#like I have an itch in my mind I need go scratch about this particular subject | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roanofarcc · 1 month ago

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SEE ME NOT

pairing: sasappis x alive!reader

summary: you never thought your ability to see ghosts would be useful until you stumbled upon a job at the Woodstone B&B.

word count. 1.5k | masterlist

note: part 2 mayhaps?

Your mother had once said you had an overactive imagination; a child with vivid dreams even while awake. Your world was in technicolor, painted with characters so life-like that once you grew older and the adorable nature of imagery friends wore off, you couldn’t quite understand them. Talking to the old woman who occupied the old rocking chair on the porch or the little kid in odd clothing in the backyard became concerning instead of endearing.

Instead of embracing the curious characters in your life, you ignored them, but they never left. Voices drifted through department stores and churches from people no one else could see beside you, all alike in bloody wounds or old age.

It had scared you for the longest time once you had outgrown your youth, but as adulthood settled in your bones, you found it more taxing than anything. To go about life pretending that you couldn’t see a whole world hidden from normal people’s eyes got tiresome. There was an itch you refused to let yourself scratch. Conversing with ghosts would only solidify your fears and confirm the scary idea that your brain was vastly different than everyone else's. You did not need that, or, at least, you thought you didn’t.

But one day, while browsing job listings, you came upon one for an up-and-coming bed and breakfast. The job seemed simple enough, working the front desk, resetting rooms, and helping out guests. Upon your interview at the mansion, you were instantly greeted by unknowing ghosts that inhabited the house. They were an interesting collection of ghosts, but certainly not the worst you had encountered in your lifetime. You believed it would be easy enough to ignore them and work there.

It had for a while, too. You went about your daily duties with little trouble, hiding your smiles whenever one of the ghosts said something particularly funny and tuning them out when they were chatting away about new guests.

One ghost in particular caught your eye, who you had learned was named Sasappis from the ghosts' conversations. He often hung around the front desk while you were working, watching the guests come and go or peering over your shoulder to see what you were gazing at on your laptop. You didn’t mind, having been around plenty of curious ghosts in your life.

In fact, you found his presence nice. In what often sounded and looked like the chaos of the Woodstone mansion, he was more of an observer, only participating in the wildness from time to time as a means to probably keep himself entertained.

For a while, as you worked, you believed it would always be that way. That was until you overheard a curious conversation Sam was having in the living room one evening.

You had meant to leave, but your car was being fussy, as it always did when the weather turned cold. So, you had retreated inside to call your friend to come get you and you’d figure out your car troubles after a good night’s rest.

“When are you gonna tell her?” A ghost’s voice sounded, who you recognized as Alberta.

“I don’t know,” Sam replied.

Sam. Living, breathing Sam. Confused, you crept your way through the front entrance to listen closer, thinking you were simply mishearing things.

“She seems terribly nice; I doubt she’ll want you institutionalized,” said Hetty.

You took another step forward, but the floorboards creaked under your feet and gave away your eavesdropping.

“Hello?” Sam called out, causing you to wince before plastering on a fake smile as she rounded the corner to catch you. “Oh, you scared me.”

“Sorry about that,” you breathed out, smoothing down the fabric of your jacket. “My car’s acting up, again. My friend’s on her way but it’s freezing out so I thought I’d, you know, wait in here.”

Sam smiled sweetly, nodding in understanding before she glanced back at the living room. “I was just, uh, talking to myself.”

You tilted your head to the side just slightly. “Were you?” The question was bold, but you were confused. From what it sounded like, Sam was talking to the ghosts that inhabited her home. Was it possible that someone else held the same oddity you did? Surely it wasn’t impossible considering you could see and speak to ghosts, but that person being your boss was more than unexpected. But also, what if you had misheard things? You couldn’t blurt out that you saw the ghosts in her home; what if she had been talking to herself and she thought you were insane and fired you?

Sam hesitated and the ghosts walked out of the living room to see what was going on. You only looked at them for a brief moment, but it was enough for Sam to catch you.

“Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “Did you hear…something else?”

It was your turn to hesitate, chewing down on your lip as you contemplated biting the bullet. “More like someone else…”

The ghosts gasped. “Can she hear us too?” Trevor asked.

You sighed, “Yes.”

The ghosts gasped again, and Sam’s face broke out in a wide grin and she rushed forward and grasped your shoulders. “You can see my ghosts!”

“Your?” Alberta replied, scoffing.

Sam seemed relieved, which was not the response you thought you’d receive when telling your boss you could see and hear ghosts. Instead of a disturbed gaze, she looked excited which caused some of your worry and apprehension to fall from your shoulders.

“You see us whole time?” Thorfin asked, confused, and somewhat rightfully so. While you didn’t exactly understand what it was like to be a ghost, you could imagine someone pretending not to see or hear you a little off-putting, which is why you felt the need to explain yourself.

“Yes,” you said, sheepishly smiling at the group. “I didn’t want you,” she glanced at Sam. “To think I was crazy. I like this job, a lot. But boasting about seeing ghosts isn’t exactly a great resume builder.”

Sam’s smile didn’t leave her lips as she squeezed your shoulders once more before letting go. “Well, at Woodstone it is. I don’t feel like the only crazy lady here anymore.” She paused, scrunching her nose up at her own words. “Not that I’m calling you crazy, just that I felt crazy-”

You laughed, cutting her off gently. “Believe me, I’ve felt crazy my whole life. It’s nice to know I’m not the only one.”

“You’ve been able to see ghosts your whole life?” asked Issac.

“Yep. Which was cute as a child but much less cute as an adult.”

Sam hooked her arm with yours and started to pull you toward the kitchen. “We have so much to talk about!”

Your next shift at Woodstone was vastly different. Instead of ignoring the ghosts to save your thinly veiled sanity in front of your bosses, you were able to embrace the chaos of the ghostly group without fear of being fired.

The ghosts were rather chatting, excited to have another living person to talk to while Sam was occupied with other work in her office. You stood at the front counter, the day slow but in a way that was nice. Most of the ghosts had come and gone throughout the day, stopping by for a light conversation before they went about the rest of their day, doing whatever ghosts enjoyed doing.

But one ghost hadn’t paid a visit until it neared mid-afternoon, which was different than before.

“Hello,” you greeted Sass as he stepped out of the living room. He offered you a small smile as he wandered toward the front desk.

“Hey,” he greeted.

You leaned on your elbows propped up on the counter across from him. “And what have you been up to today? Usually, you visit me first thing in the morning.” Your tone was light, maybe a bit teasing but all good-natured.

He cringed, folding his arms across his chest. “That seemed a lot less creepy when I thought you couldn’t see me.”

You laughed. “I don’t think it was creepy.”

He narrowed his gaze, lingering a little ways in front of the counter like he was nervous to step any closer. “Really?”

“Really,” you assured him. “I liked the company. Though, I think I may like it even more now that I don’t worry about being called crazy for talking to you.”

Sass seemed to relax a bit at your words, stepping closer to the counter with a small smile on his lips. You were able to really look at him without having to pretend to look through him. Perhaps it was still a bit odd, but you did think he was rather handsome. Young ghosts were uncommon, but not nearly as common as old, horror movie-like ones. Sass was very far from horrifying.

“You might not get called crazy for seeing us but listening to these other ghosts talk may drive you crazy,” he joked.

“The other ghosts? Not you?”

His smile was nice; it caused little crinkles in the corner of his eyes and his teeth to show. “Oh, no. Not me. I’m the only sensible one here. Totally cool compared to the other guys.”

You matched his smile, wide and happy. “Hm, we’ll see about that.”

#cbs ghosts #sasappis #sasappis x you #sasappis x reader #cbs ghosts fanfiction

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theclaravoyant · 7 months ago

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love your d/s aos fic vibes but i haaaate d*ddy k*nk so i was wondering if you'd do 'rough kiss' or 'kiss after a bite' + bucktommy? *please emoji*

AN ~ it would be my pleasure! honestly the d*ddy thing squicks me super hard too so i'm happy to contribute to the pool of kinky goodness that doesn't involve that particular part. however! and this won't be a surprise if you've enjoyed my aos smut lmao but i got sidetracked by snuggles so this fic actually ends up filling 'kiss to the top of the head' instead of those other two... but will it be a series? don't tempt me haha prompt list

Relationships: BuckTommy Content: Oral Sex, Established Relationship, Praise Kink, sub!Buck, Dom!Tommy

Read on AO3 (1300wd)

take me by the tongue (Rated E)

Buck had always had a bit of a thing for Strong Independent Women in the bedroom. Sure he'd enjoyed broadening the odd horizon and showing them things their shitty boyfriends never did and all that, and he wasn't immune to the fawning groupie type either, but there was something to be said for the ones who knew what they wanted, stated it, took it. Save a horse, ride a cowboy. It was one of his favourite shirts.

So, suffice to say, he was having a great time with Tommy. A great time. He loved to learn. He loved to please. And both of those things were going, again, great. There was a give and take, there was a learning curve, there was the way his heart grew a few sizes when he could get Tommy panting and calling his name in the throes of it all but there was also an... itch, he needed scratching.

A raised eyebrow.

“It would be, 'okay'?” Tommy pushed back.

“Yeah. You know. If you wanted. To treat me a little... rougher.”

The trouble with being the fit hot and yeah, highly sexual guy in those relationships, is that being good at it was kind of all that mattered. None of them had been long or intimate enough for him to get much practice actually verbalising the specifics of what he wanted; their bodies usually did the talking, and there wasn't this getting-to-know-each-other, please-don't-think-I'm-a-freak period. The freak was laid out right there on the table, take it or leave it. Swipe left or swipe right. Plus, if you wanted to get sad about it, Buck hadn't been in much of a place to speak up for himself back then. If anyone had wanted more from him than he was comfortable giving he probably would have given it anyway. He tried not to think about that part too much.

But Tommy – Tommy wanted to an a frankly frustrating degree to make sure he felt happy and respected and comfortable, and as much as he hated to admit it, that was still kind of new for Buck.

“Is that something you want, Evan?”

Tommy's eyes, rock-steady, scanned Buck's face for any signs of what he wasn't saying. He sidled closer with the slightest salacious whisper of a smile and Buck wondered if maybe his eyes were giving him away. Screaming what his throat wouldn't. Fuck me, bruise me, pull my hair. Pin me down. Make me beg. As if Tommy could see right through to the visions playing in his mind, he pulled their hips together with a rougher yank than usual, and pinched Buck's quivering chin between calloused fingers. Buck took a deep breath, and it stuck to his tongue, and Tommy gently, firmly refused to let him look away as he read him like a book.

“Don't be nervous, baby,” Tommy purred. “Tell me. How rough do you want it? Just a little shove-me-against-a-wall action? Or... how about I pull your hair while you suck me off and I don't let you up til you're gagging for it-”

“Jesus, Tommy.” Buck's knees shuddered and his eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. Tommy made a deep, approving sound in his throat.

“That bad, huh? Oh, this is going to be fun.”

