SAMSAMESAMESAMESAMESAME we got nerd and super hottie fall in love. Sex on the first date. We're tots just sleeping but oh hey we actually like each other whoops. Accidentally admits love during fight. ACCIDENTALLY ADMITS LOVE WHILE DRUNK. I'm gonna introduce you to my friends and friends are HELLA EMBARRASSING!! We broke up but we're still friends except not really. Lame stay in movie dates. COLIVER IS LITERALLY EVERY FUCKING FANFIC TROPE AND I LOVE IT I BATHE IN IT
I MEAN COLIVER IS THE MOST FANFIC OF ALL THE CANON SHIPS I KNOW, AND I JUST LOVE IT SO MUCH
Jess Jess!!! Life is shitty sometimes (like this entire week really) please if you love me you'd write me a fluffy thing like not even a thing just a list of headcanons idk I need to feel good
well since im on a roll with kissing hcs, lets see if i cant come up with a few coliver ones
like okay first off, we’ve seen them kiss on screen. and just like, for happy thoughts, remember the soapy hands kiss and how amazing that kiss was. wow i want to watch it again, this is so cute
but in other kissing news
connors always been the kiss em and leave em type, yeah he kisses the people he hooked up with before, but it was rough and push and shove, and a blowjob in a bathroom stall, not anything romantic
but with oliver kisses are suddenly romantic
they curl up against each other, and kiss laziely, and wow its the best thing connor’s ever had. he’s suddenly so greedy for those gentle kisses, for those two am in the morning when he cant sleep kisses, rolling over and pressing his lips softly to oliver’s neck until oliver hums awake and gives him this soft and deep kiss
he doesnt even care about morning breath when it comes this
oliver on the other hand pulls back and is like “go brush your teeth ffs”
AU where Sam is alright and his entire life isn’t falling apart because I can’t deal with canon right now
Sam likes to wake before dawn and get dressed for his morning jog. He knows Dean is a heavy sleeper, but he’s still extra quiet while he’s leaving, just in case Dean decides to wake up and get grumpy about “what the hell kind of hour is this?”
His favorite places to jog are in rural areas, like the few miles around the bunker, where there’s no one around and he can enjoy the sunrise alone. He likes the way the cold air feels in his lungs, and the first moments of sunlight warming his skin.
He also likes to listen for different kinds of birds. Dean makes fun of him for knowing all the different scientific names and classifications, and for being able to identify them by their call and their feathers, but it’s really not that much different from memorizing facts about monsters. It’s just much more pleasant.
Cas has come on these jogs with him sometimes. They’ve stopped and watched birds and deer together, and picked up breakfast to bring back to the bunker. Seeing Cas in running shorts and a T-shirt is a bit weird, but it’s nice to have company occasionally, especially because Cas doesn’t try to make small talk. They can just enjoy being outside.
When Sam gets back from his jogs, Dean is usually stumbling out into the kitchen, muttering about coffee, too groggy to notice that Sam has clearly been up for hours. “Mornin’, Sammy,” he says, reaching for the coffee pot. Eventually Dean says something about Sam smelling like Sasquatch sweat and tells him to go take a shower, and Sam laughs before heading down the hall.
Ok you know I’m gonna make this about Cas + Dean’s soft tummy right??
Dean’s been gaining a little weight recently, and every once in a while Cas will catch him staring at himself in the mirror, his shirt pulled up, grumbling to himself. So Cas wraps his arms around his hunter and tells him how perfect he is and how his love handles are a good thing, because it means he’s well-fed, and how beauty standards vary greatly across the centuries and don’t really mean anything because they change so often. And sure, Dean continues grumbling about how he never thought he’d be a fat ass, but he blushes under Cas’ gaze, too.
And when they finally get over themselves enough to start sleeping in the same bed, Cas likes to rest his head against Dean’s belly and turn his face to press kisses against his belly button. Dean says it tickles and tries to swat him away, but when Cas starts with the open-mouthed kisses, stubble dragging pleasantly against his soft skin, Dean gives in and lets his angel worship him.
You’ll hear stories over and over again about how you’ve saved lives and you’ll probably think “that’s not true”. I want you to know that it is, it is so incredibly true. Sometimes, it was just your mere presence at a con or continuing this show that you’re so popular for.
I have this friend, this amazing friend who struggles with the same thing you and I do, a sickness so deep and terrible that it can eat at us away until we’re nothing while the world tells us that we’re okay and it’s all in our heads. She is so brave and strong like you. Sometimes, she gets kind of bad. The kind where it seems impossible to picture a future beyond this moment. She gets passed them eventually. When she’s good, this friend likes to tell me about how amazing you are and how something like the show and your constant awesomeness is what keeps her going. She hasn’t met you yet, and neither have I. But I wanted to say thank you for that, for being her invisible shield. Because she is stronger and she makes me stronger on my bad days.
In this letter, you now know of two lives that continue because you are hear and because of the things you do. So keep on fighting!
for yet another fic swap with the wonderful flightscastiel. also on ao3.
