#backbackbackagaynbitch

Giving the mirror an Instagram-worthy smile, you tilted your head back and forth, studying the angles in the mirror. Overtime your lips completely turned up into a full-blown grin. Well it wasn’t everyday your lips looked this awesome, and you were so happy you decided to splurge for it.

You leaned forward again and grabbed the box, reading through the product claims, your eyes stopping at the brand itself: KISS PROOF. It got you wondering if it really would stay after a good make-out session with Sam (The boy could kiss, you knew). Usually he transferred the lipstick onto himself by the time you stopped for breath. It made him look like a goofball (albeit a really cute one). The sight of the lower half of Sam’s face in a bright red made you stop wearing lipstick around him, and switched to light pink or nude colors when you two went out.

Checking yourself in the mirror again, you made a what-the-hell shrug and raised your hand to face-level, and gave it a loud smack. Surprisingly the back of your hand stayed bare. You kissed it a few more times before smiling giddily at your reflection and digging your phone out of your pocket to send Sam a text. He was just in the library with Dean, but you wanted to surprise him since he didn’t know what was in the package when it arrived that morning.

Hey, babe? Could you come here for a second?

A little check mark popped up beside your text, and you jumped from the chair and onto the bed, bouncing slightly before you settled against the headboard to wait. Minutes later you could hear Sam’s heavy footfalls before the door opened wide to reveal your favorite, freakishly tall hunter. You spread your arms wide, and he immediately closed the door behind him, crawling on the bed towards you after removing his boots.

Sam straddled you, keeping his weight off your thighs as he engulfed you in his arms. After multiple experiences with Sam’s bear hugs, you became adept enough at adjusting yourself to straddle him and sit on his lap. Sam relaxed and let himself fall backward onto the mattress. You moved your head up from the crook of his neck and looked at him, the corners of your mouth curving slightly.

“You wanted something, babe?” he whispered huskily, a hand coming up to card fingers through your hair.

The sweet gesture had you smiling wider. “So I got new lipstick—,”

Sam chuckled. “I noticed.”

“And it’s supposedly kiss proof.” You let a beat pass and raised an eyebrow at Sam’s narrowed eyes. “You wanna help me test it out?”

Sam surged forward, capturing your lips with his, tongue swiping greedily at your bottom lip. His hands roamed along your back, fingers tightening slightly when you teased his upper lip with the tip of your tongue. He wrapped his arms around you and leaned a bit to the right, a signal that he was going to roll you. Sam flipped your positions with ease, your mouths somehow still connected.

It went on, hard and sloppy for a good few minutes. You could barely rein in your desire to grind into him, and could tell he was trying not to do it either, lest you stayed cooped up in your room until after dinner, which you were in charge of and were supposed to start on in an hour. Sam knew this and, being the gentleman that he was, refrained from initiating anything sexual, save for making out, which sometimes strayed into sex territory.

After a few more pecks to his lips, you pulled away and gave a smile. Wordlessly you untangled yourselves and immediately moved to the mirror.

To your surprise, your lips were still tinted with the dark red pigment. You couldn’t get over how well the color stayed. Sure there were a few peeled off bits here and there, but they were mainly in the inner lip, which was understandable. But overall, your lips were still that deep mahogany red. You grinned at your reflection, giddily moving back to jump on the bed and, subsequently, Sam.

His back rested on the headboard, and was watching you amusedly. You crawled to him, and straddled his thighs, winding your arms around his neck. Sam’s hands immediately settled on your hips as he leaned in to close the gap between your lips once more.

“And the verdict?” he whispered, your lips barely brushing.

A soft smile crossed yours. “A success.”

He grinned, kissed you again. “I take it you’re going to be wearing that shade all the time now?”

“You got that right, Sammy.”

After a few more pecks, a lot of nuzzling, and a multitude of small giggles when you would accidentally bump noses, you decided to finally start on dinner, and pulled Sam up with you, the moose grumbling about having to cook dinner when it wasn’t his turn.

“Sam, you don’t have a turn because you don’t know how to cook,” you retorted. “Come on and help me.” When he wouldn’t budge you leaned over him on the bed and traced a finger down the zipper of his jeans. “If you help me, we’ll test the lipstick out on another thing after dinner,” you whispered in his ear, cupping his steadily growing bulge through the denim.

And just like that he was off like a shot, beating you to the kitchen and jumping on the balls of his feet like an excited, overgrown puppy.

Dean’s fingers gripped the doorjamb tighter as he watched you strutting around the kitchen, swaying that ass tantalizingly in your silky sleep shorts that left little to the imagination. He didn’t know what the hell you were doing in there this late at night, but if this was actually a sign from God telling him to just make a fuckin’ move, no matter how far-fetched it was, then he wasn’t going to complain.

Well, it seemed perfect, actually: You were both single, both experienced in the sack. You were a beautiful woman and he was a handsome guy. Oh, and it was Valentine’s Day tomorrow—what better way to start the day than to wake up next to a beautiful woman he had sex with the night before, a woman who was also his best friend, a woman who he’d completely, irrevocably fallen in love with. So yeah, the situation seemed perfect.

Now all he had to do was actually make a move.

And he didn’t know how to do that without being an asshole and offend you. But then it seemed like the image of you in those sleeping shorts was permanently branded into his brain, and he decided that no, he wasn’t going to back down from at least trying.

As soon as he could get his legs to move.

Fuck.

***

You weren’t excited for tomorrow. Like, when somebody said the words “Valentine’s Day”, the images in your head would immediately be of heat-shaped balloons, rose bouquets, and marriage proposals and other cheesy shit. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but your favorite kind of Valentine’s Day was waking up next to the person you loved and having a nice breakfast. Okay, and maybe some good V-Day roll in the hay.

And every time you imagined your perfect Valentine’s Day, it would always be one person beside you: that one person with the striking green eyes and plush pink lips and smatterings of freckles all over his perfect face. That one guy with the deep, sonorous voice that made places down there tingle with delicious curiosity. That man who had a body carved by the gods, the one that had you imagining doing such filthy things with, the one that had you practically salivating at the thought of it on top of you, grinding slowly into you… maybe underneath you as you rode him to high heaven… Damn. You were sure that the image left you with a damp spot on your underwear.

You sighed, moving to the fridge and bending down to rummage through it for the stash of chocolate you were hiding just for this particular day. Well technically it was for tomorrow, but then you figured you could just eat them sparingly tonight and scarf them down when the clock struck 12. And maybe have a glass (or a bottle) of wine with you while—

You felt warm hands on your hips, making you jolt upwards and almost hit your head on the roof of the refrigerator. You quickly pulled yourself out of it and spun around to face the person who made you jump out of your skin.

It was Dean. And the way he was looking at you was making you feel like helpless prey. Not that you were opposed to that analogy…

“Dean,” you managed to whisper, worried that your voice was shaking. “What brings you in the kitchen tonight?” Yeah, nice work, Y/N, really original.

You felt his hands return on your hips, fingers gripping you tight. The sensation made warmth crawl into your belly. Oh, the thoughts you were having…

Dean seemed to get closer, and your breath hitched at his proximity. “Was just supposed to get a beer. But then I saw you… in this,” you felt his fingers run down your thigh and catch on the hem of your thin sleep shorts before gliding over the tank top you were wearing. You felt your nipples harden underneath it when he brushed the underside of your breasts, your cheeks flushing at the knowledge that you weren’t wearing a bra and Dean could see every single thing that he was making you feel. And you didn’t care because you were probably soaking through your panties, and you just wished that Dean would either let you go so you could do something about this, or that he would just take the initiative and--

The kiss he placed on your lips was bruising, the force he put in it making your back hit the fridge, and you were certain you’d see bruises tomorrow morning.

