please ignore her eye


tumblr messed up the quality im smad

i drew them when i was really upset i hope it doesnt show too much lmao

devotionage  asked:

I hope you're in the mood for Angst! How would the DA:O crew (romanced and non romanced versions) react to a mage warden made tranquil against their will?

Sorry this is very late! And sorry it’s vague about when/where/why this is happening, and generally just… Isn’t what I planned? I don’t know! Sorry! Hope you enjoy! I left out the other guys because I was just going to write way too much.


When he looks at them, he’s reminded of Ostagar. When he first met them, just a new recruit that seemed… Different. Duncan knew it too, he thinks. When they stood, strong and resolute among the corpses of Daveth and Jory.

When they fought, so determined.

And then Alistair himself, watching them emerge from Flemeth’s hut, injured but still stood tall. Ready to take Alistair’s grief and burden him with none of their own. They lead them all. They were the Warden.

But now they… Stand there. Impassive. Serene. That weak, unfeeling smile laying on their face. Their defences stolen.

They’re nothing, now, he knows. There’s nothing there at all.

His voice cracks, shakes when they speak to them. Afraid of their replies; afraid of the lack of them. Afraid of them, in a way. Afraid of what it means, that he’s to take their mantle, that he can’t fill the shoes they left.

He’s holding himself together frantically, but pieces still fall out.

Alistair (romanced):

He was going to be in love with her forever, he knew. Even now, he still is. He had some weird idea in his head before she- before. That love disappears when the other one is dead, since… What’s the point of love, if you’re not sharing it?

Or maybe that if she died, he would die right there with her.

But she’s as good as gone- he knows that’s what everyone thinks. He can see it in their eyes. See the pity. You should let her go, Alistair. She’s… Not there anymore. It would be a mercy.

Maybe he’s a fool because he can’t. Because he still adores her, still believes she’s there- somewhere. Somewhere. He has to.

He looks at her, sat eating the charred rabbit he cooked without complaint. Even that breaks his heart a little more, the frail thing more cracks than anything now. She’d be laughing with him, teasing him for his horrendous cooking skills.

She’d kiss him and it’d taste like the rabbit and they’d make faces at each other.

She’d love him.

She’d make the air in the room disappear every time she laughed, she’d hold him and touch him and she’d do it because she wanted to, not because- not because he asked, on one of those nights when he was weak and he doesn’t know what to do and he’d either spend another night breaking under it all or spend it holding her.

She’s gone.

It feels like one of those nights.

Zevran (romanced):

The Warden had changed Zevran’s entire life.

A hand to pull him out of the festering pit that was the Crows. A pair of gloves, a set of boots, childhood fantasies long since discarded brought back. A friend. A family, in its way.

Love. So much love.

He should have expected it would end.

He was not a man who got good things, he knew. He did not deserve the Warden. Still, this seems especially cruel, he pondered. To punish them. To make him see it. To make him end it. To give him their shell. To give him no hope.

They were the most alive person he had ever met. Constantly feeling, practically burning with it, a bonfire in a world of embers. Took him gladly when he was a moment from fading away. He looks at the ashes left of them.

He used to love when they slept, how serene, how calm they looked. Now, he would gladly slit his own throat to see anything else. To see them laugh, smile. To see them cry, scream.

His fingers brush hesitantly over their cheek. His hands were not… Good, by most people’s standards. They had held too many knives, covered in too much blood, crushed too many lives. The Warden had loved them, though, and he had learned to too.

He could learn to pride himself on anything that brought the Warden happiness, pleasure, held them at night and brushed away tears. It is fitting, then, that they do this last thing for my love.

He holds them to his chest when he buries the knife into the back of their neck. He has broken into halves, and one of them is with his amor.


He’s silent when he finds out.

He is silent for a long time after. 

Zevran admired the Warden, before. Their goodness, their understanding, their ability to keep going when most would have fallen. All of it is gone. He appreciated their skill in battle, their ability to wield magic and staff like an extension of themselves. That is gone too.

His friend is gone.

He had thought once about how cold he had been when he was a Crow. How he made himself be cold, smothered any embers of warmth, lived in a grey world. How had I… lived, like that? He had wondered, watching the Warden and the others through the fire.

