#[Since I imagine after BE+ Sync has some words] | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sammyluvr · 4 months ago

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something about being close — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, angst, fluff, sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n, 9.5K words. requested !

summary : sam's being overprotective of you, and it leads to an argument and something more.

“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”

“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.

“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”

“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”

“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”

“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”

“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.

“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.

“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”

“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.

“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.

“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger’s seat to see the sneer on your face.

“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.

“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.

“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.

having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.

“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.

“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”

he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”

you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.

“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.

“no.”

your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.

“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.

“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”

you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.

“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”

it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.

“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”

“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”

“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”

despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.

you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”

“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.

“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”

“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.

dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.

dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.

walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.

“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.

“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.

“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.

you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.

“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.

“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.

“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.

“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.

you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.

“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”

he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”

you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”

“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.

that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.

“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.

a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.

in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”

you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.

“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.

“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.

“fbi?”

“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.

“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.

“way to jinx it,” he grunts.

you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.

“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.

“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.

“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.

you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.

in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.

“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.

“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.

he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.

knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.

“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.

you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.

the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.

he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.

you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.

“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.

“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.

you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.

his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.

he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.

“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”

he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.

“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.

“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.

“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”

“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.

it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.

even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.

you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.

“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.

he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.

“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.

you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”

“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.

“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.

“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.

“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.

“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.

when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”

“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.

“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.

“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.

“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.

“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.

“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.

and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.

with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.

“i’m upset with you,” you state.

he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.

“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”

sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.

sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.

“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.

“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”

he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.

“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”

suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.

you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”

he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.

“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”

there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.

“i can’t lose you.”

there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.

but you still don’t quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.

“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”

it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”

“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.

“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.

any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.

“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.

“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”

sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.

“but i love you.”

he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.

“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.

“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”

the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.

his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.

you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.

unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.

then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”

the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”

“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”

you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.

letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”

sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.

you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn’t seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.

dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.

“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.

you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.

“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.

“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.

the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.

you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.

dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.

he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.

“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.

“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.

when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.

“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.

he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.

you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.

it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”

you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.

sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.

“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.

that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.

the only word you can catch is “finally.”

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forest-hashira · 8 months ago

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this absolutely would not leave me alone, in reference to this post. @fushigurro thank u for supporting/enabling me. divider by cafekitsune. this is omegaverse, mentions of heat cycles/sex but nothing explicit. minors dni.

it had been a few days since your synced heat with satoru had ended, and though it hadn't actually lasted longer than normal, it had felt like it, neither of you able to get the kind of relief you really needed. you'd given yourselves a day to sober up and recover, and then you'd had a much dreaded conversation.

you'd been everything to each other since you'd gotten together straight out of school. in all that time, you'd never needed anyone else for anything, even able to get each other through your heats with a little help from some toys. but this had been a brutal wake up call, a reminder that there were some things you'd never be able to do for each other, no matter how hard you tried.

it was unsettling to realize, though, and the following realization that you would have to find someone else to trust in your most vulnerable moments was downright scary. a new partner couldn't be just anyone, especially not if they were going to help both of you when you needed it. in fact, there was only one person either of you could imagine trusting with that.

and so you set up a coffee date.

"you feelin' okay, baby?" satoru's gentle voice pulled you from your mental spiral, and you offered him a weak smile.

"what makes you ask?" you set your drink down on the table, unable to stomach anything because of your anxiety.

"your leg has been bouncing nonstop since we sat down." he peered at you over the tops of his sunglasses, leaning in to rest his forehead against your temple. "it's all gonna be fine, you know that, right?"

"unless he hates us for asking this of him and decides he never wants to speak to us again." you weren't expecting the laugh your words drew from him, and you pinched his side harshly. "don't laugh at me! it's not impossible..."

you could practically feel him roll his eyes at you. "he's not gonna hate us," he soothed, the faintest hint of a purr rumbling beneath his words, easing some of the tension in your shoulders. "i doubt he'll say no, either. he's had a thing for you for years."

"he has not!" you turned and looked up at him, wide-eyed.

satoru cocked his head slightly, seeming genuinely surprised. "he has too! he told me once when we were drunk, before we all graduated and you and i got together. you didn't know?"

"of course i didn't know! he never said anything to me. i knew he was in love with you, though."

it was satoru's turn to look shocked. "you're lying to me."

"i am not! we all saw the way he looked at you. it was obvious."

your boyfriend seemed to pale at your words, as impossible as it was. "for how long?"

"from the very first day i met you guys. he still looks at you like that, y'know."

"who looks at satoru like what?"

suguru's voice startled both of you, and you looked up at him with burning faces. the alpha's brows pinched with concern as he sat across the table from the two of you. satoru pushed a black coffee towards him, but it went untouched as he spoke again.

"are you guys okay? you said you needed to ask me something important. is something wrong?"

you and satoru exchanged a look, your omega offering you an encouraging nod.

"sort of," you sighed after a moment. "we, uh. well. our heats synced last week, and it sucked. like it was really bad."

suguru nodded, worry still painted across his features. "even with each other and..." he trailed off, glancing around as if remembering you were in a public place, and that it was probably not a great idea to talk openly about sex toys.

"yeah, even with that," you confirmed. "it was really, really miserable, and we really don't want to be caught off guard if our cycles ever sync like that again. which is why we asked you here."

now he really looked confused. "i don't think i understand."

"we need an alpha," satoru replied, his blunt nature a true blessing in that moment. "and you're the only one we trust to help us – to take care of us."

there was a beat of silence, then another. your heart began to pound, and you felt a bit sick all of a sudden. because this was it, wasn't it? your best friend outside of your partner was about to tell you both that you were disgusting simply for asking, and that he never wanted to hear from you ever again. he was—

"oh, uh... really?" there was no mistaking the flustered look on your friend's face, and that surprised you; he was usually so confident. "yeah, of course. i'm honored you trust me like that. anything you need, just let me know. i'll be there for you."

the relief that washed over you was so intense it nearly made you dizzy, and you were certain you would've collapsed if you weren't already sitting down. "you don't wanna take some time to think about it?"

he shook his head. "don't need to. if it means helping you guys, the answer's always going to be yes."

"whipped for us already, huh?" satoru teased, attempting to maintain his composure despite his face being the prettiest shade of pink.

the smile that tugged at suguru's lips was affectionate, his gaze warm as he took in the two of you across from him. "yeah," he agreed softly. "something like that."

#trying to get out of the habit of apologizing for posting things that are “outside” what i usually post so. i'm not sorry!#(is shaking & gripping the sink)#fallon's fics #cw omegaverse #tw omegaverse #satosugu #satosugu x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #nobody look at me rn idk where this came from

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transchesters · 5 months ago

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sam and castiel spend their evening talking, leading dean to discover sam can speak ennochain, and sam doesn’t know what love means. inspired by this post from @wendibird ! read it on ao3!!

"do you ever miss heaven? the way it used to be?" sam asks, lifting his eyes from the current men of letter's record that he is reading so he can meet castiel's eyes. the angel sits across the table from him sam and dean had just gotten back from a hunt, one that was pretty cut and dry, and now he and castiel are engaging in their own reading and research, enjoying the quiet company of one another while dean showers.

castiel glances up as well, setting down the leather-bound book he has been purusing. his brow furrows in the way it often does, the way that sam can't help but smild fondly at. "sometimes i do, yes," he answers after a moment of thought. "but then i recall that heaven was never..." he trails off, as if searching for the right words. "heaven was never as ideal and perfect as i had believed. i was ignorant and blinded by my devotion to my father, but with time and distance i have come to realize that heaven was not the home i thought it was."

sam nods silently, feeling a certain understanding for the slight grief he thinks he observes in castiel. "did you ever meet him? god, i mean?"

a fond, perhaps bittersweet smile pulls at castiel's lips as he nods. "yes. when i was created, he brought me down to earth and spoke to me about mankind. he entrusted me to care for his most beloved creations."

it's then that dean is steps into the doorway, pausing there at the domestic scene before him. he can’t help himself from eavesdropping, because what on earth could these two be talking about that has them looking all… lovey-dovey? as his brain processes the last things spoken, he realizes... he has no idea what the hell castiel had been saying. a confused expression pinches his face. had he been hearing things?

"how long ago was that?"

"you would not believe me if i told you."

"it used to be hard for me to comprehend just how old you are, or the earth and angels in general," sam starts, his own brow pinching a little, "back when we first met you. before... before the cage. but i think i understand better now." dean darts his eyes back and forth as the conversation continues, chills running down his back which cause goosebumps to erupt over his arms. as he watches, sam and castiel are switching from speaking english to... something else, and dean has no clue what.

actually, with a sudden realization, he does have a clue.

"your time there, it must have felt like... centuries. no wonder your ennochian is so good. does it bother you to speak it? i cannot imagine you have good memories of the language."

sam blinks, as if shocked by castiel’s compliment, which helps him ignore the memories that do in fact resurface. "really?" he asks, still oblivious to the minor panic attack he and castiel are subjecting dean to. "most of the time, i don't even realize i'm speaking ennochian. it just… happens, i guess. but i do like speaking it with you. i get to make new memories, with you." he doesn't try to hide the warmth behind the words as he usually does.

dean slams his book shut, suddenly unable to remain quiet. "you speak what? since when?!"

sam and castiel are both startled by the sudden exclamation, glancing over at the eldest winchester in sync, which makes dean wonder just how much he’s been missing.

"since the cage," sam answers after a moment, his brow furrowed. "i… guess i forgot to mention it."

dean scoffs, full of disbelief. "dude, what the hell? you can speak some weird, angelic language and forgot to mention it?"

"actually, the ennochian that sam speaks is even older than the tongue i am used to," castiel speaks up, as if that were a fact that would help diffuse the situation. now sam and dean both turn their confused glances at the angel, though dean is much more perturbed than sam.

"i didn’t know that," sam mumbles, sounding thoughtful at this new information. "i guess it makes sense, though. i learned from lucifer and michael, and they probably spoke a much older tongue than most angels." the names fall from his lips, coated in pain, but he ignores it.

castiel gets the sense that sam doesn't want to dwell on those names and that pain, so he just nods in agreement. "yes, i think that's the case."

