#:) i am unwell over this line of thinking | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bruisedboys · 2 years

Text

dead wrong — steve harrington x reader

summary: steve harrington is down horrendous for you, his best friend. his love is not as unrequited as he thinks.

contains: best friends to lovers, mutual pining (but mostly steve pining), steve’s pov, fluff galore, idiots in love, reader is good with the kids, reader is a skater like max, reader hurts her wrist and steve is a worried lovesick idiot. cw! descriptions of wounds/blood, mentions of hospital, reader wears steve’s clothes. she/her pronouns used.

a/n: first long fic yay!! I am extremely proud of this so pls love it 🤍

fem!reader 5.3k words

gif by @barneswayne

Steve Harrington is totally, most definitely, not in love with you. Just friends, he thinks, best friends. Best friends who hold hands and sit far too close together.

Speaking of, you push further into Steve’s side, your scent washing over him. Your hand squeezes Steve’s, and he thinks, never mind. Maybe he is in love with you. So in love with you it fucking hurts.

A chorus of shouts erupts around him. You and Steve are watching Eddie, Robin and the kids play beer bong, only without the beer. It’s soda. Dustin starts doing a stupid victory dance while half of his peers laugh and the others cringe. Steve cringes. You laugh. All high and lilting and adorable. Steve has to remind himself to breathe.

He brings your joint hands to rest on his knee. Your rings push into his skin, almost like harsh reminders that he can’t hold you like he wants to. He frowns.

“Steve?” Your voice brings Steve out of his thoughts like it always does. You give his hand a shake. “You okay?”

Steve looks up and prays you can’t see the hopeless devotion in his eyes. You’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, with your messy hair and your eyes lined with glitter. Rosy cheeks, glossy pink lips that he stares a beat too long at. He’s known you for years, and yet he’s never gonna get used to how gorgeous you are. He swallows, forces his eyes up to yours.

“I’m okay,” he says, though he’s really not. He never is, because you never won’t look like that. “Are you?”

There’s another explosion of noise from the soda-pong players, but you don’t seem to notice. You frown like you don’t believe him. He’s being too obvious, he knows.

“Yeah, I’m good. Are you sure, Steve?” You stretch your free hand across your torso to touch his face. Steve heats like an oven under your hand as you press your palm to his forehead. “You’re not feeling sick, are you? You feel sort of hot.”

Steve grabs your wrist, harder than he means to. He loosens his grip guiltily when you give him an alarmed look.

“Sorry,” he says quickly, lowering your hand gently. He can feel your pulse, only just, underneath his fingers. It’s damn sure slower than his. “I— uh, no. I’m not feeling unwell. It is pretty hot in here though.”

A total lie. The only reason he’s burning up is you.

Your frown deepens, a push of your bottom lip that makes Steve want to kiss you. It’s such an overwhelming feeling that he has to blink multiple times to make it go away.

“Oh,” you say. You look around the room and then back at Steve. “Do you want to go outside?”

Steve has a bit of a dilemma. If he says yes, he’ll be alone with you. He can’t tell if that’s a good or bad thing. If he says no, he’ll have to stay in this stuffy room with yelling teenagers and ping pong balls flying at him every five seconds. He decides on the first option.

“Sure,” he says as nonchalantly as he can. Then, to make you laugh, “Smells like boy in here anyway.”

You giggle. Steve feels like copying Dustin’s lame victory dance.

“You’re a boy, Stevie,” you say teasingly.

He wrinkles his nose at you. “No, I know, but it’s like … adolescent boy.”

You laugh loud, your mouth pulled up in a staggering smile. “Oh, okay,” you say, as if anything he just said made any sense.

Steve is starstruck for a second before you’re pulling him up from his seat, your hand in his a familiar, heart-aching weight.

Steve finds himself sitting side by side with you on the hood of his car. He can’t exactly remember how he got here — on the way, all he could think about was your hand in his and the fact that your thumb kept brushing over his knuckles in very distinct lines. Whether you’d meant to or not, he doesn’t know. He hopes you did.

“Any better?” You ask quietly, stretching your pinky across the small gap between your hands to tap his.

Steve feels something like an electric shock where your skin touches his. It baffles him, how such a tiny touch can cause such a big reaction throughout his body. He stares at your hand when he answers.

“Much,” he says honestly. He looks up at you. “You didn’t have to come with me, you know. You can go back in if you want.”

Secretly he hopes you’ll stay here with him forever. But that would be selfish, and if Steve is anything when he’s with you, it’s not selfish.

“Eurgh, no.” You pull a disgusted sort of face that makes Steve grin. “I could barely stand it when you were there. Without you, I think I’d die from the smell alone.”

Steve laughs. Really laughs. The words without you, I think I’d die, float around his brain like fish in a fish tank. When he’s done laughing he catches your smile, all pretty and wide, and his heart does one of those funny backflips that he’s never gonna get used to.

Steve watches as you brace your hands on the edge of the car and push yourself up the hood, pulling your shoes up to rest on the metal. Your skirt is short enough that Steve can see half of your thighs, more when you shift yourself like that. He stares for two seconds too long and then feels so guilty he almost apologises.

Instead, he says, “Aren’t you cold?” He points at your skirt but doesn’t look.

You shrug. “No, not really.”

With a sigh you let yourself fall back against the hood of the car. Your skirt rises even more and a half inch more of your skin is exposed — Steve feels like the universe is out to get him. His only escape is to fall back next to you, his right shoulder brushing your left one. You smile when he does, head rolling to the side to look at him. Face to face now, Steve can feel every small breath coming from your parted lips.

“See any stars?” He blurts, because your face is much too close and he’s scared if you look at him like that any longer, he’ll kiss you stupid.

You look up at the dark, empty sky and wrinkle your nose. “No.”

“Wait, look, there’s one.” Steve lifts his arm to point at what he thinks is a star.

You squint in its direction. “That’s a plane.”

“What? No it’s— oh.” He trails off when he realises the ‘star’ is moving. It disappears behind a cloud a second later.

You laugh, breathless and pretty, and drop your head onto Steve’s shoulder. Your perfume fills the air around Steve and he has to stop himself from leaning closer. You bring a hand up to fiddle with your necklace, a cheap, plastic ‘S’ charm that sits directly on your sternum. The fake diamonds are falling off, half of them gone already, but you’ve refused to take it off after all these years. Steve has one of your initial, too. You got them from a dollar store when you were twelve and pinky promised to be best friends forever.

You slip your necklace safely beneath your top and then stifle a yawn behind your hand.

Steve gives your elbow a nudge. “Tired?”

You shrug one shoulder and then droop further into Steve’s side. Every point of contact between you burns.

“You’re tired,” Steve says matter-of-factly.

You make a noise that’s probably meant to be a sound of protest but comes out more like a tired moan. Steve chuckles lightly, reaches over and rubs your arm.

“Alright, sweet girl. Let’s go home.”

‘Home’ really means Steve’s house, because you’ve left your car there and because you’re over so much it’s become your second home. By the time Steve is pulling up the driveway, you’re so dead beat he doesn’t even consider letting you drive yourself home. You practically hang off his waist as he walks you both inside.

“M’tired,” you mumble as you pass the living room.

Steve has to bite back a laugh. “Uh-huh, I can tell.”

You look up at him and squint like you know he’s laughing at you. Then you say, “Can I sleep in your bed?”

Steve’s heart skips. Sure, you’ve slept in his bed before, but every time you have Steve lay awake for at least half the night. He’s not above admitting that he’s watched you sleep more than once. He’s seconds away from telling you to take the guest bedroom when you pout dramatically.

“Please? You’re so warm.” You push into his side, your arm tightening around his waist like you don’t ever want to let go.

Steve hates himself for nodding, but he can’t help it. “Yeah, okay.”

He drags you up the stairs and into his room. Your makeup and stray jewellery is strewn across his dresser — you’d gotten ready at Steve’s before the party. If you could even call it that, Steve thinks. He plants you on his bed and you fall back immediately, eyes shut tight as your hair splays across the sheets.

“You’re like a zombie,” Steve says amusedly, his gaze all fond and mushy as he looks down at you. “From like, Day of the Dead or something.”

You pull a face, faux offended but your big grin gives you away. “Ew. I’m not that ugly, am I?”

Steve hums long and high like he’s thinking about it. This makes you gasp and throw a hand to your chest like he’s wounded you. Before Steve can get half a laugh out a pillow is hitting him straight across the face.

“Hey!” He exclaims, glaring at you. You’re still lying down, eyes screwed tight like you’re pretending you didn’t just brutally attack Steve. He laughs because you’re fucking adorable. “Zombies don’t throw pillows, Y/N.”

Your words are plagued by a yawn as you say, “This one does.”

Steve sighs at your antics, picks up your murder weapon (his pillow) and replaces it on the bed.

“Oh no,” you groan suddenly, like you’ve remembered something awful, hands flying to your face in despair. “My makeup, Stevie. M’too tired to take it off.”

Your words stick to each other like taffy in your tired state. Steve remembers the last time he let you sleep in your makeup. He didn’t hear the end of it for days. He’d rather avoid your wrath this time round.

Steve sighs, knowing full well he’s about to put his foot in it. “Well, will you let me do it?”

You open one eye blearily and look at him. “Would you?”

Steve shrugs, though the thought of being that close to you makes him feel nauseous. Luckily, you’ve closed both eyes again so he can blush all he wants. Plus, he’d do anything for you. Even endure the overwhelming urge to kiss you breathless.

“Sure thing, babe. I’ll get the stuff.”

Steve ends up sitting on his bed with you across from him, crossed legs pressing up against his. You’re sitting so close you’re almost in his lap. He ignores this for the sake of his dignity.

You’ve got your eyes shut and your hair up in a clip. A lock of hair has tumbled out of its knot and Steve pushes it away from your face, fingers hooking behind your ear and lingering. He keeps his hand on your jaw as he raises his other hand, a wet cloth ready to clean your sparkly makeup off.

“You sure about this?” He asks hesitantly. He’s dead terrified he’ll do something wrong, like get glitter in your eye.

You smile softly, your eyes staying firmly shut. “Yes, Steve, it’s fine.” Your tone is half reassuring and half exasperated.

Steve bites the bullet and goes right in, pressing the wet cloth to your cheekbones first. You’ve got blush and glitter there, sprinkled on your cheeks like fairy dust. He smooths the cloth along your skin and it comes away sparkly and pink.

“Okay?” He asks, pausing worriedly.

You nod slowly, your head starting to droop in his hand. “Yeah, Steve.”

Steve grins fondly at your face, screwed up in exhaustion. He tightens his grip on your jaw to keep your head steady, thumb hooked under your chin. Carefully, he begins to dab at your eyelids, also painted with silvery glittery eyeshadow.

Your face dewy and makeup-free, Steve thinks you’ve never looked prettier. So pretty it drives him mad. He stares, really stares, for far too long but he’s worried if he opens his mouth, breaks the silence, he’ll never get to see you like this again. Your hair all messy pretty, your eyes shut and eyelashes kissing, your pink lips turned in a half smile.