Dean licked your bottom lip harshly, almost begging for entrance, and you immediately complied, your fingers winding in his hair as your tongues met. Each swipe of his tongue against yours or on the roof of your mouth had you slowly melting into a puddle on the kitchen floor. Your fingers tugged his hair, eliciting a muffled moan from his plush lips. They were softer than you’d ever imagined.

You pulled back to breathe, and said, “Dean… please,” as you ground down on his thigh that you didn’t notice had been wedged between your legs. “Please just—,”

“Please what, Y/N?” he whispered against your ear, voice deliciously rough. He ground his hips into yours and you could feel his hardness under the flannel pajama pants he was wearing. The thought of him hard for you was enough for you to let out a broken moan of your own.

“Please,” you pleaded, desperately grinding on him. “I need you, Dean, just please—,”

Without another word he hoisted you up into his arms and carried you out and into his room, kissing you senseless all the while. You paused for a bit when your back hit his bedroom door hard, worried that you might’ve woken Sam up, but when you heard nothing, you looked at each other for one second and were immediately at each other again.

You blindly groped behind you for the doorknob and almost snapped it off when you finally found it. Granted, it was probably a bad idea to open the door without telling Dean because you both almost fell in when it opened, but you righted yourselves without any further injury.

Dean set you down and immediately went for your tank top, breaking the kiss to yank it over your head and then throwing it behind him. With one glance to your bare breasts, he basically lost it, bending down enough to catch a pert nipple in his mouth, and sucked, making you release a loud moan and grip his hair for dear life.

He picked you up again and set you down none too gently on the bed, pressing a hard kiss to your lips before trailing them down, nipping at your skin as he went, on your throat, in the valley between your breasts, just above your belly button, and finally stopping when he came in contact with your shorts.

Dean looked up at you, breath labored, his eyes boring into you with a clear question: Are you sure? And why wouldn’t you be sure?

You nodded, and the green-eyed hunter wasted no time and just tugged it down, along with your panties. The next thing you knew, his face was between your thighs and his tongue was on your clit and—OH SHIT HIS MOUTH!

It was like he was setting fire to your very core with the way he lapped at your clit, moaning all the while and sending the vibrations through you, making you shiver and moan and grip his hair as he worked you over. Pretty soon you felt yourself cresting, getting closer and closer to the edge, and then Dean pursed his lips and sucked on your clit and you were gone, shouting his name with your release.

You were boneless, but still somehow managed to return Dean’s kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue, and the knowledge that he was wholly comfortable kissing you after that tore a broken moan from your lips.

You broke away from him, your fingers still in his hair, and said, “Your turn.” He acquiesced to being pushed down on the bed, stripping off his t-shirt before lying fully down on the memory foam mattress. You straddled his hips and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips, doing as he did and trailing down just until his neck, where you nipped and licked and sucked until there was a nice purple bruise right at the junction of his neck and shoulder.

He groaned when you rotated your hips right over the bulge in his pants. You were still wet from your previous orgasm and you knew he could feel it. Dean’s delicious groans filled your ears as you ground down on him, moaning your pleasure to the ceiling.

After a few more seconds of torture for Dean, you raised yourself up on your knees slightly to pull his pants down. He helped, ending up sitting down and face-to-face with you as he kicked them off. You couldn’t help but steal a few more kisses before pushing him down forcefully.

You didn’t give him a chance to recover as you shimmied down his legs and took a second to marvel at his cock before taking him in your hand and pumping him gently, slowly, savoring all the groans and moans that tumbled from his mouth.

Leaning down you kissed a line from the base of his cock all the way to the tip, giving it a little lick before taking him in your mouth.

At that, Dean let out a punched-out groan and a yell of your name as you bobbed up and down. You could make out his knuckles, white with the grip he had on the bed sheets, hips fighting to keep still as you sucked and tongued him, one hand pumping what you couldn’t fit in your mouth because he was just that big.

“Ugh,” Dean groaned out, “Y/N, stop… Please…”

You immediately ceased, worried that you did something wrong. “What is it? Sorry, do you want to stop? We can stop if you’re not comfortable…” Wow, now you were rambling. Maybe you did do something wrong because if Dean was feeling good he wouldn’t have stopped you, right?

“No,” Dean said, sitting up and capturing your lips in another breathtaking kiss. “I don’t want to stop what we’re doing,” he was murmuring against your lips, dragging his teeth along your bottom lip; you let out a moan at the slight bite of pain. “It’s just that when I to come,” Dean slipped a finger in your wet heat and curled it towards himself, making you buck up against his hard cock, “I want to come inside you.”

You dropped your head back and moaned, bucking your hips up again.

When Dean flopped back down after giving you another kiss, you were a bit confused, expecting him to be the one taking the lead for your first time together. Said mad smirked, gripping your hips tightly as he said, “I want you on top, sweetheart. I wanna see those beautiful tits bounce while you ride me—OH, GOD, Y/N!”

You’d impaled yourself on his cock right then, and stayed still, trying to adjust to his size, wiggling a little bit and whimpering because you were so wet and your clit was singing, crying out to be stimulated and you just wanted to move. It didn’t help that you felt Dean twitch inside you, feel him shaking, trying to hold off on bucking up into you until you were comfortable enough to start moving. His grip on your hips was tight, but you didn’t mind—you liked having this effect on him, liked just how much you affected him.

You ground against him, slowly, experimentally, loving how well he fit inside you and how delicious he felt. Soon you were bouncing up and down his cock, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans, near-screams, punched grunts, and heavy breathing.

“Dean…” you whimpered, thighs shaking as you felt your orgasm near. “Dean, please, I—I can’t—,”

“Hold on sweetheart.” Dean held you still and started thrusting up hard and fast into you, and you screamed your release within minutes, sure that your fingernails were going to leave marks on his shoulders.

Dean kept thrusting into you, aggravating your sensitive sex, making you wetter and you felt heat rise in your core again. The hunter helped you step over the precipice and into another orgasm, and this time he came with you, groaning your name into the crook of your neck.

You two stayed in that position for a while, waiting to come down from your respective highs. When you figured you could stand up without wobbling, you raised yourself up and scooted backwards until you flopped down on the bed. Dean, being the less jellied of the two of you from your excursions, stood up and grabbed the t-shirt he was wearing, coming back to you to clean up the mess you both had made. He got a peck on the nose for that afterwards.

“Go ahead, Y/N,” he called over his shoulder. “Just let me clean up, and I’ll be there in two shakes.”

So you went, flopping yourself down on Dean’s soft pillows and making yourself comfortable.

The last thing you registered before you conked out was a warm body sliding behind you, and Dean snaking his arm around your waist to pull you closer.

***

When Dean woke up he didn’t know what he was supposed to expect. Sure, a part of him hoped that he would wake up to your warm body tucked against his. It would’ve been greatly welcomed, especially after that amazing sex last night. But it looked like he spoke too soon.

Your side of the bed was cold, only a small depression in the mattress and your half of the covers drawn back were the only indications that you were ever in bed. Dean sat up and looked around the room, noticing that your clothes were gone, and his were folded up at the foot of the bed.

He mentally kicked himself for even hoping that you’d give him a chance for a relationship. After all, he’d broken the world several times, got so many people killed, and died once or twice himself—he couldn’t really fault you for not wanting him, despite what had transpired between you the night before.

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair and staring at the space you’d slept in solemnly, thinking of how badly he fucked up and—

The door opened slowly, revealing a fully-clothed you, carrying a tray with two steaming mugs of coffee, a plate stacked high with pancakes, a container of maple syrup and one for butter, and two sets of forks and knives.

“Hey,” you said, carefully closing the door with your back and walking towards him. “Didn’t think you’d be up so early.” You placed balanced the tray on the mattress and carefully sank down on it. You took a mug and offered it to Dean, who was speechless at your gesture. “Why so quiet, Dean?”

“I—,” it was like his tongue didn’t want to function. “I just—… You weren’t here when I woke up, so I thought you… regretted what happened last night.”