Why had I lived like that?

He remembered, now, looking into those dead glassy eyes that still moved, still saw, but never felt. Because it kept him safe. Because he couldn’t be hurt. Because it made love, death, life, everything seem like a joke from behind a barrier.

Now it hurts. It is like some cruel pain, tearing him apart but not letting him die or heal. Filling him with rage but giving him nothing to release it upon. They’re all dead already, of course- the ones who broke the Warden. He could not… Stand to be around them, and revenge was a pleasant occupier of his time.

He did not go back. He will not go back. 

He will rebuild his walls and he will never hurt like that again.


She feels, absently, like her lungs and heart have been filled with the cold sludge of the Korcari swamps. It works its way around her body, beats through her veins. Even those tears that came unbidden and unwanted were stained muddy from the pigment around her eyes.

My friend.

How many times she had used those words, looked into their living eyes and said it after a friendly moment, a small joke, or simply to say it? She had marvelled at it- the concept of friendship, the concept of one belonging to her. Yet now, it felt to her she had not said it enough.

Those thoughts always broke the cold; they brought anger instead.

The rage at that Chantry mark, red and raised on their forehead. Branded like cattle. Rage that it settled down, flat and white. Rage that their magic, their basic inherent right from birth was stolen by a group of sanctimonious monsters doing the work of a god as abhorrent as them.

One day, she promises herself, she will gut the bastards that touched her friend.

One day, she does.

Morrigan (romanced):

“Are you distressed?”

Am I distressed?

She almost laughs at it. She almost cries. She almost screams.

She has done a lot of all three lately, it seems. He has always brought out the strangest of her, the parts she doesn’t understand. The ones she didn’t know were there before he touched them and brought them to life. Brought life to everything.

And now he is… a living death.

Morrigan turns back to her books, her papers. A cure for tranquillity. A cure when you don’t know the root- it’s… Difficult. Impossible, perhaps. She will not hide in pretty lies. She looks at him and-

“Does my presence upset you?”

Her hands slam down on the table. She is so angry, all the time now. Angry at injustice. Angry at him. Angry that she lets his hair grow out over the brand. Angry she asks him to hold her at night. Angry that nothing she tries is right. Angry that he’s not right. Angry, angry, angry.

Angry she hides in pretty lies.

I should kill him. It would be a mercy.

Her golden, burning eyes glance down to where her ink has spilt like some creature’s black blood around her hands.

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“No,” she whispers.


“Do you… remember before?” Leliana asks. The wound isn’t there, but she is still bleeding. Her heart has been torn from her chest and crushed and then placed back in, expected in its sickly broken form to keep beating.

She feels as though her body has given up. Her veins carry something cold.

She is cuts their hair because someone has to do it. The Warden can’t reach to the back, and she takes comfort in the pattern of the work.

“Before the rite? Yes, I recall most things, although many are confusing to me. I had an… Attachment to you,” they say, their voice analytical.”We were friends.”

She shuts her eyes, releases a shaking breath. She wants to bury her head into their shoulder, hug them tight and pretend, drag them back to their body. This isn’t you, come back. Come back. Please. I can’t, my friend, please- please.

“Does this upset you?”

Leliana opens her eyes, ignores them, combs through another strand, snips it and lets the dead clump fall to the ground. She did so love their hair. If, sometimes, she does press her nose into it and breathe and pretend, no one mentions it.

Leliana (romance):

She was supposed to wake up to them every morning. Sleep beside them. Hold them, be held, to share love and comfort and stories. To feel.

One day, she had planned to die with them at her side.

Death beyond death, she thinks, and it aches in her mind. Everything aches.

“Why…” She looks at them, clears her throat, ignores the hot tears spilling down her cheeks like a waterfall. Perhaps if enough came, she would be able to cross to them, bring them back. Like Alindra… Yet no longer does Alindra and her Soldier feel romantic. How could she have possibly thought… Enduring love? A bitter part of her mocks the naivete.

Enduring agony, perhaps.

“I should have been with you,” she says, feeling as though she is confessing some great sin. Their face is smooth, blank, serene.

“That was an impossibility,” the Warden says. Their voice is dead. Their emotions are dead. It would be kinder if they were. “You should not concern yourself. I am content.”