He’s not surprised when your soft voice drifts into his thoughts.

“You done?” You open your eyes, eyelids heavy and head heavier.

Steve snaps out of it. He lets go of your face quickly, slides off the bed even quicker.

“All done,” he says, almost tripping over his own feet.

You smile, seemingly oblivious to his clumsiness. Or maybe, it’s just happened so often that you’re not surprised. Either way, your smile is sickeningly sweet. Steve is torn between the desire to kiss you or run as far away as possible from you.

Your voice matches your honey-smile when you say, “Thank you, Stevie.”

You reach out to touch his forearm, your hand a heavy weight on his skin as you wrap your fingers around his arm and squeeze.

He grins lopsidedly, and he’s sure he looks like a lovesick idiot but he can’t find it in himself to care. “You’re welcome.”

You drop your hand and Steve’s arm suddenly feels cold as ice. He wants to touch you again but knows he shouldn’t. He strides to his bedroom door and pauses to turn and look at you.

“I’m gonna get you a glass of water,” he says. Your eyelids are drooping again. He laughs fondly. “Get in bed while I’m gone, zombie-girl.”

Your giggle follows him all the way to the kitchen.

When Steve gets back, a glass of water in each hand, you’re still as a statue on your self-appointed side of the bed. You’ve swapped your outfit for a grey t-shirt that you totally stole from him but deny every time he asks about it, and the shortest shorts known to mankind.

He switches off the light and shuts the door with his heel. Pointedly avoiding looking at your bare legs, he rounds the bed and sets the water down, then bends over you.

“Y/N?” He whispers.

You hum softly, though Steve can’t tell if it’s a hum of acknowledgement or just a sound you’ve made in your sleep. He leans closer, listening to your breathing. You’re awake, only just.

He brushes his hand over your upper arm, touch as light as a feather. He thinks he feels goosebumps on your skin but doesn’t have time to wonder why. You’re lifting your chin slightly, lips parted.

“Goodnight, Stevie,” you whisper, so quiet he barely hears you. Steve’s heart swells. “Thanks for … everything.”

A few moments later you fall silent and your breathing grows steady, and Steve wonders how the hell you always fall asleep so fast.

He rubs your arm, kisses your forehead because he knows you won’t remember this part. His lips buzz as he pulls away. “Goodnight, sweet thing.”

You’re outside Family Video. Steve emerges from the back room and spots you so fast it’s like he’s got a third eye. He’s both shocked and pleased — he hadn’t expected to see you until after his shift.

You’ve got the kids with you. You and Max are zooming around the carpark on your skateboards while Dustin and Lucas are poised on the hood of your car, poring over comics.

He watches you skate with Max. Like some lame rom-com cliche, your hair is blowing in the wind and Steve swears you’ve moving in slow motion. You’re laughing and joking with Max and Steve stares and stares. Stares until Robin sidles up next to him.

“What’re you— oh.” Steve can hear the smirk in her voice even though he refuses to look at her. “What’re they doing here?”

Steve shrugs and makes an ‘I don’t know’ sound, moving to the counter to put down the box of videos he’s carrying. Robin follows.

“You’re not gonna go say hi to Y/N?” Robin asks slyly. Steve can hear in her voice what’s coming. “You’ve been staring long enough.”

Steve blushes furiously despite himself. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Oh, sure.” Robin hoists herself onto the counter, peers into the box of videos and picks one out at random. “Just like you weren’t holding her hand on Tuesday night?”

Steve can’t exactly get himself out of that one. He snatches the video from Robin with an annoyed tsk, slotting it back into the box. Her laugh is devilish.

“You are hopeless, Steven,” she says, whacking Steve over the head as she hops off the counter.

Steve rubs his head and glares at Robin. If looks could kill she’d be dead meat. “That’s not my name.”

Robin gets this look on her face that Steve knows all too well. He wants to pummel her before she’s even said anything.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, all sarcasm. “What is it, then? Stevie?”

Steve’s blood boils. Only you’re allowed to call him that.

“Y’know what, Robin?” He says loudly. He turns on his coworker, seething. She’s totally nonchalant, a stupid smirk on her lips. “Why don’t you just leave me—?”

“Steve!”

A shout of his name from the door. He turns and finds Lucas standing there, looking panicked.

Steve’s brow furrows. Then he notices you and Max are no longer whizzing around the carpark. “What—“

“Y/N fell,” Lucas says, out of breath. “We think she hurt her wrist.”

Steve’s heart drops. “Shit.”

He goes flying out the door and into the parking lot. You’re sitting on the concrete, one knee pulled up to your chest, your skateboard dormant next to you. Max is kneeling over you, and Dustin has graciously abandoned his comics for your sake.

“Y/N!” He damn near shouts. He runs over to you and Max and gets on his knees. He’s probably just ruined his jeans on the concrete — he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“Y/N,” he says frantically, a tentative hand landing on your shoulder. Both your knees are scraped something awful and a nasty gash blooms on the outside of your wrist. Steve’s worry is loud and his heartbeat twice as much. “Y/N, are you okay? What happened? What’s—“

You look up. Your eyes are shining but you’ve got a dopey smile on your lips.

“Steve,” you say breathlessly. You blink and a tear falls from your eye and over the bump of your cheek. “Hi. Good to see you.”

Steve stares at you in horror. How can you be making jokes at a time like this? You laugh wetly and Steve looks at Max, totally alarmed.

“What happened?” He demands.

Max is much calmer than he is. “She went over a bump or something,” she says. She’s rubbing your back and Steve feels a rush of gratitude for the younger girl. “Fell on her left arm. Her wrist might be sprained or broken, but—“

“Broken?” Steve repeats. He’s pretty sure his soul just left his body.

“I said might,” Max says through her teeth.

“Y/N?” Steve slides his arm around your shoulder, carefully avoiding your left wrist, which you're cradling in your uninjured hand. “Y/N, baby, can you get up?”

You make a noise like a scoff but it’s muffled by your sniffly nose. “‘Course I can.”

Steve helps you anyway, Max on your other side keeping a firm hold on your jacket. You hiss as you straighten your legs, knee-wounds sprouting fresh blood. Steve bites down on his lip so hard he almost bleeds himself.

“Are you gonna take her to the hospital?” Max asks. There’s genuine worry in her eyes that Steve barely sees. Dustin, Lucas and Robin appear, looking equally worried.

Steve puts on a brave face. “Think so. What do you think?” He asks Max. “You’re the skateboard expert.”

She grins so quick Steve almost misses it. It disappears when she looks at you in your bloody and bruised state. “Yeah. Just in case.”

Steve walks you over to your car, half dragging you. Not that you need him to, he just can’t bear for you to hurt any more than you already are. He deposits you in the passenger seat, ducks his head in to pull your seatbelt across your torso. He’s seconds from ducking back out when you stop him, your uninjured hand on his chest, right over his racing heart.

“It hurts,” you say, quiet enough that only Steve can hear. Your eyes are welling up again. Steve feels like crying himself.

“I know,” he says, nodding vigorously like it will make a difference. “I know, sweet girl. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be okay.”

At this point he’s talking to himself as well as you. You nod in an exhausted sort of way and Steve presses a kiss to your cheek. Slow and soft and as close to your lips as he’s ever kissed. He has to take a few seconds to compose himself before straightening up and turning to the others.

“I gotta take her,” he says, sending an apologetic grimace in Robin’s direction.

Robin nods once and surprisingly, doesn’t say a word. She looks about as sympathetic as Steve has ever seen her. He turns to the kids.

“Help Robin,” he says. He’s trying desperately to make his voice sound normal but falling short of the mark. Everyone notices but nobody comments. “Don’t mess up the store.”

He gives a grateful smile to Max and then rounds the car, hopping in and starting the engine.

You’re half asleep on Steve’s couch, your head in his lap. You’re wearing his yellow sweater — the one he bought only because you’d said he’d look good in yellow. You’ve just woken up from a post-hospital nap and Steve’s hand is in your hair, brushing slow strokes over the side of your head.

He’s feeling a lot of things. Relieved, for starters. The doctor had said it was only a sprain, they’d bandaged up your wrist and you’d left the hospital in far better conditions. Steve was in far better conditions, too.

Steve looks down at you, at your bandaged wrist and the huge bandaids on your knees and thinks, fuck. He thinks his heart is about to claw its way out of his chest. He doesn’t think he can take this love thing any longer.

You stir and take a long breath, turning your head in Steve’s lap to look up at him. Your eyes are tired but you’re smiling.

“You okay?” Steve asks softly. He doesn’t want to break the silence. It feels good, to sit in silence and comfort with you. He runs his fingers through your hair again.

You nod. “Mhm. I’m good.”

“Hurting?”

You shift in his lap. “No, not right now.”

You fall silent and Steve doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell you how worried he was about you, but you could probably tell. Anyone with a pair of eyes could tell he was nauseous-level worried. Then he thinks about telling you he loves you. It’s a stupid reason, really, but it was all because a nurse had asked if he was your boyfriend. He’d wished he could say yes.

“Steve?”

Steve hums and meets your eyes. You move to sit up and Steve helps you, knowing you won’t let him stop you. A firm hand between your shoulder blades, his palm sliding down your back as you straighten yourself. You shift so you’re facing him, your legs crossed beneath you and your injured wrist resting in your lap. Steve is careful to avoid your wounded knees.

“What is it, babe?” Steve asks quietly. He brings his hand up to caress your cheek, dragging his thumb over a spot where your tears had smudged your mascara earlier.

You melt into his hand, eyes falling shut as a long, deep sigh falls from your lips. You raise your good hand to cover his, holding it to your face. Your hand burns stars onto the back of his.

“Is it your wrist?” Steve asks. You’re acting strange. He puts it down to your injured state. “Your knees? Do you want more ice? New band-aids?”

He’s being a total worrywart, he knows, but who can blame him?

You shake your head, eyes open but cast down. “No.”

“Just feeling bad?” He asks through a frown. In a strange parallel to a couple of days ago, he lifts his free hand to press his palm to your forehead. You feel warm but not hot.

“It’s …” you start, then trail off. Both yours and Steve’s hands fall to your lap.

Steve’s concern spikes. You’ve never been one to hide anything from him. “Yeah?”

“Um, it’s … it’s silly but—“ You take a deep breath and let your eyes raise to Steve’s. You get a look on your face Steve doesn’t quite understand, but it makes his heart leap to his throat anyway. “You know today, when that nurse asked us if you were my boyfriend?”

Steve laughs embarrassedly, too loud and too sudden. So you’d been thinking about that, too. He pulls his hand away from your lap and rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah, that was kinda weird, wasn’t it?” He says, though it wasn’t really. Almost every new person he meets thinks you’re dating him. “I was—”

“I wanted to say yes, Stevie.”