To Dean’s surprise, you laughed. “What are you talking about, Dean? How could I regret that?” you said, picking up your mug and nursing it. “Last night was… It was fantastic.” Dean thought he was hallucinating, but he swore he could see you blushing. “I don’t think I’ll ever regret it.” You blew air into the coffee, trying to cool it down, doing anything to avoid looking Dean in the eyes.

Meanwhile said hunter had a huge grin on his face, relieved that you weren’t mad at him for suddenly coming on to you last night. And right now, you looked so adorable, clad in your sleep shorts and a t-shirt from the back of his dresser that had seen better days. He just couldn’t help but lean in and kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Y/N,” he whispered, resting his forehead on yours and looking lovingly into your eyes.

Your thoughts were occupied by Sam and the damn phone call during the three-hour drive back. That man really wanted you to suffer, didn’t he?

“When are you leaving?” he’d asked earlier, voice husky and dripping with lust.

“I’m packing up right now,” you answered, the phone wedged between your shoulder and ear as you went around the hotel room to gather up your stuff. “Why?”

You could almost see Sam’s shrug on the other line. “No reason. Just can’t wait until you get here so I could devour that pretty little pussy of yours.”

His words stopped you in the middle of the room, making you drop the gun you were holding. It landed on your foot and you let out a yelp and a curse at the impact.

“Y/N, what was that? Are you okay?” Sam said as you limped your way to the lumpy bed.

“Yeah, I‘m fine,” you replied, taking the phone off your shoulder and putting it on speaker before plonking it on the bed. “Just dropped a gun on my foot.”

“Are you okay?” Worry replaced the husky undertone of his voice. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No, no, I’m okay. S’not like I haven’t gotten worse.” You smiled, remembering the countless times one of the brothers had to relocate your shoulder or reset your foot. “Besides,” you tested your foot, flexing it and digging the ball into the floor. Aside from a dull throb there wasn’t much to worry about. “If you want to eat me out, you’re not gonna do it in a crappy room in a shady motel.”

You heard him huff in amusement. “Yeah, you have a point. I want to see you writhing on my bed, gripping the sheets tight in your dainty little hands as I lick up those sweet juices from your cunt.”

The lust-filled voice had returned ten-fold and almost every word he said had caused a shiver up your spine, and suddenly you couldn’t wait to get home.

Ignoring the throbbing in your foot and core (and Sam because if you kept listening to him give a very vivid narration of what he was planning on doing to you, you’d never be able to leave), you quickly gathered all your things and stuffed them haphazardly in your duffel. After saying a rushed goodbye to Sam (while still trying to ignore him), you hung up.

Letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, you stuffed your foot back in your shoe and grabbed your stuff, heading out the door way sooner than you’d planned.

And so here you were, an hour into the drive and practically dripping with want. Your knuckles were white on the steering wheel, your grip so tight that you weren’t sure if you could remove them when you got back.

It was so unfair of Sam. He knew you were basically powerless against him when he talked to you like that, voice all husky and gravelly, like all he ever wanted was to eat you up.

Damn. This was bad. You had to get back to the bunker or you’ll implode.

***

Sam smirked at his phone, knowing you were on your way to the bunker right now. He knew you couldn’t resist him when he started talking dirty to you. And when he heard you get off the bed he just continued, all the while listening to you finish packing up. He couldn’t even get a word in when you bade him goodbye. But he could tell by your clipped voice and slightly labored breathing that you were red in the face, jittery, and very turned on.

So Sam sat back against the headboard, biding his time as he waited for you to burst through the door of your shared bedroom and start clawing off his and your clothes.

And god knew he needed to feel you again—feel your perfect curves that molded against his rough edges exquisitely, your soft skin warm under his plundering mouth, your red lips wrapped beautifully around his cock.

God. He couldn’t help but palm rapidly stiffening cock at the mere thought of you sucking him off.

He edged himself, brought himself close to the brink with the image of you. Sam could hear your moans, the sweet sounds you made every time you took him in your mouth, like you would not rather do anything else.

Sam’s grip tightened oh so slightly on his cock, making him let out a punched-out groan and release onto his stomach, the white of his come stark against his tanned skin.

He lay there for a while, daring to think about the possibility of you suddenly barging in and seeing him sprawled out on his bed and spent. Sam counted a number of ways the situation could go from there.

After a few more moments of catching his breath and staring at the ceiling, he finally got up and pulled his sweat pants completely off, using them to wipe away the sticky come on him.

Sam checked the clock on the table by the bed—two or so more hours until you got there. It gave Sam more than enough time to shower and get some rest because he knew he’d be needing it with what he had planned for you.

***

You slammed the door to your truck closed the minute you had it parked in the bunker’s garage. You even almost tripped on your way out in your haste to get your bag out of the passenger seat.

On the way to your room you realized you should probably pace yourself before getting in there. Knowing Sam you’d be in for one hell of a ride, especially because you two have been apart for so long. Too long. Way too long.

You were jittery, unfocused, and completely aroused; the whole ride home you kept thinking of Sam.

Sam peppering open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

Sam sucking on your pulse point and leaving a dark, throbbing bruise.

Sam trailing his lips in the valley of your breasts, going lower and lower and lower…

Goddamn it. You swayed and pressed a hand to the wall beside you, using it to anchor yourself back to reality, spurring you to continue your journey.

The bedroom was only a few feet away, and a mix of excitement and nervousness attacked you, stopping you in your tracks.

Not for long, though.

The next thing you knew you were opening the door to your room, and being assaulted by Sam’s lips on yours.

Immediately you sank into him, wincing your arms around his neck and tangling your fingers in his hair, your duffel bag forgotten somewhere on the floor.

Without missing a beat, Sam gripped your thighs with his massive hands and hoisted you up, cradling you tightly against him. He didn’t break the kiss, only deepened it, thrusting his tongue against yours and rubbing the roof of your mouth with it.

He ripped moans from your throat with his intensity, pressed bruises into your skin from the tight grip he had on you. And you expect you were doing the same to him, dragging groans out of his mouth, sending tingles down his spine with every tug of his hair tangled around your fingers…

God, how did you live before Sam Winchester?

He turned and walked to the bed, prompting you to cross your legs at his back, but then immediately letting go of him when you were unceremoniously dropped on the bed.

And then Dean thought to himself, How the fuck did I get so damn lucky? In this damned life of his, how did he ever find you? Dean liked to call it a miracle that you actually stayed with him through all the shit you two had gone through—the Trials, the Mark, Dean becoming a demon… You had stayed with them (with him) through all of it, and you didn’t ever get mad or disappointed at him when everything was okay again. Dean had thought it was a miracle. No.

You were his miracle.

On that day in the kitchen, he couldn’t help himself and smothered you into a tight embrace.

“Woah, hey, Dean,” you said, resting a hand on his and winding the fingers of your other one into his dark blond hair. “What’s the matter?”

Dean had shaken his head, which was still buried in the crook of your neck, and pressed a light kiss to your nape.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

He nodded, slightly tightening his arms around you.

“Just lucky to have you, babe.”

***

The first time you heard Dean sing was fairly early in your relationship.

You two were in the Impala, well on your way to a hunt on the other side of the country. He was blasting Led Zeppelin on the car stereo, as per usual, and rocking out to the guitar solos and the drum beats. When “Back in Black” started playing, Dean went wild, started head-banging, singing along, sticking his tongue out. He was having the time of his life and you were so relieved to see him happy, all let loose like that.

Dean continued to sing along to the rest of the tape, and turned on the radio when it finished.

The first song that immediately came was “Crazy Love” by Jason Manns. It wasn’t something you listened to a lot, but you still recognized it from some of the bars you previously passed.

But you liked it—it was sweet, simple, and that guy who sang the second verse sounded a lot like Dean, now that you thought about it.

“… to her when the sun goes down…”

You snapped your head towards Dean. “You know this song?”