It would be kinder if she was dead herself, she thinks and feels a part of her stain and break.

Moon of Fire Part x (Sastiel Sequel)

I can’t believe we are now this far into the story, thank you for much for sticking around! 10/15 to go! Don’t forget I’m running a Sastiel competition with amazing prizes. All you have to do is make an edit/fanart based on my Sastiel fic to be in the draw to win!

If you haven’t read A Court of Fire and Dreams:
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV and Part V.

Moon of Fire:
Part i, Part ii, Part iii, Part iv, Part v, Part vi, Part vii, Part viii, Part ix

Keep reading

Jim’s fingers tapped out morse code on his jumping leg. 


When he was through, he started again. 

A cool hand covered his and pressed it gently onto his knee, stilling both. 

“It’s illogical to be nervous.” His business partner, Spock, told him. 

Jim snorted. “I don’t know what I’m more worried about–that he’ll punch me in my face or laugh in my face.”

Spock considered his options. “Both are possible.”

Jim threw his head back, banging into the headrest. They were three hours into their four hour trip to Atlanta, and there was a ring in his pocket that he picked out five-years-ago, hoping, praying that one day he’d be able to give it to his best friend. Spock had called him illogical then too. 

“You didn’t see his face, Spock.” Jim pushed his palms into his closed eyelids, color exploding behind them. A headache was starting to form there and he was sure he was going to throw up. 

“If you believe that Leonard’s feelings for you are true, then there is nothing to fear, Jim.”

Jim had fallen in love with his best friend way before he knew what falling in love meant. Having lost his father before he was even born, he hardly had a functional couple role-model, and spent most of his adolescence thinking of Bones as his hero, protector, partner-in-crime. It wasn’t until his sophomore year of high school, when Bones had taken Jocelyn Darnell to prom, that Jim realized that he was 1) Bi and 2) so deeply in love with Bones that it hurt to see them line up on the lawn across the street for pictures. It hurt to think of Bones anywhere but with him. 

He had thought distance and experimentation was the best way to fall out of love with Bones. He spent summers at his grandparents’ estate in Iowa, distancing himself from the person he physically hurt at leaving behind. 

“What if I was wrong? What if he was just pissed over something else?


Leonard McCoy made his way through the packed lunch crowd of Persimmons, dodging shopping bags and the pushed backed chairs of the Atlanta Elite. The exclusive establishment was a bit too high brow for his taste, he hated any restaurant that had a dress code, but his best friend of over thirty-years, Nyota Uhura, refused to discuss business anywhere else. 

And there she was, in her usual corner circle table by the fireplace, where she could be found at any day of the week, holding court over her media contacts and the various waitstaff that fawned over her. 

He kissed her cheek and took his place in the high backed seat across from her, noting the wine glass that was stained red that told him she’d been working here for the day already. 

“So?” He asked, rubbing his hands together as he waved away a waiter that tried to offer him a wine menu. “Is it possible?”

She rolled her eyes. “Of course it’s possible. It’s done, in fact.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. 

“But…” She tapped a quick message out on her phone and pushed it aside before letting her chin fall into her palm, propping her elbow up on the table in a way that he was sure she would never do if he were one of her contacts. 

“But what?”

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.” 

“Two weeks ago you were about to move across the world to get away from him. Now you’re proposing?”

Leo avoided her eyes to nod at the waiter, who was standing attentively waiting his order on the other side of the fireplace. “A whisky neat. Please?”

Nyota narrowed her eyes at him but he ignored her. 

“It took me a while but I get it now.”

“You’re going to need to give me a bit more than that.”

“I love him.” This was said quietly, drowned out by the gentle crackle of the fire. Nyota heard it though. She didn’t miss a thing. 

“I just–” She shook her head. “I love you both.” At his raised eyebrow, she screwed up her mouth. “If you admit that to Kirk, I will quit and you’ll have to found a new PR exec.”

“My lips are sealed.”

“So why now? It’s been…thirty something years?”

“I’m an idiot that took too long to figure things out. And when I realized that it would be months until I saw him again–with the way we left things..things just clicked.”

She rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “Men.”

