Artificial Banana

Drabbles, Imagines, Smutty and Fluffy stories. Jensen, Jared, and Misha stories. Sometimes their wives. If you think I should spend more time writing consider Buying Me a Coffee? Thank you for the love.

[arcticficialbanana]

Oi oi! Thank you for all of the love @themissingwinchester 😳 I panicked because I have 70 drafts and suddenly worried I didn't post the second part, but found it here for you!

[arcticficialbanana]

Mental health and Medication

 I feel for the first time what “normal” must be.

 I can see now how I was trying to climb over a wall using the same rope everyone else is, except it’s not equal because I’m carrying weights. A lot of them. Or rather… my clothes have weights sewn into them… Because no one can really see them (unless they’re wearing the same brand) and everyone is yelling, “Come on, hurry up!” and I see all the people who climb the wall and think to myself, “Why am I so weak that I can’t do what everyone else is doing so effortlessly?” 

 And I looked at my rope and I felt stupid because it looked fine, and I couldn’t blame it on that. I didn’t want to be that way so I sought help. I got ladders, which were still very difficult and I felt like I was cheating.  I got different ropes, which didn’t do anything even though all the able bodied people swore it would change my life.  I worked my body ten times as much just to get an inch toward everyone else and felt exhausted and sore in all my muscles.  But some people told me, “It’s okay, take your time. You’ll get there.” Which made me feel like it’s okay to struggle. It gave me hope, but it wasn’t any easier to accomplish. I was still exhausted and in pain.. but I smiled when I felt that hope. 

 Until I stopped smiling because there wasn’t enough hope to cover up how incapable I felt. I assumed everyone was carrying just as much weight - and I must be the lazy one, or lacking enough willpower, or just too broken to get there.   All the while I had no idea I was wearing weights until a medication helped me try on different clothes. So it really hurts when people I love criticize me for changing my clothes.

_________________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 All those tools and suggestions are metaphors for everything I’ve tried in my life. The changes and concessions in my daily life; adding or removing certain foods or drinks, thousands of dollars for many different tests and exams over the years, different exercise styles from yoga to kick boxing and crossfit, meditation, group programs, talk therapy, electro-therapy, aromatherapy, acupuncture, acupressure, reading, dancing, music, sleep schedules, removing electronics, writing (obviously), drawing, painting, running, sunshine, screaming, breathing, thinking, not thinking, stretches, baths, herbs, leaching, vacation, bury myself in work, don’t work, years of God and prayer (for the love of- If I hear my Mom ask one more time “But did you go every week, did you fast all the fasts <there are a lot in Orthodox Christianity>, did you read the proper prayers?” and when I tell her yes if she responds, “You must not have done enough” or “You must have done it wrong” - THEN I AM GOING TO JOIN A NUNNERY.) Different churches and religious studies, “natural drugs”, and sex. AND STILL, every person I talk to says, “Well you haven’t tried this-” as if I’ve been staring at a wall all these years, just waiting to try medication. They seem to assume it’s an “easy way out” or that they know my personal preferences. If they had known that up until 5 years ago I had taken less than ten ibuprofen - IN - MY - LIFE (seriously, not kidding) would they still not realize how dire and desperate it is? While I understand the prescription drug epidemic brought on by corporate greed of the pharmaceutical industry (and the doctors they bribe - fully supported by our capitalist economy which is reinforced by systems the money bribed the government to keep in place), the harm it brings into our society as a community of support and understanding is the SHAME and criticism toward the people whom need medical assistance just as much as a cancer patient needs chemo. And while you might say, “There are some people who forego chemo.” We still as a society recognize that it is their choice, and their chances of surviving cancer are much greater with medical attention (yes surviving, not defeating, because mental illness- like cancer- doesn’t have a pure and clean cut cure; it always has the chance of coming back). Either way that the individual at hand might feel… the fact is that the help medication can bring to a person with a lifelong mental illness is the recognition of what is healthy (as some would call “normal”) - what it looks like, what it feels like, and an understanding of how those  “others” live their life. Now it is understandable how everyone else could climb that wall. 

 The wall is just my representation of mental illness, but Life is an entire obstacle course, and we are each “able bodied” at different obstacles - some parts are harder and some parts are easier - but it only seems this way to you; which parts are which vary person to person. Be compassionate.

__________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 “Half a day spent prioritizing tasks, strict scheduling, hour by hour alarms, …were all necessary because I felt I had so many things to do it was overwhelming and I needed a guide. Now it’s just, ‘Gotta do this stuff, I’ll choose this now and decide those later.’

No matter what someone would tell me before about ‘You just gotta do it’ or ‘write list and…’ or ‘reward yourself after accomplishing tasks’ - it wasn’t like I didn’t want to do all of that, or I didn’t enjoy the work - I just saw it and became petrified. Not even fear, just my mind ..was stone. I think (able-bodied) people think meds alter your state (while this is true..) it’s more like having THIS brain the way it is - unbalanced - it’s just that - unbalanced. I feel like I’m trying to do basic things while I’m drunk, or sick, or just the floor and walls are off-kilter. And the tasks are just, ‘Walk across the room.’ Just walk across the room. And I’m wobbly, stumbling, dizzy.”

______________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 Weird post for a smut blog, right? Well, I wanted to share this with you because every week I keep getting notifications of you all liking my stories, and every time I smile to myself and think, “Over a year and it’s still touching people?”

 I started up my old diary because something big happened for me and I’d like to track the effects. I have mixed feelings about medication. Very mixed. Ranging from way one end of the spectrum all the way to the other. But this is a part of my 11 page entry yesterday that I think might resonate with many of you. If you would like to share it so that someone understands what you’re going through then feel free to reblog the posts without this message. Or maybe it’ll inspire you to write your own message to your people.

[arcticficialbanana]

Mental health and Medication

 I feel for the first time what “normal” must be.

 I can see now how I was trying to climb over a wall using the same rope everyone else is, except it’s not equal because I’m carrying weights. A lot of them. Or rather… my clothes have weights sewn into them… Because no one can really see them (unless they’re wearing the same brand) and everyone is yelling, “Come on, hurry up!” and I see all the people who climb the wall and think to myself, “Why am I so weak that I can’t do what everyone else is doing so effortlessly?” 

 And I looked at my rope and I felt stupid because it looked fine, and I couldn’t blame it on that. I didn’t want to be that way so I sought help. I got ladders, which were still very difficult and I felt like I was cheating.  I got different ropes, which didn’t do anything even though all the able bodied people swore it would change my life.  I worked my body ten times as much just to get an inch toward everyone else and felt exhausted and sore in all my muscles.  But some people told me, “It’s okay, take your time. You’ll get there.” Which made me feel like it’s okay to struggle. It gave me hope, but it wasn’t any easier to accomplish. I was still exhausted and in pain.. but I smiled when I felt that hope. 

 Until I stopped smiling because there wasn’t enough hope to cover up how incapable I felt. I assumed everyone was carrying just as much weight - and I must be the lazy one, or lacking enough willpower, or just too broken to get there.   All the while I had no idea I was wearing weights until a medication helped me try on different clothes. So it really hurts when people I love criticize me for changing my clothes.

_________________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 All those tools and suggestions are metaphors for everything I’ve tried in my life. The changes and concessions in my daily life; adding or removing certain foods or drinks, thousands of dollars for many different tests and exams over the years, different exercise styles from yoga to kick boxing and crossfit, meditation, group programs, talk therapy, electro-therapy, aromatherapy, acupuncture, acupressure, reading, dancing, music, sleep schedules, removing electronics, writing (obviously), drawing, painting, running, sunshine, screaming, breathing, thinking, not thinking, stretches, baths, herbs, leaching, vacation, bury myself in work, don’t work, years of God and prayer (for the love of- If I hear my Mom ask one more time “But did you go every week, did you fast all the fasts <there are a lot in Orthodox Christianity>, did you read the proper prayers?” and when I tell her yes if she responds, “You must not have done enough” or “You must have done it wrong” - THEN I AM GOING TO JOIN A NUNNERY.) Different churches and religious studies, “natural drugs”, and sex. AND STILL, every person I talk to says, “Well you haven’t tried this-” as if I’ve been staring at a wall all these years, just waiting to try medication. They seem to assume it’s an “easy way out” or that they know my personal preferences. If they had known that up until 5 years ago I had taken less than ten ibuprofen - IN - MY - LIFE (seriously, not kidding) would they still not realize how dire and desperate it is? While I understand the prescription drug epidemic brought on by corporate greed of the pharmaceutical industry (and the doctors they bribe - fully supported by our capitalist economy which is reinforced by systems the money bribed the government to keep in place), the harm it brings into our society as a community of support and understanding is the SHAME and criticism toward the people whom need medical assistance just as much as a cancer patient needs chemo. And while you might say, “There are some people who forego chemo.” We still as a society recognize that it is their choice, and their chances of surviving cancer are much greater with medical attention (yes surviving, not defeating, because mental illness- like cancer- doesn’t have a pure and clean cut cure; it always has the chance of coming back). Either way that the individual at hand might feel… the fact is that the help medication can bring to a person with a lifelong mental illness is the recognition of what is healthy (as some would call “normal”) - what it looks like, what it feels like, and an understanding of how those  “others” live their life. Now it is understandable how everyone else could climb that wall. 

 The wall is just my representation of mental illness, but Life is an entire obstacle course, and we are each “able bodied” at different obstacles - some parts are harder and some parts are easier - but it only seems this way to you; which parts are which vary person to person. Be compassionate.

__________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 “Half a day spent prioritizing tasks, strict scheduling, hour by hour alarms, ...were all necessary because I felt I had so many things to do it was overwhelming and I needed a guide. Now it’s just, ‘Gotta do this stuff, I’ll choose this now and decide those later.’

No matter what someone would tell me before about ‘You just gotta do it’ or ‘write list and...’ or 'reward yourself after accomplishing tasks’ - it wasn’t like I didn’t want to do all of that, or I didn’t enjoy the work - I just saw it and became petrified. Not even fear, just my mind ..was stone. I think (able-bodied) people think meds alter your state (while this is true..) it’s more like having THIS brain the way it is - unbalanced - it’s just that - unbalanced. I feel like I’m trying to do basic things while I’m drunk, or sick, or just the floor and walls are off-kilter. And the tasks are just, ‘Walk across the room.’ Just walk across the room. And I’m wobbly, stumbling, dizzy.”

______________________

[arcticficialbanana]

Mental health and Medication

 I feel for the first time what “normal” must be.

 I can see now how I was trying to climb over a wall using the same rope everyone else is, except it’s not equal because I’m carrying weights. A lot of them. Or rather… my clothes have weights sewn into them… Because no one can really see them (unless they’re wearing the same brand) and everyone is yelling, “Come on, hurry up!” and I see all the people who climb the wall and think to myself, “Why am I so weak that I can’t do what everyone else is doing so effortlessly?” 

 And I looked at my rope and I felt stupid because it looked fine, and I couldn’t blame it on that. I didn’t want to be that way so I sought help. I got ladders, which were still very difficult and I felt like I was cheating.  I got different ropes, which didn’t do anything even though all the able bodied people swore it would change my life.  I worked my body ten times as much just to get an inch toward everyone else and felt exhausted and sore in all my muscles.  But some people told me, “It’s okay, take your time. You’ll get there.” Which made me feel like it’s okay to struggle. It gave me hope, but it wasn’t any easier to accomplish. I was still exhausted and in pain.. but I smiled when I felt that hope. 

 Until I stopped smiling because there wasn’t enough hope to cover up how incapable I felt. I assumed everyone was carrying just as much weight - and I must be the lazy one, or lacking enough willpower, or just too broken to get there.   All the while I had no idea I was wearing weights until a medication helped me try on different clothes. So it really hurts when people I love criticize me for changing my clothes.

_________________________

[arcticficialbanana]

 All those tools and suggestions are metaphors for everything I’ve tried in my life. The changes and concessions in my daily life; adding or removing certain foods or drinks, thousands of dollars for many different tests and exams over the years, different exercise styles from yoga to kick boxing and crossfit, meditation, group programs, talk therapy, electro-therapy, aromatherapy, acupuncture, acupressure, reading, dancing, music, sleep schedules, removing electronics, writing (obviously), drawing, painting, running, sunshine, screaming, breathing, thinking, not thinking, stretches, baths, herbs, leaching, vacation, bury myself in work, don’t work, years of God and prayer (for the love of- If I hear my Mom ask one more time “But did you go every week, did you fast all the fasts <there are a lot in Orthodox Christianity>, did you read the proper prayers?” and when I tell her yes if she responds, “You must not have done enough” or “You must have done it wrong” - THEN I AM GOING TO JOIN A NUNNERY.) Different churches and religious studies, “natural drugs”, and sex. AND STILL, every person I talk to says, “Well you haven’t tried this-” as if I’ve been staring at a wall all these years, just waiting to try medication. They seem to assume it’s an “easy way out” or that they know my personal preferences. If they had known that up until 5 years ago I had taken less than ten ibuprofen - IN - MY - LIFE (seriously, not kidding) would they still not realize how dire and desperate it is? While I understand the prescription drug epidemic brought on by corporate greed of the pharmaceutical industry (and the doctors they bribe - fully supported by our capitalist economy which is reinforced by systems the money bribed the government to keep in place), the harm it brings into our society as a community of support and understanding is the SHAME and criticism toward the people whom need medical assistance just as much as a cancer patient needs chemo. And while you might say, “There are some people who forego chemo.” We still as a society recognize that it is their choice, and their chances of surviving cancer are much greater with medical attention (yes surviving, not defeating, because mental illness- like cancer- doesn’t have a pure and clean cut cure; it always has the chance of coming back). Either way that the individual at hand might feel... the fact is that the help medication can bring to a person with a lifelong mental illness is the recognition of what is healthy (as some would call “normal”) - what it looks like, what it feels like, and an understanding of how those  “others” live their life. Now it is understandable how everyone else could climb that wall. 

 The wall is just my representation of mental illness, but Life is an entire obstacle course, and we are each “able bodied” at different obstacles - some parts are harder and some parts are easier - but it only seems this way to you; which parts are which vary person to person. Be compassionate.

__________________

[arcticficialbanana]

Mental health and Medication

 I feel for the first time what “normal” must be.

 I can see now how I was trying to climb over a wall using the same rope everyone else is, except it’s not equal because I’m carrying weights. A lot of them. Or rather... my clothes have weights sewn into them... Because no one can really see them (unless they’re wearing the same brand) and everyone is yelling, “Come on, hurry up!” and I see all the people who climb the wall and think to myself, “Why am I so weak that I can’t do what everyone else is doing so effortlessly?” 

 And I looked at my rope and I felt stupid because it looked fine, and I couldn’t blame it on that. I didn’t want to be that way so I sought help. I got ladders, which were still very difficult and I felt like I was cheating.  I got different ropes, which didn’t do anything even though all the able bodied people swore it would change my life.  I worked my body ten times as much just to get an inch toward everyone else and felt exhausted and sore in all my muscles.  But some people told me, “It’s okay, take your time. You’ll get there.” Which made me feel like it’s okay to struggle. It gave me hope, but it wasn’t any easier to accomplish. I was still exhausted and in pain.. but I smiled when I felt that hope. 

 Until I stopped smiling because there wasn’t enough hope to cover up how incapable I felt. I assumed everyone was carrying just as much weight - and I must be the lazy one, or lacking enough willpower, or just too broken to get there.   All the while I had no idea I was wearing weights until a medication helped me try on different clothes. So it really hurts when people I love criticize me for changing my clothes.

_________________________

[impala-dreamer]

I uh... I really like hearing a guy moan. It's literally the hottest thing ever to me!!!

I have a huge huge audio kink. Mhm.

Anon Me Your Secret Kink

[saxxxology]

Gonna put these two audio links right here…

Sam audio 1 | Sam audio 2

[impala-dreamer]

[arcticficialbanana]

Woah. Does anybody have Dean or Cas??

[arcticficialbanana]

Revealing

Pairing: BiFemale!Reader x Jack SPN

Word Count: 11,449 (I know, but I am so proud of it)

Warnings: Tiny angst, medium fluff.

A/N: Request from my most loyal reader @draiela about the song Saturn by Sleeping at Last “i just got an urge from listening to the song and a path of self acceptance ive been on lately with being myself around myself and others if that makes sense.. [the request was a whole conversation, so I copied the main story point]

Your name: submit What is this?

 “Could I ask you to help me out?” you finally break the silence after walking with Jack for nearly a mile around the park.

 “What do you need?” he asks very seriously, forming a knot in his forehead.

 “I’m taking this photography class.” You motion a fake camera with your fingers and close one eye to look at the trees along the path.

 “What’s this?” he says as he leans in to inspect the arrangement of your fingers.

 You turn to him suddenly and flick your finger in a mock-snapshot, making a clicking noise with your tongue.

 He moves back defensively and his eyes widen at your hands, making you giggle and drop them to your sides. He always lightens your mood when you need it most.

 “I just need a few hours of your time to take some photos. Play around with lighting and backgrounds.” you see a bench up ahead and make your way over to sit down.

 “It’s no big deal, but it can get creepy with a stranger with all of the staring and I don’t want them to think I’m going to make a wall of their face or something.” you kick your feet in front of you, swinging them back and forth underneath the bench.

 “I don’t know why you would make a wall of someone’s face.” Jack screws up his eyebrows as though he is bewildered by your statement.

 “Exactly. I don’t want them to think I’m a lunatic.” You give an awkward and toothy smile.

 “I don’t understand what you need me to do?” Jack says with concern.

 “Not much actually, I just know it won’t be weird with you. The assignment is this before and after photo, where one person is shown in two very different images.” you wave your hands around to different parts of an imaginary storyboard of ideas you see.

 Jack nods wordlessly with a tight lips and a clenched jaw. You aren’t looking directly at him, but you know he’s trying to figure something out in his head. After Dean yelled at him for having too many questions he’s been holding a lot of it in, until he can’t take it anymore and he practically explodes with words.

 “Let’s go get my camera and we can take version one now. I was thinking just the way you are would be a really good starting point.” You slip off the bench.

 Jack nods his head, mulling something over silently.

 You side glance at him, catching his sharp yet soft features. He’s a perfect subject for the assignment. How can such contrasting details in his face blend perfectly into...Jack? Smooth, curving lips. Flawless, baby soft skin. Delicate, neatly arranged hair. Yet also... the straight, rigid lines that make up his jaw. His pointed noise and piercing eyes. He is such a...swan. Poised and picturesque while also being dangerous and strong.

 You feel a whoosh against your face and brush right past Castiel in the library, reaching for an Enochian history. You quickly look over your shoulder and notice Cas is inspecting you, making you feel uneasy. You continue down the hall and shake it off; the residual chills running through you.

 Jack walks in with you and grabs a box sitting on your dresser, “Is this it?” he holds it in his fingers the way you positioned yours before, mimicking a camera. 

 He taps on it with his index finger to see if it will click.