Steve stops talking abruptly, his mouth slamming shut. He hadn’t really known what he was about to say, anyway. He searches for words but all he comes up with is a garbled, “What?”

You laugh, all soft and slow and distorted by fatigue. You raise your hand to rub your neck, a mirror of Steve only a moment ago.

“I wanted to say yes,” you repeat, like it’s obvious. Even the second time, Steve doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. His chest feels like it’s on fire, worse when you say, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

For once in his life, Steve has nothing to say. He gazes at you like you’re some sort of angel on earth. Maybe he’s dreaming. Maybe he’s in some cruel dream and he’s about to wake up with his chest aching.

“I …” Steve‘s voice catches on the words. His throat burns so he mustn’t be dreaming. He tries again. “Y-You … you do?”

He’s not even embarrassed by the stuttering. Just when he didn’t think he could be any more in love with you, you giggle. He was dead wrong. His heart grows about three sizes too big for his chest.

“Yeah, Steve,” you say, fondness smothering your fake exasperation. “Do you … do you want me to be your girlfriend?”

What Steve wants is to kiss you. He wants to kiss you til you can’t breathe and then some more after that. Silently, he takes your injured wrist in his hand and gently shifts it so it’s out of the way, resting on the couch cushions. Then he grabs your face, fingers splayed over your jaw and neck. He can feel your pulse. It’s almost as quick as his. He leans so close he can hear every breath you’re taking.

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he whispers, his lips ghosting over yours. “That okay?”

You laugh a giddy, breathless laugh, surprised at his suddenness. “Please do.”

He slams his eyes shut, darts forward to kiss you and fucking misses. Your noses bump. A surprised giggle bubbles from you and Steve goes red.

“Wait, I’m sorry—“ He tries again, tilting your head to one side and angling his head to the other. This time it works perfectly, and your giggling is swallowed up by Steve’s mouth, lips fitting together like they were made for each other.

You sigh and go all melty and Steve’s heart skyrockets. It feels like everything in the world is falling into place. It’s years of longing, eternities of lingering touches and offhand compliments and longing glances all rolled into one life changing kiss. Your good hand has jumped to Steve’s chest, first bunched in the material of his t-shirt and then spreading over it, palm atop his wild heart. He thinks he might die on the spot. Or like, catch on fire or something.

Steve is losing breath but he won’t stop just yet. He drops his hands to your shoulders and pulls away a hair’s breadth. Then he dives back in for one, two, three kisses that you respond to with all the eagerness in the world. Your kisses are so lovely they make him light-headed.

When Steve pulls away (for oxygen, nothing less) you chase his lips with yours. He laughs, all fondness. He’s dizzy with love.

“Woah, hold your horses, cowboy,” he says through a woozy laugh. He’s finding it hard to speak. He barely hears himself. For all he knows, he’s talking in an alien language.

“Sorry,” you whisper, not sounding very sorry at all. “So … was that a yes?”

Steve has to laugh. He can’t help it. “Are you kidding? Yes, Y/N. That was a yes. I—“

He’s rudely interrupted by someone banging on the door. He thinks he knows who it is. Only one person he knows knocks that hard.

He sighs morosely but he can’t keep the grin off his face for very long. “I’ll get it.”

He heaves himself off the couch and makes for the front door. You stop him before he gets very far, a hand in his bicep.

“Wait, Steve.”

Steve turns, puzzled. “Yeah?”

You’re lifting your chin up, lips parted. Steve knows exactly what you want.

His grin grows impossibly wider as he bends at the waist to kiss you once, chaste and slow and just as perfect as the kisses shared moments ago. When he pulls away you’re smiling so big he’s worried you’ll get stuck like that forever. He wouldn’t mind.

Another round of banging from the door. Steve sighs, squeezes your good shoulder once and then marches to the front door, just about ready to kick the intruder off his front porch. He opens the door and finds his suspicions were correct. It’s Dustin.

He’s holding a handful of flowers that look suspiciously similar to the ones that grow in Steve’s mom’s garden.

“Those for me?” Steve asks. He shoots his arm out to stop Dustin from barging in, hand gripping the door frame.

Dustin pulls a face. “Ew. No, they’re for Y/N.” He steps aside and more kids appear, plus Robin and Eddie. Eddie’s van has been parked haphazardly in Steve’s driveway. “Can we come in or are you gonna stand there and guard the door like that all night?”

“She’s tired.”

“But we bought chocolates.”

“Well—“

“Dustin?” You call from the living room. Oh, great. Now Steve’s gonna have to let them in. “S’that you?”

Dustin beams and gives Steve an expectant look. Steve drops his arm with a defeated sigh and Dustin goes marching in like he owns the place. Max, Lucas and even Mike follow. Mike, who never shows up to anything. Though Steve shouldn’t be surprised. You’re Mike’s favourite, out of the older ones.

Eddie comes next, then Robin, who stops to give Steve a grimace.

“Sorry,” she says wryly. “They really wanted to see her.”

Steve shrugs good-naturedly. He’s on cloud nine and much too happy to care all that much. He follows Robin into the living room and finds everyone crowded around you, Max on your side and Dustin getting down on one knee to present you the probably-stolen flowers like you’re the Queen of England. You look the same as Steve feels — kiss bitten and with your head in another world. But you’re pleased by the company, he can tell.

Dustin moves to give you one of his bone-crushing hugs and Steve goes all panic mode.

“Please be careful with her!” He says urgently, his panic obvious under the usual demanding tone he takes with the kids.

But you’re laughing under Dustin’s hug, and Steve can’t stay mad when you look like that. You meet his eyes over a mop of curly hair and your gaze goes all mushy and sweet. Steve’s legs feel like jelly. If he keeled over dead right now, he wouldn’t be surprised.

He’s sure someone will see but he doesn’t really care. Grinning from ear to ear, he mouths, “Love you.”

He’s said it before, of course he has, you’re his best friend in the whole entire world. This time though, it’s all the more different. It’s better. You flush, oblivious to the noisy chatter around you.

“Love you too,” you mouth back.

Steve can’t stop smiling for the rest of the night.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated!! reblog this and I’ll kiss you on the mouth mwah

#★ mal writes!#(mal pushes herself past her limit)#ღ stevie #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader fluff #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader fluff #stevesmixtape!

11K notes · View notes

imomnba-x07 · 9 months

Text

EPISODES CAME OUT EARLY YOU KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS

HERES MY THOUGHTS

SPOILERS OBVIOUSLY

EP 1

- GROVER YOU SWEET CUTIE

- also love that they changed up the office scene to give Percy more of a reason to be mad at Grover

- fight with Ms Dodds was a bit rushed but I think that was intentional for us to feel that same “wtf is happening” feeling Percy feels

- Sally enjoying the Rain, feeling it, feeling connected, was awesome. Such a great visual representation of her connection to Poseidon and the water

- “God? Like Jesus” CRYING ON THE FLOOR THAT WAS HILARIOUS

- “I’m actually 24” Grover. You. Adorable. Nervous. Scamp. Your killing me here 😭😭😭

- ANNABETHS LINE YEEEAAHHHHHH

- THE VISUALS ARE GEORGEUSSSSSSS

EPIODE 2

- ANNABETH SILHOUETTE OVER PERCYS BED RAHHHH

- DIONYSUS CLAIMING TO BE PERCYS DAD IS THE FUNNIEST THING IVE EVER SEEN ARE YOU KIDDING. ONLY EPISODE 2 AND THERES NO WAY THEY CAN TOP THAT SCENES COMEDY THE BAR HAS BEEN SET

- Percy burning the blue candy in hopes of being able to reach his mom and talk to her I am a puddle on the floor I’m deceased I am unwell

- the element of Glory was a genius factor for them to add and it’s makes the characters choices hold so much more value. Everyone has a clear motive at camp now because of Glory and it’s just- MY GOD it’s such a good addition to drive characters actions.

- love that they made Luke and Annabeths relationship a clear sibling dynamic, much better then Annabeths crush in the books

- CLARISSE YOU DID WONDERFULLY AND CAN DO NO WRONG IN MY EYES IM SUCH A STAN

- ANNABETH READING PERCY LIKE A BOOK AND BEING SO SOCIALLY AWKWARD AND ALSO LOOKING AT HIM LIKE 🤨 PLEEEASSSEEEEE THAT WAS SO GOOD

- ANNABETH CALLING PERCY SUNSHINE???? ARE YOU KIDDING ME THAT WAS SO- OH MY GOD

- love that you can visibly see the adrenaline take over whenever Percy fights. His face shows you he doesn’t fully understand how he’s doing this but his body’s natural instincts kick in and it’s just 🤌🏽✨

- ANNABETH PUSHING PERCY INTO THE WATER BECAUSE SHE NEW HE WAS THE ONE TRULY 6 STEPS AHEAD OF EVERYONE

1000000/10 INCREDIBLE PHENOMENAL SHOW-STOPPING AMZING NEVER THE SAME COMPLETELY UNIQUE

#percy jackson show #percy jackson #pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom #percy jackon and the olympians #percy and annabeth #annabeth chase #annabeth pjo #grover underwood #grover pjo #clarisse pjo

726 notes · View notes

moonlightspencie · 1 year

Text

Wrong Time

Description: Dean doesn’t know how to act right. Sam doesn’t get the animosity. Reader is just trying to live life. Otherwise known as Mutual Pining: the Fanfic.

Pairing: jealous!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader, platonic!Sam Winchester x fem!Reader

Warnings: jealous dean :), minor angst, spells and other supernatural things, plenty of fluff

Word Count: 6.6k

A/N: originally posted on tumblr like 3 years ago (rip in peace to the like 3k notes it had). then posted to ao3. now it’s back on tumblr.

I walked into the bunker after Sam and Dean, throwing my bag down as soon as my feet hit the floor. I shuffled into the library, noticing Castiel at a table on a laptop.

“How was the hunt?” He looked up at me.

“It was crap,” Dean answered gruffly. I took a chance look at him, and he shot me a glare that could kill. “I’m taking a shower.”

Sam watched his brother stalk past. “I— it was… Fine. I mean, something almost went wrong, but we all ended up okay.”

Cas nodded slowly. Then he noticed my expression. “Are you okay, (Y/N)? You look unwell.”

“It was my fault.”

“(Y/N)—” Sam started.

“No, Sam, I mean— I was stupid. I almost got myself killed. I would have been if Dean didn’t find me first.”

“Still wasn’t your fault, we all make mistakes.”

“What do you mean you almost got killed?” Cas interjected.

I huffed a sigh, sitting next to him. Sam took a seat across from me.

“Well, we walked into the vamp nest, and started going to town. It seemed like it’d be pretty easy to take care of, but then I heard a boy crying. I went to go look for him, and— and I saw him. He was in another room, probably about 15, 16 years old. I didn’t think anything of it and went to go help him, but he… I was wrong. He was turned, just trying to get his prey to come to him, apparently.”

