#that make us go sam what the hell

[starsandwriting]

This is Sam to me. btw. Boy your facade is NOT fooling me.

[beedreamscape]

This has to be the last thing I say on C3 finale because otherwise, I will not stop, it simply baffles me in its mediocrity. And obviously, this will be negative, if you loved it, good for you, this is my takeaway as someone who loved this campaign and was severely let down.

This finale changes everything that came before and not for good, better yet, it emphasizes all the faults in the structure of what c3 tried to be, it made most of the campaign feel like a true exercise in futility — How far can we go in a campaign that is meandering and unsatisfying? How long can we have the same discussion over and over and over again despite everyone knowing how this will end? How long can we drag out characters that don't change without anyone noticing? (spoiler everyone noticed)

Can't say I was emotionally invested in the finale because I tapped out back in the 70s, came back for Aeor/Downfall shenanigans, and left again. But in experiencing the finale something became clear to me:

THIS STORY NEEDED TO BE SHORTER.

WITH ANOTHER PARTY AT THE HELM.

If the objective from the very conception of C3 was to wipe out the gods, that had to be clear from the very start. And it wasn't clear, at all — not in the characters, not in the starting city, not in theme. This was a completely different campaign at the start! That clarity was what made Calamity so great, it was short and precise, and every pc SERVICED THE THEME, filled with hubris and contempt, not to mention the setting.

Even Ludinus went in circles for convenience of the campaign length and became a weaker opponent for it, more of a nuisance than a villain. The threat he posed at episode 50 was much stronger than now at 120 something. The battle against Otohan was more nail-biting and emotionally engaging than fighting Ludinus and Predathos, a god eater!!!!

This campaign would've benefited from three to four acts instead of one overarching objective like the past campaigns because urgency is the name of the game and we can't carry urgency for 70 episodes straight (and they didn't).

The constant inclusion of the other parties made it clear how easy it was to detach BH from the story, how easy and fun it was for them to tell it through another party's eyes (one of the main reasons why I walked away back when I did, but that's more of a personal preference).

Which is not to say Bells Hell's didn't deserve a long story! They could very well have existed in a more intimate campaign which these characters were clearly built for! Their premises begged for closer looks in slow moments, something tragicomical, exploration of the inner world while developing MARQUET and its microcosm of injustice and politics which was left in the dust mid-campaign (pun intended).

And I'm not suggesting this just for our enjoyment, I know it's them playing and their enjoyment comes first blah blah, though this is a multi-million company therefore their jobs but this would contribute to their enjoyment! You could see several moments in the campaign how tapped out they felt and acted. I doubt it was "fun" discussing the gods situation ad naseaum, trudging through landscapes they barely cared about, with empty arcs.

I could nitpick every fault I see in the finale but it would be pointless, these issues have been dragged from ages ago and poor character matching, and now this is a culmination of everything and it barely fazes me anymore.

(And yeah it's their game and it's "free", but that doesn't undermine its weight as a story, stories were made be analyzed, and it was a poorly structured one no matter how much I still like and admire them as people.)

WHICH is not to say I had no fun at all ever, I did! several times! and that's what makes me upset, it could've been great instead is just meh.

[littolbrother]

‘i’m mad all the time and i don’t know why’ idk bro maybe because your life SUCKS 😭 i’m sorry this is confusing to you but HOLY GOD

[gayangelcrimes]

hey. anyone ever think about 1x06 Skin. what if Dean died, but being in Dean's shape made something snap in the shifter's mind and it decided to take Dean's place for real. and it had absorbed enough of Dean's memories and personality that he was pretty much just Dean except Sam is more wary of him, at least for a while. (and John of course never notices that's not his real son.)

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Urgent Call

"I need your phone."

Tim looks up from his laptop. The boy in front of him looks like he's been dragged to Hell a week ago and just made it back: smudges of soot on his face, his not-so-white t-shirt smelling of smoke, and a nasty looking burn on his hand that he somehow doesn't even pay attention to. Tim thinks back to his mental list of 'Rogues currently on the loose', but it's only Ivy and Harley (who don't even count anymore), and Penguin, who is not known for setting things on fire.

"I can call 911 for you, if you want?" He offers, because this is still Gotham. Despite the fact that a slightly scorched guy casually walking into a coffee shop is not something out of the ordinary here, he's not giving his phone to strangers.

The guy grimaces and starts aggressively rummaging through his pockets.

"No, thanks, ACAB and all that, and they won't do shit here anyway," he says, and then pulls a handful of tangled golden jewelry — rings, chains, necklaces with various gems in them — from his pocket and places it on the table in front of Tim. "I need your phone," he repeats.

Tim stares. First, at the gold — these things look antique, and his parents were archeologists, he knows what he's talking about — then, back at the guy. He looks... ordinary, sans the dirt and smell.

But the burn on his hand looks significantly more healed than it did just a minute ago.

Thankfully, Tim has already had his cup of morning coffee. Which means he is thinking very rationally when he does get his phone out of his pocket and hands it to the guy, just to see what he does next.

"Thanks," the guy grins at him, plucking the phone out of Tim's hand and unlocking it. Tim's eyebrows shoot up — there's a password there! — but the stranger is already dialing in a number and pressing the phone to his ear.

It takes less than a second before someone evidently picks up, and the guy starts talking.

"I have less than three minutes before the phone dies, so listen very carefully. Etrigan is fine, Jason is not, Klarion is still being a bitch. Dora won't help anymore, so you're on your own until Sam makes it there with the staff. I'm in Gotham because, apparently, mazes and I don't mix well together, so if you could summon me back, that'd be cool," he says, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

Tim is back to staring at him. He recognizes some of the names, and, well, one could have been an oddity, two a coincidence, but three is a pattern.

"The fuck you mean you can't, I gave you the incantation two months ago!" The guy raises his voice, his foot tapping on the floor in frustration. "Do you think I just go around giving my summons to people for shits and giggles? Like, yeah, have a spell that unleashes a cosmic being of immeasurable power, use it as a bookmark!"

This interaction, despite Tim only hearing one side of it, gets more and more alarming with every word.

But then, the boy suddenly straightens up and stills, his eyes flashing bright, unpleasantly familiar green.

"You what?" He asks, his voice slipping from just angry to quietly enraged hiss, "Sold it to whom?!" But, before he gets an answer, Tim's phone makes a thin, tiny buzzing sound, and the guy takes it off his ear, looking at the screen.

"No, no-no-no," he mutters, shaking it like that would make it work. To no avail, though: the phone screen flashes a few times and goes black. The guy curses. At least Tim thinks it's a curse because he doesn't understand a word, but the stranger's face and intonation are telling.

"Useless fucking moron of a human, I swear I'm going to drown you in cow shit once this is over," he switches to English, dropping the phone on the table right by the small pile of gold, "I'll bargain your pathetic soul from everyone you've ever dealt with and give it to the Observants, and maybe, after a few millenia of endless Council paperwork, I'll have mercy and sell it back to Lucifer and watch him fry you on a skillet."

...Whoever the boy is, Tim absolutely refuses to ever piss him off, okay. That's an impressive threat to even make, not to mention being able to go through with it.

"Do you need help?" He asks cautiously. If he is getting his context clues right, this is something that involves JLD, and maybe John Constantine specifically since Tim doesn't know any other man who is a magic user, sold his soul numerous times, would care about Etrigan's wellbeing, and could invoke this kind of murderous intent.

The boy looks back at him, his eyes back to normal blue.

"Huh? Oh, no, I doubt this can be helped," he waves Tim off and pinches the bridge of his nose, "Sorry about the phone, but, unless you have a way to yeet me across the globe so I end up in London in the next twenty minutes..." he shrugs, smiling in that helpless 'nothing you can do here' way.

Tim picks up his phone. It's dead, wholly and completely, won't even turn on when he tries.

He really, really shouldn't do that. This is definitely none of his business, and very much out of his capabilities and area of expertise.

But he thinks about the zeta-tube in the Cave.

"Actually," he says, and the guy's eyes snap back to him, a bewildered sort of surprise on his face.

[apatheticsunday]

Dead Serious Arranged Marriage

AKA "Damian al Ghul and the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead are married because of some ritual Ra's al Ghul did when Damian was a baby. The Batfam only find out because Damian casually mentions his husband and they're like?? WHAT???" prompt idea!!

Loosely inspired by this post where Billy Batson & Danny Fenton accidentally get married and Billy spills the beans in front of the JL.

I love the idea of Ra's al Ghul knows Danny because of the Lazarus Pit; maybe Ghost King!Danny came to Ra's and was like, "You know unsanctioned resurrection is forbidden, right? You have to submit an Undead Appeal form in the afterlife. I'm gonna have to confiscate your Goop." But Ra's is a master manipulator and gets Danny to agree to a truce... a marriage with his grandson in exchange for continued use of the Lazarus Pit. Don't ask me how it happened; Ra's "wins" either way because his grandson gets married to a High King and he gets to keep his Goop.

(Because Danny's young, okay? Logistically speaking, he's not going to outsmart an immortal cult leader. Maybe sometime down the road Danny gets tired of Ra's talking circles around him and just, like, punches him in the face or something. Makes "Redemption Arc" Dan take care of it. Who knows?)

But for now, Danny is now married to a literal baby. He's confused as hell how this happened. He's like, omg, am I a groomer now?? Am I one of those creepy ancient kings that get married to 12 year old girls?? What the fuckkkk!!! So, he runs to the Ghost Zone. Goes off-world, maybe he gets swept up in Ghost King duties and totally forgets about it. The thing about the Ghost Zone is that the time dilation is different: a couple of days/weeks/months in the Ghost Zone is actual years on Earth. That's why Danny is still so young despite depictions of him going centuries back (time is even messier because he can actually time travel, too, so there may be paintings of him during the Aztec civilization but only because he was there for maybe a week or two.)

This leads to everybody on Earth thinking he's an Ancient Being. Ra's is elated that his grandson, the heir of the League of Assassins, is married to the equivalent of a God (he doesn't know that 99 percent of the time, Danny's lounging on Sam's couch in sweats and eating cheese puffs, watching melodramatic reality TV with Tucker).

And Damian grows up hearing about this legendary marriage, how this Great Ancient Being is his husband, and is... maybe scared? A little angry, resentful? He's had the choice taken from him from before he could even conceptualize it. He was a kid growing up thinking this All Powerful Being was watching his every move, judging him for not being the best like his Grandfather says, and waiting. He trains harder, learns more, maturing faster than anyone his age. And he's still waiting. Because the High King doesn't show up. Not when Damian's four, six, ten, twelve, fourteen. Damian thinks maybe he's not good enough yet despite vastly outdoing even the most seasoned senior assassins in the League.

Danny comes back to Earth and is like, oh, shit, I need to check on my baby!!! Except when he drops in on the League of Assassins, he's met with an angry, resentful, offended Damian al Ghul who's the same age as him. And Damian's met with.... some guy?? What the hell?? This can't be the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead, Ancient Being, etc. He's heard so many stories of his husband, spanning centuries of different culture and in varying dead languages.

Needless to say, their introduction doesn't go great. But Danny wants to explain himself and make amends, and Damian's just baffled enough to listen. ("What do you mean, the Undead Siege of The Great Wall wasn't you???" "Yeah, that was the previous Ghost King. I've never risen an army of the dead before.") But as they talk, Damian begrudgingly accepts that his husband is... actually pretty cool (despite the god-awful sweatpants). Danny's recounting his various tales, usurping the previous Ghost King, and Damian even starts to respect Danny.

So, they keep talking. Keep meeting, learning about each other, becoming friends, and eventually becoming more. Damian originally thought Danny was too stupid for words, but quickly realizes that he's a great strategist, knowledgeable about a vast amount of stuff, and is incredibly loyal. Danny thinks Damian's deadpan bluntness is hilarious, understands Damian's pathological need to be the best (courtesy of the Demon Head's traumatic teaching during childhood), and is almost single-mindedly, unconditionally loyal. He's also incredibly petty, which is also hilarious.

Maybe years pass and they're now lovers, Danny sticking around Earth because he's scared if he goes into the Ghost Zone, he'll unintendedly come back when Damian's 90 or something. So, Danny's there when Talia takes Damian aside and says, "Bruce Wayne is your father. I'd like you to train under him before you become the new Demon Head."

Damian goes and Danny follows. When he worries about Tim usurping the title of Heir, Danny's there to say, "You don't make friends by attacking them, Dami! He's your family, not your enemy." The whole "Damian trying to kill Tim" thing doesn't happen. When he worries about disappointing his Father, Danny's saying, "He's your dad. He missed your childhood so he wants to get to know you - just be yourself." Damian doesn't act violently, aggressively, or is offensively provocative; he's still petty, painfully blunt, and exasperatingly self-confident, but he's also honest and thoughtful.

Damian transitions into the Batfam easier with Danny beside him (invisible, only showing himself while in Damian's room or when they're alone). Because Danny wants his husband to feel accepted, appreciated, and get the unconditional love that he never received while living with the LoA.

Let's imagine several months go by and the Batfam are totally comfortable with Damian. He's truly like their annoying younger brother. So, they're at family dinner, maybe Dick is discussing his relationship with Barbara and Steph makes a comment about when are you going to propose already?? Tim and Jason are ribbing him about commitment issues (Bruce is suspiciously silent, likely knowing that if he says something, his kids are going to verbally tear him apart for his Situationship with Selina).

And Damian says, "Many feel apprehensive to marry. I was not, of course, but my husband was very trepidatious."

The whole Batfam are like... what?? What do you mean the youngest kid of the Wayne household is the first to be married?? (Aside from Alfred, who's since divorced.) Is this even legal???

But Damian just continues on, "Perhaps discussing the progression of your relationship with Miss Gordon would be beneficial. Marriage should be consensual." (Damian learned that from Danny, who had offered to null their marriage in the early days. It was a heated conversation, Danny feeling guilty because he'd trapped Damian into this relationship and Damian feeling betrayed because what do you mean you're leaving me? This is unacceptable! They shared their first kiss after realizing neither one wants to end the marriage.)

And the Batfam, as comfortable as they are with Damian, knows he's a little like a feral animal. He doesn't share things about himself often. They don't want to scare him off by prying, even if Bruce is gripping the table cloth, sweating, and is looking pale. Because his child is literally married and God, please don't let it be to one of those old assassins in the League, please. So, Dick just says, "Uh, yeah. That's - thanks, kiddo, that's... a good idea."

Damian continues to make occasional comments about his husband, but nobody knows who it is. He doesn't use Danny's name. And Danny has to leave to do Ghost Stuff (despite being terrified of losing track of time, but Damian's now living with a loving family so he's kind of okay with being dragged off for his Kingly Duties). So, nobody's ever actually seen Danny.

Until the Joker decides to make his mark on the newest addition of the Batfam. He's already killed one Robin, traumatized the hell out of another, and paralyzed Batgirl. He's eager to add another of the Batfam to his roster.