 You turn as you adjust the camera strap on your neck and suck in your lip to keep from laughing. You walk over and grab the box of tampons and throw them in a dresser drawer, “No, I found it,” you point at the device around your neck and shut the drawer.

 You replaced his empty hands with a case of filter lenses and walked out of the room, “Carry that!” you shout, knowing he might try to put it in the dresser as well.

 As you pass through the library once more Cas isn’t around anymore and the rest of the bunker is empty. Perfect. This is the place for the before photo.

 “Tell me how the caged bird sings, Jack.” you stop in the front room, where most of the ‘family time’ happens lately. Ironically, the war room will show his softer side through contrast.

 You peek through the viewfinder and aim at your cinnamon roll. He has his mouth hanging open but again no sound comes out.

 “Argh.” You lower the camera. He takes a breath in and closes his mouth.

 “Come here,” you pat on the table and he walks up to the edge of a chair, “No, Jack, come up here.” You insistently tap your finger on the map covered in little utensils of measurement.  “But,” Jack starts to protest, and not finding any viable reason not to crawl onto the table, pulls himself on top. You clear the way a little bit, so he doesn’t learn the pain of tiny trinkets stabbing in unwanted places. A whole different kind of torture.  “Why here?” he asks, probably trying to recall a time he saw Dean or Sam standing on a table that wasn’t during a fight.  “Well,” you come around the other side of him, dragging your hand along the edges of the map, “This is meant to plan fighting strategies, and uses of weapons...” you pick up a couple of toy soldiers and tap their heads together, “But it’s so colorful. It looks more like a children’s game.”  “Like Risk?” Jack says, scanning the board and no doubt recognizing the similarities.  “Exactly like Risk.” You frown and toss the soldiers aside.

 You look through the viewfinder again, then let it down to hang by your stomach. You lean over the table, closer to Jack, allowing the camera to sway slowly back and forth.  “It’s just so mismatched like you. War and games, Jack.” you place a hand on either side of his face, tilting his head up and watching him watch you.  “Color and killing.” you mumble after you let go of him to hoist yourself up onto the table.

 You hover above him, making sure to get several different outlines of bright countries surrounding him inside the frame.  “Look at me.” you start snapping some test shots through the camera, “Good, now look at the ceiling above me.” you notice a muscle in his neck, elongated and had the sudden urge to brush it with your finger. But you didn’t. That would be weird, right?  Jack turns his eyes from the ceiling back to you. He waits for you to say something, but is clearly picking up on your stupid thoughts. You feel your face burn a little bit and start rambling a little bit, “Okay, close your eyes.” 

 He shuts them obediently.

 “So..what’s going on with you?” you divert the silent subject, and he opens his eyes to furrow his brows at you, “No, keep them closed. And relax your face.” you continue directing him wordlessly with your hands as you chatter, “I mean, are you feeling okay?”  “I am not unwell.” he says with a hint of suspicion in his voice.  No. Not suspicion. Jack isn’t capable of suspicion in his sweet, trusting state. Maybe it was more confusion.  “You’ve been trying to say something all day, Jack. I can see it on your face.” you counter, while moving his head around in different directions.  “I ...I’ve been trying not to-” he says in a restrained, twisted voice, “I am trying to learn the right time to speak and the right time to ask.” he chooses carefully.

 You drop the camera to your belly and frown at him. Sweet boy, what are you talking about. “Is this because of Dean?” you wrinkle your forehead and make a mental note to punch him in the back of the neck next time you see that jerk.  “No, don’t-” Jack pipes up, seeing your signature aggravation spawning, “I just want to be more...” he searches for the words.  But you see it written all over his look. Normal. Useful. Independent. Undemanding.

 “Oh, Jack.” you sit down and grab his hand, calloused and covered in tiny scratches from training. “I love you so much, do you know that?”  “I care about you more than anybody in the universe.” you are sure to look him in the eyes this time, rubbing your thumb over the smoothing tiny scratches, never bound to become scars due to his healing. “More than Dean, more than Sam, more than anybody, Jack.” he watches your fingers intertwine with his, “I cannot think of a more perfect and special person in the universe.” you say, heart beating hard with pain as you think about the internal conflicts he’s struggled through.

 “You.” he says.

 Immediately your face flushes with heat and you freeze in surprise. “I-” you look for sounds to come out of your mouth but you only end up stuttering silence.

 You let go of his hand and swing your legs to the other side of the table, “Hold on, I’ve got something for you.” You hop off and jog up the couple of steps, camera smacking from one side of your ribcage to another as you wind through the halls to the kitchen.

 You stop in the doorway, holding the frame to brace yourself as you catch your breath. A trickle of sweat runs down your forehead and you blink, trying to remember why you came here.  You look around and see a box on a shelf, “Ah, yes.” you exhale and run your hand from from your brow to the crown of your head.  Weird. You feel chill, despite the blood pumping through you from the impromptu jogging.  You rip open the box and reach your hand in to snag a couple of candy bars you had Sam get on the last shopping run. You jam them into your pockets and turn to walk back to the War Room. Normal speed.  You look through the carousel of photographs you’ve taken and feel like you just haven’t captured his innocence correctly.  I mean, how can someone just SAY SOMETHING LIKE THAT? you scream inside your head. You start clicking more ferociously through the photos until you reach back to the first one.  You let out a slow breath and calm down before arriving at the table.

 Jack sits there, hands wrapped around his knees loosely, awaiting further instructions. You smile subconsciously and he lights up at the end of a wrapper sticking out of your bulging pockets.  “Is that for me?” He is suddenly rigid, awaiting your approval.

 “Yeah, thanks for helping, Jack.” you toss him one of the bars and pure glee washes over him as he secures the catch.

 You begin pulling out the second bar for yourself, but in seeing him washed over in joy you rasp to yourself, “That’s it!”

 You snatch the camera up and start snapping away, crawling onto the table without pausing your shoot.

 You wake up early, unable to shake the feeling that something is bothering Jack. You rub your eyes with the back of your hand and stare at the ceiling. Was he diverting the conversation so I wouldn’t ask him about it? You wonder up at the darkness. No, that isn’t like Jack. He’s doesn’t calculate. You’re just projecting your mistrust of other people onto him. One of your favorite traits about Jack is his inability to speak dishonestly. He is straightforward and open, while also being so accepting and understanding of anything you ever tell him.

 You decide to check in on him, although you were sure it was just before dawn. You slip some socks on and walk over to Jack’s room.

 You rap lightly on the door, and turn the handle gently so it doesn’t make a noise.

 “Y/N?” he says, sitting peacefully against his headboard.

 “Right.” you close the door behind you, “I forget sometimes that you don’t sleep.”

 “Sometimes. I sleep a little amount.” he shrugs.

 “Do you mind if I lay with you?” you point at the bed.

 “I don’t mind.” he says, allowing you to walk over and lay down on top of the sheets.

 “Are you going to lay down?” you chuckle as he continues to sit against the headboard.

 “Sure.” he says and adjusts himself into the laying position.

 “What am I supposed to do?” he asks, looking at the ceiling.

 “Nothing, just relax.” you turn on your side and watch his face in the darkness.

  After acknowledging with an, “Okay.” he lays there silently as though you aren’t there.

 “Do you mind if I lay my head on your chest?” you wait for his approval, and with his, “I don’t mind.” you nuzzle closer to him, moving his arm around you and laying your head on his warm skin.   You hear his heart beating, steadily with a rhythm like a bass drum. You imagine that your heart sounds like a piano, and together they almost make a musician’s band.  You hum an imaginary tune of a violin to your fantasy band and the vibrations from your throat ring against Jack’s ribcage and sound in your ear.

 A short while later you open your eyes and realize you must have fallen asleep, your arm wrapped around Jack’s chest like a ribbon.  You peel your arm away carefully and retract it to your body, curling it in closely. Your hand was still warm from where it rested on his delicate ribcage. You tuck your hand under your cheek while you wait for your eyes to adjust to the darkness.  Slowly, Jack’s face comes into focus. He’s asleep. You think in surprise. It’s really amazing, but in all of this time you’ve never seen him asleep. But unlike other people, hunters don’t look calm when they sleep. Even in their dreams they are battling, and on the verge of rushing out of sleep at the slightest sign of danger in the waking world.

 “I’m here.” you try to whisper to his subconscious, hoping that the crease between his brows will subside at the sound of your voice. Maybe you were connected. Maybe he needed you. Then you would feel like somebody in this world needed you.

 You move your limbs slowly, the way you would approach a target to catch them by surprise. You thanked the Men of Letters for making the bed frames from sturdy wood, crafted with care so as not to squeak when moving around.  You close the door behind you with a snail’s pace, like a game of ‘Don’t wake Jack’.

 “That’s new.” Dean mumbles into his coffee mug as he passes you in the hallway. You nearly jump out of your skin and praise yourself for having already carefully latched the doorknob into place.

 “Shut up.” you snarl at Dean and swiftly rush toward the bathroom.

 After a refreshing shower and other preparing for the day you think about telling Jack your part 2 plan for the photographs.

 You run one last brush through your hair for good measure and go across the hall to Jack’s room. The door was open, so you walk right into a scene you were not expecting.

 Cas was sitting on one side of the room, Dean was standing by the bed on the other side of the room, and in the middle was Jack - laying the way you’d left him this morning.

 “What’s going on?” you speak up so Dean and the others turn to you.

 “Ah, Y/N.” Dean brings his hands together making a dull ‘clap’, “I was just explaining the birds and the bees to Jack, here.” he motions at the bed.

 “What?” You growl, half shock and half confusion. Castiel and Jack share your confusion and turn simultaneously to Dean.

 “You know, about protection and all that.” Dean winks at you.

 “You idiot - it’s not what you think.” You begin to defend.

 Jack and Castiel speak at the same time, talking over one another at Dean, but Dean cuts them off and turns back to Jack, “I’m just kidding. I was telling Jack that Cas and I are going to run some monster errands if you know what I mean, and Sammy is going to stay behind to research any lore he can to help us out.”

 “There were no birds or bees.” Castiel clarified, “I believe it’s a black aggie.”

 “Eh, I think it’s just a statue, but we’ve gotta check it out.” Dean interjects.

 “Like Doctor Who?” you smirk and Dean screws his face up at you, “Why are you speaking gibberish to me?” 

 He knocks on Jack’s headboard, “Anyway,” he starts walking toward the door, “We’re out of here.” you step out of his way before he barrels through you, seeing as he takes up most of the doorway.

 “He didn’t say anything about protection.” Jack says as you stand there in silence, listening for the guys to get out of the hallway.

 “Does he want us to help Sam research about protection from the statue?” he asks.

 “Nah,” you lean into the hallway for good measure, “Get dressed, we’re going to develop my photos.”

 “Okay. Will I need any weapons?” he asks.

 You lean back into the room, “What?” you look at his serous face, “No. I’ve made a dark room to process the photos I took on the camera into physical pictures.” you explain as you walk over to his closet.

 “Here, wear this, it doesn’t matter.” you throw a hanger at him and toss him some jeans.

 “Okay.” he says and you walk out of the room, “Meet me in the kitchen, I’m grabbing some coffee.”

 He nods and you walk off to prep your first cup of the day.

 A few minutes later he walks in and you take his arm to direct him to a mostly empty storage room where you’d set up black out curtains in a corner. You push past the thick fabric and reveal some red lights illuminating a clothes line and trays of liquid on a couple of tables.

 “I want you to know that what we are about to talk about is for ONLY YOU to hear!” you emphasize, drawing in a hard breath as you prepare to let out a river of secrets.

 Jack looks around and nods at you triumphantly, “Yes, I am the only one in the room.”

 You roll your eyes but don’t want to defeat his accomplishment right now. “Okay...but Jack,” you lay your hands on the table and press your fingertips into it nervously, “this is meant ONLY FOR YOU. Don’t tell anybody what we talk about today.” you bore into him with your eyes awaiting his acknowledgement.  “Alright, I won’t tell anybody.” he says. You release the long breath building up inside you and begin to move around the photo making supplies.  “Jack do you know what it means when someone is straight?” you avoid eye contact with him as you pour measured amounts of chemicals into vats.  “Doesn’t it mean they are standing or laying down? If they are straight they make a line-”  “No Jack,” you cut him off, “let me put it this way... do you know what it means if someone is gay?”

 Jack ponders silently and you gnaw on the inside of your cheek nervously. What was most likely four seconds felt like minutes later, Jack says “No, I do not think I know what that means.”  You continue fiddling with prints and bottles and trays as you think about how to approach this subject. Like a child, Jack is questioning and open to learn. Unfortunately, you are uncomfortable and awkward and wish you could just transfer him your knowledge instead of having to explain anything.

 Wait. Why are you awkward around Jack? It’s Jack. You feel your muscles slowly relax and you cleanse yourself with a fresh breath.

 You turn to look at him and smile immediately, as he always makes you feel giddy when you look directly at him.

 “Well, straight people like someone of a different gender. Gay people like someone of the same gender.” As you say it out loud it sounds both stupid and also simple and not entirely a good explanation.  Jack’s face seems to agree with your assessment that this is not an adequate explanation.  “So...if Sam were gay he might like Cas...” you say, although you’re not sure if angels have specific genders and what the identity dynamics were based on what body an angel is currently occupying or had previously occupied.  Before you can drift too off track Jack hums, “So when Dean will talk to a lady when we get dinner, he is straight?”

 “Um..” you repeat back to yourself what he said and slowly nod at him, “Although I’m not sure why you qualified when he does that...but yeah that would make him straight.” you scratch your head and wonder if Jack might be on to something with a ‘when’ qualifier.  Now that you’ve explained the basic zero or one scale, you think about how to show him more of a spectrum scale. You rake your teeth against your bottom lip as you clip the last print to drip dry on a hanging line.  You reach for your mug and as you tip it to your face nothing touches your lips. You realize it’s time for a refill so you push through the curtains and hear Jack following behind you. Trying to form the words together for the next part of your explanation prove more difficult than you initially pictured for this conversation.

 “I don’t know what I am.” Jack says, making you nearly drop the coffee pot into the sink.

 “Erm.. well...you know someone can be more than just gay or straight.” You internally cringe as you’ve never said the words gay or straight so many times in your life before this conversation.

 “What if they like everybody?” Jack asks matter of factly, putting so simply into words what you are overcomplicating.

 Yeah, what if. You think as you take a sip of the mug, nearly spitting it out immediately. “The coffee’s burnt.” you pour it down the drain and stick your tongue out at Jack.  “Come on, let’s get some coffee outside.” you rinse the mug and lay it in the rack to dry. It’s a perfect opportunity after all to introduce him to someone special.

 As you walk out the kitchen you fidget nervously. Excitedly. You can’t stand it and take Jack’s hand unapologetically, as holding him usually calms you down. Jack, your sweet bug, doesn’t say anything weird in response.

 “Before I forget let me explain my concept for the second photo.” you swing your hand back and forth, taking Jack’s hand for a ride along.

 “Does your beard grow?” you peek at his jawline, clean and smooth and pale skinned.

 Jack leads his free hand up to his face where he notices you inspecting his chin. “You mean my face hair?” he rubs his fingers along the edges of his face, down his neckline. A tiny chill runs through you.

 “Mhmm.” you murmur acknowledgement as cool air brushes your cheeks in a rush with the door opening.

 “Sam showed me how to shave a long time ago. Since I don’t sleep much I usually groom myself while everyone else is sleeping.” his warm hand encloses yours like a mitten.

 “I wish I had that power.” you scoff, thinking of all the priming you could do in the wasted hours of sleep. No wonder he always looks so perfect. But how can you have such flawless skin and no dark circles without beauty sleep?

 “What power?” Jack touches his face suddenly, and as you peek at him his inquisition is plastered all over his face. You giggle as you imagine him wondering if facial hair growth is a super power. Ugh. You internally groan and wish you had the power not to grow hair.

 “Actually, I just want you to let it grow for a little bit, okay? Once I feel it’s right we can take pictures.” You notice some stones lined up in a row ahead and walk over them, using Jack as your balance point.  “I think we need to go shopping too. I’ll get you some other clothes for my idea.” you step off the last stone and realize Jack was raising his other arm - mirroring your balancing act.  You sigh a relieved, happy breath, feeling so blessed that somehow Jack was brought into your life.  “You’re my best friend Jack.” you smile, “I can’t imagine my life without you.” and of course he is unabashed.

 “Well you’ve been with me my entire life.” he says, “So I actually cannot imagine it without you either.”

 You smile to yourself and walk quietly the rest of the way until you reach the coffee shop.

 “Here it is...” you gulp softly before opening the glass door to walk through, “Coffee.”  Jack walks through with you and steps to the side of the door as some people behind you try to escape the cool weather. He looks at you as you continue to stand there by the entrance and follows your gaze to the front counter.  “Yeah, it’s just coffee.” you nod toward the counter, “No big deal. Let’s just go get the ...coffee.” you rub your hands together, realizing they’re colder and at some point you must have dropped Jack’s hand.  “Does she have the coffee?” Jack looks from you to the girl at the counter, “I don’t understand, why do you keep staring at her?”

 “SSHHH-shhut up.” you hiss, “Just follow me, Jack.” you walk up to the counter just as someone finishes their order.

 Her hair frames her face like a picture. Her eyes are piercing yet soft. She reminds you of someone, soft and bold simultaneously. She’s writing something down on a notepad by the register and her free hand tucks her hair behind her ear. You can just imagine taking her photo in a field of daisies.

 You shudder yourself out of your imagination. Whaaat. You shake your head and feel Jack’s presence hovering to your side. Stop being so..hover-y. You tap your fingers on the counter, unintentionally making the girl look up at you.

 “Sorry, just a moment.” she says quickly as she scribbles more rapidly.

 “No! That wasn’t- I don’t mind waiting for you.” You shove your hand in your pocket, “Actually that sounded condescending haha..” you chuckle nervously.  “I just had a song stuck in my head.” you cover up with a shrug as you rock back and forth on your heels.  She places the pen down with a clack! and smiles at you tiredly, “How can I help you?”   “Looks like you need a coffee.” you chuckle again, feeling cheesy as hell.  “Yeah, I wish.” she rolls her eyes, fluttering her lashes like a butterfly.  “Well, can I order you one?” you ask sheepishly.  Without missing a beat she smiles and gives a little laugh, “Nah, thanks. I get them for free, I just have to wait for my break.” She subconsciously glances over at the clock on the wall.  “Oh, cool.” you say lamely and lean on one leg to stop yourself from rocking compulsively.

 Her hair shimmers as it blows strands around her face. Jack turns around to see someone walked through the door and queued up in line behind you.  “So...what can I get you?” She asks, pulling you away from images of wind blowing through her hair as you ride a bike together or a sailboat or a convertible.  “Right.” A blush creeps up your neck and you place a five dollar bill on the counter, “Just a hot coffee, to go.”  “Coming right up!” she takes the cash and clacks on her register, making a little song of bells as she gathers your change.  You start to walk away and say over your shoulder, “Keep it!” and hide behind the receiving counter with Jack.

