#Sam a little behind him: I HATE TO TRAVEL I hate to even leave the house I hate the change of air I hate the getting there I hate to pack

[alexjcrowley]

And if I were to drop on here just to say that I Love To Travel from The Frogs by Stephen Sondheim is Frodo-and-Sam-at-the-beginning-of-their-journey coded?

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Dawg gone-it!

Summary: Dean isn’t too keen on how close you and a stray have been getting lately

Word count: 0.6k

A/n: NO HATE AGAINST ANY DOGS!!! We love dogs, and Dean loves dogs, just not the one you’ve been getting close to

A/a/n: Y’all I just got done with the first set of workouts this summer, for school. And OMG it literally killed me, I don’t know if I can do this all summer.

༺═────────────═༻

Dean had always loved dogs. Ever since he was a little boy all the way to the burly man that he currently was, his heart had always had a special spot for the canines. 

Until, you had rescued one from a hunt. 

A week. Minimum. That’s how long you and the brothers had agreed to keep the animal until you found a rightful shelter. Seven days with man’s best friend, living and traveling in the back of the impala with them. 

A simple week, Dean would’ve loved that.

Yes, he would’ve loved it, if all your attention hadn’t stayed solely on the dog. 

It was everyday that you’d get up early and walk the animal, Sam often joining in his jogs before he would take a different route. And, Dean was fine with you getting the dog some exercise, what he didn’t like was you leaving the warmth of the motel bed to do so. Leaving Dean yearning for the feel of your body in the early mornings. 

And it wasn’t even just that. No, no, no. You’d had given the dog your leftovers one afternoon. Right in front of Dean too. Knowing well enough that whatever you didn’t eat, you’d always hand over to Dean. 

But, it shouldn’t bother him, no. Dean could go with out your morning embrace, your leftover Chinese that Dean tried his hardest not to tell you that he was waiting patiently for. 

No, what really bothered him more than anything, was when you called that dog your ‘pretty boy’.

Dean was your pretty boy. It was the nickname that you’d donned him with, he loved that special little name that you’d picked out for him. 

And out of all the names that’s what you’d called that slobbery animal, that’s what you called him. That dog, who’d slowly been taking you away from Dean ever since he was found out in the streets. Who’d been stealing you away from him for the past few days right under his nose the whole time. 

Dean couldn’t prove it, but he knew that the dog was doing it on purpose. 

He knew that the dog would give him a satisfied smirk, every time he’d turn his back on you and the animal. He knew what he was doing and he was playing you like a damn fiddle. 

You currently sat on your and Deans motel bed, an old hay brush passing through the dogs tangled fur as you gave him sweet praises. Dean sat behind you against the headboard, muttering under his breath all the things you’d say in a mocking tone. 

Not that he was trying to mock you, but you’d fallen so easily in the dogs trap that you could no longer get out. It was kinda hard not to. 

“Good boy.” You whispered to the dog, placing a soft kiss to the top of his head. “The goodest boy.”

Dean could see his tail wagging from his position, body moving with each sharp wag. 

Suck up. Dean wanted to say to the dog, not that he won’t when you leave the room. But, for now he’s happy with the one sided argument that he’s winning against an animal. 

You then placed the hairbrush on the side of the bed, hands coming to pet the dogs now soft fur. Gentle praises leaving your mouth as you then began to scratch behind his ears. 

Dean stared at the sight before him, wishing that he’d be the one that you’d run your fingers through his hair. Telling him how pretty and handsome he was. “You never do that to me.” Dean muttered softly.

“What?” Thankfully, what he said never truly meeting your ears. 

“I said he’s very obidient.” Dean replied louder, watching as a small smile formed on your face as you agreed. Your attention returning back to the animal, completely missing the sour look he gave the dog. 

God, he couldn’t wait til this dog was gone. 

[queerheadcanoncentral]

hi hello pretty boy¡!

could I request headcanons of Dean Winchester with a touchy partner? (a boy preferably) but like really touchy only that really subtle

like knees touching when sitting together, head on his shoulder when he's doing something else, the little thumb thing when their hands are close, lots of "c'mere" and pulls him into a hug when no one's watching

but when Dean talks about it, his partner denies it and says that "no, I hate physical touch, you're crazy" or smt lik that

thaaaanks, love.

Touchy m! reader x Dean Winchester

CW: brief mention of drinking and one night stands, ONE swear word.

It came out a bit sad at the end but nothing too serious. Also not proof read just like all of my posts.

—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—⁠☆—

Some people, when they first saw you, thought that you're an ass. Not because of what you said but, because of what you did.

When you were passing through a dinner, the waitress would notice that after you sat down, you would spread out and knee the (handsome) guy who was sitting next to you.

When ordering drinks at a bar, you would absentmindedly put your hand on the small of the guy's back that you were with.

They thought that either you were an ass to your friend, or you were an ass to your brother - with the second option being less likely as the two of you couldn't look any more different.

But the target of your “assholeness” didn't really care. In fact, Dean kind of liked it. It isn't something that he would admit to just anyone. You both were raised by your hunter fathers; you were taught to be used to no physical touch for months, years really, and more so to hate it.

It took Dean years to allow himself to enjoy the touch of someone else; about five years to not feel repulsed by a friend or an acquaintance grazing his arm accidentally. It took him even more to let himself enjoy it when done by someone pretty. Particularly a pretty boy.

It was similar in your case. After your father was killed during a hunt, you haven't touched anyone in a way other than a handshake or sex with random strangers, even then you weren't much of a cuddler.

But when you met Dean everything changed.

You met in some dingy bar and got to talking. It didn't take long for you to end up in his motel room with your tongue down his throat, his arms wrapped around you taking your shirt off. It seemed like after you were done you would just leave and never see him again… but alas a demon just had to burst into the room as you were getting dressed. With just your jeans on you reached for a bottle of holly water, that you always carried with you, before you could do that, the sound of a gunshot pierced the air and the demon was dead. You turned around to look at Dean and he was holding The Colt.

You talked with him for close to an hour before Sam knocked on the door, asking if he can come back in. That night you decided to join them and you started traveling with them around the country, following right behind them in your own car.

As time went on Dean would join you in your car more often, to the point that he was with you most of the time (which Sam didn't mind because now he got to pick his own music).

You never considered yourself a touchy person, you were closer to being touch repulsed more than anything. But Dean started to notice that on different hunts or in scary situations, whenever something jumped out on all of you, you would almost instinctively put your hand on his chest and slightly try to push him back.

Whenever he was hurt and needed stitches or just general patching up, you'd always offer to help. Every excuse to touch him was a good one for you, and him.

At first he didn't know how to feel about any of that. He was a bit uncomfortable at first but not because he hated it, but because he wasn't used to it. The more you stole little brushes against him, or bumping knees under the table, the more he liked it and leaned into it.

To him, you were very touchy. That's why when you guys started dating and sleeping in the same bed, he was surprised when you warned him that you weren't much of a cuddler but, as he came to find out, you were, just not consciously.

One night you, Dean, Sam, Cas and Jack were playing a drinking game where someone said a prompt like “who in the group is most likely to?” and everyone votes for one person who then has to take a shot or a sip of their drink(it's a trend that Jack saw online and really wanted to try). One of the prompts was “Who in the group is the most touchy?” and everyone instantly voted for you.

“What the fuck do you mean me?! I hate when people touch me!”

“Maybe, but your hands are always on Dean. It's like you're constantly making sure that he's not a ghost.” said Sam

“No I'm not” you barked back and turned to Dean for backup. He just looked under the table at your knees touching each other, yours being way more swayed towards him.

“Ugh, fine.” you said, begrudgingly taking a shot.

When you got back to your room Dean was quiet and clearly thinking about something deeply. “Why were you so defensive earlier with the whole being touchy thing?” he said, taking off his shirt to get ready for bed. That question stopped you in your tracks. You thought for a second and answered

“I don't know. Maybe because my dad wasn't ever really the hugging type of dad? I actually can't really think of the last time I was properly hugged. Heh, always managed to dodge the ones from Sam”. You were trying to break up the tension that was hanging around in the air but Dean walked up to you locking eyes and slowly raised his palm to cup your cheek, his other hand ending up on your bicep caressing it gently.

“Let me take care of you” was all he whispered and you nodded melting into his touch swallowing around a lump that started forming in your throat. You let yourself be guided towards the bed. He laid you both down with your head on his chest and your arms and legs tangled around each other.

It took you a few minutes to relax in his arms but, when you've done so tears started to fall from your eyes, you buried your face in his warmth and clung impossibly closer to him. It finally hit you that all those years of being so cold and so alone are now over. You don't have to take on life by yourself. Now you have Dean who will be there for you for better and for worse. You don't have to hold back, he's there to catch you.

You laid like that for close to an hour before you ran out of tears, he kept stroking your hair the whole time without a word. You looked up at him and he looked down at you. He brought his hand down from your hair to wipe away the tears from your cheek, you leaned up to press your lips against his and he reciprocated. It was long, gentle and filled with all the emotions that can't be put into words, the two of you enjoying each other's warmth and presence. You pulled away and said a simple “I love you”. That's all both of you needed: simple, easy, true.

You shifted yourself back down to his chest and your eyes fell close with exhaustion. Only after he felt your breathing slow down and become steady, he let himself fall asleep.

[deangirlsstuff67]

Good Girl

MOC! Dean x Reader

Warnings: Praise, sex toys, MOC! Dean, bondage, Unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, anal play, P in V, dirty talk

Summary: Dean and Sam are fighting yet again. You hear glass shatter against a wall, followed by a very angry Sam slamming his door. Feeling brave, you go in search of Dean.

Masterlist | Patreon

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

They're at it again. Those two fight worse than a married couple these days. Makes sense given the current situation we all find ourselves living in. I just don't think angering Dean is the wisest choice, he's already on the edge most days. It would take a soft wind to blow him over.

Sadly, your new to hunting, meaning the guys don't listen to you on a good day. Couple years ago Dean and Sam saved your crazy ass when a nest of vampires came to town and killed your family. You are 22 years old and bought the boys enough whiskey at the local bar to make them agree you could come back to the bunker.

Dean tries to avoid you as much as possible. While you don't get the feeling he hates you, you do know you make him uncomfortable.

Sam has taken you under his wing as a little sister. Teachs you the basics of fighting and makes you read lore book after lore book. And in this place I think I'll be dead before I get through it all.

Even Cas has taken a liking to you. He teaches you about angels and you teach him how to be less awkward, it's sort of working.

Glass shattering brings you back to the present.

Well fuck, that can't be a good sign. Moments later heavy, angry foot steps deasend the hallway and a door slams. Sam's door, meaning Dean's still out there... pissed.

With a loud sigh you get out of bed. You're wearing one Dean's flannels and black lacy underwear. You've always had a crush on the older Winchester. Tonight you're hoping the outfit will work like armor. Dean's a ladies man after all, and your not bad looking if you say so yourself.

Slowly and quietly you make your way towards the command center in search of the ticking time bomb known as Dean. This is most definitely a bad idea but you can't stand the thought of him alone with all that rage running through his veins.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The scene you walk in on saddens your soul. Dean has the bottle of amber liquor sitting beside him as he stares at the wall and broken glass. So lost in his own head he doesn't hear me coming until I'm standing in front of him.

Those bright green eyes rake up and down my body, the farther they travel the darker they become. When he drags his eyes back to mine they are damn near pitch black. Lust sparkling in them.

Oh fuck.

You try to sound strong and confident, but let's face it this man melts you into a puddle at his feet.

"Dean..." your voice is higher than normal, barely above a whisper, "are you o... okay?"

His breathing is labored, coming out in deep puffs that shake his shoulders. To look at him you'd think he was on the verge of murder. But it's his eyes, they tell a very different story.

"That’s my shirt y/n." The way your name rolls of his tongue is dangerous. Sending a warmth straight to your core, making you involuntarily squeeze your thighs together.

His eyes snap down to your soaking core. Shit, he noticed. Of course he did, wouldn't be a good hunter if he didn't have reflexes of a cat.

"I didnt think you'd mind. I need to do laundry. " You go to reach for his hand but he stands abruptly. Without a word he turns to leave the room, and you.

Why Dean.

Not this time. You rush him from behind but your plan back fires. Next thing you know Dean has you pinned against the wall and his hard body. Very hard... ALL of it.

After a couple moments of silence you have to ask, "why do you always run from me?"

A smile curls those perfectly soft lips before he lightly pumps his hips into yours, making his hard cock rub deliciously against your dripping core.

Well fuck, it's not that he hates me, it's that he likes me... a lot.

Now or never y/n.

Feeling brave you look him dead in the eye and ask, "why don't you use some of that pent up anger for some good big guy?" Finishing off by grabbing his cock through his jeans, hard.

Groaning, Dean rips you off the wall and down the hall.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bondage. Should have seen this coming in hindsight. The man thrives on control. Even more so now.

Here I am tied to Dean's bed via handcuffs. The beautiful specimen in his black boxers looking down at me as he pushes the small vibrator straight onto my bundle of nerves, again.

"Such a good girl for me. Think you have one more in that tight little pussy for me?" He moves a finger down to the plug he worked into my tight channel and softly taps.