Hell yeah, it is. Tommy bit his lip, smiling; his eyes dark pools of desire that Buck wanted nothing more than to throw himself into and surrender. Slowly, torturously slowly, Tommy leaned for another kiss, and his fingers moved from Buck's chin to the back of his head, and he brushed gently at the hair there. His lips were just about to touch...

Then he grabbed. And shoved.

“Knees.”

“Yes!”

Buck let his knees fold. His heart thumped. Damn, but Mr Chivalry was good at this. Good at this, and turned the fuck on if the shape in his pants was anything to go by. Tommy yanked at his belt, his pants, his underwear, his own enthusiasm bleeding through in his desperation to take advantage of Buck's waiting lips. He didn't need the hand in Buck's hair to get the kid to take him as deep as the primal need for oxygen would allow. He was always an enthusiastic lover, but Christ, Tommy thought. This was next level. So he pulled his hair anyway, steering him, pushing him. He did love a challenge, and he rose to it – and he rose to it. And then, before Tommy could even make his mouth form the words to order him not to touch himself, he clasped his own hands together behind his back and just went even harder with his mouth. It gave Tommy all sorts of ideas.

“God, Evan, you're beautiful,” he growled. Buck moaned at the praise, and it sang through him. He knotted his fingers tighter at the back of Buck's head and thrust into his mouth. “Thank you – for telling me what you wanted. There's so much more I want to do to you. You're so good for me.”

Buck moaned in drunken, desperate pleasure. Tommy had to give the man's desire addled brain some credit. He knew what he was doing. Lord, did he. And to think he'd prepared himself at the beginning of all this to talk a baby bi through things. Now that they'd gotten to know each other a little better, he was pretty sure Buck knew and enjoyed things he'd never even heard of. Christ, but this kid was going to be the death of him.

“If it's too much,” he instructed, “say Maverick. Or tap out like I showed you in Muay Thai, remember?”

Buck hummed his affirmative, but he was so far from tapping out. His hands unclasped themselves and flailed in the air either side of them but it was only in search of friction – to grab his own swollen cock, maybe or Tommy's thighs to pull himself deeper, and Tommy growled - “No.”

And they went back, and Buck whimpered, but he did it, and the vibration in his throat was almost enough to send Tommy over the edge. He felt full to bursting and he knew Buck could take it – even if he was starting to shake and plead against him. He was making little hitching gagging sounds, wet and sucking sounds, and he refused to give up. And Tommy was only a man, and his hips were starting to shudder like bad brakes. The both of them were getting so close it was hard to harness his words.

“You- you like being told how good you are, don't you?” Tommy teased. “And I bet you'd make the most gorgeous little rope bunny for me. We should- We should talk about- ”

Buck made a sound that Tommy was pretty sure was something along the lines of Tommy, please!

He was so fucking full of cock and love and helpless base need that tears were starting to leak from his eyes. His own hips shivered and jerked and he was going to struggle to stay upright much longer.

“I hear you, baby,” Tommy assured him. “You're so ready for me, aren't you? Come with me, Evan. Take it, baby, take it. It's all yours. I'm all yours.”

He let go, and Buck did indeed take it and lapped him up like the fountain of youth until his own orgasm overcame him too and turned his hips and his knees into jelly. The only thing holding him up after that was Tommy's hand in his hair and eventually the man had to take mercy and let that go too. Buck melted into a puddle of bliss on the floor, beaming; his pupils blown wide and every muscle twitching with pleasure. He has the right idea, Tommy thought, and let himself flop down right next to him and pull him into the best semblance of a spoon he could manage with uncooperative cum-drunk muscles and a hard floor.

“Wow,” Buck mumbled. “This whole communicating thing is really hot.”

“No, baby,” Tommy replied, and planted a kiss on top of his wild hair. He'd really done a number on it, and it made him smile. “Pretty sure that's all you.”

#bucktommy #tevan #evan buckley x tommy kinard #tv: 911 #911 fic #clara's fic tag #prompt me stuff

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honeykngdom · 1 year ago

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the caretaker | iruka umino

Pairing: Iruka Umino x 19+f!reader Synopsis: It's particularly rainy that Sunday morning. You have places to be, and the rain certainly wasn't going to stop you - a pothole in the road might, however. How embarrassing, now you're late and wet. Oh, God, please tell me you didn't see that? WC: N/A - nothing but fluff. Word Count: 5.5k A/N: tbh I fell in love with the idea of iruka being soft and taking care of me, so I decided to write something to fulfil my own need since I couldn't find anything to scratch that itch. Reader is a Sarutobi bc the plot required it. If you liked reading my work, please know my requests are open & I offer taglists for new content I post! :)

Read part two here!

It was raining outside. Under any other circumstance, Iruka wouldn’t have minded. Except that it was cold, and wet, and it was Halloween. And normally, Iruka didn’t have arrangements for Halloween, so the terrible forecast wouldn’t have been a concern – except that he did this year, and the rain was impeding on those particular plans.

For the last two years, Halloween landed on a school day. For the most part, he was bogged down with lending an additional hand after class. In prior years, he didn’t bother to celebrate the holiday simply because he hadn’t had the time. It appeared that wasn’t a sufficient answer for Master Jiraiya.

The Sannin arrived in town just the night prior after a gruelling month of training with Naruto; he was dining at Ichiraku’s with Kakashi and Asuma. They feasted on ramen while Iruka listened to the tales of their various training. He was always impressed as a teacher of the Academy to listen to the growth and strength that students of his past accomplished in their own personal endeavours. Especially with Naruto. The boy was an enigma, Iruka decided, one he was keen on rooting for.

But no amount of compliments to Jiraiya and his masterful work with Naruto could spare Iruka from the dreaded conversation; what was going on for the holiday in the village? Iruka all but hung his head in his ramen bowl as the conversation around him ensued. It was unsurprising that Kakashi knew the goings-on of celebrations within the village; the man knew everything about everyone, for the most part. Asuma, not unlike Iruka, also didn’t typically partake in the festivities, but appeared rather intrigued at the prospect of joining his fellow comrades in a night of fun.

Iruka tried to avoid it; he was busy grading, preparing next week's lessons, and watering his plants – to no avail. Jiraiya all but insisted that Iruka join them for the evening. No if, ands, or buts about it. This brought Iruka to his current predicament. Not only did he have plans for the evening, it was also pouring with rain.

He watched the puddles from his perch on his small balcony attached to his second story apartment. The streets were painted a dark grey from the moisture, curbsides overflowing with an ongoing stream that seemed to come from and go nowhere in particular. The tea in his hand was far from serving its purpose of keeping him warm, which was a pity, given it was the last of his favourite herbal blend. Iruka signed petulantly, circling the remainder of the cup's contents in a slow motion.

When he heard the yelp, he nearly leaped from where he stood to the sound. Looking up to search the street once again, he noticed the laying figure of a young woman. From the way her wicker basket sat several feet away from her, Iruka determined she must have fallen in her travel. He watched her for a few moments, noticing that she was slow to rise to her feet. Ultimately, he decided if anything, he needed to ensure she wasn’t injured.

In your rush to make it to your aunt’s get together in time, you had stupidly forgotten to securely fasten one of the ankle straps on your rollerblades. Under normal conditions, it wouldn’t have proven to be too much of a problem; but when you’re speeding down the road and forget about the pothole just on the left hand side, it certainly can be.

You probably should’ve moved. You were in the middle of the street, after all. Sure, it was raining and there was likely no one coming that you could be a bother too, but nonetheless. You were laying in the dirty street. In a puddle. And you’re pretty sure your ankle would begin to swell just about any moment.

“Just great,” you muttered to yourself, unable to contain your annoyance any longer. It was nothing but obstacles since your eyes opened that morning. You ran out of your favourite tea blend, and in your search of finding something new to pair with your morning eggs, you burnt the last of them. You had no hot water when you went to shower – something that now seemed futile, given that your hair was soaked in rain water and mud. And, you were running late.

You heard the slam of a door followed by the approach of footsteps. You turned slowly, using your arms to push yourself up off the ground with a groan.

“Are you alright?”

Looking up, a gentleman stood above you with an umbrella in one hand and the other stretched out as an offer of help. He looked so comfortable in his training pants and turtleneck – comfortable and dry. You went to grab the hand he held out, and grimaced when you noticed the scrapes across your palm mixed with pieces of gravel.

“I’ve been better.” You conceded, brushing your hands across your pants as soon as you were standing upright. You noted a tear in the knee in one pant leg and frowned. “Thank you for coming to help me, though.” You turned to the man that was now bent over and collecting the various items that had fallen from your basket. Oh, no – the taiyaki! “My desserts!”

Rolling forward to grab the basket, the movement of your weight from one leg to the next sent a shooting pain throughout the entirety of your ankle and up the front of your leg. With a short cry, you went to collapse to the ground again, but found yourself caught by a pair of firm hands.

“Woah, easy! I think it’d be best if you get that ankle checked out.” Iruka felt horrible. There was something about the way your face broke at the sight of your soaked taiyaki that made him feel all the more guilty, although he hadn’t the faintest clue why he would. “Those are death traps you have strapped to your feet.”

You shot a look up at him. “They are not!”

“That so?” Iruka’s brow lifted in challenge, slowly removing his grip from your arms to allow you to steady yourself on your own feet. From the look of pain that pulled your brows together, he had proven his point. “It should be looked at.”

You sighed petulantly. Looking up at him now that the umbrella was situated over both of you, you allowed your brain a moment to register the man standing in front of you. You knew Iruka. You were only a few years his junior, so the pair of you never shared a class or completed any training together. But he was a familiar face, and a friendly one at that.

“I appreciate the concern, Iruka. But I’m actually running late.”

“I don’t think you understand,” he began, shaking his head slowly as he explained, “you’re not going to make it very far in this condition, and certainly not in this weather. Aren’t you in pain?”

Of course I’m in pain, you thought coarsely. “I promised my nephew taiyaki, I’m bringing him taiyaki.”

Iruka paused. As much as he wanted to argue that it was imperative you seek medical attention, he could appreciate that you felt you had a duty to fulfil. He often felt that same sense of duty when tending to his students. He took a moment to assess the situation, gnawing on the inside of his cheek while he processed.

“For Halloween?”

You nodded your head. “It’s his favourite holiday, and I love that he loves all things scary. I make him taiyaki every year and we eat it after we carve pumpkins.”

Iruka fell into silence again; the two of you stood under the shared umbrella surrounded by the pouring rain with your basket full of the ruined dessert hanging between the two of you in your hands. If you weren’t soaked to the bone, and your ankle wasn’t screaming with pain, it might have otherwise been quite a pleasant little moment.

Finally, Iruka spoke with an even and controlled tone. “I think it would be a good idea if you let someone take a look at your ankle. Besides, you can’t bring these to Konohamaru,” he held up one of the fish-shaped waffles between his fingers, “he’ll just come to the Academy tomorrow and tell everyone all about it. Do you want all the other youth to hear about how your taiyaki was soggy?”

