, Alpha, it did.” 

Dean put his hand under Sam’s chin and tilted his face up. “I think you know what that means.” Sam’s eyes were already pleading for Dean’s forgiveness. “Go present yourself on our bed and wait for me.” 

The walk through the bunker to their room seemed longer than usual to Sam. Anticipation was humming through his veins, and his cock was hardening more with each step. By the time he’d stripped, climbed onto the bed, and positioned himself on all fours his breathing had gotten faster; and his heart was pounding. He knew whatever Dean had planned for him was going to hurt, and it would make him come unbelievably hard.

Sam lowered his head so his cheek was resting on the bed and reached back to spread his cheeks and wait for Dean. By the time his Alpha entered the room, his cock was bobbing in the air, and the slick was running down his thighs. He shuddered when Dean spoke. “Look at you. So gorgeous, Sam. Needy and waiting for me to do whatever I please, whatever I think you deserve.” Without warning, Dean pushed two fingers into Sam’s opening. Sam was so wet, he took them with little resistance, and Sam gasped. “You like the way that feels, my Omega?”

Dean found Sam’s prostate and rubbed it, causing his brother to keen. “Please, Dean.” Sam wanted to all out beg, but he knew better. He was being punished; that meant taking what Dean gave him and nothing more.

Dean pulled his fingers from Sam’s body as abruptly as he’d pushed them in. “Did I tell you that you could say anything?”

“N...no, Alpha.” Sam was still holding himself open for whatever Dean wanted to do to him next, and he dug his fingers into his own skin when he felt the blunt head of the plug against his hole. He had a good idea of what was going to happen next. 

The plug was wide, not nearly as big as Dean’s knot, but it was stretching Sam nicely and pushing into his prostate. He bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out. If Dean wanted to hear him, he’d say so. “Drop your hands, Sam.” Dean’s voice had gone quiet and heavy with purpose. He was an Alpha intent on reclaiming his Omega and teaching him a lesson. Sam let go of his ass and placed his hands palms down on the bed on either side of his head.

Dean cupped Sam’s right cheek in his hand and squeezed. This ass belongs to me, Sam. It belonged to me when you were at Stanford. Do you know how I like my ass, Sam?” Unsure if Dean actually wanted an answer, Sam stayed quiet. It was the right decision because Dean kept talking. “I like it a nice dark pink and sore from my spanking when I fuck it.” Dean gave Sam’s ass a practice swat with his hand, and then added a few more to warm him up.

When the first strike of the paddle came, it was right over the center of Sam’s ass and pushed the plug deeper into him to crash against his prostate. Dean varied the location of the blows to get an even color over the entire surface of both cheeks, but wherever the paddle came down it always hit the plug, stimulating Sam’s prostate. “Don’t you dare come, little brother. Your orgasms belong to me too, and I’ll tell you when you can have one.”

Sam’s ass felt like it was on fire, and his cock was throbbing by the time Dean stopped. He’d thought again of begging his Alpha for release, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Everything was up to Dean, his Alpha. Dean dropped the paddle on the bed next to Sam’s head. “Omega, I want you to tell me exactly what it was you did in those clubs. How many times did you go? Who took you there? Who dared to touch what’s mine?”

Sam had clawed at the sheets the entire time Dean was spanking him and taking him right to the edge of orgasm without giving him that gift, and he was grasping a fistful of the bedding in both hands. It kept him from reaching back to rub his well paddled backside to try and soothe it. “It was only a c...couple of times. Brady took me there. It was him.”

Dean’s next words sounded tight, in a way that let Sam know he’d been clenching his teeth. “What did you let him do to you there, Omega?”

“We were in one of the private rooms. A few people were there, and they watched.” Sam closed his eyes and attempted to block out the memory. He had known he was Dean’s, knew Dean was his Alpha from the time he was fifteen and his first rut had hit him. That’s when he’d smelled it, Dean’s scent. He’d taken that smell all the way to California with him; he couldn’t run away from it. Sam woke up at night smelling cedar, bourbon, and vanilla. 

That scent was heavy in the air right now, and Sam inhaled it deeply. He wished he could wipe those days with Brady away, make it so they had never happened. He couldn’t, but he could show his Alpha his loyalty through his submission now. “What did they watch, Sam? What did you allow him to do to you?”

Sam took a deep breath. He wanted to cry, not because of how much the spanking had hurt or because he needed to come so bad his balls ached. Sam wanted to cry because he was ashamed he’d let Brady do those things to him when he had known he belonged to Dean, even if Dean hadn’t claimed him yet. “I let him tie me up and fuck me while they watched. I let him use me while I wore a cock ring and never got to come. I let him humiliate me. I let him call me names. He said I was his slut.” Sam’s voice broke when he said this last because he believed it. 

His eyes were still closed, and he wasn’t expecting to feel Dean’s fingers brush his hair from his face and comb through it. “Open your eyes, Sammy, and look at me.”  Sam slowly opened his eyes and saw that Dean’s expression had totally softened. “You are not a slut, Sam, and you never belonged to him. You’re my Omega, only mine.” Dean put his hand over Sam’s that was still holding tightly to the sheet. He rubbed his fingers over Sam’s clenched hand. “Let go, Sam.” Sam let his hand relax. “You were so good for me, Omega. You are always so good.”

Dean stretched out onto the bed next to Sam, his hand still over his Omega’s, and whispered to him gently. “Lie down on your side, Sammy. Let me take care of you.”  Dean helped Sam settle on the bed beside him, their faces only inches apart. Dean saw that Sam’s cock was just as red as his bottom, and it was leaking pre come that was running down the side of his shaft, making it unnecessary for Dean to use Sam’s slick as lube. 

Dean circled his hand around his Omega’s cock and started to stroke while he touched his lips to Sam’s in the tenderest of kisses. “Don’t hold back, my ‘Mega. Let me hear you. Come for me whenever you’re ready.” Dean speeded up the motions of his hand, causing Sam to moan deeply and call out his name over and over when he came. The come spurted from the end of Sam’s cock in long ropes that painted the flannel and t-shirt Dean was still wearing in white stripes. 

Sam blacked out from the force of his orgasm and didn’t hear Dean tell him he was a good Omega, but when his eyes fluttered open and he saw the look on Dean’s face; he knew. Dean didn’t say the words “I love you” much out loud, but the way he looked at Sam said it every bit as effectively; and Sam felt it. 

Dean took off his shirts, dropped them to the floor, and leaned down to kiss Sam’s temple. Sam was in a sex blissed haze, and there was only one thought in his mind. “Knot me, Alpha.”

Dean kissed his forehead again. “I will, baby. There’s nothing I want more, but let me finish taking care of you first.” Dean moved behind his Omega and pulled the plug from Sam’s ass; Sam moaned as the plug left his body, leaving him open and ready for the knot he wanted. Next, Dean took the salve from the drawer in the drawer in the bedside table that he kept there for times like these. He rubbed the cream into Sam’s flaming behind to ease the burn and lessen the heat. 

The Alpha stood and removed the rest of his clothes before he walked back around the bed to take his waiting Omega into his arms. Dean kissed Sam, tasting him, moving his tongue around Sam’s, and touching every spot in Sam’s mouth until Sam was saying through the kiss, “Alpha, knot, please.” Dean entered him fully with one smooth thrust and continued to kiss him up until the moment he filled his Omega with his seed. That’s when Dean broke the kiss, panting and growling. He put his mouth over the claim mark at the base of Sam’s neck and closed his teeth around it, but he didn’t bite him hard. 

Dean let go of Sam’s neck when his knot started to inflate, locking them together while more of his semen pumped into his Omega. He nuzzled against Sam’s scent gland and inhaled the rich sweet smell of caramel, coffee beans, and cinnamon. “You okay, ‘Mega?”

“I’m sorry, Alpha.” Sam’s voice was tinged with sadness. 

Dean lifted his head so he could look into his mate’s beautiful golden green eyes. “Why, Sam?”

The emotion was raw in Sam’s eyes. “I never should have let Brady touch me. It was wrong when I knew I was yours. What kind of Omega does that?”

Dean cupped Sam’s cheek in his hand. “Hey, don’t blame yourself for that. You would have never been with him if I had claimed you like I should have. That’s on me. I wasn’t the Alpha you needed.” Dean paused, and his gaze held Sam’s. “I wasn’t faithful to you either back then.” Dean’s knot was still at full size and caught on Sam’s rim. Dean was thankful for that right now, afraid that those words that reminded Sam of how Dean had rejected him and what was between them to turn to a meaningless string of women would make Sam want to pull away from him. 

Sam responded in a whisper. “I know, Dean. That’s why I left. I couldn’t stand to see you with someone else, knowing you were taking them to your bed. It hurt too much.” 

Dean could feel his knot beginning to shrink. If he could have willed it to stay the way it was, he would have. He wanted to keep Sam close, prove to him it was different. “I’m faithful to you now, Sam. I have been since I claimed you the first time we were together. I’ll always be faithful to you, Sam. I promise you that.”

Dean’s knot had completely deflated. It was time for him to separate his body from Sam’s, prompting the first words from his Omega. “Stay, Dean. Please don’t move yet.”

“Okay, Sammy. I won’t. I’ve got you. It’s okay now.” He ran his fingers through Sam’s hair some more; it calmed them both. “The way Brady treated you? If he was still alive, I’d want to kill him. You deserve so much more than that. I was just jealous before, Sam, but I didn’t have any right to be. I can’t stand the thought of anyone else being near you.”

“I have more than that now, Dean, so much more.” He kissed his Alpha on his full lips, and when Sam pulled away Dean’s deep green eyes were shining with love. “And I feel better now. I didn’t think about using my safe word even once. Every time you mark me, I like it. I wanted you to do what you did.”

Finally, Dean slipped from his Omega’s body. Sam closed his eyes, and Dean kissed his eyelids with feather light kisses. “I’ll be the Alpha I’m supposed to be for you, Sam, the one I always should have been. I should have protected you from people like Brady.”

When Sam opened his eyes, Dean could see the peace in them. “I feel safe now, Dean.” Sam was so open, so trusting, just like he had always been. Dean heard those words, and he felt forgiven. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshirley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @ledzeppelinsbonzo @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @mrsdeannafuckingwinchester @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @lonewolf471 @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519​ @outcastedangel​ @kdfrqqg​ @lizette50​ @daisymoder72​ @sorenmarie87​ @winchesterxfamilybusiness​

Ships: @deansyahtzee​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[loversandantiheroes]

Hotel Hobbies - Prelude

Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x Reader Author’s Note: I have nothing to say for myself other than the most shameful of yee-honks.  This was largely just an attempt to break through some writer’s block, but also a little bit of a fuck you to Whiskey’s godawful characterization (get thee hence, canon, thou art dead to me).  In either case I 110% blame @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa for dragging me into the Pedro pit and for making the “yeehonk loser” tag funny enough for me to go see what the fuss was about.  Either way, this is unbeta’d and barely edited and is probably just a big goddamn mess.  Which fits, quite frankly. Apologies in advance if it sucks. Summary:  He’s an insufferable, obnoxious blowhard.  Which would be fine if he wasn’t also - some-fucking-how - hotter than a fucking wildfire. Warnings: Drinking, flirting, swearing, Whiskey being the obnoxious prick that we know and mostly tolerate. Rating: Mature (for the moment) Word Count: 1510

You’d met him, of all places, in the hotel bar, shored up over a drawn-out business conference.  He’d turned up three nights running, a brash braggart in a stetson and too-tight jeans that seemed to stroll dick-first around the room, tossing pickup lines at anything that moved.  By sheer luck he’d missed you, leaving the first night with a leggy blonde and the second night with a considerably curvier brunette.

Both times you counted your blessings as you watched him walk out with his arm around the unlucky lady.  You didn’t know the man but you knew the type: the costume cowboys that laid on the charm as thick as their cologne to mask the smell of their shitty personalities.

But now on Sunday, night number three, your luck seems to have finally run out.  Just as you finish your drink the bartender sets down another – whiskey, neat – and gestures at the end of the bar.  “From the gentleman.”

You hardly need to look up to know what you’ll see.  Smug, half-cocked grin.  A gentle tip of the hat.  

Fuck.  Jesus, why.

You grimace out a polite smile out of sheer habit, and before you can even begin to slide the drink back towards the bartender the man has appeared at your elbow like a country-fried jack-in-the-box.