My head is spinning from the previous orgasms he's pulled from my body already, the most I can do is let out a loud moan in answer.

This is a side of Dean I've never experienced before. He's enjoying making me cock drunk. Thriving on the power it supplies him. At least if the ever growing wet spot at the top of his boxers is any indication.

"Beg me sweetheart. Beg for my cock to fill you, stretch you." My eyes are closed but I know he's close. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek as he leans down to whisper in my ear.

"Dean... pl.. please can I.. I have your co.. cock"

"You're sound so pretty when you beg Princess." He lifts the vibrator off my clit just before another orgasm rips through my body. I whimper at the lose making him laugh.

Before I have time to protest my lose, Dean positions himself between my shaking thighs and feeds his rock hard dick into my soaking core.

Groans echo off the walls of his room as we adjust to the feel of each other. He's huge. That big dick cocky energy isn't a lie, the man's packing.

"Y/N you feel amazing wrapped around my cock." Slowly he pulls out until nothing but the tip is left then he slams back in. Handcuffs rattling from the movement.

He takes me hard and fast. Working both of us into a frenzy of moans and whimpers. Soon I'm clamping down on his cock making it harder for him to pull out as I scream his name and flood his member and thighs.

It's all it takes to send him over the edge as he joins me. Rope after rope of warm cum fills my quivering walls. He's Cummings so hard I can feel it begin to leak out of me and down my thighs.

Dean collapses onto my worn-out body. Only moving to undo the handcuffs and bring my arms down to massage as he catches his breath. Once we are back on planet Earth, he eases his soften dick from my abused core, the mixture of us leaking out.

Memorized for a moment, he takes his fingers and gently pushes it back inside me, causing my to whimper.

Dean smiles down at me, satisfied and moves to the bathroom to clean up and bring me a wet cloth. After he's done cleaning us up, he grabs my body and man handles it to a postion of his liking as we cuddle together.

Moments pass in silence before Dean speaks, "thank you. That was exactly what I needed to calm the mark. You're amazing sweetheart."

"Anything for you Dean."

"I didn't hurt you, did I?"

A soft giggle leaves my lips, "not in a bad way."

Dean sends me a naughty smirk and wink before taking my lips in a passionate kiss.

"Get some rest Princess, I have plans for us when we wake."

It's the last I hear before sleep takes my exhausted body into the land of slumber, dreaming of tomorrow and what awaits me.

[rowanraven08]

So I just need to fucking rant about my boys being stuck in the ‘puters. CAUSE MAN DO I HAVE THOUGHTS. Have probably said some of this before, but not all.

So I’m thoroughly convinced that they’ve been properly coded in, Sergey Ushanka style, and also based off that statement, there’s no doubt in my mind that it hurts for them. I know this is a different universe, but unless computer folks are a common thing here, why would the plot give them anything less than more trauma? But I’m actually kinda concerned about how they’ll be once/if they get out?? Like aside from the trauma of it even, Tessa Winters said you can’t code people in the way people really are, and I’m kinda worried that through the whole thing that they might be different, or have lost a little bit of themself, the way that if you put something through google translate to many times it comes out all messed up, mostly with the same meaning, but words have still changed.

Other than that even, how the hell is Jon gonna cope/currently coping with not being omniscient?? I imagine going from knowing almost everything to having to seek out the information yourself again would be a huge hurdle. Even if now he has the equivalent of what Elias could do, seeing out of any eye, but instead just seeing out of any camera, that would be so disorienting. Never mind the fact they’re in an alternate universe.

The whole thing just makes me so sad, they can’t communicate clearly, are clearly trying tooth and nail to help and to get the OIAR gang to understand, stuck in this nonexistence that is probably excruciating, and no one except probably Colin and Celia even knows they exist. (I’m operating under the assumption Celia knows what’s up, she’s a smart girl she knows this isn’t a coincidence) But Colin clearly fucking hates them, Sam is only just starting to realize the computers are listening, and Celia doesn’t actually seem to be trying to help them, the only thing we know about her research is that she was looking into alternate universes and time travel sort of stuff, and that now she’s looking into alchemy. My boys are SCREAMING to be heard and no one will listen.

Like what will they even do? Worst case scenario, they’re stuck like that forever. Best case scenario, they get out, and somehow manage to get home (unlikely in my opinion) only to be met with a world still rebuilding, where everyone hates them. Last scene in TMA? Literally Melanie, Georgie, and Basira talking about how it’s better off they can’t find Jon, and they’re right,

“I mean, I just don’t think people would exactly be understanding. You remember what happened when they found Simon Fairchild?”

“And he’s not just some powerless left-behind avatar, you know? We’re talking about ‘The Archivist’.”

People would absolutely kill Jon if he came back, and they knew who he was, and I think being able to fly under the radar isn’t an option seeing as he literally haunted people’s dreams for a while. Who’s to say he could even stay alive in a world without the fears? Death might finally catch up to him, the exhaustion, everything. I don’t think going back is an option for them.

Maybe for Celia, if it’s even possible. But I think at this point she’d be happier in Protocol universe than Archives. She couldn’t even remember her original name in late s5, and didn’t remember Martin, she seemed to have lost at least a good portion of her memory if not all. If that didn’t come back after the apocalypse, she has more actual connection to Protocol, the cult being her only real connection to Archives. Maybe she’s trying to get back just because of principle, she’s not considering if that’s really what she wants because it’s the clear next step. But I don’t think she’d be able to leave Jack behind. I don’t even think she really is his proper mother, I’m guessing she somehow took other Celia’s (Lynne’s) identity, and just took over caring for Jack. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him.

I really do hope Jon and Martin get out of the computer, it’ll be so hard for them to deal with everything, but maybe if they stayed in Protocol they could still build a life together.

Some other random stuff:

So I went through, and found (I think) all the times we hear the jmj. error.

Ep 3 we get an error, which actually starts working when Colin threatens it, and it starts up with a statement from our buddy Norris, and I actually find it kinda amusing to imagine Martin being scared into reading the statement by the frustrated IT guy.

We also get an error in ep 5, after Gwen asks about the German IT guy before Colin. Which a.) why is she asking about him, b.) if I’m right about the errors being an attempt at communication, why do they think the guy’s important? C.) I had thought before that the German bit of code could be Jonah or something since he may have known German? But pretty sure that was too speculative, it makes more sense for it to have just been the German IT guy. D.) he’s mentioned as having a bunch of tattoos, which so far has not meant good things.

Ep 17 which I talked about in a different post, where the error lasted long enough for Gwen and Alice to nearly talk about stuff, only starting up again once they end that bit of the conversation without actually talking about it

And then ofc in 19 when Alice won’t listen to Sam about the computers listening.

I don’t think I missed any, but I might have? So if anyone notices one I missed lemme know please

Also only just realized a few days ago that jmj. isn’t an ACTUAL error, I know Colin says ep 3 it doesn’t mean anything, but I had actually taken that as Colin just being frustrated, and hadn’t read into. Jmj doesn’t even fucking exist, my guess is that it stands for Jon Martin Jonah?

Also what’s everyone’s thoughts on Teddy? Because that man is getting kinda suspicious. Why does he keep showing up? He works into this somehow. Also why doesn’t he actually want to talk to Alice? She’s high energy and not very serious, but it sounds like the guy properly ghosted her, keeps lying about how they’ll hang out more, or how he’ll text her back, could just be him being a bit of a dick, or maybe she did something to kinda deserve it, but it’s could be he’s trying to keep her at a distance to keep her safe? Especially if he is already wrapped up in this crap.

[acourtofinkandpapyrus]

A Flower With Petals of Flame: Part fifteen (Eris x Reader)

Warnings: some suggestiveness, kissing, murder, and angst ofc :>

Part fourteen Part sixteen

Tag list: open

A plan is set in motion about how to proceed, but the third dead soul has other plans... :> Also note, I'm exhausted so this isn't up to my normal standards :'D

We all sit on the ground near the tree, not talking.

We had been arguing for over an hour about what to do.

Even though I love Eris, I couldn’t bring him to the afterlife, not yet.  The only reason I was going to bring Azriel was because I would have bound him by a bargain not to tell anyone.

I wouldn’t be comfortable doing the same to Eris.

Sam had suggested we leave without Eris, and that hadn’t gone down well with either of us.

Currently, it looked like the best option was to throw ourselves on Tamlin’s mercy.

I had helped him restore his court, so he actually could provide some protection if my brother decided to come after me.

Mother above, I hate that I have to wonder if my brother will snatch me up, try and kidnap me like others have before.

But do I really want to fuel the fire between my brother and Tamlin?

Normally, I would say no, that only a really shitty person would drive the wedge between them deeper.

But we don’t have a choice.

I sigh, and my friends both turn to look at me.

“I guess we’ll be paying Tamlin a visit.”  I grumble, getting to my feet.

Sam’s eye twitched in irritation.  “I still think we should head back to Afterlife and regroup.  We don’t have any resources here.”

I stop, thinking about it.

“How about you go back, and we stay here, scope things out on the ground?”  I suggest, letting him decide where he thinks he would be the most helpful.

I can see the decision grating on his nerves, not wanting to leave me alone here, even if this was the place I had lived for many years.

And died, to be fair.

“... Fine, I’ll go back and regroup, but if anything happens, you come back immediately.”  He said, his eyes fierce as they met mine.

I smirked.  “I’ll think about it.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes.  “Please?”

Giving in, I nod, and he relaxes a bit.

I walk over to Sam, and Eris stiffens up behind me as I take the Astral from sam.

After I have it, I make quick work of creating Wyrdmarks with my magic.

Nehemia had come up the idea of combining different faerie magics with the wyrdmarks.  We had discovered that we could use this combination to travel between worlds.

Of course, only those closest to us knew about this.

And now Eris did too.  I finished creating the wyrdmarks with darkness, and a dark abstract portal came into vision.

Sam gave me a little nod, and reluctantly gave Eris one too before stepping through.

I quickly closed the portal, turning back to Eris, whose eyes were a bit wide.

“I’m guessing you know that you can never tell anyone about that?”  I tease as I walk up next to him.

He nods, blinking away his surprise.  “Yeah, I guess I just wasn’t expecting… that.”

It takes a minute for me to realize what he means, and when I do I let out a snort.  “Mother above, did you think I was going to kill him?”  I ask, gaping at my friend.

He blushed lightly, hissing, “Well, how else do you get to the afterlife?”

We both stare at each other for a moment before we both burst into laughter.

I wheeze, saying, “Oh yes Sam, let me stab you real quick!  I’ll follow in a minute!”

We both laugh harder, and it takes a few minutes for us to regain our composure, stifling the little snorts that threatened to turn back into rambunctious laughter.

“Well, at least I know why you weren’t pushing harder for us to bring you there.”  I remark as we start walking off towards the spring court.

He blushed, and I wondered what he was thinking as he looked away.

We walked the rest of the way, talking about random things.  I told him about the rest of my close friends in the afterlife, and he told me about different things that had happened to him.

“So you have basically been trying to kill Beron while heckleing my brother?”  I ask, and he snorts.

“When you put it like that, it sounds much less impressive than it actually is.”  He pouts, and I smirk.

“You never fail to impress me dear.”  I say in a sultry tone, and he stills for a moment.

He shakes his head slightly. “I’m not playing Y/n.”

My face splits into a grin.  We always used to do this, this little game.

“Why, I don’t know what you’re talking about dear.”  I croon, swaying my hips a little bit as I walk.

In seconds he has me pinned against a tree, kissing me passionately as his hands gripped my hips firmly, making me moan into him.

He pulled away, and I whimpered at the lack of contact.  “Hey, I love you, okay?”  He says comfortingly as he pet my head.

I sighed, feeling worn out from everything that had happened today.  “I know- I just… I want to try again.  I want a fresh start.  I want it to be just you and me.”  I confess, hugging him tightly

He relaxes, holding me close and burying himself in my hair.  “We will.  We’ll have all the time in the world.  But first we have to get you somewhere safe, okay?”

I sigh.  “I know.  I hate it though.”

He laughed, and my heart warmed slightly.

We continued our way toward the spring court, and it wasn’t long until the scent of cold air and crisp leaves changed into roses and pollen.

It hits me that I scent something else on the air, a tangy, coppery smell.

My heart gutters, and I can tell Eris scents it too, because he suddenly holds me closer.

“We need to go.”  He whispers in my ear, his voice soft, but grip strong.

I shake my head, pulling away from him.

He obviously doesn’t like letting go, but he does, following closely behind me.

The dead are everywhere, torn limb from limb, barely recognisable as once being fae.

 I force myself to calm my screaming mind, keeping it blank as I assess.

The blood was fresh, the bodies warm.

And if I listen very closely, I swear I can hear screaming in the distance, coming from… From the direction of The Manor.

“They’re still here- we need to go help!”  I say, running through the field of the fallen.

I expect to hear Eris respond, but I don’t.

Stopping, I turn to check if he’s following me.

Instead I see a woman with long red hair holding a knife to his throat, Eris’s eyes blown wide with fear.

