#damn sorry these got so long but i hope it was worth lol

[beautifulfuckup99]

How about an insecure reader who thinks she is unworthy of love and keeps pushing JK away and wants to keep it just friends but he doesnt care and snaps one night showing her how much he wants her 🤭😉

Awe! So cute! Got you right now! Lol

Title: I can handle it

Warning(s): Talks of body weight, Insecure!Y/N, Face-S!tting, Dom!Jungkook, D!rty Talk, Spank!ng, Some Hair Pull!ng, Curs!ng, and some well-earned fluff!

Author's Note: So this will follow a curvy and/or plus sized Y/N because as a fellow 'big girl', I know we deserve some damn good smut too! Hope you enjoy! Oh! And this will be and "Idol!AU"...

*************************************

Monday:

"Jungkook, stop!" You snap, finally fed up with today as you move out of his arms. "I'm not going." You declare as you walk back into your closet to change out of the dress. Tonight was nerve-wracking. Management had given Jungkook the green light to make a public outing with you in order to confirm that he was in fact in a relationship.

This would be your first introduction to ARMY, this giant mass of unstoppable force, that could make or break you and your relationship. And you were panicking.

"Y/N, what was wrong with that one?" Jungkook asks in the same calm and soft tone as he always had with you.

But how long would that last?

How long would he put up with you before realizing he could have literally anyone else? Famous or not.

You were spiraling now.

Just fucking great!

"I looked like a fucking pumpkin!" You say with an eyeroll. "Tell the guys I'm sorry, go out with them on your own. We'll do this reveal another time." You state and Jungkook frowns, walking into your closet to actually face you.

"First off..." He says, eyebrows knitted together in slight frustration. He would never let that out in his tone though. "Orange is a great color on you. And secondly, we can't keep putting this off..." He says as you rummage through your rack of clothes to try and find something. Nothing looked good enough.

"Baby, could you please just leave? I wanna change." You say, never a fan of changing in front of him. He rolls his eyes at that.

"Y/N, we've literally had sex before, yet I can never see you naked? It makes no sense." He sighs and you turn to him.

"Out, Jungkook. Now!" You order as you fuss at him. He sighs heavily before just giving in and leaving. There was always tomorrow...

Tuesday:

"Mm... Something smells good..." Jungkook says pleasantly as he wraps his arms around you from behind. You sigh deeply and move from his arms, not liking the feeling of his hands so close to your stomach.

"It's nothing special." You say casually and Jungkook frowns a bit at that and sighs softly before letting it go. He did that a lot when dealing with you. But you were worth that. Even if you never saw it that way...

"Oh? Nothing special, my ass. It smells like Samgyeopsal!" He laughs softly and it almost melts your icy demeanor. Keyword: almost.

"Wait till it's done, to see." You mutter and he laughs more.

"No. Let me see!" He says as he tries reaching over you to uncover the pan.

"Kookie, no! Let it be a surprise!" You laugh as you move in the way so he can't uncover the pan.

"Let me see!" He laughs as he starts to play fight with you.

"No! Go away, wait till dinner!" You fuss and gasp as you feel Jungkook wrap his arms around you and you feel him begin to lift you.

"No! Jungkook, put me down!" You practically shriek in panic. He's quick to put you down and you push him away. "Don't do that! You'll hurt yourself!" You say as you back away, feeling panicked. Hiding your body with baggy clothes was one thing, but having him always trying to grab you and hold you? God, it was like he'd find out, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was dating a plus-size woman. And you didn't want that.

"Y/N, calm down. I was joking. Plus, I lift more than that at the gym-" You cut him off.

"I don't care! Don't do that again!" You say and huff before storming away, leaving your boyfriend upset and hurt in the kitchen.

Wednesday:

"What are you looking at?" You scrunch your nose as Jungkook gets comfy on the end of your bed, watching you as you read your chapter for the night.

"Just... Watching my beautiful, smart girlfriend read." He chuckles softly and you shift at that.

"Don't be weird." You mutter as you go back to reading.

You had this theory going. See, if you let yourself fall for Jungkook and all his sweet words, you'll only feel stupid when he finally comes to his senses and leaves you. So, acting cold and nonchalant? At least you could act like you don't care when he breaks up with you. And what's better is he'll never get the satisfaction of knowing he hurt you! It was the perfect plan!

"Why do you do that? Just take the compliment..." He sighs and you look up from your book at face him and breathe deeply. You knew you didn't have much time with him left. He only had this week off, hence why he wanted to come out publicly with you this week...

"No." You say finally and shut your book. He sighs and moves closer to you, gently touching your thigh and you grab his hand. "Night, Jungkook." You say simply and he sighs.

Thursday:

"Hey, baby. Good work out today?" You ask gently as Jungkook comes bouncing into your apartment.

"Yeah! It was great. You should come with me next time to-" You cut him off.

"I like working out alone." You state fast. Last thing you wanted was for your, very toned, boyfriend to watch you run on a treadmill for an entire hour.

"Well, I just thought-" You cut him off again.

"I like my privacy." You say and walk past him to go to your room.

"Y/N... Come on, I... I just think It'll be cool for you to watch me!" He tries as you shut the bedroom door. He groans and rubs his still sweaty face. He sighs and shakes his head. "Ok. I'll cook dinner tonight?" He calls with no response. "Ok. Got it..." He mutters and shakes his head.

Friday:

"Oh! Here." Jungkook says as he tries pouring more noodles into your bowl and you're fast to pull it away.

"No! I'm good." You assure fast as you shake your head.

"But you only had a little bit." He argues gently as he tries again.

"No, Jungkook. It's not like I need the extra food." You snort, trying to make light of your appearance. He frowns.

"What does that mean? Food is food." He says and you hum at that. "Y/N, I don't like when you-" You cut him off.

"Tell the truth?" You raise an eyebrow. "Jungkook, you look fucking amazing. That's a given." You state. "I don't, and that's just as obvious." You shrug.

"Y/N!" He says just as offended as he'd be if you were to make fun of him. "What's been going on with you this week? Ever since I brought up going public with you, you've been-" You cut him off again.

"A bitch?" You ask. You couldn't explain the attitude change. Maybe a part of you was hoping to tire Jungkook out enough for him to leave you? Maybe you were hoping to spend this whole week picking fights with him so you wouldn't have to go public with him? And then he'd go back to Korea and you two could go back to skype calls and long text messages instead.

"No! Y/N, stop." He says, shaking his head. "You're fucking perfect the way you are. I love you. Stop acting so... Cold." He says and you watch him closely and feel your heart clench at the fear of letting yourself believe him. You couldn't.

"I'm gonna go wash dishes." You state and get up, walking off.

Saturday:

"No. No this is all wrong." You sigh as you eye yourself in the mirror.

"I think you look sexy." Jungkook smirks as he comes around to grab you from behind as your eyes stay glued to your stomach area that you could see through the tight black dress you had on.

"No. You can see... Everything. And it's so... tight." You pout a bit as you feel the cool metal of Jungkook's lip ring trail along your neck.

"So? We're going out to a bar. You look good." He encourages as he trails his lips towards your pulse point.

You feel the anxiety building up as you think about tonight. Going public, what that means for you both. The 'what if's pile on as you stand there.

What if he gets bored of you?

What if you guys don't last?

What if you get hurt?

What if it becomes clear to everyone that he can do so much better?

You couldn't do this...

You liked your relationship over the phone. Where it was safe. Where he was where he was, and you were where you were. Where he only saw what you wanted him to see. Where you could hide from him. It's always easier to love from afar. You get to use your imagination for the rest and fantasy is always better than reality.

You were spiraling again...

Just fucking great.

"No. I'm not doing this. I can't." You say finally and pull away. "I look horrible, I'm not going out like this." You state as you try moving away from Jungkook, only to be yanked back.

"Y/N, enough." He says and you move away from him.

"No! 'Enough' yourself! I'm not going!" You huff and turn to go to the closet. "My fat ass is sitting hom-" You're finally cut off by Jungkook.

"Stop talking about yourself like that, god damnit!" He finally snaps and you pause, never hearing that tone from him before.

"I am sick of you acting like this. You're so fucking sexy, and you wanna walk around like you're not? You're driving me fucking crazy. Come here." He orders as he pulls you right against him.

"Jungkook-" He cuts you off again.

"I don't wanna hear you anymore." He orders. "Do I make myself clear?" He asks firmly as he grabs your neck to make you look up at him. You feel your face heat up and you can only nod. You feel his strong arms wrap firmly around your waist before he lifts you up. You want to stop him, you want to warn him about your weight, but you can't speak as he takes you to the bed and tosses you back on the bed.

He grips your thighs. "So fucking sexy. I love your thighs and ass." He pants and turns you on to your stomach fast. You're stunned by the strength. "And all you wanna do is talk shit about the body I love..." He growls and smacks your ass cheek, groaning. "Fuck, I love watching it jiggle." He groans and you moan at the sting.

You feel your dress bunch up at your waist and look back at him as best as you can as he smacks your ass again. "Fuck, baby..." He whispers and grabs your hand, pulling it to his crutch.

"You feel how hard you get me? Hm? And you still think you're not perfect? Please." He scoffs as you shiver at the feel of his bulge under your hand. You can't help but open your legs more in anticipation.

He moves away from you and lays back on the bed. "Come here." He orders and you open your mouth, but he grabs your face. "Did I fucking say talk? Hm?" He whispers as he shakes your head for you as you moan out a soft 'no', loving how he controlled your body.

"No. I didn't. Shut the fuck up. And get on my fucking face." He orders and your eyes widen, but you move on top of him, mindful of your weight still.

You hover over his face, and he grips your hips. "I said sit." He whispers.

"Jungkook, I don't wanna-" He cuts you off.

"Why do you think I work out every day? Hm? I can handle you, Y/N. I want you smothering me." He orders and you blush hard.

"Jungkook... I... J-Just... Tap out if it gets too much..." You whisper and he snorts at that.

"I'm a man, Y/N. Tapping out is for wusses." He states.

"You say that till you pass out." You mutter, trying to joke too. He looks you right in the eyes.

"It'll be the best way to go. Now sit." He orders and you bite your lip, but slowly lower yourself on to his face more.

"Watch yourself. In the mirror. Watch how sexy you are..." He whispers against your underwear covered pussy. You nod and slowly look up at the mirror as you feel his mouth move between your pussy lips. You gasp softly and run your fingers through his hair as he teases your clit through your underwear and leaves bite marks along your inner thighs.

Soon, your underwear is pushed to the side as he focuses on sucking and licking your clit. You try and keep your eyes open, but you're a moaning mess as you feel him work his tongue deeper between your folds.

"Ah... Ah... Oh, baby!" You moan and feel his tongue wiggle towards your entrance, slowly sliding into you. His arms wrap around your thighs, and he pulls you harder against him. You can feel his nose on your clit and his tongue moving deeper inside of you, and it's as if he's smothering himself in your pussy.

Looking in the mirror by your bed, you can see your hair a mess, your dress bunched up around your waist, and Jungkook's hand undoing his belt as he lays under you.

You groan at the sight of him using one hand to pull out his cock that's already hard. He strokes it as he focuses on eating you out.

"Oh, baby!" You practically purr, never feeling so... desired before.

He moans deeply into your pussy, and you can't help but rock your hips against his face, gripping his hair more tightly. "So good! It's so good! Baby!" You moan as your head rolls back a bit. You can't lift yourself up from his face even if you wanted to. His tatted and solid arm was still wrapped tightly around your thigh to hold you on his face like an oxygen mask. Oh, the irony...