"alright, y'know what, that's enough freakiness for me for the night. sam, we'll talk about this later." dean shakes his head as if disappointed, groaning as he turns on his heel and soon disappears down the hallway leading to his room. as usual, he doesn't notice the pinched and pained expression he's caused on sam's face.

sam heaves a sigh, folding his hands on the table in front of him and staring down at them as if they would provide some sort of answers. he flinches when, suddenly, castiel’s hand envelops his own.

"he speaks rashly, sam, and does not mean it maliciously," castiel says gently, meeting sam’s multicolored eyes with a smile. "he doesn’t understand."

sam tries to relax under castiel's touch and his gaze, his eyes so full of warmth and the understanding he doesn't get from his brother. but he doesn't want to think about dean right now; instead, he considers the fact that he and this wonderful angel have been dancing around whatever this was for quite some time now. but sam feels like they might be reaching a point they can't ignore any longer.

"cas…" sam trials off, because what is he supposed to say here? everything about this is wrong. castiel isn't supposed to think of him this way, isn't supposed to look at him with such fondness. "don't look at me like that. i'm just some human."

now it's castiel's turn to look pained, and he sits forward in his seat, leaning closer to the other. "sam, please, don't say such things about yourself. you are not filth."

sam's lips part in shock, but his clenching stomach stops him from speaking. "filth? i thought…" he swallows painfully and shakes his head. "lucifer called me that. i thought it meant human."

castiel lets out a sharp exhale, feeling a ball of rage grow in his stomach. "no. it doesn't." sam nods silently, leaning back in his seat which makes their hands pull apart. castiel can't help but chase the contact.

"don't we both deserve some comfort, after all of this? can't you see that i love you, very deeply, and i'm tired of hiding it?"

sam blinks, his brow furrowed as he tries to place some of the words he can't recognize. "love?" he repeats, the ennochian word foreign on his tongue. "what is that word? i don't think i've heard it." he grows even more confused when castiel gazes at him with a profound sadness. the angel squeezes his hand, almost tight enough to be painful, but sam doesn't complain.

"love. it means love, sam. i was saying that i love you."

#i hope i did this idea justice because i love it sooo much #sastiel #supernatural #sam winchester #castiel #supernatural fanfiction #kinda dean crit? i guess #nico’s drabbles

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pastanest · 11 months ago

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Spencer Reid x gn!reader

A/N: been gone for a hot minute due to personal circumstances but just wanted to drop a lil something (that anyone who watches Doctor Who will be able to tell I started writing a BIT ago given the references here lol) to let you guys know I’m still kickin it <3

warnings: slight hint at an age gap but nothing specific

A Smile

You can imagine the rest of the team would be floored to hear that Spencer has actually exchanged texts with you on a multitude of occasions, outside of professional settings. Numbers were swapped on your first day, naturally, and to begin with you only dared text Spencer if you had absolutely no other choice (if another member of the team could text him, you’d busy yourself to ensure they would, rather than ask you, to save you the embarrassment). But, ever since the first occasion that you texted Spencer a random question out of hours - regarding trivia you definitely hadn’t spent a concerning amount of time deciding on before you sent it to him - you have formed a bond that’s unspoken beyond typed words.

You: so, are you looking forward to the 60th Anniversary? :P

As you hit send, you roll onto your bed, grinning giddily down at your phone. In no more than a few seconds, your screen tells you that your beloved genius is already typing back to you, and within a minute, you receive the paragraph you’d anticipated.

Spencer: Absolutely. The revival of Russel T. Davies’ era, coupled with the return of Murray Gold’s legendary scores, are sure to ignite the spark of nostalgia that the show has been missing for some time. In particular, I am looking forward to seeing how Russel will format this new regeneration of the Doctor, and how many references to his predecessors will decorate the anniversary episodes, especially. I take it you are excited for the anniversary episodes, too, hence the question?

His formality and enthusiasm being conveyed in a way that is so distinctly Spencer, even over text, is enough to have you giggling. You know by now that if you ask something about one of Spencer’s interests, whether it be facts, statistics, generalized trivia, questions, literature, Star Trek or, in this case, Doctor Who, there is no way he can downplay his excitement.

You: knew it! :D and yeah, I'm super excited!!

Mostly, you are thrilled by the thought of discussing the episodes at great length with Spencer for weeks after they’ve aired, but you keep that safely in the subtext of your conversation.

Spencer: Of course you knew. Perhaps we could share a live commentary on the anniversary episodes, if we’re not otherwise engaged with a case?

Only Spencer Reid can make your heart stop with a suggestion like that. Before you can consider any consequences, you are frantically typing back to him.

You: I’d love that! will the commentary be by text or call?

He is typing the moment your message reaches him, his ability to read at what you consider to be the speed of light making for a wonderfully speedy texting partner in every conversation you have.

Spencer: Either is fine, but if we aren’t away on a case, I must admit the idea of experiencing the episodes together in person would be most preferable. It eradicates the risk of our viewings not being synced up or our call connection potentially spoiling the immersion. What do you think?

And just like that, he’s stopped your heart again. In fact, you truly have to consider whether Spencer Reid has figured out a means of reaching through his phone to yours, to snatch your heart right out of your chest. As though he hadn’t already stolen it on the day you met.

You: I think you’re right, like always, Doctor Reid :P

That’s a rational reply, you think. Not too eager. Not the resounding ‘yes’ that every fiber of your being is screaming. In the chess game that is how-to-text-Spencer-Reid, you have marked yourself as the queen. He’d tell you that’s not how chess works, but he’d probably also agree.

Spencer: I’m far from right “always”, but I very much appreciate that you think so.

You’re about to reply, when another text appears on your screen.

Spencer: (:

Doctor Spencer Reid has double-texted you. And, not only that, he’s sent you a smiley face. This is unprecedented. Your jaw drops.

You: omg you did not just send that

Honestly, your life is flashing before your eyes as you lie on your bed. Is this the power of your influence? Could you truly indoctrinate older men into sending emojis? Could this really be you?

Spencer: I most certainly did. I’ll even do it again.

Spencer: (:

He had to send it as a separate text. He couldn’t just add the smiley face to the end of his original message. No, of course he couldn’t.

You: omg who are you!!

You’re laughing now. Actually, properly laughing at the ridiculousness of this situation. Wait until Penelope hears about this.

Spencer: I don’t think these suit me very much, but they are fun. What about this one - 🙂

This is going too far. You’ve played God. You’ve flown too close to the sun. You’ve created a monster in the form of Spencer Reid using emojis while still being so formal. Still, you can’t deny that this is perhaps the funniest conversation you have ever had, with anyone, specifically because it perfectly demonstrates the unique humor shared between the two of you.

You: woah! careful! don’t push it, genius!!

And, in response to that, Spencer Reid is left with a philosophical question he has never before pondered: how does one convey sincere laughter via text? This reply takes him the longest, because he has to consider it very carefully. He wants it to indicate how funny he did find your message, and does find you, in general. He wants it to be obvious in its intent and impossible to misunderstand. So, after four minutes, you receive a text that has you laughing so hard you very nearly fall off of your bed.

Spencer: Haha.

Sometimes, that’s simply how your text conversations with Spencer end. While he does, generally, prefer a more traditional ending in the form of a goodnight text (that he actually makes the effort to sign off with a “- Spencer x”, like it’s a handwritten letter), he enjoys the nuances of an open end, on the basis it means a conversation with you doesn’t have to end. Only has to pause, temporarily, until one of you picks it back up again. There is something poetic, Spencer thinks, to the notion of you being his constant both in metaphor and literally in a text conversation that isn’t formally closed. That door is left open to you, much like the door to his heart is.

And that night, he closes his eyes with a smile on his face at the thought of you, everything you are, everything you make him feel. Everything that makes you, you, and how that makes you everything to him.

A text could never truly convey the heaven that you bring to him by existing, but just like proposing plans to watch Doctor Who with you, it’s a good place to start.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #imagine #imagines #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #headcannon #headcannons #spencer reid headcannon #spencer reid imagines

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alotofpockets · 1 year ago

Text

Last night | Part 2 | Katie McCabe | 18+ MDNI

Pairing: Katie McCabe x Arsenal!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut

A/n: The much requested part two to Last Night. I hope you like it :)

Masterlist | Woso masterlist | words: 2.5k

Part 1 | Part 2

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By the time you got home, and had your conversation with Katie, it was already lunch time. So, Katie drove you to one of your favourite restaurants in the city for a lunch date. You had eaten here with Katie on numerous occasions, still this time it felt different. Every time your eyes met Katie's, a warm feeling rose to your chest, and your cheeks turned pink. It was your first date with Katie, and it was already better than you could’ve ever imagined.

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Y/n_y/l/n just posted to their story

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Before you head home, you decide to walk around in a nearby park. Your intertwined hands swing between the two of you, both being so happy to have shared your feelings with each other, and getting to be together in the way you’ve been wanting to for so long.

At your apartment, you plop down on the couch together, and start playing some fifa, like you often did on your days off together. You crushed Katie in the first game, “You just got lucky, I want a rematch.” She said when the final whistle blew. You shrugged your shoulders, “If you say so, miss sore loser.”

You look over to Katie with a smirk when you win another game, in Katie’s defence it was a close game this time. “Best out of five?” She asked without acknowledging your win. You peck her lips, “Sure, babe.” It was the first time you’d called her that, and you felt a blush creep up to your cheeks, the moment the nickname left your mouth.

Katie used your flustered state to her advantage, scoring the opening goal in the next game. She ended up winning your third game by two goals, making it so that she has a chance to win the best out of five competition after all.

