Assorted SPN and RPS ficlets, slash, gen, and het
A couple days ago there was a super fantastic Make Kripke Kry Fic Fest, where the point was to write happy things that had nothing to do with any of our boys suffering or the cruel stomper of our hearts, Eric Kripke himself. Because he hates us and doesn't want us to be happy. I had fun playing along, and here are the ficlets I wrote.
Prompt: Inane and cute objects please- Jensen/Jared with rubber duckies or Bugs Bunny ties or yes, other cute things.
It's seven o'clock in the morning and Jensen's only awake because he still hasn't gone to sleep. Night shooting makes him cranky and strange and feel like a vampire sleeping all through the day. He waits for Jared outside his trailer, but he's not there, and he's not in the makeup trailer, either, and Jensen finally finds him hanging out with the lighting guys, sprawled on the ground with his mouth stuffed full of gummy sharks and three little girls standing behind him with their hands in his hair.
"Um," says Jensen.
"Hey," says Jared, holding up the bag of gummy sharks.
Jensen takes one and chews it thoughtfully. "So, uh, what's going on?"
He can see what's going on. The little girls aren't just playing with Jared's hair, they're braiding it and twisting it and fixing it in place with sparkly butterfly barrettes and little clips with pink and green roses.
"It's Take Your Daughter to Work day," Jared tells him. "These are Sal's girls." For the life of him, Jensen can't remember who Sal is. "Natalie, Angela, and Marie. Girls, this is Jensen."
"His hair's too short," says the one Jensen thinks is Angela.
"That's what I always say," Jared whispers to her.
"Um," says Jensen. All he wants is to go home and jerk off with Jared in the shower and sleep until it's dark outside.
"Go wait for the van," Jared tells him with a smile. "I'll be there in a little bit, OK?"
Jensen nods thinks about eating another gummy shark, then decides against it. He leans against the editing trailer and waits for the van to show up, and a minute after it does Jared's there, hair still braided with ribbons and barrettes and glitter.
"I can't believe you left that in," Jensen says.
Jared grins at him and sneaks a quick kiss. "Barrettes are awesome, don't even fucking lie."
Jensen remains unconvinced.
"This one's a unicorn!" he cries, as if that makes its awesomeness obvious.
Jensen laughs and shakes his head and climbs into the van after Jared, reaching out sleepily to finger a lock of soft, braided hair.
Prompt: Sam/Dean. Infiltrating a teddy bear picnic.
"I hate you so bad right now," Dean says, slapping his hand against his big, spherical head so he can see out the netting of the mouth hole.
"Look, we have to be in disguise, all right? It's says so right in the song."
"I swear to Christ if there's no case and you made me dress up like this because you're really a furry and you want to have outdoors fursuit sex, I will beat the ever loving shit out of you now and every day for the rest of our lives."
"Hush," says Sam, holding up one hand. Or paw. Or whatever. He's dressed like a fucking raccoon or some shit. A raccoon in a vest and sneakers. The raccoon suit didn't come with pants, but who needs pants when you've got a fucking purple vest and matching sneakers?
At least Dean's bear suit is naked, the way bears are meant to be. Dean's a firm believer that animals should never wear accessories. It's the reason Chihuahuas are always so vicious--all those little t-shirts and necklaces and hair bows turn them psychotic.
Dean follows Sam as silently as he can through the woods and stops as suddenly as Sam does.
"Holy fucking shit," he whispers, peeking over the rise. It's as if every teddy bear that ever there was is gathered in the valley, thousands and thousands of them on red and white checkered picnic blankets, playing hide and seek and flying kites and dancing around in joyous circles. "Can I start wasting them?" he asks.
Sam shakes his big, fat raccoon head once. Maybe he's supposed to be a marmoset. Whatever. "They're not evil, Dean."
"They're fucking teddy bears and they're having a fucking picnic. You don't think that's wrong?"
"I think it's fascinating," Sam whispers, stepping over the rise and walking towards the gathering.
"Sam, what are you?" Dean runs to catch up with him. "Are you insane? What if they turn on us?"
"They're teddy bears, Dean."
"Yeah, and they spend most of their lives pretending they're inanimate objects when they're really not. That's fucked up."
"How else are we going to learn about them?"
Dean sighs.
"We have to join them at least for a little while, figure out what their motivation is."
