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Supernatural Fic: Walked Like a Woman, Talked Like a Man

February 20th, 2008 (09:21 pm)

Title: Walked Like a Woman, Talked Like a Man
Author: ygrawn
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Sam/Dean
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 4, 000~
Summary: It’s just there one morning, when Dean and Sam leave their motel room in search of breakfast.
Author’s Note: Nothing bad happens below. Nothing! I SWEAR.


Dean pretends he doesn’t like it, because he knows that’ll make it easier when they have to get rid of it.

Sam, younger, and infinitely more secure, does not need to hide how much he loves the mangy thing. (It’s not even a mangy thing, but a beautiful dog, which is probably the worst part.) Sam buys it food. Sam pets it. Sam buys a brush to groom it.

Sam – inevitably – gives it a name.

Dean immediately vetoes the name Juniper as too ridiculous beyond anything ever (his exact words may actually include way, fucking, no and Sammy) and decides he had better get things under control.

He decrees that the dog will be known as Baxter.

It takes Sam a good ten minutes to connect the name to the film, and then he attempts to recreate Ron Burgundy’s hilarious meltdown in the phone box until Dean throws the TV remote at his head and the damn dog barks.


It’s just there one morning, when Dean and Sam leave their motel room in search of breakfast. Dean opens the door and stops up short. Sam knocks into him and makes a noise of irritation.

Dean says, “Dog.”

Sam says, “What?”


“Huh.” Sam closes the motel door behind them and twists the handle to check they’ve locked it properly. “Cute dog.”

Dean shakes his head in disgust. “Dude, dogs aren’t supposed to be cute.”

They begin to walk across the parking lot because although there’s a dog they haven’t had breakfast, so priorities. They don’t notice the dog is following them until they reach the Impala.

“Sam, is the dog following us?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Make it stop.”

“Sure Dean, I’ll get right on that.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It doesn’t match your outfit.”

“Don’t be a bitch just because you’re walking upright without caffeine.”

Dean rolls his eyes, shoves his keys in his pocket and walks over to the dog. It doesn’t move, just keeps looking at Dean with a steady brown gaze.

“Go away,” Dean says loudly.

It goes downhill from there.


Dean spends most of the morning attempting to exorcise the dog, convinced it is some kind of evil creature. Sam scratches its belly and agonises in the local supermarket over what dog food to purchase.

The dog sleeps in a patch of sunshine in front of the window while Sam conducts research that is actually related to the case they’re investigating and Dean trawls through Dad’s diary for any mention of chocolate brown Labradors mysteriously showing up and following people around.

The dog begins to howl mournfully when they leave to get dinner. Sam makes the face that Dean can’t say no to, and the damn dog rides in the car with them to the diner and sits out front while they eat. Sam insists on getting a window booth so they can keep an eye on him.

They argue over burgers and some chicken salad thing that Sam orders about what to do with the dog. Sam unfortunately makes the very good point that there’s not much they can do at 7:15 at night, so they’ll have to keep the dog at least until the morning.

It’s a short ride back to the motel and then they have the name conversation and watch some TV and clean their teeth and go to bed, the sameness of the day broken by the dog who watches them quietly from his spot between the beds.

The lights haven’t been out long when something warm and heavy lands on Dean’s chest. He curses and tries to sit up, but the damn dog is too heavy.

“Why me?” he mutters, attempting to shove Baxter off the bed.

Baxter won’t budge any further than a spot beside Dean’s hip though, and he ends up resting his head on Dean’s thigh and making a noise of contentment.

“Because Baxter loves you,” Sam coos, his voice thick with amusement.

“Shut it, Sam.”

“Is there a reason you’re being such an asshat about the dog?”

“Sam, you’re twenty-four, not eight, but here it is: this is not our dog.”


“So, this dog belongs to somebody else. We can’t just keep it.”

“You don’t know that. It doesn’t have a collar and nobody in the motel has come looking for it.”

“Sam, just go to sleep.” Dean elbows Sam. Hard. “And move over.”