Joker nor the Batfam anticipate the High King of Infinite Realms, Space, and the Dead to straight up portal Joker's ass into Frostbite's territory (aside from Damian because he absolutely knew what was going to go down the second he saw a glowing green aura illuminate the warehouse). One minute Joker is threatening a civilian Damian, whos' still dressed in his Gotham Academy uniform, and the next he's being violently yanked into a massive swirling void of green.

And who steps out? Ghost King Danny, in full kingly attire, including a wreathy crown of white-hot, broadsword hung on his hip, and a skull mask over his face. The Batfam are scrambling to get Damian's chains unlocked and haul him away from whatever-the-fuck that is. They get Damian unlocked, but he just snaps for them to desist your hysteria, Richard, 'that' is my husband.

(Cue the very tense family dinner afterward. Danny's in Damian's sweater and ripped jeans but the Batfam are just squinting at him like, how is this the same as that Thing from the warehouse?? Danny's totally oblivious, holding Damian's hand and saying, "Mr. Wayne, I love your home! The painted ceiling in that one from on the second floor is amazing, the constellations are actually super accurate!" He forgot that the Batfam had no idea he's visited Damian literally hundreds of times since he moved into Wayne Manor. Bruce looks like he's gained several greys in the last hour.)

(Bonus points if at some point Damian can be seen lovingly feeding Cheetos to Eldritch Monster Danny and the Batfam are just like that's... definitely not pants-shittingly terrifying... Bruce tells himself he's just glad his son isn't married to an LoA member.)

[starry-bi-sky]

FIRST OFF, this inspired me to draw more ras danyal so:

(that last one says 'someone left the (non)local teen cult leader unsupervised. now he has swords :)' for anyone who can't read my chicken scratch handwriting)

i know Ras Danyal isn't TECHNICALLY the LoA leader in his world (since LoA doesn't exist) but 'teen cult leader' felt much snappier and funnier than 'teen cult leader (but not actually)' did. Plus I think it'd be hilarious if one of the heroes saw Danny with swords post-finding out he's a Ras variant and going; 'WHY DOES THE TEENAGE CULT LEADER HAVE SWORDS.'

SECOND OFF: MAN this is so cinematic. Madly in love with it. Like!!! AaaaaAAAA!! I can totally imagine this shot being like, from the start of a movie. I can just imagine the camera panning from a wide environment shot to Danny racing through the streets of the town/village. Maybe if we're feeling bold it could be him hopping from rooftop to rooftop between the close-together buildings. Really fancy cinematic parkour stuff.

It gives us a good shot of the village, which is full of life and vibrant with people and plantlife. It's built into the side of a mountain so Nanda Parbat is pretty secluded from everywhere else, but it's so nice and pretty. Ras Danyal loves visiting Nanda Parbat in the summers, and he was genuinely upset that they missed going one year because of the portal. He has close friends here just as he does back in Amity.

The cinematic shot ends with Danny dropping down from somewhere into a roll, and then popping back up while laughing. He's down at the plaza-area, where the rest of his friends are, and he's slightly out of breath but grinning from ear to ear.

"There you are, Ras!" His friend Maryam calls, and he jogs over to her and the others. "You're the last one."

"Sorry, I was looking around." Ras Danny says, still smiling and not sounding all that apologetic. "Had to see if anything changed since I was last here."

And you're right, he probably DID say something stupid like that. Slung both his arms around his other two friends Rahim and Ahsan and said with a sly smile, "With everything going on in Amity? I'm planning for a quiet summer here in Nanda." and forgot to knock on wood.

Danny Is An Alternate Version Of Ra's Al Ghul And Flash Already Called Dibs On Adopting Him

Danny In All His Sleep Deprived Slightly Scuffed Up From A Fight Glory Is On His Way To Clockworks Tower To Hopefully Get A Nap And Maybe Some Homework Done When A Natural Portal Opens Up In Front Of Him And Proceeds To Unceremoniously Drop Him In The DC Verse Just Outside Of Central City Before Promptly Closing Leaving A Tired Danny Behind In A Run Down Abandoned Parking Lot.

It's Times Like This When Danny Regrets Putting Off Learning How To Make His Own Portals, Cause Now He Is Very Much Stuck For The Foreseeable Future And He Has No Idea Where Or When He Is. Luckily For Him However Central City Isn't Too Far Away, Unlucky For Him However Is That Once In The City He Realizes This Isn't His Dimension. He's Pretty Sure He'd Remember Something Called The Justice League.

So What Do You Do When Supernatural Bullshit Fails You? You Fall Back On Your Mad Scientist Roots And You Make A Portal Gun. So That's Exactly What Danny Plans To Do.

Unfortunately Staying Alive And Building Questionably Safe Portal Technology Requires Money And Supplies, So He Ends Up Wandering From City To City Doing Odd Jobs/Fixing Up Busted Tech For Cash Or Unwanted Electronics For His "Operation: Get Home" Needs. This Obviously Ends In A Few Superhero Encounter Shenanigans.

Though He Always Ends Up Back Near Central City, Both On The Off Chance The Natural Portal Will Open Up Again And Because Out Of All The Superheroes That Apparently Exist In This Universe The Speedsters Are His Favorite (Red Robin Is Solidly His Second Favorite Ever Since The Gotham Vigilante Gave Him A Large Coffee Filled With Enough Caffeine To Kill A Man).

Unbeknownst To Danny However Is That Every Hero/Vigilante He Has Encountered Has Come To At Least One Of The Following Conclusions; 1. Run Away Meta Who Is In Desperate Need Of A Good Meal/Adoption Bait. 2. Possibly Red Robin/Tim Drake Clone 3. A Good Kid But Could Possibly Be A Future Rouge If Left Unsupervised. 4. Did Bats Get A New Kid And Why Is He Here?

All Flash Knows Is That He Saw The Kid First And Therefore Has Dibs. Suck It Bruce.

Fast-forward A Few Months And Danny Gets Hurt During A Rogue Attack While Trying To Help Some Civilians Get To Safety (Old Hero Habits Die Hard (Ha Die Hard) And All That Jazz) And He Nopes Out Once Everyone Is Safe And When The Paramedics Are Busy With Other People Unaware He Left A Blood Sample Behind.

One DNA Test Brought To You By Paranoid Bat Concerns Of A Possible Red Robin Clone Later And They Find Out That Dannys DNA Matches One Ra's Al Ghul.

They Now Think Danny Is An Escaped Ra's Al Ghul Clone.

Memes For The Vibes:

[navybrat817]

Late Night Recap

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky tells Steve and Sam about his encounter with you.

Word Count: Over 1.5k

Warnings: Mention of drunk reader, humor, attraction, Sam and Steve are good friends, a bit of grumpy!Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay? And he has a crush).

A/N: Based on an anon ask and a continuation of Late Night Shenanigans. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Steve and Sam sat across from Bucky on the couch, blankly staring at him once he finished his story. He stared back with a scowl and was pretty sure Alpine was scowling at them, too, daring them to tell him that he was making the whole thing up about what happened earlier. That he didn’t encounter a beautiful drunk stranger snuggling with his cat. That you didn’t seem at all intimidated by his presence. That he couldn’t get your smile or voice out of his head.

Wait, he didn’t tell them that last part and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

Steve cleared his throat after exchanging a look with Sam. “So, to recap, you were looking for Alpine and she was just… snuggled with a complete stranger?” He waited for a beat. “In the middle of a sidewalk at night?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what she did,” Bucky said through his teeth. His friend was old, but not hard of hearing. 

“A sweet stranger who said you were the hottest man she had ever seen in her life?” Sam smirked. Yes, that was what you said and Bucky hadn’t forgotten it. Nor would he admit to his friends how nice the compliment made him feel the more he repeated your words in his mind. “And she snuggled with Alpine? Pictures, or it didn’t happen.”

Bucky made a face. Why would he make something like that, or you, up? Did he really not believe him?  “Why the hell would I take a photo of her? That’s something a creep would do, and I’m not a creep,” he snapped, thinking about it while Sam chuckled. Grumpy with his share of issues, yes, but he was not a creep. “But there were security cameras outside of her building. Hacking the system wouldn’t be too difficult if you really wanted to see what happened.”

Was that creepy? It wasn’t like he was trying to get feed to watch you or to see your beautiful face again. It was to prove to Sam that he wasn’t lying about what happened, nothing more. Not that he had anything to prove. He was telling the truth. It wasn’t his fault if Sam didn’t believe him.

“You’re not going to hack anything,” Steve said, trying to be the voice of reason. It wouldn’t be the worst crime committed if he did. “I think Sam meant the picture thing as a joke.”

“No, I didn’t,” Sam said. 

Steve held a hand up when Bucky’s fists curled. “What he means is we’re surprised because, besides you, Alpine doesn’t usually cuddle with people right away. She likes us, but it took her time to do that.”

“Yeah, well, she’s obviously different,” the brunette mumbled, scratching behind Alpine’s ears. “Alpine really liked her.”

Alpine purred in agreement, bringing a small smile out of the former assassin. Though part of him still wondered if you put some sort of spell over his cat to get her to warm up so quickly, he knew that wasn’t it. She was a good judge of character, so she had to take a liking to you since you were a friendly person. It was either that or she decided that you needed her to look out for you. And by extension that meant he had to look out for you, too. Someone had to.

Fuck, now he did feel like a creep with that train of thought.

“Listen, I’m not saying this… dream girl or whatever you want to call her doesn’t exist, but I do have to ask.” Sam had a shit-eating grin on his face. “Did she really boop you on the nose?”

If Bucky clenched his jaw any tighter he would’ve cracked his teeth. “She did. Twice.” 

Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh and Sam didn’t bother hiding it. Why did he trust these punks with anything? “Okay…” Sam held his side as his laughter died down. “I have to meet her so I can ask where she got the balls to do that and say ‘you’re welcome’ for accidentally letting Alpine out so you two could meet.”

“You’re not going to meet her or ask her anything,” Bucky said, looking up at the ceiling. “Because I probably won’t see her again.”

It didn’t make sense why his heart ached so much at the thought of not crossing your path again. He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Fairy tales and meet cutes or whatever they were called didn’t exist in his world, not for people like him.

“Well, with that attitude…” Sam mumbled, which Bucky pointedly ignored. It wasn’t like he was trying to be pessimistic, but getting his hopes up wouldn’t help either. “If I didn’t know any better, it sounds like Alpine isn’t the only one who liked her.”

Steve tried to catch his eye. “Do you like her, Buck?”

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, his friends would latch on that he was possibly interested in someone. He hadn’t dated anyone since Leah, and his relationship with her hadn’t lasted long. Was the universe giving him a chance by putting you in his path, or was he reading too deeply into it? It had to be the latter. 

Sam sighed when Bucky didn’t respond. “Can you message her? Tell her Alpine’s trying to get out to see her?”

Bucky almost laughed because he could see the feline trying to sneak out to find you. “I didn’t get her number.”

“Wait, you didn’t ask for her number or give her yours?” Steve asked.

Bucky finally lifted his head and fought the urge to say that he wasn’t the suave guy he used to be. “She was drunk, Steve. I didn’t ask since there’s a good chance that she might not even remember me,” he answered, which somehow felt worse than the thought of not seeing you again. Call him crazy or selfish, but he wanted you to remember him. It was only fair since you were affecting him so much.

“Well, you know where her apartment building is,” the blonde smiled. “That’s a start.”

“But not her apartment number,” he sighed. 

You were alert enough not to give away that piece of information, which he appreciated. Though you joked that it was how “true crimes” began, did you have any idea how many laws he had broken over the years? No, how could you? If you knew, there was a chance you wouldn’t run straight inside.

Regardless of what he had or hadn’t done over the years, it didn’t change that he didn’t get your phone number or your apartment number before you parted ways.

Alpine batted her paw against his chest and meowed, sensing the subtle shift in his mood. “What would you suggest, Al? That I just walk you up and down her sidewalk with you until she comes out?”

Silence filled the living room. Was he really asking his cat for advice on how to see you again? Jesus fucking Christ, he needed help and he was already seeing a therapist.

Steve shrugged after a minute went by. “...It’s not a bad idea.”

Sam snorted. He was enjoying this way too much. “Or you could just start by finding her on social media like a normal person since she at least gave you her name.”

Bucky sat up, his cheek twitching. You had given him your name. “But wouldn’t that be weird to add her as a friend?” he asked.

Because, again, there was a chance you wouldn’t remember who he was. It would give him a chance to see photos of you if you shared them. Maybe get a feel for some of your likes and dislikes. Where you hung out. If your relationship status said “single” like he hoped.

…Was he venturing into creepy territory again?

Sam’s smile fell. “It’s weird to add her on social media, but it’s not weird to walk up and down her sidewalk like a wolf stalking its prey or talk about hacking the cameras of her building?”

“And that’s the end of this conversation,” Bucky said, shooting both of them a glare to drop it.

“You’ll see her again,” Steve smiled, quickly adding, “Now that’s the end of the conversation.”

Bucky wasn’t an idiot. It would not be the end of that conversation, not now that Steve and Sam knew he was interested in someone. He should’ve kept his mouth shut and said that he found Alpine all by her lonesome, but he didn’t want to keep you a secret. 

He wondered how you were doing. Did you have your water and aspirin like he suggested? Would you feel okay in the morning? Did you hope to see him again? He just had to find a way to see you, if only so you could see “Queen Alpine” while you were sober.

And if he couldn’t figure out a way himself, he had a feeling Alpine would take matters into her own paws.

I swear, he will see his girl again. Because, yes, you are his girl. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[holdinggrudges]

i can be your antidote - sam winchester

pairing: sam winchester x reader

content: EXPLICIT 18+, sex curse, fuck or die, mildly dubious consent (because of the fuck or die of it all), fem!reader, mutual pining, unprotected piv sex, cumplay (just a little), nipple play, size kink

word count: 6.3k

summary: You fucking hate witches. Especially the one that hit you and Sam Winchester, whom you've been harboring a crush on for years, with a sex curse.

notes: i don't usually even read sex curse/fuck or die fics. i have no idea where this came from. i think i was possessed by some sort of horny demon or something. anyways i've been looking at this one so long that i have no idea if it's even good anymore. hope you all enjoy it lmao. also, divider by @cafekitsune <3 EDITING THIS TO MENTION THE TITLE IS FROM DISEASE BY LADY GAGA OKAY BYEEE!!!

crossposted on ao3

You fucking hate witches. 

Some of them are alright. Some of them are kind and generous and only use their magic for protection and good luck and they only put hexes on people who really deserve it. You don’t mind those sorts of witches. Most of them, though, like the one currently throwing you across the room, are the fucking worst. 

Your back slams into the wall before you tumble to the ground—maybe two, three feet away from where Sam is currently stumbling back to his feet—and the impact knocks the breath right out of your lungs. You groan, shoving up on your hands; you don’t have time to try and catch your breath. This witch is, frankly, kicking your asses. But right now, she’s focused on Dean on the other side of the room. If you’re quick, you might be able to get the jump on her. 

You drag yourself up to your knees, just high enough to be able to access the gun in the waistband of your jeans and to aim it straight for her fucking head. Once you’ve got the gun in your hands, though, several things happen in quick, extremely unlucky succession. 