His cologne, at the very least, is not as heavy as you’d expected.  Small mercies.

“Thanks, but-” you begin, already bracing yourself against the bar to stand.

“Oh no need for thanks.”  He rolls right over you with all the practiced ease of a well-oiled steamroller.  His voice is low, with a thick, heavy drawl that feels just a bit too put-upon to be completely real.  “You’ll have to forgive me for being so forward, but I simply couldn’t stand to see a lady as lovely as yourself drinking alone three nights in a row.  Thought I might offer the benefit of some company.”

He extends a broad brown hand.  A tiny blurred bullseye marks the skin between the thumb and forefinger.  “Name’s Jack.  Most folks just call me Whiskey.”

“Whiskey,” you repeat, trying not to roll your eyes at the rather awful joke.

“Yes ma’am.”

You purse your lips, considering, as his hand hangs between you.  You know more than a few ways to cut this little introduction short, though several of them – while wholly effective – might just see you banned from the hotel bar.  And with easily another three days of bureaucratic bullshit on the horizon, you’re really not keen on that happening. Present company aside, the bar’s pretty nice.

 Maybe if you're lucky you can bore him to death.

Begrudgingly you take his hand.  The skin of his palms is thick with calluses.  A surprising thing.  His clothing is more designer than LL Bean, which made you think he was a business man or entertainer – the sort of rich asshole that owned a prized stallion at a private stable somewhere that he rode once or twice a month when he wanted to feel a little authentic.  

But those callouses are hard and smooth.  Not quite a workman's hands, but certainly the result of something a good deal more tactile and involved than pencil pushing.  And that’s enough to make you wonder a little.  Now that he's up close and personal, his face makes you wonder a lot. This is no Kentucky white boy.  Not with eyes that dark, or that curving nose.  And honestly, if it wasn’t for that insufferably cocky look on his face, he’d be a hell of a looker.

“I didn’t catch your name,” he says, thumb grazing your knuckles before releasing your hand.

"No, you didn't," you say lightly.  "And I'm afraid I don't have much of a taste for whiskey."

He grins, leaning heavily against the bar and motioning for the bartender. "Well now, if my namesake isn't up to your liking, what would be to your taste?"  He hooks the tumbler of whiskey towards himself with a finger – a rather thick finger, and that's one detail you're a little dismayed to find yourself lingering on – and takes a slow sip.

You tap your glass with three fingers as the bartender approaches.  "Tequila."

The man who calls himself Whiskey gives an appreciative whistle as three shots line up in front of you. "Well now ain't that a plot twist.  You must have a hell of a constitution.  Tequila always leaves me flat on my back."  He eyes you up and down, grinning, and the hot flush that brings on isn't half as uncomfortable as you'd like it to be.  "Reckon I can see a similarity or two."

"I just get the feeling I'm going to need something a little stronger than a Cosmo to get me through this conversation," you reply coolly, ignoring the innuendo.  "You have until I finish these shots, by the way."

Whiskey purses his lips, pouting.  "I see you've already jumped to a few conclusions about me.  Hardly seems fair."

You shrug, downing the first shot with little fanfare.  "You've hardly been subtle.  What happened to Friday and Saturday's girls?"

He takes a sip of his own drink, thumb rubbing thoughtfully against the side of his jaw.  You try not to watch the way his throat works when he swallows.  "Now if I didn't know any better, I'd almost think you were a little sore it took me so long to come and see you."

He positively croons that last, and you tell yourself the warmth you feel kicking up in your belly is just the tequila.  Thank God for plausible deniability.

"Don't flatter yourself, cowboy," you say with a glare.

He chuckles. "Darlin', had I known you'd had eyes on me this whole time I would've come over a hell of a lot sooner," he teases.

You can only shake your head, half in wonder and half in contempt.  "How did you even fit that much ego through the door?"

Whiskey tips his glass to you with a smirk, unfazed.  "Patience, dedication, and a whole lotta practice."

You reach for the second shot, and Whiskey lets out a little sigh.  He puts his hand over your wrist, fingers flat.

"Hey c'mon now.  Slow down, sugar.  As much as I like to tease, I ain't about to put sensibilities or your liver out of sorts for the sake of poking fun."

When he pulls his hand back, reaching for his own glass, it's everything you can do to mask the little shiver that ripples up your back.  He is quite warm.

"I figured you for the sort that'd prefer a girl to be out of her sensibilities," you say quietly, fingers tapping against the rim of your glass.  The skin on the back of your wrist hums where he touched you, and you do your damnedest to ignore it.

The corner of his mouth hitches up in a half-grin.  "Oh, afterward, surely.  But never before."

You roll your eyes.  "An asshole with a sense of propriety.  Now that's novel."

"Part of my charm," he says.  “Bastard by profession and gentleman by nature.  But I mean it.  You are well within every right to walk away.  Ain't gonna harm nothin' but my ego, and Lord knows there’s enough of that to go around.“

You roll the shot glass between your palms.  "And if I walk away?"

Whiskey shrugs.  “Well, then I get to cherish the view as you leave."

"God, shut up."

His grin widens and he leans in, teasing.  "A bittersweet thought to keep me warm, alone in that big empty hotel bed tonight."

The glass almost rolls straight out of your hands.  "I am not fucking you," you sputter, and your cheeks burn as you realize you practically pole vaulted directly to that conclusion with barely any preamble.

The silence hangs after that, heavy and charged.  Somehow you think Whiskey's eyes have gone even darker.  

“I said nothin’ of the sort,” Whiskey says delicately, hands raised in supplication.

There's a cold-burning fire in the pit of your stomach.Some of it's the alcohol.  But most of it is a shameful delight at the way he's looking at you, and the mounting surety that you are probably certainly definitely going to fuck him if you don't walk away and call it a night now. You're not sure whether you hate him more for the assumption, or for almost certainly being right.

He says nothing, just looks you over expectantly.  Waiting to see what you’ll do.

Slowly, you down your second shot.  Fuck it.  If this asshole is going to be your next mistake, you might as well make it on your own goddamned terms.

"So," you say, resting your elbows on the bar.  “Whiskey.  What is it that you do?"

He laughs, full-throated, and the corners of his eyes crinkle up in what you suspect might be a genuine smile.  It's lovely, and that might just be the most infuriating thing of all.  

"Oh darlin'.  You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

[maeve-writes]

Beautiful Hell

Inspired by:  Beautiful Hell by ADNA 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (tfatws) x Reader (experiment/mutant!Reader) Rating: 18+, Minors DNI Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut, fingering, unprotected sex, dirty talk. Summary: Your past shows up in an unexpected way thanks to Bucky Barnes. You just wanted to be... normal, not caught up in the life of a hero or worse, and yet you’re drawn to him, addicted to him even. You thought that part of your life was over, but your relationship opens up a whole new chapter that you’re not sure you’re ready for. a/n: Unbeta’d, any mistakes are my own and please forgive me. I have not written anything that wasn’t work related in about three years, so I’m a little rusty. This is just a dip of my toe back into the water. I’d like to continue this if there is any interest! Thanks for reading!

There’s very little that makes you upset these days. You have a great job, a cozy apartment, and wonderful friends. It’s taken a long time for you to find stability and even longer for you to accept that it was okay to have it. Most of that struggle was on your own, but you eventually found others like you that were dealing with the same inner turmoil and you’ve grown.

The group still meets twice a month, but now you run it. You see the same pain and anger in the eyes of strangers that you once held, you’ve been in their shoes and you want to help start their journey of healing and self discovery. You would never turn someone away who wanted help, who sought out the chance to better themselves, but six feet of muscle and adamantium shuffles into the recreation room of the local Boy’s and Girl’s Club, and you bend the already folded aluminum chair in half. 

The squeak of the metal catches his attention and his brow knits together. His eyes dance between your face, the chair, and back again. “Cheap material,” you say weakly with a lift of your shoulders. You watch as he puckers his lips in thought and his hands are shoved into his jacket. 

One of your regulars, Sarah, takes the chair from you and tries to right it once more, but finds it more difficult than you played it up to be. “Set up the rest, I’ve got this,” you tell her, happy to tear your attention away from the man. You reset the bars of the chair and unfold it, placing it on the floor to see if it will act as it should. It’s a little wonky, the bend leans it too far back, but it will hold you - it’s a chair.

You sit among the circle and begin. People sip their coffee and share their stories for the week. The new people introduce themselves, including him, but everyone already knows his name. He didn’t share this time, but you could tell he wanted to from the way his jaw clenched and the uncomfortable shifts in his sheet. You were like that once, you know just how he feels.

Two hours pass and the crowd slowly trickles out. You start the clean up, the putting away of the chairs. You move around the room and do your best to ignore his eyes burning into you - into your soul. “You could at least help clean,” you tell him without looking up from the sink against the far wall where you now stand. “Chairs still need to be put away.”

It takes a few beats, but you hear his heavy footsteps fall behind you and the eventual scrap of metal as the chairs are being folded. There’s a steady rhythm to his method, a clink of his metal arm against the chair, the screech as the chair is closed and his footfalls to the corner to put it away.

You finish your last coffee pot, drying your hands and turn to see the wonky chair in his hold. “Cheap material,” he repeats, looking down at it before he bends it back and forth. You see him trying to mold it back into better shape than you had earlier as your face grows hotter by the second. When he deems it “good enough,” he brings it over to join the others. “Who are you?”

“No one,” you reply instantly. 

His head snaps around, blue eyes burning, “You’re a horrible liar.”

“Not true,” you counter, “I’ve lied to myself for years.”

He turns to you fully and crosses his arms over his broad chest. He doesn’t find your attempt at what he thinks is a joke funny. “Who are you,” he asks again, his voice becoming clipped and impatient. 

You tell him your name, your full name but it does not ring any bells to him. It wouldn’t, not in a way he would realize. “You saved someone years ago, not as… you, but as,” you pause and wave the towel you used to dry your hands, “you know.” You try your best to ignore how his body tenses up and you continue, “You killed his wife and his unborn son. You changed him. Changed everything, really. Somehow, I got caught up in it all.”

His hardened stare quickly shifts into curiosity and you force yourself to look away before you crash into the stormy blue. “They pumped us full of all sorts of stuff. A lot of us didn’t make it. I can still hear the screams if I try.” You grind your teeth to make yourself stop falling into that abyss. “But my dad raised me by himself, he taught me how to survive, how to be strong. He always told me: Girl, if you’re gonna go down, go down swingin’. And I forced myself to keep going, no matter what they did, I wasn’t going to let those assholes get the best of me.”

The towel was back in both of your hands now, pulled and stretched as you tried not to think about the pain and the loneliness that followed. “But eventually I was freed, just like you freed that other guy. I got a chance to be him now… but I didn’t take it.” The terry cloth ripped in half and your arms fell by your sides. 

You dared to look up at the man and you inwardly swore. His face was so painfully beautiful, full lips were in a pout and his eyes twinkled blue in their sadness, in their empathy. “They wanted us to be something and I wasn’t going to let someone else define me. I ran for years, scared and alone. I had to change my life over and over because I didn’t want them to find me, then I realized I was actually doing what they wanted… I was being someone I’m not.”

You crossed the room to the trash can nearby and not too far behind he followed. The two of you began to toss half-eaten pastries and empty disposable coffee cups. “So, I settled down here, started to go by my real name and took any threat that came my way.” You watched him sniff at an uneaten danish, “Cherry, I think.” His shoulder lifts in a ‘what-the-hell’ kind of way and he takes a bite. “It took about two decades for them to stop,” you finish, “and I was able to finally start to live my life.”

He silently offers half of the danish to you, which you decline. “And when the world went to hell in a hand-basket, you what, sat here and lived your life?” The blow was meant to sting and it did. He didn’t know if you were gone in The Blip but from your recoil, he got his answer. “I don’t know what they did to you, but you obviously have the ability to help people, you should use it.”

“I do,” you reply, offended. “This,” you wave your hands around for the second that evening, “helps people. Just because I don’t strap on leather and beat up bad guys doesn’t mean I don’t make a difference.”

Bucky stills completely, even his breathing, and he looks down into the trash can he has been pushing around for you. It looks as though he wants to toss himself in it. “You’re right,” he says with a heavy exhale, “that wasn’t fair of me. It’s just… the world is running low on heroes, they’re now relying on a guy in a bird suit.”