 “So you like her?” Jack asks in what was probably a normal voice, but sounded to you like he was speaking through a megaphone.  “SHHH!” you punch him in the chest and look over his shoulder to make sure she didn’t hear him. She was taking the order of the next customer, oblivious to your tiny crisis.  “I...I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about her. Sometimes.” you fumble through your words, unsure of what you want to tell Jack.  “I think you either like her or want to take pictures of her, right?” he asks, making you stare at him dumbfounded for a few moments.  “Don’t say it like that, it sounds creepy.” you gape at him feeling like he hit the nail on the head.  “I don’t know, maybe both?” you say and peek over the counter, watching as she goes back to scribbling on her pad.

 She glances up and you avert your eyes, pretending to inspect a printed painting on the wall with much interest.  Jack looks from you to the girl behind the counter to the painting in confusion. “Why are you looking at this picture?” he asks.  “I’m not.” you say through clenched teeth.  Jack furrows his brows in distress and looks closer at you and makes sure that you are, indeed looking at the painting.  “It looks as though you are looking at the picture.” he says with a strained voice and you groan, a tiny bit annoyed at his constant narration of your situation.

 You peek out of the corner of your eye at the counter and she’s back to writing on her notepad. You release a tight breath and turn to stick a finger into Jack’s chest.

 “It’s complicated!” you say assuredly, as though that was that.

 A barista saved you as he calls out, “Y/N?” at the receiving counter and places a paper cup down in front of you. You snatch it up and walk to an inconspicuous corner table with a couple of armchairs. You plant yourself down, motioning for Jack to join you in the chair next to you.

 “Oh shoot, sorry Jack. Did you want something?” you ask snapping out of your haze, “Sorry I’ve been so focused...” you trail off as he stares at you wordlessly, “on coffee...” you finish and you can hear your inner monologue rolling her eyes and saying Yeah, on coffee.

 “Yes, I’ll go get a drink.” he says and stands up suddenly.

 You shrug as he walks away and try to hide behind your paper cup unsuccessfully as you watch her again. This isn’t creepy at all. You think to yourself. I’m just sitting here drinking this cup of coffee I ordered. You nod to yourself in agreement. Because the coffee at home was burnt. You concluded. Yes, there was no other choice. Well it wasn’t that bad, and you probably could have made another cup, but you quickly shut your inner thoughts up. No, that’s not the point. I didn’t have time to make another pot. Well, maybe you had time. Then, I just didn’t feel like it. Yeah, I’m lazy. You satisfy yourself with a reason to come here and spend $5 on probably 20 cents worth of brewed beans.

 Wait... you see Jack gesturing with his hands. What is he doing? You watch the girl laugh and nod her head. WhaT IS HE SAYING?? You grip your coffee cup until it bends into the shape of your grasp.  He points to your corner and your heart stops. You aren’t sure if you should sink into the floor or seem super cool like you don’t notice them at all.  She looks over at your table and you decide to smile and wave sheepishly. She nods and Jack walks back to you.

 “What. The. Frack.” Your eyes widen at Jack as he casually sits down.

  He smiles at you and folds his hands in his lap.

 “Umm... WHat dID YOu SAy.” you ask in a very broken and raspy voice.

 “I said I’m not sure what drink I want. She told me she usually gets a plain hot coffee and I said that’s what you got too. Then she said you’re in here all of the time but she’s never seen me. I told her you took me out here to take pictures for a class and she said she would love to see how the pictures turn out, and she said she can bring my coffee over to our table.” He recounted to you.

 Your jaw was slack as you processed the entire conversation.

 What does that mean? Does she like me? Does she like Jack? Is she going to come kick us out and tell me to stop stalking her? Am I way overthinking this and she was just having polite conversation and is just going to bring Jack’s coffee to us?

 Your mind races a mile a minute.

 You close your mouth and look at Jack in utter amazement. He looks quite pleased with himself. 

 “I don’t even know what to say to you right now.” You slam back in the leathery chair and lift the cup to your face with mixed emotions. Secret joy? Anger? Flurries?

 You lift the cup all the way over your face, but nothing comes out. Damn.

 “What was the point of taking it to go if you drank the entire cup here?” Jack asks pointedly.

 “I know. I don’t need you bringing your logic into this.” You grumble.

 You watch her walk up with another steaming paper cup and you sit up straighter in the chair.

 “Hey Y/N!” she says and you blink in surprise that she knows your name.

 “So Jack here tells me you are a photographer?” She smiles as she hands the cup to Jack.

 “Oh, I’m just taking a class.” You glance down at your lap.

 “That’s really cool! I wish I could do something other than make a coffee.” She groans.

 “That’s really important!” you pep up in your seat, making her giggle.

 “What are you doing on that notepad?” Jack asks out of seemingly nowhere.

 “Oh,” she brings her hand to her cheek, partially covering her face in embarrassment, “That’s just some story writing ideas.” she says.

 “Woah.” Escapes your lips without warning, “I just assumed you were writing down orders or something.” You look at Jack in surprise, impressed that he noticed such a thing.

 “You draw too, right?” he asks, taking her by surprise just as much.

 “I ...doodle. Sometimes it helps me with the writing ideas.” she says.

 “That’s so cool.” you breath.

 She waves a hand dismissively, “You don’t even know what it looks like, it’s garbage.”

 “Don’t say that. Even if you’re drawing just for yourself, it’s brave of you to express yourself that way.” you spew out of your mouth without any control whatsoever.

 For a moment she looks at you in wonder, but a bell at the front door brings her attention back to her job. “Hey, do you want a refill? On me.” she winks.

 “Sure.” you nod automatically.

 She takes a look at your paper cup, crushed under your grip of stress, “Um.. I’ll get you a new one.” she turns to walk away and you stare as she floats away.

 “You’re doing that thing Dean does when a woman walks away.” Jack points out, and you throw the empty paper cup at him.

 “I can’t believe I actually talked to her.” You make circles in the worn leather arm of the chair with your forefinger.

 “That was a nice conversation.” Jack says, and although it’s impossible for him you are pretty sure you sense a tinge of smug in his words.

 Jack happily sips his coffee.

 “I am going to think of ways to torture you. Once I figure out what in this world embarrasses you.” You vow at him, narrowing your eyes at his innocent smile.

 You get up and stretch, feeling a crackle run through your back. “Okay cupid, let’s go.” you yawn.

 As you start toward the door you hear, “Hey, wait!” behind you and turn around. “Here you go.” the girl hands you a cup of coffee and your fingertips ever so slightly brush the inside of her wrist by accident. You want to pull her in and hold her, but instead grab the coffee.

 “Thanks.” you say weakly and she runs back to her counter.

 Once you get outside and walk back toward the bunker you turn the cup around in your hands.

 It says, ‘Look at me, being brave!’ with a little caricature of herself winking underneath. You attempt to suppress a smile as you hold the hot cup closer to your core, warming you in the windy morning.

 You walk into your makeshift dark room and pull the photos off the hanging clips. As you stack them together you run your fingers along the edges to make sure they are neatly fitted into one rectangle.

 You push through the heavy curtains and turn off the dark light switch. Absentmindedly you walk out to the hallway and stare at the top photo. It’s one of Jack looking directly at the camera, making you feel like he is staring right into you. Knowing all of your secrets.

 You see him sitting at a table quietly reading and walk up behind him. 

“Let’s take a look at those photos.” You sit down next to Jack and spread the glossy rectangles all over the table.

 You run your finger along them as you inspect each one and your finger halts on one of Jack eating a candy bar. 

 “It’s so colorful.” Jack muses.

 “Yes, I know exactly what I want for the second picture. We’ll use a black and white filter.” you picture it in your head, hoping it will turn out the same in reality.

 “This is coming along nicely.” You turn to Jack and run your hand along his stubble, scratching you pleasantly. His lips are red front from the cold walks you’ve been taking together and you think to yourself you should get Sam to buy some chapstick.

 “Did you want to finish talking about sexuality?” Jack says, stumping you in your thoughts. You immediately withdraw your hand from his face and cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

 “You have a way with timing, Jack.” you snicker.

 “Welp.” you exhale, as ready as ever to talk.

 “That girl, from the coffee shop. I just keep thinking about...her...about us.” You say, pausing to gather your sentences.

 “Us?” Jack asks, tilting his head.

 “Her and I... going away together.” you smile meekly.

 Jack’s face drops, but you don’t notice as you are fiddling with your fingers, making them knot and unknot one another.

 “I want to touch her, and hold her, and kiss her in my arms. And every time I see her my mind goes blank and I don’t even know how to ask her name.” you say.

 “Why don’t you start with her name tag?” a voice says on the other side of the room, making ice water run through your veins.

 You spin around in your chair and see Dean had walked in at some point in your conversation and was casually adding his two cents as though this wasn’t the most private conversation of your entire life happening right now.

 You feel yourself burning and the muscles in your throat swell up, so the only think you could think to do is push out of the chair and run full speed out of the room into hiding.

 “What?” Dean throws his arms in the air, bewildered at your reaction, “What did I do?” he turns to Jack who is pressing his eyebrows together, concerned but not sure what to do.

 “I don’t think you were supposed to hear that.” Jack says further knotting his eyebrows together. He hates to see you in pain, and he could tell that whatever just happened hurt you very much.

 “What’s the big deal? Who cares if she likes a girl?” he rolls his eyes and drops his arms to his sides dramatically.

 “She cares. And if she cares that’s all that matters.” he says, and gets up to look for you.

 Dean sighs in defeat and is left frowning with guilt in Jack’s wake.

 You can’t believe he was so callous as to butt in and completely destroy your privacy like that. You just barely figured yourself out, and now Dean is involved. You’re not ready to talk to the guys about this..well the other guys anyway. What if you just like this girl? What if you don’t even like her, but you just think she’s really amazing and admire her and don’t know what other feeling to put to it other than romantic ones? What is Dean thinking about it right now? It’s not even any of his business. What the crap.

 Tears are hot running down your face, as though your internal temperature was blasted through the roof and your tears were just water boiling over. You bring your knees to your chest and lay your wet face into the fabric of your clothes, blacking out everything from your sight. What does this mean now that it’s out there?

 An arm lays around your shoulders and you tense up at the touch until a voice says, “I’m sorry.”

 “Jack.” you sigh with relief and your body relaxes, “You didn’t do anything.”

 “I know, but I am sorry that Dean upset you. He didn’t know that he wasn’t supposed to hear that.”

 “Thanks, Jack. I guess I should’ve picked somewhere less likely to get walked in on...” you trail off, not really sure if you ever want to show your face to anyone again.

 He lays his head on top of your head and stay silent for a while. He probably isn’t sure what to say, but that works just fine for you, because being held in the darkness might be just what you wanted.

 After some time you raise your head up, coming face to face with Jack. You press your forehead into his and blink away the last of your tears.

 “You don’t have to be afraid, Y/N.” he says, and a smile spread across your face. “Thanks, Jack. With you I feel less afraid.”

 “I feel less afraid with you, too.” He says quietly. “I don’t want you to leave.” he says with a sadness.

 You open your eyes to look directly into his and search them for meaning. “Why would you think I’m leaving?” you ask and pull back so you can see his face more clearly.

 “You said you want to leave with the girl at the coffee shop. You said you want to take her away and go just the two of you.” He says with worry. “I just don’t know what life is like without you.”

 “Oh Jack.” you whisper, “I’m not going to leave you. Don’t you remember I said I can’t imagine my life without you? I don’t plan on ever imagining it either.” you reach for his hands and hold them against the sides of your cheeks.  “I might be nobody special, but at least I have you to worry for me.” you feel his warmth radiating against your skin and your heart opens wide for him.  “Why do you think you’re not special?” Jack asks solemnly. You remove his hands from your face but continue to hold them in your hands.  “Sweetie, not everybody was born to save the world. I’m not a Winchester, and I’m not Nephilim. I’m just a human, no stars aligned when I was born, and no demons came for me, and no angels wrote lore about my coming.” You almost feel a relief as you say it, although it was meant to be diminishing, “I’m just a girl. And nobody cares if I like other girls.” you say, realizing as you say it out loud that it’s kind of true. When you put it into perspective like that, it doesn’t seem like something to worry about after all.  “You know what? I feel kind of better.” You brace yourself against Jack’s shoulders to stand up, then offer him your arm, “Let’s go tell Dean off.”

 He takes your arm and stands up, following you down the hall with concern still somewhat radiating off of him.

 You approach the War Room and see two bodies standing by the table. The long trench coat turns around and Castiel looks apologetically to you.

 “He didn’t mean to walk in on your conversation.” He defends for Dean, as usual, attempting to excuse his rude behavior.

 “Are you KIDDING ME?” You ball up your fist and walk around Castiel to Dean, “You TOLD HIM?” You get right up in Dean’s face ready to give him a piece of your mind.

 “First of all, back off.” Dean says, putting a hand up in the small space between you two.

 “Haven’t you learned ANYTHING about privacy and not butting in to things that have nothing to do with you?” You fire up, pushing his hand out of the way.

 “No, I heard his mind. He wouldn’t stop feeling bad about it, over and over again.” Castiel attempts to calm you.

 “Hey, I’ve got it Professor X -” He waves away Castiel, “You know how nosy angels can be-” he puts a hand on your shoulder.

 You grind your jaw, unsure of if it really is his fault after all. You shove Dean’s hand off your shoulder, stomping toward the stairs.  Dean grabs your arm before you get away and his voice cracks, “Hey kid, really. I didn’t mean it -I-I’m sorry if I wasn’t supposed to hear that.” he says sincerely.  You unball your fist, but don’t turn to face him. You bite your lip and furrow your brow in confusion. Who am I really mad at here?  He pulls you into a hug. “For what it’s worth, nothing matters to me as long as you don’t have those black eyes, okay?” he pats you on the back in that lovingly awkward big brother Dean kind of way.  You inhale deeply and exhale just as hard, giving in to his apology. “Okay.” you begrudgingly say just loud enough that he can hear.  “I mean it, kid.” he says as he kisses the top of your head and lets you go. “Now go catch that coffee girl.” he waves his arm like a lasso.

 “No Dean, too soon.” You shake your head and walk toward the hatch.

 When you get outside Jack sprints up to your side, and you release the flood gates of complaints.  “It’s just that I don’t know who I want to know, you know?” you scratch your head.  “I mean...this is a part of me, I kind of think it always has been...deep down anyway. But I don’t need other people telling me their opinions when I don’t even know...” you trail off, feeling mixed emotions of acceptance and frustration.  “I think this is who I am, and it doesn’t even mean that much, but it means a lot to ME you know?” you grind your teeth left and right trying to figure out why you’re spouting all of this.  “I’m glad Dean... I mean... What if he didn’t feel the way he does?” you inhale sharply through your nose to stop flooding emotions.

 “But he does feel the way he does, not a different way.” Jack tries to connect for you, making lines in the air with his eyes.  “What if...other people don’t feel the same as he does?” you ask hesitantly.  “Everyone feels differently. Everyone has their own feelings, right?” Jack asks, making your real worry bubble up without warning.  Your heart starts beating faster, quickening your breath as well, “But, I don’t have very many people in my life, Jack. What if I lose one of the few people in my life because they don’t want to be around me anymore?” you feel your hands start shaking and Jack looks frantically at you.  “Why wouldn’t someone want to be around you? Because of someone that you like? Why would anybody want to leave you because of someone else that makes you happy?” he grabs your hands the way you always grab his when you’re nervous. You’re not sure if he’s trying to calm you down or calm himself down.  “Why, indeed?” you say, blinking away hot wetness in your eyes.  “Y/N, if you aren’t hurting anybody, and someone doesn’t want you to be happy...do you want them in your life anyway?” he asks so simply.  You stop breathing, stop shaking, and stop thinking altogether.

 “That’s a great point...” you say to the floor.

 “If this hurts you so much now, they will hurt you over and over again.” Jack squeezes your hands and searches your face for any sign that he’s helped ease your pain.

 “Jack...” your lip trembles and you thrust yourself into his arms, crying unstoppably.

 “Y/N, did I say it wrong?” he asks tenderly.

 “No Jack- they’re good tears.” you sob out, hoping he understands the words. You are just so happy to have someone who so unconditionally loves you and shows you warmth and kindness in this world of monsters both human and inhuman.

 You squeeze him with all of your might and wipe your face vigorously on his jacket, giggling a little bit as a heavy weight was lifted from your soul.

 You feel light and a little bit dizzy, and you want to stop making Jack worry.

 “Let’s go shopping for your picture.” 

 Several outfit changes later you decided on some torn jeans, a rock and roll tank top, and leather jacket. It’s like a Jack from another universe - it’s perfect. You decided to take some pictures by the Men of Letters motorcycle in the bunker garage. It’s got that edge to balance the playful atmosphere of the first photo.

 You played around with his hair for over an hour deciding which tools and what product gets the exact messy finish you want. The opposite of his usual smooth and soft wave, no hair ever out of place. It’s still the same, but rougher. Like he was riding at the beach all day long - hair all over the place and wavy like the wind instead of perfect waves like the ocean.

 “Okay, this is it.” you pat him on the shoulders, deciding it’s now or never. Otherwise you could play dress up Jack all day long, and never stop enjoying yourself.

 He looks rather rugged...

 You feel something not sure you’ve ever felt from Jack before. It’s not an a friendly love, or an admiration. That scruffy look...is giving you some lustful ideas.

 “Ahem.” you clear your throat, especially as you pass by Castiel on your way to the garage. Is that damned angel there every time I have extremely uncomfortable thoughts, or what??

 You direct Jack again, where to look, how to sit, what to do with his arms.

 You try getting him sitting on the motorcycle, but he looks too stiff and unsure. Not as cool as you expected. You give up the motorcycle as a prop and use it as the background drop instead.  You sit Jack in front of the bike and ask him to lean against the wall. He is tired, you can tell, probably from the emotional hoops he’s been jumping through all day for you. Probably all week.  “Relax. Just look at me and loosen all of your muscles.” the shutter snaps away and echoes through the tall ceilings of the garage.  He is so flawless. You decide it was the right decision to have him as your case study. It doesn’t matter if he is smiling childishly about chocolate, or if he is staring emotionlessly into your camera lens, he is stunning.

 You release a heavy breath and rub your eyes with the back of your hand, “Well, that’s it. Now we wait for the photos to develop!” you stand up, feeling tense and sore from all of the weird angles.  “Did I help?” Jack asks innocently, always eager to please. You smile and nod happily, “Yes, you helped.”

 He hops up and smiles ecstatically, winning some internal award in his head.

 As you go to pull the film and measure the chemicals in your dark room again Jack says he is going to get ready to go to bed. I guess he actually needs to sleep tonight. You think to yourself after all you’ve put him through, physically and emotionally.