He was blushing—blushing!—and keeping his eyes on the road. “Well, yeah… I hear it a lot in bars, so the lyrics just kinda popped into my head.”

A short silence only filled by the strumming of the guitar passed between you, until Dean softly said,

“Plus, it reminded me of you.”

At that, you smiled, sliding across the bench seat to press beside him and take his hand, entwining your fingers together and giving his hand a squeeze. You didn’t know what to say, honestly—as far as you knew, none of your previous flames had heard a song that made them think of you. You just hoped Dean knew what you were trying to, but couldn’t say.

Dean squeezed back, and you knew what you wanted to say.

God, how did you get so lucky with him?

You two stayed like that for the rest of the drive. At least until you got to the next motel, where you two stripped down and embraced each other in the dead of night.

***

The first time Sam heard you two sing was after one of his solo hunts (one he took partly to get away from the lovebirds).

He stepped into the bunker and immediately heard the familiar drumbeats of Taylor Swift’s “Shake It Off” pounding from the surround speakers Dean had installed a few weeks ago. Along with it came two familiar but unfamiliar voices singing along to the original vocals.

Sam slowly made his way down the main stairs and followed the voices, quietly as he could, to the kitchen. There he found the two of you, jumping around, singing and laughing.

You were in a tank top and workout shorts, your hair wild like you’d just gotten out of bed and not had a chance to comb it out. Dean was only in a pair of boxers and mismatched socks—one with blue and green stripes, the other with yellow and red stripes. Your glasses were perched on his nose and bounced on his face in time with the sprinkled move he was doing.

Both of you were too busy to notice him, so Sam figured he’d just stick around for a while, take a blackmail video, and then slowly walk away.

Later that day, Sam showed you both the video he took, and although you two threatened to tear him apart if he leaked the footage to anyone, he noticed neither of you was making a move to delete it, just resting your heads together and smiling as you watched.

As you put the mug in the sink, you heard the tell-tale vibration of your phone on the countertop. You let it wait until you’ve washed the mug before going to pick it up. As expected, it was a text from Sam:

Don’t forget, 8764 Prince Ave by Firestone Blvd at 10:30. I’ll see you there.

You rolled your eyes. Of course Sam would send you a message reminding you of where the first appointment was. He was a bit high-strung that way. You couldn’t blame him though, not when your performance on these appointments basically paid your rent. With a sigh, you texted him back:

I won’t forget, Sam. And good morning to you too. ;)

You smiled cheekily. Sometimes Sam got so worried about work that he forgot basic pleasantries, and you had no qualms about reminding him of them every chance you got. 

Slinking out of the kitchen with your mouth wide open in a yawn, you went to your bedroom, the sheets still in disarray from your neglect at waking up almost a half hour ago. You didn’t bother with them, knowing that nobody would actually care if you straightened them out or not, and made a beeline straight to your closet to pick out the day’s clothes, in the end coming away with a loose peasant top and a pair of long denim shorts. Like hell you were going to wear pants in this California heat. Plus, if you were going to be driving and bending down repeatedly the whole day, why not do it wearing comfortable clothes?

Faint buzzing from your phone alerted you that Sam had replied, and you dropped your clothes on the bed, sat down with a flop, and thumbed through your phone.

Of course. Sorry. Good morning, Y/N. :) 

God, he was such a dork. And the weight of your first solo mission in a while was getting to you again, so you opted out of answering back to just hop in for a quick shower. You were in and out in fifteen minutes and were in the middle of putting on foundation when your phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a call from Sam, and you deftly twirled your brush in your hand and accepted the call, putting him on speaker so you could work freely.

“Hey, Sam,” you answered, the sound slightly garbled with the position your face was in.

“Hey,” he said, the background oddly quiet. “You putting on make-up?”

“Yeah,” you put down the foundation and grabbed your eye shadow primer, and applied it. You took your BYS NUDE 2 palette, deciding on a shade first before applying some on your lid. “I’m on eye shadow.”

“Great, so ten minutes, then,” Sam said, evidently showing his perfect memory of your make-up routine. “Good thing you got up early, huh?”

You groaned, checking if the application was balanced before continuing. “Too early. I mean, the appointment’s in an hour and it only takes, what, ten minutes to get there. I don’t see why you had to set my alarm for 8 AM.” It was a challenge to speak clearly while doing make-up, but talking with Sam almost every single day while doing it gave you a lot of practice.

“That’s because you take a while to get your bearings, Y/N,” he countered. Sam always set your alarms. And he would set it two and a half to three hours before the appointment time, depending on how far the house was. It proved to be a challenge for you because something in your biology refused to cooperate at seven in the freaking morning unlike Sam, who was always up at the crack of dawn and ready to go for a run or something. You and Sam were such opposites in some respects that you sometimes wondered why exactly you chose to have him as your partner. “And I also know that if you don’t get caffeine in your system, you’ll be rude and cranky all day. Did you get a drink?”

“Yeah, two mugs,” you scoffed, setting down the eye shadow and picking up your favored eyeliner. “Barely did anything for my disposition, but I can handle it.” You twisted open the cap and said to Sam, “Liner.”

“I’ll wait,” he simply said, and while you tried to perfect your double-up lining. When you were done with the right eye, you relaxed your closed eye for a moment and waited for it to dry.

“By the way,” you said suddenly, remembering why it was so quiet earlier, “aren’t you supposed to be snipping away at the old ladies’ hair in the salon? Where are you?”

“I’m on break.” Picking up the pen you readied yourself to do the left eyelid as Sam continued speaking. “I’m in the café across the street. Busy morning, and I couldn’t find anywhere quiet enough to make a call so I decided to treat myself.” You could practically head the smugness in his voice. He knew you liked that café and never failed to stop by for their Panini when you went to the workplace. You rolled your eyes as soon as you were able, nodding to yourself at the equal liner thickness. “Perfect?”

“Perfect.” You rummaged through your lipstick collection to find the shade you want, all the while still talking to Sam. “When do you get off?” At the sound of poorly hidden snorting you paused in you treasure hunt to roll your eyes again. “Seriously, Sam?”

He burst into laughter just as you found the L’Oreal Riche Lip in Nude you’d been looking for. Ignoring the howling Samsquatch on the other line, you expertly applied it and surveyed your face before deciding you didn’t need to contour today, and you’d just save the effort for the clients.

Sam had sobered up while you put on the lipstick, and caught his breath a little before saying, “10:30. I’ll be there at 45.”

“’Kay,” you answered, slipping on your Oxford shoes and gathering your things as you two made plans—where to eat, who was gonna drive the rest of the way, whether to stop by the salon after. By 10:00 you were buckled in your car and more or less prepared for the day ahead.

Though California in June was hot as fuck, you still loved the climate. Hey, at least you didn’t need a variety of clothes that would only fill up your room. And the sunlight streaming through your car wind shield caught at just the right angle to make the silver band on you left ring finger winkle like the most precious gem.

***

Thanks to the mid-morning traffic, you got to the first house with three minutes to spare. You and Sam made it a point to arrive ten to five minutes early to set up so you didn’t waste precious time trying to sort out your stuff and trying to find them in the messes that were your “tool boxes”.

The Spanish white-stone house sat imposingly before you. If you’d gotten there earlier you could’ve spared a moment before going up the door to knock. Unfortunately you were running out of time, so better just wing it.

You made three sharp raps on the door, and mere seconds later a middle aged woman came swooping it open. Quickly you put a friendly smile on your face. “Good morning, ma’am! I’m Y/N, the make-up artist you hired for the wedding today.”

Recognition replaced the confusion on her face and she beamed at you. “Of course, come in, come in, dear!” She eagerly waved you inside and you stepped right into the living room. At the lady’s behest, you slipped off your shoes by the entrance and she offered you slippers to wear around the house. Briefly you wondered if they had any slippers in Sam’s size and grinned.