“To where, Einstein?” Sam shifts position, rolling over so that he faces Dean.

“We do have two beds, Sam.”

Sam shuffles closer to Dean, pokes Dean in the ribs and half-smiles. He doesn’t say anything because they both know Sam isn’t going to move.

Sam falls asleep quick and easy, and the dog starts to snore.

Dean stares at the ceiling and hates them both.


When he wakes up, someone is licking his hand and someone is kissing his neck.

It takes a moment for Dean’s brain to kick into gear – he wonders if he’s dreaming about that night with those twins from St Louis.

Then he remembers the dog.

Sam keeps pressing his mouth against Dean’s neck, the way he does some mornings when he’s half-asleep and not really paying attention. His hand is solid and warm on the bare skin of Dean’s stomach: Sam must have rucked Dean’s T-shirt up during the night.

Mornings that begin like this usually end with a blow-job, but not today, not with the dog licking Dean’s hand and emitting short desperate whimpers. Clearly, he needs to go outside.

Dean sits up in one swift movement, dislodging both the dog and Sam. The dog scurries for the door while Sam burrows his head under Dean’s pillow.

Baxter has to cross the parking lot to find a group of bushes, and although Dean is freezing his ass off in the doorway, he grudgingly admits that the dog at least has good manners.

When Baxter bounds back towards Dean with his tongue lolling out and his tail going a mile a minute, Dean reaches out to pat the dog without really thinking about it.

Before he knows it, the dog is turning tights circles around Dean’s legs and panting with joy.

Yeah, he’s doomed.


Dean manages to get another thirty minutes of sleep before Sam wakes up enough to do something about their morning erections. Dean goes along with it for a few mindless minutes until the dog jumps up onto the bed.

Dean immediately feels uncomfortable in ways he can’t explain.

“Get off,” he mutters.

“Wha – the dog?” Sam asks, incredulously.

“Shut up.” Dean rolls out of bed and heads for the bathroom.

The dog and Sam follow him, but only Sam gains entrance. Dean starts the shower and gives Sam a look carefully designed to ensure that Sam does not follow him under the showerhead.

Sam ignores him.


“Well, we can’t keep it,” Dean says, rifling through his duffel for clean underwear. “I am not retreating behind a shower curtain every time I want a blow-job.”

Sam throws a pair of clean black boxers at Dean. “Are you suggesting it was a lousy blow-job?”

“Yeah, because I always come my brains out when you give me lousy blow-jobs,” Dean retorts. “Dude, why have you got my clean underwear?”

“Got packed with my stuff by mistake.” Sam sits on the end of the bed to pull his socks on. The ends of his hair are still wet and they drip onto the blue duvet. “Just because you’re freaked out about doing stuff in front of the dog.”

“It’s wrong.” Dean glances at Baxter. “He’s…I’m not into voyeurs.”

“He’s a dog, Dean,” Sam patiently points out.

Dean pulls on a faded Iron Maiden T-Shirt which he doesn’t really like wearing anymore because the band dates him in ways that aren’t cool like his AC/DC T-shirt, but it’s one of the few that is clean.

“We should hand him in to the local pound,” Dean suggests.

“So they can put him down in 30 days?” Sam shakes his head emphatically, sending a fine spray across the room. “No.”

“They do that?” Dean crosses the room to get his leather and his wallet. “After 30 days?”

“The pound isn’t an all-expenses paid resort, Dean. They can’t keep the dogs forever. Maybe the dog will be claimed, maybe a family will adopt him, but if that isn’t the case, they’ll put him down.”

Dean twists his ring around his finger and glances at Baxter again. The dog is waiting by the door, clearly aware that it is time to go and get breakfast for the humans, which means a car ride.

It shouldn’t mean so much to Dean that the dog seems to like riding in the Impala, but it does.


The dog doesn’t seem to have a problem with Sam and Dean’s somewhat itinerant schedule.