Could this be considered blackmail? You wondered, skeptically eyeing him. Probably not. But he was making a good case, unfortunately.

“If I go to the clinic now, I can kiss the rest of my day goodbye.”

Iruka paused, pursing his lips together in a firm line; then he sighed. “I can take a look at your ankle for you.”

This time, you hesitated. You watched him for a long moment, searching his face for any indicator that he might be just saying that for the sake of being polite; but from where you stood, he appeared nothing if not sincere. While you didn’t entirely love the prospect of letting Iruka see your foot, there was still the matter of your wet clothing.

You grimaced. “I’m not sure.”

“At most, it’s probably a sprain. You can ice it for a bit and then I’ll wrap it for you.” He replied, his face remaining calm and even.

You looked down, tugging at the hem of your shirt. “I’m going to drag mud in.”

Iruka sighed. “Are you always this stubborn when offered help?”

You almost laughed. “Unfortunately. Bad habit, I guess.”

“How about this: I’ll help get you back home, that way you can change into something dry and then we can set you up with a temporary fix for your foot.”

Admittedly, that was a better option. The feeling of your pants clinging to your body from the rain was beginning to irritate you greatly, and you were itching to get out of these clothes. “Okay, that’s not a horrible idea.”

Iruka lifted the corner of his mouth in a half-grin, shifting the umbrella from one hand to the next. “Do you think you can manage if you hold onto me?”

You shrugged. “I guess we’ll find out.”

The pair of you only made it to the top of the hill and around the corner before you halted entirely and shook your head. If you lived closer, it may have been feasible, but you still had another eight minutes to go. No chance you’d make it. After another five minutes of arguing, Iruka opted to pull you onto his back. It was decided that it was the easiest option to get you back to your apartment without putting further strain on your ankle, all while keeping you both safe from the rain.

The short walk back to your home was quiet. Iruka needed to use both hands to hold you steady, leaving you in charge of keeping the umbrella upright and over the both of you. Sometime along the way, you became increasingly aware that you were soaking his clothing with your own — something you felt terribly for. You wanted to apologize for it, but you knew Iruka would shrug it off. Always the gentleman.

“Here, let me help you.” Iruka knelt down once you were safely concealed inside your apartment. Remnants of your baking clung to the air and the space was still warm. You watched as the man’s fingers worked to undo the straps on your rollerblades; you quickly placed a hand on the wall beside you to steady yourself when he loosened the laces. “Can you step out of them?”

Albeit painful, you did manage to remove your feet and place them flat on the floor. Iruka placed your rollerblades next to a pair of sneakers you had just to the left of your front door, then stood and immediately began removing his own footwear.

“Do you own a tensor bandage?” He inquired, placing his jacket on the hook next to the one you had opted to leave at home just twenty short minutes ago.

“Somewhere in the bathroom,” you pointed to the door across the way.

Iruka nodded once. “I’ll go look for it. You find something dry to change into.”

He left you where you stood and made his way across your tiny studio to where the bathroom was. He shut the door behind him, offering you a moment of privacy; it was when the door was closed and you were alone that you finally took a moment to process what was happening.

Six years ago, you would have simply died to have Iruka hold you close, in any regard. Thankfully, you no longer felt like your tongue was swollen every time he happened to say hello when passing by in the streets. Overtime, the silly school-girl crush dissipated into respect - a mutual respect. You weren’t entirely sure when it happened. Maybe after Konohamaru started at the academy.

Not wanting to waste any more time, you quickly rummaged through your closet for a pair of clean joggers and a matching sweater. Peeling the rain-soaked jeans from your legs was the least enjoyable part of the process, but one you were grateful for. The flesh of your thighs were so cold it felt as though it was being pricked by thousands of tiny needles.

By the time Iruka exited out of the bathroom, you were pulling your sweater over your head. He found the tensor bandage and was stretching it out between his hands, his eyes lifting up to meet yours from across the space. “You look more comfortable.” He smiled.

“I am,” you conceded with a nod and a smile in return, “thank you for getting me home. I’m sure you have better things to be doing with your afternoon.”

Iruka chuckled and shook his head. “No bother at all.” The man appeared sincere, coming to sit down next to you on the tiny loveseat nestled at the foot of your bed. He pursed his lips together tightly and patted his meaty thigh twice. “Alright, let’s take a look.”

Removing the sock from your foot was the last thing you had wanted to do, but it couldn’t be put off any longer. You gave a quiet sigh, then reached down to slip the material of your sock away from your foot. Iruka helped guide your ankle into place on his leg; he then spent a few moments surveying the tenderness, his fingers gently touching along the swollen area. He kissed his teeth, offering a slight ‘tut’.

“I think you may need something to help bring the swelling down.” He finally decided.

“I’ve got a bottle of painkillers up there.” You sighed, pointing over to the cabinets above your stove. “There’s also a bag of frozen vegetables in the freezer, could you grab it for me?”

Iruka was quick to retrieve the items; he filled a small glass with some tap water and made his way back over to the loveseat to sit next to you. He set two tablets into the palm of your hand and watched you throw them into the back of your mouth before he handed you the water to swallow them down. When he was sure you had taken them, he took the glass from your hand and placed it on the table in front of him before gingerly placing the frozen bag of peas over your ankle.

You couldn’t help but still feel embarrassed. Surely he had better things to do with his Sunday than play caretaker for you. “I’m so sorry.”

Surprised, Iruka looked over at you. “What are you apologizing for?”

You shrugged once. “This definitely isn’t the best way to spend an afternoon, let alone your Halloween.”

The smile that Iruka flashed at you was warm and comforting. “Trust me, this is more up my alley than going out to celebrate.”

You rolled your eyes. That felt hard to believe. “What, you don’t go out with Asuma and the others?”

This time, it was Iruka who looked embarrassed. He brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck in a guilty manner, his eyes slipping closed as his cheeks lifted in an innocent smile. “I have a great deal of respect for your brother,” he admitted, “but Jiraiya can certainly be a little enthusiastic. Large gatherings aren’t exactly my idea of a good time.”

You blinked twice, then snorted. “Are you scared of the jōnin, Iruka?”

“Absolutely not!”

“Master Jiraiya’s enthusiasm is not a good enough excuse to opt out of Halloween,” you retorted.

Iruka sighed. “What if I say something stupid?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. What a silly thing to be worried about, given that your older brother had his own fair share of stupidity. However, you also knew that Asuma also held most people at arm's length at all times, and so the remainder of the village didn’t have the privilege of knowing the Asuma that your family did. For the most part, he was rough around the edges; most certainly the suffer in silence type. But over the last few years during his budding relationship with Kurenai, another side of him began to make its appearance. Someone softer, more tender.

“If that’s what you’re worried about, don’t.” You lamented. “People say stupid things when they’re halfway through a bottle of sake.”

The man next to you seemed to visibly relax. “I suppose you’re right.”

“Besides, if Master Jiraiya invited you, then you’d ought to be there. I don’t really think anyone in the village turns down a request from one of the Legendary Sannin.”

Iruka seemed to consider this. Admittedly, he would never let it be known that he just simply didn’t care for the antics of the holiday. In his youth, Halloween was the perfect day to plan for. He’d spend hours upon hours pulling together the most elaborate pranks; as responsibility came to the forefront, Iruka found that he spent less and less time giving a second thought about trivial things like holiday celebrations. Not having a family to celebrate with may have also played a part in that.

“What about you?”

Confused, you replied, “What about me?”

“Do you have any plans for the evening?” Iruka inquired, quickly followed by: “I mean, apart from trying to deliver moist desserts to a poor unsuspecting child?”

“To be fair, Konahamaru is expecting them.” You couldn’t help but snicker at his words. He was teasing you, and despite the fact the pair of you had not engaged in a steady conversation in almost four years, Iruka teasing you felt natural. As though he had been doing it his whole life. “But no, no plans. I probably would’ve been home after spending the afternoon with him and spent the evening watching a bad thriller and eating leftovers.”

“That doesn’t sound like an awful time.” He lied. Did she do this every year? Understandably, bringing sweets to your nephew seemed like a wholesome tradition – returning home like a hermit to indulge in the most basic and mundane of activities?

Well, Iruka couldn’t really judge. If he had it his way, he would be staying home tonight. Glancing down at your iced ankle, he decided if he was lucky enough, he could maybe weasel his way out of it.

You shrugged. “Not as fun as hanging out with my brother, I suppose.”

Iruka tensed, lifting his hand to the back of his neck to scratch the area lightly. It was still damp with rain from outside, but he was no longer cold. Actually, he noticed it was quite warm inside your studio. “Can I ask you a favour?”

“Anything.” It came out embarrassingly fast. You hoped he couldn’t see the heat creeping up your neck.

He appraised you for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nevermind. I couldn’t ask that of you.”

You decided not to press it any further; truthfully, you were a little annoyed. Now you were curious. What had he wanted to ask you? “I think I should probably wrap it now.”

Iruka nodded, dutifully tending to your ankle. Using both hands, he gently guided your foot from the table to his lap; he spent time examining the wound closely before unravelling the tensor bandage. He began at the base of your foot, then slowly brought it up in careful motions around your swollen ligament. When he was satisfied with his handiwork, he tucked the loose end of the bandage into one of the loops and repositioned the bag of frozen vegetables over your ankle.

“I appreciate you helping me,” you said after a moment. Admittedly, everything that happened to you up until this point should have had you in tears of frustration — nothing had gone right. Yet, from the moment Iruka joined you outside in the rain to offer you a helping hand, the anger began to melt away. Now, the only thing weighing on your mind was the fact Konohamaru would go his first Halloween in six years without you and your shared desserts. “It’s nice to have a friend.”

It sounded so foreign coming from your mouth, but you were sincere.

“I won’t keep you any longer.” You said suddenly, feeling silly for not sending him off sooner. “Wouldn’t want to keep Jiriya waiting, would you?”

Iruka sighed. “I suppose.” He was slow to move, staring down at his hands that rested in his lap for a few moments longer before he turned towards your body. “I have a few hours before I’m expected anywhere, and I think I should make sure you get something to eat first.”

“Iruka, I’m fine.” You assured him.

The man nodded in agreement, but remained seated. “I hear you, I just think Asuma may think differently of me if I were to head out without making sure you were set for the rest of the evening. What kind of a man would I be if I left you now?” He said it nonchalantly, but there was a heavy insinuation behind his words.

You sighed, “I highly doubt Asuma would care.”

Iruka looked pointedly at you, “Would Asuma do it?” He asked, waiting patiently for your answer. When you lowered your eyes to the table in front of you, the man next to you chuckled and nodded in satisfaction. Because he was right – Asuma wouldn’t have left anyone’s side without ensuring they had everything they needed. You chalked it up to the way you were raised; your father had been an attentive man, and your brother seemed to be following in his footsteps. “That’s what I thought.”

Unwilling to argue with him, you accepted defeat and leaned back into the cushions of your sofa. “Fine. If you feel you must,” you grumbled lowly, trying to sound annoyed albeit unsuccessfully – Iruka appeared amused – and folded your arms indignantly across your chest, “what were you thinking?”