Dean sighs and nods. It's not his favorite thing in the world, but sometimes gathering intelligence is the best move they can make. And, hey, at least the teddy bears have pie.
Prompt: John gives the boys The Talk. Because herpes don't go away. And neither do babies.
"Uh, Dad," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. He sighs and looks away and tips his head to the side, cracking his neck. John sometimes thinks that Dean's got way too many creaks in his bones for being seventeen years old.
"Spit it out," John says, flipping through the spellbook he'd picked up during that job in Lexington. Thing's freaking scary and he thinks he'll burn it before the night's through.
"I, uh, there's kind of a problem when I..." Dean makes vague motion with his hand.
John raises one eyebrow and waits for an explanation. "Not a mind reader, son."
"I'm pissing fire."
"Hell, Dean," John says, because they're in the middle of the Blue Ridge mountains with no clinics within a day's drive, and the antibiotics are for keeping battle wounds from getting infected, not for clearing up a case of leaky dick.
"Seriously," says Dean. "I think maybe I got cursed or something."
"What did I tell you about always wearing a rubber?" John asks.
"Um," says Dean, shaking his head, and John sighs. Well, he'd meant to tell Dean to always wear a rubber.
"Sam!" John shouts. He doesn't need to shout since the cabin's pretty small, but Sam's got selective hearing.
"What did I do?" Sam asks, looking up from his book.
"Nothing. Get over here."
"What's Sam got to do with this?" Dean asks in a whisper.
"Grab the med kid on your way," John tells Sam, and he does.
"Hell," Dean says, shifting from foot to foot.
"I want both of you to listen up," John says as he unzips the med kid. He sorts through the various stolen and forged prescription bottles until he finds the doxycycline. "Any time you have sex, you wear a rubber."
"What?" Sam asks, his voice cracking. His voice has been cracking a lot in the past couple weeks, more reason for John to make sure he gets through to him before he's as stupid as Dean.
"I know you're not doing anything now, but for future reference, you don't even think about sleeping with a girl without wearing a rubber, OK? Otherwise you'll end up with some nasty, unwanted bacteria like your brother here."
Sam gasps and looks over at Dean. He laughs hard and long and cries, "Dean's got the clap!"
"I'm gonna bash your head in, you little--" Dean growls, reaching for him.
"Dean," John says in his sternest voice, waits for Dean to straighten up and look at him.
"Yes, sir," Dean says.
"One of those twice a day, and we're hitting the next free clinic we pass to make sure this isn't anything worse. You grow warts on your dick or knock a girl up, strongest antibiotics in the world aren't going to help."
"You have warts on your dick?" Sam asks with a gasp, cowering away like it's the most disgusting thing he's ever heard.
"What?" Dean asks. "No! God! I'm pissing fire, OK? That's it. It was that waitress in Tampa, man. I have bad luck in Tampa."
"You've been fucking girls without rubbers, getting a little VD is good luck, compared to the options. So both of you, rubbers every time. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Sam and Dean chorus as one.
"And eat something with those pills so they don't make you sick."
"Yes, sir," Dean says softly.
John turns back to the spellbook and, whoo, boy, he's definitely going to burn the thing considering the last chapter is so evil it's actually written in defiled virgin blood. He hears Sam snicker and glances up as Dean eyes his younger brother warily. John's pretty sure Sam's going to tease Dean about this for months, and normally he wouldn't have given either of his boys that sort of ammunition considering how hard they razz each other, anyway, but maybe Dean needs that kind of annoying reminder.
Of course, John not wearing a rubber was how he and Mary had ended up with Dean, but that was the good kind of accident. Dean could goddamn well wait until he dated a girl whose last name he knew before he made that kind of mistake.
Prompt: Sam losing his virginity to an older woman
Mrs. Richards is a mom, but she's not a Mom, not the way Dean talks about Mom, with angelic blonde hair shimmering around her shoulders and a beatific smile and gentle and beautiful and kind.
Mrs. Richards is the first person who makes Sam realize that parents are actual human beings, because she's funny and sarcastic and she sometimes talks about selling her children to the circus when they're being total brats, even though Sam knows how crazy in love with them she is.
She lives three doors down from the apartment they've been renting since April and she's the only other person besides Sam who's at the pool on a regular basis. She sits in the sun with a big, floppy hat and reads while her kids paddle around in the shallow end.
"Look, look, Mommy!" her daughter shouts. "Look at me!"