The witch gets Dean on the ground and turns her head just as you raise the gun to aim right between her eyes, and she begins to chant, crackling, magical energy sparking in the space between her hands. You have just enough to time to think—fuck it. If I’m going down, I’m taking her out with me—before that energy is shot straight at you. You squeeze your finger on the trigger just as Sam, who has apparently recovered enough to try to take a bullet for you, jumps in front of you, knocking you back and sending your aim way wide so the bullet hits the wall instead of the witch’s skull.

And the worst part is it doesn’t even work. Six feet and four inches of pure muscle barrels into you, has you slamming right back against the wall with a pained, breathless grunt, and still, you feel the magic when it hits you, the energy of it spreading over your skin and sinking into your bones like an electric shock. Either you hit your head when you hit the wall, or the spell is making your head swim, leaving you too disoriented to tell which way the witch goes when she runs out the door. 

Sam groans where he landed half on top of you. You blink in an effort to clear your vision, blindly reaching out to touch his face, to check if he’s okay. You don’t know exactly what that spell did, you were too far away to hear exactly what she was chanting, but you can feel it tingling across your skin, settling in like it’s making a home there. Sam got blasted too, that much is clear when your hand lands on his cheek and magic sparks across your palm. 

He sucks in a breath, flinching away from the foreign feeling at the same time as you yank your hand back. “What the hell did she do to us?” he asks, shoving up on his arms to look down at you. And isn’t that just the million dollar question?

You’re on the phone with Bobby almost before you’ve even made it back to the Impala. All three of you agree whatever is going on with this hex you’ve been hit with, you’re in over your heads. You need some expert help. 

“You get the witch?” Bobby greets, just rubbing salt in the wound. 

“Uh. No,” you answer, climbing into the backseat of the car. You and Sam have been avoiding touching as much as possible, and it’s been shockingly hard. Honestly, you never noticed how closely you usually walk until every brush of your shoulders or hands sent sparks cascading over your skin. “There’s been a bit of a…complication.” 

There’s silence, and then an exhausted, beleaguered sigh from the other end of the call. “You idjits managed to get yourselves cursed, didn’t you?” Bobby asks, his tone exasperated. 

Ugh, God. The sun must’ve recently peaked in the sky, beaming down on the car and cooking you like you’re in a damn oven. You don’t remember it being this hot before. “Jesus—Dean, can you turn the air up?” you call out to the front before deigning to answer Bobby’s question. “Yeah. Yeah, she hit me and Sam with some sort of spell before I could shoot her. Problem is, we can’t really tell what sort of spell it actually is. It’s sort of creating like…static electricity? Every time we touch it’s kind of sparking.” 

“Well, did she say anything?” Bobby asks. 

You frown, irritated.  “Don’t you think if I knew what spell she cast, I would’ve told you? I was too far away, I couldn’t hear what she was saying.” 

From the front seat, Dean says, “I heard it, sort of. She was speaking Latin for sure, something about cupid?” 

As Dean says this, you watch Sam’s eyes go wide and his face go a little pale, which really doesn’t seem like a very good sign. “Cupiditas?” he asks. And it’s strange, looking into the front seat, you notice Sam’s face is a little red, a sheen of sweat starting to build on his forehead. Clearly, he’s noticing the heat as you are. And though you have a bit of a hard time drawing your eyes from Sam—though, when don’t you?—you can see that Dean doesn’t seem to be hot at all, not seeming bothered by the way the car is cooking you. 

“Yeah! Cupiditas con… something,” Dean confirms. 

You repeat what Dean said to Bobby, and you hear the pages he’d been flipping through stop turning. “You know, I wish you three would stop putting me in situations where I have to explain shit like this to you,” he mutters. 

You feel as out of the loop as Dean, which is not a very comfortable feeling to have. Sam seems to have some idea of what’s going on, if the look on his face is to be believed, and Bobby’s long-suffering complaints make you believe he knows exactly what spell you’re suffering from. “Explain shit like what?” you ask. 

“She hit the two of you with a damn sex curse, is what,” Bobby says, and you feel your stomach drop out your ass. 

“A sex curse?!” you repeat, incredulous. Of fucking course this would happen to you. “You’re joking. That’s not a real thing.” 

“It certainly is. And deadly, too,” Bobby says, and you hear the turning of pages start up again until he finds what he’s looking for. “Says here you’ve only got about two hours before the, uh…lust heats you up too hot, cooks your brain inside your damn skull.” 

Well. That at least explains why it’s so damn hot in here. “Well, how do we make that not happen?” You’re pretty interested in not getting so horny you literally die, thanks. 

Bobby is silent for a moment, his discomfort with the subject warring with the knowledge that time is of the essence. “You’ve gotta…sate it,” he says haltingly. “You’re an adult, I’m sure I don’t have to explain how. It won’t break the curse completely, but it’ll buy Dean time to find the witch and kill her; that’s the only way to actually break the curse.” 

Oh, fucking hell. “So…we’ve got two hours, unless we…” you trail off, your stomach flipping at the thought. Sam’s hands desperately tugging at your clothes, needy, he’s got to have you or he’ll die, literally. You tug at the collar of your shirt, sweating for real now, and shake it off. “But if…if Dean finds the witch before then, then we wouldn’t have to. Right?” 

“If you wanna tempt fate like that, be my guest. But it’s gonna be uncomfortable as hell. Soon enough, it’ll be pretty hard to remember exactly why you’re tempting fate in the first place.” You hear Bobby slam the book shut. “But if you do decide to sate the curse, keep it to yourselves, please. I already know too much about this, and I don’t wanna know any more.” 

You swallow, your mouth dry with the images swirling through your head again. Familiar ones, sure; this is certainly not the first time you’ve ever thought of Sam like that. But these images are so vivid, so intense, shooting arousal down your spine and building in your gut faster than you’ve ever known it to do so. “Alright. We’ll just…let you know when we—when Dean gets her, then.” You hang up the phone, turning your attention to the front seat where both brothers are staring at you, eyes wide. Right. They could hear your side of the conversation. 

“A sex curse?” Dean asks, voice flooded with disgust. Like Bobby, he probably already knows way more about this than he’d like to. 

Sam though…his expression is strange, a little unreadable. You wish you could get a better handle on his thoughts here because you have pretty mixed emotions, yourself. On the one hand, you’ve wanted Sam…God, since you met him. The only thing the curse is doing is amplifying it, turning that desire into something deadly. But this was never how you wanted it to happen, although you’re not sure who would ever want a sex curse to be the reason they finally got to kiss their crush. 

You relay what Bobby told you to the boys, everything Bobby told you, even when the mention of sating the curse makes Dean’s lip curl in disgust. It doesn’t escape your notice that Sam visibly relaxes when you say that you don’t necessarily have to do anything, so long as Dean is quick enough, and it stings a little, the idea that he would rather push through the discomfort of arousal burning him up from the inside out than touch you. 

Dean nods, untwisting his body to face the front of the car again. “Alright. We’ll get you two back to the hotel, and then I’ll kill the bitch.” 

By the time Dean drops you and Sam back at the room, the effects of the curse are in full swing. You’re so hot, stripped down to shorts and your sports bra and still sweating buckets. Sam is in a similar state of undress, his shirt tossed somewhere across the room after the heat became unbearable. Of course, you only know this from quick glances because if you look at him too long, the urge to touch him, lick him, bite him, starts getting almost too strong to ignore. Every time you see his pecs out of the corner of your eye, your mouth starts to water. It only takes half an hour for it to start to get a little bit too much. 

“Do you think Dean’s found her yet?” you ask, striking a conversation just for any type of distraction from the ache between your legs. And it does ache; you think you may have ruined both your underwear and these shorts from the way your cunt is dripping. 

Where you’re looking at him in your periphery—in an effort not to exacerbate the flooding of your panties—Sam shakes his head. When he speaks, his voice is low and rich and almost rasping, and you squirm where you’re sitting as it hits your ears. “He texted me a few minutes ago, said he thinks he’s getting closer, but…” But it’s not looking good. The words hang unsaid in the air. 

You groan, dropping your head into your hands. “We might not have a choice,” you mutter, glancing at him through the gap between your fingers. Your eyes zero in on the hollow of his neck, your entire body buzzing with the need to attach your mouth to it, to see what noise he’d make if you did. You can’t drag your eyes away. “He’s not gonna find her in time.” 

Sam’s gaze turns to you, and you finally manage to lift your eyes to watch his drag down your body, his pupils blown so wide you can no longer see the hazel of his irises. “He might,” he protests, but the argument falls flat with the way his eyes are locked on your cleavage, glistening with sweat. 

“And if he doesn’t?” you ask, lifting your head from where you’ve been hiding behind your hands. Seeing him full on, no hiding in your periphery or stealing quick glances, it’s like staring straight into the sun. Blinding. You have to take a deep breath and dig your fingers into the sheets beneath you to keep from reaching out. “How long are we gonna push it? Are we gonna let it kill us just so we don’t have to—”

He interrupts you with a rasp of your name, and you almost groan out loud at the sound of it. Fuck, you’ve never needed anything like you need him right now. Like air, like water. “That’s the thing, I don’t want to have to. I—God, it feels like…forcing you. It feels wrong.” 

Is that his hold up? He thinks you don’t want this? Jesus, you’ve gone this whole time thinking he’d literally rather die than fuck you, and it turns out he was just scared you didn’t really want him, that the curse was making you feel things you’d never feel otherwise. “Sam, I don’t know if you’ve noticed this, but you’re hot. I’d way rather have sex with you than die.”  You watch his hands flex, his fingers spreading before he balls them into fists, and your cunt flutters. “Actually, the list of things I’d rather do than fuck you is probably significantly shorter than the opposite. Not…not just because of the curse.” Of course, the curse is definitely making it worse. You can’t stop thinking of how good his thick fingers would feel curling inside you, imagining how attentive he’d be. How generous. Normally, you can curb it a little, save those thoughts for late at night, guilty and shameful. But right now they’re sticking at the forefront of your mind, no matter how hard you try to think about literally anything else. 

You watch the conflict in his mind playing out on his face before he groans and rubs his hands over it. “You don’t get it; it’s not—I don’t want to just be someone you fuck, I want…I want everything,” he tells you, and if your heartbeat wasn’t already erratic, it would be skipping in your chest right now. “And this is just absolutely the last way I wanted you to find out, but that’s why I’m not…I just don’t know if I can do this if this is all I’m gonna get.” 

“Oh, Sam.” His name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re saying it. You stand up and cross the room to sit next to him on the bed, and you don’t miss the way his throat bobs as he swallows, the way his eyes flick down your body for just a moment, the way he twists his fingers into the sheets. You set it aside for now; this is more important. He is more important. “You really don’t know?” 

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes searching your face; although for what, you don’t know. “Know what?” he asks, his voice quiet as a breath. 

You lift your hand to touch his face, and this time, when the magic sparks across your skin, it feels like a salve, cooling the skin of your palm. From the way he sighs, you imagine he’s feeling the effect as well. “Of course I want that. Who wouldn’t want everything with you?” You’re so engrossed in the look on his face—wide-eyed awe, as if he truly never believed you could want him too—that the sparking of his hand touching your waist makes you jump. Oh, but God, the relief is instantaneous. If just this, your hand on his cheek, his hand on your waist, feels this good, how good would it feel to kiss him? To drag his shorts down his legs and sink down onto his cock, feel the way it stretches you out— “Now if you’re properly reassured, could you please, please fuck me already?” 

Sam may have the self-control of some sort of divine being, but he is, in the end, only human, and the curse is deep, and hot, and needy. You can see it the moment his restraint snaps, and even if you couldn’t, he drags you in and plants his lips on yours. Every feeling is amplified tenfold, and as you gasp at his hungry kiss, Sam takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, his free hand coming up to the back of your head to hold you close, guide you how he wants you. It’s not how you imagined he would kiss you, not really, but it’s exactly what you need right now, and the magic sparks down your spine in a wave of cool respite from the heat that had been eating you up. 

Then he pulls away—to speak, or maybe just to breathe—and the heat surges back in instantly, stealing your breath and leaving you panting into his mouth as you frantically drag him back in. “No,” you groan, shoving your hand into his hair to keep him from pulling back again. “We have to keep—oh, fuck.” 

The feeling of his hand shoving under the fabric of your sports bra, pushing it up to expose your breasts, shuts you up quickly. He brushes his thumb over your nipple, and you moan, pleasure sparking across what feels like every nerve ending you have. He doesn’t pull away to speak this time, well aware now that the relief you’re both feeling is very dependent on the contact. “I wish I could take this slow,” he mumbles, and you feel his voice buzzing against your lips. “Lay you down and taste every inch of you until you’re begging for my cock.” 

As if you needed to be any hornier. “I’m already begging for it,” you tell him, before dragging his bottom lip between your teeth. The noise he makes goes straight to your cunt, and you scramble to climb onto his lap. Fuck, you can feel how hard he is underneath you as you straddle him—even through the layers of fabric separating you, he feels huge. You need him inside you yesterday. “Next time—” you start, although it’s a little hard to speak with Sam’s tongue dragging over yours on nearly every other word— “we can have slow and sweet and whatever you want. But if you’re not inside me in the next two minutes, I’ll kill you before the curse even gets a chance, I swear to God.” 

Sam laughs, like you’re joking. You’re absolutely not. “Alright, I got you,” he mutters, and your brain registers the magic sparking across your skin before his hand as he shoves it under the waistband of your shorts. Your entire body jolts as he brushes a finger over your center through the fabric of your panties, but only because it feels so good, more intense than it has any right to be. “Fuck, you’re so wet.” 

You hardly have the brain power to even kiss him anymore, but it doesn’t matter as much now. His hand in your pants is providing infinitely more relief than kissing him could hope to achieve. You drag your lips down his neck before laving your tongue over the hollow of his throat, tasting the sweat that’s gathered there. “I need it so bad,” you mumble against his skin, and apparently you’re so fucking desperate for it that you’ve been reduced to cheesy, porny dirty talk. 

Sam doesn’t seem to mind. He tips his head back on a groan as you scrape your teeth over the thin skin of his throat. “Yeah? I can tell. You’re soaked,” he says, and then his fingers deftly tug the fabric of your underwear aside so he can press a finger inside you. You’re pretty sure you see God. From the look on his face, Sam might be in the same boat. “Fucking hell—off. Off, take them off.” Tragically, he removes his hand from your cunt, and you could actually cry at the way the overwhelming heat comes slamming back into you the second his touch leaves. But it only takes a moment before magic is sparking over your skin again as his hands brush your hips in his efforts to drag your shorts and underwear down your legs. 

You take over once he’s got them halfway down your thighs, crawling off his lap in favor of ridding yourself of the offending garments. And while you’re at it, you drag your sports bra over your head too. In the time between you crawling off him and tossing your bra carelessly aside, Sam has followed suit. When you turn your attention back to him, he’s entirely bare, having tossed his pants and underwear to the same careless void you’d abandoned yours to. 

