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I'm reading four letter word for intercourse, again, and im at the part where dean starts calling castiel james when he's scening. and all i can picture is james wilson. my brain is rewriting this fic into some weird james wilson/dean winchester smit
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“I have a good bargaining position,” Sherlock begins to say. “No you don’t,” John interrupts, incredulity overcoming caution. “Not in there, you didn’t. He had a knife to your throat.” Sherlock pauses. Smiles faintly. “I’ll be more careful next time.” As if telling a private joke. This time hailing an unoccupied cab, John snorts a laugh. “No you won’t.”
Sherlock and John (chp. 3)
The World on His Wrist by bendingsignpost (AO3) Sherlock (TV) – Teen/Mature – Sherlock Holmes/John Watson #Alternate Universe #Reality Play #Alternate Realities #Partial Major Character Death #Angst #BAMF!John #Watches verse
First, he is shot in Afghanistan. Second, he wakes to a phone call in Chelmsford, Essex. Third is pain, fourth is normalcy, fifth is agony and sixth is confusion. By the eighth, he’s lost track. (John-centric AU)
i have been OBSESSED with Cinderwings by bendingsignpost on Ao3 for years and need more people to read it asap
I have a destiel fic rec… but be warned, this is some of the kinkiest fic I have ever read (Dom/sub themes). so heed the tags and take care!
Four Letter Word For Intercourse by bendingsignpost
Explicit / 195k words
As a grease monkey turned college freshman, Dean's constantly three seconds away from being stressed out of his mind. It hardly helps that he's finally figuring out his sexuality in his thirties.
What might help with that stress is a little phone number (and a big credit card bill). If he can't figure out how to be bisexual in person, he can at least give it a go over the phone, right?
(It's probably a bad idea, but he really can't help himself.)
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hey this is actually an insane thing to just put in your fic like I’m not gonna go read it and relate to it like it’s plucked right out of my head
"His Voice" - Digital Oil Painting
Dean with headphones from @bendingsignpost's "Four Letter Word For Intercourse." He can't get enough of his voice.
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Pat reappears. She nods to her mother, and with that, Ashley begins to pull on the rescue rope. Dropping the wet feather into the boat and sticking his arm through the mask’s band, Dean helps her. They haul on a firm, resisting weight. The wet rope is a black and slippery tendril, and Dean holds tight until his hands burn with the cold. Pat paddles to the side, making room for a dark, rising shape.
He surfaces chest first, shirt cut, the blood sigil clear and red, neither scabbed over nor rotted open. His head lolls back into the water, and his wings stretch below him, endless, their tips invisible beneath the gloom. Holding onto the boat, Pat lifts his head up, touching him without the reservations that decay brings. The immense discoloration of his face must be a bruise. Eyes closed, body limp, Cas doesn’t cough or breathe, but he doesn’t look ten days dead either, no matter how much murky water spills from his open mouth.
Carefully, Pat manages to turn him around so his chest faces the side of the boat. They get one arm up, and then the other. Pulling at his clothing only rips it further, the worn fabric weary with water and half-shredded from the attention of fish and bottom-dwellers. Needing the firmer grip, Dean grabs Cas’ right hand the moment it’s within reach, and the skin is cold and slimy with algae.
Cinderwings: Chapter 12 by @bendingsignpost