 You think about the girl from the coffee shop, perfect in her own ways. Beckoning to your savior side to take her away from her small town and have adventures around the world with her.  But that’s not who you are. What if you do ask her out? Will you reveal to her that you are a hunter? Will you put her in danger by showing her this side of your life? Or will you hide it from her - even if you become seriously engaged? That’s not the kind of relationship you want... but you also don’t want to have a fling with her like one of Dean’s floozies.  You sigh mournfully. No, not floozies. You don’t blame Dean for never getting close to anybody. Other than your little makeshift family that is... it must be hard on him... but of course it’s always harder falling in love and trying to keep a ‘normal’ relationship, huh?  You shake the liquids off of the photos watching them magically develop from a blank piece of glossy paper into a work of art. Amazing.

 Like you told Jack anyway, you’re not leaving. So what can you offer her in this town anyway?

 You decide to leave the coffee girl as a chapter in your life that helped you discover more about yourself. You put away your daydream and leave the dark room to go to bed.

 Breakfast the next morning couldn’t come soon enough. You tossed and turned all night, unable to get up while also failing to absorb any actual rest.

 “Hit me, Sammy.” you grunt in a raspy voice as you clang down your favorite coffee mug on the table.

 Sam pours the elixir into the mug and raises his eyebrows as Dean walks through the doorway, “That’s my mug.” Dean grumbles, but one stern look from you swerves him toward the shelves to find himself another mug.

 “I know, it tastes better when I know I took it from you.” You scratch the back of your head and yawn before taking that first perfect sip.

 “Good morning.” Jack and Castiel say in unison as they both show up at the table. You glance at Jack, slightly disappointed to see him back in his regular style. Not that it is particularly unpleasant, just having gotten a taste of Hot Jack was very curious and he’s already gone and washed his hair and shaved his face. Guess you didn’t sleep much last night after all.

 Castiel sits across from you and you turn away, ignoring the puzzled look he gives you.

 Dean sits down and slurps his coffee as he catches your eye. He points at tilts his head toward Sam as if to ask if you’ve told him yet.

 No. You shake your head at him groggily, not that you’re not ready. Just tired.

 Dean reads you loud and clear and nods equally groggily.

 Sam sets food down in front of everybody and we all quietly pick up our utensils. All quietly, except for Cas, who out of the blue asks, “Why are you so sure that you like that girl?” he directs to you.

 Dean chokes on his coffee, Jack turns to you expecting to see a glare or signs of reaching out to choke Castiel, and Sam’s spatula freezes mid-scoop.

 “Good job, Cas.” you say and turn to Sam, “Yeah, I like girls.” you casually shove your fork into your mouth and since everyone was looking at you add, “Enjoy your eggs everyone.”

 Everyone turns their heads to their plates except for Castiel, who presses onward, “I just don’t understand-”

 Dean puts a hand up and interjects, “You don’t need to understand the dynamics of lesbian romance Cas, and if you feel the need to learn I can direct you to some videos-”

 “Dean.” Sam shakes his head and Dean shrugs, but Cas looks ready to protest again. “It’s fine, Y/N. You like whoever you like.” Sam warmly smiles at you, “If you want to talk about it I’m here, not that it’s something to talk about...just-” he waves his spatula in the air before finishing, “you know.”

 “Smooth.” Dean nods and grins satisfactorily at Sam as he raises his mug to hide his smugness.

 Sam rolls his eyes and Cas continues, “It’s just that you already like Jack, don’t you?”

 Somebody’s knife screeches against the plate, making you squirm at the sound.

 “Well...” Sam defends, “You can like more than one person at a time.”

 Jack nods at Sam and says, “Y/N said there is more than just Straight and Gay.” then he turns to you and says, “Is that true?”

 You bore your eyes into your scrambled eggs as you feel everybody else’s eyes on you. “Do you mean...that there is more than one sexuality... or that I like you?” you gulp and can hear everybody turn back toward their food uncomfortably for the moment.

 “I mean.. sexuality is definitely a spectrum... and I just only accepted that I like girls, but I guess I didn’t think about what that means for how I feel about guys..” you twirl your fork through the contents of your plate as though somewhere hidden in there will be the answer you are looking for.

 “Wait a minute.. why do you even think that?” You ask Castiel defensively, pointing your fork toward him.

 “I didn’t think it was a secret.” Castiel tilts his head inquisitively at you, “Every time you walk past me you are thinking quite loudly about Jack. Usually about his physical attractiveness or how happy you are that he is in your life-”

 “STOP INTRUDING INTO PEOPLE’S THOUGHTS.” you shout over the table.

 “...” Castiel looks at Jack and looks back to you, “Like I said, you were thinking it quite loudly.”

 Dean clicks his tongue and winks at Jack, “He is quite an attractive boy.”

 You narrow your eyes at Dean who wiggles his eyebrows and gleefully shoves a piece of bacon into his mouth.

 You remind yourself to smash his mug so he can never enjoy its feeling in his hands again.

 “You make me happy too.” Jack says simply and continues eating breakfast.

 You raise your butter knife to point at each of the Winchesters and the Angel individually as you warn, “If anybody says so much as another word for the rest of breakfast I will find a way to shove this knife all the way inside of you until the handle isn’t reachable anymore.”

 Everybody nods and continues eating. Cas shrugs, Sam smiles nervously, Dean shakes with internal laughter, and Jack blinks obliviously.

 Hours later, after the utensils are safely put away and out of reach, Dean walks up behind you on the couch.  “I mean, Cas isn’t wrong. It is pretty obvious.” he says quietly to you, prompting you to snag the pillow next to you and bash him in the face with it. He jumps back and raises his arms defensively, but adds as a last note, “I mean, I thought you were already together when you were sneaking out of his room in the morning.”  You grab the remote and chuck it at Dean’s head but he grabs it mid-air and tosses it gently back at you before sprinting out of the room.

 You feel very conflicted.

 You’ve just spent a very long time accepting this new part of yourself. Well...it felt new. It was probably always a part of you if you think about it...but acknowledging it is new.

 So...what if you’re bi-sexual? It doesn’t matter any more than being straight or gay or asexual when you’re a hunter. Doesn’t it?

 Unless...you’re dating another hunter you guess.

 You decide to get the final pictures to put in your portfolio, even though you’ve been avoiding the outrageously gorgeous images of Jack all day.  Well..that doesn’t help the situation does it... or Does it? Doesn’t that mean that you do like Jack? I mean..the guy is part angel, of course he’s attractive. Doesn’t mean you’re in love with him.  Though you do love him. But ...like that? Also, you’ve met some unattractive angels. Haven’t you?

 You get to the dark room and pull the final prints to inspect and choose the winner.

 You go to your room and spread the prints across your bed. You hold up the picture you chose as phase 1 to compare to the phase 2 results. They’re all so beautiful. Maybe you are a master photographer after all.

 You close your eyes and point to one at random. He’s sitting on the motorcycle stiffly, with a deep wrinkle in his forehead as he tries to balance on the handlebars. You chuckle.  It’s partially covering one up and you pull it out to place it on top. You lay the first photo side by side.

 The contrast is perfect! Look at the color, the softness, the joy. And the darkness, the roughness, the loneliness.

 ...The loneliness in his eyes. Your heart aches. It clenches to see any bit of sadness in his eyes, especially next to such a bubbly photo full of pure joy.

 You sigh.

 You pick up the two photos and walk over to Jack’s room. You tap your knuckles on the door and crack it open to see Jack sitting against the headboard again.

 “I think these are the winners.” You raise up the photos in front of yourself and he smiles at them.

 “You’re really cool! I look so different.” He says with an approving nod.

 “Great.” You tuck them under your arm to put in your portfolio in a moment.

 “Thanks Jack.” You look around his room, “Thanks for helping.” You put a hand in your pocket and turn around to go back to your room.

 “Hey Y/N,” Jack stops you and you look back at him, “Could we actually go for another walk tonight?”

 “Sure, Jack.” you smile.

 By some anomaly today is a warm night. After many cold nights in a row, you’re able to ditch the jacket at home and enjoy a starlit walk without shivers.

 You walk side by side, Jack leading the walk tonight through a path of trees. You follow silently, until Jack breaks the sounds of crunching leaves. “Y/N, I’ve been thinking about what you said.”  Your eyes widen and you decide to keep your mouth shut and hear him out before deciding to say anything.  “You said you are nobody special, and I haven’t had the chance to talk to you about that.” he says with a tinge of pain.  Oh. You feel half relief and half discomfort. “I may have been born Nephilim,” Jack says tactfully, “You have been born human. But being Nephilim is what makes me special.” He stops at a treeless patch at a ridge where a blanket is tucked between some rocks. He spreads out the blanket and sits down, looking to you as a signal to sit as well.  When you sit down he continues, “You are human. Which means everything about you is special.” He looks up at the sky.  “You chose to hunt. To protect other people. You chose to give up your regular life so other people can continue to life normally.”  “What other choice did I have once I knew the truth?” You interject.  “Anything. You could have ignored it - avoided it - chosen not to put yourself in danger anyway. We’ve met plenty of people who’ve done just that.” he retorts, and you guess he has a valid point.  “That you feel you did not have another choice doesn’t mean that you didn’t, it means that you care so much for the protection of this world that it didn’t seem like there was any other choice to you.”  He sees goosebumps run up your arms and decides to take his shirt off. You lean away from him and shriek, “What are you doing?”  He hands his t-shirt to you, “You’re cold, take my shirt.” and waits for you to accept his offer.  You are bewildered. You glance at his body, smaller than the Winchesters, but sculpted nonetheless. You feel yourself getting warm and protest, “Won’t you get cold?”  “No, I run a little bit warmer than you.” he says with a finality.  It’s true that he is always warm and you often reach for him on those chilly walks because he radiates heat.  “O-Okay..” you take his shirt and pull your arms and head through the holes, embarrassed to say that the reason you got goosebumps were because of his words, not the warm night air.

 “Look, there’s Orion..” you point at the constellation in the sky, the easiest to spot in your opinion. You lean back on the blanket, inspecting the bright lights in the black endless expanse.

 Jack leans back along with you. “You know, this was all made for you.” he says to you, “My Grandfather made this all for you.”  While you are taken by surprise, you attempt to correct, “You mean all people right?”  He shakes his head, “Not the way you think of it... I’ve heard some of your thoughts -” he stops and apologizes, “Sorry, I know you don’t like that. Sometimes I just hear them when I’m not thinking about anything.” You don’t say anything or push him in frustration, so he continues, “It’s not meant for all of humanity as a group. It’s meant for each individual person as an independent observer.”  He turns to face you, “That’s why you don’t have angel radio, you’re not meant to think together. You’re meant to experience everything as one person with your own experience.” He watches as you look up at the stars.  “So it is meant for you. You, Y/N.” the sincerity in his voice makes you turn to face him and you see his eyes sparkling in the night’s light.  “What you see is the most important part of the universe. What you see will only happen once in all of time, and you’re the only one who will see it ever again.” He searches your face as you stare deeply into his eyes, watching them move across your face in measured movements.  “You can see it any time you want, over and over again in your head, but no other human can. You’re special because you are the only you that will see what you see, make the choices that you make, or even make decisions the way that you do. No other person thinks like you, and that makes me glad, because I like the way that you think. And I know by being with you, I can see the way you think every day, and you surprise me every day when you make a new decision even though I thought you would do something else. No matter how much I think I know you, I still can’t predict you. I just have to be here with you and watch ....you happen.”

 You stare at one another for a long time, not knowing exactly how long since the night time feels like one large infinite moment.

 Any time you’re with Jack it feels like one large infinite moment. And he’s right, as much as you know him, he still takes you by surprise. And apparently, as much as you know yourself, you still have learning to do about what you will decide.

 You prop up on your elbows and look from him to the sky, deciding that it’s not possible to know anything at all. Except that you’re here, and he’s here, and you’re both together right now. 

 “Jack, how do you know who you’re supposed to love?” you ask.

 He props up on his elbows and looks at you indecisively.

 “I’m not sure” He looks at the darkness ahead and back to you, “but I don’t think there is an exact person we are supposed to love.”

 “I think I know, Jack.” You say, and lean against his chest, absorbing his warmth in the glowing night.

[arcticficialbanana]

MISHA DRABBLE

Word Count: 648 Warnings: Facetime. Insinuations I guess? The word Tits?

He watches as she bounces away and laughs curiously before the handler next to him passes him the next item to autograph.  “Right here.” She nudges his arm lightly and points to an available space to sign.  “Hello.” he says to the next fan as she nervously smiles at him and shakes with giddy excitement. He flashes his standard greeting smile, but he hears yelps and outrageous laughter off in the direction the pudding girl went. He smirks to himself as he mindlessly takes the next paraphernalia to sign. 

 He walks off into the Green Room for a bottle of water after the rigorous session of signings, his cheeks stinging from the extended smiling. Deciding that he’ll rest for a little bit before heading to the hotel, he reaches for his phone.

 The phone starts ringing and he takes off his jacket, sweating straight through his undershirt. The receiver picks up, “Hello?” Vicki chimes exaggeratedly on the other end.  “Hi Honey! You’ve got a fan!” he chuckles as he hears a confused “What?” through the line.  “I mean, basically. Someone told me they love my entire family. It’s gotta be you, right?” he flutters his shirt to catch a breeze.  “Basically my superfan.” Vicki drones sarcastically. Misha hears a page crinkle and perks up, “Oh Honey, are you reading? My sexy, smart woman. Hold on, I’m switching to video.”  He draws the phone away from his face to push a button on his screen and hears protests yelling at him in aggravation. He sticks his tongue out teasingly as he selects the video call button.  The screen has three dots on it signaling ringing. He waits a moment, knowing that Vicki is contemplating hanging up on him, but he knows she’ll come through.

 Call failed.

 “Dammit Vicki.” he shakes his head with a childish smile and attempts again.

 After 3 rings she accepts the call and in a warning tone says, “Misha...”  He smiles broadly, stinging his face muscles, “Oh come on Vick, don’t cover the camera. Let me see my beautiful wife!”  She resentfully removes her thumb from the camera and glares at him, “You’re such a kid.” she rolls her eyes at his victorious facial expression.  “You’re a stick in the mud.” he says and wriggles his eyebrows at the camera, “I like the glasses, Vick. Hot!” He gives her a wink.  “I know.” She says dryly and can’t help but crack into a tiny smile, “So just one person thought there was more than you in the universe?”  Misha stopped to think a moment and looks somewhere off camera, “You know she was really cute.”  Vicki raises an eyebrow in intrigue but remained silent. Misha glanced at the screen and continued on, “I mean, she had that ...something I like about you.”  “Tits?” she asked with a tinge of amusement, “A Perky Ass?” She tilts her head and side glances the camera.  “No,” he clicks his tongue, “Well yes, but that’s not the,” he narrows his eyes and shakes his finger at the camera, “Very funny you. I mean the free-ness and confidence. She basically scolded me for not understanding her costume, you should have seen the look she gave me.”  “Sounds hot.” Vicki says and winks at the screen.  “It was. That scolding thing I like that you do when you’re pretending you are made at me.” he grabs the collar of his shirt and waves it around to let some heat out.  For the one millionth time Vicki rolls her eyes and breaks into another unwilling smile, “Very funny. Well. She sounds fun.”  “If only you could have watched her hobble away with her pants wrapped around her ankles!” Misha bemuses.  “That good of a conversation?” Vicki asks and Misha shrugs his shoulders, “It was part of her costume.”

 “Anyway... what do you think of bringing her home for a weekend?” Misha asks.

Based on a recent experience (98% formed in my head) 

[arcticficialbanana]

A/N: A dream I had last night was not of Castiel, but of a tall man standing atop burning rubble. As I hugged him I felt need, which reminded me of something from my teenage years that I thought needed to be fulfilled by a man putting his arms around me. I sought after love and hugs to fill my darkness, but nothing is resolved for you by anybody else. Be your own Cas. Word Count: 1,035  Warnings: Agnst, knife

You look the angel directly in his cold, blue eyes and promptly shut the door. You inhale deeply and touch your collarbone for comfort before turning around.  “FU-UH-KK!” You slam your fist into the chest of said blue eyed angel before shoving past him on the way to the kitchen.  “You closed the door before I could walk through.” he says, walking after you. A wooden block with handles sticking upward enters your line of sight and you reach out for one of the larger handles.  “What are you doing?” He twists his face in confusion, “Can you hear me? Did I forget to use my human voice?” as you turn back to him wordlessly and raise your arm up.  “Oh, Y/N, you know that can’t kill me.” he states without emotion.

 “Yeah, but it’ll sure feel good.” You bring your arm down across his torso and he raises his arms to his chest in surprise. He opens his mouth but can’t speak quickly enough before you bring the knife back up and give him a couple of more slashes to the shoulders for good measure.  He grunts uncomfortably and turns his neck toward the handle you left sticking out of his right shoulder before you walk to the sink to wash your hands.  “That didn’t feel good.” He said in a low tone of disagreement.

 You feel only slight relief but the hisses of discomfort at the other end of the room give you a twisted feeling of sorrow and joy simultaneously.  You stare at the running water until it runs clear and you shut off the tap before grabbing hold of the counter. The edge presses into your palms with such pressure you feel your muscle begin to spasm.  “What are you doing here.” You push out word by word as hot tears begin to roll out of your eyes.

 A silent angel takes a deep gulp as he thinks of what to say.

 “Castiel.” you inhale deeply to regain your composure, “I said,” you turn to him, red with anger and pain, “What are you doing here?” you release the counter and move slowly toward him.  He opens his mouth, uttering a silent sorry.  You threaten him with a raised fist, but he doesn’t flinch in your presence. You pound over and over into his chest. His slashed clothing flutters around, but his skin is un-maimed.  “I SAID, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?!” You shout at his unmoving face, frozen in a furrow of misery.

 “I came back for you.” he said finally after your arms got tired and sore. You drop your head and lay your hands against his chest, warm but solid and threatening.  “But, I don’t need you anymore.” you whisper into his shirt and you fall closer to him, absorbing his heat and drying your streaming tears.  He swallows hard, and you feel his neck muscles moving against your head. He hesitantly reaches his arms around you but waits to touch you. His hovering hands make you uneasy, you just wish he would hold onto you and never let go.

 You squeamishly move your hands from his chest around his sides, between the slashes of his shirt, squirming your face the whole time. It felt as though you were fighting every fiber of your being telling you not to let him back in - not to give him the chance to leave you again.  But once your fingertips touched the hot skin of his back muscles you melted into him, allowing his hands to finally take hold of you.

 You stood there quietly, feeling safe in his arms as you used to without hesitation. You cried gently into his chest, feeling small in his world. He actually made you feel tiny wrapped up in him, but he also reminded you that you are not his world the way he was once yours.