After her last game's instant advantage through your flusteredness, she realised she could use this to her advantage more. A few minutes into the fourth game, she leans in and kisses you on the lips. You smile into the kiss, and are distracted from the game instantly. Before you could kiss Katie back, her head was already turned to the tv, as she raced her players towards your goal, leaving you to chase after her players. She scored the equaliser, and jumped up in excitement. You roll your eyes, “That’s so not fair.” She sits back down next to you and places a kiss on your cheek, “Who’s the sore loser now?” While Katie was busy rubbing in the goal she just scored, you managed to get through her defence and score a goal of your own. “Still you.” You say with a smirk, as the final whistle blows, and you are the official winner of the best out of five competition.

Katie is pouting in defeat, it was one of the most adorable things you had ever seen. “Good game.” You say offering your hand like how you do on the pitch with your opponents. Katie rolls her eyes but takes your hand regardless. Instead of shaking it, she uses it to pull you closer. You move with her, and sit down on her lap, facing her, a pout still present on her face. “I have an idea of how to get that pout off of your face.” Before Katie could ask what you had in mind, you connected your lips with hers.

The kiss started slow and soft, your lips moving in sync with one another. It turned more passionate once Katie’s hands slid up your thighs to your hips, as she pulled you closer. With one hand on her chest and the other in the nape of her neck, you deepen the kiss. Katie’s hands just started exploring underneath your shirt when the doorbell rang, rudely interrupting the both of you. With a deep sigh you get off of Katie’s lap to open up your front door.

You had totally forgotten about the food that you had ordered for dinner. Normally you wouldn't eat out twice in a day, but since your plans for today changed, you didn’t have enough food at home to cook a meal yourself. You hold up the bag of food, and it’s only then that Katie realises too. You walked over to kiss Katie once more before pulling her up and to the kitchen table.

Once you had done all the dishes together, Katie got a mischievous look on her face. “What?” You ask her with a laugh. “I believe we have some unfinished business to take care of.” While tapping your finger to your chin, to make it seem you’re deep in thought, you say, “Hm, I don’t think I know what you’re talking about.” Katie’s mischievous look turns into a pout, you look at her with a smirk, “Oh now I remember, miss sore loser.” She rolls her eyes, and pulls you closer. “Just come here.”

Her lips on yours felt like heaven. She walked you towards your bedroom, while she kept kissing you. The path you take was slowly drawn out by the discarded items of clothing. Your room filled with sounds of pleasure as Katie was sucking on your pulse point, and letting her hands explore your body. She started moving her kisses down your neck, your chest, your boobs, your stomach, all the way down to your thighs. With lust filled eyes she looks up to you for permission to continue, “Please Katie.” Is all she needed to hear to spread your legs, and connect her lips with your centre. The pleasure made you instantly buck your hips up, Katie reached a hand to your hip to press them back down. “Patience, darling.”

It wasn’t long after that you felt your orgasm nearing. Katie’s tongue circled your clit, while her fingers were moving inside you at a steady pace. “I’m so clo-” You didn’t even get to finish your sentence, as Katie curled her fingers hitting all the right places, and bringing you over the edge. She slowed her pace to help you ride out your orgasm. “You did so good, baby.”

Your hips bucked up when Katie started to remove her fingers. Katie looked up at you with a sly smile. Your cheeks had turned a dark shade of red, being slightly embarrassed with how needy you were for her. “You’re so beautiful.” She noted before kissing your cheek. She started moving her fingers slowly again. Her lips met yours in a passionate kiss. Katie loved the feeling of you moaning into the kiss.

Since you were still sensitive from your previous orgasm, Katie managed to get you close again in a matter of a few minutes. “It’s okay, baby, let go.” She whispered in your ear, before her lips connected to your neck once again. You came hard, while moaning Katie’s name, a stark difference to how quiet you had been the last time. Once she helped you ride out your high, she laid down next to you, pulling your body into hers.

You were exhausted from the short night, the long travel, and the amazing orgasms that Katie had just given you but you wanted Katie to have her turn too. Katie had noticed how tired you were and immediately took your hand in her own. “It’s okay, I wanted to take care of you tonight.”

Katie moved out from under you, and started to get up. You didn’t want her to leave, so you quickly asked, “Do you want to stay the night?” Katie smiled and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Of course, there’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side. I was just going to get you some water, and get you cleaned up.”

She came back in a pair of your shorts and your hoodie. After cleaning you up, and making sure you were hydrated, she helped you into a pair of shorts, and a shirt. When she laid down next to you, you were looking at her, eyes filled with admiration. “What is it, baby?” She asked while playing with your hair. “I love you, Katie.” Her smile grew and she pulled you in for a short kiss. “I love you too, y/n.”

The next morning you wake up with Katie’s arm around you. It instantly brought a smile to your face, and you cuddled into her. Sadly you couldn’t stay in bed for long as you had a match in a different league later. Luckily it was a home game, so you wouldn’t have to travel much. You prepared the both of you a quick breakfast, before you headed to the stadium. Katie’s hand was on your thigh most of the drive. You were already loving the new interactions between the two of you, and couldn’t wait to create more of your own habits together.

You met the rest of your teammates in the locker room, where your kits were all ready for the match ahead. You were chasing into your warm-up kit when Lia grabbed your shoulders, and started examining your neck and chest. “What are you doing?” Your brow furrows with the question. “Y/n, who gave you all these hickeys?” Katie sends you a proud smirk that goes unnoticed by the rest of your teammates, who all had their eyes on you now. You pushed Lia off, and quickly pulled your Jersey over your head. “My girlfriend, who clearly didn't care to warn me about them.” You knew the moment you said that there would be more questions, and sure enough, your teammates did not disappoint. “You never told us you had a girlfriend.” You shrug your shoulders, “It's still new.” It was true Katie had only asked you this morning. “Do we know her?” Caitlin continued. You and Katie hadn't talked about telling the team about the two of you, and you didn't want to assume she wanted to, so you decided to keep it vague for now. “You've probably heard of her, yes.”

You could feel the eyes roll around you, at your vagueness. “Wait, do you know who it is?” Leah's question was directed to Katie. “I do.” All eyes turned back to you. “Why can Katie know and not us?” Luckily Kim was there to put an end to your teammates comments, at least for the time being. “Leave her alone, she'll tell us when she's ready. Plus, we've got a match to win. Let's go ladies, warm-up is waiting for us.”

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Arsenalwfc just posted to their story

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“Sorry, I wasn’t sure how you felt about telling the team.” You tell Katie, as you’re warming-up together. “You’re all good. I don’t mind them knowing but seeing how all of them were back there I think it would be fun to keep them guessing for a bit, what do you think?” The sparkle in Katie’s eyes was enough for you to agree with her.

Arsenal was in the lead with a 1-0 score. The match was going great until you went down by a hard tackle. One that had you instantly reach for your ankle, trying hard to hold back your tears as the pain was overwhelming you. Lia rushed to your side, putting a hand on your arm, while she waved the medical team over with the other.

You were so focussed on your ankle that you didn’t hear the commotion that happened just a few feet away from you. Katie was yelling at the player that fouled you, and it didn’t stop there. She gave the player a hard shove, as she continued yelling. Kim and Vic tried holding her back but it was too late, as the referee was now running over and giving Katie a red card. She curses herself for now not being able to check on you, as Kim walks her to the sidelines near the tunnel.

The interaction had still gone unnoticed to you, only finding out Katie got a red when you were sitting up and were looking around for Katie, as she was usually there to check on you. “She got sent off.” Kim told you, when she realised who you were looking for. Your ankle was hurting too much to continue playing, so the medics walked you off the field. On the sidelines they taped an ice pack to your ankle, before they let you head into the tunnel.

You found Katie pacing around in the locker room. The moment she notices you, she rushes to your side to help walk you over to the bench. “Are you okay? Does it hurt?” Her questions were laced with worry. “It hurts but I will be fine. Now, what happened out there?” Katie’s shoulders slumped. “I got angry with her for hurting you, and yeah I know it was stupid, so I got a red.” You placed a kiss on her cheek. “Thank you for standing up for me. Next time I would rather have you by my side, than being kicked off though.” You joke, bringing a smile back on her face.

Leah walked down the tunnel to check on you, since you headed in, instead of sitting with the rest of the team. She opened the door to the locker room, only to find Katie kissing you. She quickly backs up, and closes the door again softly.

After about twenty minutes the rest of the team piles into the locker room with you. Everyone checked in with you, before heading to their cubbies. You were sitting with your back against the wall, with your hurt leg elevated onto Katie’s lap, and her hands resting on top of your leg.

Steph was watching the interaction with a furrowed brow. “What’s up Steffy?” You noticed her eyes on you. She shook her head, “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” With a shrug you say, “Ask me anyways.” You’d rather know what than guess what was going on in her head. “Well, I was just wondering, does your girlfriend not mind that you and Katie are so close?” She motioned to the two of you.

“Of course not, they’re the same person.” Leah looks up when the room goes silent, and her eyes widen. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.” Lia looks over to the two of you, “What does Leah mean by ‘they’re the same person’?” You look over to Katie, and she nods letting you know it’s okay. “Katie is my girlfriend.” The chatter in the locker room picks up again instantly. “Wait, Leah, how did you know?” Katie asks the fellow defender. “I went to check on y/n, and when I walked in here the two of you were kissing.” You laugh at how poorly you were able to keep your relationship to yourself to mess with your teammates, but are ultimately happy that they know.

Katie drives the both of you to her place after the match, and makes sure you’re well taken care of. She changed your ice pack when you got to her place and elevated your leg up on the coffee table before she sat down beside you, and let you cuddle into her side.

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y/n_y/l/n just posted to their story

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#katie mccabe #katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe smut #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal wfc #arsenal wfc imagine #woso x reader #woso #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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izzabela · 5 months ago

Note

I don’t know if anyone has asked this before, but the Lin Kuei trio with a reader who works as a military special forces operator? I don’t know but I’d like to think that on tactical terms the Lin Kuei and a military soldier can work pretty well together so I would definitely want to see how this will play out

When Worlds Collide - Lin Kuei x GN!spec-ops!reader (headcanons?)

in which past meets modern warfare

a/n: bro the fact you requested this and i'm getting into COD is INSANE THE TIMING IS AWESOME

ship[s]: none

warning(s): cod x mortal kombat?? ghost reference? soap ref? gaz & price reference??