The man simply smiled, pushing himself off the sofa to wander over to the pantry just next to your fridge. He spent a few moments browsing through the various items you had leftover in your fridge and cupboard, compiling a batch of ingredients onto the countertops.

He paused after a while, a sound of displeasure breaking the silence. “No eggs?”

Guilty, you sunk lower into the pillows. “I used my last two this morning.”

Iruka looked over his shoulder to where you sat. He didn’t appear to appreciate that answer, and after shutting the fridge door, he made his way over to where he had left his shoes by your front door.

“Where are you going?” You asked, embarrassed by how quickly it had come from your lips.

He looked over to you again, his expression blank as he responded. “Heading to the market, I need eggs.”

You looked over to where your bag sat at his feet and sat up. “I have some change in the front pocket —”

Iruka held up his hand to stop you. “Nonsense, I’ve got it.”

Iruka looked so out of place standing in the middle of your tiny kitchen. He towered over the top of the fridge, needing to bend considerably in order to investigate its contents. His shoulders and back flexed with every movement; you found yourself mesmerized as he diligently diced the veggies into fine slices, absolutely enamoured with the current visual taking place. Admittedly, you never wanted it to end. For a moment, you allowed yourself to live in delusion. Having Iruka up close and personal like this made you long for something more permanent.

An hour later, Iruka set down a large bowl overflowing with a heaping pile of steaming deliciousness. “Tantanmen is served!”

You watched as he sat down across from you, noting the way he left his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and kept the apron around his waist. It was amusing to see Iruka so domestic; you only knew him as a prankster growing up, and in his later years, as a dutiful and dedicated teacher. To see him in any other light was strange, and yet, still refreshing.

“It looks incredible,” you couldn’t lie even if you wanted to. The scents that now filled your apartment had you practically drooling by the time dinner was ready.

“I wasn’t sure how much spice you could handle, so I went a little easy on yours.” He admitted, watching you intently as you took the first bite. When you closed your eyes and hummed in delight, his mouth broke open into a wide-toothed grin.

“It’s delicious.” You claimed, happily digging in for a second bite. “Wish I could cook like this.”

“Asuma doesn’t bother to teach you?” He inquired.

You shrugged. “When we were younger, sure. But, it’s been sixteen years since our mom died. I can’t imagine he remembers all of her recipes.”

Iruka hesitated with his next question. “Do you remember much of her? Your mom?”

“No.” You frowned, pushing the noodles around in the broth. “I was six when she was killed. Most of any memories that I have of her include watching her practice medical ninjutsu, more so when Kushina was pregnant.”

“That’s right,” Iruka nodded, “I had forgotten Biwako was one of Kushina’s midwives.”

You sat back, staring down into your bowl of ramen. “Seems like so long ago, when you consider everything.”

The man pursed his lips, watching you quietly for a moment before he leaned forward onto the table. “Do you ever think about following in her footsteps?”

You smiled, mostly to yourself. “Sometimes. I’m a fair kunoichi, don’t get me wrong. I’m just not sure if maternal practice is the best suited for me.”

Iruka nodded. “You mean that you prefer to be in the field.”

You shrugged sheepishly, meeting his gaze. “I blame Asuma for that. Reckless as he is, he may as well have his own team of medical-kunoichi.” You sighed deeply, dropping your eyes. “Not that I’ve been out in a while. Since my old man died, well . . .” you trailed off, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“No one thinks any less of you, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I’d like to say I believe you,” you mumbled dryly, “but people treat me differently now that he’s gone. Not bad, but almost like they feel bad for me. Like I need their pity.”

Iruka folded his arms on the table, “I hardly think anyone pity’s you. You’re a Sarutobi, for God’s sake.”

“Sure feels like it.” Now you just felt silly, pouting at your grown age like this. In front of Iruka, nonetheless.

The man across from you sighed, unsure of how else he could comfort you. Iruka had watched you train plenty of times; from his classroom at the Academy, he had the perfect view of a few of the training fields that chūnin and jōnin gathered at to practice. He would be lying if he said he didn’t watch Asuma help you work on your hand signals from time to time, or that he found it amusing when you became frustrated.

“You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for,” he said after a while of silence. The softness of his voice surprised you. “I know that living this life can be difficult for most, but I would like to think that your father and mother wouldn’t want you to feel like this. Hiruzen spoke about the will of fire so often, I felt like I needed to make it my personal mission to ignite it within the youth of our village.

Sometimes I forget about how much will the rest of us harbour. I see it in Asuma everyday. I see it in Kakashi, and even Naruto and Shikamaru. They show up for their teammates and their friends every day, they make the choice to continue to aid the community and village in their own unique ways. Whether that be through completing missions at the benefit of protecting the village, or through enhancing their own strengths with vigorous training. It exists in all of us, and undoubtedly within you, too.”

Unable to hide the blood that rushed to your cheeks, you looked down into your bowl and moved around the noodles. Iruka was right. Maybe you did need to stop being so hard on yourself.

The pair of you sat across from each other for at least another hour or two before either of you realized the sun was setting behind the tops of the apartments; the rain had cleared, but the streets remained damp with puddles. A part of you was a little disappointed the afternoon had flown by so quickly. Spending time with Iruka turned out to be incredibly relaxing, and it turned out the two of you had a lot more in common than you previously thought.

You decided that you liked the way he smiled with his eyes. You liked the way the area around them crinkled whenever he lifted his lips into a grin. His hair was beginning to fall in stray strands from his neatly formed ponytail, and while you didn’t understand the logic, it made him all the more human. Intimate, even. Iruka was always seen pulled together, despite working closely with some of the most rambunctious youth the village had ever seen. Even during his sparring matches, a single hair never fell out of place.

The broad shouldered man was leaning into the counter as he washed the small batch of dishes you had accumulated throughout the day. You told him to leave them and protested profusely, but he waved you away with a laugh in reassurance.

“Are you going to end up meeting with Asuma and the others?” You asked after a few minutes of silence.

“Why don’t you come with me?” He asked in return, turning away from the sink. “I’m sure no one would mind.”

You almost laughed in disbelief. “I wasn’t necessarily invited.”

Iruka shrugged nonchalantly. “I fail to see the problem. Like you just said, Asuma’s going.”

You thought about it. Surely you would get some grief about not making it to see Konohamaru, but being able to join your brother and his friends in the festivities. Not that Asuma would truly care — if anything, you were more concerned about how he may react to seeing you in a bandage. Protective as ever, Asuma was.

“Should I really be walking around just yet?” You wondered, looking down at your ankle with uncertainty.

Iruka wiped his hands on a small towelette, his head tilting to the side as he appraised you for a brief moment. Then, he replied, “If it gets to be too much, I will carry you home.”

From the definitive look in his gaze, you could tell he was sincere. You felt like you had no other choice but to chalk it up to the simple fact Iruka didn’t want to attend this gathering any more than you did, but a small, miniscule part you really wanted it to be because he enjoyed spending time with you.

“You’ll carry me all the way back?”

He nodded once. “And you can always lean on me if you need to take a load off, though, I imagine we will be able to sit.”

We will. It may have been wishful thinking, but you wanted to believe that meant he would stay by your side the rest of the night. Suddenly excited with the prospect of spending the remainder of your evening with him, you finally decided to nod and brace your hands on your knees.

“Alright. I’ve just got one more favour to ask before we head out anywhere, though.” You admitted sheepishly, looking sideways at him.

He only chuckled, something that always sounded carefree. “Name it.”

“I may need help changing into something a little less … casual.”

This time, it was Iruka who appeared to scramble to hide blush that creeped into his own cheeks. Flustered, he nodded but for the first time, suddenly looked completely frozen.

“Don’t worry,” you giggled, noticing the way he gulped noticeably when you began to unzip your sweater, “I won’t tell Asuma that you had a peek.”

#umino iruka #iruka umino #iruka x reader #iruka umino x reader #iruka umino drabble #sarutobi reader #asuma sarutobi #sarutobi asuma #lmk if you have any other iruka things you'd like to read!#I'm always looking for soft boi headcanons and drabbles to write >.<#will also write for kakashi; naruto; kiba; shikamaru; kankuro; and asuma!#feel free to send me requests for any of those 7 and I am all yours!

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elvisabutler · 2 years ago

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oh god could we Please get a fic where austin gets pegged 🙏🙏🙏 i need it

get the feeling

summary: once upon a time there was a man in love with a woman. once upon a time that woman wanted to peg the man. the man had no real objections. fandom: austin butler rating: m pairing: austin butler x plus sized female reader word count: 2295 warning: pegging. use of the word good boy. at least faint dom/sub vibes. sub austin. little bit of crying. little bit of come play. talk about prepping for anal penetration. coming without being touched. handjobs technically. brief mention of the reader wanting to call a strap on a cock. a faint trace of feminization i think but i can't quite tell. just in case we'll add it. use of the color system ( red, yellow, green ) for sex. author’s note: ah anon, i know where this came from. i do throwaway lines and they come back to haunt me in the best of ways. i basically began and finished this today. something about getting a full proper night of sleep inspired me i guess. haven't written pegging in- forever because i think i've written it maybe once or twice for other fandoms. hope you enjoy and hope this scratched an itch for you. and consider this a continuation of every lover's got a dagger in their hand because that's what i did. also y'all wanna be part of my tag list fill this out here.

Ever since Austin had made what you and him both affectionately call "The Miscalculation" in thinking that maybe you enjoyed daddy kink you two hadn't really tried much of anything. Busy schedules preventing much more than quick pecks and just as quick sex. It's not a problem, you both knew what you signed up for being with the other person and yet it allows both of you- or at least you to fantasize when you're alone. It allows your mind to swirl with thoughts and images of various positions and things you want to do with Austin. It helps your job, allowing you to take scenes in ways that were new and adventurous while still staying firmly in agreed upon limits but you find yourself wishing more and more you could finally get an opportunity to enact the fantasy with the object of your fantasy.

Thankfully the opportunity presents itself in one of the rare weekends Austin has had off at the same time you are off. Or more accurately the opportunity to bring up the subject arose as he stroked your hair and you drew shapes on his torso.

"Would you ever mind being pegged? Or is that a hard no?" The question is asked with zero preamble but if there's one thing you're pretty certain Austin knows about you by now it's that you are incredibly direct when you want to be and this particular time is no exception. Truly, this time just goes hand in hand with any discussion you have about sex, just a remarkably frank talk that the other person just tends to be along on the ride for.

Austin chokes on his spit a little at the sudden question but recovers startlingly quick, planting a kiss on the crown of your head as he answers. "I. I never thought about it before The Miscalculation," he pauses and you hear the sound of his saliva wetting his lips as he licks them, "but it's been in my head for a little bit, lately. I know you'd take care of me."