"I'm gonna cum!" You moan out loudly, unable to stop yourself. God, you loved feeling manhandled like this.

Hearing your moans and cries, Jungkook grips your hips with both hands, moving you more so you're riding his tongue and grinding against his nose, making a mess on his face. "Oh... My god, yes..." You whine as you feel it building effortlessly. You needed this release. And all at once, it hits you.

"Jungkook!" You call out as you cum hard on his face. He doesn't stop though. You squeak at the constant rubbing on your now sensitive clit and fall back on to the bed to lessen the pressure on your bundle of nerves, but Jungkook doesn't let go of your hips, and instead moves to lay on his stomach, still eating you out.

"Oh my god! Baby! T-Too... Too much!" You pant as your back aches at the aftershock.

"Mm... so fucking sweet..." He mumbles against your clit between heavy pants, your juices covering his face like a freakin face mask. It makes you blush as he kisses up your body. "Get on your stomach. Face the mirror." He orders.

"I get it, you like my body-" He cuts you off.

"Too late for that. I want it drilled into you." He says and forces you into that position.

You blush hard and try covering your face, but he's quick to smack your ass hard. "Look. Look at how pretty you get when I slide in." He pants in your ear, and you shiver and look in the mirror.

You gasp shakily as you feel him start to slide in. "Atta girl. Stay just like that..." He praises breathlessly and reaches around to hold your neck as he fucks you slow and deep. His hand moves to your chin and pulls your head back so you can look up at him.

"You like to overthink? Hm?" He whispers and you blush but nod, admitting to being so trapped in your own mind. "It's ok, baby. I'll just fuck your brains out." He assures quietly against your forehead in an innocent and comforting tone before he kisses your forehead.

You can't help but hum excitedly and feel his thick cock slide out of you slowly. He moans lowly as your walls clench around him. "Fuck, baby. Don't wanna let me go?" He taunts and you giggle breathlessly.

"Fuck no. You feel too good..." You shiver and he smacks your ass.

"Yeah? Beg." He whispers and you moan softly as he slowly slides back into you.

"Please. Please, I-I don't wanna think more. Fuck me. Fuck me, please, bab-" You're cut off by him grabbing your hair hard and making you look at the mirror.

"Look at you. You see how fucking pretty you are? Hm? Did I get it through your thick fucking skull yet?" He whispers in your ear before slamming into you deeply, which makes you scream out in pleasure.

"Yes! Yes! Yes, baby. Yes!" You call out as he starts fucking you roughly.

"Say sorry for being so mean." He growls in your ear as he pounds you relentlessly.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, baby..." You whine, eyes rolling back as he starts hitting your spot. "Right! There! Oh my god!" You scream out as he keeps going, no desire to stop just yet, smirking at how he had turned you into a moaning mess.

"Fuck me back, baby. Let me watch that ass jiggle." He orders as he grabs your waist to pull your ass up. You shiver and start to fuck yourself on his thick cock as he smacks your now red ass cheek.

"Fuck yes. Bounce that ass on me, baby." He groans as you watch through the mirror as he watches your body in awe. He really did love you...

You feel your heart skip a beat. He did find you attractive. He did want you. And you had him wrapped around your finger with such ease. You'd spent all this time treating him wrong, to what cost? He was still here. He still wanted you. Who were you to get in his way?

"Kiss me." You shiver and he does just that, kissing you sloppily as your bodies move freely...

Sunday:

"Congratulations, you two! Beautiful couple, really." The paparazzi calls out as he snaps more photos of you as you hold Jungkook's hand tighter while being led out of the coffee shop you'd just finished having brunch at. You both smile sheepishly at the attention and say nothing, deciding that a statement wasn't needed...

You get in the back of the car first so Jungkook would have some time with his fans, to wave at them and such. You see different girls screaming to him about how much they love him and for a second you feel a tug to your heart. An ugly 'what if' trying to rear its ugly head. But instead, you just watch the man who had made love to you all night long last night and feel your breath return to normal.

You had nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing to worry about. Because you had a man who could handle all of you just fine.

And you could handle him too...

#bts #bts army #bts fic #bts imagine #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut

[indiefilmfatale]

one, two, three (eddie munson x steve harrington x afab fem reader)

gif by acecroft ^ READ PART TWO HERE <3 plot: a casual smoke sesh with you, your boyfriend eddie, and your best friend steve turns into something...... less casual lol content warnings: smoking/drug use, voyeurism (eddie loves to watch), dirty talk, heavy petting, begging, fingering, overstimulation, eddie calls reader baby word count: 2.6k a/n: i hope yall like my first one shot! the ones been brewing for a while. it's pretty drawn out but i think its worth it smut below the cut!

Eddie's bed was probably your favorite place in the entire world.

It was an odd choice for a favorite place. His mattress wasn't anything special, probably over a decade old. His pillows are too flat for you. He doesn't even have a top sheet, just sleeps with the same old quilt every night. But damn it, every time you got in it, you either got high or got fucked. So yeah, it was your favorite place in the world. And it only gets better when your favorite people are in it too.

You sat on the end of the bed, facing the headboard, your legs criss-crossed. Eddie was on your left, laying down but propping his torso up with his elbows. His feet press against your hip, occasionally rubbing them softly against you, just to let you know he was thinking about you.

Steve was to your right. He laid flat on his back, hands plopped casually on his chest. It was rare, just the three of you hanging out without Nancy or Robin. Not that you minded, it was nice to have the occasional smoke session without Robin's constant babbling. She got ten times more talkative when she was high, but you'd also be lying if you said you didn't miss it a little bit.

Still, you were content. Sitting between your favorite boys, passing around the second joint of the hour. You were all substantially stoned already, but it was a Saturday, and the second joint was just sitting there.

And in the midst of the smoke, and jokes, and Eddie's little touches– the conversation seemed to have somehow drifted into unknown waters.

"Is it weird to not want to cum for like, a while during sex?" Steve eyes are staring at the ceiling. "Like I like it when a girl," He paused, not because he didn't know what to say, but he didn't know if he should say it. "Makes me.... wait for it?" His hands fly to his face, pressing against his eyes firmly. He lets out a groan, "I don't know what I'm talking about, nevermind."

You found it intriguing that Steve was so skittish when he talked about sex, since he seemed so experienced. Your mind drifted to the image of a girl on top of Steve, grinding slowly, tortuously slow, as his face contorts. You felt a twinge in your core, then pushed the thought away.

"No, it's not weird at all." You comforted Steve, your voice dragging slightly due to the pot. Eddie, who currently had the half-gone joint in his possession, nodded to agree with you– His lungs too filled with smoke to speak.

Steve didn't take his hands off of his face. "Well what do you know about this? You're a.. girl. You don't have to worry about cumming because if you do–" Steve raised his arms to emphasize, jerking them in a circular motion. "You can just do it again. And again."

Eddie cuts him off, "And she does." They burst into a fit of drug induced giggles.

"Eddie!" You exclaim, surprised. Both of you rarely mention any details of your sex life. But you didn't scold him, instead just playfully rolling your eyes. Something inside you didn't mind that Steve knew, maybe you were even a little excited about it.

His hand outstretches toward you, handing you the joint as the laughter dies down. "Sorry, baby, I think there's truth serum in this batch from Rick."

"You might be onto something there." Steve says as he sits up, leaning against Eddie's headboard. You watch him as you take a hit, adjusting himself to get comfortable. He finally rests his head back, staring forward in thought.

You didn't realize you had even been staring for that long until you saw Eddie in the corner of your eye, head rested in his hand, watching you watch Steve. You catch his gaze and his mouth flicks into a small smile. Then you watch him turn to Steve, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Isn't my girlfriend fucking gorgeous Steve?" Eddie asks as you take another hit. You chuckle modestly at your boyfriend, then watch Steve's eyes focus on you. You hand him the joint, but don't break eye contact.

A sweet smile spreads on Steve's face, holding the joint close to his mouth but not bringing it between his lips just yet. "Yeah, she's beautiful, Eddie." He agrees, nodding. He smokes.

You look back at Eddie, who's full-on smirking at you now. Eyes scanning your body hungrily. Hovering his hand casually over his mouth, he grazes his bottom lip with his thumb. You could tell he was turned on.

You got an idea just as your eyes traveled back to Steve, who was still looking at you. Not in the same way Eddie was, more like he was trying to figure something out. Like he had somehow never noticed how pretty he found you. It had always been secondary to his relationship to you. He knew you were with Eddie, so it didn't matter if he found you beautiful or horrendous. Until now.

He handed the almost-roach to Eddie, who was a master at smoking the very last bit of anything. He finished it off and pressed it firmly in the ashtray on his nightstand. For a moment, as the smoke whirled above all of you, nobody knew what to say. You were all stoned and confused and a little bit horny.

You decided to make the first move.

You unfold your legs from under you and walk on your knees towards the head of the bed. Eddie scoots over to make room for you, his eyes not leaving your face for a moment as you focus in on Steve.

You smile sweetly at him. You watch him let out a small exhale. A calmness washes over him. He suddenly remembers, Oh, right, it's Y/N. Nothing to be nervous about.

"Can I kiss you Steve?" Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Steve's jaw drops only a bit. You watch his eyes dart to your lips, then meets your eye. He nods.

Before you lean in, you look at Eddie, who's pupils have dilated more than you've ever seen. His mouth is also slightly ajar, just like Steve's.

You flick your brow up, silently making sure you have his approval. Eddie nods, bringing his hand around and caressing your shoulder.

You turn back to Steve. You both lean in, very slowly, but there's a hesitance between you. You think, Fuck it. You press your lips against his, firmly. It's a bit awkward at first, but then you open your mouth to kiss again, and suddenly you are sinking into it.

You had figured Steve was a good kisser– You can't really invent make-out spots without being a good kisser. But it still felt like a pleasant surprise.

His hands know exactly where to go. One is behind your head, pulling on your hair to the rhythm of the kiss. The other hand holding your waist. His tongue, ever so shyly, slips into your mouth. You return the favor.

Steve's lips drift to your cheeks, then to your neck. You let out a soft moan, and the small sounds ignites something in everyone. You turn your head to the left slightly, both giving Steve a better angle and you a better view of Eddie.

Your eyes traveled down Eddie's tattoo'd arm, down to his hand, where he was groping himself over his jeans. Your mouth falls agape.

Steve pulled away, hand still holding your waist. You turn back to him and place one slower, more sensual kiss. You then leaned down and held your face close to Eddie's, hovering in front, eyes darting from his eyes to his lips. "I love you." You whispered.

The hand that was on his groin reaches back up to the back of your head. "I love you so fucking much." He kisses you, and it's like you're returning to him after a long trip. You grip both sides of his face, pulling him into you.

You underestimate your own balance and when leaning into Eddie you tip your whole body to land flat on your back between both of them, with a giggle. Eddie giggles with you, and you sink into his kiss again. He's now at the perfect angle, lying sideways toward you, right hand roaming your body like a man on a mission to find something.

You feel another hand snake around your waist, and soft breath against your neck. As you kiss Eddie, Steve plants wet kisses from your ear to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt is.

You felt goosebumps rise on your legs and arms. You had never kissed anyone while someone else kissed your neck, and it felt so good you began to breathe hard.

Your core is aching at this point, begging to be touched. When you open your eyes from the kiss, and Eddie's head pulls back a bit, you notice Steve has gotten into almost the same position as Eddie, just on the other side of you. He's still kissing your neck.