 “I had to go.” His voice is gruff, vibrating his chest and rattling through your body.  “The Winchesters needed me..” he begins but stops short when he hears you screaming inside of your head, “They ALWAYS NEED YOU. THEN, I NEEDED YOU!”  “You don’t understand, it wasn’t that easy...” he searches for words to express just how grave the circumstances were, “If I hadn’t gone right then, you wouldn’t have just lost me, you would have lost everything. I would have lost everything. Everyone would have lost everything.” He searches through your silent mind, as you purposely try to keep your head clear of thought.  “I would have lost you.” he whispered above your head, “I wouldn’t have been able to find you again like this.”

 You pull away slightly and attempt to read his face, usually devoid of any emotion, but a certain need written across him now.  You shake your head slowly and breath through the tightening knot in your stomach, “You don’t understand,” you counter back at him, “You left me when I needed you the most. I don’t know what everyone else could have lost...” you trail away as you think of the life you had, “But I did lose everything. I lost everyone. And I have nothing. And I have less than I would have if the world had ended...” you press your nose into his sternum to avoid looking into his crystal eyes now, “I have a pain caused by emptiness, that turns me into less than nothing.”

 Castiel removes one of his hands from your back and places it on your head, pulling you closer into him. Your face pressed against his tattered clothes and although it was uncomfortable, the kiss he laid on top of your head spread warmth through you and closed holes which had been gaping for these many last months. Your pain remained inside you, but you didn’t feel like you were falling deeper into the holes of darkness.  He breathed your scent in and closed his eyes to focus on your sensation against him, “I’m here. You are not alone.” he exhales onto you.

 You tighten your eyelids as the burning behind your eyes intensifies and water wells up all around your face. You think, just maybe, you can start to trust again.

[arcticficialbanana]

A/N: Hello. I’ve been neglectful. To my creative side. I started a new job 3 months ago and I am very happy and even busier. But I shouldn’t keep my writing bottled up in spite of that! I’ll be back to writing soon *fingers crossed*

 Starting today you are in deep trouble. You’ve been out of the Winchester’s lives for about 16 months, and in that time much has changed for you. For one thing you’re engaged.

 You think about the day you told the boys you’re staying behind to live a normal life with someone you met doing research. You at least wanted to give it a shot.

 You wish you could say it was the same now as it was then, but then if it were you wouldn’t be standing in front of the hotel door with your duffle bag. You tighten your fist, inhaling the muggy air as you tell yourself this is the road you need to take. Ever since... you lost your way. Ever since you started drinking more whiskey than water. Ever since you stopped sleeping through the night. Ever since your mother died.

 You clench your jaw as you hear the door rattle open.

 “-first, then we’ll head to th..th...” Dean stops short of slamming into you and stutters as he looks you up and down.

 “Long time, big guy.” you look at him through a mess of hair, blowing in front of your face as the wind creeps between you two.

 “What’s wrong?” Dean says with a stern urgency, skipping any pleasantries, “You’re supposed to be-”

 “I was looking for you two, so I followed the usual signs. I saw the Impala parked outside the door.” You thumb over your shoulder pointing at the black shining beauty.

 Dean shakes his head like he doesn’t understand, but a face pops up behind his shoulder curiously. You blink slowly before pushing the hair out of your face, “Sam, you’re looking smaller and completely unlike yourself.”

 The boy disappears out of the doorway and you curiously peek over Dean’s shoulder to watch as he walks up to Sam and inspects him up and down. You are half entertained and half confused until Dean puts a hand on your shoulder to bring your attention back to him, “What happened?”

 You bite your lip as you feel a burning behind your eyes and tightening in your throat. “She’s gone, Dean.” you shake your head.

 “Did- was it?” Dean loosens his grip, but doesn’t let you go.

 “No. Leukemia.” You take a deep breath just as Sam appears and pushes past Dean to wrap you into a bear hug, “Come inside.” he says.

 Sam leads you to middle of the room when a table starts vibrating, “Hold on,” he says and runs over to grab the phone. He hisses a few angry words into the phone before waving at Dean and motioning to the receiver.

 Dean looks over at you uneasily and Sam hangs up the phone, “Listen, we really have to go, but I swear to you we will be here for you as soon as we can.” Sam says pleadingly.

 “Of course.” you try not to make eye contact with the guys, and Dean gives you a pat on the back before running out the door, “Jack, take care of her until we get back.”

And they were gone.

 You feel a whoosh of air as the door slams and you stand silently in the middle of the room. You seemingly forgot the existence of somebody else in the room until he speaks at you, “I can take the couch. Why don’t-”

 You clear your throat, “I’m not staying.”

 “But Sam and Dean,” Jack looks up at you and tries to read your expression. You stare at the floor so he gets up and walks right up to you. He places his hands on your shoulders and squeezes with a meaningful pressure, “I am going to take care of you.”

 A shudder runs through your body, drawing you to look up at him. He’s much taller than you realized, and without realizing that you were being drawn into his eyes, staring at him until you see a flicker of gold.

 Warmth washes over you and a sense of calm. You don’t remember ever feeling this relaxed.

 You inhale and realize you’re being intoxicated by this man’s smell.

 Shit. You think to yourself. The hair on the back of your neck raises and you realize you need to keep your distance from this one.

 “On second thought, I will go take the bed now.” you walk off, shaking away the warmth he spread within you.

[arcticficialbanana]

Friendly conversation

Title: Friendly Conversation on an Airplane

Pairing: Innocent Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 5,552

Warning: Just fluff! Nothing dirty happens here ;)

A/N: From everything I’ve ever read, heard, and seen I know that Jensen is a kind soul. I truly believe that if a nervous flier happens to sit next to him on a plane he would try to converse with them to keep their  mind off of it as long as he wasn’t busy, tired, or having a bad day of his own :)

Your Name: submit What is this?

 I catch a glimpse of myself in the reflection of a glass advertisement. My face is wet, my mascara is running down the sides of my cheeks, and my lips are a faded shade of my wiped off lipstick.

 “Ma’am the line for check in is over here,” a man motions to me as I am trying to control my breathing.

Keep reading

[arcticficialbanana]

In honor of one of our favorite people’s 40th birthday I want to share my second ever fiction here. It is still one of my favorites out of the 50 posts I’ve made (I’m guessing like 30 of them were fictions of some sort). Jensen is a gem. If I may, for today I will call him Gemsen.

[arcticficialbanana]

Genny, P2

Pairing: Confident!Reader x Young!Genevieve Padalecki

Word Count: 5,321

Warnings: F/F Smut, Strap on, Penetration with Inanimate Object, Hesitation, Virgin, Experimentation, graphic descriptions of sex.

A/N: Part 2 of my limited series. Read part 1 here. This chapter is a flash back to Genevieve and Reader’s college days.

Your name: submit

 Here she comes. You can hear the click-clack of her shoes down the empty hallway. She is so recognizable by her rhythmic pattern, urgent and poised. You count the steps as the echo becomes clearer and nearer, until finally your door bursts open. Laying on your stomach, you face away from the door and watch her reflection in the windowpane.

 “HELLO! Y/N! WAKE UP!” Genevieve jumps onto your back and starts thumping on your shoulders left and right.

 “I wasn’t asleep.” You rest your chin in the seam of your book, as her weight presses you down into the bed.

 “Hmmm?” She places her cheek on the side of your head and reads a fragmented page, “She was feeling ecstasy. Her soul was flooded with happiness.” Genevieve shifts your palm off the edge of the book curiously, “She had never anticipated that the utterance of love would produce such a powerful effect on her.”

 Genevieve rolls over next to you, sighing deeply at the ceiling, “Ah, so romantic!”

 “Yes, very romantic.” You say before you knowingly read the next line, “But it lasted only an instant.” You shut the book and sat up to put it on top of your dresser.

 You turn silently to Genevieve, awaiting her to spill the details of this morning’s subject of conversation. She bites the corner of her lip and gnaws at it as she stares through the book on your night stand. You cross your arms, fighting the urge to break your ritual of allowing her to speak first.

“Those joys were so small that they passed unnoticed, like gold in sand,” you recite, making Genevieve’s eyes shoot up to you with curiosity, “And at bad moments she could see nothing but the pain,” You pause to thoughtfully put your hand on your chin, as though you were trying to remember the rest of the quote, “Nothing but sand; but there were good moments too when she saw nothing but the joy,” You tilt your head at Genevieve, who is dazed by your recital, mouth hanging open and all. Your lips stretch into a knowing smile, “Nothing but gold.”

 Genevieve can’t help but reflect your smile and turn it into something much more infectious and beautiful.

 “Is that from the book?” She asks.

 You nod, “Anna Karenina. It’s my favorite line.” You look out the window where the breeze shakes the leaves on the trees, “It’s a pretty drab book otherwise.”

 Genevieve nods understandingly for a moment. She rolls to the edge of the bed and swings her feet over the side.

 “What’s up Genny?” you pry as she plays with a loose thread on her knee.

 She sucks in a cloud of air and speaks very quickly, “You’re really experienced right? I mean, I know you’ve had sex, at least a couple of times, right? I know we joke about sex a lot, but like ...we don’t actually really talk about it you know? I guess I just wanted to know if you could tell me something-” her arms are shaking by the end and she has to hold herself to hide her goosebumps.

 You might have looked at her with amusement, if only you weren’t trying to catch up on all of her words and put them together in your head.

 You wanted to ask what she was talking about, but it seemed she was also catching up on her breath.

 “Of course.” you decide to affirm in case she was waiting for you approval.

 She sighed deeply before continuing, head squarely facing the floor, “I really want to have a great experience the first time I have sex. I don’t want to fool myself into thinking it needs to happen a certain way, but I also don’t want it ending up a disaster.”

 “Right.” you say understandingly, with a tinge of skepticism while you await her question.

 “Have you had good experiences?” She peeks her eyes up from her lashes.

 “Sure, I’ve had some great sex.” You roll your shoulders back as a particularly vivid memory sends a shudder down your spine.

 Genevieve perks up and leans forward on the edge of the bedspread, “Is there a secret?”

 You whip your head to her in confusion, “A secret?”

 She lifts her shoulders and drops them down slowly, “A secret to it... to making it good?”

 You raise your eyebrows as you process her question, first in surprise, then with thoughtfulness, then you chuckle knowingly, “Of course there is,” You let her hang on the edge of the seat before tapping her under the chin, “It’s you.”

 She looks down at herself and frowns nervously. She seems displeased and confused by your answer.

 “It’s good when you make it good.” You explain simply, “It’s good for men no matter what you do...or don’t do. The best way to make sure that it is pleasurable for you is to focus on yourself during sex.”

 She sucks her top lip into her mouth and moves it in and out against her bottom lip. She looks up at you and furrows her eyebrows, “But what if I’m not enough? I want to make a really good impression.”

 You roll your eyes and place a hand on her shoulder, “You’re not getting it Genny, you will make a really good impression. You are enough. You are more than enough, honey.” Her eyes twinkled, but not with any particular understanding, “Any man you allow to see you, touch you, or spend a minute with you is in for an experience they aren’t ready to handle. You are ambrosia and golden honey.” You wait for her to give any sign of acceptance, but searching her eyes gives you no answer.

 “Listen Gen, you’re going to need to explore what makes you feel good. Make yourself feel sexy, focus on the good touches that give you the bad feelings, you know what I mean?” you smirk.

 She pinches her fingers between one another inside of her folded palms.

 “That’s not very specific.” She finally murmurs.

 You let out a chuff of laughter, “You want me to draw you a diagram?”

 Her embarrassment tinges you with guilt and you amend, “It’s just not the same if I describe it to you. Not if you don’t already know what I mean.”

 She looks up at you hopefully with large brown eyes and asks so innocently, “You love me, right? We’ve known one another for a really long time,” She begins, leaving you to wonder where she is leading, “Would it be weird if you just showed me? So that I’ll know what I’m doing?”

 Your eyebrows shoot to the top of your head and you lean your ear closer to her, making sure you heard correctly, “Show you?” you ask incredulously.

  Her hair falls in front of her face, perfectly timed to hide her expression. You raise an eyebrow and lean back, impressed she had the gall to ask you something so out of the ordinary - no matter how many words it took her to get it out.

 “I do love you Gen,” you think to yourself, My sweet little Genny. “You’re as close to me as I am to myself.” You put a hand on your forehead and exclaim, “I just didn’t think I would be pleasing you like I please myself as well!”

 Gen’s head snaps up and she opens her mouth to protest, but silence hangs from her lips. Her face screams soundless embarrassment, so you chuckle and reassure her, “I’m teasing you,” you walk over to the door and make sure the latch is secured.

 “I’ll show you everything I can to give you the best experience,” you walk back to the bed and place your hand on her shoulder as you lean behind her to draw the shades closed, “I’ll make sure you know exactly what you’re doing when the time comes.”

 Her shoulder is hot where you placed your hand, and when you come face to face her skin is pink all over.

 “So to speak.” you punctuate. She shakes the color out of her cheeks and blinks to look up at you with conviction.

 “Okay.” She nods confidently.

  You glance over her one more time, making sure the self-assurance in her eyes is solid and unshaken.

 You place a finger on her cheekbone, tucking your thumb just under her chin. She stares into you with comfort and trust. You make your decision.

 “Pay attention to every sensation you feel.” You say as your other finger begins to trail up her arm with a featherlike touch.

 “Allow your nerves to pick up on every touch. If your nerves aren’t screaming at you then you aren’t paying enough attention to what it feels like.” You inch your face closer to hers and bring your wandering hand to her collarbone, “You should be swirling in tingles, unable to tell what touch is coming from where.” You brush your lips against her cheeks and see blood rush up to her skin.

 “If you’re too distracted by one part, you’ll miss the opportunity to truly get your heart racing.” You whisper next to her ear.

 “My heart is racing.” Gen breathlessly responds.

 “Maybe,” you pull back from her ear and look down at your hand, now tracing over the curve of her breast, “But when you’re in your head thinking about whether or not I’m going to kiss you...” You catch her looking at your lips and tuck your finger just under the opening of her shirt, “You might miss what else is happening to your body.”

 Her eyes drop down to your hand and you see the raised bumps along her chest, “You need to stay out of your head, and stay aware of what your body is feeling. Maximize your pleasure, minimize your thoughts.”

 She gasps as you lean down to touch your tongue along the edge of her clavicle.

 You come back up and gaze at her with allure, “Everything that comes into contact with your skin will feel different. A finger, a tongue,” You angle your head to the side of her neck and nibble lightly next to her protruding jugular, “and teeth.”

 You begin to suckle at her neck, incapable of stoping yourself from tasting her warm and supple skin. You massage your tongue against her muscle and move your mouth to her vein, just to briefly feel how hard her blood is pumping.

 You sit back and put your hands just above her hips, “Now there are two speeds you want to accept.” You slide your fingers just under the hem of her shirt on either side and unintentionally tickle her, “You either want devastatingly slow, otherwise known as sensual. Or fast like you are above a burning fire, which we know as hot and heavy.”

 She sucks in her breath as you tug up on her shirt. You watch her expression and see discomfort cross her face. You stop halfway up her midriff and slide your hands behind her back, pulling her closer to you and moving your hands up and down her back, beneath her shirt. She holds her breath, so you bring your face to hers and place a feathery kiss on her lips. You feel her muscles loosen their intensity, but it isn’t until you slide your tongue in her mouth that she releases her lungs.

 She seems to be drawn into you, like metal slivers to a swinging magnet. She boldly slips her hands under your own shirt and begins roaming your body beneath the clothing. In her moment of losing control she doesn’t notice you slip her shirt off of her, and likewise her hungry hands end up pushing your shirt practically all the way off. Between breaths you take the opportunity to rid of your shirt completely.

 Her tongue roams your mouth and grazes along the edge of your teeth, presses into your tongue, and swirls like a silky whip between your lips. Whether or not she knows it, her fingernails press into your skin and drag down your sides with a firm pressure. You are intoxicated by one another’s ecstasy and you suck hard on her upper lip as she breaths heavily on you.

 Her breath is haphazard, uneven. You use your thumb to rub on her earlobe while your other hand presses into her back, making sure she is close into you. She writhes into you as you kiss down her neck and begin to suck hard on the fleshy part of one of her breasts. Her eyes are closed in a dream state until you pinch the top layer of the skin on her bulging chest between your teeth.

 Gen sharply inhales a breath and thrusts forward into your face, fluttering her eyes open. She looks at your provocative gaze and leans back onto her palms, looking you over.

 “Wow.” she clamors.

 “That’s what happens when you lose yourself-” you begin to explain, but her eyes tell you her intention was something different.

 “You are...so sexy...” she says, abashed.

 You are taken aback for a moment, but then smile alluringly, “Thank you Genny, you are-”

 Again, she interrupts with disappointment, “So drab.” She looks down at herself, skeptical of her choice in underwear. “I’m wearing a Grandma bra or something.” She touts.

 “You are more than appetizing, Genny. We’re wearing practically the same thing.” you attempt to ease her ridiculous worry.

 “Yeah, you’re like a size D, any guy would love to play with your tits whether you were wearing a tarp or lace.” She proclaims in horror.

 “Genevieve, guys are thrilled you let them see your breasts, they don’t care what they look like. Honestly. Any guy who shames you for something out of your control is garbage and doesn’t have the joy of touching you. Inside or out.” You wink.

 She appears to ponder your message, but still seems self-conscious.

 “You are as sexy as you feel. It exudes from within you.” You sigh and grab her delicate hands, teaching her the most important lesson of seduction.

 Genevieve doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but she turns to face you with that deadly doe-like stare, “I think we should try again tonight. I want to get the right lingerie..”

 “Gen-” you start to protest and she cuts you off sharply, “It’ll make me feel sexy! I won’t be in my head as much!” She declares with a fist into the mattress.

 “Besides... you are just so feminine and everything I wish I could...” Gen trails off enviously eyeing your body, “I just... you’re so much more womanly than I am.”

 “Genevieve!” you object and screw up your face at her; prepared to complain about comparing herself to others, and argue that besides all of that she is the perfect image of a woman - delicate, soft in all of the right places, just curvy enough without being provocative- but her face was set and you knew her decision was made.

 You sigh and drop your shoulders, leaning back onto your elbows, “Alright. I’ll be ready when you are.”

 She flashes a victorious smile and grabs her shirt, pulling it over her head excitedly.

 “Great! I’ll see you tonight!” She beams and leans down to throw a quick hug around your neck.

 She hops off to the door and you watch her as she goes, bouncing in all the right places.

 “Oh girl.” you sigh after she closes the door behind her

 “Y/N?” You hear a voice peer out from behind your door and the door clicks closed again.

 “I’m ready now.” Genevieve’s voice is silky and low, turning your head in her direction.

 She wore a wrap dress which she untied and allowed to slide off of her slight shoulders.

 You smile at her entire aura, filled with satisfaction and the energy of a femme fatale. She is prepared in a strapless lace bustier, complete with garter belt and stockings. 

 “Great,” One of your eyebrows can’t help but raise along with your tilted smile, “I’ve prepared something as well.” you say as you crouch down to the end of the bed and pull out a box of specialties for secret or unexpected occasions.