Baxter waits patiently outside the local library whilst Sam researches death records. He bounds happily about the cemetery, never straying far from Sam and Dean. When they head over to the local high school to talk to the friends of one of the victims, Baxter is actually an excellent drawcard, setting the young girls at ease and giving Sam and Dean an excuse to talk to them.

He sits between Sam and Dean at the park while they eat meatball subs, and waits patiently for the scraps and leftovers sent his way.

By the time they head back to the motel after dinner, Baxter is asleep in the backseat of the Impala, his head between his paws, his tail tucked around his body, looking as if he’s always been there.

He wakes him as soon as Dean cuts the engine.

Dean tosses Sam their room key and takes Baxter for a quick walk around the block, hoping that will encourage him to do his bathroom business.

It does.

Dean supposes that if he was a vaguely responsible dog owner he’d clean up after Baxter, but the way he figures it, he’s merely a temporary guardian of the dog, not its owner at all.

Sam has loaded the laptop up and is writing down the complex matrix of relationships in this case: there’s a whole raft of cliques and hook-ups over that the high school that appear to be connected to the disappearances of young teenage girls.

Baxter is clearly hungry – he goes straight to the bag of food Sam bought yesterday and waits patiently for somebody with opposable thumbs to help him out.

“You got it?” Sam asks, clearly writing down names and descriptions from memory.


Dean props the door open and leaves a bowl of food just outside in the motel’s walkway, so it doesn’t stink up the room like yesterday. Baxter seems happy to go with the plan: it ends with him getting food.

It is still strange to have Baxter. All evening, Dean and Sam keep checking where he is, looking over at what he’s doing. He’s a dog, so he’s not doing anything particularly earth-shattering, but every time someone looks at him Baxter returns the stare with his intelligent brown eyes.

When they turn the lights out and go to sleep, the dog waits less than a minute before jumping onto the bed, right next to Dean’s shoulder. Dean sits up, eyeballs the dog with a stern glare, and carefully shifts him further down the bed.

Baxter obviously considers his options and decides he’s better off compromising, so he tucks himself into a neat circle, sighs once with a huffing happiness and goes to sleep at Dean’s feet.

“Sucker,” Sam mutters.

Dean pinches a particularly tender patch of skin at Sam’s waist.

Sam gasps. “Fuck.”

Dean chuckles. “Sucker, huh?”

“Well you are,” Sam says, strategically shifting to the furthest edge of the bed. “We’re keeping the dog, right?”

“We’ll see,” Dean answers, going for his best older-brother voice.

“Means yes.”

Sam grabs Dean’s wrist before Dean can go for that same patch of skin. Sam lifts Dean’s hand to his mouth and presses a wet kiss against Dean’s wrist, right on his pulse. “Can we choose a different name for the dog?”

“I can’t…” Dean trails off, his fingers curling into a fist involuntarily. “I can’t think when you do that.”

Sam keeps licking at the inside of his wrist. Dean can feel his pulse jump and jerk. “Kinda the idea.”

“Dude, stop molesting my wrist,” Dean manages, wriggling ungracefully, trying to pull his arm out of Sam’s vice grip.

“Don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Sam blows cool air across the wet patch of skin he’s created. The moonlight hits the curve of his smiling, sinful mouth. “I think Juniper is a fine name.”

“Fucking…Christ, Sammy.”

Sam nips at the fleshy piece of skin beneath at the base of Dean’s thumb. “I am not engaging in sexual intercourse with Christ, you blasphemer.”

“I’m gonna blaspheme you in a minute.” Dean wriggles again. “Juniper is a shitty name, Sam and no amount of hand porn is going to change my mind.”

“No?” Sam licks a long stripe across Dean’s palm. “Wanna bet me?”

“What’s wrong with the name Baxter?”

Sam bites at that spot under Dean’s thumb again. “Have you seen our dog, Dean?”

“He’s not our dog, Sam,” Dean automatically corrects. Even he can hear the thready, desperate tone of his voice. “Sam, just…”

Sam sucks Dean’s forefinger into his mouth.