“I thought that guy was your friend,” you ask with a tilt of your head.

When the corner of his mouth tips up into a boyish smile, you mirror it with a toothy grin because of how infectious it is. “Yeah,” he nods, “I guess he is. But I just hate being the only muscle.”

“You’re plenty enough for this hemisphere,” you laugh and reach out to pat his shoulder, when you feel the muscle packed there, you whistle through your teeth, “and maybe the other one, too.”

He laughs and rolls the shoulder you tapped, tossing off your hand playfully. “Yeah, well it wouldn’t hurt to have more because getting hurt hurts.” You two exchange smiles and finish trash detail. He ties up the full bag and prepares to bring it out while you work on putting a new one in the can. 

You lead him out back to the dumpsters and he tosses the bag in after you open the heavy metal lid. When it falls closed again with a loud, ringing bang, you pull out a pack of sanitizing wipes and offer him one which he gladly accepts. “This might not be the right time,” he begins, eyes drawn to the large, smelly trash bin next to the pair of you, “but would you like to have dinner with me sometime?”

“Who knew you were so romantic, Sergeant Barnes,” you tease to hide your fluttering heartbeat that he can undoubtedly hear. Under the pale yellow beam of the streetlights you can see the flush forming on his face that mirrors your own. “I’m free tomorrow around seven.”

Bucky straightens to his full height and his eyes sparkle brightly when that boyish curl makes its way back to his lips. “Then it’s a date,” he nods as you both pull out your phones to exchange numbers and you give him your address.

“Don’t be late,” you warn him, tone playfully serious, “I get angry if I don’t eat before eight. Bad things happen if I don’t eat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he nods with a low rumbling chuckle, “I don’t plan to disappoint you.”

Your face splits into a smile and you lead your way back in, “See you tomorrow, Sergeant.”

“Tomorrow,” he says, his eyes trained on your every move. “And it can’t come soon enough,” he adds under his breath.

x

Your day goes by in a blur. Work is stressful but rewarding. Even though you love your job, your mind was not completely on it. Just past noon you received a text: Just seeing if this works. I’m looking forward to tonight. Have a good day. BB

It is unclear if he does not really know how texts work or if it is his excuse to send you one, but either way it makes you giddier than a schoolgirl. You reread it several times, answer a few work related calls and emails before you finally answer back: It works! I’m also looking forward to tonight. My day was good, but your text made it better. Hope yours is fantastic! xx

You are hesitant to hit send, but if you are going to shoot your shot, then you might as well go all in. Your phone doesn’t even go to sleep before you get another text in return: I’m about to see the prettiest gal in town, my day will be more than fantastic. How do you feel about sushi and bowling? BB

Of all of the things to do, especially together, you would not think of Bucky Barnes to pick that as your first night out together, but you had a weakness for sushi and your competitive side could never say no to a game or two: I haven’t been bowling in years, but I’m sure I can teach you a few things. xx

Oh, sweetheart, you’ll be learning a thing or two before the night is over. BB

You aren’t sure if you guys are talking about bowling anymore and that thought lights a fire in your belly. With a shaky breath you send your last reply: I’ll be happy to learn anything as long as I get to call you Professor Barnes and I can stay after class for extra credit. ;) xx 

It isn’t until two hours after your lunch that you get your last reply from him: Looking up that reference sent me to the part of the internet that I’m still not used to, but I’m glad I did. You don’t happen to have a skirt and some of those socks that go up to your knees, do you? Don’t answer that, I won’t be able to make it through dinner. See you at 7. BB

You did happen to have just what he asked for and it was tempting to wear it, but you tucked the idea into your pocket for another time. Instead, you picked something more appropriate for bowling, a pair of navy skinny fit cotton dress pants with enough stretch to not rip when you bent over to toss a ball, a curve hugging camisole that was draped by a soft, cream colored cashmere sweater. 

After messing with your hair for an hour, you settled for a messy bun and just finished your makeup when your doorbell rang. You call out to him to “hold on” as you shuffle through your apartment, trying to wriggle into your loafers on the way to open the door. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry,” you apologize as you pull open the door.

He’s standing in the doorway dressed in a canvas jacket over a plain black shirt, dark jeans over his long, thick legs and his normal boots top it off. “You look gorgeous,” he says, forcing you away from your lingering gaze as it continues to travel up and down his body like he’s the one for dinner. “These are for you,” he presents a bouquet of flowers with an unsure smile. “They’re beautiful,” you say wistfully, taking the flowers and stepping aside to let him in. “Thank you.” He nods and stands near the door as you finish putting on your shoes. “Let me put these in water and we can go.” “Take your time,” he says and trains his eyes on you. They follow you through the apartment, to the kitchen as you look through your cabinets for a vase. When you bend over, his head tilts ever so slightly which you can see out of the corner of your eye, but when you turn to try and catch him, he just smiles innocently. “Need any help?”

“I’ll manage,” you laugh and eventually find a vase. The flowers are arranged not so elegantly into the glass, but you add water and place them in the center of your kitchen island. “Now, I’m starving and getting hangry.”

“Hangry,” he repeats. “That doesn’t sound good. I guess I should feed you before that happens.” He holds out an arm and like a magnet you are drawn to him and latch to it, maybe it’s because of the metal. Nevertheless, you walk arm and arm to the sushi hole-in-the-wall two blocks away, eating in a small booth in the corner to hide away from prying eyes.

You learn about Bucky Barnes for the first time. Like everyone else, you hear things from the news, from the internet, you try to shift through the lies and mess. But here you’re learning what he likes, what he’s learned, what he wants to learn. He doesn’t give his past up as freely as you did, it’s obvious he’s still coming to terms with it, but everyone travels at their own pace.

He learns about you, too. He asks you about things none of your past dates have asked. Hell, even your past boyfriends and girlfriends weren’t interested in half of the stuff Bucky manages to squeeze out of you. And you find it so easy to talk to him, so natural. You’ve only known him for two days, but it feels like decades.

Your hand slips into his when you leave the restaurant and head to the bowling alley. He laces your fingers together two blocks into your walk and you once again wrap your free hand around his arm. It pains you to move away when you have to go in and put on the bowling shoes.

“Before we begin,” he says to you as he watches you put your names into the computer, “let’s make a bet.” You finish entering the ‘y’ of his name and lift an inquisitive brow his way. “If you win, you can have one thing you would want from me.”

You twist in your seat and narrow your eyes, “And if you win?”

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, you watch it disappear with a pout, “I get a kiss.”

“You could just ask for one,” you laugh and slowly lean towards him.

Bucky, too, leans in and bumps noses with you, “Yeah, but it’s more fun if I work for it.” He sits back and winks, trying not to laugh at your deflated and deepening pout. “C’mon, sweetheart, you’re up first.”

You sigh heavily and pick up the bright green ball that you picked from the line waiting to be thrown. “Okay, if I win, then I get to wear that skirt and socks for you,” you say over your shoulder before you toss the ball down the lane. It rolls down the center and knocks down all ten pins as STRIKE flashes on the screen above you.

When you flop down in the chair next to him, he’s still staring at the spot where you stood moments before, gears still churning. “Hey,” you laugh, snapping your fingers in front of his face to knock him out of his daze, “are you okay?”

“Would it be wrong of me to lose on purpose,” he asks sheepishly. You roll your eyes and cross your arms and he lifts his own in surrender. “Okay, okay. I get it, that’s no fun. Just know, darlin’, I don’t go down without a fight.” He steps up and takes the same ball you used and chucks it halfway down the lane before it, too, knocks down all ten pins. He turns to you, a smirk plastered on his face.

As much as you loved to have fun, you loved to win more. “Is that how it’s going to be,” you asked, getting up to pass him on the way to take your turn.

He laughs, pressing close as you both slow when you come into each other’s orbit. “That’s how it’s going to be,” he nods and rakes over his lip with his teeth. A challenge is set and you don’t back down. Strikes and spares are thrown by the both of you in between lingering touches and whispered sweet nothings. 

In the hour you two have rented the lane, you managed two games and with one point over you, Bucky wins. He doesn’t claim his prize right there, it’s too public and there’s far too many people around. Instead, he offers to walk you home and you happily accept as long as you can wrap yourself around him once again, which you do.

You two try to take your time on the way back, enjoying the crisp evening air, but more so each other's company. The conversation from dinner continues as a flow of likes and dislikes between more sweet nothings. You’re lovedrunk by the time you’re at your front door and you don’t want the night to come to an end.

Reluctantly, you release him from your hold and he looks as disappointed as you feel. “Tonight has been wonder-” “I had such a great-” you both begin simultaneously and trail off together, ending in nervous laughter. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, leaning up to kiss his cheek, “for such an amazing night.”

“I should be thanking you,” he says, a hand timidly reaching out to rest on your hip. “I’ve been a little rusty at this kind of thing, but you made it easy.” His thumb traces the arc of your hip bone and you step closer to him. “But, you know, I might need some more practice.” You resisted to roll your eyes, but the laughter bubbles between the both of you. The distance closes by one of you, and you don’t care who, but you find your hands splayed across his chest, “I think I can help you out there.”

“That would be my second win of the night,” he grins down at you, his eyes trained on your lips.

“Speaking of my win,” he trails off. His flesh hand raises to your cheek and you instinctively lean into it. Your nose wrinkles at his chuckle but it doesn’t stop you from raising on your toes to close what little space there was between you.

You could sense his hesitation, the silent question of what was enough and what was too much. A small hum bubbled in your throat as you pushed your hands up his chest, nails scraping up his neck and into his hair. You could feel the shiver ripple throughout his body and his teeth came out to bite down on your bottom lip.

It was your turn to laugh now and he licked into your mouth in return, turning it into a whimpering moan. You could feel his triumphant smirk against your lips and you reward it with a tug of his hair. His hips instantly buck against you which throws you off balance, but he catches you with his metal arm winding around your back and pins you against him. 

Your tongues slip and slide against one another, the taste of his sushi and beer choice mixes with your own. Your nails once again claw along his scalp and cause him to growl into your mouth. He surges forward with you in his grip and crowds you against your door, reluctantly breaking away for air, “We should say goodnight,” Bucky whispered against your kiss swollen lips.

“You can tell me good morning when you wake up next to me tomorrow,” you shoot back and roll your hips against his, causing both of you to react with a strained moan.

“Are you sure,” he asks, tucking a stray hair behind your ear.

“I’ve got a spare toothbrush with your name on it,” you nod. You watch him debate the issue with himself before placing one last chaste kiss on your lips before losing his grip just enough to let you open the door.

You two stumble in, Bucky pulling you back to him, his mouth kissing along your jaw as you try to lock up for the night. You barely got the deadbolt turned when his teeth sank into your sink causing you to cry out. He instantly licks at apologetically and turns his attention to getting you undressed instead.

When your sweater is pulled over your head, you push off Bucky’s jacket, both falling to the floor near the door. Shoes are next to go, sloppily kicked off near each other and once again you two are drawn back together, tongues dancing. Your fingers twist into the short brown locks and his hands snaked down to your ass. He lightly cups each cheek, using them to bring you as close as possible, and even though your bodies leave very little room for air to pass through you still try to move closer.

“Bed,” he breathes into your mouth. You give him a quick nod. With a happy groan, he squeezes you by your bottom, picking you up to carry you to your room, your legs instantly wrapping around his waist. 

Your small one bedroom apartment isn't anything special, but it is yours and it has the biggest, comfiest bed that you are in love with. Bucky easily guides you both there, not once breaking your kiss aside from grunting or growling from your teasing hair pulls or the rolls of your hips. 

He climbs onto the mattress with you still wrapped around his upper half, crawling up to the pile of pillows near the headboard where he eventually lays you down. His weight settles above you, and normally, you would welcome it’s warmth and comfort, but at that moment, you want it to be rough and needy. “Bucky,” you whine, this time the one to break the kiss.

Flushed cheeks and blown pupils, he looks down at you, boxing you in with his arms on either side of your head. “What is it, sweetheart?”

“You’re wearing too much,” you tell him as you try to pull off his shirt, it makes it up to his shoulders before it stops. His laugh shakes his entire body and yours, which makes you pout in return. 

“You’re wearing the same amount, doll,” he reminds you, looking down to see your breasts sway in your camisole. “Far, far too much, in my opinion.”

