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Hustle
I've been looking for an excuse to write Girl!Winchesters for so long, you don't even know.
Hustle
PG | Girl!Team Free Will, preslash Girl!Dean/Girl!Cas | ~1,500 words
The Winchesters are short on money and Castiel is really not helping.
AU: other: Genderbent
Sam will never stop glaring at Ann for wearing this dress, but it gets them both free drinks and she needs to shut the hell up about it.
“What would Mom think, Deanna?” Sam asks, brattily.
“Mom’d be pissed at you bringing her name up for something so petty, Samantha,” Ann snaps, taking a long drink of her beer. She’s really, and sort of irrationally, pissed off at all the fruity, brightly colored drinks littering their table. She’s always astounded at how hard it is to convince people she likes Budweiser.
Sam has her laptop in front of her and her hair and a very respectable ponytail. She’s been giving dirty looks to all the men, and the handful of women, staring at Ann; because somehow she hasn’t figured out yet that saying “I’m not interested” usually translates to “come hither, you unforgivable hunk.”
“What are we even doing here?” Sam asks.
“We need money,” Ann answers. “You know that.”
Sam grumbles, punching her computer keys savagely. Ann sighs, setting her glass down. She hasn’t been able to kick Sam’s protective streak since she came back from Hell, and it’s starting to get on her nerves. Sam’s hand is splayed over the table and Ann rests her hand over it briefly before she goes to find someone to “teach” her how to play pool.
____
Ann wakes up the next morning with her hair still a little sticky because someone’s bitchy and not overly subtle girlfriend poured a drink that smelled like cranberries down Ann’s back when she wasn’t looking. Sam had to hold her back from shoving the heels of her sex shoes up someone’s ass.
And, of course, her fucking dress is ruined. That’s going to but a serious goddamn dent in their income until she can get a new one. The few times she’d tried to hustle pool in her normal clothes, the ones that don’t shove her boobs front and center for everyone to ogle, were disastrous.
Sighing, Ann puts her sticky hair up in a ponytail. She pulls on a pair of jeans and another shirt, since she doesn’t really care enough to put on a bra, but doesn’t feel like having every truck driver with a window staring at her chest.
Ann tickles the bare foot sticking out from under Sam’s blankets on the way out the door, hearing a muffled squeak.
“Be ready by the time I get back,” she snaps.
“Bitch,” Sam says, mildly.
Ann’s scalp is itching from the weight of all her damn hair in this heat. Sometimes she just wants to chop it all off, but then Sam would have to be the sexy one and Ann already knows how well that works out. Her sister’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but she’s also grumpy and wears too much plaid, and if Ann hears one more person call Sammi a dyke she’s going to kill them very slowly.
“Ann,” Castiel says, poofing into the front seat of her car.
“You again?” Ann asks, flipping on the radio. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”
The angel frowns, the expression contrasting oddly with her sweet face. That’s something Ann’s having a hard time getting over, how adorable Castiel is, even though she’s sort of terrifying at the same time. There’s a lot of scary, completely inhuman knowledge in those big, blue eyes.
“My presence causes you suffering?” Castiel asks.
“It’s a figure of speech, Cas, chill.”
Castiel’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t ask Ann to explain the meaning of ‘chill’.
___
Ann’s been looking for a way to shut Castiel up, so the weird thing she has about hamburgers is a godsend, pardon the pun, because not only does she stop talking when Ann hands her a bag full of dollar burgers, she also starts making these happy little food moans that Ann appreciates the hell out of. It doesn’t hurt that, under those terrible Hilary-Clinton-esque clothes, Ann can tell Castiel has a nice body going for her.
“Good?” Ann asks, pulling out of the drive through.
Castiel nods, licking special sauce off her fingers. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Ann says. It’s kind of awesome that Castiel doesn’t have the people skills to tell when she’s being creepy yet.
She’s willing to be that Castiel will fit into her clothes.
“You know how to play pool, Cas?”
___
So, Castiel kind of looks really hot in Ann’s second best dress. Her legs are pale, but long, and her ass is fucking perfect as far as Ann can see, which is quite a bit, because the word mini does not even begin to cover the lack of fabric in that particular dress.
Ann thinks she might have just gained a distraction instead of an ally.
“Wow,” Sam says, staring at Castiel as she goes to attract more drinks, “walking blasphemy.”
“A damn fine one, too,” Ann says.
Sam pulls a bitchface. “Ann. She’s a --”
“I know,” Ann says.
“And it would --
“I know.”
“So don’t --”
“I won’t, Jesus,” Ann says, tipping back her beer. Sam sips at her fruity drink with an expression of distaste. Ann really wishes that was directed towards the drink.
“Why did I walk to the bar, again?” Castiel asks, sitting down at their table.
“Bait,” Ann says. “And when all the boys think we’re drunk, we’re going over there and playing pool.”