You are a spec-ops soldier, working with the most elite soldiers in the world under the guidance of the American military. With the Outworld Investigations Agency opened, they're gonna need some manpower....

Introducing you and TF141, so perhaps this is a mk x cod fic??

- all three of the brothers would be very impressed with your records and awards. you are a decorated member, and the fact you are decently younger compared to your coworkers impresses them further

- Tomas asks you questions. lots of them. where you've been, what you've seen, the kills you have (it surprises you he knows the difference in the terms), he even asks others about you

- Bi Han wants to inspect every piece of modern equipment you have. he asks incredibly well-informed questions about the weapons, he even sketches ones that pique his interest the most so he can show his clan back at home

- Kuai Liang is the lucky brother who gets to hold and try the equipment. you and your team watch over him in the gun range as he shoots down practice targets with ease (ninja precision is crazy)

- Tomas and Soap might get along the best. he'd definitely be thrown off by how vulgar the team gets, but he and Soap are very friendly with one another

- Bi Han, Ghost, and Price. those two would be having a blast together talking about manly adult leadership stuff

- Kuai Liang might get along best with Gaz. Something about these level-headed men having a normal conversation in front of neanderthals is refreshing to you, snd you really appreciate that

- teamwork wise, not including the 141, they'd work pretty good with you. you're a great all around: sniper, foot-soldier, hand-to-hand, you know the drills for the shit they go through on the daily

- specifically, you and Kuai Liang would work together with a knowing silence. something like Price and Ghost since those two knew each other for so long. something about you and Kuai covering each other's asses without saying a word means you guys are in perfect sync. i can imagine it (can't you?)

- working with Bi Han is like Price and Soap, or Ghost and Soap. You definitely would try and liven up the mood as you off enemies left and right. Bi Han might actually scold you mid battle, too, expecially talking about distractions

- Tomas is Gaz, and working with him is like nothing but butter sliding smoothly on bread. Tomas is everything in a package: smart, skilled, quick-witted, and level-headed. Tomas knows when it's the right time to do things

- i think you and Bi Han would get into the worst spats and fights when discussing how to further push into battle. i'd say it gets physical, with you ordering him to stand down as the "professionals handle this"

- Kuai Liang and you could also get into some hefty drama and fights too. i think Kuai would actually apologize too, considering that maybe you might have seen more than him

- outside of the missions, everyone gets along well (maybe). when the three lin kuei bros are out drinking with you and your team, that shit is fire. Tomas probably gets drunk first, but that's after maybe five cups of hard ass liquor

- Kuai is next drunk, then Bi Han

- back to mission stuff, when you and the Lin Kuei trio aren't fighting, you guys agree on strategy rather easily. in fact, they like how you pull your strats. Bi Han takes mental notes to implement to the clan

- yeah, that's it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

guys i want to write a COD fic soon, but idk who to start with. after my reqs though

also, school started for me, so writing may be coming slower

see yall in the next fic!

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cowboybarzy · 11 months ago

Note

obsessed with your writing!!! I was wondering if you could do barzy w a plus size reader? smutty if possible 😍🥰

of course I can! and let’s ignore the embarrassingly long time this has taken me to answer and I’m so sorry but I do want to say that it's never my intention not to be inclusive with my fics. I try to be vague for a reason so you can imagine what you want :)

word count: 1.5k

content warning: insecurities, SMUT (18+): oral, piv

started this a while ago, but finally got to finish it hence the start of the season details at the beginning lol

After the very successful game the Islanders just won with your boyfriend Mat scoring his first goal of the season you and some of the team went to a bar afterwards to celebrate. However, neither you nor Mat could keep your hands off each other so you cut your little outing short.

Since you had no work in the morning, it wasn't a problem for you to stay over at Mat's place and spend the night doing incredibly dirty things to each other. Since the relationship was still fairly new, you still had lots of exploring to do in your sexual lives and you loved every second of it.

"Off, off, off," Mat said hurried between hot kisses, tugging at your clothes. You did the same, quickly giving up on his buttoned shirt and moving on to his pants that after a couple of minutes of fumbling finally hit the floor.

Both down to your underwear, you finally moved to the bed, Mat spreading your legs before climbing on top of you with a mischievous grin. He all but threw himself onto you attacking you with a hungry kiss. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders pulling him even closer, sliding your hands down his back and back up to his hair while you rocked against his bulge until you were whining pathetically. You were dripping with so much arousal, you knew you were leaving a wet spot on his briefs, but you couldn't bring yourself to care.

Mat ripped away from the kiss to continue trailing kisses down your neck. When his teeth nipped at the spot at the base of your neck, where your pulse was thundering out of sync with the rocking of your hips, your head fell back so you were baring more of your throat to his mouth. He indulged you, his mouth suckling little love bites into your skin.

"Thank you for coming tonight," Mat rumbled as he kissed his way down to your tits, bending you backward while he sucked one nipple into his mouth, drawing a cry from you. He made a pleased sound deep in his chest before torturing your other tight peak in the same way. "Loved knowing you were there," he murmured into your skin.

"Maty," you whined more insistently, bucking your hips into his bulge harder as your need to be filled grew more desperate. Your hands wandered down the sides of his chest, stroking over his muscles, the dips and curves of his body that you were still getting to know. Your fingertips traced along the edge of his boxer briefs, snapping them against his skin hard enough to drag his gaze to yours. "Need you, need you," you begged, your voice hot against his ear.

He pressed a hot kiss on your lips before turning you over so he lay on his back with you holding yourself up by your hands on his chest. And with a smirk he grinned up at you and said, "Come up here. Kneel over my face."

Your core throbbed at the thought of it, but instead of moving and obeying his order, you froze and a heating blush crept over your face. You've been shy about receiving oral sex in the past, but especially with you on top, you could feel your insecurities clamming you up. Mat could tell the shift in the situation and his gaze immediately softened from the commanding one. His hand cradled your cheek and he lifted himself enough to meet your lips. "It's ok, we don't have to," he murmured, softly kissing you. "We can flip back."

"No, I just– I don't wanna hurt you," you mumbled, still flushed. "It's also not a very flattering angle."

Mat let out a low chuckle and kissed you hot and passionately, telling you not to worry about your insecurities. "You look good from any angle, baby. Especially good when I have my head between your legs." You pressed your lips together to keep from smiling. "Wanna try? We'll stop if you're not into it."

You nodded slowly, taking in a deep breath to relax. Mat's lips met yours again gently, reassuring you that you were safe with him. Then he leaned back and with a viscous grin he said, "Now come sit on my face."

You awkwardly shuffled up, facilitated by Mat pulling you to his face with a strong grip on your ass. His fingers dug deep when you were finally in a good position and pulled you down hard to sit on him. With no further hesitation he immediately latched onto your hot sex. With each lick and suck you grew more and more comfortable until all your worries dissolved into a beautiful warm feeling.

Mat’s groan vibrated against your core, dripping wet for him, making you shiver. "Oh, god." One hand dropped to the wall in front of you to hold you steady, while the other slid into Mat’s hair as he sucked and teased your clit. Your hips started to move in tiny little rocking motions against him, and your breath hitched when he moaned long and loud to stimulate you with the vibrations.

You cried out when he unexpectedly slipped a finger between your legs. He dipped just the tip of it into your entrance, in and out, just the tip, teasing you. Then, with a hard sucked on your clit he pushed his finger all the way in. You screamed in pleasure, Mat groaning equally loud as he continued to fuck you gently on just that one finger for a long time. When you started to grow impatient, he added another finger. The fullness was a relief, and you moaned a little louder, pulling his hair.

"Mat, oh. Yeah."

"Yeah?" He kept his fingers buried in you and rocked his hand rather than thrusting it, pulling your body forwards and backwards with the force of it, his fingers hooked inside, getting at that soft spot.

"Ohgn..."

"Mmhm," he rumbles. "I knew you’d love it." He stuck his tongue out, teasing your clit. Inside your cunt, his fingers moved more viciously, bringing you closer to the edge.

"Oh! Yeah. Maty, Mat!" The way he was touching you was getting you close, fast, and he had come to know your tells well enough to know this. He growled beneath you and kept a steady pace, giving you more of what you needed to cum. "I-I'm gonna," you gasped.

"Do it," he coaxed, bumping his nose against your clit again and again, curling his fingers over that spot inside. "Let it come, love. Let it happen."

You used to struggle with it, but not anymore. You had been with Mat long enough and had explored each other enough that you were comfortable enough to orgasm.

You cried out loudly as it crest and finally washed over you, Mat's fingers forcing it out of you, sharp and sweet. "Ohhn, oh god, ohhh. Shit, shit.." You came on those tightly hissed words, riding it out against his hand and tongue that happily lapped at your clit.

You were left panting and in such a haze that you didn’t even notice Mat gently moving you from atop him back on to the mattress until he was on top of you, pressing soft kisses along your jaw and neck. You hummed, feeling so at peace and loved.

“Good?,” Mat murmured against your skin and all you managed was a nod and another humming sound that had him chuckle.

And when enough moments passed and your arousal started to rise again, your hands traveled across Mat’s body and urged him into another round. His cock slipped into you with ease, but stilled to give you a couple of seconds to adjust. Finally, Mat’s hips started moving. Slowly. So torturously slow did he pull out and thrust back home. Not once did his lips leave your skin. He ravished your lips, your neck, your breasts as he continued to slowly and deeply move inside of you.