Despite your desperate urgency, you take a moment to let your eyes fall to his lap, and fuck, your mouth waters at the sight of him, hard and leaking. He’s…God, you expected him to be big—he’s six foot four for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be big—but this is just absurd. You can’t help but reach out, gingerly wrapping your fingers around his length. You’re so engrossed in the way your hand looks wrapped around him that you almost miss the choked little moan he gives, his body bowing towards you. 

“Please,” he groans, and then he reaches out to grab you by the shoulders, tugging you back in close again, urging you to reclaim your perch on his lap. “I wanna feel you, I need to—God, you’re so hot; please let me fuck you.” 

You aren’t sure if he means it as a compliment, or a comment on the insane waves of heat radiating off your skin. Either way, you’re more than willing to fulfill his request. “Yeah. Yeah, anything,” you murmur, ducking your head to press your forehead against his. From this angle, you can almost see as you use your grip on him to guide his cockhead to line up with your entrance. Where you touch, the magic between you sings. It’s nearly automatic; you sink down onto his cock without so much as a second thought. 

Despite Sam’s…considerable size, somehow, you expected the slide to be easy, what with the aching desperation of it all. You’d expected your dripping cunt to suck him right in, make the stretch of taking his cock bearable. It seems even sex curses can’t work miracles, though. “Fuck, Sam—” you choke out, dropping your head to rest on his shoulder. The stretch doesn’t hurt, necessarily, but it’s so much—would be so much anyway, even without the curse amplifying it and making it so much more. You have to stop and take a moment just to remember how to breathe before you’ve even sunk to the top of your hand, wrapped no less than halfway down. 

“I know.” His voice when he speaks is rough, teeth gritted like it’s a real test of his strength to keep still, to keep from fucking up into you, to keep from making you take it. God, you almost want him to, but the soothing tone of his voice is nice too. It rumbles in his chest, echoing through your body just as sure as the pleasure of his cock stretching you out. He brushes his hands over your shoulders and down your back to finally land on your hips. You think maybe he means to keep his grip gentle, because the pressure of his fingers digging into your skin fluctuates, like he’s fighting the urge to bruise you. He’s not doing a very good job of it, though, and it sends a thrill up your spine to know he’s going to leave his mark there, even if that’s not his intention. “I know, take your time. I’ve got you.” 

It’s a sweet sentiment, but you both know time is something you actually don’t have a lot of right now. You can feel the heat crawling up your spine even now, though Sam’s cock spearing you open is holding it at bay. Somewhat. So you dig your fingers into Sam’s hair to steel yourself, and you sink down. And down, and down, until you can’t imagine how there could possibly be more to take, and then, finally, your hips kiss his, and he’s bottomed out inside you. “Fuck,” you groan, panting against the skin of his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. It feels like your lungs emptied out in an attempt to make room, like he’s buried so deep inside you they can’t quite fill right anymore. “Oh, fuck.” 

Sam makes an attempt to soothe you, laying hot, open mouthed kisses over your neck and shoulder. “So good, you’re so good, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rumbling over your skin. His hands abandon their stations at your hips to pull your face up so he can press those same kisses all across your face. “Taking me so well, so perfect for me.” 

Fuck, but he’s got your number, doesn’t he? The praise hits like a drug, zipping down your spine to your cunt and making you flutter around him. It’s frankly entirely unconscious when you shift your hips, but the stars that erupt in your vision when he moves inside you have you moaning in tandem with him. 

“Shit—” He drags you into a messy kiss, all open mouths and panting breaths, his hands buried in your hair. “Can I—God, please, can I move?” You’ve never heard him sound like that before, just the very edge of a whine in his voice as he pleads against your lips. He sounds wrecked, and it feels…good, heady. Powerful. You want to drag that voice out of him a hundred more times, make him whine for you like that for the rest of his life. 

You shake your head, tilting your head down to press a biting kiss on his jaw. “No. No, I’m gonna…” With that, you brace your arms on his shoulders and your knees on either side of him and lift your hips until you’ve nearly moved off him entirely, just the tip of his cock still pressed inside you. And then you drop back down. You feel every inch of it as he drags along your walls, and though it’s easier to take this time, the stretch is still intense, still nearly makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

You force yourself to keep your eyes forward, though, because the look on Sam’s face is almost as good as the stretch of his cock. His brows furrow, face twisting in his pleasure, and his mouth falls open, like he wants to moan but something is holding him back. And, well. That just won’t do. 

You lift yourself up to drop down again, satisfied when Sam groans and drags his hands down your back to dig his fingers into your hips again, pressing into familiar aches. You duck to press your smug smile against his neck, and find it so slick with sweat that you can’t help licking a stripe up his throat. “I’m gonna ride you so good, Sammy,” you mutter, your lips brushing his skin as you speak. His hands help guide you when you bounce this time, and it only makes the slide more delicious, makes your words drag out into a moan before you can continue, “Fuck, do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this? See your face while I make myself come on your cock?” You start up a steady rhythm with Sam’s grip spurring you along, lifting up to slam back down again, his cock spearing you open again and again and again. 

Once you’ve got into the rhythm, his hands move from your hips to your upper back to drag you closer until he can lean down and press his face in the valley between your breasts, kissing and biting and licking the soft skin there, and all the while his hands keep pressing you closer, keeping your chest arched into his mouth. “How long?” he asks, his voice muffled as he drags his lips over the swell of your breast to leave his biting kisses there too. 

You drag your hands up into his hair as you roll your hips, moving in more of a grind now than a bounce, and the new movement means his cock is frankly unrelenting against your g-spot, the pressure of it never leaving, only shifting. The feeling is near overwhelming, has your hips faltering so much that Sam has to bring his hands back to your hips just so you keep moving. “Mm, God, forever, feels like,” you answer, once you’ve gathered enough brain power to even process that he had asked you a question. “Since the first time I saw you, probably.” Saying it out loud, it feels a little bit creepy to confess that you’ve been fantasizing about riding him since the moment you met him, but you’re a little too blissed out at the moment to feel embarrassed about it.  

Besides, judging by the way Sam groans against your chest and fucks up into you, he clearly doesn’t find it creepy at all. “Guess I’d better make it worth the wait, then,” he mutters, before dragging the blunt of his teeth over your pebbled nipple and then moaning against it when the shock of pleasure makes your grip tighten in his hair. And, fuck, if you thought it was good before…

He digs his heels into the bed to brace and starts thrusting up to meet every roll of your hips, his cock pounding so deep inside you now that you swear you can almost taste it. If there was enough room in your mind to even process it behind the fog of lust, you’d realize he’s fucking needy, desperate little moans from your throat with every thrust. And all the while he keeps his face buried in your tits, despite the way they bounce with the force of his thrusts. He drags his teeth over the skin between them, laves his tongue over your nipples, making noises like there’s no place he’d rather be. It’s intoxicating. 

And you’re so close, toeing the edge and hurtling ever closer with every thrust Sam pounds into you. The entire energy of the curse settles in your core at the same place the coil of your impending orgasm grows ever tighter. “Sam,” his name falls from your lips like a prayer, and you use your grip in his hair to drag him up, to kiss him messy and deep. You swallow the sweet, hungry noises he’s making, and he nips at your lip, and you are so fucking close. “Please.” 

Sam’s got you. Of course he does. He brings one hand from your hip to press between your legs and rub his thumb over your clit in quick, firm little circles. “Come on, pretty girl,” he murmurs, “let me feel you come on my cock.” 

And who are you to deny him anything he wants? You cry out as your orgasm explodes through you, whiting out your vision with the force of it. You’ve never come so hard in your life, and it just keeps going, burning up your spine like it’s singlehandedly eating up the energy the curse had created in your body. You’re just conscious enough to feel when Sam’s cock twitches and spills inside you, the frantic spasming of your cunt milking him for all he’s worth. 

You do come down, eventually, your fingers aching where they’ve been white knuckled in Sam’s hair. You bury your face in his neck and try to catch your breath, and his nose presses against your hair as he seems to do the same. It takes you a moment to notice—and you think you can be excused, considering you just came so hard you saw God—but despite the cum that you can feel slowly beginning to seep out of you, Sam is still hard, and doesn’t seem to be softening. Like, at all. And once you notice that, it’s a quick step to realize that the heat at the base of your spine, while significantly lessened, has not completely subsided. 

Fuck. “She’s not dead,” you groan, which morphs into a whimper when an involuntary shift of your hips makes Sam’s cock press against your oversensitive sweet spot. “God, we’re still cursed.” You can feel the awful heat starting to build again, that same devastating arousal eating at you despite the way you’re still trembling all over with the aftermath of your last orgasm.

You feel Sam’s lips press against your hair, soothing hands rubbing up your sides as they do. “We’ve probably bought enough time,” he offers, smoothing his thumbs over your hip bones. It seems sweet, until he smooths his hand down your thigh and keeps talking, “If you can’t go again.” And that? Well, that sounds like a challenge. 

Pushing through the oversensitivity, you rock your hips down, dragging your nails down the back of Sam’s neck and shoulders in an effort to dull the feeling. “Oh, I can go again,” you retort, with a confidence that you’re not sure you’ve really earned, considering the way your thighs are shaking. “Just…not on top.” 

The rumble of Sam’s laugh in his chest is your only warning before you’re suddenly bouncing on the bed on your back, a shocked yelp passing your lips at the sudden movement, and the sudden emptiness—your cunt clenches around nothing but air, Sam’s spend spilling from your fluttering hole.  

“There,” Sam says, his face smug as he climbs over you. “Problem solved.” 

You roll your eyes, ready to shoot back some sassy retort of your own, but Sam’s not looking at you. Not at your face, at least. Instead, his eyes are trained between your legs, and simply because it seems like it would be more effective than a sarcastic comment—and not because of the way his eyes glaze over a little while he’s staring, definitely not—you let your legs fall open a little further. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth and then he reaches between your legs to press two fingers in your cunt. It takes you a moment to realize he’s pushing his cum back in, gathering up whatever had spilled from you when he pulled out and fucking it back into you with his fingers. 

You groan, tossing your arm over your eyes. It’s not really something you’d thought you’d be into, but now that he’s doing it… “Fuck, Sam…” 

Sam laughs, but it comes out a little breathless, and you lift your arm to watch him as he draws his fingers from your cunt and brings them right up to his mouth to lick them clean. Holy fucking shit. “Yeah,” he mutters, tucking his hand under your thigh to lift your leg up onto his shoulder, “That’s sort of the idea.”

He doesn’t waste much time after that, lines himself up and pushes in. You’re so sensitive; it’s so good it almost hurts, and though this angle doesn’t allow him to get nearly as deep, it’s clearly better for him to drive into you. His thrusts are quick and punchy, drawing little ‘ah’s from your throat as he drags you back to the edge faster than you would’ve thought possible. Maybe that’s the curse. Maybe he’s just that good. 

“Come on, baby,” he mutters, pressing sloppy kisses all over your face, down your neck. “You can give me one more, yeah?” You don’t even notice his arm move, but between one blink and the next, he’s got his thumb back on your clit, rubbing circles over the sensitive bud. 

Your nails dig into his shoulders, dragging down his back as you arch your own. “God, don’t stop, fuck—”

You feel it the second it happens. It’s completely instant, the sudden and total disappearance of the magic that had been consuming your and Sam’s bodies. The witch is dead, the curse is broken, and the complete relief in tandem with Sam railing you into the fucking bed sends you careening over the edge in an instant, tears leaking from the corners of your eyes as you squeeze them shut. 

Sam groans and digs his teeth into your shoulder, following right after you as the curse dissipates from his body as well. 

The two of you don’t talk for a long while after that, going about the motions of recovery and cleaning up in silence. He pulls out—the both of you hissing with oversensitivity at the motion—and heads into the bathroom to get a rag. He wipes himself down and then you, mindful of the way you wince when he presses too hard. 

You catch his wrist when he goes to walk away. “I meant what I said.” You wait until he turns to look at you, and then you tangle your fingers in his. “It wasn’t just about the curse for me.” 

You can see it on his face, the hesitance. Like he really never thought he could have this. Fuck, if you had known, you’d have told him years ago, just to make sure he knew how adored he was. How adored he is, always. 

“Yeah?” he says, his voice quiet as he leans down to press a kiss to your lips. It’s sweeter, much more tender than any of the kisses before, and this is exactly how you had always thought Sam would kiss you. With his entire heart on his sleeve. “Me too.” 

Maybe you’ve got a little to thank witches for after all. 

[r3ynah]

DANNY NO—

Despite popular opinion, Danny and Paulina did become good friends after graduation, with Paulina not going to college but instead becoming a famous model and actor loved and adored by everyone in Metropolis, and Danny being able to study Aerospace engineering at Gotham passing with flying colors a real contrast when they were in junior high and while also interning at Wayne Enterprises, and it was working unbelievable well for the both of them.

They would try to meet up once a month, with being miles away from their hometown Danny was the only person she could rely on when something went downhill, they floated towards each other in search of any sort of comfort and normality—well what they consider normal that is.

They would pick between Gotham or Metropolis just to meet in a cafe and just chat about anything, Paulina asks about Sam and Tucker, but mostly Sam (the both of them had enemies to friends to lovers to enemies phase and no one can change my mind bout that, and the both of them are still yearning for each other).

after all these years she sees Danny more as a brother rather than a dorky weirdo who is uncharacteristically obsessed with space, but she loves him—but don't tell him that, and Danny also loves and sees Paulina as family, he knows that even when she complains about how he dresses she will always be there to accompany him shopping( with the excuse that'll she'll die if she's seen by anybody near him, in her words she said that he looked like he dressed himself in the dark, which is fair) and keeping him sane by forcing him to sleep when Tucker, Sam, and Jazz were too busy with their jobs and studies.

Most importantly Danny is there to protect her, sometimes she even offers to pay Danny to be her Bodyguard at galas which he refuses, this is also the reason why she sometimes gets protective of Danny, because if you won't let her pay then she'll just do the same but tenfold— she knows Danny can protect himself but the amount of time she gets emergency calls from the man when he gets injured by the GIW really puts her off.

And it certainly doesn't help when one of there meet ups at Gotham, vigilantes seemed to be around every corner and overly nosy 'civilians' who at first she thought they were there for her, well they did use her as an excuse to get close with the request of signing an autograph but she knew better.

with the way their gaze are fixed on Danny, and their stances always stiff like they're prepared to attack if the skinny man in front of her pick up a butter knife, this was the same in metropolis it bothered her that they were eyeing her friend with such skeptical stares, but at least she knew that the heroes that resides in metropolis won't do anything rash after all, she is famous and with one bad tweet of them from her on twitter she can definitely turn half of the population against them.

But in Gotham? she doesn't really know how the people and economy work, she has supporters there she knew that but they weren't so keen on turning their backs on their vigilantes which were the only ones that really tried protecting them, she's just an actress from another city she knew that she won't have the upper hand here, so she just keeps her head low and make sure that Danny is safe and doesn't get harmed.

It's not like Danny is some sort of rogue, yes his parents are mad scientist and all— but Danny knows better than to follow their steps, for Ancients sake Danny was the beloved vigilante of Amity Park he was there when it all went bad, when no one was there to save them he was there, he was the hope of their town—their god.