Whoever perpetuated the idea that going to law school and becoming a lawyer would be a rewarding life choice, had clearly never spent any time in court.
Or they had a very sick sense of what exactly rewarding meant.
It did not mean dealing with the case Connor had just closed, a case which had only just barely swung in his favor; even though on the off chance Connor’s client had committed the crime he was accused of the world should’ve thanked him for committing a public service.
But he wasn’t allowed to express his personal opinions.
Not in the courtroom at least, but in the comforts of his home things were a bit different.
“What if I quit my job and we become wandering carpet salesmen?”
“I’m not quitting my job to sell carpets with you,” Oliver’s voice carries from the living room, where the dim sounds of their television play in the background. There’s a click and the sounds stop, but they’re followed by the soft padding of Oliver’s feet against the carpet.
“Why are we becoming carpet salesmen, out of curiosity?”
“Because I’ve clearly missed out on a job opportunity which might have been mildly more enjoyable than this.”
That gets a chuckle out of Oliver, “doubt it.”
“You’d be surprised,” Connor assures him.
Suddenly there are hands pressing down against his shoulders, relaxing in a way Connor hadn’t even quite realized that he needed. The sound he makes in response is almost sexual.
Almost, because Oliver’s massages are nearly as good as sex.
And coming from Connor, that’s saying something.
“Long day at court,” Oliver asks, like he doesn’t already know, like Connor hadn’t been texting him the whole day complaining about his awful client and how he was really regretting that whole having gone to law school thing.
Still, he’s thankful for the opening, he had been in dire need of it.
“If you want to know what happened, imagine the story of The Hunchback of Notre Dame, only bloodier.”
“Somebody’s being dramatic,” Oliver points out.
“I’m one hundred percent serious, I only read that book once, but this was straight up taken from those pages.”
Oliver rolls his eyes, before asking “was there a goat?”
Wait, what?
“Why would there be a goat?”
“In the movie,” Oliver explains, chuckling slightly, “there was a goat, Esmerelda’s animal sidekick.”
Connor laughs at that, because now he knows Oliver’s just teasing him, “no, just a religious fanatic who believes the best way to deal with those he can’t convert is to lock them in a church and set them on fire.”
He means those last words to come off casually, like he doesn’t know the exact smell of burning flesh or just how hot a body has to be for nothing to remain behind.
Connor continues on before he can dwell on the memory, “if my client did stab the asshole, then really Oliver, he deserved it.”
“Did she do it?”
“You know I can’t say,” Connor says, which practically gives it all away.
“Which is why you’re so tense,” Oliver says, kneading his fingers as he says those words, the pressure doing wonders for the ache he’d been carrying there for far too long.
“I’m always tense,” Connor protests, though it’s a mild half-hearted one, “though I know a way to be less tense.”
“No,” Oliver says, his hands squeezing just a bit tighter than usual.
He can easily imagine the expression on the other man’s face, the way the tips of his ears would be turning just slightly red. Even after all this time together, he still had a way of becoming flustered when Connor used the slightest hint of his persuasion skills.
It really was a wonder they ever left the bedroom.
And if Connor had his say in things, they never really would.
“No,” he echoes Oliver’s word, trying to sound more curious than disappointed.
“No,” Oliver stubbornly repeats, “we have dinner tonight with your sister, remember?”
And yes, not that Oliver mentioned it he remembered. Not that he particularly wanted to remember. What he actually wanted at that moment was to be so far gone that thinking was not an option, and the only words he had wanted to be able to vocalize were “fuck” and “harder” and maybe some broken syllables that could pass for Oliver’s name.
“You said it was very important and that we couldn’t miss it,” Oliver continues, unaware of Connor’s train of thoughts, “and as much as I wouldn’t mind a night in-“
“Fuck my sister.”
“Really now Connor, I knew you were a Lannister fan but-“
He tilts his head backwards to fix Oliver a glare as he says, “shut up, you knew what I meant.”
“Did I now?”
Connor makes a vague noise of agreement, before he says, “you should kiss me.”
And Oliver obliges, because he’s not that cruel. His lips pressing against Connor’s for the barest of seconds, not nearly enough, and Oliver knows it. His little teasing smile is all that Connor’s left with a moment later, when Oliver pulls back.
“You’re the worst.”
“You still love me,” Oliver says, though the words hold the smallest note of hesitation, as if after all this time he could still doubt something as obvious as that.
Connor half wonders what he’s doing wrong, for that note of hesitation to still be there.
But that’s a conversation for another time, now is the time of reassurances, and possibly reassurance sex – so he turns around in his seat, bring his hands up to cradle Oliver’s head and tug him into a kiss that eclipses the one they’d had moments before. It’s a mix of passion and pleasure, that Connor has perfected over the year, one that belonged to Oliver.
“I more than love you,” he says, when he pulls back, his words a hint of something that had been said what felt like eons ago, in the kitchen of their first apartment (it has been Oliver’s apartment first, before it had become theirs).
His message isn’t missed, not by a long shot.
“Well, that’s good, because I more than love you too.”