Your lips met and you easily slipped your tongue into his mouth. It was warm and welcoming, your arms wrapping around his shoulders with the intention of never letting him go. Slowly Mat started picking up his speed, but his thrusts were more hard and controlled. You were a tangled mess, both of you holding onto each other tightly and needing to be even closer than physically possible. Your nails scratched his back, his scalp, his shoulders. Your lips pressing hot wet kisses to his skin, just like he was doing to you. His hard thrusts eventually became sloppier and quicker and you both neared your release. And when you did fall over the edge, it was Mat’s name you were crying out and back you were scratching while he emptied himself inside of you with a loud groan.

feedback & reblogs are always encouraged & appreciated 🫶🏼

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal fic #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #mat barzal smut #smut #nhl smut #hockey smut #hockey fic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #new york islanders

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valsverse · 2 years ago

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𝐞𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐡𝐜'𝐬

summary. headcanons of your relationship with edmund pevensie before dating. (fem reader)

— straight up fluff, nothing else. PART 2/2 [ link to part 1 here ]

— Reciting Shakespearean quotes to each other. You two can have a whole conversation with just quotes from Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, or even A Midsummer Night’s Dream. But the quotes just keep getting more and more suggestive until you're both just absentmindedly flirting with each other without even realizing it because it just seems so natural.

— Both of you staring at each other's lips while talking. Like his eyes dart from your eyes, to your lips, to your eyes, and back to your lips AGAIN because he just finds your lips looking so kissable. — (Expanding on the above ^) Close proximity between the two of you whenever he has the sudden urge to kiss you, (though that urge doesn't get full-filled for a while..) and INTENSE eye contact paired with soft murmurs. — BONUS: If you speak another language, use that to your absolute advantage. Just imagine.. (using French because that happens to be the language I speak, but just imagine it as whatever other language you speak.) Y/N: Je crois que je suis amoureux de toi. (I think I'm in love with you.) Edmund: What? Y/N: What?

— Brushing hands!! All the time!! Him grabbing your hand to lead you through a crowded hallway so you "don't get lost", but really it's just an excuse to be in contact with your skin. ^ (adding onto this) Making excuses along the lines of, "Your hands are cold.. let me warm them up for you." despite it being SUMMER and no where near cold.

— Tending his wounds after battle. At first he tries to hide his injuries from you, but he ends up failing miserably. You do end up scolding him for his reckless behavior while cleaning a cut right above his eye, but he doesn't even take in any of the words you're saying to him, for he's far too busy admiring how stunning you look when you're concentrated.

— Reading together all the time!! You've both read all the Narnian classics, of course. He always takes out two copies of the same book, in case you want to read the same book with him as well, so he can talk about it with you later. He loves when you read to each other as well, usually under a tree or shade of some sort, his head on your lap while you're gently running your fingers through the his hair. Your voice is the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, I swear, he could fall asleep to it. He also loves how your face contorts into different expressions as you're processing the plot, and how you bring the characters to life through changing your tone or pitch. He just thinks it's the greatest thing ever.

— Continuously denies whoever makes the assumption that he fancies you, despite him following you around like a love-sick puppy. I mean, seriously, a blind man could tell that he likes you. Peter is so sick of it.

— He gets so happy when he successfully makes you laugh out loud, because your laughter is like music to his ears. He immediately looks at you after making a joke in hopes to see your smile or hear your laugh. It's adorable, honestly.

— Awkwardly laughing to try not to malfunction when you give him a compliment. — Slow dancing in the dark when neither of you can fall asleep. The curtains are just slightly ajar, and everything around you is dead quiet, no words exchanged. He twirls you around just to hear your quiet laughter that is quickly muffled by your hand, not wanting to risk waking up anybody and getting caught. Your bodies are in absolute sync, and he's just praying that you can't hear his quickening heartbeat since the space between the two of you is almost nonexistent. — Dancing in the rain as well, laughing and clutching onto each other as the rain pours down, splashing in puddles as he twirls you around, both of you laughing like little kids. He couldn't care less if he wakes up with a cold the next day, (which he probably will considering the fact that his blouse is absolutely SOAKED in the rain.) because this is the happiest he's ever been in a while. — Sword fighting!!!! And once he finds out about your expertise with swords, well, that's just another thing to add on to his never-ending list of why he likes you. But his favorite part is when he eventually knocks your sword out of your hand, pinning you to the ground in the process. — And the first kiss... was something else. It all started with just one small kiss, pulling away instantly. But then it escalated VERY quickly. His hands cupped your face, but slowly moved down to your waist while one of your hands were tangled in his ebony locks, the other resting on his neck, his lips flush against your own. You slowly pulled away, but only when you absolutely needed air. Both of you were unable to open your eyes for a few seconds after the kiss, but you couldn't hold back the words that tumbled out of your mouth. ∙ "You kiss by th’ book" You spoke quietly, your voice still hoarse and breathless from the actions before. He rolls his eyes playfully, running his thumb over your bottom lip. ∙ "Now is not the time for Shakespeare, Y/N." He whispers, smiling down at you before leaning in once again. ∙ yoo pt 2 is out! ok so if u noticed, the 1st paragraph (the shakespeare one) kinda foreshadows the kiss so if u noticed that ur cool. ∙ wanted to get this 1 out quick bc finals are coming up on friday and ill be too busy studying.

∙ ok byebye! drink water.

valerie x.

#edmund pevensie x reader #edmund pevensie fluff #edmund pevensie fanfiction #edmund pevensie imagine #edmund x reader #narnia #edmund pevensie headcanon #narnia x reader #edmund pevensie x you

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circlebuttons · 1 year ago

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“Actions” - Rafe Cameron x Gn!Reader Blurb

:short blurb abt explosive rafexgentle reader

(originally a carmyxreader but i thought rafe was more fitting lmao)

You can faintly hear the doors downstairs slamming as they lead to your shared bedroom. The sound of his heavy footsteps can only push you to imagine who or what has triggered Rafe for the night.

The door flys open, followed by your problematic boyfriend bursting through. "I'm gonna kill him!" Rafe yells to himself, pointing one handed in the air with the gun he already has drawn for god knows why, as he yanks the chair away from his desk and throws himself in it.

You slowly rest an elbow behind the rest of your body, sitting up to watch and assess his anger. "Who are you gonna kill baby?" You softly ask him in your most gentle tone.

"Fucking Maybank!" He rants the same rant you've heard a thousand times just with more gun violence this time. You get out of bed, sauntering over in your pajamas to where he's sitting as he finishes his tirade of murderous complaints. "Am I some kind of a fucking joke?" he bitterly spits out as you round his chair and sit in his lap facing him.

"No sweetie, you're not a joke" you assure him as you wrap your arms around his neck, hands holding each other behind his head as your thumbs brush against his nape. You get a better look at him as you straddle his lap, his eyebrows are furrowed and his lips are tight as he tounges the inside of his cheek. His chest rises quickly even as he sits in his mopey silence, so you lean forward to hold him. He doesn't move his arms to hug you back as your arms close in around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder.

The hard metal of his gun sits between the two of you, stiff and uncomfortable in your stomach, and piercingly cold on your exposed thigh. You ignore the discomfort and place a chaste kiss to the corner of his lips, trailing them down his neck on a short path before leaning back to look at him again. "No more, please" you ask him speaking just above a whisper as both of your eyes trail down to the gun in his hand.

He quickly nods, running his unoccupied hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay" he agrees. frantically trying to calm himself down. You drop your hand between the space you've created and lift his fingers away from the handle.

"Done?" You ask, holding firm eye contact with him as you move his gun from his grasp to the corner of the desk.

"Done." He confirms, as he wraps his now free hands around your waist, reciprocating your embrace. You let your arms loosely hang down to rub his back, while he pulls you harder against his chest. Your face buried in his neck as you mouth gentle kisses into his skin and it only takes a second for your breathing to sync and for him to relax.

His arms tighten around you and you take a moment to relish in it. You love having calm moments like these with Rafe, they somehow outweighed the bad. He's often quick to anger, so ever since you established your relationship the conversation of self control was a must. "You can rant about your day My Love, but we talked about the yelling-"

"And the gun. I know, I'm sorry" He finishes your thought for you with a knowing tone, always eager to apologize after impulsively breaking the boundaries he knows like the back of his hand.

"Actions not words, hun" you continue to speak gingerly to him even through your irritation, you can't help but give him an overflowing amount of never ending patience.

"Actions" he repeats, looking at you with the eyes of a hurt puppy and it just melts you completely as you lean down to press a soft kiss to his lips, a way you often communicate accepting his apologies. kiss and make up was the perfect way to capture the haste in which you always forgive him.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe fic #rafe obx #rafe outer banks #gender neutral reader #blurb #rafe x you

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weirdkpopgirl · 11 months ago

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Falling Apart | Jeno Imagine #10

Title: Falling Apart

Genre: Angst, friends to lovers (kinda)

Warnings: mentions of drinking, reader has a breakdown (nothing new lol)

Word Count: ~1.1k

Author's Note: Lately, it feels like I've been trapped in the dark again (but I'm okay). But I can't help but put whatever is going on my head into words, and I chose Jeno for this because he seems like that type of friend who's silently there for you. He's very caring with his members, like how he was by Jisung's side when he was crying at the Dream Show 1. Jeno is the type of person I would trust being vulnerable with. Anyway, hope you enjoy reading ^ ^

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Jeno could hear the faint sound of beer cans shifting within the bag as he walked up the stairs to your apartment. The dark sky above him was illuminated by the usual city lights, along with the full moon casting its glow tonight.

As he neared your place, an unusual wave of nervousness washed over him. His decision to come here had been an impulsive, last-minute choice on his part. Earlier, he had been at Chenle’s house with the others for their bi-monthly movie night. However, he was perplexed when he saw your message in the group chat saying you couldn’t make it tonight. While the guys did express their wishes that you were here with them, Jeno felt your absence more than anyone in the room.

He wasn’t really thinking when they were onto the second movie, and Jeno decided he couldn’t take it anymore. With most of the guys already asleep, he slipped out of Chenle’s place without drawing any attention. Eighteen minutes later, Jeno found himself standing outside your apartment. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the doorbell, anticipating your reaction.

Your surprise was evident when you opened the door, and a slight blush was quick to form across your cheeks. Your current attire wasn’t exactly fitting for socializing, as you wore a white long-knit cardigan over your dark gray house clothes.

Despite feeling embarrassed, you greeted him softly. “Hey Jeno. Aren’t you supposed to be at Chenle’s?”