“To trick them.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s dishonest,” Castiel frowns. Ann can feel Sam’s smug face from over here.
“Yeah, but...” Ann starts, waiting for Sam to throw her a bone. She doesn’t. So much for bros before hoes, or whatever the hell the sisters and angels equivalent is. “Fine. Don’t help.”
“I won’t,” Castiel says. She eyes Sam’s pinkish cocktail curiously.
Ann feels a growl, deep in her throat, and stands up. Seriously, what is her life, and why didn’t Castiel mention her whole honesty thing before Ann dressed her up and brought her out here? Sam slides her glass over for Castiel to have a sip of, and yeah, that’s it, Ann’s done. She’s way too pissed to fake tipsy while some jackass puts his hands places they’re not supposed to be. She stalks over to the empty pool table in the corner and claims it as her own.
Some guy in the corner gives her the once over and Ann uses her eyes to tell him where her pool cue is going to end up if he gets too close. He calls her a crazy bitch and she smirks, bending her knees and not her waist to pull the triangle from under the table.
“Ann?”
Castiel has this uncanny ability to show up whenever Ann is busy, say trying to find all the goddamn balls because somehow every bar in America is missing the same one.
“What?” Ann snaps, wrist deep in the corner pocket.
“Will you teach me?”
Ann scowls, teasing the eight ball out into the open. “Too late, Cas. And as a mark, I’m way out of your league.”
Castiel does her sad frown. Ann feels like a jackass.
“... You really want to learn how to play?”
“Yes,” Castiel says. Of course she does, Castiel has no sense of irony.
“Fine,” Ann sighs, handing Cas her cue, back end first. “Wait a sec.” She finishes racking the balls and slides the triangle to the center of the table. “You know how to hold this?” Ann asks, tweaking the end of the cue.
Castiel leans forward, draping herself invitingly over the table, the tip of her cue even with the cue-ball. “Like this?”
Ann’s mouth actually sort of waters. She could have made so much money off of this. “Close,” she says, smoothing her hand up Castiel’s back as she corrects her posture.
Hey, no one said she couldn’t enjoy herself.
“Like this,” Ann whispers, straightening the cue. Her hand lingers at Cas’ elbow, moves to the curve of her hip. “Aim with your forward hand; push with the other.”
Ann moves out of the way so Cas can draw back, smooth and steady. The motion is practiced, but the break is all over the place.
“You sure you’ve never played this before?”
“Of course,” Castiel answers, maybe a bit too wide eyed.
~
.
Hustle
PG | Girl!Team Free Will, preslash Girl!Dean/Girl!Cas | ~1,500 words
The Winchesters are short on money and Castiel is really not helping.
AU: other: Genderbent
Sam will never stop glaring at Ann for wearing this dress, but it gets them both free drinks and she needs to shut the hell up about it.
“What would Mom think, Deanna?” Sam asks, brattily.
“Mom’d be pissed at you bringing her name up for something so petty, Samantha,” Ann snaps, taking a long drink of her beer. She’s really, and sort of irrationally, pissed off at all the fruity, brightly colored drinks littering their table. She’s always astounded at how hard it is to convince people she likes Budweiser.
Sam has her laptop in front of her and her hair and a very respectable ponytail. She’s been giving dirty looks to all the men, and the handful of women, staring at Ann; because somehow she hasn’t figured out yet that saying “I’m not interested” usually translates to “come hither, you unforgivable hunk.”
“What are we even doing here?” Sam asks.
“We need money,” Ann answers. “You know that.”
Sam grumbles, punching her computer keys savagely. Ann sighs, setting her glass down. She hasn’t been able to kick Sam’s protective streak since she came back from Hell, and it’s starting to get on her nerves. Sam’s hand is splayed over the table and Ann rests her hand over it briefly before she goes to find someone to “teach” her how to play pool.
____
Ann wakes up the next morning with her hair still a little sticky because someone’s bitchy and not overly subtle girlfriend poured a drink that smelled like cranberries down Ann’s back when she wasn’t looking. Sam had to hold her back from shoving the heels of her sex shoes up someone’s ass.
And, of course, her fucking dress is ruined. That’s going to but a serious goddamn dent in their income until she can get a new one. The few times she’d tried to hustle pool in her normal clothes, the ones that don’t shove her boobs front and center for everyone to ogle, were disastrous.
Sighing, Ann puts her sticky hair up in a ponytail. She pulls on a pair of jeans and another shirt, since she doesn’t really care enough to put on a bra, but doesn’t feel like having every truck driver with a window staring at her chest.
Ann tickles the bare foot sticking out from under Sam’s blankets on the way out the door, hearing a muffled squeak.
“Be ready by the time I get back,” she snaps.
“Bitch,” Sam says, mildly.
Ann’s scalp is itching from the weight of all her damn hair in this heat. Sometimes she just wants to chop it all off, but then Sam would have to be the sexy one and Ann already knows how well that works out. Her sister’s gorgeous, there’s no denying that, but she’s also grumpy and wears too much plaid, and if Ann hears one more person call Sammi a dyke she’s going to kill them very slowly.