Cas furrowed his brow. “What happened? Are you alright?”

I absentmindedly scratched at the table.

“I am now, I guess. I set down my machete like a fricken idiot, letting my guard down, and he jumped me. I tried grabbing it to fight him off, but he kicked it out of my grip. I thought it was the end of the line until Dean came barging in and got him off me. I was so stupid, he’s pissed.”

Sam reached across, brushing his thumb over the knuckles of my now-closed fist. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We got out okay. It was just a mistake.”

“And Dean—,” Cas began, “He is… It will be alright.”

He gave a kind smile as he said this. I tried one back at him before standing up and giving a quick goodnight. As I walked to my room, I hovered by Dean’s door before thinking better of it. I hated when he was angry with me, but figured I better not upset him more by barging in on his alone time. I hated when any of the boys acted coldly towards me, but Dean’s always cut the deepest for some reason. I wouldn’t let myself think on why that is for more than a few seconds, though. I walked to my room, changing into an oversized t-shirt and flopping onto my bed, essentially passing out.

I woke up in a cold sweat, tears wetting my face. I sat straight up, trying to catch my breath. My fingers gripped the sheets as I tried to keep my cool, but to no avail. I got out of bed, walking out of my room, and heading a few doors down. I knocked quietly before entering.

“Hello?” I spoke, voice wavering. I walked towards the sleeping figure, gently nudging his shoulder. “Sam?”

He rolled over, slowly opening his eyes. “(Y/N)? What’s going on?”

I wrung my hands.

“I— I had a nightmare. I can’t be alone right now,” I said, trying to hold back tears.

“Oh. Oh, okay, yeah, come here,” He replied, sitting up and scooting over. I sat next to him, pulling the covers over my legs as he threw an arm around me. “You alright?”

“I don’t know.” I leaned into him. “It was about the hunt. Except, it wasn’t me. I mean, I still went and found the boy, but, um, when Dean came in this time he— the kid knew somehow, and attacked. I tried helping, but I couldn’t move, and then… Then they, they got him. And it was my fault. He died.”

I noticed a few tears had escaped my eyes, and I rubbed at them quickly.

Sam hugged me into his side. “I’m sorry. That’s really tough.”

I nodded.

He continued, “But, you know, it was just a dream. We all got out, we’re all okay.”

“I know, but what if we didn’t? It would’ve been on me, it would be my fault.”

“There is always a “what if” when we do the things we do, and focusing on that is only going to cause you pain. Don’t do that to yourself,” Sam sighed, laying down and taking me with him. “Dean just needs to let this go, don’t let his attitude make you feel stupid.”

I nodded again. “Thanks, Sammy.”

“Anytime, kiddo. Now, let’s go to sleep. C’mere.”

He pulled me into his chest, letting the hand that wasn’t around my shoulder rest near my rib cage. I closed my eyes, and the next thing I knew I was waking to Sam’s snoring in my ear. We’d separated during the night, but my head was still against his arm, our legs still caught up together. This put me in a predicament as I tried to move away from him without waking him. I somehow managed to wiggle out of bed, and land on my feet; thankfully Sam was a surprisingly deep sleeper. I tiptoed to the door, slowly and carefully opening it and backing out. I shut it as quietly as I could, and turned around to see Dean walking towards me, looking down at his phone, only a few feet off.

“Morning,” I greeted him.

His steps faltered slightly as he looked up. “Morning.”

His expression changed from tiredness to confusion in an instant. He furrowed his brow, looking at me, then to the door I had just stepped out from.

“I’m making pancakes. If you want some, they’ll be ready in twenty.”

I smiled, nodding a thank you before he squeezed past me towards the kitchen.

‘He’s not mad at me!’ I thought to myself.

I went into the bathroom, taking a quick shower. I wrapped a towel around myself, and headed towards my room to get dressed. We had a day in, so I decided on a fresh pair of pajama shorts and another t-shirt. The smell of pancakes drifted through the bunker, and as soon as I stepped out of my door that smell carried me all the way to the kitchen. I stopped in the entrance, watching Dean for a moment. He stood at the stovetop, watching and flipping the pancakes as necessary. I watched the way his arms and shoulders moved until his simple gray tee, and how delicately his hands held the spatula. Then he turned and noticed me.

“Hey,” he said, taking the plate-full to the counter.

He was getting a little scruffy, having not yet shaved since a couple mornings ago. He looked tired, but peaceful. He looked handsome. I chewed my bottom lip, finally stepping into the small room.

“Hey. That smells amazing.”

I walked near him as he grabbed two plates, throwing a few pancakes on each. He handed me one, and we both went to work preparing them with with butter and syrup. I was about to take mine to the table, when his hand shot in front of mine.

“I’ll take these if you want to grab the coffee pot.”

He looked down at me, the sides of his lips just barely tilting up into a smile, and I felt a familiar flutter in my heart.

“Yeah, of course,” I said, then turned quickly to grab the coffee and two mugs, trying to push down that feeling as far as it could go.

I shuffled closer to him as he sat at one side of the table. I placed the mugs in front of the plates, filling each of them and setting the pot at the end of the table. I sat across from Dean, digging in immediately.

“Okay, wow.” I shoved another forkful in my mouth. “These… These are genuinely amazing. You shook cook more often.”

He laughed. “Yeah, I got a few tricks up my sleeve. What about you, though? Anytime you bake anything I lose my mind.”

“Guess I just have that effect on people,” I shrugged laughing.

“Yeah, you’re not kidding.” He smirked and glanced up, locking eyes with me for a moment that felt like forever. I looked away first.

“Um— about… About yesterday, Dean, I—”

He cut me off, throwing a hand up. “Just— Let’s just drop it. Okay?”

I nodded, looking down. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

He took in a deep breath before things went silent for a while. We both were nearly finished when Sam came in the room, as much a morning person as ever.

“Morning, guys!” He smiled.

I couldn’t help but let out half a laugh at his cheerfulness. “You are way too excited in the mornings.”

He smiled my way.

Dean got up abruptly. “I’m gonna go work on Baby.”

As soon as he was out of the room, Sam raised an eyebrow at me. “He always goes out there when he’s upset. Did something happen? You two looked fine when I came in.”

I shook my head. “I tried talking to him about yesterday. Guess that was a mistake.”

Sam’s lips tightened. “Yikes, I’m sorry.”

I shrugged. “It’s fine. At least he let me eat his pancakes.” I smiled.

Sam laughed, “Yeah, guess that’s a start.”

We went about our day as usual; Sam worked out and looked up cases, Cas helped with case searches, Dean spent most of his day in the garage, and I decided on a movie marathon. Before long, it was later than I realized and I heard a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Sam poked his head around the door. “What’s up? You’ve been in your room all day.”

“Oh, no worries. Just a movie marathon. Harry Potter, wanna join?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and fell belly-down on the bed next to me. We watched about half of the 6th movie before we stopped watching altogether. We talked and laughed all night long until we were passed out together. This time, I woke up again to Sam’s gentle snoring, but we were much closer. His right arm was once again under my head, but his left was wrapped tightly around me, and his chest pressed into my back. Admittedly, it was a bit strange, but on a cold morning, not unwelcome. I gently rubbed his forearm, trying to wake him.

“Sammy, get up. You’re trapping me here, pal.”

He groaned sleepily, hugging me just a little tighter before he opened his eyes and realized what he was doing. “Oh crap, I’m sorry.”

I laughed, “Dont worry about it. You were keeping me warm.”

He hummed, “Well in that case, you wanna go back to sleep for a little bit?”

“Fine. Five more minutes and then we get up.”

I giggled as he pulled me back in, nearly squeezing the life out of me for a moment.

“You know, as weird as this is, it feels nice to have a cuddle-buddy,” Sam breathed out.

“Hey, at least it’s nothing too scandalous,” I chuckled, eyes closed.

Then I heard a knock at the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me,” Castiel’s voice rang through the closed door.

“What do ya need?” I answered back. Then I heard the door open, and looked up.

He started stepping in, but stopped dead in his tracks. “I, uh— Oh. Pardon me, I seem to be interrupting.”

“Cas—” I tried getting his attention but he’d already showed himself out the door. “Crap.”

Sam chuckled, I felt it in his chest. “That’s gonna be a fun one to explain.”

I sighed. “Hopefully he doesn’t go running his mouth so it’s an easy one to explain.”

I laid with him for a few minutes longer before my bladder called for release. “Sam, we gotta get up, man. I gotta pee.”

He groaned. “I don’t want to.”

“Whoa, what happened to happy-go-lucky, I-love-being-up-in-the-mornings Sam?” I half laughed.

“He’s tired,” he grunted out, rolling over.

I flipped to my back as he stole his arm from beneath my head, and sat up. I looked over to see him struggling to get up himself, but my urgency for the bathroom left no time for me to help him up. I bolted out the door to the bathroom and relieved myself, thinking of how to explain to Cas that what he saw was not at all what he thought it was. I ended up back in my room, finding Sam staring into space still sitting on the edge of my bed.

“You alright, Sammy?” I suppressed a smile.

His head shot up. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I was zoning out.”

I nodded, throwing a thumb over my shoulder. “You wanna go grab breakfast?”

“That sounds great.”

We left the room together, chatting on our way to the kitchen. Then, I nearly lost balance running into Cas.

“Oh, hey! We wanted to talk to you,” Sam said, tapping Cas’s arm with the back of his hand

He put his hands up, defensively. “No worries. I understand.”

I dragged my hand on the side of my face. “No, but you don’t. I know you caught us looking a little precarious, but trust me, we just fell asleep together. We were watching Harry Potter and passed out.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, okay. I was sure you two were sleeping together.”

I laughed, “Yeah, no. Not by a long shot, man.”

“Alright, well that definitely clears things up for me. I will see you later.”

“Seeya, don’t get into any trouble.”

“I don’t think you have to worry about me,” he smiled, walking past.

Sam and I entered the kitchen soon after, finding Dean alone with a cup of coffee and a computer.

“Morning, sunshine.” Sam joked.

I walked over to him, leaning an arm on the table next to him, peering at the screen. “Found a case?”

He nodded silently, not looking up.

“Well?” Sam pressed, peeling a banana. “Care to enlighten us?”

Deans jaw ticked for a moment before he spoke gruffly, “Looks like a ghost. Strange, but similar, deaths happening at an old motel. So far three of ‘em.”

I took the seat next to him. “Where at?”

He pointed at the screen. “Plainfield, Wisconsin.”

I perked up, grabbing his arm for a moment. “Hey, that’s where Ed Gein committed all his murders!”

“Dude, yeah!” Sam joined in. “That guy was messed up.”

Dean huffed. “Well aren’t you two just perfect for each other. Be ready in half an hour.”

He got up, slamming the laptop shut and stalking out of the room.

I looked to Sam, confused. “What the hell is his problem?”

He shook his head, “No clue.”

I shook my head, slightly irritated. “Guess we gotta go get ready now.”