“Yeah, but it didn’t feel the same without you there,” Jeno mumbled sheepishly, scratching his head before holding up the black plastic bag in his hand. “And I thought you might want some company since it’s a Friday night and all.”

His words caused a small smile to spread across your face. However, you were conflicted because a part of you didn’t want to let him in, knowing you weren’t in the right state to see people. But you didn’t have the heart to turn him away, knowing he came all the way here to be a good friend. So reluctantly, you took a step back and opened the door further so he could come inside.

Jeno quickly removed his sneakers and eagerly followed you into the living room. The two of you settled on the floor by the coffee table. The canned beer was cold against your fingertips as you opened them, the soft click of the tabs echoing in the quiet room.

The two of you exchanged quiet smiles as your cans clinked against each other in a toast. Your chins lifted in sync as you both took your first sips of the alcoholic beverage. Shortly after you placed your can down on a coaster, Jeno followed suit.

“You doing okay?” he asked, breaking the short silence between you two.

The concern in his question was understandable, considering your lack of presence at a gathering that even the most antisocial person, like yourself, wouldn’t typically miss.

You responded almost too quickly, letting out a light chuckle. “Yeah, of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

However, Jeno could see through your feigned nonchalance. He somewhat predicted you’d brush him off, given he’s known you for over a year. In your friend group, there was Donghyuck and Chenle who were always the loudest, with Renjun occasionally joining in to argue. Then there was Mark and Jisung trying to be the mediators, while he and Jaemin watched things unfold in amusement. Out of everyone, you were always the quiet one, seemingly unperturbed by anything.

“You can be honest with me, (Y/n),” he insisted gently.

Your fingers curled around the green can, applying slight pressure. He caught a flicker of vulnerability passing through your eyes before you lowered your gaze to the wooden table.

“I just…I just feel like I’m falling apart,” you confessed quietly, your resolve finally crumbling.

You paused to exhale shakily, feeling the weight of your emotions that you’d kept bottled up long past their expiration date.

“I’m so tired of holding it all together,” you said, your voice cracking with emotion. “Pretending like everything’s fine when it’s not.”

Jeno listened carefully and nodded lightly in understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me. Suppressing your emotions won’t make them disappear.”

Before you could register it, your cheek began to feel wet and your hands instinctively moved to cover your eyes. Fresh, hot tears soaked through your fingers as your shoulders trembled. You tried to stop the flow, but they continued unabated.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, the self-conscious part of you horrified at the act of crying in front of someone. And not just anyone, but Jeno.

The dark-haired male reached out to gently pat your shoulder. “It’s okay,” he whispered, his touch offering a comforting presence. Despite feeling humiliated, you sensed the sincerity in his words.

“It’s just…everyone expects me to be strong and level-headed when I’m not either of those things in reality,” you sobbed, tears continuing to spill out mercilessly. “No one can see that I’m suffering. No one cares.”

Although Jeno wasn’t great at showing it, hearing this from you made his heart sink. He had no idea you had been fighting this mental battle. Shame filled him for not recognizing your struggles sooner.

With his hand still on your shoulder, he spoke softly. “I care, (Y/n). More than I probably should, actually.

Amidst your breakdown, you picked up on the subtle implication in his response and your gaze flickered up to look at him with confusion.

A small sigh left Jeno’s lips. He didn’t intend for his feelings to be revealed in this way. But this was not the time to have that conversation.

“I know you don’t need a confession right now,” he said, shaking his head before meeting your eyes once more. “But…can I hug you?”

At first glance, Jeno didn’t seem like the type of person to be physically affectionate, even with friends. However, after knowing personally you learned just how much of a softie he could be. Of course, he wasn’t touchy with you out of respect. But you often witnessed this behavior with Jaemin since they were pretty close.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding with uncertainty. Usually, you weren’t someone who liked to be physically comforted—or perhaps you weren’t used to it. Yet, the idea of being hugged by Jeno didn’t sound too bad at that moment.

So you nodded, and he scooted over to wrap his arms around you. His embrace was firm yet gentle, not overwhelming. Enveloped in Jeno’s arms, you felt a warmth spread through your chest, a sense of solace you hadn’t known you needed. He let you cry into his shoulder, patting your back soothingly.

Despite the chaos of your inner turmoil, your feelings for Jeno didn’t feel so platonic anymore after that night. Or maybe there had always been something there that you never gave a second thought to before. Either way, Jeno was the safest place for you right now.

Even as everything seemed to fall apart, he was there to reassure you that you didn’t have to be alone anymore.

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#nct dream #nctzen #kpop #czennie #nct dream imagines #nct #nct dream fluff #jeno #lee jeno #jeno x reader #nct dream scenarios #jeno scenarios #jeno imagines #nct dream angst #jeno angst #nct dream x reader

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smoothielenny · 1 year ago

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Play boy

Ao’nung x Omatikaya!Fem!Reader

Summary:Moving to Awa’atulu, you never thought you would find the chief’s son doing something very indecent.

Warning: characters aged up, smut (masturbation, Ao’nung doing it with someone and eventually you), 2nd POV

Masterlist

It has been weeks since you moved to Awa’atulu. It wasn’t same as your home. Instead of stepping on a dirt it’s a sand, the small particles felt irritating to your toes, but you grew to be used to it. At this point you are a tad bit faraway from the village not realizing you’ve been walking for too long. While lost in thoughts, kicking sand as you go, you heard noises near a huge rock.

The noises continues as you walk, the noise is more clearer. The grunting, whimpering, and moaning gets louder now that you are close to the rock. You decided to peek behind the rock to satisfy your curiosity. As soon as your eyes hit the scene, you were shocked. You found Ao’nung with a woman doing something sexual.

“Agh! Ao’nung! Do harder!” She then laid her back on the rock as she is being pounded by Ao’nung, grinding his hips to hers. He kept his position, gripping her thighs, fingers dug in her thigh muscles. You couldn’t help, but to keep watching, mouth still gaping from what you’re seeing. Somehow, watching this makes your entrance below starts to drip liquids, hips trembling, and tail swaying side to side.

Ao’nung then pull out his shaft and let it all out to her stomach, they both breathe in sync. “You could’ve released it inside me~” the girl said, giggling as she dip her fingers in a pool of cum on her stomach and lick it. Ao’nung rolled his eyes as he pick up his loincloth, some sand caught on it.

“In your dreams. Now get lost, I don’t want someone seeing us—“ Ao’nung’s eyes widen having an eye contact with you. Your face blushes, you then realize that you got caught, he got caught, and so you ran away from them. Shit

Few days after the incident, you couldn’t erase the memory. A memory of Ao’nung fucking a woman, It’s an understatement that you hate Ao’nung with passion. He has been an irritating scab for you and your siblings, he’s been hostile and bully. Every time you and your siblings are in training, he always teases you. You were the slowest out of your siblings when it comes to training and learning which makes you an easy target to him. Calling you a ‘slow monkey’ or ‘ugly monkey’ and other hurtful words.

Now that you have that mental image of Ao’nung, sweating, his body exposed, and a grunting hot mess… you were charmed. Every time you see or glance at Ao’nung you feel your pussy trembling as if it’s thirsty for something…something big. And so you started to stalk Ao’nung always finding him fuck another woman. The same reaction you had from the first time you saw him having a sexual interaction with someone, it continues to do the same thing.

At night, while your family is sleeping, you quietly leave the marui and went somewhere more private. After arriving, you look around if you are fully by yourself. After a final check, you untie your loin cloth and top making them drop on the sand. You sat down on a dried leaf and sigh. You were about to do something, something you never thought you would. Having these sexual desires that you never encountered and now you have to deal with it. You took a deep breath and open your legs apart exposing your throbbing wet cunt. You start to caress your bud and felt a tingling sensation, you then continued. After a while, your bud started to sore in a good way, your hips jittered as you keep caressing it. Then an image of Ao’nung in your mind started to linger, imagining him doing all the things that he did to those other girls. You whimpered his name as you please yourself. The sensation has gotten stronger making your body shake then suddenly you squirted real hard accidentally spilling it on your clothes. You then stand up body is shaking as you pick up your clothes, unbeknownst to you, you entertain a certain individual.

While harvesting some fruits, you heard noises as you walk deep to the forest. You surely know that it would be Ao’nung and another random woman. As always, you decided to peek at Ao’nung’s doings. You were hiding behind a tree trunk as you observe Ao’nung fingering a different woman. As he thrust his fingers in and out he suddenly stops making the woman confused.

“What the hell, why did you stop?” She look irritated at Ao’nung who is wiping his fingers.

“Leave, I’m not in the mood anymore.” He said without hesitation. The woman just hissed in annoyance and left leaving Ao’nung by himself . As you were about to leave, Ao’nung called out you name—“(Y/N), I know you’re there!”

Your body froze hearing him mention your name, sweat drip down from you forehead feeling anxious. Not just that, but it is the first time he says your name. As you breathe heavily, you slowly reveal yourself to him embarrassed and looking down to your feet.

“You’re not sleek at all. How long have you been watching me?” Ao’nung cross his arms and gave you that infamous smirk as he waits for your answer.

“When…you were with a girl on that rock.” You said timidly.

“Hm, I knew it. It was you,” Ao’nung walks closer to you until you both are few inches away. He look down to you since he is much taller, “you seem to find it entertaining every time I have sex with a girl.” His tone became teasing.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to. F-forgive me.” You still looking down to your feet refusing to look at him. He chuckles and pinned you down to a flower bed looking at you with lust in his eyes.

“You want me to forgive you?” You nodded slowly.

“Then have sex with me.” Ao’nung licks your neck, you gasp feeling surprised.

“S-sex? With you?” You couldn’t believe what you just heard. Sex? With him? You paused for a little wanting to push him off, but your sexual desire is so strong that you couldn’t.

“T-then please do! I-I want to!” You hugged Ao’nung tightly making him surprise. He giggled and continued to lick and kiss your neck.

“My my, have you been craving for it?” He whispers. Hands creep their way under your feathery top fondling with your breast.