You roll your eyes and playfully slap at his chest, “Then do something about it.” He mutters something about impatience and sits on his knees between your parted thighs as he pulls his shirt over his head to toss it aside.

“Your turn,” he nods to your shirt while he works on the buckle of his belt. You hastily pull the top over your head and work on your slacks, wriggling out of them just as does his own. He sits back on his hunches and looks you over, laying spread out in a matching white lace bra and underwear set. Now at he’s down to his boxer briefs, you can see how big he his, how hard he is, and when his wandering eyes rest on your covered sex, you can see it twitch with anticipation. “Holy shit, you’re beautiful.”

You didn’t think your entire body could blush from embarrassment, but Bucky just proved you could. “That’s my line,” you return, taking in every inch of his exposed skin over hard muscle. Super serum or not, Bucky Barnes was a gorgeous specimen. When you two finally lock eyes once more, you both shiver. “Are you going to touch me?”

He lets out a shaky breath and reaches out to run a hand lightly over your damp panties, slick from your want for him. “I’m afraid I’ll never stop,” he replies honestly, instantly addicted to the needy whimpers you are giving him.

“I don’t think I would want you to,” you groan. “Please?” You feel his fingertips dance over the lace, tracing over the pattern and causing you to throb with need. “Bucky!”

“You need me, don’t you,” he asks, voice dropping to a low rumble that hits you right at your core and makes your toes curl. “You need my touch. Need me to satisfy that ache?” You nod desperately trying to sit up to pull him down on top of you, but he pins you down before you could rise. “Tell me,” he purrs.

“I need you,” you respond instantly. You’re rewarded with his fingers pushing the panties aside and begin to dance along the slick folds.

“You need what,” he goads. He finds your clit and rubs it once to draw a happy mew from you but stops much to your disappointment.

“I need you, Bucky. I need you to touch me, to kiss me,” you whine with a rock of your hips, trying to get him to move again, but he doesn’t. “I need you to taste me, to lick me, to fuck me.”

Smile on his kiss bruised lips, his thumb swirls around your bud and he sinks his middle finger into you with a groan. “You’re tight,” he hisses as he sinks knuckle-deep, “and dripping. Shit, you’re going to feel like heaven.”

You can’t focus on what he’s saying too much. The feel of his fingers pumping in and out of you feels good, feels right, but it’s not enough, even when he adds two or three. He works you open, your slick starting to run down his fingers, and he palms himself over his briefs.  “Bucky, please,” your voice cracks, “I need more.”

He nods, he has time to take you apart with just his fingers later, but it’s been so long since he’s been with someone like this, someone he’s felt like this with, he needs it as much as you do. When he removes his fingers from you, you whine at the loss but it cuts off into a gasp as you watch him lap and suck off your slick from his hand. Bucky freezes, eyes narrowing, and for a moment you’re wondering if you did something wrong. “What? What is it?”

“Trying to stop myself from eating you alive,” he says through clenched teeth, jaw visibly flexing with the effort. You blink up at him, confused, but he shakes his head and forces himself to remove his boxer briefs. “I’m having you for breakfast,” he decides.

“Uh huh,” you reply absently, your mouth watering as his cock bounces against his stomach when it’s free. It’s long, thick, and leaking, trying to hypnotize you and very much succeeding. 

“I’ll let you return the favor, sweetheart,” he laughs. His flesh hand spreads his pre-cum down his shaft and he pumps slowly while his metal hand pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb. “Still with me?”

Blinking free of your daze, you stare at his lustful gaze and nod. He moves closer, hooks your legs over the bends of his elbows and runs the head of his cock along your folds. Your hole twitches desperately for him, “Such a pretty little pussy, so needy.” Your hands wrap around his wrists and grip at him tightly, hard enough to make him hiss. “You’ve been a good girl, I guess I can give you what you want.”

He pushes in agonizingly slow, the head of his cock sinking in what felt like centimeter by centimeter. You clench around him, trying to draw more of him in, but Bucky takes his time to bottom out. When he is finally fully seated in you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and apparently so did he. “Fuck,” you say simultaneously. 

Your legs are positioned around his waist and he once again frames your head with his forearms, which, in turn, pushes him further inside of you. “You feel so good, doll,” he whispers against the ‘o’ of your lips. “So warm, so tight, taking me so good.” Your hands find their way up his arms and into his hair. All it takes is one tug that has him growling, “And I’m going to ruin this pretty pussy so good that it’s going to feel me all week.” He rolls his hips back as slowly as he originally pushed in, “And I wanna hear you tell everyone who it belongs to while I do it.”

He snaps his hips forward driving you up the bed and further into the pillows, a cry getting caught in your throat from it. His pace is brutal, skin slaps against skin, and his mouth seeks out yours. The kiss is sloppy, but hungry, just as primal as his pistoning hips. You hold on to him the best you can as the bed rocks, headboard slamming against the wall. Your nails trail against his skin, egging him on and drawing sinful noises from love-swollen lips. 

His hips shift angles and eventually find that spot that makes you see stars. “Bucky,” you cry out breathlessly, uncurling your toes and removing your nails from his shoulder blades. He buries his face in your neck and marks you with his teeth and tongue as he relentlessly fucks towards your brink. “So… f-fuck- so close.”

“Cum for me then, sweetheart,” Bucky growls against your skin, snaking a hand between your bodies to work at your clit. “Show me how good I make you feel. Cum for me.” His thumb rubs over your bud once, twice and a white hot punch in your gut blossoms throughout your body as you let out a strangled cry of his name. 

You can feel yourself clamp around him, working him impossibly deeper, begging him to fall down into the abyss with you. And he does, hard. He chases his bliss with you, your name a mantra spilling from his lips as he spills inside of you. He doesn’t stop until you’ve both become too sensitive to handle anymore. He pulls out of you with a heavy sigh and falls next to you on the bed onto his stomach. 

“Holy shit,” you finally break the silence, “that was…”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his head turned to look at you with tired, blissful eyes. “Goddamn, yeah it was.”

You weakly reach around to search for his hand and eventually find it, he lances his fingers with yours. You don’t break eye contact when he leans over to share a few chaste kisses before collapsing again. “You’re fantastic, Bucky, and I want you to know that was the hottest sex I have had to date.”

His post orgasm bliss is shattered and replaced with a furrowed brow, “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“...but as hot as it is feeling you drip out of me, I need to shower,” you finish. You can see the relief wash over him and he nods in understanding. 

“I’ve got a good memory,” he yawns and taps at his head, “that image is stored right here.” You fight a blush and slide off of your bed to head to the bathroom when seconds later you hear him do the same. He shrugs at your questioning look, “No need to waste water, right?”

You laugh as you turn on the faucets only to be crowded against the wall and your mouth is covered with his once more. The water splashing against your bodies and the echoing sounds of your moans drown out the repeated calls to Bucky’s phone. Mission. Suit up. SW

Answer your damn phone. SW

It’s the green button. SW

Green button and slide right. SW

Dammit, if you blocked me again, I stg. SW

Man, what are you doing in Soho? Yes, I’m tracking you. OMW. SW

a/n: To be continued? 

[mooresomore]

Here’s the full Headcanon fic that came from the ask @fearlessbuck sent me. Unbeta’d, so any mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Buck had realized how Eddie got when Buck had taken Christopher to do things, or when he babysat Jee-Yun. He would be lying if he said he didn’t deliberately ask sometimes to spend time with Christopher alone, just to get the sweet, sappy side of Eddie later.

The first time it happened, Buck had thought it was a fluke. How Eddie had still trusted Buck with Christopher after the tsunami incident was beyond Buck; however, Eddie had said that Christopher saw Buck “saving him” that day, and Eddie launched into a speech about how many times he’d failed Christopher and that he’d never stop trying, and that Eddie knew Buck wouldn’t stop trying either. Then came the bombshell that “there’s no one I trust more with my son more than you” (Buck would forgive the “not Abuela, and only half a Carla'' comparison). Eddie had recommended something inland (like the zoo) instead of the Pier, and Buck had decided that was a perfect plan.

Buck tried not to send too many pictures; he knew Eddie was on shift. But there were just some that he couldn’t resist. Like Christopher standing next to the “How Tall Am I?” polar bear sign, Christopher staring at the tigers with wide eyes, and the one of Buck and Christopher smiling in front of the otters that were floating (and holding hands). Buck didn’t get any responses back, but he hadn’t figured he would; Eddie was probably really busy on shift.

When Eddie came to get Christopher that night, there was a look that Buck couldn’t quite place; it seemed like Eddie wanted to say something, but Christopher was quickly falling asleep, so Eddie left. Buck did get a thank you text though.

Then the lawsuit happened. And the grocery store scene. Buck hadn’t realized how much Christopher was missing him (and it seemed like Eddie was missing Buck too, to be honest, but Buck wasn’t going to dig into that right now); he had dropped the lawsuit, but he and Eddie seemed to be on shaky ground. They started to find their footing again, and then it was like old times, and Buck was back to movie nights with Christopher and Eddie. There was still that look, but Buck wasn’t sure how to bring it up.

The well incident. Buck hated this one the most. He had tried to dig through 30 feet of mud to get to Eddie; there was no denying what he felt for Eddie now. Buck had waited until Eddie had been released from the hospital and told Eddie; Eddie had confessed to Buck his feelings as well, and they had started slowly easing into a relationship.

Buck had finally figured it out though, and it wasn’t a fluke. Eddie always got more soft and sappy whenever Buck was doing things with Christopher, and their alone time after that reflected it too- Eddie was a lot softer and sweeter with his kisses and the sex was a lot slower and more romantic (instead of the hurried/more frantic kind they normally had). Buck started working on ways to get to do things with Christopher by himself; he really liked seeing this soft side of Eddie. If Eddie had figured out that Buck knew how Eddie felt when he saw Buck and Christopher together, he never said anything. He just kept taking Buck up on his offers of “me time” and let Buck and Christopher do their thing. 

Then Jee-Yun came along. Seeing Buck with his baby niece did things to Eddie. He knew he was being pretty open with his feelings on this one, but he didn’t care. Especially when Buck kept volunteering to babysit so Maddie and Chimney could have some “parent’s alone time”. Eddie had gotten roped into a few of the babysitting days, and after most of them, he’d either sent Christopher to his Abuela’s, Tia Pepa’s, or to a friend’s house for a sleepover so that he and Buck could have their own “alone time” and take things as slow as they wanted to. Eddie would drag it out and whisper “I love you” and all the words that he normally couldn’t say.

“You know, I love this soft, sweet, sappy side of you.” Buck said one time as they lay in bed, Buck absentmindedly tracing patterns on Eddie’s chest. 

“I kind of like it too.” Eddie admitted. “It’s a different feeling.”

The next time they babysat Jee-Yun, it was Eddie who had requested to do it. Buck could only flush a little as they picked her up; Chimney and Maddie looked at them like they knew something was going on, but they didn’t say anything (they really could use the sleep; Jee-Yun had been up all night screaming, which meant they hadn’t got any sleep themselves).

Jee-Yun was a little more fussy than normal and didn’t want to be put down; Eddie put the baby sling on without hesitation and started pacing around the living room to get her to calm down; it was Buck this time who had the “heart eyes” (as Christopher had taken to calling them). It stirred up a feeling that Buck hadn’t felt in a long time.

After getting Jee-Yun back home to Chimney and Maddie, they sat on the couch, each nursing a beer (Christopher was over at Hen and Karen’s house for a sleepover with Denny and Harry). Buck decided to bring up the topic.

“Um, have you ever thought about any more kids?” Buck asked, taking a long sip of his beer.

“You know, I really hadn’t,” Eddie admitted. “Christopher is more than enough for me. But, now that I’ve been around Jee-Yun, and seeing you with her, it’s crossed my mind.” Eddie stopped to take a drink of his beer. “I’m not going to lie, I’m not looking forward to the late night feedings, the screaming all night, or the potty training.” Eddie stopped again. “You know though, I would be here for all of it though. Get a chance to do it all right this time.”

“You did a good job with Christopher.” Buck said, reaching out for Eddie’s hand. “We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I just thought we should talk about it.”

“Yeah, we should.” Eddie said. “I don’t know. Maybe in the future, once things slow down some. I’m not going to lie, it would be really hot to see you holding a baby and singing lullabies.”