I walked out of the kitchen, going in the direction of my room. I stepped inside, pulling a duffel bad from my closet and throwing in at least enough clothes for a week, not knowing how long we’d be gone. After I was packed, I decided on a quick shower. I put my hair up into a topknot so I wouldn’t have to wash and dry it, and took the fastest shower I could. I finished getting ready a few minutes early, and grabbed all my things. I was going to throw it all in the car and wait for the boys, until my irritation got the best of me. I walked to Dean’s room, knocking on the door.

He answered harshly, “What.”

“It’s me, can I come in.”

“I guess.”

I flung the door open to find Dean standing there in the midst of getting dresssed. He was at his closet, so far only having his jeans and a tight-fit tee on, and I would be lying if I didn’t say that I couldn’t catch my breath for a moment. How in the world could he look so good rocking the simplest of things?

He pulled a flannel of a hanger, the deep red one that I liked. “What do you need?”

“I want to know what’s wrong.”

He turned to face me, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “Nothing. Is that all?”

I crossed my arms. “You may do a lot of lying for the job, but you’re kind of the worst at it sometimes.”

He shot me a glance, unenthused. “Nothing is wrong. Let’s move on. We got stuff to do.”

“Dean.”

“(Y/N),” he shot back, staring for a second before going about his business.

I clenched my jaw. “I’m gonna find out sooner or later.”

He huffed out, almost a laugh, as he threw things into his bag. “Yeah. Sure.”

I turned on my heel, leaving the room, everything in me fighting against my urge to slam the door behind me. He really knew how to push my buttons, more than anyone else sometimes. The boys were finally ready and came out into the garage where I was waiting. I pushed myself off the side of the impala, getting in the car. Dean flew out of the garage, heading straight for the highway. Most of the car ride was silent, only the faint sounds of Dean’s music over the speakers. Then he had to open his mouth.

“So, you two are sleeping together now, huh?”

I almost choked, head whipping to the side to look at Sam. He did the same, glancing at me, confusion set in his face.

“What? Dean, no, why—”

“You two seemed to be getting pretty cozy the past couple nights,” he answered back, staring straight at the road.

I scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“I saw you coming out of his room yesterday morning, (Y/N), don’t act dumb. And Cas told me he walked in on you all over each other this morning.”

“That was not what was happening. We saw him this morning and explained it all. We just fell asleep watching a movie together.”

“And the night before?”

Sam spoke up, “(Y/N) had a nightmare, Dean. She couldn’t be alone.”

“What, so you slept together?” His hands held tightly to the steering wheel.

“Yes, and that’s all we did. Sleep. Nothing more, we don’t feel like that about each other.”

He bitterly laughed. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“Dean, seriously.”

“Fine. We’ll drop it.”

I huffed out a breath. “Thank you.”

The rest of the ride was quiet. We only made one or two stops for gas and bathroom breaks. It took us about 10 hours before we arrived in Plainfield and searched for a place to stay the night. We finally found a little motel just outside of town, and booked a room. Luckily, a pull-out couch was included so I wouldn’t have to give Dean more ideas about Sam and I, and I wouldn’t have to spend the night beside someone who was pissed at me for no reason. I walked in the room to find it perfectly adequate. and I threw my bag down on the floor, beginning to open up the pull-out.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as he came inside. “I can take that, don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not making you take the couch, Sam.”

“It pulls out into a bed at least. And you aren’t making me if I’m offering. Now, move your crap.”

He nodded at my duffel.

I sighed as dramatically as I could, “Fine.”

“So dramatic.” He chuckled.

“Yeah, I gotta be sometimes. Thank you, though.”

I pulled my bag away, walking to the far bed as throwing it down. I began unzipping it when I heard the thud of Dean’s duffel hitting the second bed behind me. I turned.

“What are we doing first?”

He glanced up at me. “Thought we’d check out the murder scene early tomorrow.”

“Alright. All three of us need to get dressed up?”

“Whoever wants to go.” He shrugged.

“I think I’ll hang back and do some more research on the town and possible leads, if that’s okay with you guys,” Sam said, setting his laptop on the small table in the room.

“Okay,” Dean answered, pulling out his ‘FBI’ suit to hang.

We went to bed, all exhausted from the trip. I woke up at 7 the next morning to Dean’s alarm blaring. We all ate a quick breakfast before getting ready to leave. I grabbed my suit, heading to the bathroom to change, and kicking myself for not being the one to stay at the motel. I didn’t know how I’d handle being alone with Dean, especially when he was in a mood. I changed quickly, making sure I looked professional enough to fool whoever we’d have to get past. I stepped out to see that Dean had already left the room.

I looked to Sam who had already got his computer up and running. “Where’d he go?”

“Waiting by the car outside,” he said, not looking up.

“Thanks.”

I walked across the room, stepping outside. Dean stood leaning against ththe impala, his back to me as I made my way over.

He heard my footsteps and turned. “Took you long enough.”

I stopped for a moment. Wow, he looks amazing right now.

“Gonna get in?” He asked.

“Oh. Yeah.”

I shook my head, opening the passenger door and sliding inside. He started up the car, and took off out of the parking lot.

“So,” he started, “you’re not sleeping together?”

“Dean. Seriously?”

He shrugged. “Can’t blame me for thinking so, you two spend a lot of time together.”

I looked over at him. “Yeah, that’s kind of what friends do.”

“We don’t do that.” He shot me a quick glance, raising an eyebrow.

“Give me a time and place and we will, then.”

He tried to hide the smirk that appeared on his face. “Yeah, sure.”

“What? Don’t want rumors spreading about me and you?”

“Sweetheart, you don’t want those rumors.”

“Who said that?” I furrowed my brows, the corner of my mouth twitching upwards.

He smiled at me. Butterflies, again.

We drove a few more minutes into town before we reached our destination. I peered at the building through the windshield as we drove up. It was creepy. Caution tape everywhere, the old run-down motel, the cloudy skies; it looked straight out of a horror movie. Dean parked the car, and we got out, walking to the police officer that was waiting on his team inside. We flashed him our badges and he let us past.

“I’m surprised no murders happened here before this,” Dean said quietly, leaning in.

I laughed. “Yeah, not the nicest of places for sure.”

He hummed in agreement. “Let’s see if we got any Casper activity.”

He took out his EMF detector, walking around the room, being careful not to step in any of the dried blood. He took a lap; no readings.

“Huh. Nothing here.”

I glanced around. “What the hell would’ve done all of this though?”

“Dunno. Judging by how all of the blood left their bodies and ended up friggen everywhere else, I could’ve sworn it would be one of those suckers.”

I nodded. “Wanna try to hospital?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

We spent the day gathering as many clues and evidence as we could, to no avail. By nightfall, we decided to call it a day and head back to our room. We got inside to find Sam taking a nap.

Dean whispered to me, “I’m gonna take a shower.”

I nodded. He went to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I decided to get dressed in something more comfortable and landed on a pair of sweats and a plain t-shirt. Can’t get more laid back than that.

I sat on my bed for a moment before I heard Sam moving around. I looked his way as he opened his eyes.

“Hey, sleepyhead.” I said.

He smiled. “Hey. You guys find anything useful?”

“Figure it’s probably not a ghost. Other than that, nope.”

“Mm.” He sat up, stretching before he stood. He walked over to me, taking a seat by my side and swinging an arm over my shoulders. “I didn’t find anything either. Not even connections between the people who died.”

“So weird.”

He agreed, falling back on the bed and taking me down with him. “Yeah. I’m sure something will turn up, though. It has to.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“You wanna go out tonight?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I’m beat. I didn’t get my nap today.” I laughed.

He snorted, squeezing my shoulder. “You’re no fun.”

Then we heard the door open, Dean stepped out.

“What about you? You wanna go out tonight?” Sam asked him.

“I’m good,” he said without so much as a glance our way.

Sam sat up. “Man, both of you? Since when am I the one to go out alone?”

I chuckled, sitting up next to him. “Since now, apparently. Go, though! Have fun enough for all of us.” I nudged his shoulder.

He shrugged getting up to get ready. Then I heard the tv switch on, and looked over to Dean. There he sat, on his bed, flipping through channels.

“What are you gonna watch?” I asked.

He stared silently at the tv and shrugged. Here we go again.

I heaved out a heavy sigh, pulling out my phone to fiddle on. Sam came out of the bathroom with a new shirt on, and what smelled like a little bit of cologne. I looked up from my device as he pulled his shoes on.

“Who are you trying to impress, sir?”

He smirked. “We’ll have to find out. I’ll see you guys later.”

He left the room, leaving me and Dean to ourselves. I looked over at him again as he settled on an old comedy. He noticed.

“What?” He asked, eyes still unmoving from the movie.

“Your attitude is what.”

“I don’t have an attitude.”

I scoffed. “Oh, sure. We were fine working the case today, and now you’re acting like I stole all of your leftovers or something.”

He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Funny how you keep saying that, and then end up in the same crappy mood again. Why won’t you just talk to me about it?”

“I can’t.” He grew impatient.

“Yes, you can.”

He sat up, finally looking at me. “No. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because, I just can’t. It’s stupid, you wouldn’t understand it.”

He stared at me.

“Maybe I would if you’d just talk to me!” My voice raised slightly.

“Why do you even care?” His voice raised to match mine.

“Why do you think? I care about you, and I hate it when you’re mad at me.”

He closed his eyes. “I’m not mad at you.”

“Then what is the problem?” I leaned forward, searching his face for an answer.

He sighed, voice lowering. “Can we— maybe we can talk about it tomorrow. Just— not tonight, please.”

I shrunk back. “Fine. Promise me.”

He tilted his head with a blank stare.

“I’m serious, Dean. Promise me.”

He let out a heavy breath. “Okay. I promise. You’re a pain, you know that?”

I shrugged. “You’ll get over it.”

He stared for a moment, my heart fluttering until he looked away again. He laid down, turning off the tv. I laid back too, turning off the lights.

“Goodnight,” he said, turning over.

“Goodnight.”

I woke up to sunlight hitting my face through the window. I glanced towards the couch; no Sam. Then my eyes went to Dean. He was still sleeping. I watched him for a moment; he looked so at peace. The lines in his face were smoothed out, no worries were apparent on him. His eyelids began to move, but I couldn’t pull my gaze from his face. He looked handsome in the early morning hours, his eyelashes delicately fluttering until his eyes were opened. He noticed me and smiled.

“Way to be creepy, watching me sleep.”

His voice was deep and soft and full of sleep.

I smiled back, “You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t help it.”

“I bet you say that to all the guys.”

I laughed. “Nah, only the special ones.”

He rolled his eyes, chuckling. “I don’t want to beat up monsters today.”

“If we can’t find out what’s killing people, you might not have to.”

“That isn’t a good option either.”

“I know.” I yawned, stretching out. “Guess Sammy found a girl.”

Dean looked over his shoulder at the empty space. “Oh.”