"Too many," You pant, your eyes fluttering shut.

"What, baby?" Eddie asks, an amused smile on his face. He lovedseeing you so turned on you couldn't function properly. And no one had even touched your pussy yet.

You huffed as Steve went to town on where your neck meets your shoulder, leaving a dark spot when his lips released the skin. "Too many clothes." You finally managed to get out.

Steve and Eddie chuckle in sync. Steve lifts his head, looks at your shirt, then looks at Eddie. "Do you want to do the honors?"

"Hey, I get to do this, like, everyday. Go right ahead my friend." Eddie jokes.

Steve's brows furrow for a moment, then he looks at you. "Jesus christ, every day?" He asks you.

You, completely blissed out, shrugs. "More or less."

"You guys are like bunnies, seriously. Okay, here, sit up." Steve slides his hand under your back and pushes you upward. Gripping your top and lifting it over your head in the process. Steve's eyes are glued to your tits as he tosses the shirt to the other side of the room.

You watch him watch you as you take your bralette off. Then you look at Eddie, who has the same dumbstruck look on his face every time you take your bra off in front of him.

"Well I'm not going to be the only one with my tits out." You reach for Eddie's Hellfire shirt and pull it off him, exposing his toned chest. Steve takes his shirt off quickly and efficiently. You glance down at the hair thats grown over his pecs, and can't help but bite your lip.

"God I'm the luckiest girl alive, aren't I?" You ask nobody in particular.

Eddie smiles widely, placing a sweet kiss on your cheek before all three of you lie back down.

"Can I?" Steve lies down in closer, his hand waiting patiently for approval a foot away from your boob.

You smile, then nod. His hand reaches up and slowly massages your left one. His head leans down and places a soft lick on the nipple. You puff out an exhale, your head falling back.

As Steve sucks on your nipple, his hand pinches and brushes the other. You remember your boyfriend's hard cock and reach for it, gripping him through his pants. Eddie lets out a soft groan, sending fireworks to your slit. You feel your wetness soak into your panties.

Your legs tighten against each other. "Somebody touch me, please." You whine.

Steve looks up at you excitedly, then at Eddie who had that same amused smile on his face. He begins to unbutton your jeans. "She likes it when you rub her clit really slow at first." He pulls down the pants zipper.

He then reaches for Steve's hand, that was still resting on your boob. Steve is confused, until Eddie brings the hand down to where your panties peak out of your pants. Eddie lifts the fabric and guides Steve hand into your folds.

You're watching in total awe, until your feel firm fingers circle your clit. Both boys turn their attention to you, their hands lap in your underwear together, as you let out your first real moan. It's high and needy and raises in tone at the very end like a question. Your eyes flutter shut.

"Slower," You hear Eddie instruct, and Steve follows.

Your body jerks, your head pressing hard against the pillow in pleasure. "Sh-it." You groan.

Eddie's face breaks into a smile once more, this time with a sense of pride. He loved that he knew how to pleasure you so well that he could teach it to somebody else and still drive you wild.

"Now one." Eddie gripped Steve's pointer finger and guided it downward toward your entrance. Slowly, Steve's finger glides inside you. You let out a guttural moan.

"Two." Eddie says. Steve adds a finger. You moan even louder. "Fucking shit," You say under your breath.

"Does she always swear this much?" Steve mumbles to Eddie, chuckling.

Eddie grins, "Pretty much, yeah."

“Shut up," You whine between breaths. Eddie is pumping Steve's fingers into you. Then Eddie's hand lets go of Steve's and returns to your clit, circling around it at the same slow pace as before.

"Oh god, Eddie, fuck," Your back arches. "This feels so fucking good."

Eddie, never losing tempo with Steve, kisses your neck, paying extra attention to the sensitive spots he can see Steve already covered. You couldn't stop moaning, your hips now grinding against both of their hands. Eddie's head rises, his lips a centimeter away from your's. "Are you ready baby?" Eddie asks, and you know exactly what he's talking about. You nod furiously.

Eddie looks at Steve, and with his free hand, holds up three fingers. Steve takes his hand out of you and looks at your eyes.

You smile at your best friend and kiss him on the lips, placing a hand on his cheek. "I need you, Steve, please,"

Steve smiled, and obliged. Slowly at first, he slides three fingers into you. You gasp, gripping onto Eddie's shoulder. Eddie has to hold back a laugh, he just loves seeing you like this.

Steve pauses, waiting for you to exhale, before moving his hand again. He curves his fingers upward, touching the roof of your pussy and brushing your g-spot just how you like it.

"Yeah, just like that," You whine. Steve leans down and once again paints your neck with wet kisses. The only sound in the room is the quenching of your soaking wet pussy around Eddie and Steve's respective hands, and your feral moans as you feel your climax growing closer.

Eddie's clit rotations grow faster, and Steve matches his pace. Eddie's lips press into yours, your kisses sloppy from lack of focus. Suddenly, another wave a pleasure washes over you. Your mouth falls open, lips still touching Eddie's but unable to kiss.

Your eyes squeeze shut, and Eddie's goes even faster. You hear Steve groan against your ear, and his hot breath hits your neck, and suddenly you're seeing stars. Your moans are drawn out and lazy and loud, and your body goes stiff with pleasure. "Fuck me, I'm cumming."

Eddie's smile grows wide, and he slows down. Steve follows his lead, waiting a beat than pulling his fingers out of your pussy. You sigh, blissed out.

"The three of us should smoke together more often." Steve jokes, lying back next to you. Eddie does the same. The three of you stare at the ceiling.

You hum, then sit up. "Okay, your guys' turn."

#eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson smut #eddue munson fluff #eddie munson x steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #eddie munson x you #stranger things one shot #stranger things smut #x reader

[yanderu-deredere]

bite.

★ what kind of girlfriend invites you to some bonfire in the middle of the forest only to leave you there? a shitty girlfriend, that's who. now, you're kind of buzzed and lost. thankfully, you spot a cabin. hopefully, the people there can help you out.

a/n: mom says it's my turn with the wolf pack!! here's another long thing but this time it's for the wolfie pack that ive been promising for a while now! hopefully it lives up to your guys expectations LOL i really love these yanderes and the werewolf lore i sprinkled in is my own brand of crazy

for those in disbelief, wondering how does this fit in my lil city. well, there's a forest at the outskirts of the city and i want there to be werewolves so there's werewolves!! got inspired by @not-a-bot-just-shy and their poly wolf pack so please check theirs out too!

while i was writing this, i decided that it got like really long so i decided to write a few more parts LOL im so sorry ive been slapping you guys with so many different chaptered stuff! but i hope itll be worth it!

part one (here) ★ part two ★ (chew.) ★ extras (bite and chew.) ★ extras (taste) ★ part three ★ (swallow.) ★ part four (digest.)

pairing: poly werewolves x male reader word count: 3475 warning: bottom reader has male parts and pronouns, reader is implied to be attracted to both genders, reader may be under the influence of alcohol, reader may have a shitty girlfriend, yanderes may be under the influence of the moon? wild, polyamorous ending (all three with the reader)

You grumbled, pushing past branches and leaves as you stomped around the forest, angry at your girlfriend for basically ditching you. Well, not ditching you. But, she did invite you to this stupid bonfire only to force you to drink and then ignore you the entire night.

She was the kind of girlfriend who was super into the full moon, tarot cards and mystic readings so she thought it would be fun to run around half naked tonight, thinking maybe something witchy and magical would happen.

You thought it meant having a hot make out session in front of a sexy bonfire so, of course, when she begged you to come, you agreed.

You were unfortunately wrong.

She was probably with that stupid buff friend of hers, draping herself all over him. So what if you couldn't tell whether or not you were a 'Sagittarius rising' or whatever and he could? You couldn't help but be annoyed at the thought of the two of them having fun.

You wouldn't call it cheating but it was definitely something.

You had stormed out in anger, hoping your girlfriend would care enough to chase after you. Unfortunately, she didn't even care enough about you to do that.

Or, even worse, she didn't notice that you'd left at all.

You pulled your phone out of your hoodie pocket and glanced at the time and battery. It was getting really late and your phone was almost dead. Damn. You didn't have any signal either so no hopes of calling someone for help.

Why were you so petty and dramatic anyway?

You heard a thump and your heart jumped into your throat. You looked around, scared as all hell, only to realise there was light in front of you.

You hurried forward, hoping to whatever higher power there was that it was civilization. Unfortunately, it wasn't. Fortunately, it was some sort of rustic looking house, large enough to fit a big family.

The thumping was from someone chopping some wood.

He looked buff, like a weightlifter with a little bit of pudge. He was a ways away from you but you could tell he was definitely taller than you, with the messiest ginger hair you had ever seen.

The stranger was wearing a tight worn down tank top and jeans which, honestly, he made look really good.

You hadn't even gotten close before the guy whacked his axe down, looking around the clearing like he was searching for something and, as if he'd heard you, his head snapped right to you.

You flinched but decided just coming out right then was less suspicious than hiding.

"Uhm! Hello!" You stepped forward, face and ears feeling a little hot from embarrassment "I'm really sorry to bother you but I'm like so lost and I just need directions--"

"You're not supposed to be here." He suddenly snapped and it made you take a step away from him, your eyes fluttering from one of his bulging muscles to the other.

If he wanted to snap you like a twig, he could easily do it.

"Right," you held your hands up as a sort of sign of surrender, "I totally get that but my friends-- We have a bonfire nearby-- Well, I don't really know how nearby-- I got lost--"

He seemed to see how frantic you got because he sighed and nodded, holding his hand out "C'mon, there's no way anyone would find their way through the forest at night."

"Stay the night and we'll drive you to Lovelock in the morning." He wrapped an arm around your shoulders when you got close enough though, from the tone in his voice, he didn't seem very happy.

"You can call me Mel. I live here with my partners, Leo and Sam." He guided you to the door and opened it for you "Sorry I'm a bit messy, was trying to cut wood for kindling."

"All good! Thanks for housing me. Sorry I'm being such a bother." You bowed your head a little, very apologetic since he seemed so inconvenienced.

Then, you didn't know if it was the alcohol in your system or if it was just from how good-looking the guy is but you suddenly felt the urge to lean against him and giggle "You know, I'm not entirely convinced this isn't some elaborate mirage."

"Mirage?" He looked understandably confused as he easily held up your body which practically draped itself on him.

You nodded, sighing almost dramatically "I was stuck in that forest for forever! I thought I'd never find my way! And I feel like super-sexy--mean-muscle-lumberjack is the exact fantasy my mind would conjure up."

He seemed to realise he was being a bit stand-offish or something (probably from the fact you described him as a mean muscle lumberjack) because his personality did a complete switch "Oh, ummm, I apologise. Sorry for being weird, my partners and I aren't really-- em, in the state for having guests--"

Just as the two of you finally made it through the front door, Mel definitely much more easily than you, the sound of someone else caught your attention.

"Melk--" Speak of the devil, a fluffy ashen haired head peaked out of one of the doorways leading further into the house, blue bespectacled glasses peering at you "Who's the twunk?"

You felt your cheeks grow warm. Twunk? You were definitely more hunk than twink. What even constituted as twink anyway? You doubted you were small or thin enough! In fact, if either of you were the twink, it would've been him, with his lithe model body!

He was like an exact opposite to Mel; where Mel was tanned and muscled, this stranger was pale, of average height and looked like he could shove you a little at most.