The lady, Mrs. Fernando as you came to know, led you to the living room, where a chair was placed in the middle of it, the coffee table sitting a little ways behind it. As you set up your things, Mrs. Fernando (“Call me Rica, hija!”) called down her two daughters, who were apparently both bridesmaids in the wedding that afternoon. So all in all, you and Sam had to do three clients that morning. 

“You said you had a partner?” Louisa, the older daughter, asked as she sat down on the chair. The girl had lovely tanned skin and beautiful chocolate brown curls. You knew Sam was going to have a field day working with this family, since it seemed they all had great hair.

“Oh, yeah. Sam’s coming in a bit. Had to work a shift at the salon, but the dude’s coming. Trust me,” you said smiling, as you tied Louisa’s hair back, getting handfuls of her soft hair to gather it in a messy bun. You moved in front of her and asked her how the wedding was going to go, what the theme was, and how she preferred her face done. She replied as well as she could while you applied foundation and concealer to her skin.

As you were rifling through your many eye shadow palettes, there came a knock on the door. The other sister Gloria answered it and you watched her reaction as she looked up and up and up at Sam’s no doubt imposing frame. You smiled and shook your head, deciding on your Clinique 8-Pan palette and one of your Sephora Collection Filter palettes for the shimmer. Louisa said the wedding was going to be a garden wedding (that was, in your opinion, poorly timed since it was blistering today), and the bride wanted shades of soft pink all around. 

You stood up in front of Louisa, tilted her chin up, and poised the brush over her eyelid. Suddenly you felt a slap to your ass and whirled around to face Sam, who was grinning like an idiot. He had another chair in front of him, requested probably because of how you usually did things: two chairs in one space and a table separating them if you had more than one client, so they could just stand up and move to Sam’s chair one you were done with them for their hair.

Throwing your partner a bitch face, you turned back to the teenager in front of you and asked him, “How was the salon? You know, after you were done slacking off.”

Sam snorted, continuing to arrange his tool box beside yours on the coffee table (that he probably moved on his own; jerkface was too strong for his own good) before answering, “Well. Less busy than when we first opened. You know they like getting a good look at me in the morning.” You looked at him beyond Louisa’s head, eyes meeting and he gave you a wink. You turned back to your work with a sardonic smile.

“Plus, the Panini was awesome,” he finished, smirking. You flipped him the bird, making sure to keep it out of Louisa’s view, not that she could see right now, since her eyes were closed. She hasn’t opened them yet, obediently keeping them shut since the moment you asked her to when you started. You tried to tamp down a smile when her eye twitched, knowing she wanted to see what Sam looked like after hearing his voice and your conversation.

Showing some mercy because you knew after years (and you meant years) of friendship and partnership with Sam, he was handsome. Very much so. And sometimes, during the early stages of your acquaintanceship, he would go to your apartment on random mornings coming from a run, soaking with sweat and shirtless, making up some excuse like, “Oh, your apartment’s nearer, can I just take a quick shower?” and back then you had to dig through your ex’s old clothes just to find some that fit him.

Oh, and add to the fact that Sam was kind, smart as hell, and knew his make-up and hair? As well as a total animal lover? He was bound to have ladies tripping over themselves to get his attention.

You had Louisa open her eyes and she wasted no time sliding them over Sam’s god-like build. He was lounging on the other chair, waiting his turn. He was all long limbs and muscular frame, and you let Louisa get her eyeful, completely used to it at this point. Sam used to joke about him getting all the attention since most of your clients were women and the occasional gay models, and you both had a laugh over that. Yeah, once upon a time, you would’ve minded the obscene amount of ogling Sam got, but you were past that.

Taking out eyeliner, mascara, and your eyelash curler, you asked Louisa to close her eyes again (which she did, reluctantly). You finished up her shadow and added a very subtle contour and blush to her face before applying your Clinique Almost Lipstick in Pink Honey, for a sweet and fresh feel. Once you were done, you patted her shoulder and directed her to Sam’s chair, where he marveled at her hair as soon as he got a hold of it.

Rolling your eyes at him and his enthusiasm, you gestured to Gloria, proceeding to do the same to her with a little bit of tweaking, since her hair and skin were slightly lighter than her sister’s. If you had to guess, Gloria stayed in more and Louisa made herself welcome under the sun’s loving kisses.

As you contemplated which shade to use for Gloria’s eyes, Rica, who was sitting on the small sofa and watching the proceedings with excitement, suddenly said, “So Sam, do you have a girlfriend?”

You jerked up, almost stabbing your boob with the brush, and looked to Sam in amusement, a corner of your lip quirking up. Sam got this question all the time, and every time it happened he managed to evade the question or distract the person asking it.

“Uh, no,” he said succinctly, going back to clipping a section of Louisa’s hair while you went back to your work. “I don’t.”

“Oh, boyfriend, then? Or a husband?”

“Mama!” you heard Louisa exclaim. You continued to work on Gloria as Louisa (respectfully) reprimanded her mom for love of gossip and slightly overstepping boundaries. This would usually be the point where Sam would blush and concentrate on the hair in his hands.

When Rica knew she couldn’t get anything out of Sam, she turned to you, an amused smile on her face. “And you, Y/N? Are you in a relationship?”

“Ma!” This time it was Gloria who called out, and you smiled and shook your head.

“It’s okay, Gloria.” You switched the palette to your other hand and turned to Rica, waving your fingers at her so she could see the silver ring. “I’m married, actually.”

“Oh, Jesus, Maria, who’s the lucky man?” she exclaimed, and you slightly regretted fueling her excitement, but you might as well gush about your husband. 

“Well, he’s tall. Handsome and a little goofy sometimes. He does not know how to cook, can’t even make a salad to save his life,” you said, a bright smile on your face as you went back to work, still talking. “We met at a restaurant near where he worked. He bought me a latte because he said I looked really mad at the air in front of me.” Everyone laughed a little at that. “Afterwards, he asked me out to dinner, and now, five years later, I’m a happily married woman.” You finished talking as you applied lipstick to Gloria’s pink lips. Honestly, the girls didn’t need any make-up, they were already really pretty.

You waved her off to Sam who just finished doing Louisa’s hair. Her long brown curls were gathered up at a low side bun, a few delicate strands hanging out to frame her heart-shaped face. Simple, girly, classy. As always, Sam did a good job.

Rica, who had been patiently waiting her turn, finally stepped up onto the chair. She told you that she was one of the people wearing cream, as she was supposed to be a godmother to the wedding. “I’ll leave the make-up stuff to you, hija. You did very well with my daughters, and I trust you.”

The praise made your face heat up. “Thank you, Mrs.—,” at the eyebrow she raised at you, you immediately backtracked. “Thank you, Rica.” Your face was still warm as you turned away from her, rifling through Sam’s stuff to look for the cloth headband he insisted on keeping. You thought he wanted it for when he secretly used face masks; after all, Sam was not your usual guy. Sure you made fun of his feminine tendencies when you guys were starting out, but eventually grew to appreciate them, especially when he could see that you were having a bad day and he’s do out of his way to buy you double-scoop ice cream after an appointment.

When you found it, you sneaked a look at Sam, saw how his hands worked flawlessly through Gloria’s hair, and couldn’t help but be mesmerized for a while. He was busy curling and pinning to the top of her head, periodically pausing to go in front of her to peer at her make-up, making sure that the hair suited what you did, going for the innocent look that you used as well. Sam’s eyes met yours and you remembered that you were supposed to be doing Rica’s make-up. You turned back to her, taking a cursory glance around the room, and realized Louisa wasn’t there, upstairs putting on her dress, maybe. 

You secured Rica’s pixie cut behind the headband and primed and put foundation on her face. You consulted your array of palettes before going purely with the Urban Decay NAKED palette. The middle colors complemented Rica’s tanned skin nicely and were sure to make her green eyes pop. Browns were classic colors as well, and if they could, the shades in your palette (virtually untouched since you didn’t use them as the clients preferred other colors) were going to have a field day.