 You lift out a particularly sturdy contraption of leather straps. Genevieve is puzzled but mostly surprised at it’s interwoven appearance.

 “It’ll help you to think of me as less feminine.” you say appeasingly.

 You latch it around your hips and down the top of your legs, and bow down once more to select a non-threatening dildo to emulate a comfortably average sized penis.

 Genevieve’s face is pulled back in surprise, tinged with a sense of awe. She accents with a gulp, dipping her head in a half-nod.

 “Come here.” You signal Genevieve toward the bed.

 You allow her to slide up onto the bed, crawling next to her, placing a knee on either side of her legs.

 Her body seemed rigid in some way, like it wanted to exude sex appeal, but it was too planned and concentrated.

 “I want you to know how to please yourself, not please someone else.” you reiterate to Gen, but assure her, “If you’re having a great time, it will make anybody else involved so much more satisfied.”

 “If you want to fulfill your partner, get yours first.” You take her hand and select a finger amongst them, “But to better understand what effect you have on someone else, you should have it done to you at some point.”

 She twists her face up at you, “What do you mean?”

 You place the selected finger to your lips and explain, “You don’t have a dick for me to show you, but you can always practice your technique on a couple of fingers.” you press your lips tightly over her finger and suck on it mercilessly while swirling your tongue around the finger in circles, up and down. You graze your teeth very gently up from the bottom knuckle to the tip of the finger.

 As your suction puckers off the top you place a finger to her shapely lips, “Let’s see what you’ve got.” you click your tongue.

 She initially stares into your eyes as she takes your finger deeper into her mouth, attempting to swirl and massage your finger as you did to her own. She daringly takes a second finger alongside your first, closing her eyes with a serene calmness to her face.

 Her suckle makes you tingle in the pit of your stomach and it runs up your spine as you utter, “Be sure to make it really wet.”

 She nods up and down with a rhythm as she holds your palm in both of her hands. She lubricates your fingers as directed and smacks her lips just above them as she pulls them out.

 You hold your arm back and use the opposite hand to sturdy yourself as you crawl to her thighs. You place your free hand on her hip, preparing her for your most sensitive lesson, “I can tell you are a little bit scared,” you start.

 “No, I’m not!” Genevieve argues, but you tug on the side of her panties, looking at her delicate pussy knowingly, “Well, then you’re not very aroused. Either way, in your ...situation... you need a little bit of lubrication,” you say as you draw your hand and flash the glistening fingers.

 “I’ll ease you into it so that you aren’t too shocked or..” you take one of your fingers and touch the outer lip of her vagina. She squirms at your contact, but remains determined to stay patient and ready for her lesson.

 “Don’t forget to breath.” you remind her just before you push one finger into her, sliding gracefully past her lips and into her soft bumpy interior. You take a moment to enjoy the firm pressure of her walls against your finger, and slither your finger against one bump in particular. Genevieve catches her breath and you are intoxicated by the combination of her movements, her sounds, and the silky smooth interior of her pussy.

 Without warning you plummet the second finger inside of her, and although it pushes back against you tightly you get the desired reaction. She writhes in your hand, moving her hips side to side, which presses her thighs into your arm. You feel as though she was going to consume your whole body.

 “You okay?” You ask tenderly, and just as quietly and sweetly she whispers to you, “Yes.”

 You wiggle your fingers to make sure there is enough freedom for her to remain comfortable when you penetrate her with the strap-on. For good measure you give her inner wall a couple of strokes, looking for the best angle of her enjoyment.

 No matter where you move she vibrates with sensitivity, so you take the opportunity to press your thumb onto her clitoris. A ridge is slowly forming beneath your thumb as she generates her own lubrication plentiful.

 You withdraw your fingertips and think you catch an almost imperceptible sigh from Genevieve. You unhook her garters and pinch the sides of her panties, pulling them down from side to side. She wiggles her butt to assist your removal until you can toss them to the side of the bed.

 You crawl up along her body, one limb at a time until you are face to face with her again.

 “You good?” You check in with Gen.

 “I’m good.” she reciprocates.

 You position your faux-cock between her thighs and use your thumb to guide it to the right place. Gen closes her eyes in anticipation, but when you rake the tip against her, she pinches her brows together. Carefully, you proceed to push the tip inside of her but she winces again.

 You sit back on your heels and watch her open her eyes in surprise.

 “What’s wrong?” She asks expectantly.

 You give her a nefarious smile and place your hands on either of her thighs, pressing into them to keep them from closing together. She doesn’t ask any further, but watches as you lean your head down to her hips. You inhale her scent, like mangoes and honey - as strange as it was.

 You gathered some saliva in your mouth before extending your tongue between her lips, gliding from her opening to the plump clitoris at the top.

 Finally, she released a moan she seemed to have held in up to this point. It was shaky and guttural, a primal noise. You tingle with joy, and give her another lick for good measure.

 You come back up to her and punctuate, “The more aroused you are, the easier it all moves inside of you, but in this case to make due with what we have I can add a little bit of moisture for you. Hopefully, it’s size is just enough that you are extended properly.”

  She is so drunk on sensation that she isn’t paying much attention to your words. You go on and insert the tip inside of her, making her back arch up to you. Although she seems calm and collected, you notice a tremble to her shoulders. Before you continue on into her, you place a hand under her neck, and another on her waist.

 “Am I scaring you?” you ask gingerly, squeezing her waist and circling a finger on her neck, “Open your eyes Genny.” you coo at her.

 She opens her eyes and they are slightly red and damp, “I’m okay, really.” she says with sincerity.

 You weren’t sure how to approach the situation, looking into her eyes. But suddenly you tighten your grip on her and roll over so that she is on top of you.

 “Listen to me,” you guide her as she looks into your eyes with hope and tenderness.

 “I want you to sit up on my thighs, just below the cock.” you push her up to sit on you, as she uses her arms for leverage against your chest.

 She adjusts on top of you as you instructed and awaits her next steps. You take her hands and interlace them in yours, allowing her to put pressure into your palms to balance.

 “This is the best position for you to be in total control. It will keep you feeling confident, in charge of the situation, and capable of finding the most pleasurable angle and speed for yourself.” You assure Genevieve.

 She nods but doesn’t move.

 “You’re going to hover above the penis, then slide down at your own pace. Take as much of it as you can handle at a time. You can put your hands on his hips to keep them from thrusting up impatiently. Press down into your hands and relieve as much of your weight in your hips as you can take.” You watch her follow your words with her movements.

 “It will not feel immediately enjoyable, just get all the way down when you can, and then take a moment to pause and breath.” you instruct.

 You watch as she lowers herself onto you inch by inch, a look of concentration and concern twisted on her face. By the time she sits all the way down on you, her face is filled with relief.

 She starts lifting herself up and down on the artificial member and you place your hands on her hips, “Not like that,” you use your thumbs to guide her, pressing into her hip bones so that she gyrates at an angle, “It’s more front to back than it is up and down.”

 She gulps as she feels the significant difference in the effect, “Uh-huh.” she agrees, and you continue, “The in-out motion doesn’t give you much affection. A sweeping movement will give you a rubbing sensation, both inside, and if you’re lucky on your clit as well.”

 She follows the track of your fingertips, but eventually you place your hands behind your head. She looks at you as though somebody made the wrong move, so you have to explain to her, “You have to play around on your own. Every woman is made differently.” You smile up at Genevieve.

 “Move at different angles, swing your hips a few directions.” You nod and watch her experiment on top of you.

 Her breasts heave in her bustier, which has been sliding down centimeter by centimeter over the last hour. The tops of her nipples are showing, and they tease you with their appearance and disappearance. Gen pushes up and down on top of you, and her hair falls in front of her face in locks of black shadows across her face.

 “Come here a moment.” You wave her toward you, and she obediently leans into you. You reach around her to unhook her bodice, one hook after another. She doesn’t say anything, but when you unlatch the final hook she lifts herself back up as you toss aside the bustier.

 “As beautiful and sexy as lingerie is, don’t let it restrict you from your freedom. You are gorgeous. Use your flexibility to explore and lose all of those thoughts that ground you.” you say this as you sweep your hand up her stomach, between her breasts, and over top of her chest.

 “Focus on the feelings.” You remind her of her former lessons earlier in the day, and she closes her eyes to remove visual distractions.

 You continue sweeping all around her body, roaming from her thighs to her ribcage, just under the curve of her breast. You lightly touch the full part of the bottom of her breast, ignoring her caramel-pink nipples. You swoop up the side of her breast to the top slope of it’s natural curve. You slowly encircle closer and closer to her nipples, without ever actually coming into contact with them. You dive your hand down between her breasts and down her navel.

 “Suspense is the driver of arousal. It will only heighten until you can’t take it any more.” You say as her chest heaves heavier and quicker with deep breaths. A few more laps around her body and she couldn’t take the lack of touch where she needed it most and grabbed her own nipples. She pinched them, pulled lightly, and encircled with her thumb to her body’s content.

 While she was focusing on one of her hot spots, you placed a palm on her belly and gently pushed her back, “Lean back some, and grasp my legs behind you for support if you need. In this position you can both watch you being entered while also seeing your full body, and those breathtaking breasts.”

 Genevieve’s face was flushed, although most likely not from embarrassment but from blood rushing all over her body. She was working hard, and she looked tired and hot and very aroused.

 When she leaned back just enough you added, “One more benefit,” as you placed your hand on the innermost part of her hip, “Either one of you can please you externally as well this way.”

 You place your available thumb on her clitoris, plump and red with blood flow. Gen hisses her delight and quickens her pace of hip rotations. You pause for a moment to lick your thumb generously and she growls her displeasure.

 You smirk tauntingly, but place your thumb back on her bundle of nerves. Without needing to do much circling of your thumb, she aggressively gyrates around your hand to stimulate herself with your hand.

 “Try doing it all yourself sweetheart.” you coax by grabbing her hands and placing one on her breast, while guiding the other to her clit.

 She hungrily touches herself while you take the opportunity to support her back with your hands, and compensating her distraction by coming up to meet her with thrusts of your own. It’s difficult with her weight pressing you down into the bed, but watching her lose herself in her pleasure trance gives you a euphoria of your own. You are hypnotized by her essence, being pulled into her and out of her without much control of your own body.

 Her hair falls all over her face, her chest, her shoulders, and is tousled all over the top of her head. Her body isn’t perfectly rhythmic, but it is determined and turned on, and you are high off of her every move.

 “Yes baby,” you say breathlessly.

 “Oh, Y/N,” she gasps back at you in a blaming tone.

 You wrap your hands around the side of her to grip her petite and perfectly round ass. You dig your nails into her skin and grab at her greedily. You place one hand high on her back and pull her down to you so that you could place your mouth on her perky, erect nipples. As soon as your lips touch her puckered skin she began convulsing from her legs up to through her arms.

 She growled a very unsteady, “Ohh,” followed by an exasperated, “Y/N!”.

 Her thighs clench around your hips and her knees dig into your waist as she throws her head back and reaches for your legs to keep herself from falling back entirely. She digs her nails into the sides of your knees, and suddenly she folds herself forward onto your stomach.

 Genevieve is quiet for a moment and huddled into a folded mess around you.

 “If there is any chance he hadn’t cum before, the sight of your heavenly orgasm would make him explode right then.” you say somewhere between snarky and severely impressed.

 “Are you sure?” she questions between breaths against your ribcage.

 “You were irresistible.” you assure Gen.

 “Lose control to your senses and you will have a great time.” you begin to pat the top of Genevieve’s head as she removes herself from your hips and cuddles up next to you, placing her head on your shoulder.

 You know you have to take off your dildo and clean the mess she’s made of you, but she crosses her arm over you and grabs for your free hand.

 She laces her fingers through yours and sleepily whispers, “I just need little a nap.”

 You take a breath of cold air in as the vent above beings to blow around the room. You kiss the side of her hair fondly and whisper back, “Of course, Genny.”

[arcticficialbanana]

Pairing: Confident!Reader x Genevieve Padalecki Read Part 2 here!

Word Count: 2,816

Warnings: Jealousy, awkwardness, some form of angst

A/N: This idea’s been rolling around in my head for months since I had a dream I went to visit my long ago school friend Genevieve and my arrival brings jealousy onto Jared. I plan on making this a limited series (4 or 5 chapters).

Your name: submit What is this?

 You step out of the car and immediately shrug off your jacket. There is no reason to wear a leather jacket in Texas, especially not in July. You throw the jacket into the driver seat and close the door as you look around the dusty landscape. Somehow the sun reflects off the red clay dirt as though it’s a lake, with no water in sight. You don’t get the physics behind that, but you don’t mind an excuse to show off your favorite sunglasses.

 You double check the post card address and see the numbers match up, so you walk to the door. You suck on your bottom lip and press your nails into your palm. It’s been so long, and you wonder if coming here today is going to disturb some perfect image she has of you in her mind. You shake off your doubts and knock your fist on the door. You rock back and forth on your heels as a couple of dogs bark far within the house.

 A latch clicks and one giant man puts a hand in front of his face to block the sun as it glares through the glass door, “Hello?” he says with a raised eyebrow.

 “I guess you’re Jared,” you nod at him and flash the back of the post card with the image of his face kissing Genevieve.

 “Uh yeah,” he squints at the card, “Excuse me-” he begins to question before a shout behind him barrels toward the front of the house, “COMING, COMING!”

 “No babe, it’s okay-” Jared starts to call back to her, but as soon as you peek over his shoulder she sees your face and drops the slippers and leashes in her hands.

 “Y/N! ARE YOU REALLY HERE!?” Genevieve pushes through Jared and stands awestruck in the doorway.

 You smirk as you look her up and down, adorable as ever. Her hair is tied back in a neat pony tail, but her head is topped off with a couple of dried leaves; her shirt is slightly askew; and her pants are covered in what seem to be dandelion seeds. You click your tongue and bend at the waist a little to reach closer to her tiny frame.

 “Of course it’s me.” You tilt your head and tap her on the nose playfully, feeling warm and jittery at the same time.

 “GAHH!!” She yelps as she vibrates with excitement. She jumps up to throw her arms around your neck, and she takes the opportunity to pop up and throw her legs around you too.

 You laugh as she catches you off guard, but it’s not like her little 5′4″ are going to topple you over. You wrap your arms around her back and squat a bit to make sure she doesn’t slide off of you.

 “Where’ve you been? Y/N I miss you so much!” She cheers in your ear as you swing her left to right gently.

 “I know. I’ve missed you too.” You coo to her as she squeezes you with all of her might.

 Finally she jumps to the ground and snatches your hand to pull you into the house. She nearly slams into Jared as he clears his throat.

 “Oh! Honey!” She shrieks happily and waves my wrist in the air at him, “This is Y/N!”

 Jared is leaning against the doorframe, having quietly observed the entire exchange between you two. His expression seems to suggest he was quietly watching from perplexity rather than to let you have your moment.

 “Right.” He says a little coldly, and his crossed arms show no sign of reaching out to shake your hand. Genevieve doesn’t seem to notice and she pulls you past him into the home.

 “Where are you coming from?” She chirps as she stops to pick up the slippers she dropped, “Hun, could you hang up the leashes?” she says over her shoulder as she uses you for stability to put on her slippers.

 You glance down at her manicured nails on your bicep, seeing how tan her skin is on your white shirt. She is just as girly and put together as she always was, you smile to yourself feeling reassured that she is the same ol’Genevieve.

 “Just now, Fort Worth. I’ve been in Ukraine actually since January.” you let her lead you to the kitchen where she grabs a couple of glasses from a shelf and points for you to sit on a bar stool behind the island.

 She gasps exaggeratedly and spins to face you, “Did you get me something?” she smiles widely in a way that makes her eyes scrunch up in the corners.

 You click your tongue and wink at her, “Yes, I did. I’ll get it later.”

 She pumps a fist in the air and hisses a quick, “Yes!”

 You lean on the edge of the stool and prop your elbows onto the counter to watch her work.

 She opens a cabinet stacked with paper boxes and tin canisters of tea and skims over them before choosing one without a label. She starts pouring water into a glass tea kettle and you let out a low whistle, “Isn’t it a little hot?”

 She lets her lip out in a fake pout and waggles a finger at you, “Do you think I know nothing? 3 minutes to brew, then I’m pouring it over ice.” She says as she plops the kettle down and places a pitcher under the ice dispenser.

 “My girl.” You smile in a moment of pride, “You have maintained your knowledge well.” You slip into a memory of the first time you asked her to make you a cup of tea. She left a tea bag in the mug and put way too much sugar in the cup. It was a strange mixture of too bitter and simultaneously too sweet.

 You reflexively gag at the memory and she tosses a napkin at your face, “Stop it! I know what you’re thinking, and I’ll tell you I’ve been making excellent tea for years now!”

 You let out a hearty chuckle, “Are you reading my thoughts?” your voice reflects your amusement, but secretly you were very pleased.

 “You’re just easy!” She says as she leans over to snatch the napkin back. You grab the corner of the napkin and stop her before she pulls it all the way, “I always was for you.” you hold on to the napkin just long enough for a subtle blush to creep up her face.

 You release the napkin in time for Jared to appear into the kitchen, “So you birds reminiscing about your Pink Lady days?” he leans on the part of the island farthest from you.

 “Pssh,” Genevieve waves a hand in Jared’s direction, “You’re so weird.” she leans her back onto the sink, “I am so glad you finally get to meet my family.” She wiggles her shoulders and smiles broadly at Jared.

 “Damn lucky family to have you.” You nod at Jared.

 “I second that.” he nods in agreement.

 The whistling of the kettle breaks Jared’s gaze away from you and brings it to the steam shooting through the spout. He raises an eyebrow, “Isn’t it a little hot for tea?”

 Genevieve rolls her eyes, “What is it with you two?” She holds the water for a moment until it stops boiling, then pours it into a glass pitcher.

 “Oh my Genny, we’re the normal ones.” You fold your hands in front of you and place your chin on top.

 “There is no place in the world that I would describe you two as normal.” Genevieve cackles as she sets down the timer next to the pitcher.

 Jared tilts his head and scrunches his eyebrows together, “Genny?”

 “What?” She giggles as she leans over the counter toward you.

 Jared looks between the two of you before remarking, “You hate it when I call you Genny.”

 “What? When have I ever said that?” She shakes her head.

 Jared tsks as he raises his shoulders, “Um.. all the time since the day I met you?” he snarls.

 “You’re exaggerating. You were probably being weird at the time, so I told you to cut it out.” Genevieve brushes off.

 Jared scoffs, “Okay. Sure.”

 “Well, according to you, we’re always being weird.” You mockingly jump to Jared’s defense.

 Genevieve playfully draws her hand to her chest, “No! What I said was I wouldn’t call you normal!”

 “What’s the difference, Genny?” Jared throws in, “May I call you Genny now?”

 “Pssh, whatever, you’re being weird again.” Gen rolls her eyes.