And that’s when what feels like a string attached my soul decides to pull taught. the mating bond snapping into place with Eris.

Fuck.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

[viking-goat-420]

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Crowley/reader

Rating: Smut

Title: His Queen

'after returning from a hunt your nightly costume sets Crowley off.

A/N: I know it's a bit late I have another Crowley fic in the works but this has been in my mind so I had to get it out. As always requests are open.

You hated Halloween with a passion. It was like a free for all. All the monsters came out and everyone would think it was just a costume. And that's how you ended up at this party. You thought it would have been a funny joke to dress up like a demon but also like a queen. Sam and Dean didn't find it funny as you were dating the king of hell but you loved the outfit and you knew so would Crowley.

After some time the monster you guys was after was hunted and killed and now you are back at your hotel room with the boys having their own. You sigh and groan as you stretch and your back pops happily.

"Hello darling, you look mouth watering" you smirk and turn to face Crowley who was standing on the other side of the room.

"Yeah? I had to dress up for the hunt" you grin watching as he walks closer to you. Crowley strokes your face softly. and you grin.

"Tell me pet, what is this costume of yours?"

"Oh this? Queen of hell" you smirk, Crowley's eyes flash red and you feel heat flood to your cunt when his hand grabs your throat and his body is molded to yours.

"Queen of hell? Is that what you want? To be my queen?" He growls eyes still red and you smirk your hand goes to your throat where his hand is holding lightly and you pull it away and turn him to sit in the chair before straddling him.

"Is that what you want? Want me to be your sluty little queen for you" you ask softly in his ear before nipping his lobe and slowly roll your hips on his rock hard cock covered by his suit pants. Crowley's hands move to your hips as you hump him moaning at the fricken.

"You have always been my sluty queen, you're so good for me darling, dry humping me I can feel how wet you are" he growls his hands on your hips as you roll them. You were soaking wet and haven't even touched you yet.

"Crowley, my king please" you moan, feeling closer and closer to cumming. Crowley leans forward a bit and bites and sucks at your neck leaving marks behind as his hands travel your body undoing ties letting your body free of the costume.

"What do you want, my Queen?" He asks huskyly in your ear before biting the lobe making you grind down harder and you whine.

"Fuck me, fuck me hard leave marks all over me so everyone knows who I belong too" you moan an he holds your hips still before grinding up into you. He was rock hard, you lean down and kiss him nipping his bottom lip and he growls before using his powers to remove both of your clothes.

"As my Queen wishes" he smirks, before you know it you both are on the bed with Crowley laying over you, he fits perfectly between your legs. His mouth was all over your body leaving bites and marks as he worked his way down your body to your soaked cunt.

"Crowley!" You moan as his mouth latches onto your clit sucking and working his tongue on you. He looks up at you from between your legs as he eats you out your hands holding his head. Without warning he shoved his tongue deep inside of you making your toes curl making you cum without warning.

"I love how good you taste" he smirks, kissing up your body. Crowley kisses you deeply as he grinds his hard cock into you.

"Please Crowley" you beg, needing him deep inside of you. Crowley growls as he slowly slides into and you both moan at the feeling.

"Always so tight and wet for me darlin" he groans as he starts at a slow pace. You lean up and kiss him deeply before flipping him on his back putting you on top.

"I wanna ride you first" you moan your head falling back as you start to ride him. Crowley's hands move up to your breasts before leaning up and sucking on your nipple making you grind down harder. He uses this moment to flip you back over. You moan as the change makes him go even deeper.

"Later darling, right now I want to feel you come undone under me" he growls, his hips thrusting hard and deep making you cry out your nails digging into his back.

"Fuck Crowley!" You cry out as he fucked you deeply the bed hitting the wall with each thrusts. Crowley groans as you tighten around him.

"I plan on fucking you all night, by the time I am done you will not be leaving this bed my Queen" he growls between each thrust making you moan and cling to him.

"Oh fuck I'm gonna cum!" You cry out as you feel the knot get tighter and tighter until it finally snaps and you cum hard on his cock. Crowley fucks you through your orgasm before he pulls out and flips you over.

"Get ready darling this is just the start" he growls, grabbing your hair and starting round two.

[catboyklug]

The Traffic-light Green in the Dirty Dishes of Romance.

Summary: Sam "invites" Max over to help him clean his apartment. Characters: Sam (he/him); Max (he/it) Warnings: Internalized transphobia; Sam's Gross Fucking Room; one count of a slur (that i absolutely do not condone the use of in that context) Word count: 1.8k

"So, uh, Sammy... tell me what the problem is, again?"

Lazily, and refusing to raise even a paw to help, Max watched as Sam rushed around the dorm, the waving of his ponytail almost keeping Max from boredom.

Almost.

"People around my dorm have been getting sick because it's so gross," Sam repeated, almost robotically, for the upteenth time, "So the university health board's conspiring with the landlord, and they say if I don't get my act cleaned up, I'll have to leave this place behind."

"And that's a problem, why...?" he grinned, examining his nails like some femme in a teen's favorite chick flic.

"Because, Max, if I get kicked out, I'll be homeless and without a formal education," Sam huffed. Honestly, he would've been stunned into silence if the person asking were anyone but Max.

"You worry way too much about the future, Sam!" said Max, "All these 'I'll get kicked out's and 'I'm poisoning people's... Why don't you focus on the now, where you're hanging out with your best friend for the first time since high school?"

"Shut up, Max."

The term, originally used exclusively as an affectionate cuff on the shoulder, now felt like a poisoned dagger to the heart to the barely-adult lagomorph. The poison seeped into what little remained of his shrivelled-up circulatory organ, souring his mood massively.

He grit his teeth, and though Sam didn't turn around to look at him - too busy washing and drying dishes with the same towel - he could hear the awful noise of Max's fangs grinding against themselves.

Without so much as a word, Max hopped off of his throne of trashbags, waddled over to Sam, grabbed a relatively clean and dry towel and began helping him.

Deeply surprised, but admittedly grateful, Sam let him clean in silence. Especially considering Max wasn't trying to throw any of his plates out the window.

This continued on for a while, mostly thanks to how gargantuan the pile of dishes had grown during Sam's three years of stay here. Even if Max personally couldn't be effected by negative hygiene, he could see how the more sensitive people in this college might get sick from the all the festering gunk. Maybe.

But Sam wasn't concerned with the gunk anymore. Honestly, it was so low on his list of priorities now that the president could walk through his dormitory door and demand he leave the country never to return, and he wouldn't even bother to call his mother and say a final goodbye.

And that was because Max was completely silent.

The quietest he had ever seen Max since... well, there were exactly two times he was actually being quiet.

The first time was when it was playing that Bluster Blaster game he made, and that was only because Max was trying to figure out how to concentrate for the first time in his life.

And the second was after that prom one year, at highschool, when they were alone, and...

...

That was a long time ago.

(well, more like four years, but Sam was still young enough that it felt like forever.)

...Max's gonna hate him for this, but it's for his own good.

"So..." Sam hazarded, "...How's travelling around the tri-state area been treating you?"

For a moment, Max blanked, wondering what the hell Sam was trying to accomplish with this awkward small-talk. But something in his expression made Max grin in response, as opposed to immediately jumping out of the window to get out of this.

"Terrible! The hippies I decided to catch a ride with - did I tell you about them? Well, now I am! - kept calling me 'man'!" he grinned, full of malice, "If I have to hear that word directed at me even five more times, I might end up mauling someone."

"The indignities you're forced to suffer as a member of the masculine populance..." Sam shook his head.

"I know, right?! I ditched those tree-huggers at the first chance I got! The anarchists were way cooler, oh boy, lemme tell ya-!"

"Your accent's changed."

A moment of silence, as Max fully absorbed the weight of the data being fed into his lagomorphic brain.

"Excuse me?"

"...Nothing," Sam swallowed, suddenly becoming very interested in the last few dishes at the bottom of the sink, "Tell me more about the anarchists."

"No, no, no- What do you mean, 'your accent's changed'?" Max demanded, "You can't just say something that serious without elaborating, Sammy."

"Say 'racecar'," Sam said.

"Racecar?" Max replied, missing the joke.

"Roadroller,"

"Roadroller- what, you got a vehicle fetish, without me around to join the fun?"

"Flower,"

"Flour???"

"Clam chowder,"

"Clam chowdah-"

"There!" Sam interrupted, grinning, "So, who did this to you? A west-coaster?"

"Wha- you mean to tell me I've been saying my r's this whole time?" Max asked, dumbfounded.

"And saying, well, 'saying'," Sam nodded, "And 'you', and 'want to'..."

"Ah, jeez..." Max sighed, putting a (gross, wet) hand to his head dramatically, "What's my prognosis, doc? Don't hold back-- I'm ready to hear it."

"Well, it seems to me like you'll be stuck living without an accent forever," Sam said, clasping his (soggy, wet) hands together, "...Unless you come visit your homeland and reeintegrate. Get yourself talking like a normal humanoid being again."

"Doc, give it to me straight - are you just trying to get me to stay with you longer?"

"Oh, shut up," Sam grumbled, giving Max a hard cuff on the head - causing Max to laugh so hard his tiny body started shaking.

"Mary, Mary, on the wall, who's the queerest of them all-!"

Watching Max guffaw at his own horrible excuse for a tease, a large part of Sam deeply wanted to laugh along.

But.

He couldn't let Max delude himself any longer.

"...I'm not a boy."

The words hurt to say almost as much as it hurt to see Max so utterly, deeply, genuinely confused.

Not just confused.

Dammit. Nowhere near confused.

Max was worried.

"Well, duh, we're both twenty now," he began, trying to play this off as a weird joke, "You'd be a man, mannn- oops, now I'm saying it."

"No, Max, I'm a- a girl. A woman," Sam pressed, "Of- of the feminine persuasion, a chick. Whatever the hell you'd call it."

"Well, if you're a girl, what the hell does that make me?" Max responded, covering his worry with anger, "When you told me we were gonna grow up into what we really were, together, did you really mean we're both just chicks?"

"It doesn't matter. We didn't grow into anything together, and you never listened to a damn thing I said anyway, so-"

"So you're pretendin' to be a girl as a weird bid for attention! I can't judge, but your methods are a little questionable, Sammy-!"

"It's not just a bid for attention!" Sam growled, and now he was pissed, "I can't be a man, engineering's enough of a boy's club as is, and my parents-"

"Oh, I get it!" Max grinned, "It's not a bid for attention, it's just your damn do-gooderism and the innate need for you to suck up to your mom and pop!"

"I may be a do-gooder, but at least I'm not ungrateful."

Both of them knew what was wrong with that sentence before Sam even finished it.

Max stared blankly up at the man he had considered his friend for longer than most people would be expected to remember. And Sam looked right down at him.

And it's a primal rage that made him say what he said next. And if he remembered it, he'd probably regret it, until it finally got put back in its true place: a joke shared amongst likehearted friends.

But, right then, all it was was rage.

"You fucking faggot."

It grabbed his collar but Sam grabbed his shoulders, shoving it into the wall hard enough that if its bones were any weaker they'd shatter from the force.

Though Sam was obviously much bigger the sendentary lifestyle he had adopted due to his path of nerdery immediately put him at a massive disadvantage against the highwaymorph, a fact he soon discovered as Max used his grip and the wall behind it to jump up and kick him right between the eyes.

He fell back, more out of surprise than genuine injury, keeping a tight hold on Max's shoulders - which soon proved to be a mistake as Max once again used that hold against him, "pushing" him to the ground before pummeling him as hard as its tiny fists would allow.

The moment he got over the shock, Sam threw the lagomorph off of him and into the pile of trashbags he had been using as a 'throne' barely an hour ago and took a flying leap into it.

It recovered significantly faster than Sam had, jumping to its feet right before Sam would have crushed it under himself, causing Sam to crash into the trashbags with a sound that was almost comedic.

Used to it again, he recovered much quicker this time and turned to Max who was already readying itself to attack again, and

It jumped towards his legs, jaw open, and bit hard through Sam's mom jeans, and-

Sam grabbed at whatever he could reach, which was its ears-

And-

...

Despite the awkward position, Sam could look into Max's eyes, and he did.

And Max met his, just slightly.

And, after what felt like a million years,

It laughed, face full of whatever jeans are made out of.

And suddenly Sam remembered the real reason he had called it over.

So, he laughed as well.

"You sure you don't need my help anymore?"

Max adjusted its comedically tiny backpack, preparing for another few nights on the road now that all the hubbub had finally calmed down a bit. And now that he and his best friend had finally made up after a million years of hating each other, he felt almost ready to violently incinerate and generally bother the world.

Almost.

"Don't worry, Max, I'll survive with at least one of my limbs intact, probably," Sam reassured, "It's just like my Granny Ruth always said - something something improperly mixed metaphor."

"If you really don't need this pretty face around to keep your spirits up..." Max sighed, "I suppose I gotta take my leave."

"Right..." Sam shook his head, "Well, as long as this pretty face wouldn't mind visiting me less than ten years in the future, next time, I'd say you're right."

At that moment, Max felt his heart skip a beat. But he simply filed that experience under "intensely disturbing", and turned to the door.