So she will rain hell upon earth if ever one of the people that named themselves 'heroes' try to lay a finger on Danny— Fuck her reputation she couldn't care less.

So why? Just Why did he get the attention of vigilantes? and the bats nonetheless, she couldn't keep her curiosity at bay, so she asks.

"Oh them? well, I kinda made my way to their watchlist when I decided to pass my half-assed research all about: 'travelling different alternate universes with the usage of Lazarus waters' " he causally uttered as he picked off the cherry tomatoes out of his plate and onto Paulina's

"did you know ectoplasm here is more commonly known as Lazarus waters? cause I didn't, and when I tried to research more about it online I was stopped by a fire wall, which was embarrassingly easy to get through, and you know what was more embarrassing? it wasn't even worth it, the collected data I gathered was not even 1/4 of the things my parents researched, and I'm speaking about the scientifically correct things"

WHat. Paulina looked at him speechless, "Danny no…"

"Danny, yes.." he cheekily answered, amused by Paulina's stunned face "Boy— you better be joking because I will actually call Jazz"

"Please don't—" poor Danny he looked like he was one second away from passing out and sleeping on the table, who knew being watched by vigilantes has a much bigger toll on his body than when he died.

A/N: Oh noo… Danny being seen as a god by overprotective and devoted Amity Parkers, Oh no…. Guys— I didn't know what happened i was just listening to random things and then Hozier started playing, and now we have this.

[fushitoru]

all i want for christmas is you! a gojo satoru fic

pairing ⸺ bf!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ after a well needed rest from the kids, you and your boyfriend focus on baking christmas cookies for your pta responsibilities. however, it ends up taking a naughty twist when satoru finds out the surprise you've planned out for him.

warnings ⸺ FLUFF, smut in the form of fingering and p i v sex, reader has a vagina, fem reader implied, some jealousy, but mostly crack, pta cookie baking for megumi, very domestic, not edited, “good girl,” teasing, use of pet names like “baby,” gojo is a warning in himself

a/n hbd to my husband and loml 😚😚 i hope you guys enjoy this it kind of made me realize only long fics heal my soul but this is anticipation of holidays :33

general masterlist

You sometimes did not know what to do with Satoru.

When he told you to come over to make Christmas cookies that are part of his PTA commitments for Megumi, you really didn’t expect him to come out of his room with that sweater on. It’s an ugly sweater—so he’s got the holiday spirit nailed down—that has printed “BIG PACKAGE JUST FOR YOU.” Below it, a cartoon Santa stood pantsless, strategically holding a neatly wrapped gift box over his crotch.

You give him a look as he comes out to join you in the kitchen. “Please don’t tell me you wore that in front of Tsumiki and Megumi.”

He has the gall to look offended as he puts on his even stupider “Your opinion wasn’t on the recipe” apron. “Of course, what kind of father do you think I am?”

You sigh, moving to put in the last of the dry ingredients. “I saw Megumi watching Breaking Bad on his iPad last week.”

“What?” he gasps dramatically as he pauses while moving for the fridge. “I swear I downloaded Youtube Kids!”

Look, Satoru is a good dad. Foster-dad. Whatever. He’s been taking care of Megumi and Tsumiki for ages now, ever since that incident happened, and he’s been doing his best. But, unfortunately, his adult life and burdens and responsibilities cause him sometimes to be a absent father. He makes up for it—goes shopping with Tsumiki for her clothes, spends quality time with Megumi.

One thing he’d never miss, however, are those PTA meetings.

He is the PTA mom final boss. No matter what event is being held, he’s going to go all out. You don’t miss the smirk he gives to Karen everytime he brings an even bigger cookie platter for Megumi’s homeroom than she did for her son Sam’s, nor the sassy pursed lips as he donates artist-grade markers from Michael’s instead of Mia’s cheap ones from Walmart.

Yea, he is just petty like that, but it’s always the moms whose sons have gotten into fights with Megumi that he outdoes everytime. You know better than to question his peculiar form of revenge.

“I think that means he found a way to break through the parental controls. He’s definitely your kid,” you reply with a bit of mirth in your voice. Then, you quickly move to intercept Satoru’s journey to get the eggs as soon as you notice a miniscule movement of his. You were not about to let Satoru force another trip to Whole Foods with the clumsiness you’re all too familiar with in your five years of dating.

Grabbing the eggs before he can, you turn around to find him staring at you, a dazzled look on his face.

“What?” you ask, already smirking. The view of the outfit you’d worn today had been obscured by the apron when he first came in, but when you moved to get the eggs in front of him, he definitely got a view of your ass in your tiny red skirt and fuzzy, festive top.

“Why the hell are you wearing a sexy Mrs. Claus outfit?”

“I was thinking we’d watch Christmas movies and chill today after the cookies!” you exclaim, just as Satoru interrupts with, “We’re baking cookies for children, you freak.”

The room went dead silent.

Your cheerful smile dropped instantly. Meanwhile, Satoru’s face lit up like he’s just won the lottery, full of pure glee.

Both of you shout at the same time, “What?”

You slam the eggs down onto the counter with just enough force to make him flinch, narrowing your eyes at him. “Excuse me? Did you just call me a freak?”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” he yelped, backpedaling so fast you were surprised he didn’t trip over his own feet. “It’s just—” He gestured wildly at you. “—that outfit is… is…”

“Is what?” you demand, crossing your arms and daring him to dig himself deeper.

“Babe,” he starts to whine, apologetic like a wet dog and padding his way back over to you while pulling you in for a back hug. “It’s hot, okay? Don’t get me wrong, it’s driving me crazy. I’m trying to focus on cookies, and you’re over here looking like every Christmas fantasy I didn’t know I had.”

“Get off me,” you grumble, shooting him a glare as you try to shake him off. “You are not touching these cookies. Sit on the couch.”

He yelps as you slap his hand. “Babe, but I’ll just be reinforcing the patriarchy if I let you stay and do all the work in the kitchen.” Then, he moves closer to your ear like the chronically online loser he is and whispers, “6’ 3’’ btw.”

“Go away!” you shriek, waving him off. This process would indeed be two times faster if Satoru was on his couch. There wasn’t any rush, but you’d really appreciate getting to the dicking-down part of tonight after much appreciated privacy from the kids for the first time in forever. You take a mental note to thank Yuji’s grandpa and Nobara’s grandmother with extra cookies for the sleepover as you shoo your boyfriend to the couch.

You get back to work on the wet ingredients by cracking the eggs, but not before you hear a “I’ll be reflecting on the systematic oppression women face in the workforce.”

Pulling off the oven mitts on your hands, you wash your hand but not without sneaking a peek over the kitchen counter. You were locked in on the cookies, paying no mind to Satoru’s existential bemoaning, and now that you’re done, you can’t wait for the fun part of tonight.

After waiting a few minutes and checking and rechecking the cookies to make sure they’re done, you set them aside to cool and make sure to turn off the oven. Tonight, you were determined to get that big fucking package Santa owed you, and your boyfriend was going to be the one to deliver it.

As you walk out, you know the strat you’re going to use: innocently suggest a Christmas movie to watch, snuggle close to him, and he’ll fall into the trap you set for him like a bear towards honey. You know your boyfriend all too well, and today, you were feeling coy.

He’s stretched out on the couch, scrolling on his phone, his posture as awful as ever. But the second he hears your footsteps, his head snaps up. His eyes immediately dart to the movement of your bare legs, lingering on the tiny red skirt you’re still wearing, before slowly traveling back up to your chest. Wow. He really wasn’t making this difficult.

You plop down next to him while grabbing the remote, pulling up Netflix. “What movie should we watch today?”

He blinks, clearly distracted. “We’re watching a movie?”

The Princess Switch catches in the side of your eye as you scroll through the options. Without looking at him, you answer, “Yes? What else were we going to do?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he drawls, his voice already dipping into that teasing tone you know so well. “Maybe something that doesn’t involve Vanessa Hudgens playing herself two times.”

You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. “Don’t knock it till you try it, Mr. Holiday Spirit.”

His gaze doesn’t leave you, though, and when you finally glance at him, his expression has shifted. He’s not teasing anymore. His eyes are a little darker, his lips twitching like he’s holding back a grin. “What?” you ask, already smirking.

“Nothing,” he says, his voice lower now. “Just... you look really good in that outfit.”

Your cheeks heat, but you play it off with a laugh. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Satoru.”

“Won’t it?” he murmurs, leaning a little closer, his hand brushing against your knee. The heat of his palm lingers even after he pulls it away, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

You’re about to respond—something witty, something to keep the banter going—but then his hand moves again, this time resting firmly on your thigh. “You’re really going to make me sit through a Christmas movie when you look like that?” he asks, his voice a low rumble.

Your breath hitches, and you can’t help the way your body reacts, leaning just a fraction closer to him. “What would you rather do?” you challenge, your voice softer now.

His gaze dips to your lips, and that’s all the invitation he needs. In a second, he’s closing the distance, his mouth pressing against yours in a kiss that’s anything but sweet. It’s hungry and demanding, like he’s been waiting for this all day, and when his hand slides higher up your thigh, you realize you’ve completely forgotten about the movie and the preview playing. Satoru, clearly a little annoyed judging by the pout on his face, moves to close the preview featuring Vanessa Hudgens’ obnoxious British accent and then the room is silent except for the wet sounds of your sloppy kissing.

When you’ve both made out for a while—now with you on his lap—you both pull back with fastened breaths, looking at each other’s glistening lips. Finally, from Satoru comes out a, “That. I wanted to do that.”

Maybe it’s the attention whore in you always looking to rile up Satoru and get his affection, but you couldn’t refrain from blurting out a “Are you sure you wanted to do this with me, or would Linda have sufficed?”

At the scrunch of Satoru’s nose, his face practically spells out a Who the fuck is Linda? “You know, the one that gets really friendly with you when I’m going to the bathroom at those PTA meetings.”

Satoru sometimes did not know what to do with you.

Here he is, trying to make out with you when you’re looking like that, makeup done perfectly and looking beautiful as always. He hasn’t gotten laid with you in a hot minute, and here you are, picking at him. He has no fucking clue who Linda is, but what he does know is that you’re really cute when you get jealous. “Yeah?” he teases, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering against your cheek. His grin is maddeningly smug, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Linda sounds nice. Should I call her up?”

Your jaw drops, but the sharp retort forming in your head is lost when his hand slides from your cheek to your neck, his thumb brushing lightly along your jawline. He leans closer, his breath warm against your skin. “You know,” he continues, his voice a low murmur, “if you’re jealous, you could just say so.”

“I’m not jealous,” you shoot back, your voice unconvincing even to yourself. You shift under his gaze, trying to keep up the façade, but it’s hard when his lips hover so close to yours.

Satoru’s grin widens. “No? Then why are you bringing up some imaginary PTA Linda when I’m clearly only interested in you?” His lips press against the corner of your mouth, a slow, deliberate kiss that makes your breath catch.

“You’re clearly only interested in being annoying,” you quip, but the words lack their usual bite as his hand slips lower, trailing down your side until it rests on your bare thigh. His touch is firm, possessive, and it sends a shiver through you.

“Annoying?” he echoes, his tone mock-offended. “That’s a big word for someone who just ruined a perfectly good makeout session to talk about Linda.”

You glare at him, but the effect is ruined when his thumb begins tracing lazy circles on your thigh. “I didn’t ruin anything,” you argue weakly.

“Didn’t you?” He dips his head, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear. “Because now, instead of kissing you like I want to, I’m stuck reassuring you that Linda doesn’t stand a chance against my very sexy, very jealous girlfriend.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, but it turns into a soft gasp as his teeth graze your skin, his tongue soothing the faint sting. “You’re insufferable,” you mutter, but your hands betray you, tangling in his hair and tugging him closer.

“Mm, but you like it,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. His free hand slides higher, skimming under the hem of your skirt, his fingers teasing against the soft skin of your hip. “Admit it.”

“Shut up,” you manage, though your voice is breathless now. He’s too close, his scent overwhelming, his touch setting your nerves on fire. When his hand tightens on your thigh and he pulls you closer, you give in, letting him capture your lips in a kiss that’s all desperation.

Linda, whoever she may be, is long forgotten as Satoru kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you’ve spent apart. His hands roam, his touch firm and confident, and when he pulls back just enough to murmur against your lips, “You’re all I want,” you believe him completely.

A breathless “Satoru” leaves your lips as he gently–but hurriedly–lowers you down to lay on the couch while he bends over you, inching down the hem of your top to bury his head in your tits. “Oh my god,” he groaned. “I missed my girls.” He starts to leaves rough kisses, an occasional bite and suck, and then stops. Takes in a deep breath. “Wow, you smell good babe.”

You look at him, flustered. “Stop smelling my tits, oh my god.” For good measure, you grab his hair to bury his face against your breasts once more.

“No,” smooch, “it’s,” smooch, “smelling good. Like the new holiday scents from Bath and Body Works.” He then abandons your chest to kiss his way down your body, sliding your skirt down as he kisses around the edge of your panties. “I’ve missed her, too.”

Despite yourself, you moan, spreading your legs to give him full access. He takes it enthusiastically, giving you a little kiss in your middle. Then, his eyes don’t leave yours as he uses his teeth to pull your panties down, slowly and sultry. Your pussy leaks even more, and the motherfucker notices, because there’s a faint smirk on his face as he hones back in your wetness, running his fingers to spread your slick. “Wow, my girl must have been sooo pent up,” he croons, eyes not leaving your hole and the way it clenched every time he spoke. “My good girl is soo desperate.”

Without missing a beat, you sneakily reply, “Don’t call me that, that’s so corny oh my god—-“ You’re interrupted with your own gasp as he enters a finger in. When he finally curls it, hitting your g-spot dead on, you suck in your breath. You really missed this.

“Oh, really?” He giggles, clearly amused by you trying to rile him up. “If my baby doesn’t like being called a good girl then why is she clenching so hard on my—“ thrust— “fingers?”

And suddenly the feminist in you leaves as his big, thick fingers ram into you faster than ever, and you start squealing like the slut you are for your incredibly hot boyfriend who’s equally as much of a slut for you, judging based on the rock hard erection against your thigh. Take that, Linda.

You’re in a daze of pleasure, too fucked out to notice Gojo wrenching down his sweats to pull out his throbbing cock, to pump it to full mast. It’s only when he rips his finger away from your cavern that you start to whimper, clawing at his arms to continue fingering you.

And he starts cooing, giving you a small kiss on your cheek as he aligns his dick with your pussy. “I know baby, I know,” and he groans as the soft, wet heat of your pussy grips on him hard as he pushes in. It’s not long before he starts thrusting, wiping your tears while driving in even faster. “Wow, good fucking pussy.”

“Satoru,” you whine, but you don’t even know for what. You were close enough when he was fingering you, but now you’re steadily approaching your climax. But Satoru, who’s attuned to what your body needs, readjusts himself to go even deeper.

It’s when you gasp loudly that a glint lights up in his eyes. “That’s the spot, isn’t it?” He drives into that spot like a jackhammer, savoring in your little squeals and moans of his name, until finally, he feels you climax.