 “Okay. Genny,” Jared taunts, “So how long have you two known one another anyway?”

 You look to Genevieve as she raises her hands and counts her fingertips. Jared cuts in before she answers, “Not counting the last decade, I mean. Since I’ve never met you.” He shoots a look at you before looking to Genevieve to adjust her calculation.

 “Well, we met at Freshman orientation in College.” Genevieve looks to you with a gentle smile.

 “You went to Tisch?” Jared nods his approval at you and you make a noise at Genevieve.

 “No way,” you stick your tongue out in mock disgust, “As if I could afford that.” You puff out some air and see Jared’s confused face as he turns to Genevieve.

 “I crashed the orientation. I was living in New York at the time, and I thought I could do it... so I did.” you shrug at Jared’s amused smile.

 “Ah, I see.” Jared sucks on his bottom lip as a question rolls around in his head, “So you two were close?”

 A shrill noise pierces the air as the timer dings.

 “I would say we were very close.” the corner of your mouth raises as Gen pours the tea over ice.

 She passes out the glasses to you and Jared, “We spent nearly all of our time together. We lived together for a while too, before I moved back to San Francisco.” She takes a sip of her tea and smiles with satisfaction.

 “No sugar?” Jared pouts.

 “It’s light, just enjoy the flavor. It doesn’t always need to taste sweet!” Gen snaps.

 Jared scowls at the tea and Gen sighs at him, “Don’t be such a baby!”

 Jared sticks his tongue out at her and takes a sip. He doesn’t say anything, but his face relaxes and he draws his head back in slight surprise.

 One of the dogs bark and Gen turns her head to the window, “Gah, I’ll be right back.”

 She scampers off through a doorway and you and Jared are left silently drinking your teas.

 “So ...” Jared places his cup on the counter, “How long are you in town for?” 

  You try to read Jared’s face while you suck on an ice cube. When it is nearly melted you answer, “Not sure.” He nods slowly and grabs his glass with two fingers. He rolls the edge of the bottom around the counter in ellipses.

 “I mean, I have free time, so this is my only plan at the moment.” You gulp the rest of the contents of the glass.

 Jared looks to the doorway before carefully asking, “You don’t plan to stay in town long do you?”

 You take a moment to absorb his not-so-subtle message. You lick you side of your teeth and shrug dismissively, “Not sure. I don’t even have a place booked right now so-”

 “Great! You can stay with us!!” Gen walked in right in time to hear your last statement.”

 “Great,” you and Jared say at the same time, although with varying vocal tones.

 Jared sets his jaw as he watches Genevieve bristle with joy, and you attempt to stifle a yawn behind your hand.

 “Damn I should have realized, you must be tired from the road?” Genevieve puts her hands up to her mouth thoughtfully and raises a hand toward you suddenly, “Come, I’ll set you up with all of our best guest amenities!”

 Jared sees Gen grab your hand and purses his lips as he tries to come with reasons to follow you. His eyes dart around as he fails to come up with an excuse and he sighs in resignation.

 “Hey Gen, I’m headed to Jensen’s,” he starts but Genevieve barely waves over her shoulder at him as she takes you out of the kitchen. You barely hear Jared’s faint, “See ya.” as she takes you up a staircase.

 Genevieve bounces on the balls of her feet up the stairs, like a happy little kangaroo. Her nails dig into the back of your hand ever so slightly, and you feel the urgency in her energy. She lets go of your hand a few feet from the top of the stairs as she reaches into a closet for a pair of fluffy towels and a set of sheets.

 She pushes them into your stomach and you lift your arms up to catch the stack before it all drops at your feet. She continues across the hall to a bathroom and starts pointing at things as she catalogs everything out loud, “There’s a robe on the back of the door, sealed toothbrushes in the medicine cabinet, soap and shampoo under the sink, lotion, makeup remover, hair combs,”

 “I’m fine, you know.” you tuck your top lip between your teeth to stop yourself from laughing at Gen’s usual over the top details.

 “Right, of course you brought all of your own stuff- just if you forgot something we’ve got it all,” she says somewhere between rambling and elegance. Genevieve’s usual manner of speaking.

 “It’s alright, I’m pretty low maintenance.” you shift your arms as the bottom towel starts slipping out of your pile.

 Genevieve turns to look at you and pouts her lip and furrows her brow, “I’ve always had to work so much harder to put myself together than you did.”

 “No Genny, you are full of more grace and perfection in the middle of the morning after getting wasted all night than I am after a day at the spa and a professional stylist crew.” you smirk.

 “Tsk.” Gen smacks her lips as she rolls her eyes at you, but smiles as she does so, “I doubt that. Clearly your fond memories of us have gotten foggy and glazed over.”

 You lick your bottom lip and remember a few of the good ol’days before she shoves her arms at you to push you back out of the bathroom. 

 “Here, best lighting. Soft and gentle in the morning and nice and dark right now for napping.”

 She takes the stack out of your hands and throws it into a chair as she begins stripping the neatly made bed. You raise an eyebrow at her as she starts shaking a pillow out of it’s case.

 “Mind giving a hand?” she says and nods at the bed. You walk up and skeptically start removing the corner of the fitted sheet.

 “It’s just been so long since we’ve had guests. I have no idea the last time we changed the sheets.” She explains as she begins to shake out the new sheets on top of the mattress.

 “I’m so glad you came, you know? It gets so lonely with Jared filming. I have the kids, but now the boys are starting pre-k and all, I have so much time to myself.” She finishes smoothing out the flat sheet and collapses onto her stomach.

 You take a seat, leaning your back against the wall, “You could have called if you were so lonely.” you sweetly coo to her as she flips onto her back and repositions her head in your lap.

 “How do you call someone after so long and say, ‘hey, what are you up to?’” she says as she clasps her hands over her stomach.

 “Just like that.” you brush your fingers through her silky hair across your legs.

 “But where have you been?” Her brown doe eyes tilt up to you expectantly.

 Your jaw tightens as you look into her eyes. You sigh and lean your head back into the wall, closing your eyes thoughtfully.

 “Many places.” you conclude.

 “Not like that.” A strain of sadness in her voice, “Where did you disappear to?” her voice gets quieter.

 “Many places, Genny.” You whisper back at her as you continue to stroke her hair.

 “Well,” She breaths out evenly, “Don’t go away so fast this time.”

 You two lay peacefully, listening to each other’s breathing. It was calming for both of you, but for different reasons.

 “Okay.” you finally swallow.

 The light fades quietly behind the curtains, the sky seeping further into darkness. You feel a warmth on your hip, so you place a hand on top of hers, and slowly your other hand stops stroking Gen.

 Her hair flows around your hand and tangles into it like chains to keep you sleeping here in bed.

[arcticficialbanana]

 You roll over in bed groaning in frustration. You thought a road trip across the country sounded great and fun at the time it came to your mind. You didn’t realize that on your budget that means 3 star motels -at the best- with stiff pillows and scratchy 300 thread count sheets, you didn’t even know they made them that low. But all of this would be somewhat bearable if you weren’t also rudely awakened by the sound of Cowboys and Indians television dramas next door.

 You throw the crumpled sheet off of you and barrel toward the door. You didn’t even bother to put shoes on, regretting that decision as you nearly step in a discarded bag of fast food on the ground. You bang on the next door down until you hear a disgruntled, “YEAH, HOLD ON.”

 You clench and unclench your fists, preparing your battle words in your head as you await the guest’s answer. A moment later nothing stirs so you start shouting at the door, “CAN YOU TURN THAT RACIST OUTDATED CRAP DOWN? DO YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS?”

 The door swings open and you have to turn your head upwards to reach a face and avoid the tanned and nicely sculpted torso in front of you. “Outdated? These are the classics, sweetheart.” he says in a deep rumbling voice that makes you gulp hard in reconsideration, he adds, “People are usually getting ready to leave for work by now.”

 “This is a motel. Nobody gets up before 11:30.” You retort defiantly.

 He raises an eyebrow at you as his eyes drift down to your tank top. You realize that you hopped out of bed in your dirty pajamas, forgetting to put on a bra. The chill of the morning air reminds you very well of that as your nipples harden against the thin cotton. Yeah...it was the wind.

 Your face boils, but you keep your anger in tact as you cross your arms over your chest, “Anyway, just keep it down. Nobody wants to hear pea shooters and horse whips first thing in the morning.” Your eyes flash over his deliciously toned body one more time before you turn back to your door, avoiding the garbage on the way.

 You smack your forehead and hiss angrily to yourself. You look over your shoulder to see the man leaning against his doorway, watching your charade with an amused smirk.

 “I... locked myself out of my room.” You mumble to him as you knock the door with your knee in frustration.

 The cowboy-loving Abercrombie model chuckles and nods at you, “Come on inside.”

[arcticficialbanana]

I guess I’ll learn for myself, P5

Title: I guess I’ll learn for myself;  Chapter 5: Getting to know the Bunker Chapter 4, Chapter 3 , Chapter 2, Chapter 1

Pairing: Jack x Reader

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: Angst, some Fluff, some swearing, a moment of teasing, a moment of Sam’s water drizzled chest.

A/N: [As usual, thank you @snxffles and @dloves1direction @jadepc @paw-paw-living @felloutofhell @whatthehellisacastiel​  @mysteriouslydeliciouswerewolf​ @not-a-comedian​ @not-a-glad-gladiator​ you are all wonderful.]  Sam and Dean convince everybody it’s not safe to leave you behind anymore, after being attacked a second time in the same town. While you realize Jack is unusual and important, you aren’t completely filled in on the world of the Supernatural.

Your name: submit What is this?

 You close your eyes gravely as you press your face into Luke’s shoulder. His arms are wrapped around you like they have never been before - such a sense of urgency, such a heavy hearted expression of love.  You inhale the scent of his denim jacket; it smells like french fries and pancake syrup and bar soap. A unique mixture of smells that you are sure to miss and think often about. You clutch the cold, rough denim in your hand, exhaling a shaky rattling breath. Luke places his hand on the back of your head in an attempt to calm you down and let you know he is there for you, but that only spreads the shakes around your body.

 You’ve never had anybody in your life that was your own. You haven’t had a mother, or a sibling, not even a friend. Even within the orphanage all of the children moved around; adoption, transfers, death.  Luke and Rebecca were the first people that were your constant. You can’t imagine knowing another person in the world as long as you’ve known Luke. The time before him was so lonely and unstable and directionless, you’re scared of what is to come without him again.  Luke is not only a person to you - he is a symbol of a normal human life filled with safety and security and connection.  Isn’t that exactly what you are giving up by going with Jack?

 But Jack... Jack is... Jack is something else altogether. Jack is so new and he makes you remember what a strange world it is that surrounds you. Life is not about passing through day to day the way it is with Luke, it’s about living every bit and questioning every aspect instead of brushing it away. Jack could be to you what Rebecca was to Luke.  Jack’s not just a guy, he’s not just the gorgeous stranger you were stunned by when he asked about your music.  Jack is so connected with you. If you were a magnet and every shitty person out there that tried to take advantage of you was a piece of metal, it’s like Jack is another magnet - made just for you. Trying to pull apart doesn’t change your polarity.  Although the future is uncertain, you still want to drink in every possibility with Jack. You want the freedom and excitement that he has to spread to you.

 Although the grumpy Dean has been very silent you can feel his eyes bearing into you as you draw out your goodbye with Luke.

 You give him one of the tightest hugs your arms could manage and earn an “Oof” from him, making you giggle and inhale a deep cold breath. You wipe your face as you pull away and feel full of new air, fresh and clean.

 “This isn’t the last time you’ll see me, Y/N.” Luke puts a hand on your shoulder, trying to keep you grounded to him.  “I know.” you smile and nod your head to keep from swelling up with emotion again.  He sees the sincerity in your eyes and can’t help but pull you in to one last quick caress, something you haven’t done so much in the entire time you’ve known one another.  He gives you two very hard pats on the back, like he is trying to permanently leave his mark on you.  He pushes you away and puts his hands in his pockets, “Go, kick ass, show me all you’ve learned when we catch up.”

 You give him a thumbs up and notice he is looking over your shoulder now, with a thoughtful nod.  You turn to go toward the car and notice everybody watching carefully. You’re not sure who Luke was communicating with; Sam for being the trustworthy adult he can count on, Dean for giving them time to say goodbye, or Jack for protecting you.

 You get into the shiny dark ‘67 Impala and everyone else sits down and closes their doors. Jack slides in next to you and leans over you to grab the seat belt. He buckles you in and then reaches to secure himself.  Sam makes a small wave at Luke as we pass, and you turn your body toward the back windshield to keep an eye on him as you drive away.  As soon as the car makes the turn out of view you sit toward the front and think you catch Dean’s eye glancing back in the rearview. Immediately the car speeds off and you wonder if Dean was going particularly slowly for you. Maybe he’s not such a bad guy after all.

 “Alright, now all that nonsense is over let’s get to the Bunker. We’ve got work to do.” Dean’s serious face stays on the road. Sam rolls his eyes and turns over his shoulder to mouth ‘ignore him’.  The car jerks slightly to the left, making Sam hit the side of his face on the window.

 You try not to giggle, making a mental note to ask Jack later if he ever feels like Sam is his Mom and Dean is his Dad.  Jack gives you a curious look with a tilt of his head. You lean in to him, putting the side of your head on his open shoulder and tucking your arms around his body.

 “NO funny business in the back.” Dean warns with a protective tone.

 Protective of the Impala, you guess - since he has no reason to protect Jack from you, and he hasn’t shown the affection to care about protecting you either.

 As the miles roll by you watch Sam wave his hands in front of himself, hitting the computer in his lap a couple of times as he explains theories to Dean. You watch Dean in the rearview rocking out to heavy hair metal bands of the 70′s and 80′s. You look up at the sky from your sloping angle against Jack’s chest, watching tree branches criss cross and birds fly under fluffy clouds. Eventually you see street lamps flicker on and the flashing of bulbs as they come in and out of your view.  Jack has his arm around your shoulders, keeping you securely in place. It helps as you feel your body loosen and the strength holding you upright fades away. Eventually his other hand is brushing just under your jawline.  You feel tingles run through you, but you drift off as he brings his hand up to gently rub your cheek. The music is lower and the rumbling of the car rocks you to sleep like a baby cradled in a mother’s arms.

 “Oh when you meant bunker, you really meant bunker.” You stand in front a round arched cement face with a door in the middle.

 Dean grabs bags out of the trunk of the impala and rolls his eyes, “What did you expect? Bowser’s Castle?” He walks around the other side of the Impala and Sam walks up to you and places a hand on your shoulder to keep you from following Dean.  “So, you want the ten-cent tour of the place?” Sam asks, and you look from the Impala to the door, feeling troublesome.  “Or would you rather explore on your own?” Sam suggests, but you quickly shake your head, “I just don’t want to get in your way.”  “Well, I’m not saying that you’re our responsibility now,” Sam gives you a mixed smile, “But you are our business. So you’re not in the way.”

 “You’re in the way.” Dean speaks up behind you, sounding very annoyed and waiting for you to move so that he could open the door you were standing beside.

 You stumble out of Dean’s way and nearly trip over a pile of lumpy soil. Arms wrap around your shoulders from behind you and hold you up securely. Jack’s breath brushes your ear and your head whirls, making you grab his wrists for stability and close your eyes.   You take a deep breath and flutter your eyes open, feeling safe and calm again in Jack’s embrace. After a moment of basking you unwrap his arms from your torso and spin around to face him, “Show me around?” your worried expression is answered with a silent nod from Jack.  Sam puts his hands in his pockets, feeling blown off, but when you glance over he just gives you an understanding nod. You frown when he purses his lips and you announce, “Thanks, Sam. I appreciate everything you’re doing. All of you.”  You peek over at the Impala and a gruff Dean gets behind the wheel and scoffs as he shuts the car door. Without bothering to look at the group he pulls the car into reverse and rolls away.  Sam reads your concern and shrugs, “He’s going to park in the garage.”

 “Oh, there is a garage?” You raise an eyebrow as Sam walks past, into the bunker.  “I’ll show you everything.” Jack pipes up and starts walking toward the bunker door as well.  You look around the hidden woodsy area once more, kick a well smoothed rock at a tree, and follow the guys inside.

 “Woah.” you breath, "It’s very...” you walk up to the railing and observe the room below; filled with old school technology and decor.  Nobody seemed to be listening, but Jack’s face suddenly pops up behind your shoulder, looking down at the room as well, “Very what?” he asks.  You shriek in surprise, thinking he’d already walked down the stairs, but after clutching your heart and taking a deep inhale you finish, “Art Deco.”  Jack tilts his head before looking down at the tiled walls and many windows around the room. He turns back to you with a tiny furrow in his brow and you can’t help but smile at his childish confusion, “It’s very Art Deco. Like the...20′s, 30′s. Gatsby?” you offer up, but the wrinkle in his forehead only deepens.  “Is this another music?” he purses his lips in concentration, attempting to recall if the names sound like anything you’ve mentioned before.

 “Um...” Sam voices from downstairs, “None of that is anything he would know about.” he shouts up to the rail.

 You and Jack exchange unsure glances and shrug it off, “Come on, there’s more.” Jack says excitedly, awaiting your full breakdown of his current home.  “Okay..” you whisper, still in awe of the grandeur of what you expected to be a cement and tin underground bomb shelter.  Jack springs down the steps and you follow, watching your feet among the grated metal stairs. As you descended, you noted symbols engraved into the stone atop the walls. You get to the bottom and notice the floor tiles have markings similar to your tattoo.  You walk up to the large, backlit table with the design of a world map and you pick up one of the metal compasses scattered on it’s face.

 “It’s our War table.” Dean says, leaning against the frame atop the 3 large stone steps leading into the next room.

 You promptly put the instrument down and reply, “What?” in a serious tone. Dean cackles as he walks away and you roll your eyes, figuring he’ll probably be messing with you a lot these first few days.  You walk over to the wall map where Jack is standing and follow his line of sight to a marker on a city.  “That’s where you lived?” Jack points to the map and you lean in closer, “Yup. Good ol’ home.” you stare at the dot and wonder what Luke is up to right now. Probably scraping grease and burnt chary flakes off the stovetop.  You release a breath with a smile on your face and look down at the contents of the table against the wall. Files, an ancient desk lamp, a large wood and metal stamp perhaps...and is that a radio? Or a very old clock? You ran your finger along the top of the cold black surface, and touched some of the knobs.  You chortled as you saw what you could only assume was a long outdated fax machine. Just above there was some huge metal contraption on the wall. You imagined that maybe it was a phone, based on the handle with an ear and mouth piece attached to the side. But there were about 10 too many switches on the front above the number dial. You ran your hand over the finger holes as you walked past it to the other side of the room.