"No promises!" He grinned, "Maybe if you get food for me next time, instead of making me forage for food like some wild animal..."

And with a cuff on the head, he was off, back on the road after almost too long.

...Yeah, he'd definitely visit sooner next time.

What would Sam do without him, after all?

[quietwingsinthesky]

Wishing u much good food and killing michael buble with ur teeth 🫡

May I request arranged marriage for the ask game 👀👀

hello lee :3 i shall provide. this is, quite unashamedly, inspired by your thoughts on king!lucifer (with some of my own spin on things, lol) I really hope you like it.

Sam isn’t given the dignity of a proper marriage. The agreement is in writing before he’s ever even seen his new husband’s face, and after that, he’s carted up north like a prize of war. His retinue of king’s men from the south dwindles the more miles they travel. He’s sure some of that is planned, a man or two to travel so far and then hand him off to northern soldiers, a few more who agreed to go further and turn back, but more than a few times, Sam is sure they’re just deserters, terrified of what will happen to them outside the safety of the south. The wind blows frigid over the growing hills, and the north speaks a different, hostile tongue. Sam hates every single one of the soldiers who leaves, not for abandoning him, because they were never here for his protection, but for escaping when he can’t.

It’s easy to tell the difference simply by how they’re dressed, and by the time Sam is left with only northern soldiers, he sticks out like a flower in the snow on one of these barren fields. The men around him dress in thick furs, garb so heavy that it obscures their entire figure and the weapons beneath their cloaks but never slows them down. Sam is left with his thinner summer wardrobe and the absent gift of a blanket at night to keep him from freezing to death.

The king of Hel will be crueler, Sam tells himself, and he will have to survive that. He wishes he spoke their language. The one benefit of being a hostage in the south was that he understood how he was being humiliated. Though, as he shivers in the carriage he’s locked up in, his muscles aching from the cramped space, he probably wouldn’t need that many tries to guess.

They’re only stopped once. A very bold messenger catches up to them on horseback and demands Sam’s hasty return. Not out of mercy, Sam learns as he keeps close to the door of the carriage and eavesdrops, but necessity. Sam exhales in relief as the messenger grits out that Dean Winchester, the first son of their late father, has gone missing before he could marry the True King.

Sam huffs a laugh at how little weight that title carries now that they’re within Hel’s lands. The messenger must feel it, too.

The soldiers tell him, in no uncertain turns, to turn around and go back to his king empty-handed, or else go back with no hands at all. The deal, they say, was done, and the king of Hel does not renege on deals.

Sam is taken further north with only the hope that his brother is alive and safe and free to keep him warm.

The king doesn’t meet Sam at the gates or in the hall or even in his own bedroom, after Sam is ungracefully herded in there. Not by the soldiers who brought him. Very few of them even entered the walls of the castle and even fewer accompanied him into the keep. No, Sam’s guard from then on was minuscule, only a pair of women. He might have taken them for maids if not for the flashes of steel he caught as they walked beside him and the dangerous looks in their eyes. (Neither of them feel safe, but he keeps his eyes on the red-haired one more than the dark-haired one. When she smiles, Sam keeps expecting to see a wolf’s fangs beneath her lips.)

It’s the dark-haired one who tells him what to do. She isn’t very subtle. “Wait on your back for the king to come fuck you. When he’s not busy with anything more important.” The red-haired one laughs, bright and cruel like fire, and she shuts the door behind Sam once he’s inside. He waits, holding his breath, to hear their footsteps. They shuffle briefly, but they don’t move away from the door.

Sam does not wait for him on the bed. Surely a king has to keep some kind of weapon in his own chambers. Sam searches every nook and cranny, lowering his standards from a real weapon to anything remotely sharp enough to do damage. If Dean escaped, then Sam at least has to try.

The solid stone walls don’t do as much to keep the cold out as he would like. Sam’s fingers are tingling with numbness when he finally closes them around the only appropriate thing he can find: a letter-opener, sharpened crisply. It isn’t as fancy as he’s expecting. It seems more fitted for use than for decoration, no encrusted jewels or intricate flourishes on the blade. Nothing but a snake engraved into the handle. Sam keeps it tucked close.

He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

The sun is below the horizon by the time he hears a new pair of footsteps outside. A new voice, speaking too soft for Sam to understand, even if he knew his language. The door drags open.

Sam lays his eyes on his husband for the first time.

For a few seconds, in a delusion born from how freezing cold Sam is and how scared he feels, he thinks the king might be some sort of monster. The face of a bear stares him down. Sam’s frozen under its dead glare until he realizes its only another layer of clothing. Sam looks down as the king divests himself of his bear’s hood. He rubs his jaw, a few days of stubble to match the dark circles under his eyes.

Sam tightens his grip on his letter-opener, feeling naked in comparison to the king.

The first thing the man says is, “Why aren’t you asleep?” The woman who spoke to Sam earlier had a thicker accent than him, as did the soldiers. Sam can still hear it clearly, but his pronunciation is much clearer than theirs. Sam doesn’t answer, and the king’s eyes drift up and down his body. Even more confused, he asks, “Why aren’t you dressed?”

“I am,” Sam says, though he doesn’t feel it. “Your highness,” he forces himself to add. The king takes a single step towards him before stopping, eyeing Sam as he tenses up. The king says something in his own language, but Sam can recognize the sound of a curse in any. Sam watches the king remove his cloak. The king of Hel is broad-shouldered, thick-bellied, and without his cloak, he doesn’t look any smaller.

“How about a trade?” he says. “Wear this. It’s as warm as it looks”—Sam shivers.—“and in return, you hand over that blade you’re hiding.”

Sam feels his heart stop. His breath catches. The king tilts his head, but there’s no anger in his eyes. There’s… He looks sad, as though he understands why Sam needs the letter-opener to feel safe.

“Please, Sam,” he says, and Sam can’t be comfortable with how easily the king says Sam’s name when Sam doesn’t even know his. He offers the cloak, and he waits.

Sam shivers again, worse than before. It’s been a fight to not crawl under the blankets in that comfortable looking bed, but the cloak is an impossible temptation to resist. He can’t be thinking straight with how cold he is. He reaches for it. It’s heavier than he’s expecting. The king sees him struggling to take it with one hand and moves, bringing the cloak around Sam’s shoulders. There’s body heat cradled beneath the pelt, and it sinks into Sam’s skin.

The king is standing there, without armor, within reach of Sam’s small blade. He adjusts the cloak silently around Sam’s shoulders.

Sam doesn’t strike.

The king touches Sam’s wrist. He gently takes the letter-opener out of Sam’s hand. The way his palms, more callused than most lords Sam’s ever known, cradle his hand lingers in Sam’s mind long after the king has finally let go. The king turns the letter-opener over, running his thumb along the snake like he’s reminiscing about something. He shuts his eyes, grimaces, and lays the letter-opener back on the small table Sam had found it. There’s nothing stopping Sam from snatching it up again when the king turns his back.

He eyes it, but his gaze soon goes back to the king as he kneels beside the dark fireplace. He sweeps the ashes aside, getting his clothes dirty. He hauls another log into the hearth. He starts the fire himself, holding his hand above the flames as they grow and threaten to lick his skin before he stands. The room seems less like a jail cell when it’s more lit up.

The king gestures at the fire and tells Sam, “Wait here,” as if Sam could leave if he wanted to. He leaves Sam wrapped in his cloak and warming his extremities by the fire, arguing back and forth with himself about picking the letter-opener back up.

When the king returns, he brings food with him, steaming fresh. He hands a bowl of stew to Sam. Sam’s mouth immediately starts watering. He hasn’t had anything close to a good meal in nearly a month, granted only the same rations as the soldiers who were leading him here. There’s fresh meat in the broth before him bobbing between vegetables. Sam spears a chopped potato on the end of a fork and hurries to swallow it.

“I’m not going to take it away from you,” the king says, as though he can read Sam’s thoughts.

“Why are you feeding me?” Sam asks between spoonfuls, not completely trusting that this food isn’t a luxury he’ll lose if he says the wrong thing. The king joins him by the fire. Sam noticed the way he kneeled earlier, stiffly, and he wonders if that’s exhaustion alone making him move slower or the twinges of an old injury. He sits and relaxes.

“You’re hungry,” he answers, “you’re cold,”—He glances down at Sam’s stomach.—“and you’re skinny. I’m killing three birds with a single stone.”

“Skinny?” Sam scoffs. It’s not how he’d describe himself.

“You have muscle,” the king says, an amused tone entering his voice. “Muscle’s good, makes you warm, but fat will keep you that way.”

“And I thought you were a man, not a bear,” Sam says. It’s… strange to hear the king chuckle, to know that he’s the reason why. Sam puts another spoonful in his mouth and chews some tender meat. It’s delicious. He’d thought food up here would be tough and flavorless, but it’s rich and savory instead.

“I learn from what I hunt,” the king says. “Sam-“ He pauses. Sam is busy drinking the broth, and he’s caught off-guard when the king says, “You don’t know my name.” It’s like some sort of revelation to him, and Sam just frowns. He wasn’t special. No one knew the name of the king of Hel. “You’ll have to forgive me, Sam. I made certain… choices during the beginning of my reign. I created an image I still have to uphold, even though it has long outlived its usefulness.” The king sighs. “My name is Lucifer.”

He says it like it’s supposed to mean anything to Sam. It doesn’t. He watches Sam’s expression, and his brow furrows.

“What is it?” Sam asks.

“It was Michael’s seal on our marriage, and if he’s still alive, I thought-” Whatever it is troubles him so badly that he falls silent, leaving Sam to have to fill in the gaps himself.

“You know him?” For Sam knows him well. He’s not half as kind (if Lucifer is kind, if this is not all an act) as the king of Hel.

“As children,” Lucifer says, his voice soft, “but I doubt he’d know me now.”

“You were born in the south,” Sam deduces, and Lucifer nods.

“That letter-opener has already tasted blood, Sam,” he says. He doesn’t carry a hint of Sam’s home in him anymore, if he had once. He looks exactly like what a king of the frozen fields should.

“Do I have to use it?” Sam grips the spoon hard between his fingers. His voice goes flat. “Are you going to force me-”

“No,” Lucifer cuts through his words with sharp finality. “No.”

“If you don’t consummate-” Lucifer leans back on one hand, exhaling in frustration.

“And what will they look for? You can sleep in tomorrow to pretend you’re recovering, no one is outside the door listening for your screams, and if they want blood-” Lucifer stands. Sam watches him take up the letter-opener himself and spread flat one of the furs on top of the others on the bed. He cuts his own hand and smears it down the fur. He removes it from the bed afterwards, laying it across the windowsill where Sam can see Lucifer’s blood drying on it. “There. It’s done. You are mine.” He turns to look at Sam, and his voice softens out of the frustration he’d been holding onto. “And I am yours.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say. Lucifer’s shoulders sag as he yawns.

“I’m going to bed,” he tells Sam, “and you’re safe to join me whenever you want. The bed is large, and I won’t touch you.”

More than anything, Sam wants to ask why Lucifer agreed to this at all if he doesn’t even want Sam. It’s not as though Sam can give him heirs, or, it seems, like Lucifer even wants to make them.

He averts his gaze as Lucifer undresses further. (Or tries to. His eyes keep flicking back to catch Lucifer rolling his shoulders beneath his thick white underclothes or pushing his shirt up to scratch his nails through the thick trail of hair beneath his belly button.) He focuses on finishing his meal, and when he’s done, his stomach is filled with hot stew and the rest of his body, still draped in Lucifer’s cloak, hasn’t felt cold at all since Lucifer started the fire.

One last time as Sam passes it, he looks at the letter-opener, now covered with Lucifer’s blood.

He leaves it. Lucifer is snoring steadily from his side of the bed, the covers rising and falling with his breath. Sam removes his cloak carefully, and unsure of where to put it, folds it and lays it across a chair. The bear’s head doesn’t seem to be growling at him anymore.

Sam slides under the bedcovers. He sucks in a breath. He’s never been more comfortable in his life. The weight of the furs presses him down into the mattress, but they’re all soft to the touch. He stretches his body down the bed, covered chest to toes. The pillow beneath his head is firm but pliable, giving way to a comfortable shape. He turns to look at Lucifer.

Lucifer frowns in his sleep. His cheek is wet, and Sam feels the urge to reach out and wipe it dry. It rises, he resists, and it fades again. Sam turns over. He shuts his eyes and sleeps better than he has in years.

[bladeheart222]

Wish You Were Sober

‘Sam, are you ready to go yet?’ I say, following after the girl. She pushes through the crowd, ignoring my question. ‘Sam.’ I call to her. She turns and rolls her eyes.

‘Soon Amy,’ She drags out my name and smiles goofily. God, she was beautiful. Those deep brown eyes and perfect lips.

‘Uh, yeah, okay.’ I mumble, then shake my head. ‘I swear I’m going to leave you behind if you stay much longer.’ She pouts and laughs. She probably knew as well as I did that I could never do that, as much as I hated everyone here. Although I doubt she knew it was because I was in love with her. She turns to the girl next to her and shares a few words before swapping drinks and gulping it down. I gasp and snatch the red cup out of her hand. ‘Sam! You can’t just do that, you don’t even know her!’ 