“Oh my god,” you says breathlessly as your orgasm takes over you, convulsing while Satoru doesn’t let up, continuing his pace until his hips become more sloppy. After a few off rhythm thrusts, he comes in you, collapsing on top of you.

He’s breathing heavily from exertion, and you run your nails on his back and hair gently. You both bask in the glow of your orgasm. Of course, that is until Satoru perks his head up. “Do you think I can eat that kid Martin’s cookie? Megumi told me he doesn’t like him and that he’s annoying—-OWWW, what was that for?”

[wwinterwitch]

safe haven – bucky barnes

summary: bucky goes back to you after the void incident pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader word count: 3.7k tags: thunderbolts* spoilers!, vague void experience on purpose (for the full x reader experience), sam is back and he's pissed, fluff and fluff and more fluff (love is in the air people!), comfort, kissing, things get heated at the end but no actual smut is included (i think i'll make another part exclusively for the smut lovers, so the people that don't read smut can still enjoy this part)

please reblog and/or comment in you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | previous part

You gasp, snapping back to reality after...whatever the fuck just happened, trying to catch your breath in hopes of easing your headache and slow your heart rate. The broom you were using to clean up your apartment lays on the floor next to you, everything looking the exact same as it was when you left.

It cannot possibly be another Thanos situation, right? That time it felt like you just blinked, but now it feels like you've been gone for long tortuous hours. That time your roommate almost had a heart attack when you knocked on the door of your shared apartment because she thought she’d never see you again. And you certainly don't remember anything about experiencing the blip. Now...now you wish you could forget what you saw back there.

You were forced to experience the most traumatizing memories playing in a loop over and over again until all you could do is sit in a corner and cry as you beg for the images to go away. A horrifying display of the darkest moments of your life. The times you felt more unhappy and hopeless. And every time you thought you’d managed to escape, you’d just end up in yet another memory.

But somehow you're back in your apartment now. Everything looks the exact same and it seems like no time has passed.

Still, even when it seemingly feels like you're safe, you can't help but feel uneasy. The thought of what you saw is still very much present in the back of your mind, replaying over and over again, taking over your senses and clouding your judgement. 

What if this is just another trick and you’re about to experience another horrible memory? You look around your apartment, too afraid to move, expecting to see something that confirms that you’re still stuck in this never-ending nightmare. That you’ll have to stay in this place for the rest of your life.

The unexpected buzzing of your phone makes you jump, snapping you back to reality as you frantically search for it. Quickly spotting it on top of your dinner table, you keep wondering what the hell is happening as you read Sam's name on your screen.

“WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN? I'VE BEEN TEXTING YOU LIKE CRAZY,” you hear him shout on the other line as soon as you picked up, sounding incredibly agitated.

“I'm sorry, I...I don't exactly know what happened,” you mutter, staring outside the window in hopes of seeing something out there that might give you any clues of what is going on. To your surprise, you can see a few ambulances speeding past your street and you can spot a large cloud of smoke in the distance. 

Bucky and the others are most likely involved in that commotion. You can only hope that they’re okay, still having no updates. You can’t really tell how much time has passed since they left, so you can’t know for sure when Bucky is going to show up.

“The entirety of New York just went black,” he explains. “It just looked like darkness.”

“What?” you ask in disbelief. “I don't remember anything about it. I was just cleaning up my apartment and then somehow I was in...I don't even know what it was. It was like purgatory or something.”

“What do you mean?”

You sigh, not really wanting to go into too much detail about the stuff you had to witness. Honestly, you wish you could just forget it. “It was like being tortured, Sam. I don't know what it was, just that it was awful. I was cleaning my apartment and that's pretty much the last thing I remember before waking up in that place.”

There's a brief silence and for a second you thought perhaps the call was disconnected, but you suddenly hear Sam's voice again. “Oh, you have to be fucking kidding me!”

“What happened?” you say, evidently confused.

“Put on the news,” he sighs, muttering something else under his breath you can't quite hear correctly. “I gotta go, but I'll talk to you later, okay?” he says in a ruther rushed voice, sounding both pissed and worried. “Take care.”

“Sure. Bye, Sam.”

You hang up the phone as you sit on your couch, TV remote in your hand as you search for any news broadcast that's on. As soon as you find one, you stare at it in disbelief. There, in the middle of a street, is Valentina giving some bullshit speech you don't really care to pay attention to, and behind her stands the entire group of people that were in your apartment just seconds (or minutes? Hours?) ago, joined by a blonde guy you have never seen before.

They look exhausted and visibly confused to be in front of so many cameras. Bucky and Yelena look particularly pissed. But what matters the most to you is that they're all alive.

The next thing that really catches your attention is the text on the banner beneath the image. 'Introducing the New Avengers'.

What the hell is really going on right now?

The broadcast finally ended, and it doesn't take Bucky that long to arrive. All he wanted to do was to get away from Valentina and all the press that just kept taking pictures of him and the others. He barely even acknowledged the rest of the group, leaving as soon as possible. All he wants right now is to see you and make sure you're okay. He knows you're probably safe– of course you are, but he won't be calm until he's standing before you to make sure you really are unharmed.

He walks inside your apartment and immediately walks towards you, grabbing your face with both of his hands as soon as he's standing in front of you, frantically scanning your face for any sight of hurt or discomfort. It's almost as if you were the one out there fighting.

“Are you okay?” he asks, slightly out of breath, still not letting you go.

“Yes, I'm okay,” you reply with a reassuring smile, and he immediately pulls you in for a hug. “How are you?”

“Uh...as good as I can be.” 

His arms are still tightly wrapped around you, not wanting to let you go any time soon. Yes, he’s holding onto you because it’s a huge relief to confirm that you’re safe, but it also brings him an enormous amount of comfort, which is what he was craving ever since he stepped foot into the void.

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I don't know. It's been a lot. I was so worried about you.”

“I was so worried about you!”

He pulls away just enough, and you almost want to roll your eyes at the playful smirk on his face. “Don't try to make this a competition.”

“I won't make it a competition because I would obviously win,” you reply, exasperated. “I wasn't the one who was out there fighting...what was the guy's name again?”

“Sentry.” There’s a brief pause, his expression hardening considerably. “Were you there too?”

You get even more exasperated because you still don't understand shit. “Where?”

“The void.”

Realization hits you right there. The entirety of New York being consumed by darkness as Sam explained over the phone, the horrible things you had to see...of course a place like that would have such a fitting name. It felt exactly like it. You just felt empty and alone.

“So that's what it was. And the entire city was experiencing the same thing?” you ask, still in complete disbelief at the idea of one person having that much power. It certainly is a terrifying and dangerous ability to have. 

Then, after a quick pause, you realize Bucky had to experience that too, immediately hating the idea of him having to endure that. "Were you...?"

Bucky notices the shift in your expression, offering you a weak smile. “Yeah, we were all there.”

You don't know what to say at first. If you thought you had a hard time in there, you can't even begin to imagine the horrors Bucky was forced to watch over and over again. It breaks your heart to think about it. Even when he has made a lot of progress when it comes to healing from his past and learning to forgive himself, it doesn't mean the pain and guilt are not there.

“I'm so sorry,” is all you can say, feeling completely useless at that moment. Sorry doesn't make it better in any way.

“It's okay. It's not like this is the first time I've been there.”

His last statement absolutely crushes you. If you could find a way to take all of that burden off his shoulders, you'll do it in a heartbeat. Still feeling completely useless, you decide to pull him in for another hug, because at least that’s doing a little more than just saying you’re sorry.

“I wish I could do more to make you feel better,” you whisper, feeling his fingers gently running through your hair in an affectionate manner, kissing the top of your head.

“Being here with you is more than enough,” he whispers back. “You are more than enough."

“Oh, please don't make me cry now,” you warm him with a soft giggle, feeling like a few tears might actually come out any second now.

The sound of Bucky's laugh makes you feel just a hundred times better about the entire situation involving that stupid void, loving to hear it under such circumstances. It's impossible not to feel overwhelmed right now. That place really left you feeling like an emotional mess.

You move back from the hug just enough and Bucky takes that as his opportunity to pull you in for a kiss. The type of kiss that makes your knees weak and leaves your mind completely blank. A kiss you see in a movie with fireworks adorning the night sky, right before the end credits roll. One that feels like he's been dying to give you a kiss since he closed the door of your apartment before New York was consumed by darkness.

A kiss that shows you he really does mean it when he says you are more than enough.

“I'm really happy you're okay,” he mutters right after the kiss, resting his forehead against yours, eyes still closed.

I love you. That's all you can think of in this moment, and it takes everything in you not to say it out loud because how fucking insane would that be? To not even be an official couple and already say such a thing? Perhaps it wouldn't be so crazy given you've been best friends for so many years (and you've had a crush on him for most of them), but still. It's just too soon. Too weird. Too intense.

The fucking void really did numbers on you. Just get it together, please!

“I'm happy you're okay too,” is what you say instead, which sounds appropriate. And not weird. And not intense at all.

You offer to make him a snack after all that happened, forcing him to take a seat when he said he could do it himself. As you prepared a few sandwiches, he tried to explain as much as possible about everything that's been going on.

“So Bob doesn't remember anything?” you ask once he's done, just as you're handing him a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Apparently,” he replies, right before leaning over the counter to give you a quick kiss as a way of thanking you for the food.

“Well, that's probably for the best, right? I mean if the Sentry part returns, it's only a matter of time until the Void part wants to have a bit of fun again too.”

He practically devours one of the sandwiches, looking like he hasn't eaten in centuries. “Probably,” he says nonchalantly, clearly more focused on eating. It's impossible to blame him for it, especially considering everything he's been through today.

You can't help but smile at the image of him eating the sandwiches like he's been deprived of food his entire life. So much so that he can barely hold a conversation.

I love you. It's like you just couldn't hold yourself back from wanting to blurt those three little words once again. Like it's physically impossible to hold them in. It doesn’t matter if he’s saying cute things to you or if he’s eating like a caveman. You love both sides of him. 

But you can't say it. You can't be weird.

Instead, you try a much more appropriate approach once again. “You're so cute,” you say with a smile, moving closer to run a hand through his hair affectionately. Then, you suddenly remember something that you two haven't discussed yet, and your 'I'm-so-down-bad' smile turns into a 'just-thought-of-the-best-joke-ever' smirk. “Might as well start calling you the cutest Avenger, huh?”

He turns to look at you with a soft grin on his face, immediately shaking his head. “Please, tell me you didn't see that.”

“Oh, but of course I did!” You take a seat next to him on your kitchen counter, getting more comfortable to continue teasing him. “The news called you ‘The New Avengers’. Who would’ve thought!”

“It was all Valentina's plan to save her ass.”

“So you guys are not going to accept the title?”

“We are, but we still need to have a few meetings to set some rules if we plan on working together…and boundaries.”

“Oh, don’t act like you’re so irritated by the idea! I can tell you’re starting to feel more comfortable around them.”

He’s completely silent for a few seconds, knowing he can’t lie without you noticing. “Okay. They might be growing on me.”

“Awwh,” you reply, but not with the intention of making fun of him. “I thought they were very nice. And I'm glad you're making new friends.”

“You're never gonna stop teasing me about any of these, aren't you?”

“Well...yeah, but I actually mean it when I say I like seeing you meeting new people,” you reply, changing your tone and demeanor to let him know you're serious. “And yes, I'll tease you about the whole Avengers thing, but that doesn't mean I'm not excited to witness this new chapter in your life.”

You begin gently caressing his arm as you offer him a sincere smile. “You deserve it. You deserve to be recognized for your kind heart and your willingness to help others,” you continue. “I'm so proud of how far you've come. And I'm sure Steve is proud of you too.”

The mention of his childhood friend brings a melancholy to his expression that is both sad and beautiful to see. It shows he still deeply misses him, but has learned to think of him without breaking down. It's the type of expression you have when you've finally found peace with the fact that someone you love is not around anymore...not entirely around, at least. He'll always carry a part of Steve Rogers with him.

"Thank you," he says, genuinely meaning it. 

I love you. Those three words threaten to make their way into your conversation again, but this time it's not you the one fighting back the urge to say them.

But It's just a little too soon, right? Last thing he wants is to make things awkward between the two of you. So he decides not to say anything, just like you have decided twice already.

You smile, standing up from your seat. “Finish eating, okay? I have to clean the mess the New Avengers left in my living room earlier.”

“Yeah, you'll have to get used to that, unfortunately.”

“Like I haven't had to deal with that before,” you joke, hinting back at all the times you had people like Tony Stark, Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton randomly showing up at your place.

Bucky stays in your kitchen while you finish brooming until you’re sure the floor of your living room is impeccable, familiarity slowly setting in after everything that happened today. You could faintly hear Bucky having a phone call with someone, but you couldn't quite make the words out over the music you had playing on your own phone to make the cleaning much more entertaining.

You go back to your kitchen to throw away the dirt and dust you collected from the living room, just in time to see Bucky standing up to wash the dish he used, sandwiches long gone.

“I just got a call from Sam,” Bucky says as soon as he notices you, his tone letting you know it wasn't exactly a pleasant conversation.

“What did he want?”

“For us to immediately backtrack and not go through with the whole Avengers thing.”

“Yeah, he called me just as it was airing and he didn't sound too happy about it. What are you going to do?”

Bucky sighs, exhaustion visible in his demeanor. “I'll talk to him later. I don't think anyone in the team feels like backtracking right now. Most of them looked pretty excited actually.” You can't help but smile, which makes him let out a soft chuckle. “What?”

“You said 'the team'. I just thought it was cute,” you shrug, crossing your arms across your chest. “I should invite them for a pizza night or something. Get to know them a little better. And meet this Bob guy too.”

“You'll invite John?” he asks, half-joking.

“Please don't call him John,” you immediately reply, squinting your nose in disgust. “I'll have to warm up to him...very slowly. I still feel like punching him in the face when I see him.”

“That's fair,” he agrees with you, perfectly understanding where your discomfort with John Walker's presence comes from. Perhaps that might explain some of the reasons as to why Sam seems so against the idea of this team being a thing.

You notice Bucky walks towards you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Even when the possible pizza night sounds exciting, I kind of just want to think about the two of us spending time together alone,” he says, grinning mischievously. 

A shiver runs down your spine when you feel his fingers near your neck, gently pulling the fabric of your hoodie to the side, exposing more of your collarbone. He places a few kisses there. Slow and careful.

“Perhaps I can stay here with you for a few more days?” he suggests, right before leaving another kiss on your skin, using his other hand that’s firmly placed on your lower back to bring your body closer to his.

“Of course you can stay,” you reply in a soft voice, trying not to let it show just how much his actions are affecting you.

He practically hums against your skin. “Do you want me to stay?” he whispers, definitely making you shiver now that his metal fingers are tracing lazy patterns on your skin, underneath your hoodie. What a teasing piece of shit.

It’s almost impossible to speak now. “Yes.”

His fingers trail further up your spine, but not that much higher. Just enough to allow you to feel his touch in a slightly different place, making you crave for more. A silent reminder that he can just move his fingers wherever he pleases, but he deliberately chooses not to grant you that pleasure.