“God, baby, just…”

They both know it’s good when Dean calls Sam ‘baby’ – it doesn’t happen often because Dean feels self-conscious about it, and Sam doesn’t really like it.

Sam pulls off Dean’s finger with a filthy, obscene pop. “Our dog is an impressive, regal brown Labrador, Dean. We can’t call him Baxter. Nobody will take him seriously.”

Dean is blinking furiously, wondering how he’s never discovered he has a serious finger porn fetish.


“Yeah, I…wait. No, Baxter is a fine name.”

Sam takes two of Dean’s fingers into mouth this time. He hums a little, sucks in his cheeks, and basically makes the connection to a blow-job so obvious that a blind, deaf moron would have a hard-on from the hotness of it all.

“No, if we’re keeping him we’re changing his name,” Sam decrees.

“Fine,” Dean says through gritted teeth. “No girly, loser names.”

“I’ll think on it.”

Sam releases Dean’s hand, rolls onto his stomach, closes his eyes and sighs with satisfaction.

Dean waits a half-beat before saying, “Sam? What…seriously?”

“Mm?” Sam cracks an eye. “Oh, that. You’re the one who won’t have sex in front of the dog, Dean.”

Dean thinks he might just hate the dog after all.

In the morning, after he lets Baxter out, he fucks Sam on the bathroom counter, his fingers in Sam’s mouth the whole time.





“Uh, fuck no.”


“No Presidents, Sam. No Vice-Presidents either. Now, ‘recess’– five letters.”

“Niche,” Sam answers absent-mindedly. “What about Ares?”



“Less boring, but we’re not naming the dog after the King of the Underworld.”


Dean throws his pen at Sam’s head. “You should never be allowed to name anything, ever.”

“What’s wrong with Zeus?”

“Are you kidding me? The dog’s name reflects on us, Sam. People hear we’ve got a dog called Zeus they’ll assume we’re freaks.”

Baxter – they’ve agreed to keep calling him that for the time being – is lying in front of the door, his head between his paws. Every time Dean speaks the dog’s ears prick up. Dean thinks that’s because Baxter has realized that Dean is all that stands between him and a truly terrible name.

“Moses?” Sam offers.

“No Biblical names, or I will throw one at you.” Dean raises an eyebrow. “I am serious, Sam. The name Nimrod is from the Bible. So…just no.”

“You’re hardly falling over yourself to offer suggestions here, Dean.”

Dean looks back down at the crossword. “Because Baxter is a good name. Seven letters – ‘letter’.”

“Epistle,” Sam replies.

Dean fills it in.

“What about Rhys?”

“Where do you get these names from?” Dean asks incredulously. “Rhys? What the fuck?”

“Then you give me a name that’s better than Rhys,” Sam snipes.

“I’ll give you three: Bon, Angus and, I don’t know, Cash.”

It takes Sam a few seconds, but he gets there. “AC/DC? And Johnny Cash? Seriously?”

“Don’t be trashing the Man in Black. And they’re all better names than Rhys. In fact, my vote is for Bon,” Dean decides

“We are not naming our dog after a guy who died of alcoholic poisoning, or whatever the hell it was. It’s not a good omen.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Mm, because the dog clearly has a drinking problem. ‘Bald-headed’ – seven letters.”

“Huh? Oh, tonsure.” Off Dean’s look, Sam adds, “The thing monks have at the back of their head.”

“That’s got a name? Aside from ass-ugly bald spot at the back of a monk’s head?” Dean dutifully writes it down, though: Sam is rarely wrong about these things.

“Well, I’ll think about Cash,” Sam concedes. “What about Scooter?”

“Oh my God, stop talking. Just stop. Now.”


It goes that way all day. Sam suggests bad names; Dean makes noises of pain and keeps gunning for Bon if he can’t have Baxter. Dean has to resort to physical violence when Sam suggests the name Ishmael.

All this between their continuing investigations that are getting them nowhere.