‘Stop worrying, it’s fiiiine.’ She stumbles over her words slightly and I sigh. Guess I’ll be driving us back now.

‘You’re so boring, just have fun.’ Her words sting even though I know she’s just drunk. She was right, as always. 

‘I’m not boring, stop acting like such a child.’

‘I’m 19, I’m just having some fun. Isn’t that what people our age do?’ I lean against the wall.

‘Yeah, well this party sucks. Who’s house is this?’ Sam just shrugs and downs another cup. 

‘Is this because of Derek? Get over him, this isn't like you. The Sam I know doesn’t carelessly go to random parties and drink until she can barely talk. What’s going on with you?’ She shakes her head,

‘Derek’s… he’s, no, this isn’t about Derek.’ I groan,

‘What is it about then?’ She runs a hand through her cropped curls and looks around,

‘Well maybe it is a little. But I just want to have some fun for once.’ She starts walking away again and I push off the wall and follow after her. Another girl takes her by the wrist and pulls her close, whispering something in her ear. I clench my jaw, jealousy tearing through my body. I turn away, trying to control myself. I weave my way through the strangers and hear Sam call my name. She slings her arm around my shoulder when she catches up,

‘Where are you running off to?’ I don’t even look at her, I can’t handle looking at her. The perfectly imperfect love of my life. The girl who I’ve known since I was a kid, who confuses me almost to tears. The girl who I mean everything to one minute, and pushes away the next. ‘Amy.’ Her voice is soft. She wraps her arms around my waist, pulling my close against her. Her hand travels up the side of my neck, cupping my cheek. Her caramel eyes make my knees weak, and they flicker down to my lips. Then her lips are on mine, and it’s like we complete each other. My chest explodes with emotion, and my heart stops. Nothing around me matters. This was everything I had ever dreamed of. 

But not like this.

I push away from her, ignoring the deep and painful longing in my soul.

‘You’re drunk.’ I say evenly,

‘And you’re not.’ She cocks her head to the side,’You’ve refused every drink you’ve been offered tonight. Why?’ I take a step back, biting my lip to push away the tingling sensation. Forcing my mind to stop thinking about how perfect those few seconds had been.

‘Someone has to make sure you make it home alive.’ Something crosses her face, but I can’t put my finger on what. Guilt? Anger?

‘Let's go home.’ 

‘I wish you were sober,” I mutter to myself. I follow her out of the crowd, avoiding the few people who have spilled out of the house and onto the front lawn. I hold out my hand for her keys and she gives them without a fight. I climb into the driver's seat and cruise down the street towards her house. Sam stays quiet throughout the ride, gazing out the window at the quickly passing cars. I park her car and take her to her door.

‘Take care of yourself, I’ll call you in the morning.’ I say, making sure she’s safely inside. She stands in the doorway, pink tinging her cheeks.

‘Stay.’ I shake my head, 

‘I should get home.’

‘It’s late.’ She insists. I laugh,

‘My house is just down the road. I’ll be fine.’

‘Please, I don’t want to be alone.’ I take one look at her eyes and know that I can’t say no. 

‘Fine, move.’ I brush past her and take off my shoes before following her to her room. She flops on the bed, fully dressed. I take off her shoes and set them next to her bed. ‘You need to wash your face.’ She groans, 

‘I’ll do it tomorrow.’ I pull her off the bed and push her to the bathroom. Once our faces are makeup-free I put a few blankets down and settle onto the floor. 

‘You can sleep on the bed with me Amy. We’ve basically slept in the same bed before.’ I swallow hard and lay down next to her, wondering if she can hear how fast my heart is racing. She rests her head on my chest. Now I’m sure she knows. She’d never been one for physical touch, but she made exceptions sometimes.

‘You know, I’m not actually that drunk.’ She says quietly, I look down at her

‘What?’

‘I did drink because of Derek, but not because of what you think.’ There was silence,

‘What do you mean?’ She sighs.

‘I thought that if I dated someone I would stop being in love with you, so when Derek asked me out I said yes. I knew that I couldn’t fully give you up, I need you in my life.’ She pauses for a moment, ‘So I figured I’d just have to give up the hope that you’ll ever love me back.’ I’m at a loss for words, but Sam keeps speaking. ‘But I couldn’t keep pretending. I felt so bad. Derek was understanding, but I thought I’d just drink away the guilt.’ My hand finds hers and I intertwine our fingers. 

‘You should’ve told me.’ She laughs, 

‘How could I? I see you at least twice a week, we have the same friends, our mothers know each other, things would be awkward. But I can’t keep pretending like I’m not in love with you. It’s not fair to you, Amy.’

‘But if you never told me you’d never know how in love I am with you.’ She sits up, looking at me with disbelief and hope. 

‘Wait, what?’

‘Sam I’m in love with everything about you. The way you squint your eyes when you smile, the way you say my name, the way you always help others, the way you know every word of every song, the way you constantly embarrass yourself and don’t care when everyone else laughs.’ 

‘Really?’

‘Really. In every lifetime I live, it will always be you.’ She smiles,

‘Always.’

[circeislands]

‘i know every inch of your body and i know for a fact that scar wasn’t there before.’

her words traveled the silent room, meeting the ears of the hunter whose fingers fiddled intently to seal the new aching wound on his forearm. she tried to extend her help, her healing but he refused it as he often did. his discomfort was better than hers and concerned eyes peered at the newest scar of his vast collection before their last voyage ended to his fresh stain. the smell met her nose and had it been years earlier. she wouldn’t of been able to stand the scent but it was him: familiar,‘don’t give yourself too much credit, cecilia,’ he inhaled sharply at the insert of the needle and she watched his artistry, the accent that curled around her name used to send her into a spiral,‘my body has changed since the last time you touched— ow, damn it.’ attempted flirting before a slip of the needle caused the distinct frown to deepen in concern as finally from her seat, she stood up and traveled the distance between them. tender fingers grasping the needle and thread without even a hint of hesitation.

‘samuel, i’ll do it.’ even despite him being a doctor, stitching up his own wound held little success. her enhanced vision met his wound with ounces of care and the squeeze of her brows. sam’s eyes couldn’t help but take in each detail of her delicate features that were obscure. the dimple on her chin, a trait of her father’s that was refined in her, that trembled when she cried, and far too often did he observe this, held it. the deep focus in bright brown hues as teeth melded into her lower lip. the more and more he looked at her the more he recalled a memory of her near death and the feeling of despair it filled him. it was a full moon, the wooded outskirts of flagstaff, blood drenched her shoulder, her mouth made gurgling noise he feared, despised, more crimson traveling between her teeth. if he could, if she let him, he would have made a special silver bullet with jacques’s name on it. since that night, her safety meant more to him then his own. his sarcastically witty spats never met her heart, he internally promised to never make her feel a lick of distrust and betrayal. he failed her and that was what filled the room with so much painful quiet.

he hated how she looked at him. wounded, guilty and distant,‘what?’ her tone snapped him from his stare and eyelids rapidly blinked,‘what are you thinking about?’ she had made progress on stitching the wound but a continuous drip of blood didn’t help. she grabbed the wash cloth from nearby and began to dab it to prevent the frequent cascades.

‘you know what i’m thinking about,’ he paused,‘i’m sorry, ce,’ his tone was quiet, as if he sought out to plead for her forgiveness,‘it was never your fault. i know that, i knew that then but i needed someone to blame and you knew the bloodsuckers that killed her.’ he wanted his vengeance to be cecilia’s as well. he wanted her to dump her pack morals for him,‘you wouldn’t do what i wanted... and i was angry.’ his only chance at love was thwarted by the lifestyle he chose,‘i never meant what i said—’

he watched her swallow down and her mouth twitch,‘yes you did, sam.’ she said, stilly, the needle meeting the pads of her fingers and beginning their venture to finish the stitching,‘you had every right to be angry. i chose my pack over you as i had over and over again. after everything your family has done to help me. i deserved it.’ the sharp end meeting his skin, flesh–to–flesh and out and up, and again,‘you deserved to get married and leave all of this behind.’ her shoulders began to tense and the feeling of dread followed her lips. even if he had, it wouldn’t of been enough. going to school to be a doctor, he thought would have fulfilled his desires to save people but it didn’t. being a doctor didn’t relieve his past and the enemies he gained from it. it wouldn’t and didn’t save his fiancee.

she finished and hands were quick to stop touching him, like it ached her, and it did. it ached him also. his uninjured hand raised and grasped her own, clenching and grounding. a silent communication of love between the two that was most certainly there but never transpired. he’d once kissed her, touched her, saw the scars left behind by jacques but nothing else. they both knew the consequences of this moving any further then that. no matter how much it gnawed at him to see her move on. she knew that it did, that if she wanted to, she could feel his draw to her. ‘pay attention, feel me, i give you permission, cecilia.’ his one hand managed to grip both of her slender hands,‘go ahead.’ he urged her,‘please...’ she was never one to give into begging but if he had to, he would have. she would’ve despised him for it, been embarrassed for him but he could careless. she obliged. reddening eyes illuminated hazel orbs and darkened veins wisped into hands. in that moment, he wondered how that felt. to give more control to what lurked in those veins but he had to focus. he would ask about that later. he wanted her to feel him. unconditional love and fidelity that he could argue from dusk till dawn was far greater then any pack member could give her. he’d seen her at her lowest of lows. he’d adored her in high school where everything felt weird to them and especially her, where growth felt irrational and bifocals proved how truly blind she was. where chestnut brown hair was unkept in curls that she had little understanding of and never understood even now.

she felt everything from lingering questions to undisclosed desires, to true regret, to absolute tenderness. she felt everything so deeply and now she knew he did as well. they were the same in that way. she yanked her hands afterwards, quickly, to avoid invading him any further. she never approved using that gift to her own advantage. in fact, her scowl only deepened,‘i... it’ll be to your detriment.’

‘i know and so what?’

‘i could kill you.’

‘be my guest, cecilia. it would be an honor.’ he grabbed for her hands again but this time only managed to grasp one,‘in fact, i’d invite death over to have a couple of beers.’

tbc.

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 204

Meta Fiction/Nightmare in Silver

“Meta Fiction”

Plot Description: Metatron tries to persuade Castiel to join him, and the Winchesters finally capture Gadreel, who tries to play Dean’s Mark of Cain against him

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: um. So no one dies but you got a real creepy breaking of the fourth wall from Metatron

And then we open the actual episode with a…not short Dean shower scene

Hello? Cas? Where tf are you and why are there that many dead angels and WHAT IS THAT SIGIL? AND WHO TAUGHT YOU HOW TO USE A SMARTPHONE?!

Omg Metatron is luring angels with a sound that is reminiscent of heaven and then forcing them to either join him or die…

People (angels, really) keep trying to force Castiel into leadership roles or at the very least right hand man roles…it is…exhausting and my baby’s tired

Oh…oh his little smile when he heard Dean’s voiiiiiiiice on the phone omg

Oh, if he’s getting a weird message via Casa Erotica…does that mean…Gabriel?? Or can Metatron manipulate it too? Would he? GABRIEL!!!!!!!!!!

GABRIEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Ok but I kinda don’t trust that it’s really him…for a bunch of reasons. I know that he said they’re gonna go on a Kill Metatron Mission, but idk man

Ah, man, that guy was fun, he didn’t deserve that

Ok but I like this conversation between Gabe and Cas. I hope it’s real. I really want it to be real so bad. Castiel is so trusting…he deserves a win

Oh…no…I knew it was too good to be true. Of course Gabriel’s not real. Of course it was just a plot to get Cas to hear Metatron out (because that’s what it said in the summary) but DAMN.

He’s been CAPTURED by Metatron?! I kind of thought he was actually talking to Castiel and not the viewer

I’m not saying the stuff with the Winchesters is boring this episode, but the Castiel stuff is WAY more interesting. The boys are just cornering and capturing Gadreel right now. If something cool happens, I’ll say, but this is the Cas show tonight

Castiel has had cultural knowledge added to his inventory, Metatron has LITERALLY info dumped every story he’s consumed over a couple millennia into Cas’s brain

Did Metatron write his OWN SUPERNATURAL BOOKS?? Did he technically write fanfiction?? “Fix it” fic?

Oh. No no no no no no…I don’t like Metatron’s plan.

(Ok…Dean telling Gadreel that he’s going to pay for what he did to Sam and Kevin….*tucks hair behind ear*)

Why’s Gadreel so desperate to die?? Oh, because the alternative is being left to rot in chains like he did after he allowed the snake into Eden

Well and now I don’t trust that this trade (Gadreel for Cas) is real

Mmmmmmmmm, now Castiel knows about the Mark of Cainnnnnnnnnn

Is Cas’s new coat shorter? I don’t like it…

Uh ohhhhhhhh. Is Gadreel starting to potentially lose faith in Metatron??