“Am I still going to be hot when I have baby puke in my hair and am so sleep deprived I put coffee creamer on my cereal instead of milk?” Buck laughed.

“Fair point.” Eddie laughed. “Table it for now?”

“Sure.” Buck said. “We can be the coolest uncles to Jee-Yun, and the best dads to Christopher. That works for me.”

“Me too.” Eddie drained the rest of his beer and stood up, reaching for Buck’s hand. “Come on. Bedtime.”

“Bedtime or bedtime?” Buck playfully asked, draining his own beer.

“Your call.” Eddie said. “I’ll have you know, my very skilled hands got your niece to sleep. I’m pretty sure I can put you to sleep quickly. Or we can have some fun first and then we can sleep.”

“I like option 2.” Buck grinned.

“I figured you’d say that.” Eddie said.

*

Eddie was running his fingers through Buck’s hair as they started drifting off. “Hey Buck?”

“Yeah Eddie?”

“I love you. And you’re a great dad to Christopher. In case I don’t tell you enough.”

“Thanks. You’re a great dad too. I love you.” Buck closed his eyes and let Eddie’s hand in his hair lull him to sleep.

[dean-winchesters-gardian-angel]

The Same bed - Chapter 4

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Friends are there to help each other out, but can they help falling for each other when all the long days they spend together turn into late nights they have and their reliance on each other.

Word count: 2544

Warnings: Fluff, angst, description of blood and injuries, nightmares, slow burn.

A/N: Chapter 4! Off we go. Read it enjoy and I’ll see you on the other side. There’s also a tag list, so be sure to tell me if you want in, as well as a masterlist so be sure to check it out. As are the latests, Unbeta’d all mistakes are mine.

Series masterlist 

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Dean didn't sleep that night, too busy cursing himself for hurting Y/N and simultaneously afraid he may have a nightmare. He had gotten up several times with the intention of going to her room and seeking forgiveness if she'd give it to him, though he wouldn't blame her if she refused. Instead, he'd pace around his room or make it as far as her door before heading to the bathroom to wash his face rather than knocking.

The next night Dean had been too exhausted to stay awake, now accustomed to getting around 8 hours he passed out some time just after 2 in the morning while everyone else slept soundly. Dean managed to get just over an hour of shut-eye before waking up to one of his worst nightmares. He jolted up with a scream though quickly cut himself off as to not wake anyone. Nevertheless, he was half a scream too late as Y/N sat up in her own bed wanting to go check on him but refused due to her own stubbornness.

Dean mumbled a 'son of bitch' before getting up and making his way to the kitchen to get started on some coffee. Dean was given about 2 hours to contemplate his idiocy towards Y/N before his brother found his way to the kitchen.

"Dean?"

"Huh? Hey, morning."

"Man, you look like trash."

"Oh, thanks you're not so bad yourself in the shorts." Sam looked to his running shorts before rolling his eyes.

"You always did give me a hard time for wanting to stay in shape."

"Hunting keeps you in shape, not some little jaunt you do every morning. Hey, speaking of, have you found any new cases seems like forever since we've killed a deserving asshat."

"I've been talking to Jody and Donna, they've got a lead on a vamp nest, said they're heading out in two days and we're more than welcome to tag along."

"So, tomorrow. What time."

"They wanted to hit it just after sundown. So, we would leave tomorrow morning if you're interested."

"Oh, I'm interested, give me some' to kill."

"Dean are you sure you're okay. You usually become self-destructive when you've got something going on, something you need to talk about."

"I'm fine, Sammy."

"I'd mention that Y/N isn't sleeping in your room anymore, but I think that'd just make you mad considering that's probably what's bothering you."

"So much for not mentioning it." Dean swallowed what was left in his coffee cup before washing it and setting it in the dry rack. He made his way back to his room hoping his brother would take the hint and leave for his run, which he did. Once he heard the bunker door shut Dean went back to the kitchen to have another cup of coffee. As he sat down the sound of footsteps padding down the hall alerting him that Y/N had awoken. Dean straightened his posture as she entered the kitchen making her way to the cabinet to fish out a mug without making eye contact.

"Morning Y/N."

"Oh my god! It speaks." She filled her mug before walking out having not looked him in the eyes once. Dean rested his chin in his palm kicking himself for having hurt her. After a deep sigh, he dragged his palm over his face closing his eyes momentarily allowing them some rest from the lights of the bunker. Dean strolled his way to Y/N's room and knocked on her door. He heard her sniffle some before the door swung open, Y/N standing in front of him, eyebrows raised clearly on her last nerve.

"I just wanted to let you know we've got a case tomorrow, with Jody and Donna, we've got to leave early-ish so, you know, you might want to pack today so you're not rushing. Anyway, just keeping you in the loop." Y/N looked at her best friend whose eyes were tired, red, and glossy, staring at the ground in front of him. She missed him, but she didn't know why he was angry at her.

"Thanks." She turned away from him intent on closing her door to block the view of the broken man she so deeply cared about and wanted to help, and he spoke.

"Y/N."

"Yeah?" Dean swallowed trying to think of what he wanted to say to her but came up with nothing. There wasn't anything specific he wanted to tell her in that moment he just wanted to be with her. In the same room sitting next to her, looking at her. He wanted to spend time with his best friend whom he had been missing lately but if there was one person more stubborn than Y/N it was Dean.

"Nothing...nothing." With a sad smile and a sigh, Dean walked to his own room with the aim of avoiding her, once again, all day.

Dean listens as Y/N played her music in her room and smiled when the Grease love song came though it wasn't given a chance to finish before Y/N skipped it. He could hear his brother and Y/N talking in the library during the day occasionally finding something funny as they giggled in unison. He missed having her, missed being the one laughing with her, or even just talking with her.

Nearing the end of the day, Dean made his way out of his room for the first time that to grab a snack before trying his hand at some forty winks, wanting to be rested up before their hunt tomorrow. The energy of the room sizzled to nothing as he entered the kitchen. Sammy and Y/N were sitting next to each other looking at pictures of haircuts on the internet.

"Seriously Sam, I've been cutting my own hair my whole life. Just let me add a little shape to it. A little trim here and there I can make you look like the handsome devil you really are."

"I'm not letting you cut my hair. I don't trust you not to just cut it all off. Besides, I don't—" Both their eyes looked up to Dean as he stood in the doorway observing their interaction. Once he noticed their gaze he moved to the counter, pulling a bowl from the cupboard and reaching for the box of cereal.

"Sam and I made pasta if you're hungry for real food." Dean looked over the noodles as his tummy growled, licking his lips.

"Dean, just have some, we're not gonna finish it. It'll just end up going to waste." He hesitantly looked over his shoulder forcing a smile to Y/N who had the smallest one of her on her face. She watched him as he traded his bowl for a plate. Dean plated himself some of the homemade food before Y/N gestured at the spot in front of herself and Sam along with the parmesan on the table. Dean took a seat not wanting to be impolite more so than he'd already been.

"Anyway, I'm trying to convince Sam to let me trim his hair."

"You're not touching my hair with a ten-foot pole."

"Oh, come on Sam it grows back. You'll see, it'll look really good and you won't even want to grow it back. Won't be in your eyes anymore, won't distract you during hunts, monsters won't be able to grab at it. You know I make a good case."

"Sure. But you're still not cutting my hair." Meanwhile, Dean was silently moaning at the flavours on his plate. Y/N watched as the eldest closed his eyes savouring the taste, before he spoke, displaying his voice to them for the first time since the early morning.

"This is kind of amazing. I don't think I've ever had spaghetti this amazing. What jar did you guys use?" Referring to the sauce that had his taste buds dancing on his tongue.

"Actually, Y/N made the sauce."

"My mum used to make these gigantic pots of spaghetti sauce and freeze it so we could have it whenever we want. I was missing it, so I made some from memory. It's not hers but I think it turned out alright. I know I missed something, but I can't for the life of me remember what it was." Dean looked up, his mouth full, to the women speaking, no longer focusing on him rather in her head desperately searching for the missing ingredient, as he swallowed.

"You made the sauce? From scratch?"

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I mean it's not really that hard just time consuming, you have to let it simmer for a little bit, but I think it's worth it. Once in a while at least."

"You mind if I have more?"

"Go right ahead. Sam and I both already had seconds." Dean finished what was left and helped himself to more before moving back to his spot at the table.

"Sam promised to make me the 'Winchester Surprise' one day? Said you used to make it for him." Sam looked to his brother who reminisced, thinking back to the worst meals he had prepared for his baby brother.

"It was terrible. Sam that's — to repay her for this. Seriously Y/N you won't want to eat anything we make for the rest of your life. It was god awful."

"As much as I believe you because I do, by the description, Sam gave me, oh boy, I'll still be the judge of that." Dean chuckled at her retort missing her effortless comebacks and modesty when it came to the things she was good at, though he found it frustrating when she didn't accept the compliment he'd give her. He wanted her to brag about how many Djinns she could kill in a week, or in this case how good the sauce was instead of saying it wasn't perfect, so he'd done it for her, telling his brother when she would do something 'awesome', as he'd put it, that made him feel proud to call himself her friend. The guilt he felt was sudden and overwhelming. Even after he'd gone days without speaking to her, after pushing her away so abruptly, she was still offering him dinner, the conversation, the casual smile, the eye contact. How he longed for her eye contact. She had always been able to communicate with him with her eyes. He craved her gaze, how her orbs would sparkle when she was happy or grow dark when hooded with anger. But the thing he loved the most about her eyes was the fact that when they looked into his, it was like nothing else mattered. He could see he had her attention, and he wouldn't want to look away.

"I'm—ehem— I'm heading to bed, didn't sleep well last night, gonna try to rest up before our hunt tomorrow." Dean looked to Y/N who had a saddened look on her face, clearly angry and confused as to why Dean wouldn't let her help him. When he noticed the look on her face, he realized his words and quickly made up an excuse for why he couldn't sleep hoping to ease Y/Ns mind indirectly.

"Maybe it was a full moon, could never sleep well during a full moon."

"Full moon was last week Dean." Y/N answered him with an unreadable expression along with it. He didn't respond in an effort to save what dignity he had left. He forced a smile in Y/Ns direction as he passed by, once he'd finished cleaning his dishes.

"You mind telling me what's going on between the two of you Y/N?"

"Honestly Sam I haven't got the slightest."

"I know you two were sharing a bed... was that like—"

"If you're suggesting that we were a thing then no. He slept better when there was someone in the room with him, so I was that someone. Then out of the blue, he got distant and said he didn't need me anymore so." She shrugged not sure how to further explain their recent exchanges. "I know he's not through with the nightmares though because I heard his screams last night. I didn't check on him 'cause I was angry at him saying they were done, and he didn't need me anymore, but it was petty. I wanted him to stew in his nightmare, remember how bad they were before I told him I'd stay. I just don't understand him, I didn't do anything to warrant his actions. I haven't bothered asking why he's mad at me and even if I did, he'd just ignore me some more so what's the point. He's being a child. He's acting like I killed his brother when really all I'm trying to do is cut his hair." Her joke succeeded in lightening the mood as Sam chuckled moving to the sink to clean off his plate.

"You're a good influence on him, you know?"

"Why's that."

"Well for starters, he washed his plate."

"Oh yeah, I yelled at him this one time for leaving a mess, which I'm pretty sure was actually mine from the night before, but he hasn't left dirty dishes since so I guess it all worked out." Sam outright laughed at that before excusing himself to prepare for bedtime.

By the time 8 o'clock rolled around the bunker was silent, everyone in their respective bedrooms reading or watching a little telly before getting some rest. Due to the lack of sleep the nights prior and the upcoming hunt, Dean closed his eyes tight willing the nightmares away as he gripped his sheets. It didn't take him long to doze off though and it didn't last long before he was startled awake by Y/Ns voice. "Dean! Wake up!" She looked terrified, holding Dean down by his shoulders. "You idiot. Get up."

"Y/N? Why? What's—" She dragged him out of bed to the bathroom.

"Look at your hand Dean." She could hear the anger in her voice frustrated with him for refusing her help. The help they both knew would work. Dean looked down at the palm she hadn't grasped as she marched him down the hall like a child in trouble. It was bleeding, trailing down his fingers, shards of dark glass still imbedded in the tender skin of his palm.