“Hey, you’re breaking them in?” Sam asked, looking at the container in your hands.

“Yeah, finally.” You smiled, amused that Sam raided your tools once or twice because you never told him that you hadn’t used this one yet. 

You two worked silently for a few minutes, before Rica started asking questions again, mostly about how your wedding went, whether you had kids (which made Sam laugh and joke how you had an irrational fear of babies), and how long you’d been married. You answered all of them diligently, and had to nod in appreciation at how Rica was able to keep almost still while talking. You contoured her face as well and finished off the look with your Nude L’Oreal Riche Lip, the same shade you were wearing. 

Sam finished with Gloria’s hair as you waved Rica over to his chair. Gloria’s hair was fantastic. He pushed the top up into a little bouffant, and arranged her hair to make it look like she had it in a half-up do and that her hair was naturally that big. Light ash brown curls cascaded down her back, and you knew Sam used his special trick to ensure that they stayed curly the whole day. He tried to show you once, and proved that you really did not know anything about hair unless it was braiding your own. Likewise you tried teaching him the basics of make-up, only for him to fail miserably.

Since you were finished with all the clients, you sat yourself down on the chair and proceeded to arrange your mess of tools into your small make-up box. You really had to upgrade this thing so you could have more space. Maybe you had a Sephora gift certificate or something in your wallet you could use…

“And you’re done!” You looked up at Rica, her short pixie cut now organized into curls that framed her face perfectly, giving a very 1920’s feel. It always amazed you how well Sam could style short hair, and it made you smile to see how all the clients he handled loved their hair so much. Sam had talent, and you were glad that it’s being realized.

Soon Rica disappeared upstairs to herd the girls back down, where they all thanked you, and Rica joked about wanting you to do Louisa’s hair and make-up for her 18th birthday next year.

“Well, if you do decide,” Sam said, “you know how to find us. Just give us a call.” He smiled dazzlingly at the three women, and you were sure they were temporarily blinded by him. You collected her pay, thanked each other again, and made your way to the car.

You settled in shotgun while Sam got in the driver’s seat. It was commonplace that if Sam was there he’d be the one driving, which was practically always. He didn’t have a car, so you had to use yours. Sam probably took a cab from the salon.

Sighing, you carefully shifted to put your box in the backseat along with Sam’s. Turning back around you saw a paper bag with the logo of the restaurant near the salon and looked up at said mad with wide eyes.

“No way,” you breathed, snatching the bag from his waiting hands and peering inside. There was the restaurant’s chicken Panini and a container of the mango cheesecake you loved. You turned to Sam again, a grateful smile on your face. “Thank you, Sammy,” you said, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek.

“You know, you have to stop being surprised when I get you food from that place,” he said smilingly, pulling to the road and making a U-turn out of the street. “I mean, I always get you food from there when I get the chance.”

He had a point. Often Sam would randomly bring you a Panini or the chicken Alfredo from the restaurant. He knew your orders well enough that he could get what you wanted if he wanted to surprise you. And he wasn’t scared of getting a random dessert—you had a sweet tooth and he knew it, so he basically got you the day’s special.

“Eat up,” he said, eyes on the road.

“What about you?” you said concerned, but pulling out the sandwich either way and taking a huge bite out of it. The last time you ate was that morning and it was almost 1 PM. You moaned almost obscenely around the bit of food in your mouth.

“I ate in the cab on the way here. Plus I had a huge meal during my break this morning.”

You swallowed your mouthful. “By ‘huge meal’ you mean a large chicken Caesar salad, right?” You saw his face flush and his Adam’s apple bob in a swallow. “And that was hours ago, Sam. Here,” you unwrapped more of the Panini and pushed it at his face. He reluctantly looked at it for a second before turning his eyes back to the road and opening his mouth, blindly trying to figure out where to bite. You stifled a laugh and pushed it more towards him. He took a big bite out of it that almost had your regretting being so giving.

Taking another bite of the sandwich you asked with a full mouth, “How long until we get to the next appointment?”

Sam looked at the dashboard clock. “’Bout an hour, I think, hour and a half.”

You nodded. “Good. Gives me enough time to finish the cheesecake.”

Sam laughed as you took another bite.

***

Your next appointment was at a studio, and as expected, Sam was immediately dragged off by one of the project managers. They were supposed to be doing a photo shoot for a new all-white line and were going to be shooting in the warehouse a little ways away. The clothes were supposed to look as clean-cut as they could against the dinginess and chaos of the old warehouse. It was your and Sam’s job to make the models look dirty but chic. 

Well. It wasn’t the first time.

You trudged after Sam and the lady with a clipboard. She wasted no time sidling up to him and feeling up his arms (which you knew for a fact were toned as hell) as they walked to wardrobe. You trailed after them, eavesdropping on their small talk. The girl was doing her best to flirt with Sam and you could only smile at his reluctance to respond to her advances, sometimes even physically pulling away from her if she was pressing against him too much.

Sometimes when you told your friends about this they asked you if you were okay with it, or if you got jealous. You always answered that you were fine with it. Sure sometimes you got annoyed at a client or a manager or another make-up artist if there were a lot of you, but it was usually because they were flirting too loudly or being a diva. Sure sometimes you got jealous that there weren’t that many people ogling at you compared to Sam, but you just chalked it up to everyone’s innate desire to be accepted and noticed. That, and the wedding ring kind of turned people off.

Eventually, you forgot about the gaping thing and just directed your energy into judging people who are flirting too hard and then telling him in the car afterwards and laughing about it. It was a good distraction from the tiring day and you got a good laugh out of it.

You set down your usual box, plus another one that contained you more unused stuff, on one of the tables. Peering at yourself in the mirror, you inspected your face for any smudges or smears. You touched up your lipstick in the car, but other than that, you hadn’t had the chance to really look at your make-up yet. You took the palette from this morning and touched up your eye shadow.

When you were done you turned to look for Sam, who was finally alone and doing his hair, his knees bent so he could actually see his hair in the mirror. You chuckled at the sight and strode over to him, coming up behind him and ruffling his hair.

“Y/N!” he yelled, swatting away your hands playfully. “Don’t play with my hair, it’s getting tangled!”

“Why, but it’s so long and floofy!” you argued, proceeding to ruffle up his hair again, ending in a mini-tickle fight, waged slightly away from the tables so as to not hit anything. Eventually, though, you sobered up and the both of you just decided to wait for the models on the chairs.

“So,” you started, lolling you head sideways to look at him, “that project manager sure was flirting with you. Hard.”

He gave you a grin and let his head drop so he looked at the ceiling while he answered. “Yeah. Glad I finally shook her off.” He turned his head towards you, a stupid grin on his face. “Why, you jealous?”

You scoffed. “Nah. Just sorry for her ‘cause you’re already taken.”

He laughed loudly. “Damn straight!” He raised his hand and you hi-fived.

“Oh, Sam, you are anything but straight!” You laughed again at the inside joke.

“You’re gay?”

You looked behind you at the manager from before, who was now gaping at Sam with shock. Said man took a second to process the outburst, but finally shook himself out of it and said, “No—no! I’m not gay, I’m—,”

“Oh, thank god,” the manager said, putting a hand to her chest and sultrily gliding over to press herself against Sam’s shoulder, making sure that her boobs were right in his line of sight. “I thought you were, but thank god you’re straight. At least now I know I have a chance.” She grinned seductively at him, making you effectively gag at the sight. Sam was trying to keep a straight face.

“I’m, um…,” Sam swallowed. “I’m… actually… Not straight, either.”

The manager backed away. “Wait, what?”

As Sam fumbled for a reply, you just looked at the manager, still gaping like a fish out of water and trying to process this “not straight, not gay” thing that’s going on.