The waiter placed the highball glass in front of him and he took a sip, relishing in the warmth that spread at the smallest amount. 

“Thank you.” He told her after twenty minutes of going over details–Nyota wasn’t called the best publicist in town for nothing, her attention to detail and creativeness was unparalleled, which is why he knew he could trust her with something as important and terrifying as this. 

Keep reading

it was the lovely @apprenticemockingbird‘s birthday a few days ago and for her present she wanted a 60′s theme Sansa, no doubt to fill the mad men size hole left in her heart. I had plans to draw Baelish in a smoking jacket with a pipe, but then I remembered I haven’t drawn something proper in so long I think I forgot how.

anonymous asked:

Could you do Oikawa babysitting his nephew (he is so cute like he is a mini oikawa) with his gf. Gf is giving more attention to his nephew than him. Tooru whines, until his nephew finally fall sleep. Tooru and gf have a heated make out, tooru was jealous of his nephew. until they heard the front door open, causing them to immediately stop of embass and pretend they fall alsleep.

I changed the ending just a little bit! Hope that’s okay, Anon! Also, I know that Oikawa’s older sibling is kind of a mystery - he just has this nephew without any knowledge of their being an older brother or sister - so when I reference his sister, I’m kinda suggesting it could be his biological sister or his sister-in-law.

He loved his nephew. He loved her. So getting to spend a day with the both of them amplified his feelings of love for both. And the fact that she was just as excited to spend time with the small boy made him that much happier. It was going to be the perfect day.

That were original feelings, but as the hours passed, he was beginning to feel more and more excluded. Takeru had only wanted to play volleyball with her, she had shared her gelato with the small boy, even now as they sat in Oikawa’s living room, Takeru took up most of the space on the couch next to her, leaving his uncle to either sit on the love seat opposite them or on the floor.

Oikawa felt like pouting, which he knew was childish, but the two people he loved were excluding him from everything and especially didn’t appreciate the little crush Takeru had adapted for the girl. Before he had thought it cute, but was now seeing the way his nephew had picked up on his own charms which he implemented now. To say the least, he was beyond grateful when the boys bedtime came around.

“Takeru is adorable,” she gushed, a wide smile spread over her features as she plopped herself down next to Oikawa. She turned to him, eyes bright, ignoring the pout he obviously wore on his own face, “we should do this more often. I’m sure your sister would be grateful.”

A verbal whine left his mouth next as his arms slithered around her, pulling her against him, “[First Name]-chan ignored me all day!”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes with a giggle, “don’t tell me you were upset most of the evening over that.”

A grin spread across his lips then, hands reaching for her hips to pull her tighter against him. “I know a few ways you can make me feel better,” the suggestion was followed by the action of pressing their mouths together, his tongue not waiting as it pushed it’s way past her lips and into her mouth. The gasp that came from her spurred him on, his body leaning heavily against hers, wanting no space between them.

Breaths came heavily, hands tangled tightly into hair, and hips ground against each other, producing small moans from the two. All thoughts of the sleeping Takeru in the next room lost to both of them as well as the fact that his older sibling was due to come through the front door at any minute. The sound of the lock turning caused their hearts to stutter, clumsy bodies attempting to pull away from each other and make themselves somewhat decent. A curse left Oikawa’s lips when her head connected with the bottom of his chin, their eyes moving to the door with red at their cheeks.

“Welcome home!” Oikawa grinned sheepishly, reminding himself that next time they took care of Takeru, they’d be at his house.

ladylynse  asked:

Dealer's choice on the fic prompts: either platonic 3 with Adrien/Chat Noir and Nathalie or shipping (one sided or mutual) 10 with Marinette/Ladybug and Nathanael. (Basically write something with a main character and a side character, for variety, and take as much time as you like.)

Aw yisssss…  *cracks knuckles, sits back*  XDDDD

“Please, you aren’t safe here!”

Nathalie ignored the call of her charge, her eyes trained intensely upon the men in front of them.  She had already alerted Alan of their position, so they were safer than Adrien seemed to think.

“The kid’s right, lady.  Am-scray,” said the cocky criminal, waving his arm around uselessly.  The only point to take careful consideration of was that finger on the trigger.  If he pulled that trigger, everything could go downhill very quickly.  “I don’t need you alive.”