Differences aside, he both of them were absolutely handsome. It made you feel a little left out. Were you on some movie set?

"Leo, don't be rude. He's our guest." Mel placed both his broad palms on your shoulders, introducing you before giving you a little nudge forward "And this is ou-- umm, my partner, Leonard. He's a pain in the ass but he grows on you."

The little stumble in Mel's sentence went completely unnoticed to you but the sudden weird expression on Leonard's face didn't.

Still, you didn't want to be rude to someone who was putting up with you for a night so you smiled as sweetly as you could "Hi, really nice to meet you!"

It was obvious Leonard didn't think the same because his smile was obviously forced "Nice to meet you too!"

Then, he hurried off and you could hear his sock-clad feet thumping through the wooden floors of the house "Saaam!"

"I'm so sorry about him." Mel pulled you to him, your back against his chest, and leaned forward, apologetic expression on his face.

You just chalked it up to him being a really touchy person and smiled nervously, nodding "It's all good! It's totally understandable, I came out of nowhere, after all!"

That polite look on Mel's face vanished for a second, replaced with a look that was gone too fast for you to place. Thankfully, you didn't think you had to worry about it because Mel was helping you take off your shoes and leading you to the kitchen.

"You must be starving." He pulled out a chair for you "Let me heat something up for you."

"Handsome and polite..." You murmured, your hand rubbing at your aching and empty stomach before, a bit more loudly, you said: "No, I can't possibly ask you to feed me too!"

"It's really nothing, just pressing a few buttons on a microwave." Mel waved off your concerns, grin on his face as he did just that; sticking a glass tupperware container in the microwave and setting it to some arbitrary time.

You sighed and relented; mostly because you were definitely still hungry and buzzed from the alcohol. You wanted nothing more than food in your tummy.

As you were taking in the yummy smell of food heating in the microwave, there was the cacophony of hurried steps on wooden floor before Leonard and a man you didn't know appeared in a doorway.

He was also gorgeous. Goes to show that good looking people flocked together. He had black shaggy hair in a low pony and a noticeable scar on his upper lip but it didn't take away from his pretty face.

He even had two moles under his left eye which made him look even more beautiful (if that were even possible).

He was like a middle man; not exactly twink-ish like Leonard but not exactly buff like Mel. Definitely on the more muscular side, though. Definitely bigger. He could probably bend you in half, that was for sure.

"Leo said--" The man burst in before turning absolutely dark red in the face upon laying eyes on you, an almost inhuman whine leaving his lips "Hello."

"Hello." You grinned at him, finding his actions way more funny than weird "You must be Sam, right? Nice to meet you."

"Isamu. Y-You can call me Sam." He nodded, agreeing.

Then, to continue his train of weird actions, he bowed at the waist, still looking flustered, before scurrying away. Leonard snickered, looking especially mischevious before following after him.

"What's up with all of you and your partners looking supernaturally gorgeous?" You whispered conspiratorially to Mel.

Instead of asking, he just laughed, all deep and rumbly, like you'd said a particularly funny joke.

You pouted, unsure if you'd really said something that was worth laughing at that much.

"You were at a bonfire, you said?" Mel said instead, opening the microwave to pull the glass tupperware out, whatever food in it obviously steaming.

You nodded, excited at the prospect of food "Yeah, my girlfriend invited me but then she ditched me to go hang out with some buff guy."

"Jokes on her, I guess, I found an even buffer, hotter guy to hang out with instead." You grinned at him, looking quite like the cat that got the cream.

Mel just let out another smaller laugh, putting the tupperware container with a plastic spoon and fork in front of you.

You were a little awed by the fact that he could touch the hot glass but chalked it up to the fact that he was just really tough.

The food was just fried rice (which was honestly more fried vegetables than rice and it made you almost laugh) and what you guessed was grilled chicken with teriyaki sauce. Aside from the vegetables in the rice, there was also broccoli.

Thankfully, there was a lot of chicken so there wasn't too many vegetables.

"Make sure to eat your vegetables." He sat in front of you, looking like he was holding back a smirk.

You pouted at him but rolled your eyes and speared a small broccoli branch and put it in your mouth. Then, you made an exagerrated 'MMM' sound to show him how tasty you thought it was.

He laughed again but, this time, it sounded fake "Sorry, I always have to remind Leo to eat his vegetables. It becomes habit after awhile."

"Understandable." You gave a curt nod "I'm bad at eating healthy so I can relate to Leo."

"Well, you definitely won't be eating badly under my roof." Mel crossed his arms (which made his biceps absolutely bulge) before leaning back in his chair, an almost arrogant expression on his face.

"Good think I'll only be living one night under this roof, huh?" You joked back, thinking that was the right thing to say.

Instead of the laugh you expected, that strange expression was back on Mel's face. You stopped mid-bite, looking at him curiously, a worried expression on your face "Did I say something wrong?"

"No." The expression was gone quickly, like before, and his polite grin was back.

He sat up again, his arms uncrossing and his hand reaching over to cover yours on the table. You just grinned at him, confused by the gesture but figured, like you thought before, he was just a touchy guy.

"Sam, Leo, come here and hang out with our new guest!" Mel suddenly yelled, making you flinch a bit with how unnaturally loud his voice got.

"Sorry." His hand tightened around yours, apologetic expression on his face as his thumb rubbed comforting circles onto the side of your hand "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay, just got surprised!" You waved off his concern as you smiled and shrugged his hand off so you could properly eat. You didn't want to admit it but his touch had your heart fluttering wildly in your chest!

"Here, you were at the bonfire to have fun right? We can have our own fun here." Mel wolfishly grinned at you, his eyes alight with a playful look on his face "We have a couple of cases of beer here if you want?"

"Sure." You looked eager at the offer, nodding your head quickly. Usually, you wouldn't have accepted, Mel being a stranger and all, but you were already a bit inebriated and he was just so handsome that he convinced you easily.

He stood just as Isamu and Leonard entered, both looking flustered and weird.

Of course, excited by the prospect of getting more drunk and forgetting your problems with a bunch of hot strangers, you gestured for them to come sit next to you, not at all minding their weirdness.

Isamu quickly sat next to where Mel was sitting, his back ramrod straight and his hands in his lap. If you had a protractor, you were sure he would measure at ninety degrees exactly.

Leonard, on the other hand, looked relaxed and almost cocky as he sat next to you, even going so far as to scoot the chair closer.

"Mel said he was going to get some beer, do you want to drink with us?" You asked them happily and Leonard made a face like he was disgusted with the suggestion while Isamu immediately nodded.

"Our handsome guest here was just telling me his girlfriend ditched him for someone else." Mel walked over, two bottles of beer in each hand "We can't have him being sad over that right? We have to help him forget all about that stupid bitch."

You scowled, feeling as if maybe you should defend your girlfriend. Mel couldn't just randomly call her a bitch like that, right?

But then, he literally flicked the caps off of the beer bottles like they were made of paper and you thought maybe, a muscly hot guy like him was allowed a few red flags.

He handed you a bottle and you took a fat swig before giggling "Thank you so much for taking me in and for taking care of me like this! I feel so bad for imposing on you guys! You guys are so wonderful!"

Leonard leaned against you, your shoulders bumping against each others' "Don't worry about it. In fact, it's really our pleasure!"

You grinned before wrapping an arm around Leonard and pulling him close, completely missing the look the three of them shared with each other.

Before you knew it, you were just knocking them back, swapping happy stories with the three of them.

Apparently, Mel first moved out here and built the house with the money he inherited with his family. The family itself seemed like a sore subject but he looked entirely too happy to rant about how he made the house.

Then, Isamu came next when he got lost trying to find his dog? The dog died a couple of years later since she was already a senior dog but the two hit it off and started dating almost immediately after Mel helped him find the old geezer.

After Isamu's dog died and he graduated college, he moved in and they literally found Leonard who had tried running away from his overly controlling parents.

When Leonard graduated college, he moved in too. Now, the three of them lived together. The only one of them that really commuted was Leonard but not that far since he worked at a cafe pretty much near the edge of the forest.

You awed and gushed over their relationship, absolutely enamoured by how sweet it was that they all found each other.

At least, that was the last thing you remembered.

"You're a little bit of a light-weight, aren't'cha?" Mel laughed and you felt his entire chest rumble under your palms, his collar bone hard and cozy under your cheek.

"Huh?" You hummed, a little confused.

You got the gist that he was carrying you somewhere. You could feel his big, warm hands on your waist, his fingers almost sneaking underneath your clothes and his rather noticeable nails tickling your skin.

You could also feel your feet stumbling a little on the floor so you knew he wasn't carrying you.

"Hey, pay attention!"

You snapped into reality a bit there, looking around. You weren't in the kitchen anymore. In fact, you were standing in the middle of a living room, right in front of a coffee table.

Mel's hands were all over you and Isamu was right next to you, fretting about whether or not you were going to fall over. The only one not touching you was Leonard who had his arms crossed, looking at you annoyed.

"Oh, sorry." Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to understand what was happening "I don't know what's going on with me, I just--"

"It happens to the best of us." Mel waved your apology off, wolfish grin on his face as if he was quite proud of himself "Nobody can out-drink me, after all."

"I feel like none of you are drunk at all! Just me..." You groaned, forehead pressed against the crook of Mel's neck, arm around him tightening just a little bit.

Even with all of your strength, he didn't even budge one bit.

Isamu just chuckled nervously, his warm hand comforting as it rubbed up and down your back "Call it a buff guy's fast metabolism."

"Leonard isn't even buff!" You pouted at Isamu, your head suddenly flinging back to lean against his shoulder, looking at him with the sweetest puppy eyes.

Isamu stuttered, cheeks reddening "L-Leo didn't drink, di-didn't you see?"

You turned your head a little, cheek still resting against Isamu's shoulder as you squinted at Leonard.

Your memory was so hazy now, after the number of bottles you drank. You couldn't really remember how many bottles Leonard drank.

Or, really, how many bottles you or anyone drank.

"I think I need to lay down." You huffed, moving to go to the couch.

Before you could, Mel wrapped an arm around your middle, pulling you close, his lips brushing against your ear "Woah, there, watch for the table."

You felt your ear immediately turn hot and so did your cheeks. You knew it definitely wasn't the alcohol either because you felt the heat between your legs a little too.

You cursed the three of them (especially Mel) for being so sexy.

Then, you looked down, glaring at the offending piece of furniture. You didn't think you were about to trip on it but it must've moved to foil you on your way.

"Thank you." You turned your head and, as you did, you underestimated how close Mel was and accidentally brushed your lips against the corner of his.

Instead of apologising, you just giggled and escaped his grasp when his arm went slack. You practically dove into the couch, unfolding the what felt like dozens of comfortable soft looking blankets and scattering the pillows.

You started arranging them around you, forming a little nest of sorts. You figured the giant sectional was where they'd put you up for the night so you might as well get comfortable.

You thought you heard the three of them muttering but you got so focused on getting your sleeping arrangements right that you couldn't find it in yourself to pay much attention.

It was wild to even see the sectional! You definitely couldn't complain! The thing could fit the four of you easy and then some! You would sleep comfortably by yourself!

"Well then!" Mel suddenly cleared his throat, making you flinch and turn your head to him (reminding him oddly like an adorable meerkat) "I guess we should leave you to get settled..."

In your daze, you missed both Isamu and Leonard huffing and shoving at Mel but you definitely didn't miss the way Mel took a step back, as if more than happy to leave.