“You still believe we’re together now?” I raised my eyebrows.

He looked back towards me. “I might, might, have been wrong there.”

“Told ya.”

He smirked, shaking his head. “We better get the day going.”

I agreed. We fully woke up and grabbed some breakfast from a cafe down the street. We went back to the motel to find Sam in the shower, and our day went on as normal from that point on, until we found the clues we needed to lead us to the killer.

“A witch? Oh, come on, I’m so sick of them,” I complained.

Sam shrugged. “Hey, we found hex bags in each of the rooms. Most likely the owner of the motel, or someone who works there.”

“Maybe a maid? It’s always the butler, so maybe it’s always the maid too,” Dean suggested with a sly smirk.

“That, as lame as it is, actually could be a really great place to start,” I responded. “Let’s pack up and find out who’s been cleaning the place up.”

We went and questioned the owner to find out which employees had been working when the murders took place, and landed on only one housekeeper: a man named Ken. We got his address and decided to do a little questioning. We arrived to his house, and Sam knocked loudly.

The door creaked open. “Hello?”

“Hello, we’re with the FBI, we have some questions to ask you,” Sam responded, flashing his badge.

The man behind the door, opened it a little wider. He grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure you are.”

He looked to me.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Dean stepped halfway in front of me before I could say anything. “You might want to watch yourself, you’re suspect for the murders that took place the night you were working at the motel.”

The man’s eyes widened. “Oh? Why don’t you come inside, then.”

He stepped just inside and he shut the door behind us.

“Anyways,” he began, “I’ve always wanted to meet the Winchester’s.”

Before we knew what was happening, our bodies flew up against the wall and landed on the ground harshly. We all attempted to scramble up, but as I attempted to stand, I felt a hand wrap around my neck. Ken pulled me backwards into him.

“Let her go,” Dean boomed.

Ken chuckled. “See, that’s where you’re making your mistake. Your little protective act only lets me know that your little girlfriend, here, is valuable to you. So, you might not like it if I just—”

He dropped me, and I felt my legs give out. It felt like all the air had been pulled from my lungs— No, it felt like I didn’t have lungs. I couldn’t breathe.

“You son of a—”

Thud!

Dean was slammed against the wall again. I watched from the ground where I lay as Sam attempted to go at him, but then it all went black.

I woke with a gasp, my body flying upwards in shock. I breathed heavily, finally catching my breath for the first time in what felt like eternity.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down, you’re okay.”

I heard a voice, foggy. I turned my head quickly, finding Dean right next to me. Wait, no, he was holding me. We were someplace else, maybe in the house still? I heard distant voices. I felt tired.

“I… think I… need a nap,” I said, barely hearing myself speak.

“Whoa, no, no, don’t fall asleep, okay? Just— Here, just look at me. Look here, stay awake,” he spoke to me as I tried to listen.

My eyes still felt heavy.

“But— I’m tired. Just a… Just a nap.”

“No, (Y/N), don’t fall asleep yet, okay? We gotta make sure you’re alright.”

“What… Where are we?”

“In the house of a very bad witch.” I heard a woman’s voice. I looked up to see red hair. “I mean, come on now, I was able to fix you right up quite easily.”

“Yeah, thank you, by the way,” Sam said to Rowena, a tight smile accompanied his words. My vision began clearing.

“What are you doing here? What happened?” I cleared my throat, trying to sit up to find Dean’s chest hard against my back. I noticed his arms around me, too. I ran my fingers over one of his forearms, happy to be there. Then I realized there were two other staring at me, trying to communicate. I stopped and tried to listen.

“—and then, well, you’re lucky Sam had enough sense to call me when he realized what you’d be dealing with, otherwise, my dear, you’d be dead. Hmm.”

“Oh. How’d we get away, though?”

“It was really all me, of course.” She smiled, pleased with herself. “You’d have really been in trouble otherwise, too, with Dean letting his jealously get the best of him and punching someone in the face.”

“Yeah, well, the douche bag deserved it.” I felt him speak, the bass in his voice vibrating in his chest. “He was getting too handsy with her.”

“I would have gotten him away quicker if you hadn’t made him even more angry, Mr. Winchester,” Rowena sassed. “Anyways, I’ve got things to do more important than speaking with you two giants and the wee fuzzy-brained girl. Toodleloo.”

She picked up her dress and walked out of the house. I liked her.

“I like her,” I giggled.

I started feeling funny. Almost drunk, maybe more giddy.

“Can’t say I feel exactly the same,” Dean said.

“Regardless, she did save us there,” Sam responded.

I laughed, “Yeah, she’s fun.”

“I would’ve gotten him,” Dean continued his conversation with Sam.

“Dean, we all would’ve been in trouble if she wasn’t here. Even you’ve gotta admit to that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He reached into his pocket for the keys, throwing them at Sam. “Here, go start the car.”

“Alright, hurry it up,” Sam said as he left.

I leaned my head up to look at Dean. “So, you were jealous, huh?”

“I am not. I just didn’t want his grimy hands on you, now come on, let’s get you back to the hotel.”

I felt movement as he began to move from behind me. I tried to stand up, but before I could, I felt his arms swing underneath me. He picked me up, and carried me out the door. I held onto his neck, enjoyed time in close proximity to him and wishing I could just tell him how I felt about him. If I could even figure it out for myself. He sat me in the backseat, helping me buckle in before we took off. Soon enough, we were back at the motel and Sam decided to go on a dinner-run. Dean and I entered the room alone, he helped me to walk until I could sit down.

“Here, just sit here,” he said, helping me to rest on the edge of his bed. He moved around me, squatting down between my legs and looking up at me. “Are you okay?”

I tilted my head, looking at him looking at me. “Yeah.”

He let out half a laugh. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I shrugged, a contented smile on my face. “You’re cute.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I figured out why you’ve been so grumpy,” I cut him off, unable to stop from speaking.

He put his hands on the bed on either side of my legs. “Why’s that?”

“I think you didn’t like me and Sam.”

“I already told you I wasn’t mad at—”

“No, no, no. You didn’t like us together. You were being jealous. Like with the weird witch man. Rowena said so, and she’s smart.” I giggled.

He raised an eyebrow, gulping. “Uh, let me get you some water. Maybe that’ll help.”

“I’m right.”

“Now’s not the time to talk about this stuff, (Y/N), let’s just—”

“Uh uh. You said we’d talk about it today.”

“We can, later.”

He tried getting up, but I put my hands on his shoulders.

“But I like you, I wanna talk now.”

“This is just the spell wearing off, if you just—”

I sighed harshly. “No it’s not, stop it. I like you a lot. You’re so cute and you give me butterflies and make me nervous and make me smile a lot and all I can think about is you all the time.”

“(Y/N)…” he started, eyebrows knit together.

“I’m not saying it because of the spell, okay?” I started rambling. “I mean, I always feel that way, but I didn’t want to say anything. You know, I was kind of scared. Now, it kinda seems like maybe you feel the same way, and I just want to know, otherwise this is gonna be really awkward when I’m not feeling all weird and giddy and I jus—”

Before I knew what was happening I felt his lips on mine. I felt shocked. I took a moment to gather my wits, but I seemed to take a moment too long. He pulled away.

“I… I’m sorry, I didn’t want to force that on you, I thought you wanted…” He trailed off, a hand going to rub at his face. I reached out, pulling it away from his face. He looked up at me, apprehensive.

“Trust me, I wanted it,” I confirmed before leaning back in as quickly as I could.

His hands moved up to settle at my waist as he smiled into the kiss. I held his jaw in my hands, pulling him in as closely as I could. I never wanted that kiss to end, but it had to soon, as we needed air. Our foreheads rested against each other.

“I have wanted to do that for so long,” I whispered.

He laughed. “I’m just happy to know that Sam wasn’t the one doing it. Because you were so right, I was definitely jealous.”

“Knew it.” I giggled.

He hummed, pulling away from me. We looked at one another for a minute, taking it all in. I let my hand reach back up to his face, my thumb brushing against his cheek, looking at all the freckles that dusted his face.

I sighed, happy. “You wanna go again?”

He chuckled, a smile on his face. “Oh, for sure.”

I slapped the bed next to me, and he scrambled up, facing me. His arms immediately snaked around my middle, pulling me in tight. I held on to his neck, gazing up at him.

“You good?” He asked, a smile stuck on his face.

“More than.” I nodded, grinning.

He pressed his lips to mine, wasting no time. We stayed like that for several minutes, enjoying our time together and hoping it would never end. Until the door swung open.

“Whoa, walked in at the wrong time,” Sam exclaimed, closing the door as quickly as he shut it.

Dean and I looked at each other. He shrugged, “Whoops.”

I laughed, and he pulled me back in.

(EDIT: starting taglists now! let me know if you want to be on any!)

FULL MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

#not me posting a supernatural fanfiction in the year of our Lord 2023 #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester one shot #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural #supernatural fic #spn fic #luna’s dean fics

2K notes · View notes

void-dude · 16 days

Note

Hey so uhhh… I think your version of Tad has done something to my brain chemistry. Yeahhh sorry I like… need him right now ya know???? Yeahhh sorryyyyyy (I am mentally unwell over him)

Dude get in line <— is the line

I eat him like a stale toast for energy so I can draw more

#ask answered #ramble #doodle #animated gif

105 notes · View notes

lifemod17 · 1 month

Text

thoughts on 'Unaired EP'

IN THIS ESSAY I WILL-

below the cut in case you don't want spoilers <3

Nobody's Soldier

THE FUCKIN FALSETTO IS DRIVING ME INSANE ITS LIKE HE LACED THIS SONG WITH CRACK

"Benzos and gasoline" line is WILD (it is so hot for no reason wtf Andrew)

the little break that happens at 1:43 with. i don't even know what that is? like a sort of distorted / reverbed guitar bend / riff? either way, LOVE THAT.

also lets give it up one time for the organ, that is SO GNARLY, YOU CANNOT DENY IT!!!

hearing the live version vs. this recorded one is different, I literally went "OMFG WHAT IS THIS PART" starting at 2:53 when he gets all whisper-y WHY IS IT SO HOT

Listen man, I am a sucker for a good pause, and that pause after the bridge has me UNWELL.

SLOWING IT DOWN for the ending will never not be iconic. you don't see that happening a lot!

the intake of breath on the outro??!! tumblr user lifemod17 is NOT FARING WELL

July

so full of hope and promise and really just about having that thing or that someone to look forward to. The definition of "postpone that funeral"

THE SYNTHS??? FORGIVE HIM FATHER FOR HE HAS SYNTH!!!