“Nathalie,” whispered Adrien from behind.  “I’ll be okay, but–”

“If you finish that sentence, I will personally see to it that the chief at home doesn’t sneak you any more camembert for a month.”

As expected, her charge fell silence at her threat.  She knew not why he had gathered a sudden interest in the fromage, but so long as it didn’t interfere with his other activities, he could eat it.  The fact that it gave her a little bit of bargaining power with him didn’t hurt matters either.

“I’m gettin’ bored here, lady.  Either get in the car or hit the road!”

The criminal had returned to pointing the gun at Nathalie.  The woman struggled to keep Adrien behind her, as she knew he would hastily obey any command to keep her safe.

But it was her job to keep him safe first.

“We will stay right where we are.”

And to that end…

“What are you doing?”

She would do anything.

“Fine, you can rot with the garbage!  Agreste goes with me, though!”

Three things happened in a very rapid succession.

The criminal pulled the trigger.

A bodily thud rang through the alleyway.

Blood hit the pavement.


The woman didn’t even stop to register Adrien’s call, even though she knew he had probably scraped his arm when she had pushed him backwards.  While the fool fumbled with his gun, she pulled her right hook forward and used her building momentum to carry it all the way through into their attacker’s face.  The surprise and sloppy grip caused him to drop the gun, which Nathalie immediately kicked away.  There was no sense in giving him any chance to regain the upper hand.  When his head predictably turned to watch the gun skitter away, Nathalie took the opportunity to slam her remaining hand into the side of his neck, rendering him unconscious.

The man’s form slumped down to the ground, and Nathalie only had a moment to worry if she had perhaps overdone it.


“Nathalie, don’t do that…”

The woman could do nothing as her charge latched onto her and drew her away from their unconscious assailant.  She allowed him to do so, knowing that the entire ordeal must have frightened him quite a lot.  Despite being the son of a quite wealthy and influential man, the boy had not been exposed to many kidnapping attempts. Even ones as sloppy as this one had to be at least a little terrifying.

“What if you’d gotten shot?”

“Impossible,” the woman instantly dismissed.  Adrien drew away to glare–actually glare! Where had this boy learned to glare like that?–at her.  She moved to assuage his fears.  “There was no possible way that man could have shot either of us.”

“You don’t know that,” countered Adrien.  Nathalie raised an eyebrow.  “He could have shot either of us at any time.  You weren’t safe–”

“Adrien,” interrupted Nathalie, halting the boy in his tracks.  He had already worked himself up into an emotional frenzy.


“The gun’s safety was on.  We were never in danger of being shot.”

The boy immediately deflated from his tensed position.  All of a sudden he looked weary, drained.  He dove back in for another hug and Nathalie obliged him.  She gave his back a few (awkwardly) reassuring pats.

And that was how Alan “the Gorilla” found them two minutes later.  Still hugging, with one incapacitated crook on the pavement, and one firing-proof gun too far away for anyone to reach.

But at least they were safe.

Nathalie cares about Adrien and will do anything to keep him safe, fite me.


Sirius Black x Reader

Request: Can you do a thing with Sirius Black and a ravenclaw smartass girl? Seriously, the smartest of asses.

A/N: Hope I didn’t disappoint :)

Originally posted by your-harry-potter-imagines

“Who’s that?” Sirius asks, staring at the girl sitting at the Ravenclaw table. Peter spares her half a glance before turning back to the more important task at hand – his dinner.

“That’s Y/N,” he informs. Sirius remains staring at her so hard that eventually she feels his gaze on her forehead. Looking up, she meets his eyes and sees the smirk that all the girls in Hogwarts know so well, then rolls her eyes.

“Take a picture, Black, it’ll last longer,” she calls out in a loud voice that catches the attention of almost everyone in the hall. The smirk slides off Sirius’ face and he blinks once, surprised at her attitude.

Y/N raises her eyebrows in challenge, and Sirius opens his mouth to fling back a witty retort – but nothing comes to mind, and he is left sitting in his seat like a gaping fish. Y/N throws her head back and laughs – a laugh that causes pleasant tingles to roll down Sirius’ spine – and then gathers her books and leaves.