Not gonna lie. Did not like that ending. I know it will lead to interesting things but damn. The dead behind the eyes look Dean had, Cas using the sigil calling angels to him to lead them…all the while it looks like Metatron is at least controlling the latter part of that

“Nightmare in Silver”

Plot Description: Hedgewick’s World of Wonders theme park is ground zero for a Cybermen resurrection

I love how difficult it is to impress the girl Clara babysits. Either that or she’s playing difficult to impress and that’s even smarter when you’re already traveling in the TARDIS

Oh. Oh I HATE that. The little…cyberbugs crawling out of the cyberman and onto the theme park dude and Angie’s phone (which doesn’t even have service, no wonder she’s bored with the future and in space)

Ok, I’m trying to remain defensive of Angie but it’s getting harder. CLARA shows up and ruins everything??

Oh, no. Oh wait…the weird chess game between the Doctor and…. “It’s me, Doc. It’s me the Cyberman speaking to you inside your brain. Listen to me, Doc! Leave the girl and the kids, we don’t need them!” It’s still cool to reference the PS5 inside your brain right??

I mean, it’s really good acting on Matt’s part, but no one else is doing anything and it’s hard to make any commentary

Oh yeah, the other half of the plot is a standoff between Clara and generic militaryish leader of the week over when it might or might not be time to blow up the planet. Also Warwick Davis is there

Oh NO!! I mean, of course there was going to be an army of cybermen

Mmmm, the weird flirty relationship between them is still icking me. Even when it’s the Cyberman in his head saying the things

The almost immediate upgrades the cybermen can do is scary

Well, they DID explode the planet.

1000 galaxies is way too much responsibility, can’t blame Clara for turning down being empress

It’s still really weird that Eleven has such part time companions.

[tvxcue]

the samsteve meet cute.........”it’s your bed isnt it? its too soft”............”everyone we know wants to kill us” “not everyone”.......................”when do we start”............................AND THEN STEVE JUST LEAVES HIM. TO GO BACK TO PEGGY WHO WE HAVE ALREADY SEEN HAVE A LIFE OF HER OWN AND STEVE HAS ALREADY MADE HIS PEACE WITH LOSING HER AND HAS BECOME FRIENDS WITH HER FOR REAL AFTER COMING BACK.

[specialagentlokitty]

Jacob black x reader - some time

Hi can you a angst one with 10 and 23 for jacob black at the end it fluff thank you - @navyhua 💜

10. “I love you.” “Then why didn’t you show me?”

23. “I’m not looking for forgiveness for the things I’ve done…”

You had a secret you had never told Jacob.

You guys had been friends for a few years, and although you weren’t part of the Cullen coven, you did live with them.

You had met jacob while you were helping out at Bella’s dads house just before she came back, and you guys had become fast friends.

Bella knew what you were, and you begged her to keep it quiet from Jacob.

Sitting on the edge of the reserve, you were waiting for Jacob to come so you guys could head to town like you did ever week.

Except today he looked different, he’d cut his hair, he had a tattoo and you could smell his new scent.

He stopped, staring at you in confusion before he scowled and stormed over to you.

“You’re a vampire?!” He hissed.

“Jake.. calm down…”

You backed away and he sneered, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt.

You made no attempt to move away, you weren’t going to give him any other reason to hate you even more.

“Jacob please… I had my reasons…”

“For what?! Being a killer?!” He snarled.

You sighed, grabbing his wrist lightly you pulled it away from your and took a few steps back.

He was heaving, shoulders moving up and down as he tried to control him temper.

“Yes. I’m a vampire, but that doesn’t mean I’m not your friend Jake. I never once lied to you, and I didn’t want to drag you into this mess. I had no clue you were a werewolf, if I did I would’ve told you straight away.”

“Have you killed people?”

You didn’t reply and he scoffed, running a hand over his hair as he started to pace.

“Of course you were. You’re a vampire!”

“Yes, I’ll admit I’ve done things I regret…”

“You’re just like the rest of them…”

You sighed, looking down at your feet before looking at him.

Taking your contacts out, you tossed them on the ground and stared at him. Your gold eyes pierced into his.

“I’m not looking for forgiveness for the things I’ve done…”

With that, you were gone.

You left forks, leaving everything behind. Phone, computer. Everything.

All you took was a bag full of clothes and some money. You left a note for the Cullens explaining that you were going away for a bit and you didn’t know if you were going to back.

You simply explored, wondering from place to place, seeing all the things you had seen over a thousand times.

The only reason you can back was to help the Cullens in protecting Bella from Victoria.

Fighting alongside of the coven and the wolves, you tried your best to keep everyone safe and when Jacob was pinned to the ground protecting Leah you panicked.

Rushing over, you quickly pulled the other vampire from him and killed them without a second thought.

“Jake!”

Rushing over to him, you cradled his face between your hands as Carlisle looked him over.

“Take him back, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The pack nodded and took him away and you looked between the coven and the pack torn with what to do.

“Come on.” Sam nodded.

You followed behind them, it felt weird to steps on the lands you stayed away from.

And when Carlisle was treating Jacob your heart was breaking at the sounds of him screaming in pain.

You paced back and forth and when Carlisle came back out you stopped and listened as he explained everything.

You stayed on the reserve for a few days before making your way back to the Cullens house.

You stayed there for a little bit before packing your things again.

“You’re leaving?” Alice asked.

“Yeah, I.. just had to Jake was okay.”

“We understand but you can stay.” Esme smiled.

You gave her a soft smile and hugged before taking a few steps and pulled your bag on your back.

“I know that. But Jacob doesn’t want me here, I think I’ll just keep travelling. Thank you for housing me.”

You made your way down the stairs and out the door, heading towards your car you stopped when you saw Jacob leaning against the drivers side door.

“Jacob? How are you?”

“Better. You’re leaving?” He asked.

You nodded your head and tossed your trunk before making your way back over to the door.

“Yeah. Just travelling really.”

“You weren’t going to tell me.”

“I’m sorry Jake.. it’s just… last time we spoke it didn’t end so well… I know how you feel about vampires and I can’t stay knowing you hate me…”

Jacob sighed, looking at his feet as he spoke.

“I don’t.. hate you…”

“Then what do you feel? Cause it certainly feels like you hate me.”

“I love you.”

You laughed slightly as you shook your head at him.

“Then why didn’t you show me?” You asked.

“I was confused… hurt… going through the changes of being a werewolf… I wasn’t sure how to feel about anything…”

You sighed, walking over you gave a small smile and kissed his cheek as you moved him away from the car.

“Just.. let me leave for a little bit… I’ll come back and we’ll talk then, okay?”

Jacob frowned even more.

He knew he couldn’t stop you, and as much he wanted too he couldn’t go with you either.

You wanted time.

He was going to give you that, so he just nodded his head and watched you leave

[buckys-black-dress]

see through

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

a/n: i dont have much to say other than that it's 1 am and i needed to get this out of my system. chapter 4 of play the game is underway, i promise. also, there will be a pov switch in this fic!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. = POV change!

wc: 4.1k words

[ neighbor!bucky barnes x fem!reader ]

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

-

Every Friday night, without fail, you saw the light filter into your apartment.

Notice how you said night?

Yeah, it was almost two in the morning, by the way.

And why was there light coming through the chiffon curtains you had hanging on the rod above your window?

(Great choice on your part, by the way.)

Well, because of your neighbor.

You've seen him a few times, actually. Usually on the street outside your buildings, or just out and about. Never spoke to him, though. He was quiet, kept to himself. Didn't seem very friendly or willing to exchange a greeting if he ever saw you.

But you never took it personally. Maybe he was having a bad day. Every time you saw him.

But that's besides the point. The point right now is that you can see the lights blaring in your room. From the apartment across from yours.

Should it even be possible for light to travel that far? I mean, we don't even live in the same building. You think to yourself as you watch the colors dance in the dark.

You debate getting up and yelling out your window to tell him to shut that shit off or to invest in some blackout curtains. You were tired of sacrificing your sleep every week.

But then you decided against it, because you quite frankly could not be bothered to get up from the warmth of your bed. You'd tough it out for the night, but the next time you saw him, you'd have a few words for him.

-

The next morning, it was almost ten when you woke up. You didn't have your shift at the coffee shop you worked at until three, so you took your time in making your way out of bed.

You noticed the curtains of your neighbor's apartment were still open, but you could see his figure moving across the room. He was clearly on the phone with someone, and he didn't look too happy. You wondered what could have him so angry at such an early time of the morning. He seemed like a person who could use someone to talk to, someone who he could vent to.

But before you let your thoughts get ahead of you, you turn away from the window, heading back into your kitchen to eat breakfast and get ready for the long day ahead of you.

-

"Hi, what can I get started for you today?" You ask as brightly as you can muster at the moment. You were halfway through your shift, another three hours until close.

"Uh, just a large black coffee." The gruff voice says, and it takes you a second until you look up and look closely.

It was him.

"O-okay, that'll be $3.27." You say, and he hands you a five dollar note before grumbling,

"Keep the change."

"Thanks, and your name?"

He gives you a look that's asking, 'what the fuck do you need my name for?'

"For the order." You try and salvage your dignity, because it feels like the stare shrunk you to a speck of dust.

"James."

That's all he all but growls before turning back to find a seat.

As your coworker takes over the cash register, you grab the biggest cup and fill it with his desired coffee.

You try to not think about it too much, but the anxiety you feel rising up inside you and just calling his name to give him his coffee feels absolutely ridiculous.

"Are you just gonna stare at the cup or give it to the customer?" The voice of your coworker, Jenna, rings in your ears and you look up at her, snapping out of the trance you were in.

"Sorry, I'm just a little out of it today, I guess."

"Everything alright?" She asks, and you nod.

"I'm fine, it's just... that's my neighbor." You nod your head towards where James is sat, in the corner by the window as he watches the raindrops run down the expanse of the glass.

"The one who doesn't let you sleep?"

"Yeah, but I don't think he'd take it too kindly if I tell him about that. He seems to have a lot on his own plate anyways," You explain, and she just nods.

"Well, that sucks, but you still need ta' give the guy his coffee." Jenna smiles and walks back to what she was doing before.

You gently slide out from your spot behind the counter and walk to his table.

"Here's your coffee, James. Enjoy, and- uh, let me know if you'd like anything else." You tell him while placing the steaming cup in front of him.

He murmurs a thank you that you barely catch, but you don't quite have the time to sit and wait for more of a reaction.

For the next several hours, James sits right where he was. He doesn't do anything in particular, either. He just watches outside, as the rain continues to pelt down on New York City, and as people come and go from where they were.

Eventually, about an hour left until close, you offer another cup of coffee.

"Do you want a refill? On the house." You ask gently, waiting to see if you'll get brushed off again.

"Uh... are you allowed to do stuff like that?" He asks, and you're a bit taken aback at the sudden concern.

"I don't think you should worry yourself too much, James. Free coffee's free coffee." You smile lightly, and grab the cup before filling it up without his confirmation. You could tell he wanted to say yes but didn't want to seem rude.

"You didn't have to..." He grumbles, and you simply shake your head.

"I know, but you've been here a while, and what kind of employee would I be if I let a customer sit here without any sustenance?" Your lips ply into a tiny smirk, trying to get him to loosen up a bit.

He seems so guarded, defensive. Like any moment, he's ready to run if need be, you inspect to yourself.

"You'd just be a regular employee, Y/N." He says, but the way he says your name makes a shiver run down your spine; and you can't tell if it's a good or bad one.

You unconsciously look down at your name tag, pinned to your black apron that's branded with the café's logo.

"Well, I felt like being nice. I hope you can deal." Your voice comes out short, but he knows you mean no harm.

As you walk back to the counter, you see a small smile playing on his lips, but he doesn't allow it to manifest on his face. You take that as a small victory for your last hour of work.

(bucky's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The girl who works at this café is annoying.

But she's got a nice smile. And she's nice to me, Bucky thinks to himself.

He sips on the new coffee you'd just poured for him, without his consent, he thinks bitterly.

But it was a nice gesture.

Why can't you just take a nice gesture?

Because your brain's been scrambled eggs for 70 years. You don't know what to think about anything these days.

He watches you fiddle with the espresso maker, cleaning it with a rag, which you then dip into a bucket.

You look extremely familiar to him, but he can't exactly pin where he's seen you before.

Bucky closes his eyes for a moment, trying to recall where he'd seen you, but for a moment, he comes up with nothing.

Ever since he's been living back in the real world, he hasn't been outside too much.

He goes on the occasional walk, or goes to the tower to see Steve and Sam.

But other than that, he spends a lot of time in his Brooklyn apartment. He watches movies that Steve suggests, or he invites Steve and Sam over to have beer and watch TV with him.

He hates how lonely it gets, though.

Bucky wishes that he had someone.

Someone who could understand.

And don't get him wrong, he loves Sam and Steve. They fill in the gaps in his days, and they make them better.

Sometimes, thinking about having something to do that day is what makes it. He likes having something to do, something to plan for for when his friends come over.

But it feels like a teeny, tiny part of his life is missing. A person shaped-hole in his heart.

But Bucky doesn't spend too long thinking about it, or it'll send him into a spiral about failure and how he needs to 'push himself to get out there more.'

Or that's what his therapist says.