After they get dinner they wander over to the tired-looking bar that uglifies the corner across from their hotel. They leave Baxter near the streetlight. They don’t have a leash yet – or a collar, for that matter – so they’ve been telling Baxter to sit and hoping he doesn’t decide to disappear.

“Max?” Sam offers, as they take a seat the bar.

Dean signals the bartender, holds up two fingers and mouths the word Bud. The bartender sends the bottles sliding down the bar without spilling a drop, a move that’s fairly impressive.

“No,” Dean replies.

A noisy group of middle-aged men enter the bar. Dean and Sam don’t pay them any mind, so they don’t notice Baxter trotting into the bar while the doors are wide open until the dog presses his wet nose into Dean’s palm.

“What the…Baxter!” Dean frowns at the dog.

“That your dog?” the bartender asks from the other end of the bar.

“Uh…yeah, sorry about that.” Dean slides off his stool.

The bartender waves a hand. “Not exactly regulation, but I don’t mind.”

“Oh no, that’s okay, we can…” Dean heads for the door. Baxter stares at Dean. “C’mon, Baxter.”

The dog keeps staring.

“Baxter?” the bartender asks.

“It’s temporary,” Sam insists. “We only got the dog a few days ago – we’re trying to agree on a name.”

“Well that’s good,” the man drawls. “Because Baxter’s kind of a funny name for a girl dog.”

Dean stares at Sam. “I thought you…”

“I thought you checked,” Sam says.

Dean begins to laugh. “Baxter’s a girl?”

“Unless I’ve got my anatomy wrong,” the bartender says.

Sam signals for another round.

Through his own choked laughter, Sam says, “Well, Dean, what do you want to call her? Debbie? Harry? Chrissy?”


They end up staying longer than they should. The case is going nowhere, they’re frustrated, and beer is at hand, so it’s closing time before they realise how long they’ve been propping up the bar with Baxter between them.

They stumble out into the night, glad they’ve only got a short walk to their motel room. The group of middle-aged men stumble out with them, obviously ready to keep their party going.

One of them – he sports a mullet that defies explanation – breaks off from the group, and ambles over towards them, obviously taken by the dog.

He scratches Baxter’s ears. “Aren’t you a pretty girl? What’s her name?”

Apparently everybody but Sam and Dean can tell girls from boys.

“Uh…” Sam flounders. “We’re in discussions.”

The man is drunk enough to nod at what is a nonsensical answer.

“Uh-huh.” He bends over. Baxter tilts his – her – head up and sniffs the man’s fingers. “My very first sweetheart had eyes that brown.”

It seems too obvious for words – and frankly, too clichéd to be believed – but Sam and Dean ask him in unison, “What was her name?”

“Huh? Oh, my first girlfriend.” The man straightens. His friends are calling his name, heading towards their trucks, although none of them should really be driving. “Loretta.”

“Oh,” Sam says with obvious disappointment. Dean’s with him; Loretta is way too trailer trash for their Labrador.

“But I always called her Lola.” The man begins to walk backwards down the sidewalk. “From the Kinks song? ‘She walked like a woman, and talked like a man, oh my Lola, L-O-L-A, Lola’.”

The man’s friends laugh and jeer at the frighteningly off-key singing. Mullet Man shoves at one of them good-naturedly as he climbs into the largest of the trucks. It roars off down the road.

Dean turns to look at Sam. “Well?”

“It’s a little girly, don’t you think?” Sam teases.

“Ha ha.” Dean looks down at the dog. “Lola?” he asks.

The dog licks his hand.

“Lola,” Sam decrees. “C’mon, girl.”


In the morning, Sam lets Lola out. Instead of waiting at the door though, Sam closes it behind the dog and flings himself onto Dean.

Dean, who was half-awake and enjoying the fact that Sam was the one to get his ass out of bed for the dog, yelps in surprise and then tries to cover his unsophisticated reaction with a yawn.

Thankfully, Sam is too busy licking at one of Dean’s nipples to notice.

“Sam, not that I…” Dean can tell his words are coming out bleary. He tries again. “Baxter?”