 There... up against the wall.. was something out of a time travel movie to the early 1900s. It looked like a nuclear power plant switchboard, with large square buttons lit up in red, green, and yellow. There were pressure dials and mounted lamps, and it’s body looked like a super computer from a science fiction movie.  “Dean told me not to touch those.” Jack commented next to you, recognizing the look of wonder on your face.  “Hmm.” you acknowledged as you moved your sights to the boxy speaker on the wall and some sign with chalk writing, titled “Bulletins and Reports”, with times neatly printed on the right hand column.  Everything in the room was black and white with dim yellow lighting glowing throughout.

 “There’s more than just the front room.” Dean grumbles faintly out of sight, but the large ceilings carry his voice over to you.

 “YEAH, AND THE ROOM ECHOS.” you shout back at this disembodied voice.

 “Echo.” Jack says loudly and smiles as his voice reflects back at him.

 “Did you just...” you started to say, when you were distracted by a whir to the side of you. The wall behind you could have been anything from a ginormous tape recorder to an over simplified gas meter. Whatever the hell it was scared the crap out of you and made you jump two feet in the air.

 “It does that sometimes.” Jack says

 You wait for your heart to stop pounding and make your way to the stone steps. When you see the library you run up to the closest book shelf in a mad frenzy. “So many books!” you exclaim.

 You hum the titles of each book as you run your finger across the spines scrupulously. Slowing down to scrutinize each title you turn to Jack in disappointment, “There’s no fiction?”

 Jack was clearly straining to come up with an answer, so you explain, “This is all reference and historic research studies.” You sulk to another book case, searching for a different subject matter, “I like to read light hearted fiction... or complicated novels... things that are,” you dropped your shoulders, “Interesting. Impossible in this world. Something I can escape to!”

 Jack bobs his head as you enlighten him on fascinating plots of science fiction and fantasy series. You sit in one of the leather chairs in the corner and cross your legs, wondering if this new life means you have to stay in the bunker at all times.

 “Do you ever go out?” you eye Jack inquiringly, but when he looks at the ceiling in deep concentration you venture that he doesn’t understand the question.

 “Outside? Do you get to leave the bunker?” you expand your thought, “From what I gathered, when you had to leave it was a special circumstance?”

 “It was. We were attacked here and the Winchesters thought I would be safest if I disappeared.” He looks at his dirty shoes and kicks at the floor, making the wood squeak.

 “I think they were secretly trying to get me away because I’m useless and uncontrollable.” His sad puppy face tweaks your heart, but you can’t get past what he said about being attacked.

 “Here? In the bunker? I thought this was a safe place?” you gulp and uncross your legs, feeling wretched about blowing off his deep and person concerns. You’ll circle back to that, but the imminent danger was more pressing.

 “It’s warded,” Jack points to the stones in the archways with symbols carved in practical designs, “There are hidden sigils and devil’s traps.” Jack points above a bookcase, centered over your chair.

 Your eyes lift from Jack’s hand to the ceiling above, looking a the complex foreboding trap with alarm. You promptly get up and walk over to Jack, feeling eerie sitting beneath something called a devil’s trap.

 “So what are these, ancient holy Scimitars?” you point to a stack of displayed swords on a short shelf and Jack shrugs before bending over the swords to inspect their design.

 You walk along the room and discover fancy hand axes on display and iron helmets, possibly from the Roman era. As fascinated as you are by the many important looking trinkets carefully exhibited around the room, you still feel worry for the safety of the bunker. You plant yourself down at a table and splay your arms across the surface.

 Jack walks up to the table and sits next to you, placing a hand on the back of your head, which was drooping over the table, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

 You raise your head and peer at him, lamenting in his touch, still worried for your future freedom. Jack frowns and inclines his head closer to you, “I don’t understand what you’re feeling.”

 “Isn’t it miserable being stuck underground all of the time?” you gripe.

 “Well, I haven’t been here that long, but we go on hunts, so we aren’t always under the ground. Although I just learned that ghouls dig tunnels under the earth.” You’re not sure if his statement is meant to rally your spirits or if he is just thinking out loud.

 You move your wrist when you notice a groove in the wood, “M-0-3-Squiggle?” You trace the scratches with your fingers, “Is this a demonic thing?”

 Jack wiggles in his seat, putting a hand over his mouth, but you could tell by his eyes that he was smiling broadly. You raise an eyebrow at him, keen on understanding what is getting him giddy.

 “Come here,” he pulls your shoulders closer to him, swiveling you around the table, “It’s the Winchesters.” He points at the letters right side up; S-W and D-W.

 “Oh.” you felt silly for not realizing the logical answer immediately, but in this upside-down world it’s hard for you to tell anymore.

 Luckily, it was Jack, so you weren’t too embarrassed, just glad that his arms were around you. His smile turned warm and his face relaxed, but you could feel his pulse beating hard through his chest. You tuck your head between his chin and his chest, pining for his heartbeat.

 “You’re cold.” Jack noticed, throwing his arms around your back to gather you closer to him.

 “Yeah, it’s chilly here.” Just in time to support your claim you feel a shiver run from your neck down your back.

 Jack protectively squeezes you tighter to him, and just as you are about to make a comment about not breathing he releases you. He lifts your head up with his palms and presses his forehead to yours. Just then you realize you are having a harder time breathing than when he was squeezing you.

 “Wh-what are you doing?” You stutter with a flush of heat to your face. You stare at his lips, close and blurry, feeling lost and whirly.

 Jack feels your cheek with the back of his hand, brushing his knuckles from your ear along your jawline, and underneath your chin. You can see his lips are slightly parted and you skin tingles with his featherlike touch. Before you realize that your voice is escaping your lips you moan gingerly.

 Steam practically expels from your ears as you lean back and clasp a hand over your mouth in embarrassment.

 Jack twists his lips in a satisfied smile. That smug bastard! You think to yourself as you cover your face with your other hand.

 “I remember when you were touching me before, with every part of your skin that touched mine, that part burned with heat.” Jack remarked.

 You peeked at him through two fingers, wondering if he is making fun of you right now.

 “Are you still cold?” he asks innocently.

 You pause for a moment before releasing your hands, revealing a look of puzzlement on your face. He was trying to warm you up??

 “Err... I think it has more to do with the fact that I haven’t really eaten all day.” You place a hand on your belly, which does seem to feel rumbly. Now you’re starting to feel nauseous from the empty stomach mixed with excited nerves.

 Jack hums as he stands up and shrugs off his outer jacket, “Come on,” he smiles and places the jacket over your shoulders. You pinch the hems of either side of the zipper, crossing your wrists to pull the jacket closer into you. It is a light jacket, so not much warmth, other than the residual heat from Jack-which feels very pleasant.

 You subtly sniff the shoulder and tingles go through you as you revel in his essence. Without his jacket his slight figure is revealed, making your blood pump hot through your veins. You wouldn’t necessarily call it a fragile body, because there was a definite strength to his rippled arms and muscles. However, he was nothing like the two Winchester brothers. They were gargantuans among men; tall, bulky physiques, and veins practically bulging from every part of their bodies.  Everything about Jack’s image cried out sweetness and innocence. Large bright eyes, smooth skin, long arms punctuated by long fingers, soft skin, gently pouting lips...  “...out for the table-” Jack’s voice reaches the outer corners of your mind. You shake your thoughts out of your head and start to ask Jack what he was saying when you feel a sharp pain in your thigh.

 “oooff.” You rub your thigh vigorously as you inspect the offender of the attack.

 “You didn’t see the table right in front of you?” Jack tries to hold a smile back, probably for the first time ever.

 “Sam says there are a lot of things you don’t know about. I’m guessing I can’t explain to you what just happened yet.” You side glance, avoiding his perfectly pouting lips.

 You decide to walk off your brutal injury and follow Jack when something catches your eye, “What’s that?” you ask pointing into the next room, “Is that a telescope?”

 Jack looks over his shoulder and nods, “It looks at the ceiling.” He says in a nonchalant manner and continues on through the next hall.

 You are resisting the urge to question that further, but Jack is already walking steadily ahead so you skip up next to him. Jack turns to you and smiles like he has a good plan up ahead.

 He waves his hand in front of a door marked “23″ and you look at the distinct symbol before peering through the doorway.

 “How... industrial.” You remark after observing the large steel metal appliances. It’s clean, but also fairly outdated. Large pots and cast iron skillets line the top of the oversized stove, while a nearby cart was stacked with mixed items of both modern and mid-century influence. You smirked at a particularly strange sight of an old-school beverage dispenser with a spigot next to a low grade Mr. Coffee.

 “This is where Sam makes the food.” Jack says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. His smile shines with pride and you can’t help but feel strange; nobody has ever been so eager to care for you and make you happy. You feel elated, but also on some level a tiny bit uncomfortable. 

 The wall of white metal panels with handles seems to resemble a refrigerator of some kind. You walk over to one of the panels and pull on the handle to find four bare shelves. You open a couple of other doors and find one of them has a smattering of take-out containers and beer bottles.

 You turn to Jack and his excitement fizzles as he sees your pout. His shoulders drop and he comes up to the open door to inspect for himself. He picks up a container labeled ‘Cream’ and opens it only to immediately turn his face away and scrunch his nose with a sharp exhale.

 “Is it supposed to smell like that?” Jack asks with narrowed eyes, making your pout turn up to a knowing smile.

 “I’m guessing not.” You chuckle and look at the couple of remaining contents of the shelves. A bottle of mayonnaise, mustard, a carton with one egg remaining, something that might be a burrito wrapped in tin foil, and a paper bag you’re reluctant to open after Jack’s experience.

 You sigh as you close the door, wondering if you can make one deviled egg with the mayo and mustard. That is, if the egg is not from the same shopping trip as the spoiled cream.

 “Don’t worry, let’s find Sam.” Jack says with eyebrows high and knitted together.

 “Sure.” you smile up at him and nod positively, letting Jack know he has your faith.

 You lace your fingers through Jack’s, feeling as his muscles relax in your touch. Jack leads you to the hall. He stops to knock on the wall to the side of an open doorway. You peek over his shoulder and see the corner of the door that reads ‘21′. Further back you see a desk, table lamp, and the edge of a bed in front of a brick wall.

 “Hey, everything alright?” Sam’s voice approaches the doorway.

 You blink a couple of times as you decide what to make of the sight before you. While Sam is wearing pants, his hair is dripping water onto his chest which rolls down the grooves of his muscles down his stomach. You attempt to take a breath in naturally, but it rasps in your throat as you turn away to casually look at the design on a tile down the hall.

 Sam takes the towel from his shoulders and wipes up the glistening of his abs, “Oh geez, I think we’re going to keep in mind we have a ...woman here.” Sam remarks.

 You pretend you didn’t hear his comment, but he uses the towel as a censor in front of his body as he talks to Jack.

 “I don’t think we have any food.” Jack tugs on his ear lightly, something that he must have noticed is a nervous habit of yours.

 “Right, I was going out to get some groceries-” Sam nods.

 “Can I come?” Jack straightens up and leans in toward Sam.

 “Yeah,” Sam raises an eyebrow in amusement, “of course.” He places the towel on his head to catch the droplets of clean water, “I’ll just meet you by the stairs, ‘kay?” Sam steps back and puts a hand on the door to half close it.

 You release the breath pent up inside of you and place your hands on your thighs as you hunch over in relief. No man should be that gorgeous, it’s just not natural. You think to yourself as Jack crouches down beneath you, “Are you okay?”

 You snap upright and wave a hand in front of Jack, “Yeah, I’m fine-” You start to deflect, then you pause at a thought, “Do you... have a room too?”

 “Yep, that’s the one.” Jack stands up as he points to the room behind you, labeled ‘22′.

 As you spin around to look at the room, you see Dean at the end of the hall walking up to a door in sweats. He sees you and Jack and shouts, “Stay away from this side of the hall. Especially room 15.” he says as he slams the door behind him.

 A shudder runs down your spine and you turn to Jack with your lips pulled down over your teeth. Jack shrugs, “I guess you’ll need to pick a room. You can look around some more while I’m gone.”

 You explore around the common areas, careful to stay away from Dean’s forbidden ‘west wing’. You’re up on the terrace above the war room, inspecting the architectural beauty from this point of view. You see some sort of blueprint on the wall above the armchairs and decide to stare at it for a while from the leathery seat.

  You put your feet up on the chair across the table as you run a finger along the leather arm. You draw circles with one hand on your thigh hypnotically as you get lost in thought.

 Living on your own you’ve never felt worthy of anybody’s attention like this before. It’s quite an unusual sensation to have someone dote over you all of the time. You enjoyed every moment of getting to know Jack, but it feels different now that he isn’t a stranger.

 You feel at peace in his presence, it’s a sensation like you are home. The moments when you’re together and quiet in one another’s arms you forget that there was a time when you were alone.  On the other hand, when every move you make is misinterpreted as needing something fixed, it can get tiresome. Sure, Jack is learning, but you don’t need a band-aid when you bump your knuckles against a table...it is a bit overkill.

 Somewhere a pipe whirs and rattles with steam or water, rousing you from your thoughts. You put your feet down and inspect the board on the table. It’s backgammon on one side and you guess chess on the other side, since there are pawn pieces along the edge of the table.

 You fiddle with a pawn until you hear the door swing open behind you. 

 “Oh, you’re here!” Jack rushes up to you happily and you lift your head to look up above the chair where he shines at you excitedly.

 “Sam will make dinner soon, but I got this for you.” Jack drops a stack in your lap and you look down at the pile.

 You pick up the box on top and smile to yourself as tingles rush up your neck, “You got me tea?” you say quietly, fighting a full on cheesy grin.

 “Every time we came to your apartment you made tea. You really like tea, yeah?”

 You inhale the scent of the box and giggle, “Yes, I really like tea.”

 Beneath the tea was a book with colorful illustrations of a girl surrounded by animals, “Alice in Wonderland?” you say in astonishment.

 “You were pretty upset that there weren’t any fiction books so I asked what fiction book you might like. Have you read it?” Jack tightly grips the back of the chair.

 “A few times actually!” You say and when you see Jack’s face drop you quickly reassure him, “It’s one of my favorites!” you beam at him and instantly he perks up.

 “Sam said it was appropriate for you right now.” Jack says, unsure of Sam’s meaning. You nod knowingly as you grasp the final object.

 “I wanted to make sure you don’t get cold anymore.” Jack takes the blanket out of your hands and wraps you up like a red plaid burrito.

 “Thank you, Jack.” you say, confirming that he did good for you.

 Over dinner the guys sat around the table in a concentrated silence. Since you’re not sure if this is the same atmosphere as their normal dinners you quietly sip your tea. You lean into Jack and he places one of his hands around your back, gripping your waist.

 Warmth spreads around you where his arm wraps your back. His body heats you enough that the blanket in your lap begins to feel too hot. Snapping you out of your reverie, Dean clangs his fork onto his plate.

 “Do you think this is one of Crowley’s minions?” Dean directs at Sam, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

 “They’re too small time.” Sam shakes his head, “They know they can’t handle someone of ...Jack’s caliber on their own.” Sam folds his napkin over and over again.

 “Besides, the demon blade didn’t kill them.” Sam scratches his forehead before running the hand through his hair.

 “Could be angels?” Dean waves his dirty fork in the air indecisively.

 “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them disintegrate in black smoke before.” Sam shakes his head.

 “Right, they weren’t uptight enough.” Dean punctuates his statement with a sip from his beer bottle.

 There is a moment of silence while the guys think and you absorb the information presented before you. Demons. Like they said at the apartment. That woman was a demon? Or an angel? Well they did say it probably wasn’t an angel, but why would an angel try to hurt you? It does only seem natural that if there are demons there would be angels, but shouldn’t they balance one another out? What could demons or angels want with Jack?

 “What about Abaddon?” Sam leans back in his chair and throws his arms up in the air.

 Dean trails a thumb across his neck in a deadly gesture, “No way, long gone.” he states.

 “No, I mean, what if it’s another Knight of Hell?” Sam corrects.

 Knight of Hell?

 “I thought Abaddon was the last one?” Dean narrows his eyes, questioning the memory of what he thinks he knows.

 “Who knows? Did we know there were Knights of Hell before Abaddon? Did we know there was a darkness before Amara? Did we know there were Angels before Cas?” Sam groans and Dean sits silently as he ponders the options.

Darkness?

 “So where should we start looking?” Sam asks in exasperation.

 Dean works his jaw, at a loss for the remainder of the night.

 “We can’t keep putting this off - they came in once, they can get in again.” Sam warns and Dean lifts his chin to the ceiling.

 You wait a couple of minutes and gather the courage to speak up before everybody gets up from the table, “I’m not sure if I can add anything useful, but maybe I could help you look for what you need...” you take a gulp as Dean brings his head down to look at you and Sam watches you with a twisted mouth.

 “...Maybe if I know what’s up with Jack I can figure out why someone...or something is chasing after him?” you conclude.

 Jack tilts his head at the Winchesters and the brothers exchange frozen glances.

 “That’s right,” Dean rocks from side to side, “I forgot you don’t know.” he turns away, signaling for Sam to take the ball.

 Sam scratches from his chin down his neck and clears his throat uncomfortably.

 “I’m a Nephilim.” Jack turns his body to you, in time to see your eyes widen and mouth drop open.

 Sam clarifies, “He’s the son of Lucifer.”

[arcticficialbanana]

Imagine a long distance relationship with Sam Drabble, Spacing Out

Pairing: Sam x Reader

  You stare at Sam’s lips on the screen as the supple color draws you into them. Your eyebrow raises as you tilt the direction of his mouth and hypnotically bob your head. Unintentionally your hand slides up to rub your neck, mirroring Sam’s hand as it pulls across his skin. His lips are mesmerizing, and you reimagine the memory of what they feel like on your skin. They stretch back into a smile and his hand waves in front of the camera.

 You shudder as a blush creeps up your neck and rises to your cheeks.

 “Are you bored?” Sam asks as his hand comes to his mouth to chew on the fingernails, “I’m sorry I don’t have a more interesting update. It’s been very repetitive.” he quickly takes his hand away from his mouth, realizing how they tasted salty and smelled of kerosene.

 “No! Sorry! I’m just...” you lick your lips as you lose your train of thought, “You look really good.” You smile faintly, imagining pressing through the screen to the other side - finally able to rub your face in the crook of his neck. You want to take in his scent, feel the scratch of his beard, bask in the warmth of his body, get wrapped in his oversized hands, and so much more.

 Sam chuckles self consciously and puts his hand on his chin, “I haven’t shaved since Monday...” he grapples with his face, attempting to cover it’s untidiness. 

 You strain not to roll your eyes, “I like it.” you say, knowing full well that you didn’t care if he had the beard of Gandalf, as long as you could hug him and feel him against you sooner.

 A voice in the background catches Sam’s attention momentarily and he turns to smile warmly at you, “I miss you.” he says and pouts his lips to plant a kiss in the air for you.

 You nod as he mouths “Gotta go” and the screen bleeps off. You look down at your hands, holding the blank screen. You let out a little happy sigh as you stare at your ring, knowing you’ll get to see him again tomorrow.

[beeishappy]

Stay safe this holiday season.