“Yes, I want it. Please give it to me, Ao’nung.” He stared at you for a bit and smile. You sounded so desperate it made him giggle.

“What’s with you being impatient?” He slowly unties your top and loincloth. He whistles as he look at your naked body with delight. He lick his lips and play with your nipple with his tongue.

“Ah~” you covered your mouth feeling bashful after making those noises. Ao’nung took notice and pinned your hands.

“Don’t cover your mouth. I wanna hear you make noises.” His kisses trail down to your belly. You then continued to whimper as he goes. He pulls your legs apart showing your wet entrance dripping with fluids. He grins seeing this and something below him has sprung. He licks your fluids off tasting it and continues to lick, teasing your bud until swollen.

“Ao’nung, it feels good!” You bit your lips from the constant feeling of his tongue on your cunt.

“We’re just getting started.” Ao’nung unties his loincloth showing his erected shaft. He slid it back and forth to you wet pussy making you moan, “Let’s see if you can handle it~” he slowly put his tip in your tight hole teasing you. You mewl as he teases you, but it isn’t enough.

“P-put it in…” you reluctantly demanded. Ao’nung then push his throbbing cock in your wet entrance. The pain and pleasure has pierced on you instantly as he shoved it, it was overwhelming. Your eyes had some few drop of tears which Ao’nung noticed. He rubs your hips as an act of comfort, “Tell me when you want me to move.” He said in a gentle way. Ao’nung’s voice towards you is usually hostile so hearing him with this soft voice is a new experience.

After a few minute, you finally have calm down. You gaze at him and whispers, “You can move now…” he smirks and slowly push in his other half, your eyes widen as you felt his tip poke something so deep, “Oh did I hit your spot?” Ao’nung asked teasingly. You just squirm as he slowly thrust himself in you.

The following thrusts started to become rougher and faster, hitting your spot multiple times forcing your body in different positions, if he is not satisfied, he will move you again. As he thrusts harder, he grope your tits hungrily pinching your nipples.

He then press hard on your pelvis, nails digging on you ass cheeks. He looks at you with predatory eyes as he bite his lips. You continue to moan and whimper as he kept thrusting.

“You feel good now? You little stalker.” He then slaps your ass as he continues. You couldn’t do anything, but moan. Ignoring all the name calling he does to you, you think it feels good. As it continues, pulls out his cock from you and cums to your face. Cum almost covering your face, it was thick, warm, and bitter.

After that, you became his personal slut.

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goldenblu · 11 months ago

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ohhh my gosh that whole mask sanji idea has me REELING. sanji gains emotions the hard way but he's constantly questioning if it's real or not, if it's still an act, if it has ever been an act, who is his loyalty to now, to his country or his crew? which family? and maybe stealth black has been a mask as well, maybe that cruel, apathetic assassin is a product of pretending for the vinsmokes- so is there anything left of him that is not hollow desire to play for affection?

even if there isn't. the strawhats will love every part of him they find. maybe it will be hard at first, maybe they will feel betrayed and lost and angry. but he is nakama, and a mask is still a product of skin and bone. he has always been capable of being sanji.

like no pressure to continue on this idea in fic form but my god, if you have any more thoughts on this or anything like it i would pay to see them <3 it's so beautiful

YOU. YOU GET IT.

asdksfja;lksjf sanji realizes that he’s come to see the strawhats as something more than a target, a tool to use and then cast away.

(he doesn’t dare to think the word family because that would be a betrayal of his real family, wouldn’t it? it would be an admission of his failure, and he refuses to be a failure.)

it’s all part of the act, he tells himself. it doesn’t mean anything. it won’t last.

but it doesn’t change the fact that he remembers all the strawhats’ favorite foods, that he knows how tell when chopper needs a little hot chocolate pick-me-up, that fighting back to back with zoro feels in sync and familiar in a way that it shouldn’t. all of these useless pieces of information and instincts that he shouldn’t have but does anyway.

so sanji panics—and isn’t that a new experience for him, panicking. every time the strawhats look at him, they see someone who doesn’t actually exist, shouldn’t exist. it makes him feel some emotion that he’s never felt before and can’t identify. it’s terrible; he can’t stand to be this person he’s not for any longer.

maybe he’s the one to reveal his true identity and goal to the strawhats. because he knows he’s in too deep; he needs to cut these ties himself and finish the mission he should have finished long ago.

or maybe it’s not up to him at all, maybe judge sends one of his brothers to find him because he’s taking too long. ichiji or whoever shows up on the sunny, gets a laugh out of sanji trying to play house on a boat, and then announces that sanji doesn’t need to pretend anymore, it’s time to deal the finishing blow and return home with whatever information he’s acquired.

however it happens, sanji does the whole “my name is vinsmoke sanji” speech from wci except it’s real this time, and that’s how the truth comes out. which is fine, it doesn’t matter what the strawhats think of him. it’s better this way, it’s better that they know where sanji’s true loyalties lie: with germa.

(right? this has always been an indisputable fact. so why does he feel so conflicted about it now?)

i don’t know how the plot would play out from here but later, when push comes to shove, sanji realizes at the very last minute that all he’s doing is exchanging one mask for another. he can’t go back to how things were before—his father won’t like that one of his perfect sons is compromised with such weaknesses, but more than that, sanji doesn’t want to be the emotionless third prince of germa anymore.

(the thought he won’t allow himself to think: maybe he never did.)

he never realized before that it was possible to have the freedom to choose, but he does now. so he pulls an uno reverse card and instead of betraying the strawhats, he betrays the only life he’s ever known and saves the strawhats instead, very publicly turning his back on the vinsmokes. the details of how exactly this happens escape me but let’s assume he’s successful in telling germa to fuck off. (for now, at least. i imagine this doesn’t last since judge would be unimaginably angry and go after him, but that’s a problem for later sanji.)

regardless, when it’s all said and done, sanji doesn’t expect the strawhats to allow him back onto the crew. he’s not a good person, he’s deceived and killed hundreds of people in cold blood. he lied to them, betrayed them, pretended to be someone he’s not. the strawhats know that now. by all rights, they should want to kill him. most people would. sanji would.

but they don’t. sanji doesn’t know what they see in him, but whatever it is, it’s enough for luffy accept him even after everything he’s done. admittedly, the rest of the crew still has their reservations; it’s clear enough that they’re hurt and angry and wary of him.

you broke our trust, nami tells him.

i know. sanji hesitates, and then says, i’m sorry.

it’s new to him, this feeling of guilt eating away at him, and he almost stumbles over the words. he’s never had to apologize before, not genuinely. stealth black doesn’t apologize. stealth black doesn’t feel regret.

but he’s not stealth black anymore. he’s someone else. he doesn’t know who, exactly, but he does know who he wants to be. black leg sanji, the man who only existed on this ship for these past few weeks/months, the man who was capable of caring and being cared for—sanji wants that to be real.

luffy’s giving you a chance to rebuild it, nami says. so don’t waste it.

it’s hard, at first. sanji has never not had to play a role before so now he’s confronted with the question: what parts of him are the result of the persona he puts on and what parts are truly sanji? he’s worn a mask in some form or another for so long—certain things are so ingrained in him that he can’t tell the difference anymore.

the next time he cooks dinner, he wonders: is this desire to feed his the crew real, or is it a leftover habit from black leg sanji? the next time he kills someone for going after the strawhats, he wonders: this ruthless capacity for violence, does that come from himself or from vinsmoke sanji?

but maybe it doesn’t matter where it came from because he can make it his. because nothing can take away the fact that for the first time, sanji is doing what he wants to do and not just what he’s told to do.

he says as much to luffy, who smiles and responds, i always knew you could do it.

and over time, the strawhats begin to trust him again. usopp stops being quite so nervous around him. nami starts working on her maps in the galley again, and this time sanji doesn’t have to lie when she asks him questions about the islands he’s been to. zoro tells him that he’d better not hold back during their spars, so sanji stops trying to hide it and lets his sharp edges stay sharp and dangerous and deadly. chopper learns the truth about sanji’s physical enhancements but it doesn’t stop him from worrying over him anyway, which makes sanji’s chest feel warm for some reason.

(and that’s a whole other thing—now sanj has to figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to deal with having emotions because holy shit do you people feel this way all the time?? it’s so much, it’s overwhelming.

he keeps having to ask: what is this feeling or that feeling or that feeling?? and everyone teaches him: fear. sadness. happiness. all things that sanji once thought were impossible for him to feel.)

he still struggles to balance kindness and cruelty sometimes—though he’s capable of feeling compassion now, it’s mainly only ever for the strawhats, and he’s still merciless to anyone he considers an enemy. in any case, his crew is there to support him, to help him figure out: who is he in the absence of everything that’s defined the last nineteen years of his life?

the answer? the cook of the strawhat pirates, sanji. just sanji. that’s who he is and who he’ll always be.

#one piece #sanji #black leg sanji #vinsmoke sanji #stealth black sanji au #i need to come up with better au names lmao #got a bit sappy at the end there but it’s okay IN THIS HOUSE WE EMBRACE CRINGE #ask #mine #my writing #in a perfect world i would write a fic for this but alas it’s not gonna happen #don’t have the bandwidth and also #(slight spoiler warning for hold your fire)#i think it might overlap a bit with what i have planned for the second half of hyf hehe #WHICH I STILL HAVENT STARTED WRITING YET orz

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alwaysmicado · 1 year ago

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2.2k | Ezra x gn!reader | one-shot

established relationship, negative body image, anxiety attack, emotional support Summary: Ezra has not been the same since losing his arm in the Green. When he suffers an anxiety attack, he reveals his biggest fear — not being enough for you. A/N: I love Ezra with all my heart and I can only imagine how difficult it must be to navigate life after losing an arm, especially in “ordinary” situations such as hugging the person he loves. I just had to give him reassurance and comfort. 🤍 masterlist | AO3

“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”

- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, The Little Prince

The dim glow of the moonlight casts a soft illumination across the room, highlighting shadows that dance on the walls. The silence of the night is broken by a subtle sound — a muffled sob that echoes through the otherwise quiet hut. You lie on your cot, eyes wide open, unable to ignore the pattern that has emerged over the past few nights any longer.