Your mind latches onto the idea of him thinking about it like you had. It latches onto the idea that he's been fantasizing about you with a strap on sliding in and out of him. That he's been fantasizing about whimpering and whining and begging to come undone beneath you. You feel the fire of your arousal go from faint embers to a roaring heat as you grab one of his hands and feel his fingers slide through your folds. Your question comes out a little shaky.

"Can I take care of you tomorrow?"

As it turns out he had no objections to that in the slightest. There were no dinners you two had made plans to go to. There were no work related events that might crop up. There was nothing but you and him and your bed. It's been your experience that people do their best prep for things like this by themselves. Of course, you always do a final inspection and help where you can but there's something uniquely intimate about cleaning yourself out this way and you- despite knowing how much Austin cares for you and adores you, you don't want to rush him. You don't want to cause him any undue discomfort partially so that it doesn't sour the mere idea of the actions that are about to happen but also because he's the man you love. He's the man you love and the fierce protectiveness you know he feels for you goes both ways. Your own protectiveness wraps itself around him like an armor and you're loathe to hurt him- to cause a single chink in that armor.

He does a remarkably good job at prepping himself, and you wonder briefly if he truly has never done this before. You know he hasn't though, know it's just a side effect of knowing how to clean himself properly and thoroughly. When you open the door he has his fingers starting to trace his hole with some hesitation. It was one thing to clean himself out, another to lube himself up. Your voice is a soft murmur as you press your naked body against his, making sure your full breasts push against his back. "On the bed, baby boy. On the bed for your queen."

His lips curl into a smile at the term of endearment he's used for you once or twice before. Perhaps that should be what he calls you in situations like this, ma'am and queen. Perhaps that encompasses your relationship in ways mama and mistress and any other combination of words do. You hum as you watch him walk to the bed with all the grace of a newborn fawn before flopping on the bed. A chuckle leaves your lips and you know you should tell him move, to make it easier for you to make sure you thoroughly prep him but instead you lay down beside him and take the lube, generously coating your fingers before you start to prep him. Involuntarily he tenses before you shush him, your free hand stroking his cheek. "Relax, it's just me. Just making sure I won't hurt you. Remember how you work me open when I'm not ready?"

He nods, a noise that sounds almost like a whine escaping his lips as he relaxes slowly but surely allowing your finger to slide into his hole. You take your time, allowing Austin to set the pace as you feel him relax more and more. Your hand stays on his face for a few minutes before he grabs your wrist and moves it down his torso. He's always been sensitive there and you feel the muscles tense as your fingertips dance across the skin as you move lower and lower, brushing past his cock that's slowly filling up the more you press against his prostate and settle on his thigh. A squeeze has him whining your name as you shush him whispering little sweet nothings into his ears.You hear his breath even out even as it hitches when you hit that certain spot inside him or when you move to add another finger but he takes them so well. He takes them so well and you can't help the words that leave your mouth.

"That's my good baby boy, being good for your queen. Relaxing for her, getting ready to take her. Gonna look so pretty with me inside of you, aren't you? Gonna bounce up and down on your queen, hm? Or am I going to have to do all the work." The last words are punctuated by you removing your hand, marveling in how he grinds back, whining when there's nothing there.

"Y/N. Don't- Why did you take them out?" Austin's voice sounds minorly unfamiliar to his own ears as he keeps grinding back until you put them back in and brush against where he wants you to, a sigh of relief exiting his body.

"You don't want more? Don't want to be stretched out around my strap on?" The word cock itches in your mouth and dances around but you tamp down on the urge, this is your boyfriend not a client. "Your queen's been so good at prepping you, wouldn't want that to go to waste would we?"

His head shake would be entertaining if you didn't realize he might be sliding into a space he can't handle just yet. It's violent and has you pulling out your hand and your other hand to make him focus on you and before you get the words out he smiles, "green."

Green. He's fine and you move to grab the lube again, coating your hand and the dildo attached to your strap on, watching as his eyes zero in on it. He bites his lip, and you swear you see a bit of drool that has you putting on a bit of a show. "Baby boy? You want your queen to fill you up now? You gonna climb on top of her? Ride her like she's ridden you before?"

What happens next is something you weren't expecting. Austin has been nervous and you've been worried he's going to call this off. It would have been fine and you would have understood wholeheartedly but you wanted to fulfill a fantasy for both of you. Yet here was your nervous boyfriend practically clamoring on the bed to be able to sink himself down on you. You see the muscles in his arms tense as he holds himself up, trying to figure out the best way to do things before you grasp the dildo and nod slowly as if to tell him it's alright. You know he knows to go slow even if he's excitable and you see the tear and the way his face winces just a bit even with the preparation and your free hand moves to wipe those tears away and cup his cheek.

"Good boy, there you go, nice and steady. You've got this. I'm so proud of you. Taking me so well, gonna make you feel so good, baby boy," your murmurs have him humming softly as he looks down at you, love clear as day in his eyes even as they flutter shut. You had told him not to bottom out just yet but he does and nearly shoots off of you when he realizes he just put an obscene amount of pressure on his prostate.

"Fuck. Ma'am. Queen. Y/N," Every word he can think of to be a name for you erupts from his mouth in a whimper, his arms and his thighs shaking. He hasn't come and yet he knows he probably will sooner rather than later.

"What's happening?" You ask, as your hand moves from his cheek down his neck and down to his collarbone as he starts to move himself off of you only to sink back down with a growl. "Color?"

"G-Green. Green Yellow." He forces the words out as he looks at you, watches your hand move down his torso, scratching at his nipples in a fit of minor overstimulation. "Green Yellow."

"Too much?" A simple question as you pull your hand away only to have him grab your wrist and put it close to his cock, whining as you brush that spot inside him again. "You want me to play with your cock, baby boy?

He nods, the words floating away from his brain and making it impossible for him to answer with words. You should tell him you won't do it unless he can tell you what he wants, what he needs but you understand him better than anyone and know what he wants in this moment. He wants to lose himself, you figure. Not completely but just enough that you are completely in control of his pleasure. Your hand wraps around his cock and he cries out a little. Not in pain but in pleasure that has him bouncing as best as he can above you. One of his hands moves to play with your breasts, pinching and kneading your nipple and the breast itself. He can't tell if you're enjoying this, so he figures this will help. You ought to tell him that his sighs and whimpers and how you feel his thighs tighten around your own- not an easy feet but the way his legs are practically splayed even as he rides you- is a wonder to behold that has you dripping onto the bed. You should tell him you're thinking you're likely to come without being touched. You should tell him these things and yet you hold back, choosing to wrap your hand around his cock and slide it up and down, your thumb playing with the slit and earning hiss after hiss and whimper after whimper.

The muscles in his abdomen are tightening and everything seems to be being wound tighter and tighter and tighter the more you look at him. He opens his mouth to finally let words leave it, to finally ask for something he needs desperately. "Wanna come. Please. Help me, let me come, please."

His voice is so wrecked that you feel your own body shudder with an orgasm as your hand tightens around his cock once more. His whines are getting louder, more pitiful as you look up at him and practically coo, "come for me, baby boy. Cover your queen's chest in your come. Paint me all white."

That does it as he shudders and cries out your name, his release coming it spurts over your stomach and your breasts. His body sags and he whines at the overstimulation from him not holding himself up any more. You're not intensely strong but you're strong enough to shift the two of you into a side by side position that allows you to slide out of him, trying not to relish in how he whines at the loss and whimpers at you petting his cheek and his body. Your own legs are shaky but you need to get up and clean up and you start to before Austin lays his whole arm across you and shakes his head. "Stay just- We'll shower in a bit. Take a bath. I don't- I just want you here right now. Wanna watch you play with my come."

Those last words are half slurred and you can't help but crack a small smile as you take his hand and drag it through the mess he's left on your chest. After a moment of him just staring at you, marveling at what you did you take his fingers and suck on them to clean them off. "Think you can handle this playing right now, baby boy?"

"Green."

#austin butler #austin butler x reader #austin butler x you #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x plus size reader #austin butler smut #austin butler fanfic #austin butler fanfiction #sub austin butler #sub austin #austin butler fic #ally writes

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pumpkinspicenietzsche · 1 year ago

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The Amazing Digital Circus has been the only thing I've been able to think about for the past few days, so I NEED to talk about it real quick

First off, the animation is already some of the best from any indie project I've seen in a while, and I adore how varied each character is in both design and personality.

Speaking of characters, caine is easily the best one. He's EASILY got the best jokes in the pilot (although Kinger is a close second who I've grown to adore a lot more than I did on my first viewing) and also the best voice acting.

That's nothing against any of the other voice actors, though. Absolutely everyone SMASHED it in their roles. Michael Kovach as Jax is great, mainly because it's MICHAEL FUCKIN KOVACH, and Zooble's voice scratches a particular itch. I'm glad she's voicing the me-core character (I'm lover you Zooble) because it makes it MORE me-core.

The animation itself shines the most in Pomni. She's got the most expressive design by far as the defacto main character, so she gets most of the best shots, and her eyes, dear GOD her eyes.

Unfortunately, despite all of that, Pomni is one of the show's main weak points. She's losing her mind in just about every frame, and while that's fun, it drags her scenes down quite a bit. It doesn't feel like she has any other characterization, bringing her down as a main character and making her hard to root for. Since Digital Circus is just a pilot currently, this could very well be fixed in the finished show, but I'm staying cautious.

I assume Jax is the fan favorite (although I don't know much of anything about the fandom so I could be wrong) and it's not hard to see why. I love how much of a dick he is. It makes him really enjoyable to watch. Although his jokes don't land half of the time, the other half is FANTASTIC. I also have a soft spot for his design, I am a SUCKER for how this guy emotes. The square pupils, that weird mouth that doesn't actually open, all of it.

And while I don't have much to say about Ragatha, I do appreciate and like what they're trying to do with her as the defacto voice of reason. I also just really like her voice actor. Her design reminds me of a Moral Orel character and I can't for the life of me think of why.

overall, Digital Circus is a very strong indie project with a solid premise and a solid cast! I love the way it plays on structure, and the horror elements are very well done. I love the style it's going for, where it's not very horror-driven driven but there are still those existential elements to it, giving a very unique feel. It's laid back enough for you to shut your brain off, but the moment you fully let your guard down something happens, and I LOVE that. this show made me burst out laughing so many times it is unreal. go give it a watch! this is a threat.

this post is a call for someone to talk to me about Amazing Digital Circus because I love The Amazing Digital Circus and you should too please i beg

#the amazing digital circus #review #tadc #tadc caine #tadc kinger #tadc jax #tadc zooble #tadc pomni #tadc ragatha #gooseworx

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prpfz · 5 months ago

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🦅🎖️Hello everyone! Going to keep it as short and sweet as possible as people like to say around here.

21 + | mxm | OCs with real faceclaims | NSFW | Discord

Looking for someone capable of taking part in a realistic military-themed RP.

Realistic meaning taking place in homophobic settings and with just as narrow-minded influences all around, closeted characters wearing masks of tough, straight men and sleeping recklessly with random women to convince themselves that they can't be attracted to another male, talks about and acts of violence, combat trauma, you get the vibe...