“Then say it properly.”

It’s not a suggestion or a plea. It’s straight up an instruction. And he sounds like he’s absolutely certain that you’ll do exactly as he says. 

And you do. “I want you to stay here with me.”

The kisses on your neck continue and it feels like a reward, so you just stand there and enjoy it, allowing him to worship your skin with his lips until you're practically trapped between his body and the counter.

You can feel your cheeks burning red, the warmth spreading to the rest of your body with each kiss. “Don't you want to take a shower?” you try being a voice of reason, your brain just doing whatever it can to help you feel less nervous.

“Why? You're thinking about joining me?” he whispers against your skin, which immediately makes you regret ever opening your mouth because what the fuck is wrong with him and how does he dare to say something like that?

Okay. To justify your growing nerves, you've technically never been fully intimate with Bucky yet. You've been pretty close because a girl can only hold back for so long, but the two of you have been mainly focusing on your emotional connection and that one is just so mind-blowingly special that there hasn't been a need to immediately jump to the physical aspects of your relationship.

But oh, is he tasting your limits right now...

“How you even have the energy right now is beyond me,” you comment again. You're not against the idea of something happening, but your nervous brain gets the best of you so you find yourself blurting out random things yet again.

Finally, Bucky moves away just enough, a playful smile adorning his lips. “I'll always have the energy for you,” he replies, and the implication behind his words has you blushing even harder.

You immediately hide your face in his chest while he wraps his arms around you, laughing at your reaction. “I hate you,” you mutter.

“No, you don't.”

That's true. You really don't hate him at all. It's actually quite the opposite, but you can already picture him walking out the front door if he hears you say how you truly feel about him. The thought of daring to confess you love him is a thousand times more terrifying than the idea of having sex with him for the first time.

You look up, smiling up at him when he kisses your forehead. “No, I don't.”

“Glad to see you're agreeing with me for once in your life,” he comments playfully.

“Don't push it,” you warn him, making him laugh once again.

“How about I take a shower like you suggested and then we take a nap together,” he suggests casually, still keeping his arms around you. “I think we can both use a little sleep.”

“Yeah, a nap sounds good.”

“Wow, two in a row! What has gotten into you?” he jokes yet again, trying to get you to stay in his arms when you start to push him away after that little comment, but he doesn't put up that much resistance, so you're eventually getting away from him.

“You're insufferable,” you comment in an obviously fake tone of annoyance, right before leaving the kitchen to head towards your bedroom.

“And you're beautiful,” he replies with a genuine smile, following after you.

[m4rv3l-girl]

Slowly…

Bucky and Y/N have been dating for a while, but have yet to explore anything more intimate than making out like teenagers. Maybe things will change when Bucky finally faces his fears.

Warnings: smut. Oral f!recieving. Protected p in v sex. Slight fear of intimacy. Touch starved Bucky?

The hum of the Stark Tower HVAC system was basically white noise.

Bucky Barnes sat sprawled across the couch, one arm looped loosely around Y/N’s shoulders, the other cradling a steaming mug of chamomile tea. Both of them contently sleepy. The windows stretched tall across the living room wall, casting gold-tinged light from the setting sun over the exposed brick and sleek furniture, remnants of Tony’s compulsive over-design.

Y/N, nestled into Bucky’s side with a blanket tugged over both of their legs, sighed softly. Her head was tucked perfectly beneath his chin, like it belonged there. Bucky liked that. He liked that a lot more than he’d ever admit aloud. Especially since Sam would absolutely never let him live it down if he caught wind of Bucky Barnes being the little spoon. Again.

“You know,” Y/N said, voice low and thoughtful, “you’re actually not as terrifying as everyone makes you out to be.”

Bucky huffed a laugh, lifting his mug in mock salute. “Thanks, doll. I’ll make sure to update my LinkedIn.”

She laughed against his chest, the sound vibrating into his sternum and tugging a rare, genuine smile from him. “No, seriously. You’re... sweet. You hold the door open. You bring me coffee just the way I like it. You’re weirdly obsessed with The Great British Bake Off.”

“I plead the Fifth.”

“Oh, come on. You cried when Rahul won.”

He groaned, tilting his head back against the couch and covering his face with the vibranium hand. “I didn’t cry. I just - had feelings. That’s normal. Rahul is a very talented man.”

“You’re soft.”

“I’m six feet tall and made of war crimes.”

She snorted. “You’re my soft war crime.”

“Jesus Christ.”

They lapsed into a comfortable silence. The kind that only came after months of slow trust-building, of soft confessions over late-night tea, of tentative hand-holding and the quiet awe in Bucky’s eyes when she didn’t flinch away from the cold press of metal fingers. It wasn’t perfect, Bucky still had nights where he woke up gasping, sweat-soaked and angry at ghosts only he could see, but Y/N never left. Never treated him like he was broken or dangerous. Just… human.

He hadn’t realized how much he missed being seen as human until she came along.

“You ever think about…” Y/N began, then paused, fingers tracing idle shapes along his thigh. “Us. Like, going further?”

Bucky blinked, the words taking a second to register through the sleepy haze.

“Further?”

She tilted her head to glance up at him, cheeks flushed. “Yeah. Like… more than just kissing on your couch and pretending we don’t both want more.”

Oh.

Bucky’s breath hitched, but not from discomfort. Not exactly. More like the entire world had suddenly gone still and very, very focused.

He’d thought about it. Of course he had. He was a hundred and six years old, not dead.

But there was always a wall. Not one she had built. Y/N had never rushed him, but one he’d carried with him since Hydra carved up his mind like Thanksgiving turkey. Intimacy meant vulnerability. And vulnerability had always gotten him hurt or used.

“I do think about it,” he said finally, voice soft. “All the time, actually.”

Y/N shifted slightly, giving him room to see her expression. She looked open. Patient. Like she wasn’t expecting anything except honesty. That helped. That grounded him.

“But I also think about messing it up,” he admitted. “I think about what if I freeze up? Or what if I have some flashback in the middle of it and ruin everything?”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything,” she said immediately. “You could never ruin this.”

He wanted to believe her. Hell, part of him already did. But old instincts didn’t die easily. He reached for her hand with his metal one, letting their fingers twine together. That felt real. Solid.

“I guess I just need to know you’re okay with taking it slow. That you don’t feel like you’re waiting for me to turn into someone else.”

Y/N’s smile was soft and fierce all at once. “Bucky, I didn’t fall for the Winter Soldier. I fell for the guy who leaves sticky notes on the fridge reminding me to drink water. Who calls Sam ‘bird brain’ like it’s a love language. Who watched all three Lord of the Rings movies with me even though he thought Frodo should’ve just used the eagles.”

“Don’t tell me I was wrong.”

She laughed, then leaned up to press a kiss to his cheek. “I’m okay with slow. I’m okay with whatever pace you want. I’m here because I want you.”

Bucky let out a slow breath, tension he hadn’t realized he was holding bleeding from his shoulders. “Okay,” he murmured. “Then yeah. Maybe we take that step. Sometime soon.”

A beat.

The quiet stretched out like a warm blanket, thick with anticipation. Bucky’s thumb traced the line of her knuckles, and the room felt too hot and too cold at the same time. He knew he could say no. He knew she’d understand. But the way she said it - so gentle, so earnest - he couldn’t find the words to refuse.

“Soon,” she murmured, reading the hesitation in his eyes. “Whenever you’re ready. I just - I want you to know that I’m here. That I want to be there for you, every step of the way.”

Bucky nodded, his throat tight with emotions he hadn’t let himself feel in so long. It was strange, this feeling of safety, of belonging. It didn’t sit easily with him, but it was growing more familiar with every beat of her heart against his side. He swallowed hard, trying to find the right words.

“You make it easier, doll,” he said finally. “You make a lot of things easier.”

Y/N leaned into him, her arm curling around his waist. Her hair smelled faintly of coconut shampoo and mint toothpaste. The scent was comforting, like home.

“I’ll always be here for you, you know that,” she whispered, her breath warm against his neck. “For all the hard parts. And the easy ones too. For the baking shows and the bad jokes and the quiet nights just like this one. I’m all in, Bucky. Whatever it takes to help you feel whole again.”

The weight of her words settled into his chest, nestling in alongside his beating heart. It was a heavy burden, but somehow, with her, it felt lighter.

They watched the light change outside the window, the sky deepening into shades of purple and pink. The sounds of the city grew distant, swallowed up by their shared warmth. Bucky’s arm tightened around her, pulling her closer, and she curled into him, her hand coming to rest over his heart.

It was a promise. A silent vow.

He took a sip of his now lukewarm tea and sighed, the warmth of her against him a stark contrast to the cold metal of his arm. It was moments like these that made him feel alive, made him realize that maybe, just maybe, he could have a life beyond the shadows of his past.

“What’s the first thing you’d wanna do?” he asked, turning to look at her. Her eyes searched his, looking for any signs of doubt or fear. But all she’d find was the truth. The reality was that, at present, their sex life was non-existent.

Y/N thought for a moment, her expression softening into a smile. “I don’t mind….what would you want to do..?” She didn’t want to commit to something that he wasn’t comfortable with.

Bucky considered this.

"I just want to be with you," he said, his voice low and sincere. "I want to hold you, and kiss you, and just… explore. Nothing crazy, just… us. Getting to know each other that way."

Her smile grew, lighting up the room even as the shadows grew longer. "That sounds perfect," she whispered.

The air was thick with a tension that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with desire. He could feel the pulse of her heart beneath her palm, and he knew she felt his too, a steady rhythm that grew stronger with every breath they took together.

They sat for a while longer, just watching the day turn to night. Bucky's mind raced with the possibilities of what this could mean for them, but he forced himself to stay present, to enjoy the simplicity of their entwined fingers and the warmth of her body.

Eventually, Y/N sat up, her hand slipping away from his heart to rest on his cheek. She turned to face him, her eyes searching his, looking for any trace of doubt. But all she found was a man who was ready to take the next step.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Let’s go slow. We’ll figure it out together. No pressure, just us getting to know each other more intimately. I’m here, Bucky. We’re in this together, remember?”

Bucky nodded, his pulse quickening at the thought of what lay ahead. It had been so long since he’d allowed himself to be this open with someone, to let go of the fear that had become second nature. But with her, it felt possible.

They stood up, and he set the mug of tea down on the side table with a gentle clink. Y/N reached for his hand, lacing her fingers through his. She led him to the bedroom, her movements sure and unhurried.

The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn just enough to allow the fading light to cast a soft glow over the bed. Bucky felt his heart rate spike as she turned to face him, her gaze never wavering from his own. She stepped closer, her hand sliding up to his chest, then around to his neck.

Her touch was tentative at first, a gentle question. But as Bucky leaned into it, she grew bolder, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, her thumb brushing against his lower lip. He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath, and she leaned in to capture his mouth in a kiss that was sweet and full of promise.

Her other hand slid down his side, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his shirt. Bucky’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her closer, the heat between them growing with every second. The kiss deepened, and he felt the first stirrings of something he’d almost forgotten - desire, untainted by fear or duty.

When they broke apart, panting slightly, Bucky opened his eyes to find her smiling up at him. She reached for the hem of her shirt, her movements slow and deliberate. He watched as she lifted it over her head, revealing the soft curves of her body.

He took a deep breath, his metal hand hovering over her bare skin for a moment before he let it rest gently on her waist.

Y/N's eyes searched his, looking for the answer to the unspoken question. Bucky nodded, his decision made.

They moved in unison, Bucky helping her to remove the rest of her clothing, his movements slow and careful, as if handling something fragile and precious. Each piece of clothing that fell away revealed more of her, and with it, a part of her soul that he hadn't seen before. Her trust in him was palpable, a silent demand that he not break her. And he knew, with a sudden fierceness, that he never would.

Her skin was warm under his touch, and she shivered as he traced the outline of her collarbone with his thumb. He felt his own heart racing, a thunderous beat that echoed in his ears.

They lay down on the bed, the mattress giving slightly under their combined weight.

Her eyes never left his, the same gentle expression on her face that had been there since the moment she’d brought it up. He felt the pressure of her hand, the softness of her skin, and the way her breath hitched as he kissed her again, his metal fingers brushing against the softness of her stomach. It was a strange sensation, this mix of cold and warm, of hard and soft, of past and present.

Bucky’s mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but he pushed them aside, focusing only on the here and now. He didn’t want to think about the past, didn’t want to ruin this moment with the specter of his former life. This was about them, about what they were choosing to build together.

He leaned over her, pressing tender kisses along her neck and collarbone, feeling the thrum of her pulse beneath his lips. Her skin was like silk, and her scent was intoxicating, a blend of warmth and vanilla that he’d come to associate with home. Her breathy sighs were music to his ears, each one a silent encouragement to explore further.

Her fingers danced over his shoulders, her nails lightly scraping against his skin as she guided him closer, urging him to explore. His heart hammered in his chest, a reminder of the life he had reclaimed, the humanity he had fought to keep.

Their kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were both trying to convey the depth of their feelings without words. Bucky’s hand traveled up her side, feeling the curve of her hip, the softness of her skin, the warmth that emanated from her core. He was acutely aware of every touch, every breath, the way she arched into his mouth when he kissed her just right. It was as if he was mapping out a new territory, one that was uncharted and full of wonder.

The room was filled with the sound of their mingled breaths, the rustle of fabric, the quiet sighs that escaped their lips. Y/N’s hand slipped under his shirt, her fingers brushing against the warmth of his skin. He stilled for a moment, waiting, but she didn’t pull away.

Bucky felt something unlock inside of him, a door that had been sealed shut for so long he’d almost forgotten it was there. It was a rush of sensation, of need, that made his head spin and his heart race. He kissed her again, harder this time, his hand sliding down to the small of her back, pressing her closer.

Y/N’s legs parted, inviting him in, and Bucky’s heart stuttered in his chest. He’d never been this intimate with someone who knew all of him, who had seen the darkest corners of his soul and chosen to stay. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.

He took a moment to breathe, to steady himself. He didn’t want to rush this, didn’t want to scare her away with his intensity. But when he pulled back, her eyes were dark with desire, matching the pulse in his veins. She didn’t look scared. She looked hungry.

They moved together in a dance that was both new and familiar, their bodies speaking a language that didn’t require words. He felt the heat of her skin, the softness of her curves, the way she molded against him as if they’d been made for this. It was a revelation, a reminder that he was more than the sum of his parts.

Bucky’s hand slid up her thigh, his thumb brushing against the lace of her underwear. He felt her shiver and knew that she was just as ready as he was. He took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart. This was it. The moment he’d feared and craved in equal measure. But with her, it didn’t feel scary. It felt right.

Y/N’s hand reached for the hem of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his. He raised his arms, letting her pull it off. The cool air of the room kissed his bare skin, making him shiver. She traced the lines of his abs with her fingertips, her eyes taking in every inch of him with a mix of awe and affection.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her voice a warm caress against his ear.

Bucky felt a blush creep up his cheeks, a rare and welcome sensation. He’d never been one for compliments, but coming from her, it felt like the most profound truth he’d ever heard. He kissed her again, his hand sliding up to cup her breast, feeling the weight of it in his palm.