Remus gets up from his seat next to Sirius, fighting his own smile as he claps his friend on the shoulder. “Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws next, right? Reckon it should be more fun than usual.”

As the marauders stroll into Transfiguration, laughing and joking with each other as usual, Sirius finds his gaze straying to a table at the side of the room that he has never really noticed before. As he watches, the girls at the table shift to make room for Y/N as she elegantly swings her long legs over the bench – and glances up to catch Sirius staring at her again.

Before she can say a word, Sirius simply tips a fake hat towards her, winks, and walks to his own table.

“I’ll be assigning partners today,” Professor McGonagall says, taking out her wand and tapping the board in the front of the room. “Look up front for further direction.” The chalk flies up and begins scribbling away, writing the names of students and pairing them off. Sirius watches lazily through his lashes, toying with his quill, but he stops abruptly as he sees who he’s paired off with. Y/N.

He stares at the board, a smile playing at the ends of his lips. Suddenly, a pair of books lands on his table with a thud, making him jolt and look up. “Y/N! Pleasure.”

Y/N smiles at him sweetly – a smile so sweet that it is sarcastic. “The pleasure is all mine, Black. Shall we get started, or are you just going to sit there looking pretty?”

She takes out her wand and begins tapping at the goblet on the desk, muttering the spell under her breath, but Sirius sits like a statue, going over her words in his brain. “Pretty? You think I’m pretty, love?”

He notices Y/N’s cheeks color slightly, but she ignores him and rolls her eyes. “Work, please.”

Sirius’ bag is lying on the other side of Y/N’s chair. It would be easy for him to get up and walk around her – but instead, he reaches across her, giving him an opportunity to lean close to her.

His nose is mere inches from Y/N’s when he pauses in his efforts to grab his bag, and he whispers, “Sorry, love.” He licks his lips slightly and takes note of the way that Y/N’s breathing picks up and the way that her eyes track the movement of his tongue. “Just need my books.”

Pulling back abruptly, he pulls out his wand and smirks. Remus was right – this class was more fun than usual. He finally met his match.

The War Of Beacon Hills: Stiles And (Y/N)


Stiles is the typical over protective brother, except that any danger to (Y/N) comes with a dangerous mixture of anger and magic. Back in their Tribe Stiles was one of the most prestigious young mermen and was among two others to become the future leader.

While he has the ability to shift into mermaid form he prefers to use his magic to keep him human to draw less attention and attempt to keep hidden. His powers are limited to his surroundings but his abilities are always multiplying and changing.

He fell for Derek Hale almost as soon as he set eyes on him but tries hard to hide the fact that he likes him. Eventually it’s Derek who convinces Stiles that human inventions like cars, internet and phones are actually useful.


(Y/N) is young, impulsive and on occasion reckless. Her abilities are just beginning to develop and unlike her brother she finds it nearly impossible to avoid the call of large bodies of water.

Her curiosity leads her to always explore her surroundings and anything remotely human or manmade, often ignoring her brothers please to ignore objects that catch her eye in case it is something dangerous.

She’s incredibly close with Stiles who, after the D.R.E.A.D attacked the tribe, is the only living relative she has left. She also finds Stiles’ affection for the grumpy Alpha funny and often tells her brother she dislikes Derek because he’s “Too hairy.”


Pairing: Sam Winchester x reader

Summary: You find some rather interesting reading material during a break between hunts, and decide to have some fun with it

A/N: I basically laughed my way through writing this. I think I’m funny, hopefully you will too

Originally posted by supernaturalwinchesterimpalapie

(Not my gif)

You and the boys were having a quiet night in the bunker. Sam had his nose in a book, Dean was reading a magazine you didn’t even want to know the name of, and you were jumping between apps on your phone.
“Guys, have you heard of the book series, Supernatural?” you asked casually as you scrolled through your Tumblr dash, pausing over an edit that looked strangely familiar. When you were met with silence, you looked up curiously to see Sam and Dean exchanging a worried look. “What?” you asked, confused.
“Uh, why do you ask?” asked Sam, trying to act normal. You frowned, noticing the beads of sweat forming on Dean’s forehead. You turned back to face the younger Winchester.
“Charlie’s reblogged something about them and tagged me. Something about living in a fanfic?” you asked, growing even more confused. Sam’s eyes widened in horror.
“Please ignore her!”
You raised your eyebrows. “Then tell me what the books are about.”

