sometimes it's a good hurt
Title: sometimes it's a good hurt
Pairing: girl!Dean/Cassie, girl!Sam/Jess
Rating: PG
Warnings: Somewhat angsty.
Summary: Loving a Winchester girl isn't always easy. Two brief fics from the POV's of two women who tried.
A/N: I kind of got a bug in my head about the Winchester girls, so I'm trying to write it out. With femmeslash.
She's dangerously beautiful, wounded-animal eyes and quick clever hands, cracked red nails lined with grease from the old black monster of a car that she calls her baby like it's a real child. She isn't much taller than Cassie but she's solid, strong thighs and round hips and high, full breasts.
Her name is Deanna.
"Dee," she says, and there's just enough knowing in her eyes that Cassie feels heat curl into her belly, that first time.
Dee has rough hands and too many scars and she kisses like she means it, all headlong rushing in that's equal parts giddy and terrifying. She doesn't like poetry, didn't finish high-school, and curses like a trucker, but she goes quiet when she comes apart under Cassie's hands and mouth, back arching, soft lips parted, gasping.
When they talk, there are holes in the conversation that Cassie keeps picking at even though she's not sure she wants to know the answers. Dee's not big on talking, anyway. She likes to drag Cassie out on weekdays when she should be in class, out on the highway in her car, rock music loud on the radio, blowing past the speed limit until the double-yellow is a blur on the pavement ahead of them and Cassie's shrieking laughter like she's a teenager again. And when Dee pulls over on an empty stretch of road and smiles without shadows, Cassie has to drag her in the backseat and kiss her like she can keep them from coming back.
They always do, though, sooner or later.
***
Sam has long, thick hair that she keeps bound back in a neat braid that falls to the middle of her back, and she chews on the end of it sometimes when she's lost in thought. She favors jeans and flats, and she's the first girl Jess has dated who's tall enough to look her square in the eyes.
They meet in freshman seminar and the minute Sam uncoils gracefully out of her seat and holds out a nail-bitten hand, huge smile digging dimples into her cheeks, Jess knows she's fucked. It doesn't help that Sam is smart and funny on top of it. It doesn't help that she's this perfect mystery, this tall, gorgeous girl who showed up out of nowhere with an old army bag of secondhand clothes and a full-ride scholarship.
Becky thinks she's in witness protection. Luis thinks she escaped from some kind of crazy cult. Sam says she has a father, and a sister, and that's all she'll say.
"Deanna," she tells Jess one Halloween, drunker than Jess has ever seen her and edged with dangerous temper. "Dee. Fucking perfect Dee. Dad always--whatever."
She throws her glass into the sink hard enough that it shatters, but she lets Jess manhandle her into bed without protest. That night, she falls asleep curled in on herself, one hand stretched across the mattress like she's reaching for someone who isn't there.
The next morning, Jess gets her a banana and an Aspirin and doesn't ask, because it doesn't matter where Sam comes from or who she used to be. She belongs here, now. With Jess, in this life that they're building together.
Pairing: girl!Dean/Cassie, girl!Sam/Jess
Rating: PG
Warnings: Somewhat angsty.
Summary: Loving a Winchester girl isn't always easy. Two brief fics from the POV's of two women who tried.
A/N: I kind of got a bug in my head about the Winchester girls, so I'm trying to write it out. With femmeslash.
She's dangerously beautiful, wounded-animal eyes and quick clever hands, cracked red nails lined with grease from the old black monster of a car that she calls her baby like it's a real child. She isn't much taller than Cassie but she's solid, strong thighs and round hips and high, full breasts.
Her name is Deanna.
"Dee," she says, and there's just enough knowing in her eyes that Cassie feels heat curl into her belly, that first time.
Dee has rough hands and too many scars and she kisses like she means it, all headlong rushing in that's equal parts giddy and terrifying. She doesn't like poetry, didn't finish high-school, and curses like a trucker, but she goes quiet when she comes apart under Cassie's hands and mouth, back arching, soft lips parted, gasping.
When they talk, there are holes in the conversation that Cassie keeps picking at even though she's not sure she wants to know the answers. Dee's not big on talking, anyway. She likes to drag Cassie out on weekdays when she should be in class, out on the highway in her car, rock music loud on the radio, blowing past the speed limit until the double-yellow is a blur on the pavement ahead of them and Cassie's shrieking laughter like she's a teenager again. And when Dee pulls over on an empty stretch of road and smiles without shadows, Cassie has to drag her in the backseat and kiss her like she can keep them from coming back.
They always do, though, sooner or later.
***
Sam has long, thick hair that she keeps bound back in a neat braid that falls to the middle of her back, and she chews on the end of it sometimes when she's lost in thought. She favors jeans and flats, and she's the first girl Jess has dated who's tall enough to look her square in the eyes.
They meet in freshman seminar and the minute Sam uncoils gracefully out of her seat and holds out a nail-bitten hand, huge smile digging dimples into her cheeks, Jess knows she's fucked. It doesn't help that Sam is smart and funny on top of it. It doesn't help that she's this perfect mystery, this tall, gorgeous girl who showed up out of nowhere with an old army bag of secondhand clothes and a full-ride scholarship.
Becky thinks she's in witness protection. Luis thinks she escaped from some kind of crazy cult. Sam says she has a father, and a sister, and that's all she'll say.
"Deanna," she tells Jess one Halloween, drunker than Jess has ever seen her and edged with dangerous temper. "Dee. Fucking perfect Dee. Dad always--whatever."
She throws her glass into the sink hard enough that it shatters, but she lets Jess manhandle her into bed without protest. That night, she falls asleep curled in on herself, one hand stretched across the mattress like she's reaching for someone who isn't there.
The next morning, Jess gets her a banana and an Aspirin and doesn't ask, because it doesn't matter where Sam comes from or who she used to be. She belongs here, now. With Jess, in this life that they're building together.