Someone who can put in the effort when creating and later playing their OC:

No one-layered prick who sees red all the time, but even more so, not an anxious softie who doesn't belong to the military.

I want characteristically colorful, strong-minded characters with interesting backgrounds and motivations who can be just as convincingly vulnerable and emotional.

No clear dynamics of top and bottom - switches, topping from the bottom, a constant fight for the upper hand, that sort of dynamics.

No freshly enlisted, clueless officers. I would like it to be interesting even career-wise so feel free to create a character of a higher rank with notable achievements and esteemed mastery of a particular skill who has a reputation in the military.

It can be a modern-time military, but we can also make a trip to the past and one of the world wars.

I'm particularly knowledgeable in history so if someone desperately needs to scratch their historical itch, definitely feel free to reach out as well.

As you may have already guessed by the length of this post, you should be an elaborate writer - a few lines long, empty replies that don't push the plot anywhere and don't have any character development are my biggest pet peeve.

give a like and anon will get back to you

#oc roleplay #oc rp

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fallowhearth · 1 year ago

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David Graeber and David Wengrow, The Dawn of Everything: A New History of Humanity, 2021

This is not a review. It will probably be a bit of a ramble about my approach to reading history and thinking through why I bounced off this so many times. This is also about letting myself off the hook - I'm going to let this one remain unfinished. I don't need to finish reading it.

After I dropped out of grad school (highly recommended), it took me a good few years to be able to stomach picking up a history book again. But, I do really enjoy the discipline. There's a reason I wanted to do it as a career. I eventually found a way back in - from YouTube video essays, to a few podcasts, to reading history from outside my field. I had the most success with ancient/pre-modern histories; obligatory Tides of History plug as I've loved all the deep dives into genetic history and archaeology (and gotten quite a few great book recommendations). I don't have any particular knowledge in these fields, I don't have the language skills or context to interpret sources myself, I've never even taken an ancient history course. So reading these I have no option but to basically rely on the expertise of the historian, to see what they say about various topics and about each other. It's the opportunity to read history like a layperson, and hey, it's pretty interesting!

On the one hand, Dawn is engagingly written - I'd call it kind of magazine style? - and tells a compelling story. But, the whole time I'm wondering, but is any of it true?

My impulse when reading something from within my area of academic expertise is to go and take a look at some of the sources myself. It's always a useful sense-check; it's due diligence. History is by its nature kind of subjective. Historians don't just deal in lonely facts (to paraphrase someone whose name escapes me), but in interpretation and argumentation. Everything has been passed through several human filters before a historian even looks at it. So, in a room full of historians you respect, you can have a lively, contentious discussion where no two people have quite the same reading of the source. There's a skill you pick up after a while - you get a sense for the range of defensible interpretations of a particular piece of evidence. You'll feel more affinity for part of that range, based on the things you believe about how the world works, your particular axe to grind, other things you've read, niche academic beef, etc.

I'm confident I've read at least a few of the sources Dawn uses, and I've definitely read within adjacent bodies of sources. So, I have an incredibly strong need to go and take a look at the specific things they're basing their argument on. I trust my own judgement; I want to establish that range of defensible interpretations, I want to see what readings I'd pull out first, I want to see what the distance is between Dawn's point on that range and mine. The problem is that I can't. Even if I wanted to dive back into the archive, I literally don't have any of the institutional accesses that would allow me to. Also I really don't want to. So I'm constantly feeling this itch I can't scratch at the back of my mind while reading Graeber and Wengrow's work.

The broad version of Dawn's thesis is something like: 'humans have experimented with diverse ways to live and organise their societies across space and time, in ways that are not accommodated by the teleological models developed within the colonial context'. I'd say, yeah, I pretty much agree with that! (In fact it's a thesis I'd love to nail to the doors of many popular history writers.) But I get the same sense reading Dawn as I did reading various provocative works of global history (many of which I really like): the broad thesis is generally defensible, but it falls apart on the page-to-page level. Of course I can't actually confirm this since, well, I haven't done my due diligence!

#entering the grad school trauma zone for the sake of posting #anyway I'm open to suggestions for my next attempt at reading #though I think Weavers Scribes and Kings has been on my list for a while

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 1 year ago

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Rated: Teen and Up

Pairing: General, hint of Dean/OFC

Tags: Witchcraft, Animal Transformations, Angst, Fluff (and Fur)

Word Count: 5500

Hello, and welcome to my very first foray into a big bang! Of course, if I’m going to give one a try, Dean Winchester will be the focus. This particular one was also much less intimidating as it was the 2023 Dean Winchester Big Bang: Mini Edition. So, the word count wasn’t high, and we had a couple of months to work on the project with our artists. My artist is TwinOne. I had such a fun time sending over suggestions and watching their artwork come to life through the process.

I hope you enjoy and please let TwinOne know how sweet and lovely the artwork is. I’m over the moon with the results, and it was so satisfying to see someone’s interpretation of my story! It scratched that itch (wink, wink).

Thank you to the mods @deanwbigbang for hosting and running such a fun challenge! Your time and effort is appreciated!

Summary - Set pre-series, Stanford Era: Dean has been sent on a solo hunt in New Orleans. He meets up with an ingenue witch, Selina, who needs his help to save her mentor from a voodoo priestess. The plan doesn’t go as expected; when does it ever? Dean, though, gets a little breather in the aftermath, and it turns out to be just the thing to scratch that itch.

Prequel to "Oh, I'll Be Anything You Want"

Tendrils of smoke. It swirls, radiating bright white, pulsing with life in an empty void. Growls. Incessant barks. Distant at first. With every passing second, the panic rises as the sound pounds closer. Suddenly, hot and foul breath chases out the smoke.

Dean’s lids popped open from the nightmare. His head tilted from side to side, inspecting the area.

He’d hoped the entire thing had been a self-constructed comedy of errors in his mind. A bad dream from which he’d blessedly awakened.

Unfortunately, the current situation he found himself in was very, very real.

There was no way Dean Winchester would ever tell his dad about this.

If he somehow managed to escape this debacle, he might die of humiliation if someone found out.

New Orleans had been a disappointment in so many ways. No booze. No beads. No boobs.

He whined at the unexpected stab of pain emanating from his shoulder. He’d been lucky to win the fight in one piece. The sparring partner’s fangs had sunk into Dean’s flesh like malleable clay.

But before the ambush, he’d at least accomplished what he’d set out to do. The hex bag had been buried in the priestess’s backyard. Selina had provided specific instructions. Dean’s sense of direction easily found the northernmost corner of the parcel lot. The muslin-wrapped ingredients he’d been charged with rested beneath a half foot of dirt. All his tasks were completed well before midnight under the brightest full moon he’d seen in ages. He hoped Selina had gone ahead with the spellwork even if he hadn’t gotten back to her in time.

He stared out between the steel bars into the pitch-black. The absence of light left him bereft of shadows to discern as friend or foe.

An itch tap-danced over his neck. Skin rippled at the sensation while he fought the temptation to scratch. Discomfort from the wounded limb took priority for a short spell.

He hadn’t thought things could get worse but turned out jail time was the worst thing that could have happened on top of everything else. Getting caught, literally, in this condition left him vulnerable.

Dean’s nostrils flared and twitched at the overpowering stench of pungent piss and stale shit. He got a whiff of cat dander and sneezed.

The cell block buddy to his right barked to keep it down. It was lights out, after all. Just because he’d been brought in late last night, he was told with a fierce growl, didn’t mean he couldn’t acclimate himself to the way things ran around here right quick. Dean rose only to circle the middle of the floor again. He eventually flopped back down, forced by the pulsing throb of his barely treated and badly bandaged wound. He curled like a ball atop the hard surface. The bone-cold of the place sent a shiver through his body. He closed his eyes again and prayed for sleep.

A fluorescent electric buzz hummed into his ear canal. The flicker of light flashed over closed lids. Tapping into all his senses, something alien swept left to right along the surface of his eyeballs, lazy and slow, as his sight focused.

A languid yawn escaped. The clink-clack of a door unlocking bolted him upright. He scampered to the front of the cell closest to the hallway floor. Nose stuck between bars, Dean tilted his head in vain to glimpse who entered.

Whines. Barks. They echoed off the walls. The instinctual urge to join in added his voice to the chorus.

“I found one that fits the bill a few hours ago.” A raspy elderly voice mixed in with all the noise. Dean recognized it. It belonged to the dog catcher that had entangled him in what looked like a big ass butterfly net. He was the reason Dean was here. He’d done the bare minimum caring for the Pitbull bite. Dean transferred most of the front weight to his left paw. The ache of his right shoulder thrummed in sync with the beating of his little heart. Dean had to be the one to fit the bill.

All Dean could view in his line of sight were soiled, grass-stained tan pants from the knees down and dirty brown combat boots. Pride filled his lungs. The tug of war he’d put up in the net brought the dog catcher to the ground. Their scrap amidst dirt and weeds and a flounce in a mud puddle had left his mark on the human.

Human. Christ, it has to be her coming to claim me. Please.

Hope soared in Dean’s chest when his gaze clamped on the blue (which would be violet if he was looking through his human eyes) leather of a familiar pair of high-heeled ankle boots. A crepe skirt rivaling Joseph’s technicolor dreamcoat covered the boot tops and swished in time with the steps.

“I hope it’s him.” A barely audible female voice floated above, drowned out by the pound puppies’ cacophony.

Selina! Thank Christ! A tinny, high-pitched bark erupted from his throat. Down here! Down here!

Both pairs of boots stopped in front of him. “That’s him there,” the catcher added. A wrinkled finger pointed in his direction.

Selina’s figure descended. Hands gathered the skirt up as she settled into a squat.

Her big almond-shaped eyes, a tad oversized for the heart-shaped face, blinked in relief. Dean halted his bark in mid-yip. Instead of her usual deep purple irises - a breathtaking sight in and of themselves on any given day - he was met with equally captivating dark blue saucers, swirled with golden flecks. The sight of her large frame stirred up amazement.

She grinned. “Yep, that’s him!”

The dog catcher huffed and fumbled with the key into the padlock. “You should take better care of the mutt. No collar or chip. He’s lucky I found him.”

Lucky, my ass!

“He’s not a mutt,” Selina responded in her typical curt fashion. “Purebred beagle.”

“Aint never seen a beagle with green eyes ‘fore,” the dog catcher mumbled. He fished the padlock from out of the loop. “Or one with paws that damn big.” The cage door squeaked with Dean’s nose nudging it open. Dean bounced off his hind legs into Selina’s lap.

Selina slammed a hand on the concrete to remain upright. “Oh, thank God! Scooby!” She wrapped her free arm around Dean.

“Scooby, huh?” The old man removed his cap to smooth down the ten wiry hairs on his head.

Dean’s pulse began to slow, nestled tight and secure in Selina’s embrace. The scent he’d connected with her, spicy incense and pink bubblegum, enveloped his now small and furrier frame.

One back paw reared up and swatted repeatedly at one of his floppy ears.