"Hey, we're about to close, and we usually throw the pastries out at the end of the day. Do you wanna take these home, by any chance?" Your voice rings in his ears, snapping him out of the impending slippery slope of his lack of love life.

He hesitates to answer for a second, looking at the brown paper bag pinched between your fingers.

Bucky can tell you were nervous when you spoke to him. He knew he made you uneasy, and it killed him inside.

He hated that. He just wanted to have a normal conversation with someone. But everyone seems to know who he is.

Who he was.

"Uh, what is it?" He croaks, unsure of what to say at your gesture.

"It's a few cookies and a chocolate croissant."

"Sure, I'll take 'em." Bucky simply answers, watching as you hand the bag over with a soft smile and watches you walk back.

You sweep up the floor and put up all the chairs, except for the one Bucky's sitting on. You leave his table alone, and bid farewell to your coworker who was scheduled to close with you.

Bucky doesn't know what drives him to do it, but he gets up after he sees you walk out the door, and follows you home.

Damn, if you like a girl, you usually ask for her number or somethin'. Not follow her home to make sure she's safe, you idiot. Bucky's inner voice speaks and sometimes, he wishes it would just shut up because he knows he has no game nowadays, but this is all he knows to do.

He realizes the way you're walking is familiar, and not at all of the way he was supposed to be going. That made him feel a little better, less like a creep. He's about half a block behind you, and when you turn onto the same street he lives on, he's really confused.

Did you know he was behind you? Are you trying to play a trick on him?

But before Bucky can speak up or say something, you walk right past his building, and into the one right next to it.

All of a sudden, images of you right on the street in front of your buildings flash through his head. He's seen you because you're his neighbor. Bucky's seen you right there, getting ready to start your run through the neighborhood, or probably on your way to work, now that he's seen where you work.

But he feels like there's somewhere else he's seen you; somewhere familiar.

He shakes his head, wondering why he's so caught up in you. He thought you were beautiful, but he feels a pull to you that he's never felt with anyone else before.

Bucky's hands move to unlock his door, sliding the key in and twisting the lock open.

He enters, staring at his dark apartment. It's moments like this, when he spends a long day alone, that he wishes there was someone.

Someone to come home to, to hug, to kiss, to share dinner with.

Some to fall asleep with at night. Someone to keep the terrors of the dark away.

But there was no one.

And then his mind thought back to you. Your hair, your face, your warm hands that touched his while you passed him the brown paper bag of treats.

Bucky wishes he was man enough to ask you out. Not even that, just to talk to you. Have a normal conversation, to get to know you.

But that wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon, he thinks.

For now, he focuses on taking things one at a time. And right now, all he wanted was a nice, warm shower and to get at least three hours of sleep tonight.

He's in his room, forgoing the lights for now, before he looks out his window.

For a moment, he believes his eyes are playing tricks on him.

There's absolutely no way that you are standing right there, right outside his window.

Well, in your own apartment, of course.

And there's absolutely no way in hell that Bucky is watching you undress right now.

As soon as you pull off your top, Bucky turns around before he could get more than a peek of your black lace bra, and he feels a burn in the pit of his stomach.

He can't tell if it's shame, guilt, or arousal.

(y/n's pov).・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't stop thinking about James all day.

After yesterday, you wondered why you couldn't shake this feeling about him.

He'd made it quite clear that he's not a people person. Or maybe he just wasn't a you person.

But again, you tried to not take things too personally these days.

Sometimes, you wondered, though, as you looked through your bedroom window to his some nights.

You imagined what it would be like, watching one of those movies with him at night. Making dinner with him. Having coffee in the mornings before work, wondering what he did for a living.

You chastise yourself for your thoughts, thinking that you were crazy for these ideas you were coming up with out of nowhere.

As you pull off your clothes to get ready for bed, you feel the same emptiness fill your heart when your head hits the pillow, and another day has gone by where you're all alone.

-

The next day, your shift was at ten in the morning so you were up early.

You took your time in rolling out of bed. The warmth of your duvet was holding you down, and you couldn't help take a peek out your window.

You see that the room facing yours is finally housing a body in the bed. In all the time you'd been living across him, you've only seen him on the floor.

You feel a warm flutter at that. Whatever reason led him to actually sleep in the bed last night was, you hope you played a role in it.

-

You make your way to the café, and although walking in the rain wasn't ideal, you made it, somehow.

You clock in and head to the register, ready to take the millions of orders that come in through the day.

"Hi- oh! Welcome back. What can I get you?" Your tone of voice made it clear you were surprised, but was trying to not let it show.

"Uhm, just the same as yesterday, and... Can I get a chocolate croissant?" Bucky's gruff voice tells you.

You ring him up, wondering if you should say something about him being your neighbor. Although, he didn't seem too keen on looking you in the eye right now, and you wonder if you did something to make him uncomfortable yet again.

He seems to have this issue quite often.

Little do you know, this time, it isn't because of you or anything you did.

Well, nothing you did on purpose.

Nothing you were aware of at the time.

Anyways, you tell James to go take a seat and that you'd be right out with his order.

"Here you go, James," you place the plate and mug on the table, and this time, when you hear him say something, you turn around with furrowed brows.

"Sorry, I didn't catch what you said." You apologize, waiting for him to repeat himself.

"I- nevermind, it was stupid anyways. You probably have to get back to work." He mumbles while looking back down at his pastry.

"James, whatever it is, you can tell me." You offer with a kind smile. "I can come sit with you during my break, if you don't mind?" A hopeful smile crosses your face.

"Uh, I- yes, yeah, that would be nice." He struggles for a moment, but finally nods his head in confirmation along with his words.

"Alright, James. I get off in an hour for my break." You simply tell him with a soft grin, and you can practically feel his eyes burning into you as you walk away.

The blush creeping up your cheeks also stays there until the remainder of your shift.

-

As you plop in the chair across from James, you inspect him for a moment.

He was attractive, you'll admit.

Okay, he was more than attractive.

"So, James, where are you from?" You ask, your own cup of coffee in front of you on the table.

"Well, I'm Brooklyn born 'nd raised. Never was a time I didn't live here. You?" His lip twitches, looking out the window fondly.

"That's nice. I moved here when I was nine, so I guess I've been here a while. But no matter where I go, there's nowhere like home." You smile.

"There really isn't, huh? This place is irreplaceable." He gives you a crack of another smile, and you find yourself yearning for more from him. Just a tooth, something.

"Well, do you live around here?" You ask, deciding to play coy. You wanted to see what he'd say.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Over on DeKalb and Clinton." He clears his throat, the hint of a smile on his face melting right off.

"Huh, that's so funny. I live on those streets too." You grin, waiting to see his reaction.

"O-Oh really?" James doesn't really know what to say without giving away that he knows where you fucking live.

"Yeah, isn't that funny? Which building?" You're pressing, and you know he knows, but you're having your fun right now.

"T-the uhm... I live in the Washington." He's now making zero eye contact with you, and you're close to breaking.

"What a coincidence! I live in the Oakley!" You're in a fit of giggles when his face drops, you just can't help it anymore.

"James, can I tell you something?" You ask in a coquettish manner.

"Yeah, I suppose you'll tell me even if I say no." He gives a tight smile as a joke.

"I don't wanna sound like a creep, but I knew you lived in the Washington."

"Oh," James releases a breath of relief, "thank God. I knew you lived in the Oakley, but I didn't wanna sound like a stalker either." He says.

You laugh, sliding a hand on top of his resting on the table.

"Y'know, you do this really annoying thing where you leave your movies running on full brightness on your TV, and I can see it through my windows at night." You laugh at the incredulity of the situation.

"Oh... I never even thought of that. I'm sorry, Y/N." He looks genuinely remorseful, and now you feel bad for any bad thought you've had about the man that lives across from you.

"It's alright. No big deal." Your smile does a good job of convincing Bucky that you truly weren't bothered by his actions, but he still felt bad.

"Y'know, maybe I could make it up to you?" He asks, and you feel a blush moving up your chest. "Like, maybe over dinner?" His voice is timid, you can tell by the way he tilts his head down while speaking.

"James," you slide your hand into his this time, your smaller one resting in his large metal one. "I'd love to go out with you sometime."

Before he could react, you stood up from the chair.

"My break's over, but I get off at 3." You lean down and pull a pen from your apron, scribbling your number onto a napkin. "Here."

You walk away before he could say anything, but there's something about him this time that you notice.

He's blushing, too. And he's smiling. A bright, white, blinding smile.

You think of that smile throughout your whole shift, until you see he's still waiting for you when it's time to go.

"So, do you like Chinese or Italian better?" He asks with a crooked smile.

-

bonus scene:

six months later

You and Bucky are laid across your bed, the TV blaring a movie that neither of you are paying attention to. Your head is resting on his shoulder, leg thrown over both of his, and his hand running through your hair.

"You wanna know somethin' doll?" Bucky asks, and you feel his chest rumble under your head.

"Yeah, everything okay?" You ask while leaning up on your elbow to get a good look at him, trying to gauge his mood.

"Everything's okay, just remembered something." He laughs, his hand moving to hold your jaw in it. You shivered at the touch, but smiled fondly at the action.

"When I first saw you at the coffee shop, that first day when you gave the free coffee and pastries... I followed you home."

Your brows furrow and it's clear that you were confused as to why.

"I wanted to make sure you got home safe, and then it turned out that you lived right next to me. So I went up to my apartment and wondered what I'd done right in a past life to have you live right next to me, and then I saw you lived right across from me." His face was tipped upwards, like he was replaying that night in his head.

"You followed me home just to make sure I was safe?" You asked in disbelief that he did something so nice for you, when at the time you thought he hated you.

"Of course, sweetheart. It was dark out and there 're some real jerks out there, y'know." One corner of his mouth lifts up in a soft smirk. "Didn't want anything to happen to ya."

You lean down and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, appreciating his gesture.

"I really thought you didn't like me back then, so this is a nice little secret you've been hiding from me." You giggle when he pulls you back in for a real kiss.

"Yeah, well, I don't think I could'a hated you if I tried, baby. You're too sweet. And at the time, I was still getting used to being out in the open without being a national security threat." You both laugh lightly, dropping your head down.

A moment passes where you bask in his words, letting them soak in. And then a thought hits you, and you can't help but become more curious. Now you need to know the answer.

"Hey, can I ask you something?"

"Sure, hon." Now Bucky's brows are pulled together, and you reach up and smooth out the wrinkle with your thumb.

"Did you ever... see me doing anything in here? Like, I usually keep the curtains open, and even if they're closed, they're pretty see-through..." You trail off, giving him time to craft his response.

You have a feeling you know the answer, considering how he turns red like a tomato in an instant as words leave your lips.

"I... there was this one time, but I swear, I wasn't trying to peep on you or anything, it was the same day I followed you and I just so happened to look into your window, and you were getting undressed, but I swear, I turned away as soon as I saw what you were doing, baby-" He was rambling, trying to save himself from sounding like a complete creep after all he's just told you.

"Did you like it?" You ask, innocently, but he knew what you were trying to do.

"I-I- You were getting undressed, sweetheart, of course I liked it... are you kidding me?" Bucky's grasping for the words, trying to make you understand.

"Well... we could always recreate it, but maybe in the same apartment this time?" You cock your head to the side, your doe eyes stirring a feeling in his abdomen.

"I think that's an excellent idea, honey." Bucky's hands grasp your waist as you slide on top of his lap. "After all, I am a hands on learner."

-

fin. i hope you enjoyed!

[tricksters-captain]

Helmut Zemo (TFATWS) imagines - Craving Part 2

AN: Right giving you all what you really wanted... 

Summary: After playing the part as Zemo's arm candy in Madripoor, Zemo tries to confront you on your unspoken connection, only to be rudely interrupted...

In this chapter: After having a dream about the man himself, you decide to seek out Zemo...

(PART 1 HERE)

Pairing(s): Zemo x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3,013

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, receiving oral, choking, Zemo does use a couple phrases in his language and since Sokovia isn’t a real country or language I used Polish (I have seen several fic use German before however). 

You tossed and turned in bed as you tried to get comfortable. Your skin felt hot and uncomforatble to be in and your mind wouldn't stop replaying Zemo’s hands on you. The large bedroom made every movement sound louder than it was so every time you rolled and made the bed frame creak, the more you frustrated you grew. 

You hated Zemo for making you feel so confused. He was an attractive man, that was true, but he had torn the avengers apart. He had used Bucky’s past against him several times and even gotten you hurt because of it. Why did you all of a sudden have the desire to see what he tasted like... 

You figured he’d taste like mint toothpaste and whiskey or perhaps of coffee from earlier or perhaps.... What were you doing?! 

You buried your face into your pillow and groaned. 

You must’ve fallen asleep eventually because you had started dreaming. 

You were back in Madripoor. It was Sharon’s high town home and you had just changed for the party. Except you weren’t wearing what you actually wore that night. Instead, you were wearing a long silky black dress that dropped to the floor with a small trail. It had thin black straps that went over your shoulder and connected to the dress delicately; the dress was completely backless and the cool air from Sharon’s AC tickled your exposed skin. 

“You look beautiful.” Zemo’s voice filled the room. You looked up in the mirror to see Zemo standing at the door behind you. 