Immediately, your eyes watered. "Wait, you didn't want to hang out more?"

The three of them panicked.

"Oh, no, no, you just looked like you were getting comfortable--"

"I-It's just that w-we just didn't want to get in your way--"

"Way to go, meat-head, you dumbass--"

You just crossed your arms and sniffled, trying to look as angry as possible "I'll forgive you if you hang out with me a little longer."

"I may be a little... emmm, inebriated but I'm not sleepy yet." You added, a little proud of yourself for being able to use such a big word.

Mel chuckled a little but nodded "Okay, sounds good. What do you want to do then?"

"Let's watch a movie!" You immediately pointed to the TV, grin on your face as you moved to lean against the back of the sectional, pillow in your arms and blanket draped over your lap. "C'mon, sit next to me."

At first, all three of them seemed to hesitate but, when Mel sat next to the arm of the sofa, Isamu and Leonard quickly followed.

Like in the kitchen, Leonard sat the closest to you, his shoulder bumping against yours. Isamu sat next to you too but he sat rather stiffly and, lastly, Mel sat on the other side of Isamu, his elbow resting on the arm of the sofa.

"What movie should we watch?"

#yandere oc x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere #oc x reader #male oc #werewolf x reader #werewolf oc x reader #male werewolf x reader #melchior #isamu #leonard #chaptered #alcohol tw #male darling

[megamindsecretlair]

Good day, good day! I've been thinking about this for a while, and now I'm just like, yes, we need it! 😏 Can you pretty please write a follow up to my favorite Franklin Saint fic you wrote recently? A Hold On You. I feel like we need something where either the reader is heavily preggo or already had the baby and like the reader predicted, doesn't like the new body. But our boy Frank comes through with that reassurance he promised. 🙌🏾😌

A/N: Le sigh, I am so, so, so sorry this took forever! I know there's no rush to these things but this has been staring me in the face for sooo long LOL. I hope this was worth the wait!

A Hold On You, Pt. 2

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Smut, Angst, PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), spanking, some dirty talk, all consensual. Daddy kink and breeding kink. Fluffy smut. Established relationship.

Summary: Taking place between season 4 and season 5, Franklin toys with the idea of legacy and keeping the people he loves in his life. Months into your pregnancy, your previous worries get the better of you. Luckily, Franklin is there to kiss it all away.

Word Count: 3,424k

Part 1

A/N: I keep feeling like Franklin gets pushed by the wayside. It's not intentional, season 6 just really still affects me LOL. But I will get over that! Also trying to clean up some of these requests ya'll got for me. I love ya'll so much! Please, consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! I don't tag empty blogs.

Taglist: @planetblaque @notapradagurl7 @miyuhpapayuh @henneseyhoe @mybonafidefeelings @blackerthings @wide-nose-and-wonderful @halfofmysoulsblog @sevikasblackgf @slippinninque @nerdieforpedro @babybratzmaraj @browngirldominion @thecookiebratz @we-outsiiiide @kindofaintrovert @theunsweetenedtruth @theyscreamsannii @iv0rysoap

You stood in front of the mirror in your bathroom. Steam from the shower receded slowly from the mirror, revealing your visage inch by inch. You stared at your body. Well, more importantly, you stared at your tummy. 

It was beginning to protrude. Leave it to Franklin to get you pregnant that same night. No sooner had you realized that your period was late than did your sensitive stomach turn on you. Already it was trying to purge the invasion. 

Okay, that wasn’t fair. You were truly happy that you were pregnant. You knew no matter what, that Franklin would be a good father. Nothing like his own that he refused to talk about most days. They were at a tentative truce. But it seemed like they were on thin ice and the slightest thing could break it.

You rubbed your belly, planting your hand over your stomach. You could not picture your child. Did that make you a bad mother? 

You pursed your lips as you turned from side to side, looking at your naked body from all kinds of different angles. Shouldn’t you have an inkling? An idea? You and Franklin hadn’t decided on names yet. Wasn’t that something you should have by now? Was there a rulebook to this sort of thing?

Tears stung your eyes as you thought over everything that could go wrong. How dangerous Franklin’s life was. His enemies were yours now. Franklin had to look over both of your shoulders to ensure that you were safe enough to walk across the street.

How could you bring someone into this type of life? How could you possibly agree to gamble with your child’s life? 

Horrible, ugly shame filled you as the tears flowed more freely. Being pregnant sucked! Your fucking nipples ached all the damn time. You were gassy now, that was fun. And whoever was in there would likely run circles around you because you were starting to get sleepy all the damn time. 

You sank to the edge of the bathtub and let the tears fall. That was another fun side effect. You cried at the drop of a hat. You cried because you looked funny, cute, beautiful, or fat. You cried because you wanted cookies n’ cream ice cream but Franklin got you rocky road. You cried because you felt guilty for making him go back to the store to get you what you actually wanted. 

These hormonal changes were driving you nuts. What was worse was that Franklin was gone more often than he stayed at home. All you had were nameless bodyguards that stayed outside your place twenty-four seven. 

You felt alone. 

The tears began in earnest. Big, fat crocodile tears that spilled down your freshly washed cheeks. Droplets landed on your thighs and you rubbed your belly. What did you do?

“Babe?” Franklin called out. 

You sniffled and wiped your tears, getting up to close the bathroom door. You ran some water to try and hide your tears. On top of everything that Franklin was dealing with, he did not need to deal with his hormonal, pregnant girlfriend. 

Franklin knocked on the door. “Babe? You okay in there?” He asked.

“Fine! Just got out the shower!” You called back. Did your voice wobble? Did you sound like you had been crying? 

Franklin twisted the knob and opened the door. You sighed, looking away from him in the mirror. Franklin was immediately by your side, lifting your chin and pulling you close.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. He turned off the water in the sink and rubbed your arms. 

You hadn’t realized how cold you were sitting in the bathroom. Tears had a way of warming your face and drowning everything else out. Pressure and snot was not a good look on you and it hurt even worse. 

“Nothing, I’m fine,” you said. You accepted Franklin’s embrace even though you couldn’t get your mouth to move. To tell him what was bothering you. You could have his baby, but you couldn’t tell him what was bothering you? 

Franklin pulled back and looked at your face. “Got another craving? I’ll get it, just tell me what it is,” he said. 

“I’m so ugly,” you whined. You sounded like such a baby, but it was true. You didn’t recognize your own body. It was a chamber now for your baby. You were doing everything right but it was hard to feel sexy knowing that there was precious life growing inside of you.

It’d likely be even worse after the baby was born. While it ripped everything from you on the way out. And then you’d have to breastfeed it and watch it and worry over it for the rest of your natural born days. 

“What? Why would you say that?” He tried to pull you closer but you were fighting him. You needed space, time to think. The damage had already been done but you still had months to get used to this new life. This new adjustment to your routine. 

You didn’t regret having his baby. You only regretted that you hadn’t thought it through more fully. Really understood the consequences of opening your legs and letting Franklin have his wicked way with you. 

Franklin let you fight him but he was an immovable rock. He planted his feet and stood his ground trying to catch your eyes. You looked everywhere but at him. 

“Hey, hey, talk to me. Please? Why would you say that?” 

“Because I am. I’m fat and gross,” you pouted. 

Franklin sighed. “Naw, baby. You’re the most beautiful woman in the entire world,” he said. He kissed your cheeks. You fought him on that too. You felt so horrible. Like a caged animal needing a release. A break. An escape from the torment of your thoughts. 

You shook your head and wiped your tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I just got the mumps,” you said.

Franklin pressed kisses to your forehead, both of your eyelids, and your lips. He kept kissing your face until you relaxed in his arms. That, at least, hadn’t changed. You felt safe in his arms. Warm. 

When your shoulders finally dropped from your ears, Franklin turned you so that you faced the mirror. He wrapped his arms around your tummy, hands flexing over your stomach and linking his fingers together. He was already protecting his baby. The thought brought fresh tears to your eyes. You could fill a pool with how many tears you’ve shed over the past few weeks. 

Franklin’s chin dropped to your shoulder and he looked at you in the mirror. He smiled softly. “I wish you could see you as I do. You are nothing but beautiful to me. Strong. Look at this sexy ass body,” he said.

He swayed you from side to side as if dancing to a slow song in his head. You tilted your head. “You’re just trying to make me feel better,” you said. You sniffled and tried to lean away to reach for a tissue, but Franklin wasn’t letting you go.

His fingers lightly rubbed your tummy. His rocking was strangely soothing. Melodic even though there was no music to guide you. His eyes never left yours in the mirror. 

“So? Don’t make it not true. Didn’t I say that this belly would look sexy getting bigger? And these titties? Shit, you lucky I am suckin’ on them thangs all day long,” he said.

You giggled despite your commitment to stubbornness. Your mouth twitched as you tried to suppress more giggles. He did not need encouragement for his corny ass lines. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you told him.

“I ain’t doin’ shit but making sure my two babies are okay. I ain’t gon’ lie and pretend I know what’s going on. But you gotta talk to me when you feel like this,” he said. “I can’t help you if you shut me out.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” you told him. He shouldn’t. You always had a handle on your emotions. A way of feeling them but not letting them control you. Not by much. It took a long time for you to get here and you’d be damned if you let Mother Nature control you.

“I just get down sometimes, Franklin,” you said. 

Franklin nodded and smiled. “ I know. And you shouldn’t have to be down alone. I know this is big. This is big for the both of us. I didn’t think we’d get it on the first try,” he said with a smile. 

You rolled your eyes. He was pretty damn proud of that fact. Told anyone who would listen that he was successful the first time. His parents were naturally excited. None more so than Cissy. She was too giddy at the prospect of having a grandchild. 

“You are a mess,” you told him. 

Franklin’s smile grew bigger, giving you a glimpse of the Franklin you knew before. The one who smiled quicker and didn’t hide behind walls in his mind. Trying to keep everything so close to the vest. 

Franklin kissed your shoulder, lips lingering a second too long. “You are the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. You’re only sexier carrying my baby. These hips? Hmm. Just wanna squeeze the fuck outta them,” he said.

You rolled your eyes and sighed. Your tears dried up as you looked at Franklin. At the raw hunger in his eyes. You may feel ugly, but you were far from it in his eyes. 

Franklin moved his hands from your tummy to cup your ass. He jiggled the globes in his hands, grabbing as much of it as he could. “This ass! If you only knew how bricked up I am all day thinking of this ass ridin’ me,” he said.

“Franklin!” You turned around to look him in the eye. His hands stayed on your body as you turned and they landed around your waist. He chuckled and leaned down to kiss your belly. 

“You have made me the happiest man alive. There is no one else I’d rather share this with,” he said. He leaned down and kissed you, taking his time to explore your mouth. The kiss was slow and lazy. You had all the time in the world to kiss him and he took every last second of it. He’d retreat and return just as quickly as if he were starving for your kisses. 

You wrapped your hands around his shoulder and pulled him closer. He rubbed against your belly and you drew back, staring at the damn thing like a traitor. Already getting in the way of your life. Already taking up space.

You sighed. There was just no way to get around this. No way to pull you out of this funk. 

Franklin only lifted your chin. He stared into your eyes for a second, a minute, possibly an hour and your bottom lip started to quiver. He only smiled patiently and returned to kissing you. 

You sighed into his mouth. Where the hell did you find someone like him? Someone that didn’t balk at your panic attacks? Or these new hormones? He’d seen you during Hell week. This was that but amplified. Your body was foreign to you now. You grew up with this body. You suffered through puberty with this body. You and this body had been down a rocky, twisted, and convoluted path to self-love. And now you were sharing it.