Mrs. Richards glances up as her daughter does a crooked underwater handstand. "That's awesome, baby," Mrs. Richards says, looking back down at her book.
"Was it good?" he daughter asks.
"It was amazing," she says and leans back in her chair and Sam thinks it's probably really wrong of him to sometimes not be able to look away from her cleavage or her long, bare legs.
When he calls her Mrs. Richards, she flinches and says, "Oh, Christ, don't. I'm not even thirty, yet."
"Sorry," Sam says. "Laurel." The name feels weird in his mouth, like it's something he shouldn't be allowed to say. He wants to not look at her breasts but he can't help it. She's in a bikini and she's round and curved in all the right spots and she's reading Proust for Christ's sake.
"You hit that, yet?" Dean asks pretty much every time he sees Sam talking to her.
"No," says Sam, like he's offended by the idea, but he jerks off thinking about her, thinking about the tan line she must have and what it would feel like to press his mouth to the soft inside of her thighs.
He stops by sometimes to see if she needs any help. Her husband's deployed somewhere overseas and she's trying to get her master's degree in Literature and sometimes Sam just hangs out and watches the kids play and makes them dinner while Laurel falls asleep at her desk.
One day he stops over and the kids aren't home for him to watch but she invites him in, anyway. He shouldn't be surprised when she kisses him considering how many times he's fantasized about it, but he is. He kisses her back and his hands shake as she lets him take off her t-shirt and shorts and when she's standing there in front of him in cotton panties and no bra, he realizes that it's happening, it's actually happening, and he can't get enough of of her, kissing her mouth and her neck and dropping to his knees to kiss her stomach and her thighs even though she tries to get him not to, tells him they're saggy when they're really not.
Her thighs are soft and warm wrapped around his hips when he slides into her, and she's whispering soft words to him and stroking his back because he's shaking all over, he wants her so bad.
It doesn't last long and he's embarrassed, but she doesn't seem to mind, just keeps kissing him and stroking his skin and they fall asleep tangled together in her bed.
When Sam wakes up she's crying and he reaches for her. She says, "I love my husband."
"I know," Sam tells her, because he does. And he should feel guilty for wanting her anyway, but he doesn't. He kisses her until she's not crying anymore and rolls her back onto the bed and she teaches him how to make her come just using his fingers.
Prompt: Inane and cute objects please- Jensen/Jared with rubber duckies or Bugs Bunny ties or yes, other cute things.
It's seven o'clock in the morning and Jensen's only awake because he still hasn't gone to sleep. Night shooting makes him cranky and strange and feel like a vampire sleeping all through the day. He waits for Jared outside his trailer, but he's not there, and he's not in the makeup trailer, either, and Jensen finally finds him hanging out with the lighting guys, sprawled on the ground with his mouth stuffed full of gummy sharks and three little girls standing behind him with their hands in his hair.
"Um," says Jensen.
"Hey," says Jared, holding up the bag of gummy sharks.
Jensen takes one and chews it thoughtfully. "So, uh, what's going on?"
He can see what's going on. The little girls aren't just playing with Jared's hair, they're braiding it and twisting it and fixing it in place with sparkly butterfly barrettes and little clips with pink and green roses.
"It's Take Your Daughter to Work day," Jared tells him. "These are Sal's girls." For the life of him, Jensen can't remember who Sal is. "Natalie, Angela, and Marie. Girls, this is Jensen."
"His hair's too short," says the one Jensen thinks is Angela.
"That's what I always say," Jared whispers to her.
"Um," says Jensen. All he wants is to go home and jerk off with Jared in the shower and sleep until it's dark outside.
"Go wait for the van," Jared tells him with a smile. "I'll be there in a little bit, OK?"
Jensen nods thinks about eating another gummy shark, then decides against it. He leans against the editing trailer and waits for the van to show up, and a minute after it does Jared's there, hair still braided with ribbons and barrettes and glitter.
"I can't believe you left that in," Jensen says.
Jared grins at him and sneaks a quick kiss. "Barrettes are awesome, don't even fucking lie."
Jensen remains unconvinced.
"This one's a unicorn!" he cries, as if that makes its awesomeness obvious.
Jensen laughs and shakes his head and climbs into the van after Jared, reaching out sleepily to finger a lock of soft, braided hair.