Sam kisses him. “You mean Lola.”

“Yeah, Lola.”

“She’s fine, Dean.” Sam pulls the covers and Dean’s boxer shorts off in one swift movement. It’s probably more impressive than the move the bartender made with the beer last night.

“But she’s…”

“She’ll wait outside the door.” Sam thumbs the head of Dean’s very interested cock.


“Dean, do you really want to talk about the dog right now?”

Sam doesn’t wait for an answer, but takes all of Dean in his mouth instead. Dean takes a moment to decide he’ll care about the dog later.


Twenty minutes later, Dean untangles himself from the sheets, retrieves his boxer shorts and lets Lola in.

She looks at him like she knows exactly what he’s been doing.

Dean puts a hand on his hip. “Yeah? You want to get fed or not?”

Sam lifts his head. “Dean? Are you talking to the dog?”

“Uh, no.”

Sam laughs. On his way to retrieve the dog food Dean slaps his brother on the ass. Hard.

“Promises, promises,” Sam says, rolling onto his back.

Dean puts the dog’s food out. “Get up, go shower or something, would you? There’s a lady present.”

“Who knew blow-jobs emasculated you, Dean? Besides, that lady likes me.” Sam hightails it to the bathroom, receiving another tap on the ass as he goes.

Dean sits on the end of the bed and stretches his arms above his head. Lola finishes eating and pads towards the bed. She seats herself between Dean’s splayed legs.

Dean reaches out automatically and rubs at her flanks. “It’s alright, Lola-girl. I know you really like me best.”

Lola lifts up on her hind legs and rests her forepaws against Dean’s chest. She licks his chin.

“Yeah.” Dean presses his nose against her left ear. “Yeah.” He pushes her down, but keeps petting her, scratching her ears, stroking her jaw. “You’re a good girl.”

Sam comes bursting out of the bathroom, the shower still running behind him, water flying everywhere.

“Damn it, Dean. They all tried out for the cheer squad. All the victims. And they all died after home games.”

It takes Dean half a second before he realises that Sam has solved the case. “Oh, of course. Someone’s been putting hexes on them.”

Sam stands there, too pleased by half, he and Dean grinning at each other.

Lola just stares at them like they’re crazy.



Page 1 of 5[1][2][3][4][5]
Posted by: Remus Buttplug Face (lazy_daze)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 12:24 pm (UTC)
spn sam omg! yay!

EEEEEEEEEEEE. That was way too adorable. <3 <3

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:53 am (UTC)

Ha ha - thanks!

Posted by: Greta (gretazreta)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 01:23 pm (UTC)

Okay so, this was so cute and I loved it and DOG! etc.
But what I really really think you nailed here is the character of Dean, in particular. Somehow you caught the generosity and cool versus the slight prissiness (somehow "bathroom business" seemed totally like a Dean inner monologue, and not being able to have sex in front of the dog... right on the BUTTON) and also Sam and Dean with their bickering about names, and angst-free cameraderie, and brotherliness. Also hotness, yessss.

and... DOG! They so deserve a dog, after everything they've been through!

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:54 am (UTC)

Thanks so much - I really think Dean would be that prudish about doing something in front of the dog!

Let's start a petition about getting a dog for the boys, okay?!

(Deleted comment)
Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:55 am (UTC)

I really loved writing Dean's "pretend" reluctance over the dog, when you, me, Sam, the dog, and everybody else knows that they're gonna keep the dog.

Thanks so much!

Posted by: The Fancatus Bureau of Incest (balefully)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 02:22 pm (UTC)
(wbrps) i really needed to add muscle

Adorable! There seriously need to be more doggy fics in the world, and this one was just lovely. <333! And Lola is seriously a PERFECT name. :D!

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:56 am (UTC)

*dies* LOOOOOOVE your icon.

I'd never written a animal into a fic before - it was a hell of a lot of fun. And I agonised over the name, but I think it fits.

Thanks for reading!