Franklin’s hands kneaded your doughy flesh around your hips, getting softer over time. He kissed a hot trail down your jaw, neck, and towards your chest. His lips teased around your sensitive nipple and you hissed, jerking away from him.

“They’re really fuckin’ sensitive right now,” you said.

“Oh really?” He asked. He smiled, holding your gaze as he moved his head once more to lick and suckle around your nipples. Your legs instantly went weak. Your nipples were still fuckin’ sensitive, made worse by his playful teasing, but it also felt too good. His warm mouth felt deliciously painful on your titties and you were sighing and whimpering in the bathroom before long.

Your moans echoed off of the tile in the bathroom. Your soft sighs filled in the empty areas and his suckling grew louder, reaching a crescendo that you matched with cries of pleasure. 

“Franklin!” You half-yelled and half-moaned. 

Franklin went to your other nipple, giving it as much attention. You hissed. So much for your shower. You were growing wetter by the second from his teasing alone. As if sensing that, like the mu’fucka had a nose for it, his hand glided down your side until his fingers teased your clit.

You jerked in his arms and he hummed in appreciation. “Hmm, so fuckin’ wet already,” he whispered against your chest. 

“How can you stand here like a goddess and not expect me to worship at your feet? To appreciate this precious gift you’re giving me? I know I been away, I’ll work on that the deeper we get into this. I want to be here for everything.”

“And I want you to know that I found you sexy when I first met you. I found you sexy when you agreed to be mine. I found you sexy when we found out you were pregnant with my baby. And I find you sexy now. Every day I find more and more things to love about you.” 

“Franklin, please,” you sighed. You could not handle him being this damn cute while sucking on your nipples and his fingers playing with your clit. 

“Do you believe me?” He asked.

“Huh?” You asked. If he moved his fingers just a little to the side, you could cum. You felt an approaching orgasm. Your knees were turning to jelly. You were so, so close.

“Do you believe that I find you sexy? That I fall more in love with you every day?” He asked. 

You nodded. “I know you do, Franklin,” you said. “I just forget sometimes.”

“Well, then, I’ll have to keep reminding you. And keep reminding you. And…” Franklin lifted his head from your nipples as he moved his fingers to flick over your clit. You gripped his arms and shook, the bathroom turning hazy as your eyes rolled. 

“Fr-F-” You were trying to warn him. To let him know that you were close, but he already knew. He kissed you, tongue licking your lips before you allowed him inside. Allowed your tongues to mesh and play with each other.

He smiled against your lips as you finally cried out, crying out your release. You slumped against him as you finished and he gently continued to play with your clit. 

Franklin grabbed your hand and pulled you into the bedroom. You giggled trailing after him. He held your hands while you sat on the bed. You were pleasantly wet, feeling the squishy essence in between your legs.

Franklin wasted no time getting naked. You watched him with a smile dancing on your lips at how beautiful he was. Did he have a clue? Did he come close to understanding what you felt for him?

“You make me so happy, Franklin,” you told him. 

Franklin shed the last of his clothes and stepped closer with a big grin. His grin was infectious, causing one to split your face in two. Cheeks aching from the strength of love pouring from your veins. 

“You make me happy too, babe. I don’t ever want you to doubt how beautiful you are. If you do, let me know. I’ll sort that shit out,” he said.

You giggled as his lips returned to yours, joining you on the bed. He settled onto his back and then pulled you to straddle his hardening length. You bit your lip, a bit of shyness creeping in. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done this before. That he hadn’t seen everything about you and kept coming back for seconds. 

Things were different now. Everything changed. But Franklin didn’t let you wallow. He encouraged you to sit in his lap. 

It took some wiggling and a lot of guidance on his part since you couldn’t see his length past your belly. Once the tip of him grazed your wet entrance, the shyness left your body.

You moaned as you sank onto his dick, gliding down until he was fully seated inside of you. Your hands braced yourself on his chest as you acclimated to his size. He wasn’t huge, but he stretched you plenty. 

Your eyes were closed, reorienting yourself with the feel of him inside you. God, you missed this. You had sex in the beginning but your morning sickness was awful. You couldn’t keep shit down. Everything smelled and crackers tasted like cardboard. 

You sighed as Franklin rubbed your hips and your back. “Feel good, baby?” Franklin asked. 

“Yes, baby,” you moaned.

“You look good, baby,” he said. You looked down in time to see his gorgeous smile. Franklin was playing with the idea of a beard. It was coming in nicely. Framing his face and making him look older and wiser. Sexier. Like a dad already. A dad you’d like to fuck. 

You smiled at your own little joke. “Thank you, Daddy,” you said.

“Go on and get yours then,” he said. He smacked your ass with his hand, leaving a ghost-hot sting behind that made you hiss and look at him with mischief. If he wanted to play…

You slowly grinded on his dick, rolling your hips back and forth. Franklin licked his lips and rolled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked down to where you were joined. 

You continued the slow roll, getting him used to that before you started bouncing in earnest. “OH shit,” he moaned. 

You grinned and kept bouncing, up and down on the entire length of his dick. He hissed and rolled his hips in tune with yours until you were matching each other perfectly. In sync as only you two could be. 

His hands gripped your hips. You didn’t know if you were bouncing on him now or if he was pulling you down on his dick. Either way, you were both speed-running towards that beautiful peak. Hand in hand, racing forward faster and further until you were both screaming out an orgasm. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” You chanted.

“Shit, oh fuck,” Franklin roared. 

Sweat rolled down your back. You leaned forward so you could kiss Franklin. Your kisses were sloppy, jerky, as you rode out your orgasm. Some unknown force took over, unable to help yourself from continuing even though you were too over the moon. Too far gone. 

Maybe this was what he felt like when he kept going even after you came. That driving need to stay connected, stay buried in each other. Your hips kept rolling until you were too weak and spent to keep going. Your legs finally giving out as you collapsed on top of him. 

Franklin groaned and rolled you over until you were beneath him now. He slipped out and you licked your dry lips, turning your head to the side. You did not want to stop, but you were out of breath. In danger of passing out altogether.

You never experienced a mutual orgasm before. It was usually one after the other. Like a gentleman, Franklin always made sure you came first. Sometimes multiple times before he allowed himself to climax. 

Franklin gave your tummy multiple kisses. Every inch of skin was covered with his lips. He laid prayer after prayer into your skin. 

For the first time all day, you felt beautiful. You felt loved. You felt like the most gorgeous woman on the planet. 

“I love you, Noodle,” he said, calling your baby by the nickname you agreed on. You didn’t know why, it just felt like a Noodle, nestled in there. 

Your heart swelled, seeing his face as he continued to kiss your stomach. You rubbed his head as he continued talking to Noodle telling it how he was going to protect it, love it, cherish it, and that it had the best mom on the planet. 

Tears prickled your eyes for entirely different reasons and you tried to blink them away but couldn’t. Franklin kissed up your stomach and couldn’t resist a final lick and tug on your overly sensitive nipples. 

When he reached your mouth, he smiled and kissed you. He sighed into your mouth. “I love you, baby,” he said.

“I love you even more, Franklin.”

THE END

The Secret Franklin Saint Files | Part 1

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Franklin Saint Files #Franklin Saint x Black!reader #Franklin Saint x Black reader #Franklin Saint x Fem!reader #Franklin Saint x Fem reader #x Black reader #x reader #Franklin Saint x reader #Franklin Saint x you #Franklin Saint imagine #Franklin Saint fanfic #Franklin Saint fan fic #Franklin Saint fanfiction #Franklin Saint fan fiction #Snowfall fanfic #Snowfall fanfiction #Snowfall fan fic #Snowfall fan fiction #Snowfall smut #Franklin Saint smut

[deadpoolsoci3ty]

so you're the a (alastor x reader) ch 1

(a/n: so i've been posting this on ao3 for about a week and just decided to post on here too now. also i do not have a posting schedule im busy lol sorry)

summary: finding the radio at that thrift store may have completely changed the course of my life, but really i'm not complaining at all.

word count: 1,789

warnings: none i think (let me know if should add some!)

ao3 link

masterlist

Chapter One: thing of beauty

The cold wind of Chicgo bit at my face as I walked the short walk from my apartment to the thrift store. I’m not totally sure what I was going there to look for, but I just needed to get out of my apartment. The walk was pleasant because I’m a college student home at one o’clock in the afternoon on a Tuesday, so the sidewalks are barren. The store finally comes into view, and then I’m walking in. I greet the woman at the register, and immediately book it towards the trinkets in the back. I look through their selection of shot glasses and mugs, not seeing anything that I just had to have. I pace around the back of the store until I see this gorgeous antique radio. A radio would be great for background noise when I’m reading, and plus this was a thing of beauty. I may not have a lot of money, but I knew in my heart whatever price this radio was, it was coming home with me. I rushed over to pick it up so I could find the price, but before my eyes could land on the price tag they first saw a small ‘A’ carved into wood in the corner. Maybe it was like an Andy Toy Story situation, a cute little memory from a previous owner. Then I found the price, a solid $60 which I am truly willing to part with for this beautiful radio.

With an extra pep in my step, I made my way to the register to pay for my lovely new friend. I greeted the employee at the register once again, and she looked somewhat excited that I put the radio on the conveyor belt. “Has this been here long?” I asked because I was confused how someone would pass up this piece of art.

“Longer than me, pretty sure,” she shrugged, “all the employees here have made up our little stories about the history behind it.” She rang me up and the screen prompted me to put my card in, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to get a sweet treat for a week or two but the radio was worth it. “It has been bought before though,” I furrowed my brow because what was wrong with this damn clock? But, to be honest I didn’t care if the radio even worked or not (I was hoping it did though) it was just beautiful. “The people always come back in basically begging us to buy it back, don’t even care for how much. One guy sold it to us for fifty cents one time.”

Now, normally I would not be caught dead with an object that people had been begging to return, and with the way the employee had been describing the situation the radio was definitely scaring the shit out of everybody that purchased it. But, for some reason I needed this radio. A little about me, I’m a textbook snobby english major. I love all things vintage, I think the classics are the greatest works in English literature, and hold a deep detestment for many aspects of modern culture. Yes, I am annoying.

“Mmm, something tells me I’ll be keeping it for the long haul.” I don’t know what possessed me to say something like this, but I’m just gonna go with it. I thank the employee and make my way out of the shop.

The walk home was much less brisk now that I was carrying this heavy radio, but I didn’t think about it much. I was just so excited. My roommate was out filming for some school project so I could fiddle with it when I got home.

After what feels like forever, I see the fence in front of my apartment. I whip out my keys, and put them in the lock of the first door and lock it behind me, while putting the key into the next door which leads to my apartment. I take off my shoes and lock the door. I walk over to the dining room table and put my purse down along with the radio so I can take my coat off. Once coatless, I grab the radio and set it down on the coffee table in front of the couch. I mess with the knobs and dials until I hear a crackle. “Yes!” I yelled, as I began switching through the stations, most of the stations I knew from the radio in my car were entirely static. After a couple of minutes I heard someone speaking, the voice was filtered through what sounded like a microphone from the early days of audio.

“Hello dearie!~” the strange voice spoke, I assumed it was a prerecorded file a station was playing. Like a radio version of the history channel. So, of course I didn’t speak back to the radio. Then, the voice came back, “I said…” a loud static started to emanate from the speaker, “Hello!”