"How did—" It came out as a whisper, laced with sleep as he did his best to orientate himself. Y/N turned on the light in the bathroom before forcibly sitting him on the lid of the toilet.

"You must have grabbed the beer bottle on your nightstand in your sleep." Y/N had pulled out the first aid kit they had stored under the sink along with a pair of tweezers, kneeling in front of the older Winchester.

"Y/N you don't have to—"

"I swear Dean if you tell me you don't need my help one more time I swear," she looked up from his palm to glare at him, "I’m going to tie you down until you get past... what ever this is." She didn't break eye contact with him until he nodded, shamefully looking down at the injury he only now started to feel.

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Chapter 5 ~~ Out now!

Tag List: @akshi8278​ @bargedog @just-someone-difficult​ @mila-dans​ @valhallavxlkyrie​

Series Tags: @autobotgirl15-blog​ @classyunknownlover​ @laycblack​ @lovememisha​ @music-is-all-i-need​ @redbarn1995​ @wellfuckmyexistence​

[mishkatelwarriorgoddess]

Make You Feel My Love

Pairing: F!Reader X Dean Winchester (Sam mentioned)

Word Count: 713

Warnings: none

Summary: In an attempt to express how you feel, you sit down at the piano the boys had brought in and play a little song.

A/N: It seems like a lot, okay already, all of my fics center around music. But music has always been a HUGE part of my life, whether I’m playing it on the flute or singing along with a song that’s on my playlist. Which is exactly how this one came to be. This is unbeta’d so all mistakes are my own.

Enjoy!

             For once, there was no hunt to go on; no monsters to kill, no innocents to save, not innocence to take from people who didn’t really know about the supernatural aspect of things. No, thankfully for once, it was quiet.

           The boys were still asleep; they had stayed up all night in the Dean Cave and watched Die Hard for the millionth time while you had opted to go to sleep early. You mixed up the batter for the pancakes and separated the bacon strips so that things would go easier once Dean entered the kitchen, but it was still too early to start cooking.

           So, you wandered the halls of the bunker with no particular destination in mind. But you knew where you’d end up. You always did. And no one ever complained.

           The cement was cool on your feet as you quietly padded through the halls. You looked in on the boys quietly as you passed their respective rooms; careful not to wake Sam with the click of the door as you closed it. Dean could have had a nuclear bomb go off next to him on days like this and he STILL wouldn’t wake up.

           You smiled to yourself as you walked further into the heart of the bunker. You might wake the boys up, but they wouldn’t mind once they realized the song and its significance to the situation you were in. And Dean would forgive you when you started frying the bacon.

           You opened the door to the room and looked at the surprise that had been brought in for you after a hunt you���d been injured on. It was their way of saying ‘Sorry’ and letting you know how much you meant to them without saying a word. You’d hosted many a sing-along in this room since then, and both of them had good singing voices.

           You sat down and opened the lid. The white and black keys shined from the years of being used, not by you but the previous owner. That was what made this gift especially beautiful, the worn look that it had before you ever played a note on it.

           You started to play the opening chords, quietly at first, then with more emotion behind them as you started singing:

When the rain is blowing in your face And the whole world is on your case I could offer you a warm embrace To make you feel my love

           It was almost as if the piano had a soul. You were always able to put into the song you sang whatever it was that you were feeling as you played and sang.

When the evening shadows and the stars appear And there is no one there to dry your tears I could hold you for a million years To make you feel my love

           You were so focused on playing that you were startled when Dean began to sing with you.

I know you haven't made your mind up yet But I would never do you wrong I've known it from the moment that we met No doubt in my mind where you belong

           You just smiled and sang the rest of the song with him, leaning into each other. Both of you humming at parts and singing with each other to the end.

Go to the ends of the Earth for you To make you feel my love To make you feel my love

           You sat on the bench together as the last note faded, leaning on Dean’s shoulder and afraid to say anything and break the spell that seemed to be with the two of you.

           The elder Winchester kissed the top of your head and took your hand to lead you out of the room. You followed behind him, not knowing where he was taking you and not really caring.

           He quietly walked through the halls of the bunker, back to his room. As he opened the door, he gave you a look to ask if it was okay. You reached for his face with both of your hands and raised up on your toes to gently kiss him, letting him know that it was more than okay.

           He quietly closed the door as HE made you feel his love!

TAGS: @luci-in-trenchcoats @deansblackangel @justagirlinafandomworld @pinknerdpanda @gogolucky13 @kittenofdoomage @huffle-pissed @idreamofplaid @river-soul @deangirl93 @imagineteamfreewill

[jensengirl83]

Sober Saturday Night

Dean x reader

Word Count-1080

Warnings- Angst, heartbreak, Dean and his self-loathing

Loosely based on the song “Sober Saturday Night” by Chris Young

 Thank you @emoryhemsworth for showing me the song that sparked the inspiration!

Unbeta’d so mistakes are my own. 

It was a lazy Sunday morning and Dean used to love mornings like this. Waking up with Y/n in his arms and a smile on his face. That was until two weeks ago. Y/n had gotten hurt on a hunt, nothing major, but that didn’t keep his anxiety from running wild. The thoughts wreaking havoc on his already self-depreciating mind. Sure, it was just a bruised rib, but it could have been so much worse. If he couldn’t stop her from getting hurt this time, what makes him think he could protect her from something else that could hurt or possibly kill her!

It all happened in the blink of an eye it seemed. His thoughts going straight to pushing her away because the alternative would hurt much worse. Dean knew it wasn’t the right thing to do, but the possibility of watching her die one day won out in his head.

“What the hell Y/n!” Dean’s voice startling her. They had barely walked through the bunker door.

“What now Dean?” Y/n knew it was going to be a fight. “I know what you’re going to say, and I don’t want to hear it Winchester.”

“You weren’t paying attention Y/n! How could you be so stupid?!”

Y/n stopped in her tracks. They had arguments about hunts before, but he had never taken it this far. Turning around to face him, Y/n looks at Dean to see if he was actually serious.

“Excuse me? Did you just say I was stupid Dean?” The look on her face was terrifying but he wasn’t backing down.

“Yes Y/n, you getting hurt could have been avoided if you weren’t being so reckless, and yes, STUPID!” The venom in his voice as he over exaggerated the word stupid. Y/n could not believe how he was acting.

“If I’m so stupid Dean, you can just hunt without me!” Y/n was trying to stay calm but is was almost too much.

“I’ve got one better. You can just leave.” Dean regretted the words as soon as they passed his lips, but his fear was getting the best of him. The look of heartbreak and sorrow on Y/n’s face was almost enough for him to apologize and beg her to forgive him. He didn’t have time as Y/n picked up her duffle from the war room table and walked out of the bunker without a word.

That is how he ended up here in his room with the gaping hole in his chest. Dean has regretted his words since she walked away from him. Just the thought of her brings tears to his eyes and makes it hard to catch a breath. She is the love of his life. She’ll never know because he was a coward and pushed her away before he could ever speak the words. Dean takes a deep breath to try and keep the tears from spilling down his cheeks.

He has tried everything to forget her, but she is everywhere. He sees her in the kitchen, dancing while cooking them dinner. He sees her in the library with her glasses on the tip of her nose helping Sammy with the lore. He sees her in the backseat of baby, singing along with his cassettes on the way to another hunt. The whiskey bottle they used to share on the hard nights. No matter what he does or where he goes, she is there.

The scent of her is still on her pillow. Dean clings to it every night before he goes to sleep, just wishing he could take everything back. He has never felt so empty, the heartache of losing her nearly too much. Dean hasn’t really left his room since she’s been gone, only if there is a hunt that he can’t delegate. Hunting isn’t even the same without her. Looking in the backseat of Baby expecting to see that smile that always warmed his heart, only to find it empty.

Dean has always been one to push his feelings down with women and whiskey. You could always find him underneath some neon lights with a drink in his hand, and a woman on his arm, but not now. There isn’t a woman on earth or a whiskey strong enough to mend his broken heart.

Dean just stares at the ceiling. He has tried to find her, but she does not want to be found. Sam keeps telling him to give her time, but the longer she’s gone the more he becomes a shell of the man he used to be. He never believed in soul mates or that everyone has someone out there just for them. He knows better now, she was and still is, his everything.

Dean runs a hand down his face and feels the tears he didn’t even know had escaped. How many times has he cried in the last two weeks? He has to do something, he can’t go another day without her, but what can he do that he hasn’t already done? A knock on his door pulls him from his self-demeaning inner monologue.

“You ever going to come back to the land of the living man?” Sam’s head peeking into the room.

“I don’t know Sammy, what do you think?” Sam just ignores the disdain in Dean’s voice.

“Just call her man, you can’t keep going like this.” Sam says as he closes the door.

Dean springs out the bed and nearly falls trying to get to his phone. Why hadn’t he thought of calling her? He dials her number hoping she hasn’t changed it yet. He holds his breath listening to it ring, it finally going to her voicemail.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry baby. I feel terrible for what I said sweetheart. I’m so miserable and I’m missing you and me. Waking up all alone underneath these sheets, and I’m not hungover like you think I would be. I’m just trying to get over another night with you. Please come back, because I can’t keep going with you not by my side. I love you.”

The tone letting him know he’s out of time ringing in his ear. He sighs and puts his phone back on the table in his room. As he lies back down, he prays to Chuck, Cas, or whoever might be listening, that she will come back home. Because, besides the pain, he can’t feel a damn thing. He doesn’t know if he can get through another sober Saturday night.

[banshee1013]

Suptober Day 22 - But I Know That I Love You So

Well, this is it - the last one I managed to finish both art and fic for during the month of October, and it’s at a pretty good stopping point. There are 2 others where the fic is done but not the art, and two additional ones in the planning stages, all which will be released when they’re done. The Masterpost will be published tomorrow, and then updated with AO3 tags as they’re posted there.

Please forgive this last one - I’m still learning to draw people and not that great at it. That’s why there were so many inanimate objects, still life, and hands HAHA. Something to get better at for next year! 

So, I hope you enjoy this last installment! Thanks again to @winchester-reload for hosting this challenge again, and I look forward to having the time now to check out everyone else’s amazing work! You’re ALL ROCK STARS.

Overall Title: The Road Less Traveled

Overall Rating: Mature (may change to Explicit, we’ll see how it goes)

Tags: Castiel/Dean, mention of Sam/Eileen, Post-Season 15, ExAngel!Cas, MostlyRetiredHunter!Dean, Road Trip

(Note: all ficlets are unbeta’d. At the end of the month, I’ll wrap up whatever I manage to get written, clean it up, get it beta’d, and post to AO3. So please pardon any mistakes!)

========================================================

CHAPTER THIRTEEN - BUT I KNOW THAT I LOVE YOU SO

Words: 1797

“Baby, we need to talk,” 

Dean’s eyes bore into his, earnest, wide with concern and not a small amount of fear.

A small thread of worry wormed its way around his heart from that statement, the look in his eyes. But the increasing amount of shivering he feels through their clasped hands is far more of a problem at the moment. 

“Yes, of course… but Dean, you’re shivering.” He gently disengages a hand from Dean’s, using the other to pull him towards the bathroom and the shower there. 

“Cas, I… “ Dean starts but cuts himself off as Cas pulls the shower door back to turn on the water. “W-what’s g-g-going on?” 

Cas pivots back to Dean, quickly stripping him of his wet clothes, Dean’s shivering increasing. The clothes are tossed in the corner, and he turns again to check the temperature of the water, which is starting to steam up the mirror over the sink. Turning it down a little so as to not scald him, he urges Dean into the shower. 

“You need to warm up or you’ll catch a cold,” Castiel says, gently pushing him under the spray, and begins to close the shower door when Dean’s hand grasps his wrist.

“Cas, g-get in h-here with me, you’re w-w-wet too.” 

Dean does have a point, Castiel notices, looking down at his own dripping clothes beginning to form a pool of water beneath him, his own shivers amplifying. He eyes the tiny tub, the showerhead just barely reaching the back of Dean’s neck and a mere few feet of room left. “The shower is too small for both of us.” He does begin to remove his sodden clothing, however, tossing it in the corner of the bathroom to join Dean’s. He’ll have to hang them up after their showers in hopes they’ll be dry enough to pack in the morning. “The steam from the shower will warm me.” He closes the bathroom door to trap even more of the warmth.