“What happened to him?” Selina’s tender touch caressed the gauze bandage.

“Got ‘imself in some trouble. Looked to be an animal bite.”

Dean’s lids clamped tight. He cocked his head and continued to flick and dig his paw into the spot behind his ears. Maybe if he used his claws.

“Does he… have fleas?” Selina asked in a tone that regrettably already knew the answer.

Fleas? Dean whined, still scratching. Why the fuck not? On top of everything else.

“We’re gonna take care of this, Dean. Promise.” Selina white-knuckled the steering wheel, hands at ten and two. Her lithe, petite frame perched on the edge of the bench. It was the only way she could reach the Impala’s gas pedal.

Dean languished on the passenger side and sunk into the center of the seat. It was still dark out. Street lamps popped overhead in a rhythmic pattern and spilled light through the windshield. Cobblestone-paved streets jostled the chassis. His baby usually drove like a tank with barely a hiccup; all smooth sailing. He wondered how much the bumpy ride had to do with the road condition under the tires or the person driving his car.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and shivered at the pinprick, itchy tingle of his skin.

Apparently, the spell Selina had cast didn’t include telepathy. No matter how much he wished for her to reach under the seat, feel for the damn bar to pull the bench forward to close the distance between her and the wheel, she wasn’t tuned into his mental signals.

Dean straightened his front legs and stiffened his elbows at the sudden screech of tires. His paws dug into the leather. He lurched forward with the momentum, watching Selina do the same from the driver’s seat. Once they settled to a stop, she stared over at him with a regretful frown. “Sorry. I haven’t driven in a while.”

Dean slitted his lids and yipped.

“It’s not much farther to the shop.” The pointy toe of her boot met the gas pedal and the car sputtered along again. “Once I got a lock on your location and saw how far away you were, I didn’t have a choice but to take your car. But don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of this, Dean.”

You already said that. Dean’s little barks echoed in the Impala’s interior.

“I know you’re trying to tell me something. But I can’t read your mind.”

No shit, Sherlock.

“Man, you’ve got a powerful set of puppy lungs. Want some good news? I was able to lift the hoodoo trance off Esme. All thanks to you.”

Well, at least something good came out of this mess.

It was very good news. He was in New Orleans because his father sent him on a case to help out an old friend. The old friend happened to be a witch doctor named Esmerelda. Esme for short.

Dean’s boots had hit Danneel Street and crossed the threshold of “Step on a Crack” Magical Notions Shop, which Esme owned, one day too late to prevent the inevitable escalation. Esme had been cursed and was unsure when the fallout would take full effect. She hadn’t stepped on a crack but the toes of a powerful voodoo priestess in the French Quarter. That’s why he and Selina had partnered up. To save her teacher, who’d been rendered catatonic. Esme was currently being watched and cared for by the coven, whose members were taking shifts at her bedside.

Glad your mentor is on the mend. That’s even better for me. She can probably zap me back quicker than you. Why aren’t we heading there?

“She’s still pretty weak, though, from what Harold told me over the phone.”

Dean huffed.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I know you wanted to turn into a German Shepherd. But I did say I couldn’t guarantee what kind of dog breed the spell would transform you into. That’s not in my control.” Selina tangled her hands one over the other along the steering wheel column in a clumsy fashion. Dean swayed to the right with Selina’s left turn. “I’m pretty sure, though, the shop’s got some things that will take care of your fleas while we wait out the magic.”

It was true. Selina hadn’t guaranteed much about the spell. And it had been his idea to try it when they rifled through the pages of an ancient grimoire. The voodoo priestess had stitched some warding around her property, only permitting certain humans to cross. An animal transformation made perfect sense.

Dean groaned and rubbed the side of his head into the backrest to ease the itch. Fleas better not have been part of Selina’s witchcraft.

Dean scrabbled paws along the slippery marble floor, trying in vain to sit upright. Every time he thought he’d achieved a precarious balance, his body toppled. He’d starfished, even done a few Bambi-on-ice skating maneuvers waiting for Selina in the tiny bathroom. Claustrophobia settled in, though it’d only been a few minutes since she promised to return and closed the door behind her.

How old was this puppy skin he inhabited? All of Dean - his mind, sensibilities, and humanity - wrapped up tight in this fur burrito felt like him, except when it didn’t. Curious instinct made its presence known. Once he relented on the sitting still attempt, his nose glued to the floor and led the inspecting. He tried to zone in on something interesting to escape the fear. And the endless itching he’d been ordered not to scratch. When Dean thought about it, it wasn’t that different from any given human day.

Overhead, water poured out of the claw foot tub’s red copper faucet. Steam plumed over the deep basin. The impending bath temperature also drew concern. Being a beagle was terrible enough. A boiled beagle? Hell no!

Flared nostrils filled with the overwhelming scent of Selina. A sense of calm broke through the nagging flight response. He’d been in the small apartment only once since arriving in Louisiana. Perched over the magic shop, his first step into her home had flooded his sight. It was a treasure trove of textiles and trinkets blazing with gemstone brilliance. Shelves stuffed with books. Glass jars of unidentifiable powders. Vials of transparent or opaque liquids. Everything a young witch needed to learn the craft.

She smelled nice before. He’d caught whiffs of her here and there when he passed her frame on his human feet. But his canine senses were picking up every atomized particle now. He spotted a forgotten hairbrush hiding in the corner and catapulted forward to claim it. His speed and the slick marble took away any ability to stop in a semblance of elegance. He face-palmed into the rubber tines of the brush. Tangled hair in the brush tickled his nose, and rapid inhales took more of her into his lungs. Yeah. This was nice. It felt good. Safe. He debated chewing.

The door creaked. Dean spun in a flash and let out a pathetic growl of defense, having painted himself into a corner with no way out. Selina stepped inside, paying him no attention. The giantess silenced him with only her presence.

“Apple cider vinegar.” She held up a bottle in victory, clutching a few small droppers in the other hand. They clattered from her grip into the pedestal sink. Sitting on the tub edge, she uncapped the vinegar and emptied the contents with a rhythmic glug into the water.

Drops splattered up and out of the tub, landing near Dean. He flinched. Doggie brain told him this was not going to be pleasant.

“Okay.” Fingers twisted first one faucet knob, then the other, shutting off the flow. Her arm dipped into the water. Dean’s ear perked up at the sloshes. “Not too bad.”

Says you.

“Come on, Dean.” Her wet hand gestured with a come hither.

You know, I might be able to hang on until the spell wears off. I’m good.

Selina sighed. “You’re gonna make me come over there, aren’t you?” She slinked on the floor, knees stretching the fabric of her skirt as she crawled towards him on all fours.

Seriously, it’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ve dealt with worse.

His insistence fell on deaf ears. She snatched him up in a second. The next, he dangled above the water. Her hands cupped him under whatever a dog’s version of armpits were. He kicked and wriggled. Whined and whimpered.

“It’s okay.” She submerged his hind quarters like a tea bag in and out three times until he gave in and went limp in her arms to steep. “Not gonna hurt you, no matter what you think of witches.” She leaned him forward with care. “Good boy.” When she let him go, he stood in warm water that rose up to just meet his back.

He shivered, puppy heartbeat racing. His nose twitched at the acidity of the vinegar additive. The sound of skin rubbing together crept up behind him. “Next ingredient we need is peppermint.” A soap bar popped into his peripheral vision. It smelled of candy mints left atop a restaurant check, then absentmindedly stuffed in a jacket pocket. “Okay?” she asked.

You gonna stop if I say no? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Okay, so Dean had to admit to himself - even if he’d never cop to Selina - the bath hadn’t been that bad. Selina had a gentle but firm touch. She’d sudsed all of his coat, lifting him first from the front and then the back end. She apologized for getting a little more intimate than Dean had expected with his little puppy prick and ass. The fleas could be anywhere, she reminded him. As the tub drained, she sprayed water from the shower wand and rinsed him clean.

Once he was taken out of the tub and laid atop one towel, another enveloped and rubbed until his fur was damp and not dripping. She communicated all of her actions beforehand. The dropper bottles contained various oils to help rid Dean of the dreaded fleas. With fabric under his paws, he sat tall and tilted his head to study Selina while she worked. She smiled at him, patiently naming each essential or botanical oil she squeezed into a water bottle: Almond, Cedar, Eucalyptus, Lavender.

The concoction soothed immediately on contact. The mix of smells dispelled the last remnants of his anxiety. Delicate, soft fingers caressed his coat and threaded through the fur to find the skin. The blissful massage helped chase away the panic. Yet another thing he’d never admit to Selina. If he ever got the chance to admit anything to her with his human voice again. Weirdly, he seemed perfectly willing to accept such a fate. Maybe things could be much, much worse after all.

After tidying some of the bathroom mess, Selina opened the door and ushered him forth. Dean’s legs scampered toward the makeshift doggie water bowl beside the bank of kitchen cabinets. One would have thought he’d never want to dip his snout in water again. But he gobbled and slurped with his tongue like he hadn’t drank a drop in days. He didn’t know how much time had passed before a plate of cut-up deli ham had been deposited alongside the bowl. He was greedy for that as well. Fangs hooked into the meat. He hitched his head upwards to encourage the food down his throat.

“I know human food isn’t the best for you… like this. But let’s hope we don’t have to experience the results and the spell wears off before then.” Selina commented, leaning against the countertop. “Do you need to go outside and do some business?”

Again, without any say in the matter, Dean’s head sprung upright to lock his gaze on the sweet human caretaker at the words “go outside.” He mulled it over. He’d pissed in the nearest grass as soon as they’d left the pound. An impressively long and satisfying leak. He wanted to shake his head “No” but couldn’t do it. Instead, his eyes tracked a small rug by a chair. His claws clicked along the hardwood - thank god the entire floor wasn’t marble - to what he decided would make a perfect resting spot. He corkscrewed his frame into a compact fur ball atop the cushy velvet and let out a deep, well-earned sigh.

“Good idea. I’m beat, too.” She pointed somewhere behind Dean. “Can get a few hours of sleep before sunrise. I’ll be able to find out how long the spell will last with a clearer head in the morning.” She shrugged. The motion appeared to loosen a yawn from her throat. “But, maybe you’ll wake up all back to normal.”

Dean yawned in return, finishing it with a high-pitched squeak.

Selina giggled. “You are adorable, Dean Winchester. Night.”

Too exhausted to be any more humiliated, Dean’s tail thumped softly in response. He closed his eyes. Clean. Warm. Cozy. Well fed. Watched over.

He drifted off, hard-pressed to recall the last time he’d ever been all those things.

Dean’s running. His puppy paws gallop atop the soft, giving earth of a field. He’s darting through the wheat. His snout cuts through the crops, scraped by wispy stalks.

He can hear how heavy he’s panting. The exertion and speed has his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.

But he’s not running from something.

Dean’s just running. Because he can.