My first thought was ‘fuck me, if this is a demon in here, I’m definitely going to fall for one of his traps’ I had just though about this a couple days ago, I want things! Sue me! And I’m not fucking with you two days ago I had been thinking about this shit and now here I am. Welp, I’m fucked, but still I carry on. And now I was sure I had completely lost my mind, so since that had already happened and I was obviously in the middle of an episode of psychosis, I decided to reply, “Oh! Umm I didn’t think you were speaking to me. My apologies!” Whoever this person who was speaking was, I definitely did NOT want him to be upset with me.

“Oh dear, oh dear! Far in the past now! You’ve got my radio!” I could tell whoever was speaking was smiling, I could hear in their voice.

“This is yours? It’s gorgeous, I can assume you’re the ‘A’ on the bottom of it.” I could have asked so many questions, but I went with this one. I’m not totally sure why, but I really want to know more about the strange voice.

“Alastor! That’s my name, sweetheart!” He seemed excited to introduce himself, and honestly I was just as excited as him.

“Hello Alastor! My name is Y/N! It’s nice to meet you! Where do you live, Alastor? I found the radio in Chicago!” Why was I telling this strange voice over a creepy radio where I live.

“Oh when I was alive, my home was New Orleans. Absolutely fantastic! It made it all the way to the Windy City!” My heart froze after his fifth word, hair standing up, goose pimples all over my skin, and a shock through my spine. When he was alive??? What the fuck does that mean? He’s definitely a demon, yep fuck me.

“Just to clarify, you did just say ‘when you were alive’ right? That wasn’t me hearing things, right?” I was hyperventilating out of my damn mind. I absolutely understood now why people had returned this freaky fucking radio

“Oh yes, of course, dear! I’m coming to you straight from Hell.” The way he said it like it was the most casual thing ever, had me feeling like I was overreacting to what he was saying.

“And you’re not messing with me?” After it came out of my mouth I heard him clench his teeth.

“Oh, now what is your impression of me that says I would do that to you?” He seems frustrated with my question, and that did not sit right with me. I was quick to appease him.

“No, no, no, I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant by that, I promise!” I try to stop myself from spilling my guts to this man who I believe might be a demon, because the voice in my head was telling me giving personal information to a demon was probably not the best decision I could make, but I just couldn’t stop myself. “It’s just I never believed in an afterlife or a religion, so it’s just that you have just told me that hell is real and that is absolutely insane to me because now I’m terrified hell is horrible. Is it horrible? I mean I guess that’s the point?” I took a deep breath before I continued my word vomiting, but before I got the chance, Alastor began speaking again.

“Sweet girl~ please stop with the yammering…” His voice seemed like nectar to me, I could listen to him speak all day, “before we continue with our little back and forth, I am going to need to know what I’m getting out of this?” I immediately started thinking about the things I could offer him, not my soul. Wasn’t there just yet.

“What could you possibly want from me?” This was the most genuine question I had asked in a long time, I had absolutely nothing to offer him. I had money for groceries, rent, and utilities. Most of my possessions were books, he was in hell what use could he have for anything I could give him.

“I just adore your voice, little deer!” He was back to being his chirpy self, and it rubbed off on me making me feel a little calmer. “I’m sure you would love to continue our little chats, and in return I’d just like for you to read to me, from a book of your choosing of course.” I was trying not to let off how excited I was, I wanted him to feel like he was getting more out of this than he was. “I’m trusting you have immaculate taste, but give a couple of your favorites just so I can tell.”

After a few quick beats I respond with, “My favorite book of all time is Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte, I’m a big fan of the classics, nineteenth century literature.”

“Oh how swell!” he seemed like he was buzzing with glee, “A beautiful voice with even better taste!” He seemed to chuckle to himself and as his laugh faded out his voice came back, “Well, dearest, I’m afraid I must be going for now! I’ll excuse your payment for today, but be ready for next time, my dear,” I took a deep breath at the thought of a next time, “When you want to contact me again, just tune back into this station, I’ll be able to tell. I won’t always be able to talk, but when I can I’ll be there in a jiffy!”

Before I could respond to him the static that accompanied his voice faded and it eventually became silent in my apartment once again. I released the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, and leaned back into my couch.

(a/n: i've written five chapters so far i'll be posting the other four asap)

#alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #alastor x you #alastor imagine #hazbin imagine #hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #alastor fic #hazbin fic #hazbin hotel fic

[cyberrose2001]

Hi there! I found your blog not long ago and I wanted to say that I love your work! I saw your requests were open, so hopefully this is okay. (This is also my first request like this EVER, so I'm sorry if I'm super awkward or unclear lol;;;; )

TFP OP x human!fem!reader. The reader is shy but tries to help around the base, and make everyone smile. She develops feelings for Optimus and is interested in a relationship with him; but, due to said shyness and a fear of rejection, she keeps the feelings to herself and it's a huge pining situation. Maybe those feelings grow to wanting something more intimate over time.

I hope this makes sense! Thank you! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

TFP Optimus x human!fem!reader

Hi! I got your other ask as well and its all good! Thank you for requesting! I hope I've done your first request justice :)

Warnings: Suggestive (more towards the end, but mostly SFW)

Word count: 703

Since you've been taken in by the Autobots, you've made it your duty to repay their kindness in the upkeeping of their base. You're not the talkative type, often keeping to yourself and avoiding confrontation. And helping with maintenance allows you to avoid the others.

You would watch as the other humans would go on missions and help save the planet, but you were more than happy to stay behind to clean and organise equipment. Some would call you the human equivalent of Ratchet, except less grumpy and more reserved in nature. The cleaning gave you something to focus on, mainly when your thoughts drifted to a particular red and blue mech.

You couldn't help yourself. Optimuss's strong and bold personality resonates with everyone he meets. He displays it with such gentle kindness, and you fall for him. You're in love with him. You're so fucking in love with him that it hurts. It hurts because you know he could never love a human in the same regard you have for him. So, you transform that pain into something actually useful. Instead of daydreaming about him confessing to you, you grab a mop and a bucket of water and clean the base's dirty floor.

Dip. Squeeze out the water. Mop. Repeat.

Giving the concrete one last sweep, you stand back and admire your handy work. It took you nearly the whole afternoon, but the way the floor glistens and shines is worth it. Kneeling on the mint-condition floor, you run your hand across the smooth surface, gazing at your reflection. It is near damn perfect, almost as perfect as the sculpted face of Optimus staring back at you. You are about to run your hand across your star-crossed lover until your hand freezes. You're not hallucinating from the cleaning chemicals. That's his reflection.

You jump out of your skin and fall backwards. Your eyes shoot up to meet the glowing azure optics that belonged to Optimus Prime. He's crouched down over your comparatively petite frame, giving you a questionable look.

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to startle you." Optimus lends you his servo. You're hesitant but accept the offer, and he quickly pulls you off the ground and onto your shaky legs. He notices and keeps a servo wrapped around your hand to keep you steady, "Are you alright?"

No, I'm holding your hand, you think to yourself.

"I'm fine, thank you." You feign a laugh as your face flushes. He is so close to you that you could genuinely touch his face for real if you wanted to. His grip on your hand is firm, and the size difference makes you swoon internally, "You gave me a fright, though."

"That was not my intention," He chuckles, and it's like music to your ears, "I could not help but admire your skills. This place has not been this pristine in years."

Don't freak out, but Optimus just gave you a compliment.

"Oh! Thank you." You say as you withdraw your hand, overcome with bashfulness. You swear you could see a glint of disappointment in his optics as you did so, "It's not much, honestly… I'm surprised you even noticed."

Optimus gives you a gentle smile and returns to his pedes, "It is difficult not to. You've done a fine job, Y/n."

He turns his back to you, and you can see the hesitance in his stance as he turns his helm to look over his shoulder at you.

"Perhaps you could… assist me in cleaning my quarters someday." He casually says as he saunters off to the base computer.

You're thankful that Optimus wasn't looking at you because the amount of blood rushing to your face, and surprisingly to another region of your body, is embarrassing. You were curious to know if he was flirting with you or if you took his words in a completely different context. Either way, you hastily pick up the bucket and mop and power walk to the nearest janitor's closet.

"Is she alright?" A curious Bulkhead asks as he witnesses the whole thing, "She looked kinda… red."

Optimus focuses on the screen before him, a slight smirk on his dermas, "I only startled her, I believe she will be ok."

#transformers #transformers prime #tfp #tfp optimus x reader #suggestive #sfw #mostly

[junosmindpalace]

Hey!! (。・∀・)ノ☆

If it's okay, could you please write a Senku x gender-neutral reader oneshot in which the reader really wants to learn more about astrophysics (likely being inspired by Senku), but they're nervous and way too hard on themself, thanks to all of the criticism and discouragement they've faced from their family? ☆

Sorry about any of the grammar or spelling mistakes I might've just made, lol - I just woke up about an hour ago, but I got super excited when I saw you were taking requests! Have a great day/night, and no pressure &lt;3 ☆

hi there!! thank you so much for your request and patience! i hope this is what you were referring to in your request, i'll edit a bit more in the morning </3 i WOULDVE answered this directly but i suddenly couldnt find it in my inbox anymore. forgive me!

synopsis: you doubt just how far a passion can get you.

You’ve really got to hand it to him; science was awesome. 

The way Senku charged forward with his passion, never once wavering in his love and belief in it despite the backlash and hardships he received was inspiring. All the time you spent around him had his determination and fearlessness inspiring you as well. And when you told him about your pursuit in learning more about astrophysics, all thanks to Senku’s own fascination and all the crazy experiments he roped you into, he was more than ecstatic. 

He’s been the main provider for your fascination, being damned if he wouldn’t take the opportunity to indulge you in the awesome power of and wonder that was science. It was a constant stream of information all coming from Senku, whether it was in the form of some texts he found or one of his rants on a related experiment. It even fuelled his own excitement of being able to talk science with you, eager to dump everything he’s learned into your mind and show off every related experiment he’s capable of. 

Not that you were complaining in the slightest. You soaked up his knowledge and excitement like a sponge, just as eager to learn and indulge as Senku was. You traded information, having conversations that would last hours on the topic. Never once did either of you bore. 

Though it wasn’t long until your family had found your stash of books on the subject and had walked in on you pouring over the information in them. Family members skeptically eyed your notes and the titles of the books you were signing out from libraries and borrowing from Senku. They doubtfully questioned you, and it was as if a switch had been flipped in your head, suddenly feeling small and insecure under their disapproving and scrutinizing gazes. 

It wasn’t hurting anyone, it was just a hobby of yours. And they agreed. Besides, the benefits that came with having a career in the sciences was well worth the pursuit. What felt like a blow to the chest was the fact that they doubted this passion of yours, your capabilities and your commitment to it. 

“You can’t waste all this time on a hobby.”

“Are you sure you have what it takes to pursue this?”

“I just don’t know how suitable this is for you…”

“This interest will die out in a couple of months. Don’t let yourself get caught up in something that will ultimately be of no value to you.” 

Words like these and long conversations about your family doubting your passion in astrophysics made it hard for you to continue enjoying learning the material, and your attitude toward it slowly started to shift. 

This shift didn’t go unnoticed by Senku, of course. He was all too familiar with people doubting the validity of his passion for science. His enthusiasm and insane experiments have gained him both admirers and people who doubted and even resented his eccentricity, viewing him as an oddity. He was all too familiar with people doubting his knowledge and science as a whole! Thus, it was why Senku was the perfect man to help you get back into your old mindset. 