"JUST KNOWING THAT'S GETTING ME THROUGH"?!?!?!? I wanna throw up. that is a Tonee-ass line. yeah 'July' is DEFINITELY taking the crown. This is my favorite from the EP.

i WAS right! he says 'prada' because it just made so much sense with the 'wore me out' line.

the whole second half had me in SHAMBLES. the lyrics were already insane but also throw in his soft voice mixed with the FUNKY & GROOVY beat?? I fear it is so over for me (I was genuinely screaming into a pillow and needed to sit down even though I was already sat and also I didn't know what to do with my person so I was just laying there and looking up at the ceiling while fighting off tears. I was SHOOK.)

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy and makes me want to roll downhill a field and pick flowers to give to strangers

Have I mentioned the pen game? Because it is on level 9000. His pen was on fire when he has writing this

B A S S O U T R O GOT ME ACTING TF UP

That You Are

I was not expecting the lyrics to be "that I'd be anywhere that you are". im sorry but that is devastatingly beautiful and rips my heart out brb sobbing

my wig quietly and peacefully ascended from my head.

it's a lot more raw, production wise. the vocals aren't super clean, but I actually really like it this way!!! it makes the song that much more precious, gentle, intimate

Bedouine's vocals NEVER DISAPPOINTS!! She always has a way of transporting you with her music- makes you feel like you're floating above water

I needed to sautee the yearning for this one, its so pretty but hits you right in the feels

The fact that this is speculated to be the contender for the spot of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' I'M GONNA CRY AGAIN Andrew please do an EP breakdown cuz I need to know!

that little instrumental interlude towards the bridge is so lovely and the entire song really! I think they did a good job of splitting the vibe 50/50 <- I say this because I listen to Bedouine a lot and the vibe of her songs is definitely here. it just really shows that they both wrote this together. its not a feature, its a collab

We're all gonna cry and then afterwards we're all gonna hug cuz this song just inflicted so much emotional damage upon all of us

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unaired ep #nobody's soldier #july #that you are #bedouine #Spotify #postpone that funeral

108 notes · View notes

morgan-the-lonely-brick · 1 year

Text

Hi, I still have so many feelings about this, I will never shut up. I also made a gifset out of it because watching the video wasn't enough, i need to memorize every pixel.

(These gifs are free to download & use, they literally took me 5 minutes, so... cheers~)

"It is your job to f-" still haunts me. Also the way light falls on his face exactly when he fumbles is like him getting exposed. Shining a light on his fakery so the others see through it? And then he retreats back into the shadow trying to hide again, but does so only partially? Amazing.

The quick look up at Fang, he's so adorable🥺 i think for a moment there he actually considers admiting something's wrong but backs out of it and right back into defense. The way he freezes at the end sends shivers down my spine. it's so personal to me, Con, staaahp, fr! Also we get the "unhand me" line, or rather [if you touch me now i will start crying and that's embarrassing so don't touch me] That's how i see it.

Now we get to the good shit. Looking up trying not to cry. Avoiding any and all eye contact. His fckn lips shaking. You can clearly see that he's broken by the fact they've even noticed THIS. That expression is like a defeated "oh fuck me". Him being off focus makes this bit even worse.

Actually I was looking at this bit a lot and it almost seems like he doesn't know what Fang is trying to do at first? Like he was defensive because he didn't realise Fang was going in for a hug? Or maybe it's a reflex for anything coming from behind. He's a fighter, after all.

He looks ahead, approximately where Archie and Jim are standing as if to see their reactions or maybe seek help?! But then you can see the moment he understands - he turns his head back towards Fang and leans into it, with a hint of disbelief on his face.

God, the loose strand of hair adds so much to that delicious skrunklyness he has going on. He's so pretty...

In this gif it's clear he's leaning into Fang a lot, even actively pressing his head against him. He could've easily turned away or pulled away, but didn't. He WANTS to be comforted. He WANTS to be held. The way he scans over Frenchie as if checking what he's about to do, I'm suspecting he like. Put a hand on him somewhere or something of the sort. I am so unwell from this-

For the last time he tries to produce words, but it comes out as more of a moan than anything, so he gives up and bites his lip. (im loosing my sanity, Con, what have you done)

Also Frenchie's pout is my H2O He literally went :c

Izzy looks over to Frenchie again as if to verify he's not there to mock him and when it turns out that no. He actually wants to comfort him. Izzy fully looses it and lets out the most gut wrenching puppy dog skrunkly whimper ever produced by a human man. It must mean so much to him... Those last few micro expressions are killing me. He looks up again as if to say "oh god they mean it. They don't think im stupid for this, they're actually taking me seriously" And he can't believe it, he's so dumbfounded that poor guy.

What if this was his first hug in ages? I wouldn't be surprised...

Im breaking my own heart with this why do i do this-

#Ofmd #ofmd spoilers #Ofmd s2 #Ofmd s2 spoilers #Izzy hands #ofmd frenchie #Ofmd fang #Ofmd izzy

487 notes · View notes

transchesters · 1 month

Text

inspired by this post. couldn’t stop thinking about it so i had to write this <3 ends abruptly but i could be persuaded into writing more 🫢

sam winchester was cursed to be an abomination before he was even born. the fates, or perhaps god himself, decided long ago that the youngest winchester brother would be lucifer's perfect vessel. sure, it was mary who made the deal with azazel — her youngest for john's life — but azazel would have wound up in little sammy's nursery, dripping his rancid blood into the baby's mouth.

somewhere down the line, sam accepted this about himself. he was an abomination, only a slight step away from the demons he hunted. when he drank from ruby, he believed it was worth it, that it was the right thing to do. he was saving lives here! but then, ruby was dead, and lilith was dead, and lucifer rose from hell. all because of *him*. he had let himself grow blind enough to be manipulated by the lowest of the low, all because she told him it would make him powerful. and if he was powerful, then he could do anything, save anyone.

how stupid he had been. he had let everyone down. dean, bobby... castiel. castiel, who should have killed him the moment they met. who forgave him each time he fell. who picked him back up, rescued him from the cage, and took on the burden of his memories. like sam was something worth saving, or protecting.

it's well past midnight when sam wanders into the main room of the bunker, rubbing at his dark-circled eyes, unaware of the angel sitting at the table who is leafing through old men of letter's records.

"sam. you look unwell."

sam blinks, though he isn't startled by castiel's presence. if anything, he is grateful for it. grateful and undeserving.

"shouldn't you be sleeping?" comes castiel's voice again, his brow furrowed as it usually is. his blue eyes are sharp and curious as sam walks his way, soon sitting down in the chair across from his.

"probably. doesn't mean i can," sam replies, peeking over to see what castiel is reading, but the angel closes the book before he gets a chance to. when sam looks up with a raised brow, the expression on castiel's face is unreadable. "what?"

"why is it that you still torture yourself, sam?" castiel questions suddenly, leaning forward as he rests his arms on the table, lacing his fingers together in front of him. when the only response he gets is a confused look from sam, he tilts his head and continues. "you have such a low opinion of yourself. even after all the good you have done, all the lives you have saved, you still think of yourself as the boy with the demon blood."

sam's face falls flat, and he stiffens in his chair. why did castiel have to be so perceptive, and so straightforward? "i dunno, man. we don't need to get into that right now," he mumbles eventually, averting his eyes from the blue ones that see right through him. he runs a hand through his hair, trying not to think about the last time his insomnia kept him up for so long.

"yes, we do. if it will ease your troubles and allow you to heal, then yes. we do."

sam thinks about that response for several seconds before he finally looks at castiel again, heaving a sigh. "why do you even care, cas? you said it yourself, the day we met. i'm the boy with the demon blood. that's what i am, above being a hunter, above being dean's brother, above everything." something about castiel's eyes urge him to spill his guts, and he suddenly can't stop talking. "i'm unclean. unholy. even after all this time, i still feel it in me. every time i kill a demon, i think about how good it would feel to drink it's blood, and then i hate myself a little more. i'm a monster, cas. i'm no better than them."

their eye contact is unwavering, and as sam falls silent, they are both still. castiel, who has become as precious to sam as dean, stares at him with a profound sadness in his eyes. sam deserves none of it.

"you could fix me," sam says suddenly, the idea hardly formed in his mind before he's latching on to it, leaning forward suddenly so he's closer to castiel. "you, you're the opposite of me. you're pure and just and perfect."

castiel blinks owlishly, his head cocked to the side in a way that makes sam want to weep. how can an angel sit before him like this and not feel anything but revulsion?

"sam, if i could heal you, i would. but there is nothing to heal. there is nothing wrong with you." castiel frowns as sam scoffs at his words, almost pouting. "there isn't. the demon blood within you is just a part of you. there is nothing to be done about it. you can fight your urges, and you can do the right thing. that's all that matters, in the end."

perhaps he means to sound reassuring, but sam just feels sick. he's shaking his head before castiel even finishes his sentence. "you're wrong. i’m wrong, on a molecular level. but you can help me!" without thinking, sam reaches out, grapsing castiel's hand in his own. he's surprised to find that castiel's skin is much cooler than that of a normal human. he's also surprised that castiel doesn't recoil from the touch. instead, their hands twine together like they have done this before. like their hands belong together.

"i want to help you," castiel says in a quiet tone, briefly looking down at their hands, feeling an unusual flutter in his chest. "what can i do for you, sam? i will do anything in my power." devotion is clear in his tone, but sam doesn't notice. he's too far gone into hating himself and trying to fix himself.

"it's angel blood. it's your blood — don't you see? you're the only one who can save me and make me right. because, despite everything, you're still here. you let me hold your hand and you heal me after hunts, even though i'm... me. but if you let me have your blood... it would cleanse me." sam isn't sure, really, where the idea came from. if he's been thinking about it for awhile, or if it all just clicked rather suddenly. but he is without a doubt that it will work. that castiel can save him.

castiel looks up from their joined hands and meets sam's eyes again. he takes in the human before him, tainted but lovely, cursed yet trying his hardest. perhaps he is right. demon blood is what ruined sam in the first place, so why shouldn't angel blood be the antidote? and even though castiel tries to rationalize it in his mind, he knows there is no point. because either way, he would say yes.

"of course, sam," he agrees quietly, an angel blade suddenly appearing in his hand.

"wait — not here. i don't want dean to..." sam trails off, because the thought of his brother walking in on this is simply too terrible to speak.

with a ruffle of invisible feathers, they are suddenly seated on sam's bed, in his simple room, devoid of personal touches that would make it truly his. castiel casts his eyes around, noting the differences between this room and dean's, who filled his with memories and mementos the moment they claimed this as their home. he returns his gaze to sam, sitting beside him so their shoulders brush. "it'll be okay, sam," he promises as he begins rolling up the sleeve of his trenchcoat, and then his white shirt, exposing his pale forearm.

sam stares at the soft flesh — unmarked unlike his own which is covered with scars — with a strange feeling in his stomach. he watches with apt interest as castiel drags the silver blade across his skin, a red line of blood following. the angel and the boy with the demon blood lock eyes again for a lingering glance, before sam takes castiel's arm in his hands and pulls it up to his lips.