But Dean is nothing if not persistent. “Cas, c’mon, we’ll make it work.” The shower is having its desired effect, at least, as his voice is no longer shaking. The insistent tone gives way to one more pleading. “Please, Cas? I need to talk to you.” 

Castiel cannot deny him anything, especially when said in that tone of voice. He acquiesces, climbing into the shower, and is immediately pulled under the spray and into Dean’s arms.  

“There, much better, am I right?” 

It’s very hard to deny, the warmth of the water and Dean’s proximity chasing away his own shivering. He ducks to allow the water to run over his head, warming him fully before spinning Dean carefully around, urging his head under the water as well.

Dean sputters, pulling his head out from under the water. “Okay, okay, I’m good now.” He brushes the excess water from his face, then places a palm on Castiel’s shoulder, the other cupping his jaw, lifting his face to meet Dean’s eyes. The hint of concern is back, and the thread of worry around his heart pulls taut.

“Cas, we need to…” he pauses, closing his eyes briefly and taking a deep breath before continuing. “I need to talk to you about what I asked you the other day.” 

The thread of worry snaps and Castiel’s heart plummets into the pit forming in his stomach.

This is where his worst fears come true - where Dean confirms it was a mistake, that he didn’t mean to say those words, to ask that question. He pulls his gaze away from Dean’s, staring at the wall over his shoulder. 

At least any dampness that may appear on his cheeks can be explained away by the condensation from the shower. 

“I.. I understand, Dean. It’s quite alright,” he hears himself say, as from a great distance.

“No... no Cas, you don’t.” Dean’s voice all but vibrates with apprehension - of course; Dean does care for him, and he’s a kind person, not one to willingly inflict harm - “I meant every word.” 

Castiel blinks rapidly, not trusting his hearing. “Excuse me?” His eyes fall back on Dean’s, searching.

Dean’s eyes are open and honest, but he sighs morosely. “I meant every word… but God, how I wish it hadn’t come out like that.” He gives him a wan smile, his eyes falling away. “That was such a lame way to ask you.” 

Castiel’s head tilts in confusion. “I’m.. not sure what you mean?” 

Dean’s head is still lowered, but Castiel can still see the flush spreading across his cheeks, the embarrassment in his voice. “It should have been so much better… on my knees, presenting a ring… something other than just... “ He pauses with a sigh, his shoulders shrugging. 

Castiel’s heart sprouts wings and soars, out of the pit of his stomach directly into his throat, where he has to choke out the words around it, fingers tilting Dean’s chin up to look into those beautiful green eyes he loves so much. “Dean, no.  it was honest and perfect.” 

Those green eyes, dark with dread, begin to lighten. “But… you haven’t said anything since then…” 

It was Castiel’s turn to look down, ashamed. “I was afraid to mention it… for fear it was an accident.” He swallows, hard. “I wanted to keep on believing it was true for as long as possible.” 

Dean’s bright laughter startles him, and he jerks his head up in alarm. Dean’s eyes are dancing, lips spread in a grin full of delight. “Boy, we are just a couple of dumbasses, aren’t we?” Before Castiel can agree, Dean is on him, pressing him into the wall of the shower with a crushing, urgent kiss.

A sound bubbles up in Castiel’s chest and escapes around Dean’s lips on his own - a small sob of relief and gratitude. His hands scrabble at Dean’s shoulders, attempting to gain further purchase there, to bring him even closer. 

Dean breaks the kiss and his head falls to Castiel’s shoulder, where soon he feels dampness there, warmer than the cooling shower water pouring on them. He gently pulls Dean’s head up to look into his face. 

Dean’s eyes glow in the fluorescent light, bright with unshed tears. His hands capture the sides of Castiel’s face, thumbs sweeping gently over his cheeks.

“God, I love you so much, Cas,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. Then he shivers as the rest of the hot water runs out, the temperature dropping rapidly. “C’mon, we’re gonna freeze again.” His hand drops from Castiel’s face to his hand, spinning around to turn off the shower water and open the shower door to retrieve towels from the rack above the toilet, handing one to Castiel.

It becomes quickly apparent that the shower is far too small for both of them to be able to dry off there, so with an exaggerated shiver, Dean hops out of the shower and begins to rapidly dry off, Castiel following suit within the shower tub. When they’re both dry, Dean offers his hand to Castiel, drawing him out of the shower and into the room proper. He makes his way to the duffle bag by the door and fetches out two pairs of sweats, stepping into one pair before helping Castiel into the other. He then snatches the Impala keys from the nightstand and turns for the door. 

“I’ll be right back. I have an idea.” He opens the door and darts out into the rain. 

Castiel sighs and heads to fetch another towel from the bathroom.

The door bursts back open, an only slightly damp Dean re-entering with something clutched in his clenched fist. He closes the door behind him and approaches Castiel with firm footsteps. 

His hand opens and Castiel sees a ring there, hanging on a chain. “Is that… is that the ring you used to wear?” Castiel squints at the ring, beat up and scratched from all the beer bottle caps scraped against it.

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, I stopped wearing it a long time ago… it was the apocalypse and all, and I didn’t want to lose it, so I wore it around my neck for a bit, but it kept popping up and smacking me in the teeth whenever I bent over, so I put it in the glove box.” Dean’s eyes take on a far-away look, a sad smile on his face. “It was originally Mom’s - Dad gave it to her as a sorta promise ring when they first started dating, and of course she stopped wearing it when he got her a proper engagement ring.” He pries open the clasp of the necklace laced through it, his hands shaking, and pulls the ring free from it. 

Castiel’s breath catches as Dean falls to his knees in front of him for the second time this day, the ring presented to him, pinched between Dean’s thumb and forefinger.

“Cas,” the words coming so softly Castiel has trouble hearing them over the pounding of the rain on the roof of the motel. “Castiel,” Dean repeats, his voice strengthening with conviction, his eyes cast upwards, hope and love shining in them. 

“Will you make me the happiest guy alive and marry me?”

Castiel’s shaking knees give out and he falls to his knees in front of Dean, leaning forward to kiss him, wild and breathless. 

“Yes,” he says, kissing his forehead.

“Yes,” he says again, kissing his eyelid, and “yes” again when kissing the other.

Dean is laughing now, the sound filling the room with joy as Castiel continues to kiss him many more times, punctuating each with a heartfelt “Yes.” 

Dean finally stops him, mirth dancing in his eyes. “Okay, I get it, I get it!” He grabs Castiel’s hand. “Can I put this damned thing on you now before I just drop it and ravish you?” 

Castiel nods, his voice flown away with his heart, and Dean slips the ring on his finger.

Dean holds Castiel’s hand for a second longer, tilting it back and forth as the ring catches the light and bounces reflections around the room. 

“Thank you, Cas,” he whispers, then raises Castiel’s hand to his lips, kissing the ring there.

Castiel’s other hand raises to Dean’s face, tilting his head up.

“I felt the coldness of my winter, I never thought it would ever go. I cursed the gloom that set upon us, but I know that I love you so.”

Dean’s eyes squint. “Did you just quote ‘The Rain Song’ to me?”

Castiel smiles, remembering the first time he heard the song on the cassette Dean had made for him.

“You quoted it to me first.” 

They fall silent, content, and listen as the rain continues to fall, pattering on the roof. 

[asmolbirb]

Pairing: Geralt & Jaskier, gen Word count: ~1k Warnings: angst Notes: as i mentioned in this post, i couldn’t stop thinking of “two minutes” by the amazing devil as jaskier’s reaction to his fight with geralt in rare species, and i finally managed to write a ficlet exploring that idea. i feel like i’m just going to end up writing a fic to every single the amazing devil song because they’re all so emotional and incredible for inspiration lmao. 

anyway, this is super unbeta’d and unedited, so this is still pretty raw both emotionally and creatively. sorry if there are any mistakes! idk if i’m going to toss this on ao3 as well, so please lmk if you’d like me to. 

***

Jaskier drops heavily onto the bench across from Geralt, as though the earth’s pull has increased twofold in an instant and Jaskier is helpless but to follow. He drains his mug in one long pull, grimaces as he thunks it down on the table, and gestures to the barmaid for another. While he waits for her to walk over, he pulls Geralt’s mug out of his hand and drains that as well. 

Soon a third mug is deposited in front of him, and a fourth in front of Geralt when Geralt turns a glare onto the barmaid. He expects Jaskier to bestow the same treatment on this drink as he had on the others, but instead Jaskier cradles the drink with both hands, his fingers interlaced, and stares into it as though it contains the lyrics to Jaskier’s next great masterpiece. 

In all this, not once does Jaskier look at Geralt. 

Geralt takes a long pull from his own drink, both to keep it out of Jaskier’s thieving hands and to avoid looking at the other man. Jaskier’s silence, once so coveted, now chafes. It’s a discomfort Geralt doesn’t want to examine too closely, so he ignores it, and it fades into the great tangle of bad feelings currently taking up residence behind his sternum. 

Finally, without preamble, Jaskier says, “Let’s not do this whole song and dance where you pretend you meant what you said and I pretend the words didn’t sting and we go on acting like we are simply strangers whose paths crossed through happenstance.

“I did mean them, I’m sure you’re planning to say,” Jaskier interjects, approximating a poor rendition of Geralt’s gravelly tone, before Geralt can say— well, exactly that. “To which I say, bollocks! You didn’t mean them. I know this because I know you. You don’t care for blessings or destiny or wishes, and if you had wanted me taken off your hands, you’d have done it yourself long before now.” He pulls one hand away from his mug to count with his fingers. “You could have pushed me into a ravine, maybe, or used me as monster bait, or simply ridden off and left me to plod along, steedless. But you didn’t.”

Geralt resists the urge to look away from Jaskier and settles for thinning his lips instead. Jaskier isn’t entirely wrong; even through the irritation thrumming like icefire beneath his skin, Geralt can admit he has had myriad opportunities to separate himself from Jaskier over the years. There is no logical explanation for why Jaskier is once again sat across from Geralt, rubbing salt into Geralt’s wounds with every word he says.

“So you don’t get to do this,” Jaskier insists, though his tone is still conversational, as though he is commenting on the fair weather or the cut of a woman’s bodice. “You don’t get to act like you’re not equally at fault for every complication that has entered your life — myself included. I may have shoveled the shit, but you’re the one who stood there and let me. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, mighty Witcher, but I have waded in after you every time to pull you out and clean you up again, with no regard for the shit staining my own trousers in the process.”

Jaskier swallows. He lowers his free hand to the tabletop, where his fingers begin drumming a constant tattoo against the surface. Slowly, as though he is tasting his words before releasing them, he continues, “I don’t expect you to apologize. I’m happy to play the fool, even now. That’s my role, isn’t it, in this two-man melodrama that we call our lives? I’ve been thinking, though, about what I said to you after Borch fell, and quite frankly, I am getting too old to deprive myself of the things that please me.”

Geralt stills at that. He had forgotten, between Jaskier’s inscrutably youthful looks and his stubborn insistence on surviving encounters that really ought to kill him, that Jaskier is human, with a lifespan a fraction of Geralt’s own. Jaskier will be dead long before Geralt reaches the midpoint of his own existence, Geralt realizes suddenly. If Jaskier had taken Geralt’s words to heart and disappeared before Geralt finally made the trek back down the mountain, Jaskier may have died with Geralt’s parting sally being the last thing Geralt ever said to him.

The thought makes Geralt’s stomach turn, though whether in vindictive pleasure or bitter remorse, Geralt doesn’t know.

“For example,” Jaskier is saying as Geralt tries fruitlessly to beat back the maelstrom currently swirling in his head. “Sleeping in open fields and shaded woods, the stars forming a glimmering tapestry overhead, without knowing what the next day will bring. A professionally crafted lute slung round my neck, its strings loose and familiar between my fingers, as a merry crowd claps and dances along. And your grumpy face peering at me from across the campfire, and ignoring me from Roach’s back, and telling me about monsters and adventures I could never imagine. 

“If you do not want me, then I will gladly leave you to brood alone while I set out to take the rest in whatever form I can find it. But life is short, Geralt, moreso for me than you, and — Melitele preserve me — I’d like to spend mine divesting you of the shit in which you so often find yourself.” Jaskier smiles ruefully. “Even the shit I’ve shoveled.”

Geralt still has not moved. He feels somewhat like he has taken all of his potions at once, and the world is splintering around him while he fights to regain his balance. 