Prompt: Sam/Dean. Infiltrating a teddy bear picnic.
"I hate you so bad right now," Dean says, slapping his hand against his big, spherical head so he can see out the netting of the mouth hole.
"Look, we have to be in disguise, all right? It's says so right in the song."
"I swear to Christ if there's no case and you made me dress up like this because you're really a furry and you want to have outdoors fursuit sex, I will beat the ever loving shit out of you now and every day for the rest of our lives."
"Hush," says Sam, holding up one hand. Or paw. Or whatever. He's dressed like a fucking raccoon or some shit. A raccoon in a vest and sneakers. The raccoon suit didn't come with pants, but who needs pants when you've got a fucking purple vest and matching sneakers?
At least Dean's bear suit is naked, the way bears are meant to be. Dean's a firm believer that animals should never wear accessories. It's the reason Chihuahuas are always so vicious--all those little t-shirts and necklaces and hair bows turn them psychotic.
Dean follows Sam as silently as he can through the woods and stops as suddenly as Sam does.
"Holy fucking shit," he whispers, peeking over the rise. It's as if every teddy bear that ever there was is gathered in the valley, thousands and thousands of them on red and white checkered picnic blankets, playing hide and seek and flying kites and dancing around in joyous circles. "Can I start wasting them?" he asks.
Sam shakes his big, fat raccoon head once. Maybe he's supposed to be a marmoset. Whatever. "They're not evil, Dean."
"They're fucking teddy bears and they're having a fucking picnic. You don't think that's wrong?"
"I think it's fascinating," Sam whispers, stepping over the rise and walking towards the gathering.
"Sam, what are you?" Dean runs to catch up with him. "Are you insane? What if they turn on us?"
"They're teddy bears, Dean."
"Yeah, and they spend most of their lives pretending they're inanimate objects when they're really not. That's fucked up."
"How else are we going to learn about them?"
Dean sighs.
"We have to join them at least for a little while, figure out what their motivation is."
Dean sighs and nods. It's not his favorite thing in the world, but sometimes gathering intelligence is the best move they can make. And, hey, at least the teddy bears have pie.
Prompt: John gives the boys The Talk. Because herpes don't go away. And neither do babies.
"Uh, Dad," Dean says, rubbing the back of his neck. He sighs and looks away and tips his head to the side, cracking his neck. John sometimes thinks that Dean's got way too many creaks in his bones for being seventeen years old.
"Spit it out," John says, flipping through the spellbook he'd picked up during that job in Lexington. Thing's freaking scary and he thinks he'll burn it before the night's through.
"I, uh, there's kind of a problem when I..." Dean makes vague motion with his hand.
John raises one eyebrow and waits for an explanation. "Not a mind reader, son."
"I'm pissing fire."
"Hell, Dean," John says, because they're in the middle of the Blue Ridge mountains with no clinics within a day's drive, and the antibiotics are for keeping battle wounds from getting infected, not for clearing up a case of leaky dick.
"Seriously," says Dean. "I think maybe I got cursed or something."
"What did I tell you about always wearing a rubber?" John asks.
"Um," says Dean, shaking his head, and John sighs. Well, he'd meant to tell Dean to always wear a rubber.
"Sam!" John shouts. He doesn't need to shout since the cabin's pretty small, but Sam's got selective hearing.
"What did I do?" Sam asks, looking up from his book.
"Nothing. Get over here."
"What's Sam got to do with this?" Dean asks in a whisper.
"Grab the med kid on your way," John tells Sam, and he does.
"Hell," Dean says, shifting from foot to foot.
"I want both of you to listen up," John says as he unzips the med kid. He sorts through the various stolen and forged prescription bottles until he finds the doxycycline. "Any time you have sex, you wear a rubber."
"What?" Sam asks, his voice cracking. His voice has been cracking a lot in the past couple weeks, more reason for John to make sure he gets through to him before he's as stupid as Dean.
"I know you're not doing anything now, but for future reference, you don't even think about sleeping with a girl without wearing a rubber, OK? Otherwise you'll end up with some nasty, unwanted bacteria like your brother here."
Sam gasps and looks over at Dean. He laughs hard and long and cries, "Dean's got the clap!"
"I'm gonna bash your head in, you little--" Dean growls, reaching for him.
"Dean," John says in his sternest voice, waits for Dean to straighten up and look at him.
"Yes, sir," Dean says.