#supernatural #spn #spn fic #sam winchester #castiel #sastiel #samcas #freakstiel #nico’s drabbles

79 notes · View notes

toads-treasures · 17 days

Text

I am once again thinking of Wyll Ravengard (when am I not) and I am turning over the line,

“I wanted you to know The Blade, not the shadow he left behind.”

I’m so unwell

#wyll also needs a ‘you’re good enough just as you are’ scene #wyll ravengard #bg3 #wyll ravengard my beloved I am studying you like a bug

76 notes · View notes

cabco · 18 days

Text

Hey so I am unwell

I have had a thought... If Mephone made all of the contestants, how much leeway do we think he had over their personalities?

More specifically for Taco, did he make her with the intent of her being a "villain"? Bc as I see it, either

A. Mephone made Taco as an intended 'twist villain' for his season. Meaning that she was always preset to do some kind of betrayal/reveal, making her actions towards Pickle at least somewhat out of her own control.

Devastating bc it really would make her a little doomed by the narrative. She would probably make her question if she'll ever be able to better herself or if she's doomed to be 'evil' and hated by everyone forever (like she kinda already does).

B. Mephone did not make Taco with any intent of being 'evil', he really did just want her to be a silly random character, and the change in personality and betrayal was entirely HER OWN FAULT.

That would also be terrible bc like. She could have so easily had it good and ruined it by no fault of her creation and/or Mephone.

Leaning towards this one being true bc of Mephone's line in truth or flare that was something around the lines of "You never had a way with words until the day you suddenly did"

Guys. There is no good option.

#inanimate insanity #ii #ii taco #ii pickle #I AM UNWELLLLL #if the mephone making her a twist villain ends up being correct #you will be seeing me on the news #;_;#sheep.txt #ii spoilers #ii 16 spoilers #ii 16

84 notes · View notes

st-el-la-luna · 8 months

Text

It's Not Enough: Captain John Price x Reader

(sorry for vanishing I am mentally unwell)

An injury leaves the Task Force's Captain unable to do all that he usually does. You're more than happy to help.

NSFW 18+

➔ gn!reader ("you"/"your" pronouns, described as "pretty" once), Price is readers boss, pillow fucking, desperate almost subby Price

unedited, written on mobile in Spanish class

part two

It wasn't fair to say that the mission went south. It's not like the Task Force failed it or anything. You guys secured the intel you needed and cleared the base no problem.

Except there was a problem. Your intel on the enemy operation had been spotty and it turns out the enemy was more prepared than you all had been lead to thought.

Sitting silently in the back of the truck you all quietly lick your wounds. Soap had been stabbed, "'tis just a scratch," he had announced before taking out three men with an improved explosive. (Ghost hit him for that one) (the Shakespeare reference. Not the bomb). Gaz and Ghost both were shot, the former in the knee and the latter, grazed on the neck by a bullet that very well could have killed him. You got a little too close to a grenade and now your ears are ringing and you're covered cuts and scrapes from the shrapnel, bits of metal still embedded in your skin.

Price got it the worst though. One of the enemy soldiers managed to sneak up on him. This hulking, unit of a man who made Ghost, Ghost, look like a gangly teen.

You always wondered how Ghost, being as big as he is, could move so quietly so quickly. This enemy soldier made you think that maybe you were just loud and slow.

Not a single person realized that the soldier was there until it was too late. He tackled Price, knocking the gun from his hands then threw him, literally threw him, like a doll, over the catwalk ledge.

Price was lucky though, in a sense, because he crashed to the ground close enough to you and Gaz that you could provide him cover.

He was unlucky, or maybe just stupid, because he tried to catch his fall. His fall from three stories up.

With his hands.

Never have you heard bones snap so loud.

You glance across the truck at him. He's breathing slowly and deliberately, self-soothing. His hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching occasionally, but otherwise motionless.

"Hey, look on the bright side, Captain," you say with a crooked grin, blinking away the blood dripping from a gash above your eye. "At least you won't have to do any paperwork for a while."

"Won't be able to jack off either," Soap adds with a crow of laughter. "Poor lil John's gonnae be black and blue... Won't even be able to feel the pain in yer hands over the straining of your–"

"That'll do!" Ghost snaps, ever the one to keep Soap in line.

It's quiet for the rest of the way back to base. It's quiet as you all head to medical for treatment. You're all drained, happy with a job well done, but exhausted from, well, everything.

Tired and sore, you decide to forgo dinner in order to catch some extra sleep. You're walking through the halls when you pass by Price's office.

The door is cracked open, which is unusual, and a rhythmic sound tumbles out into the hallway. A blend between panting and grunting.

He groans out a frustrated, "Fucking... Ah... Fucking hell!"

"Captain?" You ask hesitantly, knocking on the door. You hear shuffling inside, the rustling of cloth, soft jingle of metal. "I, uh... Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine," he grits out, breathless and frustrated. "I'm just..." More rustling. "Fuck!"

"Can I come in?" You ask, already opening the door.

He doesn't say no. In fact, he doesn't say anything. Until you've got the door open and are left staring at the scene before you.

"I didn't want anyone seeing me like this..." He grumbles.

He's standing behind his desk, both hands and forearms in casts. He's struggling with a zip up hoodie, tangled in the fabric as he tries to put it on.

You fight back the urge to laugh and succeed. You fight back the urge to smile and fail. "Want some help with that, Captain?"

"Please."

This continues for the duration of his injury, him coming to you for help with tasks he can't do himself. For as long as he's in those casts, you're at his beck and call.

It's not uncommon for you to be called away from some mundane task to help the Captain with something equally mundane. But hey, at least you get to spend time with your Captain.

Your handsome, rugged, often flushed as of late, Captain.

You're captain whose casts you've wrapped before he can shower. Whose shirts you've helped put on. Whose hair you've brushed. Beard you've combed. Whose-

You keep having to tell yourself that this doesn't mean anything. The only reason he comes to you and no one else is because, well, he doesn't want anyone else seeing him like this.

So what if he blushes when you help secure his belt around his hips? Or when your fingers graze his neck as you button his collar. So what if once or twice while youve helped him dress your hand has brushed his cock (and oh, it's big), and it's jumped to attention. It's a natural reaction, really. Price never even mentions it. He's probably embarrassed. Ashamed. Nothing more to it.

But what if...?

No. You tell yourself sternly. Bad. That's your boss.

But...

He has been calling on you more. Has been standing closer. Leaning in when you speak. Burying his nose into your hair before you leave his room and inhaling through his nose, then shutting the door on you, leaving you a little dazed and more than a little confused in the hall.

Still. It doesn't mean anything. You've just never spent this much time with him. Maybe this is normal.

You're in the armory with Soap and Gaz when your phone goes off in your pocket. Price is calling.

"Captain?" You ask, holding the phone between your shoulder and ear as you continue to clean your rifle. "Everything okay?"

"I know I told you I wouldn't need anything until later, but I... I need your help," he says, his voice gruff and rumbling. "Now."

Soap mimes a blow job and Gaz snickers, shouldering him playfully.

"Could have called anyone, Captain," Soap calls out loud enough for Price to hear through the phone. "What is it you need help with that only our pretty little Corporal can do? Hmm?"

"Shut up, Soap," Price grumbles.

"Captain says to shut up, Johnny," you relay to Soap. He laughs.

"I need your help," Price repeats, his breath stuttering slightly.

"Alright," you say, setting the rifle down. "What with?"

"I'm..." his words are cut off by a groan and the sound of shuffling, followed by something clattering to the floor. "Fuck... I'm trying to..." He pauses, breathing heavy. "Tryna trim my beard and I.. Just get over here quick."

"Aye, sir. I'll be in your office soon."

"Not my office. My quarters."

You pause, holding the phone properly now. "I... Your quarters, Captain?"

Soap snickers, and thrusts his hips into the air a couple times. You flip him off.

"Yes," he says. "It's where I keep my products."

"Right, of course," you shake your head. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Good," he says, letting out a breathy sound through his nose. "I can't deal with this any longer..."

"Your beard has gotten scruffy," you muse.

"I... Just... Hurry." He hangs up.

"Getting out of work early again, huh?" Gaz asks with a grin. "Or should I say getting off work early?"

"Not you too," you whine, flipping the pair of them off as you leave the room.

You don't catch what Soap says, his words muffled by his accent and the closing door. Judging by the raucous laughter that breaks out when he's done, you figure that might be for the best.

You get to Price's room and knock, waiting a beat before turning the knob. "Hey, Captain, just a heads up, I've never actually trimmed a beard before but I–"

You stare at the scene before you with wide eyes, blood rushes to your cheeks as your jaw drops.

"Close the door," Price grunts, staring up at you from his place on the bed. On his knees, forearms braced against the mattress, his face red, jaw slack as he lets out rhythmic pants and groans.

You don't dwell on it. Instead, your attention is drawn to the clumsy, desperate movement of his hips as he ruts desperately against his pillow. His pillow which is covered in... Is that one of your workout shirts?

"I... Captain?!" You squeak in surprise, taking a slight step back.

"Soap was right," he grumbles, humping and grinding and moaning into the pillow. Into your shirt. Your shirt. This is happening. This is real. Price inhales deeply through his nose, his tongue lolling out. "Haven't... Haven't been able to... It's... I... It hurts, i... I thought this would... it worked before but i... It's not... not enough, I.. Help... Please."

Slowly, hesitantly, you shut and lock the door behind you. "Oh, so you've done this before?" You quirk a brow as you approach his bed. "Fucked into your pillow like a desperate whore thinking it was me?"

He whines, actually whines, and his hips falter for a second before speeding up. With each forward stroke of his hips you can catch a glimpse of his cock. Thick and red and painfully hard, dripping so much precum it looks like he's already cum before you got here. "Don't... Don't tease me, Corporal... Don't forget who's in charge here."

"Seems to me, Captain, that I'm the one in charge here," you hum, slowly kneeling on the bed. He looks up at you through his sweaty fringe, his breaths hot and wet when they fan against your skin. "I mean, you're the one who needs help, after all... You're the one whose job could be on the line... I doubt the higher ups would be thrilled to find you like this, all backed up and desperate for one of your soldiers?"

His eyelids flutter, he bites his lips muffling a growl that crescendos into a moan when you cradle his face. "Stop, I... I just... It hurts..."

"I'm sure it does," you hum sympathetically, running a hand through his hair. "Been too long, hasn't it?"

He keens and leans into your touch, drool dribbles from his lips. "I... Weeks, may, ah, maybe a month... Or longer... I-I need it... Please."

"Well, that just won't do," you tut, shaking your head in mock sympathy. You tighten your grip on his hair and he bows, arching his back like it's his job. "Just look at you, Captain..."

He whines and you shush him gently, hand sliding from his hair to cup his jaw and chin, forcing him to look up at you. "Don't worry, Captain... I plan to do a lot more than just stare..."

Please reblog to support my writing!

Masterlist

#call of duty #cod mwii #cod #captain price #john price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #cod x reader #x reader

220 notes · View notes