“He’s bi,” you said, interjecting just to get Sam to stop stuttering (he started to nod his head furiously). 

“Oh,” the manager said, turning back to Sam and trying to ramp up her sultriness. Your eyes bugged out at her insistence. “Then that means I still have a chance, right?” She traced a lime green nail from the bridge of Sam’s nose to the tip and you two watched her strut away.

You two looked at each other, grimaces on your faces. “Sorry for outing you like that,” you said, eyes downcast. You didn’t mean to, but it looked like he needed help.

“No, it’s okay,” he said quietly¸ taking your hand and smoothing his thumb over your ring. “I couldn’t really get a word out, so… Thank you.”

You two stayed holding hands until the manager came back with the models, and then you silently got to work. You mechanically applied foundation, eye shadow, contour, lipstick to them until all five models were finished and headed to the warehouse.

You asked Sam to ask for the pay while you offered to pack up yours and his things. You knew each other enough to trust each other with the tools of your trade, and knowing that, you shooed him off to mooch up to the manager.

Afterwards, you tried juggling the three boxes while looking for Sam, eventually finding him near the studio entrance with, yep, the manager plastered all over him. You rolled your eyes and gave a yell, prompting Sam to look around for you. Once he finally saw you he hurriedly said his goodbyes and helped you with the two boxes in your arms. As he took the two of them, he leaned in and kissed your forehead. You melted into the touch and wrapped around his waist as you two strolled to the entrance.

On your way out you saw the manager still standing there, watching your exchange. Her seething eyes followed you and you gave her a smile and a wink, tightening your hold around Sam’s waist. The last thing you saw before you got in the car was her gaping face. Hm.

She really looked like a fish.

***

Your last client cancelled her appointment so you decided you’d just order in some Chinese or a pizza and lounge on the couch. When Sam pulled over to the house you two got out silently and took out your boxes from the backseat. As soon as the front door opened you put your boxes and bags on the floor and immediately moved to hug Sam tightly, your arms barely meeting behind his neck because he was so tall. He closed the door behind him with his foot and proceeded to wrap his arms around your thighs, lifting you up and carrying you to the living room sofa.

He sat down and you followed the motion, ending up straddling him, with your arms still wrapped around his neck. You burrowed your face into his shoulder, took in the smell of his musk and the faint aroma of hairspray. Like always, he smelled like home.

Sam smoothed a hand down your back, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

You shook your head, said, “It’s nothing. I’m just tired,” in a quiet voice.

“I know it’s not nothing, babe.” He put a hand on your cheek and gently lifted your face up so your eyes could meet. Sam smoothed his thumb over your cheekbone. “Tell me.”

You averted your eyes and shrugged, lifting your hands to grasp the chain around Sam’s neck and pulling it out. “Just the usual, you know. I try not to let it bother me, but that manager was giving me a headache.” You ran your thumb across the silver band hanging on the chain, a perfect match to yours.

“Ah,” Sam said. “So that’s why you suddenly became more affectionate than usual?” You nodded, and Sam gave you a fond smile. Sometimes, because you were always so playful and cool with everything, he forgot that you had insecurities, too, and he always sought to correct them before the badness could mess with your brain further.

Sam removed his hands from you and lifted the chain over his head. He took off the ring and slid it on the fourth finger of his left hand, where it belonged. He wished he could always wear it, but the salon didn’t allow any arm or hand accessories except for watches because they messed with the cutting or styling. You were the one who thought to fasten it to a chain so he could always have it with him. Sometimes Sam thought that he was more attached to his wedding ring than you were.

“Y/N,” he whispered and you looked up at him. “You know I’m yours. The ring I’m wearing right now proves it. And yeah, I don’t wear it as much as I would like to, but it’s always with me. It reminds me of you, of how much I love you, and as long as I am alive, I will love you.” He wiped the stray tear rolling down your cheek. 

You leaned in and kissed him, and he followed your lead. “Thank you, Sam,” you said when you finally broke apart, and your fingers were tangled in his hair. He rested his forehead on yours and kissed you once more.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered.

It was… a baby. A baby. A beautiful baby boy, maybe not more than a year old, with electric blue eyes and dark curly hair. He had rosy and fluffy-looking cheeks and he was just staring at you, eyes still slightly damp. The way the baby was staring at you, so intensely and wide-eyed, had you dropping the knife on the floor with a clang and just pick him up.

Whilst in a staring contest with the baby, you finally had the sense to wake the brothers up. “Sam! Dean! Wake up, we have a problem.” The boys jumped and groaned, sitting up on their respective places. You still couldn’t figure out how they slept through all that screaming. “Guys, wake up!”

Sam gained his bearings first and was just staring at you and the baby you held in your arms. “Uh…” was the only thing he could say. Where the hell did you get that baby?

“Ugh, Y/N,” Dean groaned, “it’s still early, what are you—…” His words died out as he spotted the baby, face mirroring his baby brother’s exactly.

“Okay,” you started, bouncing the little human in your arms, “first of all, I have no idea where this little guy came from—he was just on the floor, crying.” The baby suddenly raised his tiny and chubby arms and began playing with your face and hair. You had to admit, it was kind of cute, and brought a small smile to your face. “Secondly, I cannot understand how you two were able to sleep through his crying, and thirdly,” you shifted a bit to cradle the baby in one arm and pointed with the other to the pile of fabric on the floor, “can someone check what’s under there?”

Dean, who was closest to the pile, moved immediately, crouching low and straightening the fabric one by one. The thing that initially covered the kid was actually a trench coat. You felt your eyebrows pull together. Could it be?

The older Winchester set aside the coat and held up a white polo, followed by a blue necktie, and then matching black slacks and a blazer. All that’s left of the pile was a pair of shoes.

The three of you had your suspicions, and you were fairly sure that you were thinking the same thing. You looked at the child with the shining blue eyes and whispered, “Cas?”

The baby giggled.

“What the fuck?” Dean shouted, hurriedly straightening from his crouched position and rushing to you and the baby Angel. “Cas?” The baby in question turned to him, spreading his arms, as if demanding Dean to carry him. Dean carefully obliged, and Castiel just… melted into him, resting his cheek on Dean’s shoulder, arms spread against the Hunter’s chest. Dean gingerly patted the baby’s back.

You and Sam just watched, genuinely surprised that Baby Cas took such a swift liking to Dean. The Hunter turned to both of you. “What?” he asked, genuinely puzzled at your gazes.

“Nothing,” you said, shaking your head innocently. “Just… It looks like Cas is claiming you as his dad, Dean.” You couldn’t help the grin on your face. It was just so cute, seeing a baby Angel cradled in the arms of one of the most fearsome Hunters you knew.

Surprise etched itself on Dean’s face, and he sputtered out, “W-well, what about you? Did you see the way Cas was playing with you? And how he giggled when you said his name?” When Dean said “giggle”, Cas laughed, a sweet tinkling noise. The Hunter’s face reddened. “Anyway, you’re officially designated as Mom until we can figure out how to turn Cas back.”

You shook your head, smiling. You weren’t really opposed to the idea—hell, you were actually excited. It’d been a while since you got to babysit—granted, this time the baby was actually an Angel, but still. And Cas seemed like a good and behaved child, so it should be no problem.

“Fine,” you conceded, going over to Dean and coaxing Baby Castiel back into your arms. “If I’m going to be the mom, you have to do the shopping for Cas’s things.” You bounced Cas around and smiled when he flashed you a toothless grin. You looked at Sam, who still hasn’t spoken a word since he woke up. “Get to researching on this, Uncle Sam,” you teased with a grin.

Sam just gave you his signature bitch face and went to fetch his laptop.

You were regretting what you said about Castiel seeming like a behaved kid around three hours into the day.

The three of you discovered that morning that Cas was fully capable of crawling and standing up on his own. Which was good for him, and it looked really cute whenever he would just wobble on his feet. So yeah, good for him. But not for you three.