“If you slip out without a word, I won’t fault you, and you shan’t hear from me again,” Jaskier says after a long moment. “But if you can find it in your heart to grant me one more chance, come find me, dear Witcher, and I’ll follow you without a word. A few harsh insults won’t succeed in banishing me where selkiemore guts and prolonged silence have failed, so let’s leave all that back at the dragon’s cave, yeah? I think I can forgive you, if you forgive me in turn.”

Finally Jaskier puts the mug he has been cradling all this time to his lips, and his throat pulses as he swallows. When he is finished, he sets it down next to the other empty mugs and stands, a smile stretching his lips that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, though a casual observer would not know the difference.

Without ever having looked at Geralt, Jaskier turns to the bar, throws his arms out in invitation, and exclaims, “Who wants to hear a song, eh? The mighty bard Jaskier graces this lovely establishment tonight, eager to delight and enthrall, to make music and merry both!” 

Without ever having said a word, Geralt watches him leave. 

[lalablue0]

The Way Back Part II

Pairing: Ezra x OFC

Warnings: More random smutty writing sandwiched between the some semblance of a plot

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2307

Authors Notes: Unbeta’d. All mistake my own. Written from OFC POV. I’ve been keeping a description of her vague, so that readers could envision themselves if they so desired. This is only my third fic I’ve ever posted to Tumblr. So forgive me if I am doing any of this wrong. 

Special thank you to all for the kind words on the first part of this story. I haven’t written fanfic in a while and the world of Prospect is so inviting.There is still more to the story. I have already started part III.  

I think the following wanted to be tagged for Part II. If you want me to untag you, let me know. 

@grapemama​ , @lannister-slings-and-arrows​ , @hdlynnslibrary​ , @irishleesh93 , @the-feckless-wonder​ , @keeper0fthestars​

Part 1  Part III    Or read all three parts (director’s cut of sorts with edits and extended scenes) on AO3

The Way Back Part II

Our hearts, our bodies, our souls are melded together as one.

A passion felt so deep it cannot be undone.

The repression of memories and fears of a long ago age,

have faded into the background when you opened my cage.

You showed me everything I am and capable of being.

You opened up a world full of beauty worth seeing.

You saved me from the desperate thieves and liars.

You rescued me from the burning hell fires.

You successfully purged me of my dire addiction

You gave me peace and tranquility during a time of contrition.

I give the unconditional surrender of my control,

Of my heart, my body and my soul.

  __

   “I've missed you, wife” Ezra stated as he pulled his hand from Cee's to reach out to Nora.

 “Wife?” Cee questioned, raised eyebrow.

 Nora's face twisted with the guilt of having kept such important information from Cee. “I may have left out a very critical detail.”

Nora reached out and took Ezra's hand. His long fingers curled around hers. His grip was weak, but he squeezed as hard as he could. He shifted as well as he could in her direction. “Oh! My beautiful Nora. It really is you. I surely have died, because my soul is complete once more.” His smile reached his eyes. His glassy brown orbs shined even under the dim medical bay lights.

 Nora felt the tears pooling in her own eyes. She felt the flutter in her chest and she leaned into Ezra's space. Her forehead touched his and she couldn't help but kiss his lips. Her thumb traced the familiar scar on his cheek. She squeezed her eyes tightly and never felt so thankful for her skill in healing. He was alive. He was coherent. He remembered her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She could taste the salt on his lips.

 Nora sighed and glanced toward Cee, “I told you it was complicated.”

 –

 She should probably start at the beginning. She's not quite sure what the beginning actually was, so she starts with the first day of their second year. It was the first time she met him. He was new that year. He was in her first class. Chemistry. Since she hadn't a friend in the class she was sitting alone and he sat next to her. They didn't really speak until their third class together. Home Ec. He smiled coyly and accused her of following him.

 “I think you're the one following me.” she joked. “I mean come on. You don't look like the kind of guy who takes Home Ec.”

 “Well, I am sure to be full of astonishment and contrast,” He laughed.

 He had soon found that she was too. When he stepped in the mechanical shop and found her to be the only girl.

 “First year I was accidentally scheduled for shop. Best thing that ever happened to me.”

 “It seems to be a recurring theme to our day,” he smiled. Something about her had appealed to him. Something in her smile. Something in her eyes. Something stirred deep inside him. He smiled. She kicked the dirt at her feet and tucked her hands in her pockets.

 They clicked.

 Like most love stories in the 'verse they found themselves drawn to each other completely and almost to the detriment of all else. They were young and curious and committed to making the other the center of their world.

 The sounds were the most prominent. The sound of flesh slapping together in a rhythm that defied the senses. The sound of their hearts, pounding in their ears. The sound of their bodies bumping against the wall with that same beat. Above it all, the barely audible groans and half syllables. The sounds they liked best.

 "Someone-could walk in," She barely eeked out the words between the crush of kisses he placed on her lips.

 He paused abruptly and she was left with hazy vision and a heaving chest. His eyes stared through her, like she just definitely killed the mood.

 The verge of losing all that she held dear. There are so few things that mattered to her. He was her one constant. No variables. Regardless of the annoying things he does, he was her one true love.

 The sight of his hair sticking up and matted down in all the wrong places. The tangled limbs that stretched and curled around her. Even in the darkness she could see the glisten of sweat formed above his brow. His eyes dark with passion, lust and pain. His eyes are the window to his soul.

 The smell of sex was thick and sweet. It hung in the air like a fog in the early morning. She inhaled the scent and was able to discern what is sex and what is just him.

 She dared to take a taste of him. Kissing and licking the sweat from his upper lip and his unshaven neck. He tastes like he smells. Musk, and salt.

 But the feeling. The touch. That is where her senses reeled. He began to move in her again. His body tensed. He was tight and hot. His body trembled when he came. His cum was slick and warm on her bare belly. She developed goose bumps in the chill of the night air. He felt like home.

    –

  “What's going to happen to me when we reach the Pug?” the words spilled out of Cee like a cascade.

 Nora paused. “Well, I hadn't considered it. I guess it was presumptuous to assume you would wish to remain with me.”

 Even though Cee wasn't facing Nora, Nora could see Cee's cheeks rise with her smile. Nora carefully weighed her next statement before continuing, “With us.”

 Cee turned to face Nora, “You're staying with him?” She looked downright hopeful.

 “I made a commitment to the medical center on the Pug. Ezra still has to clear his infection and he'll need physical therapy. If you want to stay with us, you'll have to go to school. You would be a considerable help to me in regards to Ezra and --”

 Cee cut off Nora by her sudden embrace.

 “Yes. I want to stay,” Cee wiped the tears from her eyes with her palm and sniffled.

 Nora returned her embrace and placed a gentle kiss on Cee's forehead. “I got you kid.” When Cee had shared her floater upbringing with Nora, Nora had vowed to give her a home.

 Nora had insisted that Cee pack up her drop pod and get some sleep. Tomorrow they would dock and make their way down to Puggart Bench. They would take Ezra to the medical center and she would go to work.

 Nora took a few moments while Ezra slept to review possible places they could stay. She had spent years drifting alone from system to system, the company that Cee had given her the past three weeks was so special to her. The adolescent had become a friend and Nora couldn't help be protective of her. To care for her. 

 She was looking forward to a home.

    –

    Ezra had died several times before. He had always received a last minute reprieve that allowed him to continue to draw breath. He joked that Death had never had such trouble collecting a soul before him. He would tell those who would listen it was because his soul was incomplete.

 He watched Nora in the dim light of the med bay. He had been sleeping for far too long. Now that his eyes were open, he intended to keep them that way. Ezra's body was his own. His soul intact. His instinct was as sharp as his wit.

 The sway she had over him was intoxicating. He breathed her in at every opportunity. She was the single most beautiful creature he had ever looked upon. In all his travels, from planets to the smallest way stations, he had never laid eyes upon anyone as exquisite as her.

 He remembered dancing and laughter and feasting. He remembered moving in her. Feeling hands, hot like lava across his skin. He remembered sounds and colors and tastes. He remembered the dark and how easy it was to move. He remembered himself.

 He could see the faces of those who cared about him. They each shared the look of pity. Pity for him. Pity for the pain he feels. Pity for something they cannot understand.

 Soon the rush would kill the pain. Kill the ache. Kill the feeling of loss. Kill the feeling of abandonment. Soon the rush would take him away.

 Bodies blurred into an endless wave of color and shape. Their voices, a cacophony of the most beautiful and most terrifying sounds ever heard. The chorus of voices fade to nothing. The field of battle was drenched in blood. None remained standing. Ezra had hailed himself victor. The air smelled of copper, sweat, and corpses of rotting flesh.

 When he drifts, he dreams of her. Always her.

 –

 Ezra remembers his mother.

 He remembers that she smelled of apples and vanilla in the winter and of bananas and grapes in the summer. He remembers that after his sister, Jada, was born, she smelled of baby powder and baby shampoo. 

He remembers her brown hair shining in the midday sun when she brought him to the park. He remembers her soft hands as they held his as she pushed him on the swing and tickled his belly.

He remembers the way she tried to protect him from his older brother, Dig. He remembers the way she would hide with him when Dig got too rough. 

He remembers her warm breath as she kissed him goodnight and whispered "goodnight my love" in his ear. He remembers she would leave the door open a crack. Just in case. 

He remembers the bear hugs and wet kisses. He remembers that she made the best baked goods of anyone in the colony. Fresh baked breads and cakes throughout the day. The sweet comforting scent wafting through town, begging people to stop by to say hello and have just a taste. 

He remembers the soft curve of her belly when Jada was not yet born. He remembers her stroking his hair as he held an ear to her belly to talk to his baby sister. 

He remembers the love she exuded from the very depth of her soul.

 When she died during the outbreak, he was heartbroken. Inconsolable for months after. He stopped speaking and drew in on himself.

 “What of your sister?” his father inquired, “She's too small to remember. Who will tell her about her mama?”

 Ezra remembers his mother because he knew Jada didn't. He began talking again so he could tell his little sister all about their mother. He learned new words from the big books he found in the library at school so that he could assign his stories with the language her memory deserved.

   --

   Nora could actually see the cunning workings of his mind for just the briefest of moments. Fear; a remnant of his former life, was slowly fading into something else. Something unfamiliar.

 “I see we still fear the stillness of night,” Ezra said gently. The sound of his anticipation was quiet. His eyes bored into her as she rose from her cot to stand beside him.

 “Not fear,” She said as she grasped his hand in a way that hid the fact she was checking his pulse, "Precaution."

 Ezra briefly closed his eyes as the unorganized thoughts moved front and center in his brain. He swallowed hard.

 “I accept defeat and beg you to finish this,” Ezra stated with pleading eyes. The look on his face was intense. His eyes were wide and shooting glances back and forth at her. His tongue darted in between his lips, leaving them glistening with fresh moisture. The look would almost be comical if he still weren't still so pale and sweaty.

 The floorboards creaked and bowed under her feet. For the first time that day, she had been so sure of something, so much she was frightened. Actually frightened.

 “Damn it all to hell!”

 She reached for him and began to kiss him. Deep, passionate. She was kissing him like she kissed him all those years ago. He felt like he was floating.

 When she broke off the kiss she heaved heavily against his lips, still gripping the sides of his face. “You won't be rid of me so easily, Ez. We're going to the Pug together. We're going to stay with you as long as it takes. We're yours.”

 “We?”

 Nora laughed a bit and kissed Ezra again. “Yeah, silly. You, me and the kid.”

 Ezra smiled widely. “A proper family. Now I know I have perished. All my good intentions are on the horizon. I am too unfortunate to have such treasures in my life.”

 Nora pushed back from him. “Don't say that. You always do that. You always did that. Put yourself down,” He looked almost childlike and innocent. "Things we love and want always require work. You keep putting in the work."

 She wrapped her arms around his neck and nestled her face next to his. She inhaled the scent that is uniquely Ezra. He held her forearm and leaned into her embrace.

 “Take leave of me now, I am tired and I know you have some things you’ll need to attend to.”

 There were no victors to be made on this field of battle. No one, not even God, could predict the outcome. Flesh and blood held near unbreakable bonds. A man tormented with the truth of the 'verse as it was on that day. Nora would stay for Cee. As soon as he was well, he feared they would both leave him.

 He shook his head slightly and turned the thought out of his mind.

 Part III