They moved together, exploring each other with gentle touches and whispered sighs. Bucky’s mind was a blur of sensation, each new discovery a revelation. The way she tasted, the way she felt, the way she made him feel. It was like coming home after a long, cold war, finding warmth in the most unexpected of places.

He felt her hand on the elastic of his sweatpants, and he stilled for a moment. This was the part that had always been a minefield before. But she didn’t look up at him with fear or hesitation. Just love. So he let her continue, his breath catching in his throat as she touched him, skin to skin.

Y/N’s hand was warm and sure, and Bucky couldn’t help but gasp as she touched him, her thumb rubbing against the sensitive skin just beneath the waistband. The fabric was the last barrier between them, and the anticipation was almost too much to bear.

With a trembling hand, Bucky reached down to help her, his heart racing as he pushed his pants down. The coolness of the air against his skin was a stark contrast to the heat of their bodies, and he watched as she took him in, her eyes wide and filled with a hunger that made him feel alive in a way he hadn’t been in decades.

They kissed again, a kiss that was more than just a meeting of lips, it was a declaration of trust, of love, of the shared hope that this could be the start of something beautiful. He felt her hand slide down, her fingertips dancing against his skin, until she reached the bulge in his boxers, and he let out a soft groan that seemed to resonate through the very core of his being.

Her hand was tentative at first, exploring his hardness with gentle strokes. But as Bucky’s grip tightened on the sheets and his breathing grew ragged, she grew bolder. Her touch was a whispered promise of what was to come, a gentle reminder that she was here for him, that he wasn’t alone.

He slid his hand down to cover hers, their fingers intertwining as they found a rhythm that sent shockwaves through his body. The warmth of her hand, the softness of her skin, the way she looked at him - it was almost too much to handle. But he didn’t pull away. He leaned into it, craving more.

With a tremble, Bucky reached for the clasp of her bra, his metal digits fumbling slightly. But she was patient, smiling up at him as he finally managed to free her from the garment. Her breasts were perfect in his eyes, the soft mounds fitting perfectly into his palms. He brushed his thumbs over her nipples, watching as they pebbled beneath his touch, and she gasped into his mouth. The sensation of skin against skin was electric, sending currents of pleasure through him that he hadn’t felt in what felt like an eternity. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like he’d feared. It was gentle, it was kind, it was everything he’d hoped for.

He broke the kiss to kiss his way down her neck, her chest, her stomach. He took his time, savoring each new inch of her that was revealed to him. Y/N’s breath hitched as his mouth reached the apex of her thighs, his tongue tracing a line along her inner thigh before dipping closer to where she was wet and waiting for him. He felt a small twist of doubt and self consciousness, he hadn’t actually done this since the 40s.

Her legs fell open to encourage him, and Bucky took a moment to breathe her in, to appreciate the trust she was giving him.

“It’s okay, sweetheart.” She assured. He kissed her gently, his tongue teasing against her slit, her taste a rich mix of sweetness and desire. Y/N’s body arched off the bed, and she let out a soft moan, her hand sliding into his hair to guide him, to show him just how she liked it.

Bucky took his cues from her, his touch gentle and explorative. He’d never been with someone who knew the extent of his past, who had seen the monster he’d been made into. But here she was, her body open to him, welcoming him in. Her thighs trembled around his head as he worked his way down. His tongue found the spot that made her gasp. She was wet, slick against his mouth and he groaned, his cock pulsing with every soft whimper she made.

He could feel the tension coiling in her, tightening like a spring. Her hips began to move in time with his strokes, her breath coming in short and sharp gasps. He didn’t know how to do this, not really. But he knew he wanted to make her feel good. So he listened to her body, her sounds, her whispers of need. He focused on her reactions, learning what she liked, what made her squirm, what made her moan.

Small, quick flicks of his tongue over her clit seemed to send her reeling.

Y/N’s hands tightened in his hair as he worked her over, her body shaking with the force of her restrained pleasure. He could feel it building, the way she moved against his mouth, her legs tightening around his head, her breaths turning to pants. Her nails scraped against his scalp, a delicious pain that only served to drive him on, to make him want more, to make her feel more.

And then she was coming, her body shuddering with the force of her orgasm, her muscles clenching around his tongue. Bucky felt a surge of pride, of accomplishment, of pure, unadulterated joy.

He pulled back, kissing his way back up her body, feeling her pulse throb against his lips. She was beautiful, so beautiful, laid out before him like this. “Bucky,” she breathed, her eyes half-lidded and glazed with pleasure. He leaned over her, his forehead touching hers. “You’re sure?” he whispered. She nodded, a soft smile playing on her lips.

Bucky reached for the bedside drawer, his hand shaking slightly as he pulled out a condom. He’d had them there for months, hopeful and terrified, but they’d remained untouched. The foil packet crinkled in the quiet room, a sound that seemed unnaturally loud in the wake of their shared intimacy. Y/N watched him, her eyes never leaving his face, her trust in him unwavering. He rolled it on, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest, the echoes of fear that had haunted his every intimate moment. But as he positioned himself over her, her legs wrapping around his waist, he knew he could do this. For her, with her, he could overcome his worries.

He pushed inside her, slowly.

The world outside the window had gone dark, but the room was bathed in the warm glow of the bedside lamp. Her eyes were wide, watching him with a mix of excitement and concern, and he knew he had to get this right. For her, for them. Her heat enveloped him, and he felt his own walls crumbling, the last of his barriers falling away. He’d never felt this connected to anyone before, not like this. It was as if they were two lost pieces of a puzzle finally finding their place.

Their movements grew more frantic as the passion built, their kisses deep and desperate. Bucky felt the ghosts of his past trying to claw their way back in, but he pushed them away, focusing solely on the woman beneath him. Her nails dug into his back, her legs tightening around him as she matched his rhythm, urging him on.

The sounds of their bodies moving together filled the room, a symphony of sighs and gasps and moans. Each thrust was a declaration of his need for her, each kiss a promise to keep her safe. Bucky’s heart thudded in his chest, a drumline of hope and desire. He’d been so afraid of this moment, but here it was, and it was nothing like the horrors he’d anticipated. It was raw and real and everything he’d ever dreamed of.

Her nails scored down his back as she arched up to meet him, her breaths growing shallower, her hips rising to meet his thrusts. Bucky felt the tension in her body, the way she tightened around him, the soft mewling noises that escaped her throat. He’d never felt so alive, so present in the moment. Each stroke was a promise, a declaration that he was here, with her, and nothing else mattered.

Their bodies moved in harmony, a dance that transcended the chaos of the world outside. His metal hand found hers, their fingers entwining as if to anchor themselves in the present. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his touch, the way she clung to him as if he were her lifeline. And maybe, in a way, he was.

The world narrowed down to just the two of them, the only sounds the slap of skin and the harsh pull of their breathing. Bucky’s eyebrow was furrowed. He watched her face, the way her lip got pulled between her teeth in concentration, the softness of her cheeks flushed with passion.

Her breath hitched, her eyes fluttering closed as she neared the precipice again.

Their passion was palpable, a force that transcended the physical, reaching into the depths of their souls.

Her eyes flew open, meeting his, and in that moment, something changed. He saw her, not just the woman he desired, but the person who had seen his darkest moments and chosen to love him regardless. And she saw him, not as the damaged soldier, but as the man who had fought to survive and come back to life.

Their movements grew more deliberate. Bucky’s rhythm slowed, his strokes deepening, as if trying to etch himself into her very being. He felt her inner walls quiver, a sign that she was close, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer. But he wanted to give her everything she needed, to show her just how much she meant to him.

Y/N’s breath was a pant on his skin, her chest rising and falling rapidly. He leaned in, pressing kisses along her jaw, her neck, the soft skin of her collarbone. They were both hurtling uncontrollably towards the edge…

Her body tensed around him, a silent plea, and Bucky knew he couldn’t hold back anymore. He thrust into her, feeling her nails dig into his back as she cried out his name, her body shattering into a thousand pieces. He watched her come undone, her eyes squeezed shut, her mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure that sent him over the edge.

With a guttural groan, he followed her, his orgasm tearing through his muscles, leaving him trembling and spent. He collapsed onto her, his heart hammering against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath. The warmth of her body was like a medicine to his soul, a gentle reminder that he was more than just a weapon, that he was loved.

They laid there for a few moments, their hearts beating in sync, the only sound in the room the gentle rustle of the blanket around them. Bucky felt the warmth of her skin, the way her chest rose and fell with each breath, and the reality of what they had just shared settled heavily on him. It was a moment that had been months in the making, a moment where fear had been vanquished by love and trust.

He leaned up on his elbow, looking down at her. Her eyes were closed, a soft smile tugging at her lips. He couldn’t help but trace the curve of her cheek with the back of his hand, feeling the heated skin under his fingertips. He’d never felt more alive, more human, than he did in that moment.

“You okay?” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him with a softness that made his chest ache. “More than okay,” she said, her voice a whisper.

He leaned down to kiss her again, slower this time, savoring the taste of her lips. Her hand slid up his chest, her touch featherlight and reverent. It was as if she knew just how much this meant to him, just how much of a milestone it was.

They lay there, tangled in the sheets, their bodies still slick with sweat. Bucky’s mind was racing, but in a good way. He’d done it. He’d faced his fears and come out the other side. And she was still here, her arm wrapped around his waist, her breathing evening out as she snuggled closer to him.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice still rough from their earlier exertions. Y/N opened her eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. “For what?” “For making it okay,” he said, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “For making me feel like I can do this. Like I’m not just some… some broken toy that nobody wants to play with anymore.”

Her eyes had a glassy pain in them. “Bucky, you’re so much more than that. You always have been. And I want to play with you.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, the sound low and warm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

——————————————————————————————————

A small gift 🎁🫶 (We’re ignoring mistakes)

[dragonpaint]

ended up watching both venom movies when i should have gone to sleep bc i have to go work tomorrow :]

[bejeweledinterludes]

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL OVER DEAN WINCHESTER CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tuned it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy.

which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in the end of back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out during the evening doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding.

you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly?

it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they��re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

oh.

and dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was.

jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

[apatheticsunday]

Adopt a Bat Dad

AKA "Danny becomes de-aged in Gotham and finds the only person he knows who can probably help. Bruce Wayne, the Batman. Except Bruce thinks Danny is a kid mistaking him for his dad??" prompt idea!!

HC that Bruce Wayne and Jack Fenton look super similar. Therefore, Danny and Bruce also look pretty similar!!

I love the idea that Danny already knows Bruce Wayne is Batman. Maybe it's his aura or because the amount of kids Bruce has directly correlates to the amount of bat-themed sidekicks there are. Who knows? Anyway, Danny comes into a small bit of trouble. He may or may not have insulted an immortal witch who cursed him because he's an "immature child, may as well look as young as you act!"

So. Now Danny looks a solid 2-3 years old. It's a good thing that Sam and Tucker briefed him on all he celebrity gossip before he came to Gotham, because he coincidentally knows where the Wayne Enterprise building is. He... can figure it out. Probably. It's actually alarming how many people watch what they think is an unaccompanied kid huff and puff his way in downtown Gotham. (Also, wow, Danny severely underestimated how difficult it is to run after being babified.) But he does make it to the general area of where WE is supposed to be!

His legs are practically shaking at this point, sweating through his toddler-sized NASA hoodie, and searching frantically for Bruce Wayne. Because he really didn't think of it before, but it's Friday afternoon. What if Mr. Batman isn't at WE today? What if Danny gets to WE after 5pm and he's gone until Monday? Would Danny even be able to find the Wayne Manor, much less get transportation there?

Except as Danny's becoming increasingly worried (don't cry, don't cry, don't cry), he spots... his dad?? in the coffee shop windows beside him. No, not his dad. Bruce fucking Wayne! Hell, yeah! Danny smacks open the doors of the coffee shop with single-minded toddler-clumsy determination. Makes a bee-line straight to the coffee pick-up. Bruce Wayne is standing off to the side, quietly speaking on his phone, as Danny practically slams face-first into his knees. Thankfully, it doesn't take either of them down, but it is particularly embarrassing.

Especially when Danny clutches to Batman's pant leg and confidently shouts, "Batman!" Except... he doesn't. A weird jumble of words come out of his mouth that sound more like baba! It's like the world screeches to a stop because, first of all, what the fuck. Second, that bitch witch! She must've made it so whatever he says comes out in toddler-speak despite the fact that he should be able to say somewhat comprehensible sentences.

That doesn't stop him from trying, though, so he ends up babbling baba, baba, baba in an increasingly frustrated tone.

And Bruce Wayne, who's become used to Damian calling him baba instead of Father, can only stare down at this child who could pass as his clone. The similarities are striking. Even if the toddler is huffing, red-cheeked and clearly on the verge of crying, he looks so much like Bruce that he wonders momentarily if it's another Damian situation.

Regardless, there's a kid crying in front of him, tugging on his pant leg and calling for his dad. And Bruce is nothing if not absolutely weak-hearted against stuff like this. So, he leans down and just... scoops the kid up. Murmurs, "Shh, it's okay, kiddo. You're okay." Pats the kid's back, sways. Completely forgets he's in a crowded coffee (this is definitely going on YouTube, posted under 'Wayne Adopts Another??') and that he's on a phone call with Dick. It's like his Dad Instincts kick in and he's completely focused on Danny.

Danny is... bewildered. Because why is the Batman coddling him?? Except he notices that others have noticed, and have their phones out recording, which is really Not Good. He's not super confident that his parents would be able to recognize him while he's de-aged, but the fact that they might? That's opening a can of worms he can't handle at the moment. So his little string bean arms loop around Bruce's neck and he shoves his face into the collar of the man's suit. Much to his irritation, he can hear several girls next to him coo and giggle about him being such a cute baby. Danny's really regretting not approaching Batman privately now.

And it doesn't end!!

Bruce calms the kid down and then immediately goes to the store manager, asking if any parents have lost their child. He doesn't trust that someone may claim Danny as theirs when that may not be the case. Then, he calls up Gordon, asks about any missing person reports on a child the ages of 2-4 with average height, medium build, and black hair. No hits. Eventually, Bruce makes up his mind and takes Danny home with him. Oracle will likely be able to pull more information than the GCPD anyways.

Meanwhile, Danny zonks out. Like full on, toddler-sprawl open-mouth drooling, because it's been a long day and he got Batman. He did it! And from the way Bruce is still carrying him, Danny will likely be with him for a little while. A little catnap will do him some good. Maybe when he wakes up, he'll magically have the ability to speak normally instead of hysterically babble.

(Four hours later, Danny wakes up on the couch at Wayne Manor, bundled up in super soft blankets with Bruce talking on the phone with some woman. Bruce smiles at the way Danny says baba again. Danny's ready to throw that witch into Bruce's well-maintained fireplace because screaming son of bitch isn't as satisfying when it sounds like sa-bA-BAH!!")

Cue Danny doing increasingly ridiculous things to make The "Greatest Detective" Batman realize he's not a literal baby and Bruce Wayne so enamored with this little kid that he does not realize.