See, while Castiel couldn’t really walk yet, he was very much adept at holding onto things, pulling things, and putting random items into his mouth. For example, you left him alone with Sam for around five minutes (to freshen yourself up), and when you came back, he was already clutching the cable of the big lug’s laptop’s charger and was about to pull it into his mouth if you hadn’t stopped him.

Another instance was with John Winchester’s journal. Dean had been looking through it for a possible explanation of why Castiel was suddenly a baby, when said Angel grabbed the rosary hanging from the binding of the journal, and dragged it down. Approximately three things happened after that: (1) The mug spilled its contents all over the table and Dean’s lap, (2) Dean swore and stood up too quickly, accidentally jabbing his knee on the underside of the table and he swore again, and (3) when the journal fell, it hit Castiel on the head, eliciting a cry from the little winged baby. You’d managed to calm him down with an ice pack on this head and some baby formula, although that took a long time (and by long, you meant long).

Cas was sleeping peacefully now, nestled in a blanket and the fluffiest pillows you could find. Despite Cas’s energy, it was surprisingly easy to put him to sleep. You were worried, though, that he might wake up too soon, what with all the noises in the motel room.

“Hey, Y/N, I think I got it,” Sam whispered. He had been researching for hours, only getting up a handful of times to go to the bathroom.

You treaded silently to the table he was at and propped one hand on it to lean on. “What’d you get?”

“Remember that Witch we were looking for? The one that led us here in the first place?”

“Yeah, thank God we finally ganked that son of a bitch.” You shuddered at the memories of all the corpses he left behind, relieved that he was gone now.

“Yeah, about that. Apparently, it’s a spell that turned Cas this way. It’s a really high-level spell, and that Witch was powerful enough to do almost anything.” Sam looked at you pointedly.

“You’re saying he cast the spell on Cas?” you asked, incredulous. “When did he do that?”

“I don’t know.” Sam shook his head. “There must be a hex bag hidden here somewhere, or,” he pointed at something on the laptop screen, “a mark somewhere on the victim, ‘written in the blood of the Spell Caster’,” he read.

You looked at the sleeping Angel, who seriously looked like such a sweetheart when he slept. “I think I saw something on Cas’s back earlier, but I can’t be sure.” You turned to Sam. “I’ll check when he wakes up. Meanwhile,” you straightened up and stretched out your arms, “I’m gonna follow Cas’s lead and take a nap. Tell Dean to wake me up when he gets back?” With a nod from Sam, you padded over to the little nest on your bed and made yourself comfortable next to Cas.

When Dean got back from a food run with arms filled with bags of fast food for you three and baby food for Castiel, the first thing he saw was the adorable sight of you sleeping peacefully beside the baby Angel. An arm was curled under your head, and the other covered Cas’s small frame protectively. Cas had turned in his sleep to face you, a tiny hand placed possessively on your neck.

He carefully and quietly went over to Sam (who was sleeping at the table) and laid out all the stuff he got. Every sound the plastic bags and paper made had him looking at the two sleeping people on the bed. Dean gently tapped Sam’s shoulder to wake him up, silently gesturing for him to eat something. With a quiet groan, Sam obliged.

Dean went over to you and Cas, carefully settling himself behind you and putting a hand on your shoulder. “Y/N,” he whispered, leaning in close you your ear. “Hey, kid, wake up.” You groaned softly, shifting your weight a bit before you stopped moving, realizing that Cas had snuggled up beside you. Dean let out a low chuckle. “Don’t worry, I got ‘im. Go eat something.”

You slowly sat up, watching if Cas would wake, and traded places with Dean. Castiel fidgeted and shifted a bit when Dean made to lie down beside him, but otherwise didn’t wake. You stood up and smiled when you saw Dean immediately wrap an arm around Baby Cas and settle in.

It was quiet as you and Sam ate, just watching the boys on the bed. A few minutes after you finished, Castiel woke up. You couldn’t really tell at first because he was so quiet. But then it seemed like Dean tickled his neck or something and he giggled—the cutest little sound. Dean sat up and bounced Cas on his lap, and you came over and sat next to them.

Sam stayed where he was. His laptop was open, but he couldn’t stop watching you and Dean and the baby. Well, it was technically Cas, but it was a nice picture—you three looked like a happy family, looked like people who led a normal, apple pie life. Sam knew that it was something Dean wanted; he wanted it, too, but he knew that they could never have that. They could never settle down. Never have kids. This was as close as they could get.

“You know,” Sam said, his voice cutting through Cas’s giggles and Dean’s laughter, “you guys make nice parents.” You and Dean just looked at each other and then at Sam, eyebrows scrunched up, as if saying, Really, Sam?

“What?” he said, shrugging. “I’m serious. You guys know your way around taking care of a kid.” He couldn’t help the smile on his face.

“Yeah, yeah, all right, Sam,” you said, taking Cas from Dean and hugged him to you, swaying as you spoke. “Tell Dean what you found.” You started humming, keeping it on a low volume as Sam told Dean about the possible hex bag the Witch snuck in or the mark he wrote on Cas.

“Search the room?” Dean suggested. When Sam nodded, they both stood up and began searching the room for hex bags. You, meanwhile, checked Castiel, looking for any smudge or streak that could have possibly been put there by the Witch.

You rucked up the small blue t-shirt Castiel was wearing, examining his chest and tummy area. When you didn’t find any, you pulled down the front and pulled up the back, gasping at what you saw.

Elaborate black lines and swirls covered the upper part of Cas’s back. The weird tattoo looked like a pair of wings, starting from two points near his spine and then branching outwards, as if they were unfurling, trying to break free of the canvas that was Cas’s skin and just fly him off into the clouds. They were beautiful, and you wondered briefly where the tattoo-like-birthmark-thing went with his current vessel. On the occasional glimpse that you got of Castiel’s bare back, you never saw anything like this. You made a mental note to ask him about it when you finally got him back to normal.

Other than the wings though, you didn’t see any weird looking mark. You also checked his arms and hands, and his legs and feet, but saw nothing. There wasn’t anything either on his face and neck.

“No mark on Cas, guys,” you called to the brothers, who were still fussing about the room and digging around every drawer and bag they could find.

“Nothing here,” Sam whispered, making his way over to you and the baby Angel. You caught Dean’s eyes, and he shook his head.

You thought hard. Where could that hex bag be? It wasn’t like he could just slip it on Cas’s person during—

“His clothes,” you whispered, the realization hitting you. “Guys, check Cas’s clothes, his pockets.”

Sam immediately went to search Castiel’s clothes (still in a pile on the couch, for whatever reason), but Dean said, “You think the son of a bitch snuck it in?”

You shrugged, Castiel fidgeting in your arms, wanting to be carried the right way, so you stood up, swaying and rocking him so he wouldn’t make a fuss. “Only thing I can think of.” Dean sighed, but it quickly turned into a grin when Sam triumphantly held up a green hex bag in one hand.

You smiled, relieved that Cas could return to normal. But you couldn’t help the twinge of sadness balling up inside you. You were gonna miss caring for the little rug rat. “Well, what do you know, Cas?” you whispered to him. “You’re gonna get back to normal.” Raising a finger, you lightly tickled his neck, and heard his cute little giggle before a bright light emanated from him, and you promptly let go of him to shield your eyes.

When next you opened them, the first thing you saw was a very naked Angel of the Lord and covered up your eyes again, whilst telling Cas to get dressed and laughing a bit. You dropped your arms to your sides when you were absolutely sure that Castiel had all his layers on.“Sam, Dean,” were the first things he said. “Thank you for helping me when I turned into an infant. I appreciate it greatly.” Castiel turned to you and captured you in an embrace. You were still, unsure how to react. Eventually, though, you returned the hug, holding onto him tightly. “Thank you, Y/N.”