Posted by: girlguidejones (girlguidejones)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 06:35 pm (UTC)
Winchester 08

I love it...especially that the random mullet-guy was also a connoisseur of classic rock. Perfect!


Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:57 am (UTC)

I know, I think random mullet-guy should be a reoccuring character in all my fics!

Thanks, as always!

Posted by: like a motherfucking stoner praetorius (stephanometra)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 09:28 pm (UTC)

I am grinning so hard right now.

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:57 am (UTC)


God knows it was time I wrote happy fic!

Posted by: like a motherfucking stoner praetorius (stephanometra)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 08:02 am (UTC)

Posted by: ღི♥ྀღ (aoibhe)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 11:30 pm (UTC)
[spn]; and the band played on

fdjkghksjhbg adorable! Am giggling and flailing and LOVE. THIS. ♥

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:58 am (UTC)

Yay! I got flailing! Thank you - glad you enjoyed it.

Posted by: i can feel the weather in my bones (causeways)
Posted at: February 20th, 2008 11:51 pm (UTC)

That was so very cute.

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:58 am (UTC)

I worried it was too cute, and then I figured it makes up for all the doom-and-gloom and angsty fics I've written.

I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Posted by: oxoniensis (oxoniensis)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 12:21 am (UTC)
fandom: spn it's what we do

That's put a huge, happy grin on my face - loved it!

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:59 am (UTC)

I'm glad - this fic was all about making people happy!

Posted by: the one with that girl i knew (pocketfullof)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 12:30 am (UTC)

Darling and funny! :D

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:59 am (UTC)

Thanks so much!

Posted by: :insert witty name here: (popmusicjunkie)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 03:07 am (UTC)

So damn cute.

Posted by: goldenseal (goldenseal)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 04:56 am (UTC)

This story made me want to cover myself in honey and roll in a vat of sparkles!
Exactly what I needed :D

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 07:59 am (UTC)

Yay for sparkles! Thanks so much!

Posted by: your favorite! (untitleddemo)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 09:20 am (UTC)
SPN: winchester- to sam with love

Soooooo, ygrawn. When ya gonna let me take your fics out on a date? I'll take them someplace real nice and I promise only moderate minimal groping and definitely a phone call the next day.


I think your characterization here is totally amazing and I can picture it just right in my head. I had so much fun with this and your banter between the boys made me grin. I love the way Sam agonizes over which brand of food, and Dean with his muttering and grumping about (but he'd never deny Sam and his own puppy dog eyes). Dean's shame over having sex in front of the dog made me smile and nod and the finger porn made me happy with the hot. The bit with the list of names was brilliant and I loved Sam throwing down the smart in between the dolt names he was coming up with. And yeah, Lola, that feels just right. Boys! Doggy! Boys!


I swear, you should see the happy dance I do whenever you post. I just love reading you so much. Whether it's fic or entries about you. More ygrawn posts, more! *bangs spoon*

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 25th, 2008 08:25 am (UTC)

Stop - I'm blushing.

I'm all happy dance and clappy hands and twirly about you too, madam!

And if you promise to have my stories home by midnight, you can take him out any time you like.

I love writing this so damn much. It was nice to be all optimistic and sparkly and happy Ygrawn, instead of Queen of Doom and Sadness.

Posted by: Amalthia (amothea)
Posted at: February 21st, 2008 08:55 pm (UTC)

I had a blast reading your story. :)

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 25th, 2008 08:25 am (UTC)

Thanks - I had a blast writing it!

Posted by: abi z (azephirin)
Posted at: February 22nd, 2008 04:22 am (UTC)
sam and dean

Aw! This is adorable! Lola, honey, they are crazy, but you should stick with them anyway. :)

And the handporn. WELL. The story was all funny, banter, cute dog, and then suddenly HELLO HOTNESS.

Posted by: ygrawn (ygrawn)
Posted at: February 25th, 2008 08:26 am (UTC)

I know, the handporn surprised me too. I thought I was writing a G-rated story about a cute dog and then, as you say HELLO HOTNESS.


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