“It’s not too much?” You asked, flattening out the skirt with your hands. 

Zemo made his way towards you until he was right behind you. The hairs prickling up on your back revealed just how close he was standing. 

“Not at all.” Zemo brushed the tip of his finger along your shoulder, following the curve from your neck and then down your arm until he cupped your elbow gently. “You look perfect.” 

You felt your breathing stop as Zemo started to learn forward, his eyes remained locked with yours in the mirror as his lips finally met your skin. 

He kissed your shoulder lightly before opening his mouth and grazing his teeth against your flesh, biting ever so gently but with enough pressure to make the sex between your legs throb. 

“We shouldn’t.” You whispered. 

“Why not?” Zemo turned you to face him with the hand that rested on your elbow. He brought you closer to him, pressing a hand to the exposed small of your back. His strong calloused hand against you only made your legs feel weaker. 

“You know why.” You placed your hands on his chest but didn’t push him away. Yet. 

“Ahh, yes. Because of James?” Zemo tilted his head. “What would poor James do if he caught us together like this?” Zemo let his hand slide down the outside of your thigh and hook under your knee, bringing your leg up to his hip to bring you closer. 

You smirked, leaning into the man’s ear. Brushing your lips just ever so slightly against his lobe as you spoke. 

“He’d kill you.” You whispered. 

That’s when you woke up. 

You woke up covered in sweat, your chest heaving and your hair slick to your forehead. You didn’t know how long you’d been asleep for because Bucky was now asleep on the couch in the room too. 

You hoped you didn’t sleep talk anything weird during that dream but you figured that Bucky would be waiting for you to wake up to confront you if you had said Zemo's name or something similar. 

You climbed out of the bed quietly and headed towards the door. You knew you wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep after that dream and you had felt gross from waking up all sweaty so you made your way to the bathroom. 

You splashed cool water on your face and wiped your neck and chest with a damp towel before you left the bathroom again.

You looked down the hall to Zemo’s room. 

You knew which one it was for safety measures. Sam had taken the room beside his so that he could keep an eye on him but you knew Sam would probably be in the living room on his laptop at this hour to keep watch. Make sure no one is sneaking in or out of the apartment. But that also meant you could creep over to Zemo’s room without the anxiety of Sam coming out of his. 

You found yourself walking before you could stop yourself. 

You hovered outside the door for what felt like an eternity before you lightly rapped on the door. 

You opened it without hearing a response. 

Zemo was sat up on the edge of the bed, tying his robe around him as he must have had been woken by the intrusion. 

“I thought you were Sam.” Zemo rose to his feet after he realised it was you who had entered. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.” You apologised. 

“You didn’t. I was merely laying in the bed. I did not lie when I told you about my struggles with sleeping.” Zemo had mentioned his insomnia in the kitchen before. 

You remained in the doorway, just looking at Zemo, panicking slightly as you tried to find something to say. 

“I don’t know why I’m here.” You said lowly. 

“You don’t?” Zemo cocked his eyebrow at you but didn’t move. 

“I just...” You started, “I had this...” You failed to explain yourself.  

“Shh. Shh. Shh.” Zemo waved his hand. He slowly made his way towards you. “You don’t need to come up with excuses.” 

“I’m not.” You argued. 

“Just tell me the truth.” Zemo was now in front of you. He was close enough that you could see the slight stripe pattern on his dark pyjamas beneath his robe. You could also see slight hair poking out of the top of his shirt as the first few buttons were undone. You resisted the urge to reach out and stroke your fingers down his exposed chest, to explore what was beneath his silk pyjamas...

“I-I...” You struggled to respond. You almost felt like punching a wall at how frustrated you were at the fact that Zemo somehow managed to leave you completely speechless. 

“I often use these long nights to think.” Zemo spoke so you didn’t have to. 

“What do you think about?” You questioned. 

“A lot of things usually.” Zemo waved his hand as he spoke. “But these past couple nights I’ve found myself thinking of something more out of the ordinary.”

“And what’s that?” You asked.

“You.” Zemo cocked his head as he looked at you.

You felt a heat grow between your legs as you watched his eyes flicker to your lips for a second. 

“May I?” Zemo stepped forward, reaching his hand out to close the door behind you.

Your breath hitched in your throat as his face passed yours. Zemo slowly pulled back from the door, your faces were mere inches away from each other as he hadn't bothered to go around you to close the door but over your shoulder instead. 

Your gaze met. The thick tension around you was suffocating. 

With his right hand, he reached up and cupped your jaw, firmly underneath your ear. His thumb ran over your cheek; his touch burning against you.  

Zemo leant forward, closing the space between you, and kissed you. 

It was a sweet kiss. A first kiss. He was testing the waters. 

Just as he went to pull away, you wrapped your arms around him and pulled him back in. Your body flushed against his as a powerful urge took over you. 

Desperation. Need. A fire that grew in your stomach.

Zemo placed one hand in your hair and it’s counterpart on the small of your back. You couldn’t help but moan into his mouth as he tugged lightly at the back of your hair. 

Zemo’s mouth traveled down your jaw to your neck. His tongue sent goosebumps over your skin as he explored it. He could taste the saltiness from the result of your dream. 

“Did you get all hot and bothered for me, mały ptaszku?” He cooed as his hand moved from your hair to your shoulder. He stroked down the back of your arm until he reached your elbow. You felt your heart skip with the flashback to your dream. 

“What are we doing?” You asked breathlessly as you clung onto the man’s robe. 

“Anything you desire.” He lifted his head back to face you. 

There was a beguiling darkness in his eyes but it didn’t scare you. It only enticed you. 

Zemo took your hand and brought it to his lips. He pressed a silky kiss to your fingers all the while maintaining eye contact. The way his lips look as they curved against your fingers made your stomach tighten with want.

Zemo had noticed the blazing fire in your eyes as you watched him. He smirked, taking just one of your fingers and placing in between his teeth. He dragged it gently, grazing your finger as he pulled it down his lip; the cool night air tickled the wetness on your skin.

Zemo let go of your hand before lifting his own fingers to your lips. You let out a shaky breath as he stroked his thumb along your bottom lip. 

“So beautiful.” Zemo took a moment to admire you. Your lips were slightly plump from his kiss and your eyes were wide, glistening in the dim light. 

You reached forward and steadily untied his robe. He shrugged off the extra layer at your silent request. 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Zemo’s searched your eyes for any hesitation or uncertainty but failed to find any. 

You nodded your head ever so slightly. 

“Words, kochanie.” Zemo ordered.

“Yes.” 

“Good girl.” Zemo’s mouth turned up at the corners. You felt your stomach flutter at the praise.

Zemo kissed you again. His large hands held either side of your neck as he guided you deeper into his room. 

You took one of the man’s hands and dragged it down your side, ushering it towards the inner of your legs. 

“Does my little bird want to be touched?” Zemo’s voice was low as he spoke into the kiss. 

You bit down on his lip and urged his hand closer. 

Zemo chuckled at your response. 

“Use your words.” He instructed you. 

You parted from the man when you realised just how close the bed was. You sat down and pushed yourself upwards so that Zemo would have to follow to continue kissing you. He recognised the play. 

“I told you to use your words.” Zemo tutted as he remained stood at the bottom of the bed. You felt him wrap his hand around your ankle before tugging you back down to him. 

You gasped at the sudden action, staring up at the man with lust blown eyes.

Zemo knelt down at the end of the bed. His hand moved up your ankle and began to push up your pyjama leg up. His lips pressed against your ankle, nipping and licking your skin as he worked his way up your calf. 

When he reached your thigh and could go no higher, you helped him by removing your pyjama bottoms. You suddenly felt very exposed in just a tank top and your panties. 

“Such a good girl.” Zemo smirked at your hurry to strip for him. 

Zemo held your thigh with his hand, he dragged his tongue along the inside of it, biting your skin softly but didn’t venture too close to your core. He could sense just how desperate you were for him as your legs began to slightly shake with want. But he wanted you to beg...

You reached down and buried a hand in his thick, styled hair. He only smirked and glanced up at you through his eyebrows as you tried to bring him closer to you. 

Zemo hooked his fingers around your panties and pulled them down, freeing your hot sex to him. 

Zemo sent you a dark smile just before he pressed his tongue against you. The smell of you was too much to resist, he had to taste you. You inhaled sharply as he buried himself between your legs. His tongue teased your clit as his forefinger began to circle your entrance.

“So wet for me.” Zemo murmured. 

His finger pressed inside of you and you arched your back, desperate for more. 

“It’s been a while, mały ptaszku?” Zemo was watching your every reaction as he pumped his finger in and out of you. “For me too.” He confessed. 

His tongue found your sensitive bud again and applied more pressure, causing your grip on the man’s hair to turn even tighter. Zemo groaned at your tugging. His eyes lulling back as his boxers became very tight around his member. 

You could feel your walls tensing as he entered a second finger inside you. Your stomach twisted with your approaching climax. 

“I’m gonna...” You barely managed to breathe out two words out.

“Sing for me, mały ptaszku.” Zemo commanded, his eyes glued to you as he watched you come undone around his fingers. 

Zemo retracted his hand as he allowed you a moment to recover. He wiped the slick wetness from his chin as he regained his stance. 

You leant forward and took hold of the man’s shirt, tugging him towards you. Zemo teeth scraped against your lips as he kissed you fiercely. You craved for him to be inside of you and he craved the same. Watching you cum for him only made him ache with want and need. 

“Zemo...” You used his name for the first time that night, “Please...” 

Zemo couldn’t resist your pleads. 

He tore his pyjama shirt off and stripped of his bottoms, revealing his thick member. 

You reached forward, taking hold of him to feel his impressive size. His tip dripped with precum and the groan that rumbled from his throat at your touch only made you want him more. 

Zemo placed his hands under your arms and tossed you higher up on the bed. You exhaled a shaky breath at the dominant action. He climbed on top of you, parting your legs with his knee. 

“I feel I need to remind you that it has been a very long time since I have been with a beautiful woman such as yourself so I shall try my best to hold back.” Zemo was honest as he aligned his tip to your entrance. 

He slid himself up between your folds spreading your wetness on his head, you felt your convulse at the feeling of his hard cock on your throbbing clit. 

Zemo’s jaw clenched tightly as he finally pressed himself into you, his eyes closed as he relished the feeling. 

You rocked your hips against his as he filled you completely. 

Zemo remained still a moment as he just you fully adjust before he started to move inside of you. 

His hand found your throat as he began to pick up his pace. 

Your nails dug deep into his skin as he squeezed your neck lightly. 

Zemo thrusts became deeper, harder and with every stroke, you felt that sweet spot ache inside you. 

Zemo began to murmur in Sokovian under his breath as he fucked you.

You wrapped your legs around him, your body begging him to fuck you harder. Zemo was happy to comply. 

He thrusted deep within you. Sweat was building on his forehead and his skin felt like fire against your own. 

You clawed at the hand that was wrapped around your neck. Longing for more pressure. 

Zemo eyes rolled back for a moment as he felt your walls begin to tighten around him. 

“Fuck... (Y/n)...” The sound of your name on his lips sent a wave of electricity through your body. 

Zemo released your neck to grab hold of the  headboard behind you. His knuckles turning white as he fucked you faster. 

One of your hands wrapped around the back of his neck, clinging onto him tightly and Zemo took the chance to sink his teeth into your forearm. You winced at the delicious pain and bit down on your lip to stop yourself from cursing. 

As your second climax suddenly engulfed you, your legs tensed around the baron. The feeling of you pulsing around him was enough to bring forward his own finish. He cursed in his native tongue as he filled you with his seed. 

Zemo dropped his hand from the headboard as he tried to support his weight above you. 

His hot breath danced across your face as he panted above you. 

Zemo removed himself from you and fell beside you. 

You brought your arm up and ran your fingers over the indented teeth marks in your skin. 

“You could’ve done that somewhere less visible.” You scolded the man. 

Zemo weakly smiled at you as he tried to recover. 

“I apologise.” He said through his heavy breathes. 

You reached over the side of the bed and scooped up the baron’s silk pyjama shirt. You wrapped it around you as Zemo watched you with curiosity. 

You slid off the bed and went over to the decanter by the couch in Zemo's room. You poured yourself a glass of scotch and a glass for Zemo before returning to his side. 

“This never happened.” You held out the glass to the man. He took it carefully before clinking the glass against your own. 

“What the soldiers don’t know won’t hurt them.” Zemo was referring to Sam and Bucky. “Doesn’t mean it can’t happen again, no?”

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.” You straddled the man, downing your drink. 

Zemo placed his hands on your thighs, rubbing small circles with his thumbs. 

“What does mały ptaszku mean?” You suddenly recalled the name Zemo had kept calling you now that your mind wasn’t clouded from lust. 

“Little bird.” Zemo smirked. 

AN: Hoped you enjoyed ;)

Tags 

@montypythonsholysnail @chipster-21 @daniquehavinga @noavengers @and-claudia @moonstuffsteve​ @thanoshadtosnaptwiceforyou​ @the-reas0n-is-y0u​ @xaanyhs @soccer-100000​