"One of those twice a day, and we're hitting the next free clinic we pass to make sure this isn't anything worse. You grow warts on your dick or knock a girl up, strongest antibiotics in the world aren't going to help."
"You have warts on your dick?" Sam asks with a gasp, cowering away like it's the most disgusting thing he's ever heard.
"What?" Dean asks. "No! God! I'm pissing fire, OK? That's it. It was that waitress in Tampa, man. I have bad luck in Tampa."
"You've been fucking girls without rubbers, getting a little VD is good luck, compared to the options. So both of you, rubbers every time. You hear me?"
"Yes, sir," Sam and Dean chorus as one.
"And eat something with those pills so they don't make you sick."
"Yes, sir," Dean says softly.
John turns back to the spellbook and, whoo, boy, he's definitely going to burn the thing considering the last chapter is so evil it's actually written in defiled virgin blood. He hears Sam snicker and glances up as Dean eyes his younger brother warily. John's pretty sure Sam's going to tease Dean about this for months, and normally he wouldn't have given either of his boys that sort of ammunition considering how hard they razz each other, anyway, but maybe Dean needs that kind of annoying reminder.
Of course, John not wearing a rubber was how he and Mary had ended up with Dean, but that was the good kind of accident. Dean could goddamn well wait until he dated a girl whose last name he knew before he made that kind of mistake.
Prompt: Sam losing his virginity to an older woman
Mrs. Richards is a mom, but she's not a Mom, not the way Dean talks about Mom, with angelic blonde hair shimmering around her shoulders and a beatific smile and gentle and beautiful and kind.
Mrs. Richards is the first person who makes Sam realize that parents are actual human beings, because she's funny and sarcastic and she sometimes talks about selling her children to the circus when they're being total brats, even though Sam knows how crazy in love with them she is.
She lives three doors down from the apartment they've been renting since April and she's the only other person besides Sam who's at the pool on a regular basis. She sits in the sun with a big, floppy hat and reads while her kids paddle around in the shallow end.
"Look, look, Mommy!" her daughter shouts. "Look at me!"
Mrs. Richards glances up as her daughter does a crooked underwater handstand. "That's awesome, baby," Mrs. Richards says, looking back down at her book.
"Was it good?" he daughter asks.
"It was amazing," she says and leans back in her chair and Sam thinks it's probably really wrong of him to sometimes not be able to look away from her cleavage or her long, bare legs.
When he calls her Mrs. Richards, she flinches and says, "Oh, Christ, don't. I'm not even thirty, yet."
"Sorry," Sam says. "Laurel." The name feels weird in his mouth, like it's something he shouldn't be allowed to say. He wants to not look at her breasts but he can't help it. She's in a bikini and she's round and curved in all the right spots and she's reading Proust for Christ's sake.
"You hit that, yet?" Dean asks pretty much every time he sees Sam talking to her.
"No," says Sam, like he's offended by the idea, but he jerks off thinking about her, thinking about the tan line she must have and what it would feel like to press his mouth to the soft inside of her thighs.
He stops by sometimes to see if she needs any help. Her husband's deployed somewhere overseas and she's trying to get her master's degree in Literature and sometimes Sam just hangs out and watches the kids play and makes them dinner while Laurel falls asleep at her desk.
One day he stops over and the kids aren't home for him to watch but she invites him in, anyway. He shouldn't be surprised when she kisses him considering how many times he's fantasized about it, but he is. He kisses her back and his hands shake as she lets him take off her t-shirt and shorts and when she's standing there in front of him in cotton panties and no bra, he realizes that it's happening, it's actually happening, and he can't get enough of of her, kissing her mouth and her neck and dropping to his knees to kiss her stomach and her thighs even though she tries to get him not to, tells him they're saggy when they're really not.
Her thighs are soft and warm wrapped around his hips when he slides into her, and she's whispering soft words to him and stroking his back because he's shaking all over, he wants her so bad.
It doesn't last long and he's embarrassed, but she doesn't seem to mind, just keeps kissing him and stroking his skin and they fall asleep tangled together in her bed.
When Sam wakes up she's crying and he reaches for her. She says, "I love my husband."
"I know," Sam tells her, because he does. And he should feel guilty for wanting her anyway, but he doesn't. He kisses her until she's not crying anymore and rolls her back onto the bed and she teaches him how to make her come just using his fingers.