“Ann,” Castiel says, poofing into the front seat of her car.
“You again?” Ann asks, flipping on the radio. “Haven’t I suffered enough?”
The angel frowns, the expression contrasting oddly with her sweet face. That’s something Ann’s having a hard time getting over, how adorable Castiel is, even though she’s sort of terrifying at the same time. There’s a lot of scary, completely inhuman knowledge in those big, blue eyes.
“My presence causes you suffering?” Castiel asks.
“It’s a figure of speech, Cas, chill.”
Castiel’s frown deepens, but she doesn’t ask Ann to explain the meaning of ‘chill’.
___
Ann’s been looking for a way to shut Castiel up, so the weird thing she has about hamburgers is a godsend, pardon the pun, because not only does she stop talking when Ann hands her a bag full of dollar burgers, she also starts making these happy little food moans that Ann appreciates the hell out of. It doesn’t hurt that, under those terrible Hilary-Clinton-esque clothes, Ann can tell Castiel has a nice body going for her.
“Good?” Ann asks, pulling out of the drive through.
Castiel nods, licking special sauce off her fingers. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” Ann says. It’s kind of awesome that Castiel doesn’t have the people skills to tell when she’s being creepy yet.
She’s willing to be that Castiel will fit into her clothes.
“You know how to play pool, Cas?”
___
So, Castiel kind of looks really hot in Ann’s second best dress. Her legs are pale, but long, and her ass is fucking perfect as far as Ann can see, which is quite a bit, because the word mini does not even begin to cover the lack of fabric in that particular dress.
Ann thinks she might have just gained a distraction instead of an ally.
“Wow,” Sam says, staring at Castiel as she goes to attract more drinks, “walking blasphemy.”
“A damn fine one, too,” Ann says.
Sam pulls a bitchface. “Ann. She’s a --”
“I know,” Ann says.
“And it would --
“I know.”
“So don’t --”
“I won’t, Jesus,” Ann says, tipping back her beer. Sam sips at her fruity drink with an expression of distaste. Ann really wishes that was directed towards the drink.
“Why did I walk to the bar, again?” Castiel asks, sitting down at their table.
“Bait,” Ann says. “And when all the boys think we’re drunk, we’re going over there and playing pool.”
“To trick them.”
“Yeah.”
“That’s dishonest,” Castiel frowns. Ann can feel Sam’s smug face from over here.
“Yeah, but...” Ann starts, waiting for Sam to throw her a bone. She doesn’t. So much for bros before hoes, or whatever the hell the sisters and angels equivalent is. “Fine. Don’t help.”
“I won’t,” Castiel says. She eyes Sam’s pinkish cocktail curiously.
Ann feels a growl, deep in her throat, and stands up. Seriously, what is her life, and why didn’t Castiel mention her whole honesty thing before Ann dressed her up and brought her out here? Sam slides her glass over for Castiel to have a sip of, and yeah, that’s it, Ann’s done. She’s way too pissed to fake tipsy while some jackass puts his hands places they’re not supposed to be. She stalks over to the empty pool table in the corner and claims it as her own.
Some guy in the corner gives her the once over and Ann uses her eyes to tell him where her pool cue is going to end up if he gets too close. He calls her a crazy bitch and she smirks, bending her knees and not her waist to pull the triangle from under the table.
“Ann?”
Castiel has this uncanny ability to show up whenever Ann is busy, say trying to find all the goddamn balls because somehow every bar in America is missing the same one.
“What?” Ann snaps, wrist deep in the corner pocket.
“Will you teach me?”
Ann scowls, teasing the eight ball out into the open. “Too late, Cas. And as a mark, I’m way out of your league.”
Castiel does her sad frown. Ann feels like a jackass.
“... You really want to learn how to play?”
“Yes,” Castiel says. Of course she does, Castiel has no sense of irony.
“Fine,” Ann sighs, handing Cas her cue, back end first. “Wait a sec.” She finishes racking the balls and slides the triangle to the center of the table. “You know how to hold this?” Ann asks, tweaking the end of the cue.
Castiel leans forward, draping herself invitingly over the table, the tip of her cue even with the cue-ball. “Like this?”
Ann’s mouth actually sort of waters. She could have made so much money off of this. “Close,” she says, smoothing her hand up Castiel’s back as she corrects her posture.
Hey, no one said she couldn’t enjoy herself.
“Like this,” Ann whispers, straightening the cue. Her hand lingers at Cas’ elbow, moves to the curve of her hip. “Aim with your forward hand; push with the other.”
Ann moves out of the way so Cas can draw back, smooth and steady. The motion is practiced, but the break is all over the place.
“You sure you’ve never played this before?”
“Of course,” Castiel answers, maybe a bit too wide eyed.
~
.