Ezra, the enigmatic prospector you’ve come to recognize and admire for his strength and composure over the past year of your partnership, is struggling.

You can hear him pacing in the living area, a restless energy evident in each step. Occasionally, a stifled whimper escapes him, the weight of his emotions too much to contain. It’s a painful symphony of anxiety that unfolds behind the closed door.

As much as you want to respect his privacy, the concern gnaws at you, urging you to offer support. You slip out of your covers and put on your sweater, guided by the muted sounds emanating from your partner. The door creaks softly as you open it, revealing Ezra standing near the window, his silhouette framed by the moonlight.

His gaze is fixed on the distant moon, his shoulders are hunched, and his hand grips the edge of the windowsill as if anchoring himself in a storm. His breathing is rapid, shallow, and you can see the distress in his eyes.

It’s clear that he’s in the midst of an anxiety attack.

You immediately move towards him, concern etching your features. “Ezra, hey, what’s going on?” Your voice is soft, trying to cut through the chaotic thoughts that might be racing through his mind.

He looks up at you, his eyes wide with panic, and it takes a moment for him to register your presence. “I–I don’t know,” he stammers, his words coming out in fragments. “It just–it hit me.”

You move to stand beside him, giving him some space while remaining close enough to offer comfort. “It’s okay, Ezra. I’m here. Take deep breaths with me, alright?” You model the slow, deliberate inhales and exhales, hoping he’ll follow suit.

He tries to mimic your breathing, but it’s clear that the anxiety has a tight grip on him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, and his attempts to regulate his breath are met with resistance.

“Focus on me, Ezra,” you encourage, gently placing a hand on his back to rub soothing circles into his strained muscles. “You’re safe here. Let’s try it together. In…and out.”

It takes a while, but gradually, his breathing starts to sync with yours. The rhythm becomes steadier, and you can feel some of the tension beginning to dissipate. Still, his eyes are wide with residual fear.

“Do you think you can tell me what triggered this?” you ask, your voice soft and understanding, sympathy evident in your eyes.

Ezra shakes his head and lifts his gaze to meet yours, struggling to find the words to properly convey the inner turmoil he is facing. “I don’t know,” he admits, his voice breaking.

“Everything just felt...overwhelming. I couldn’t catch my breath for the life of me, and my mind started racing like a runaway train — thoughts careening in every direction. Images, memories, and possibilities colliding, creating a chaotic symphony of ideas that I struggled to make sense of.”

You nod, recognizing the unpredictable nature of anxiety. “It’s alright, Ezra,” you coo. “Sometimes, our minds can play tricks on us and cause us to feel everything at once.” You continue tenderly rubbing his back. “What’s important is that you’re not alone, and I need you to know that you’re not alone.”

Ezra takes another deep breath and nods weakly, the color slowly returning to his face. “I am truly sorry for disturbing your peace, sugar plum,” he mumbles, apologizing for something beyond his control.

“You don’t need to apologize,” you reassure him, a comforting smile gracing your lips.

When you feel his muscles tense again, you can’t help but furrow your brow with worry. “Look at me, Ezra,” you prompt quietly, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm. “Will you tell me what’s going on? I might be able to help, you know.”

You search his dark eyes and softly rub the skin beneath his shirt’s short sleeve. “But I need you to let me in.”

He looks out of the window again, avoiding your gaze, and you can see the remnants of dread in his eyes, vulnerability evident in the set of his shoulders.

“There’s nothing going on that needs to trouble that beautiful mind of yours, sugar plum. Just a rough night.” He shakes his head and glances at you, sensing that his attempt at deception, in this case for your own good, is not having its desired effect.

You know him too well, know the man behind the rugged, sly persona he’s been cultivating as a survival tactic. You know what’s hidden beneath, shielded from prying eyes, only revealed to the people who are worthy of his love and devotion — first Cee, now you.

“Ezra, I’ve heard you. I’ve heard you pacing, and I’ve heard the tears. It’s not ‘nothing’.” You cup his cheek with your hand, your eyes boring into his. “You don’t have to hide from me.”

He takes a deep breath, the facade slipping away as he meets your eyes, his shoulders trembling slightly. He hesitates for a moment, as if searching for the right words. “I just–I cannot seem to shake this feeling, this overwhelming feeling of grief and hopelessness that is threatening to pull me down into the depths of darkness every time I am alone with my thoughts.”

You see the tears welling up in his eyes and feel your heart break in your chest.

Ezra looks away, trying to contain the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. “I thought I could handle the memories floating around in my mind, memories of death, destruction, greed, loss. I honestly, truly thought I could move on with my life, be a better man for you and Cee, and lead an honorable life here in our community. On this stunning piece of land I am so fortunate to find myself on.”

He clenches his fist, and closes his eyes.

“But it is always there, always, always there. No matter what I do. No matter how hard I try. It is always lurking in the shadows of my existence, following me, holding me back.” He sighs deeply and opens his eyes to look at you, his brow furrowed. “I am haunted by the absence of my arm. I miss him deeply, in everything I do. And at night, when darkness takes over, when everything is quiet, it is all I can think about.

It’s a pain that goes beyond the physical, a yearning for a wholeness that seems elusive.”

He turns to face you fully, gently tracing your cheek with the back of his fingers. Your heart aches for him, understanding the weight of his words.

“I am broken beyond repair, my darling, and I cannot help but feel that you would be better off if I was go–”

Without a word, you wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a warm and reassuring embrace. Ezra hesitates for a moment, surprised by the sudden contact, but then he leans into the hug, allowing himself to be enveloped by the comfort you offer.

The room around you is silent, and all that can be heard is the subtle sound of his breath.

You can feel the tension in Ezra’s body as he wraps his arm around you, the heavy burden, the weight of his grief he’s been carrying alone all this time. Slowly, you start to sway gently, a rhythm that seems to soothe the troubled thoughts that linger in his mind. The embrace is tight but gentle, a silent reassurance that he’s not alone — and that you’re not going anywhere.

As you hold him, you sense a subtle shift in his demeanor. A quiver runs through his body, and you realize he’s starting to cry. It’s a quiet, almost imperceptible release of emotions that he's been holding back for too long. You tighten your grip, offering him a safe space to let go.

“You’re not alone in this, Ezra,” you whisper. “Losing a part of yourself is a profound loss and it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to grieve. And you don’t have to be silent about it. I’m here for you.”

After a while, the tears subside, and you loosen your embrace just enough to look into his eyes with sincerity, keeping your hands on his shoulders.

Ezra’s eyes glisten with hurt and uncertainty, something you’ve never seen in them before. You brush away a stray tear from his cheek, your touch gentle and calming.

“I cannot adequately describe how much I despise myself for not being able to do this properly — the way you deserve, my precious sugar plum,” he murmurs, pain straining his voice.

You tilt your head in confusion, unable to decipher what exactly he’s talking about. “What do you mean?” you ask softly, a reassuring smile prompting him to answer you.

“This,” he whispers as he pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours with closed eyes. “I cannot help but think about how my missing arm, my incompleteness, prevents me from embracing you properly. You deserve the world, my darling, and I can’t even present you with a hug. You deserve a man who can hold you close and show you the love and affection you deserve, and I am truly sorry for having deprived you for so long.”

You pull away enough to look into his eyes again, anger now simmering beneath your skin.

How dare this capable, intelligent, and loyal man entertain the notion that he deprived you of anything. Throughout your time together, all he’s done is take care of you, offering you a life teeming with adventure and love. It’s unfathomable that, even for a fleeting moment, he would think you’d be better off without him.

“I love you, Ezra, and I understand what you’re trying to say, I really do,” you say as calmly as possible, taking deep breaths. “But I need you to listen to me very carefully now because I need you to hear and understand every word. Can you do that?”

“Of course, my darling,” he answers with a nod. “You have my undivided attention.”

Your features soften as you witness the sad admiration in his gaze. “I can’t imagine how unimaginably traumatizing it must have been to lose your arm, having to adapt and relearn everything you knew how to do before. But you did it, you persevered. Because you are strong.”

You lift your hand to cup his cheek, causing him to lean into your touch immediately. “I have seen the incredible progress you’ve made since you and Cee arrived here and, Ezra, I’m so fucking proud of you.”

He looks at you, a mix of gratitude and disbelief in his eyes, a single tear making its way down his cheek.

“But I can’t even hug you. I can’t hold you like I want to, like I should be able to.”

You smile, reaching up to wipe away the tear. “Ezra, a hug is not just about arms. It’s about connection, about being close to someone. And in case you haven’t noticed, our hug right now is pretty perfect to me.”

He chuckles through a tear-streaked smile, a flicker of relief in his eyes. “You really think so, sugar plum?”

“I know so,” you affirm with a genuine smile on your lips. “Your worth isn’t determined by the number of limbs you have. It’s about the person you are, the heart you have, and the way you make people feel — what matters is this.”

You gently take his hand and guide it to your chest, so he can feel the steady rhythm of your heart beneath the fabric of your sweater. “You feel this?” He nods slowly as you put your hand on his chest to feel his heartbeat.

“You aren’t broken, my love. You’re human.”

Ezra takes a moment to absorb your words, and you can see a shift in his demeanor. The weight on his shoulders seems to lighten and you can see the spark in his beautiful, dark eyes return.

“You’re perfect just the way you are, Ezra,” you coo. “And if you ever feel the darkness pull at you again, try to remember that you have someone here who sees you, all of you, and thinks the absolute world of you.”

He nods, his signature smile spreading across his face. “Thank you, my darling,” he says, his voice filled with gratitude.

You pull him back into your arms, holding him close once more.

In that moment, you both find solace in the simple act of being together. The room is filled with the quiet understanding that perfection isn’t about the absence of flaws but about embracing every part of oneself — scars and all.

“After all my time floating through this forsaken universe, searching for meaning,” he murmurs into your ear, a soft smile gracing his lips, “it turns out that love is the answer. Quite poetic, don’t you think?” —

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