He breaks through and into a clearing. The sun’s rays warm his furry coat. He spots a quintessential farmhouse in the distance. He can see the large wrap-around porch. A pair of rocking chairs. Off to one side is a laundry line studded with freshly washed clothes, flapping in the breeze. An oak tree, taller than the two-story home, stands guard along the other side. A tire swing dangles from one of its sturdy branches. A few white cotton candy clouds rest above it all in the bluest of skies.

He feels the farmhouse calling to him. He just knows. It’s home.

All the colors of the rainbow that his human eyes normally detect fill his vision. He zig zags between a row of apple trees, closing the distance. A fallen apple halts him. He sniffs; the sweetness is too good to pass up. He gnashes into the mealy flesh, attacking it from all angles. He tongues the juices into his welcoming throat.

“Deeaaan!”

His head snaps up. That voice beckons him home. He resumes his sprint. That voice. He hasn’t heard it in ages.

He cuts through a tall patch of sunflowers to find the voice's owner waiting for him, seated on the porch steps.

“There you are!” Sam calls out. He tosses a tennis ball a few feet in the air above his head, catching it without having to glance at his palm. This Sam is young. Thirteen or so. He’s spindly, a toothpick with knobby joints, and a smile that takes up half his face.

Just like he remembers.

“Mom said we’ve got time before dinner.” Sam juggles the ball from one hand to the other.

Mom. Mom’s here.

“Ready?” Sam asks, winding his arm back for a killer pitch.

Dean yips.

Dean yipped himself awake.

It’s morning.

He’s still a beagle.

Selina watched as Dean did his business in the backyard of the Magic Shop. Unlucky, she had to experience the results of feeding puppy Dean human food. But she didn’t complain, picking up after him. “All done? How about some breakfast? Eggs and bacon sound good?”

That sounds amazing to Dean. But he’s beginning to think Selina is a glutton for punishment.

The bacon sizzled in the cast iron pan. Selina explained why Dean was still walking on four legs instead of two. “So, even though the magic worked and Esme’s on the mend, I should probably have bound your reversal spell in with that enchantment to speed things along. You would have been human by the time the full moon set this morning.” She fished a couple pieces of bacon out of the pan with a fork and laid them atop some paper towels. “I’m pretty sure it’ll wear off by tomorrow. If it doesn’t, Harold said he’ll come by and see what he can do. He doesn’t want to leave Esme yet. I’ll ask one of the other witches if you can’t wait, though.”

Dean knew that Selina trusted Harold almost as much as Esme. The other witches in the group were fickle and not the kindest to Selina, from what Dean saw firsthand. Witches, man. Dean trotted over and sat by one of Selina’s legs. He rubbed his face along her smooth calf. She looked even younger in her sleep shorts and t-shirt. Still massive, though.

“I will, Dean. I’ll eat crow for my mistake. You’ve done more than anyone would’ve for someone they don’t even know.”

A friend of Dad’s doesn’t get left behind. It’s cool, Selina. How about some bacon to smooth things over?

“What does that whine mean?”

He raised up onto his haunches and leaned front paws on the oven door.

“Oh, bacon. Right.”

The rest of the day is easy, lazy. A day he hasn’t felt in a while. Not since Sammy left him.

The days without his brother have brought out more of the hard lines and jagged points in John’s countenance. Deep down, Dean wants to hope it’s not him bringing that out in their father. That it’s the void, the empty spot that used to contain Sam that no longer filters out the hate and hurt; that used to misdirect all that drill sergeant behavior. His little shit of a sibling was all of John’s fervent focus of protection for so long. Dean sees it plain as day. John doesn’t know what to do with all his feelings. So he bottles them up. Drinks them away. Or spats them out at Dean, chipping away at him.

Dean has been coping with his feelings as best as John. Realizing he’s handling the broken compass in his core the same way. Nose down. Find a job. Work the case. Kill the monster. Fill the despair with a win. Fill the despair with booze. Inflict rage on any other to empty out the despair. Stoke passion in any other to empty out the despair.

Anything and everything to kick the can down the line. Because he’s realized - Sam was his hope and lifeline as much as he was dad’s. And, without him, well, he doesn’t really know what’s left.

He’s been tossed a lifeline here and there when he’s built up the nerve to call Sam at Stanford—only a handful of times over the past couple of years. The knots and twists in his stomach unfurled when Sam picked up the phone. Accepted and acknowledged his presence. That he’s still here, he remembers he has a brother. Even when that brother had to risk the wrath of John if he ever found out a connection was made.

But this day, wrapped in fur, small, and defenseless, he’s reminded of what could be left for him. Selina softened around him in his puppy form. Her smiles widened. She shined sweet and gentle.

They holed up in the apartment for safety. Scampered out to the backyard for potty breaks and played fetched with a tennis ball. It’s the sunniest day he’s felt in years. Warm. Light. Clear. Fresh.

It’s the snuggles at the end of that day that he loved the best. Allowed entry into Selina’s bedroom. Allowed to hop onto the mattress and curl atop the crushed velvet comforter. “You’re lucky you’re so cute, Dean. No one gets to spend the night in my bed.”

He pushed in close, nuzzled into the layers that separated their bodies. Her energy - different, charged, holding what he thinks is potential magic - gives him comfort.

He slept like a baby.

“Oh! Dean!” Selina screamed.

Dean eyes popped open.

He’s chilly.

Bigger.

He’s back.

He’s naked.

“Shit!” Dean barked out in his human voice. He glanced at Selina's side of the bed. An upheld hand shielded her view. A racing heart matched the speed of his legs swinging off the bed, standing up.

But he doesn’t have a fucking clue where his clothes are.

Selina pointed to the bedroom door, still not daring to look at him. “Living room. Side table, by the chair.” She squeaked.

He fled the scene, spotted his folded clothes. Faster than a cowboy caught fooling around with a farmer’s daughter, he donned his underwear, t-shirt, and jeans. He called out, “All clear. Nothing more to see here!” His cheeks blazed with humiliation under his attempt at nonchalance.

Selina crept through the doorway. Cheeks red and flamed. Excited, amused, and happy. Remnants of the smiles bestowed upon him yesterday in his canine form. “You’re back,” she sighed.

Dean outstretched his arms for display purposes. “I’m back.”

“How do you feel? Any different? Weird?”

He stopped to actually think, taking a moment to process. “Um, kind of hungover.”

Selina nodded, exhaled. “Okay. That’s normal, from what I’ve been told.”

Dean chuckled. “Nothing normal about this.”

“For us, it is.” Selina corrected.

Selina doesn’t skimp on the bacon for breakfast.

The celebratory feast tasted sublime, well-earned. He was starving.

Sat around the small bistro table, they talked as they ate. Their conversations before the spell had been curt, filled with sass. Selina had snapped at him with every one of her responses. He’d understood, of course. Even if he hadn’t given her an inch of understanding in his smart-ass attitude. She’d been under immense pressure. The stakes were high, and the outcome relied heavily on her ability not to screw up.

Man, did he understand.

Now, they’d both mellowed with the shared experience. Relief. Success. Dean cataloged every inch of her. Human eyes took in all the vibrant colors hidden from his doggie view. Her purple eyes and porcelain skin held an ethereal quality. A tad punk with violet highlights and a nose ring. She was beautiful.

“What was it like?” Selina dolloped more scrambled eggs on his plate. She leaned in, hanging on his every morsel of information.

“Man,” Dean snorted. “Trapped in a funhouse mirror, with none of the fun.”

“But, you still felt like you?”

“Yep.” He chomped away on a strip of bacon.

“You understood me,” she stated. “I could tell.”

He tilted his head in question.

Selina giggled. “Yeah, you’d give me one of those expressions like you were thinking things over. Wanting to communicate.”

“Hmmm,” Dean nodded. Lips smacked. He wanted to ask in a way that didn’t make it seem like he was overly concerned about the answer. “I know you said there wasn’t any telepathic stuff going on… you couldn’t read any of my thoughts?”

Her head shook, matter of fact. “Not a one. Which would have been super helpful if I could’ve. You typically can’t get that kind of bond or connection at my level. And, more often than not, that’s pretty rare. A familiar type situation.”

He chewed his thoughts down.

“I wouldn’t have pulled off the reversal spell that cured Esme if it hadn’t been for your plan.” Selina sipped her coffee.

Dean cocked his head, emphasizing the ridiculousness of that statement. “You would’ve figured something out.”

“Not as quick as I needed to.” Selina shook her head. “Not without your help. Making it so that the reversal spell had to be performed by the greenest of Esme’s students and without any coven assistance… the priestess wanted it to be next to impossible.”

“Well, I’m glad I could help.”

Selina grinned. “Even with fleas?”

Dean shivered. “Yeah, that I could’ve done without.”

“I’m glad you came back all in one piece. I was really worried there would be some pet residue. Like a tail or floppy ears.”

“I don’t know,” Dean contemplated. “A tail might come in handy.”

The thought had them both laughing.

“So,” Selina began, “any chance that brother you mentioned, Sam, is gonna find out about any of this?”

“No way. Not ever.” Dean shook his head.

“Well, I hope you get to see him soon. The way you talk about him. He seems like a pretty great guy. I don’t think he’d tease you too much about being a beagle.”

“You don’t know, Sam.” Dean almost added he probably didn’t know him anymore, either, but pursed his lips shut.

“I owe you, big time.” Selina offered.

Dean nodded. “Yeah, you do.”

“Well, I should get dressed and we should go out. Let me take you on a proper tour of New-or-lins.” Selina drawled, “Laissez les bons temps rouler.”

Dean swallowed hard and locked eyes with her. “I don’t know. We could probably just stay in and find some ways to let the good times roll.”

Selina side-eyed him, but Dean sensed the interest brewing underneath the show. “Didn’t you say you’d rather roll around in the mud with a pig than ingratiate yourself with a witch when we first met?”

He shrugged. “I think I can make an exception for you.”

Selina held a hand to her chest. “I’m honored.”

He grinned. “You should be.”

The moment was perfect for Dean to lean over and kiss her.

Of course, that’s when John called.

John needed him. There was no time for a tour of the French Quarter or even a half hour of good times in Selina’s apartment.

Dean stood at the door and waited as Selina packed him a breakfast sandwich for the road. “Don’t you think you’ve fed me enough?”

She waved a hand in the air, walking towards him. “Hard to tell. You never stop eating.”

He grabbed the bag she presented. “Thanks.”

“It’s the very least I could do. Thank you again, Dean.”

Instinctively, he wrapped her up in a hug. “Anytime.”

She whispered in his ear. “Next time you swing by, look me up.”

He breathed in the scent of her - wanting something else to remember her by - and placed a kiss atop her forehead. Anything more and he knew he’d never leave. “Absolutely.”

It wasn’t until he descended the stairs and was out the back door, away from Selina’s view, that he gave into the urge to paw at his ear like a dog.

Yeah, the next time he called Sam - which he felt would be soon - there was no way he was telling him about any of this.

Well, he might mention the beautiful witch he met in New Orleans with the purple eyes. And how she had been just the thing he needed to scratch that itch.

#deanwbigbang #spn fanfic #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester angst #spn fanart

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