“Someone wrote a book series…about you guys,” you said slowly. “I am hearing this right, aren’t I?”
Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uh, yeah. They’re pretty bad, to be honest.”
A disturbing thought came into your mind. “Wait. So if these books are about your whole lives, am I in them?”
“I don’t think so,” Dean said. “We aren’t exactly the biggest fans.”
You chuckled. “You don’t say. So, do the books have a fandom? They must, if there’s fanfic.”
“Please don’t read anything you find about it!” Sam said hastily. “If you love me, at all, you won’t look up fanfic about me.”
You grinned. “What’s Sabriel?”
You leapt out of your seat as Sam made a grab for your phone, and ran from the library, laughing. You could hear his footsteps behind you, and you dove into one of the spare rooms and slammed the door behind you, pressing your back against it.
“(Y/N), please don’t read that!” came your boyfriend’s desperate voice from the other side of the door.
“I never would’ve thought to describe your eyes as dark hazel, glittering with lust,” you read out, grinning. Sam threw himself against the door, and you nearly dropped your phone.
“Please, I’ll be your slave for a month if you stop reading that!”
“I’m pretty sure that’s what’s happening in this fic, to be honest.”
“Yes, my mind-blowingly tall, body-like-a-Greek-god, smouldering eyed lover with desire poorly hidden in his heart?” you quoted from the fanfic, wrinkling your nose up in disgust. “Jeez, this beckywinchester176’s a bit of a pushover.”
“Oh my god, stop reading that right now! She’s a psychopath!”
You raised your eyebrows. “You know her?”
“She kinda kidnapped me once.”
“So this fanfic’s actually an autobiography?” you laughed.
Sam succeeded in getting the door open, and slung you over his shoulder quickly. You couldn’t stop giggling as he carried you back to the library.
“Dean, get the phone off her please!” Sam begged, turning so that you were facing his brother. You held the phone out to Dean, showing him a rather graphic fan art you’d found. He burst out laughing, nearly doubled over in laughter.
“I didn’t know you had a birthmark, Sam,” you managed to get out between fits of giggles. Dean was leaning on the table and wiping away tears of laughter.
“I hate you,” your boyfriend grumbled, tipping you upside down and snatching the phone from you. “If you ever bring this up again, I’ll-,”
“Hey, no threats,” you said seriously. “That’s how a lot of smutty fanfics start.”
He gave you the classic Sam Winchester bitch face. “You’re damn lucky you’re cute.”
You grinned. “Well, I’d have to be, if I wanted to catch the one and only Sam Winchester, with his arms thick as-,”
He clapped a hand over your mouth, pulling you close so that your back was flush against his chest. “Promise you’ll stop quoting fanfiction now?” he asked, looking down at you with puppy dog eyes and a ridiculously cute pout. You nodded in defeat.
“Only because your sparkling hazel eyes entranced me in a way no mortal man could ever succeed in,” you gushed, fluttering your eyelashes and pretending to swoon. Sam rolled his eyes, sighing.
“That’s it, I’m going to bed. I’ll leave you children to giggle about the funny stories,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. You and Dean tried to keep straight faces as he stormed out of the library.
“You think he’ll forgive you?” Dean joked. You grinned, glancing at your watch.
“I’ll give it five minutes. He’s bound to be missing the feeling of me in his toned, strong arms that are as tanned as a surfer, but not in an annoying surfer dude way.”

You yawned, making your way through the hallways of the bunker and entering the room you shared with Sam. He was lying in bed with his back to you, and you smiled softly.
“I know you’re awake. And I promise to never bring up the topic of fanfiction ever again,” you said, lifting the duvet and lying down facing his back.
“Promise?” he mumbled, rolling over to face you. You pressed a kiss to his soft lips gently, smiling.
He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close so that you could rest your head over his steadily beating heart. You sighed in content, letting your eyes drift shut. The two of you lay in silence in the dark, waiting for sleep to come.
“So tell me about Becky,” you grinned.
“Shut up.”