His mission to get you to believe in the awesome power of science started as soon as you first met him, but now he had to help you get back on the track to believing in yourself.

He remembers when you first reluctantly told him about this seed of doubt that had been planted into your mind, slowly invading your mind like an invasive plant. 

Senku made sure to weed out the root of this seed before it could invade the rest of your mind, thorny and suffocating in vines. If there’s anything his old man taught him, it was what support and indulgence could do and where it could take him. 

He can tell you’ve become more doubtful in your knowledge when it came to your discussions, not as eager as you once were to share your findings and things that particularly interested you in the subject. Corrections Senku made seemed to fluster you all the more, even quiet you at times, no longer enthusiastically accepting his contributions to discussions. 

Suddenly you don’t feel as capable as Senku is. You watched his love of science grow up alongside him, and you’re fearful that you just won’t be able to commit to that interest as much as Senku does. What if you’re no good at it? What if you never grow? What if you constantly fall behind? What if you lose interest entirely? The doubts in your mind were endless.

But to Senku, his love of science came very naturally, and he was able to tell that so was the case for you. It wasn’t forced and you certainly weren’t complaining when it came to indulging in the material. You were knowledgeable and capable in the subject, and above all, he could tell that you had fun with it. And ultimately, that was what you needed reminding of.

And so one afternoon after another no-go at getting easy discussion out of you, you had revealed to him in a messy jumble all these fears that were pulling you back from continuing to pursue this interest. He listened with a frown and furrowed brows as you explained to him the doubts your family had put in your mind, and reflected on them throughout. 

And once you were finally done venting those doubts that were weighing you down like a boulder chained to your leg, a moment of silence followed. 

Suddenly you’re even more nervous than you began, having no clue what to expect from Senku’s response. But then you hear him speak up: “So what?” 

You immediately raised your head, staring at him in confusion. “What?”

“So what?” he echoed, a small smile breaking out over his face. “Science is trial and error. It takes a lot of patience and a lot of time to learn and apply. It can be frustrating and all the failures can be discouraging--if you choose to look at it that way.”

He places his hands in front of his lap and propels himself forward, just slightly, so that his face is inches from yours. You’re taken aback for a moment, and his smile still hasn’t left him. 

“Failure is part of the learning process, a big part! Doubt and speculation are what lead to more theories, more experiments, more learning, and more growth. And with every failure you learn something new, so you never really lose!” 

He rests backward, but never leaves your gaze. His voice grows gentler, but doesn’t lose any of its resolution. “You know this.” 

“And besides, science isn’t about being the best. You like it ‘cause it’s fun, right?”

And his smile grows a little wider when he sees in your face the reminder slowly coming down on you, snapping you out of this trance of self-doubt. 

This interest didn’t develop out of a need to impress, for validation, or any other ulterior motive other than to indulge in a fascination that turned into a hobby you really truly loved. Not because of the praise it brought in from peers, but because you enjoyed immersing yourself in it, from the textbooks to the lengthy conversations to the experiments that took a hundred tries to get right. The successful end goals were just as fun as the insightful process. Even if it took a while to grasp certain concepts or review certain material, it was just all the more exciting and rewarding when it finally did click.  

And though there would always be people who are hesitant to give their all and project those doubts, it shouldn’t hold you back and have you following in their footsteps. 

Besides, having Senku to indulge with certainly meant that you would never, ever have to doubt for long.

#dr stone x reader #dr stone oneshots #dr stone oneshot #dr stone fluff #drst x reader #drst oneshot #senku ishigami x reader #senku x reader #senku ishigami oneshot #senku ishigami fluff

[uncouth-the-fifth]

baby i'll stay (heaven can wait) - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (vaguely s8). Tags/Warnings: not-too-graphic smut, hunting-typical violence, witches using glamors, soft, loving, childhood friends-to-lovers, glass injuries. Word Count: 14,729 (hence why it took so damn long lol) Notes: howdyyyy. sorry for the brief absence, i was packing up some end-of-the-year things at home, finals, etc. this is for my dear friend and ultimate supporter @lacilou, who requested something that was so up my alley that i just HAD to write it. here ya goooo! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

You had never seen Dean grovel before.

It started with some gentle offers, and then his pride caved, and he really started to dig in. If you played bait for the witch the three of you were currently hunting, Dean would, (in order), clean your weapons himself for a month, buy you dinner from your favorite place, and let you do at least one donut with Baby in the nearest empty lot. You planned to say yes either way, seeing as people were dying here—and it’s not like the three of you had any other options. But the longer you held out the more Dean added. You stewed on it, until even Sam offered up the passenger’s seat for two weeks. Once you’d amassed a good collection of favors the night before your hunt—

“Fine. I’ll do it,” you crossed your arms.

“God,” Dean cursed, and slumped forward against the table of your motel room in mock-exhaustion. “Only took you two fuckin’ days.”

Sam, who was leaning against the counter of your kitchenette, cooly twisted off the cap of his bottle and smirked around it. “You’re just mad cause’ she played you. Donuts in the Impala? Really?”

“I think that’s fair,” you spoke up, “What’s our witch’s name again?”

“Hermes,” Sam and Dean said, rolling their eyes in unison.

“Well—I’m the one who’s gonna have to be touched by this creep. That’s worth wheelies in the Impala, if you ask me,” you argued. On the motel bed in front of you, you were sorting through the suitcase that carried your entire life in it. There was supposed to be a nice night-out dress in here somewhere, but it’d probably been ruined by monster blood a millennia ago.

“Don’t even joke,” Dean warned, but he hesitated, like he’d been considering the Impala doing wheelies and mentally measuring how cool it’d be. 

“You know…” Sam trailed off, and in the corner of your eye you watched him straighten up. “If this really bothers you, you don’t have to do it. We’ve found other outlets before—this one just so happens to be the easiest one. A harder solution never scared us off before.”

“Exactly,” you snapped the lid of your suitcase shut. “So I can handle an easy one, like you said. I’m complaining for the fun of it, I promise. A witch killing and robbing people is nothing new, and neither are creeps—so I’m not exactly intimidated.”

Stepping away from the bed, you presented your dress to the two. It was almost a little too plain, but you got out so little lately that anything, even willfully being seduced by a witch in a sleazy bar, sounded fun. Little things like that reminded you that the hunt was an adventure as much as it was a job. A pretty shitty adventure, maybe, but after the apocalypse optimism had become a need as much as it was a balm. You were stuck in another lousy motel room in another city you’d never seen. Yet, sometime in the next week you’d be terrifying Dean out of his skin doing donuts in his car, and Sam had been happy lately. You hoped it was your influence.

His concern for you, as usual, boosted your optimism well into next week. You were more of a realist by nature. But if your positive outlook was waking him up and following him to bed every night, yet again, you and Sam Winchester had established another unspoken cycle. You watched his back and he watched yours. Sam talked to you about how he felt and you talked to him, both out of fear of burdening Dean. He gushed about the books he liked and the science articles he read, you fell in love with him every time, and together you relied so heavily on the other that you doubted Sam could breathe if your lungs weren’t working. You saved him and he saved you until you owed each other eternally. It’d been that way since the first time your parents had dropped you off at Bobby Singer’s, when you’d befriended the only other hunter-kids you’d ever met.

A few years back, the horseman Death had called your relationship uniquely symbiotic. To this day, you still wondered what he’d really meant. Feeling Sam’s warm eyes catch yours over his drink almost gave you your answer. But like always, your train of thought chased the soft line of his bicep against his shirt sleeve or the dimple of his cheek instead. This time, Sam was comparing the neckline of the dress to your shirt, imagining you in it. Flushed, you folded it against your stomach and set it on top of your suitcase. You played with a hair tie on your wrist and reminded yourself that Sam wasn’t looking at you that way.

Dean whistled at the dress. “Man. Maybe we don’t even need the witch-killing spell,” he gave you an appreciative smile, “this guy’ll explode the minute he sees you.”

“That better be a compliment,” you glared at him, and for good measure, Sam swatted him on the back of the head. 

“You’ll look just fine,” Sam assured, sounding unenthused.

It was your God-given job to keep him on his toes, so you flicked the bottom of his beer as you passed him and warned with a smile, “That better be a compliment too, Winchester, or you’re both in trouble.”

“Mom, Dad,” Dean whined, “please don’t flirt in front of me.”

In an instant, Sam slipped his bottlecap off the counter and you rolled your hairtie off your wrist. Dean had just collapsed face-first into his bed when both projectiles whizzed off him, ricocheting onto the carpet. You hadn’t realized Sam had moved at the same time until his bottlecap had popped off Dean’s head, startling you into bubbly, shoulder-shaking laughter. Sam didn’t laugh—he rarely did, not since he was a kid—but he smiled, and for now that worked for you.

“Tomorrow, you’ll get some kind of DNA off of our witch at the bar, we’ll do our spell, and we’ll follow you in the car to make sure you’re safe,” Sam decided, softening his voice. He said this mostly to himself, and you indulged him even if you knew your game plan, just because you knew it was a comfort to him to list it out for himself. Years of staying home while Dean and John were off hunting had narrowed his life into lists—of school assignments, of tasks to handle while they were gone—and he’d never grown out of it. You imagined it was why he was so meticulous. “Then, we’re clear.”

“People saved, things hunted,” you drawled, listing each on one hand, “family business—”

“—done,” Dean finished, giving a thumbs up where he was faceplanted in his bed. With that, he rolled over, turned off the bedside lamp, and flushed your room into cool darkness. “Night’.”

You and Sam chorused your goodnights to him. Then, Sam turned toward the window over the kitchenette, adjusted the salt there with the back of his hand, and closed the curtains to cut off the last slivers of moonlight.

As a hunter, it was in the job description that you had some precautions about the dark. With Sam there, across from you, you forgot all notions about being afraid. You enjoyed looking at him even more than the next girl did, but with darkness came a new depth of intimacy. Without sight, you could only collect context from the low timbre of his voice or his presence next to you. It was about feeling instead of seeing. And Sam, with the sweet way he said things and the gentle way he navigated the dark, was nothing but feeling.

The moment was brief, but Sam found your shoulder and followed it up to your temple, which he kissed. Like the lists, it was a ritual he’d never grown out of. And you never wanted him to. You could feel the warmth of his breath, of his hand, flushing through your whole body like the sweet-tasting humidity before a healthy storm. 

“Goodnight, ____,” Sam murmured near your face. He was like you, so if the dark made you more honest then it made him more honest; Sam sounded like he loved you.

You leaned into the brief contact, squeezed his wrist, and resisted the surge of hope pressing up your throat. “Goodnight, Sam.”

_

It should’ve been sad, how happy you were to be out despite the circumstances, but you knew even the best covers had a sliver of truth to them—and tonight, you wanted to flirt, to feel pretty flirting, and to kill some damn witches. Being covered in monster grime didn’t make anybody feel beautiful, and suiting up in a skirt and wedges to masquerade as a fed didn’t count. The hunt rarely gave you an excuse for self-confidence. If this was one of those times, you weren’t about to let it pass by.

And truth be told, you’d been under fire for so long that one witch didn’t feel like much of a threat. You weren’t so stupid that you neglected to realize what Hermes was capable of. But after your five-hundredth witch in over fifteen years of hunting, the fear of danger was nothing more than a wisp of tension floating at your shoulder. If it bleeds, you can kill it, Dean always said. And witches definitely bled.

Knowing that Sam and Dean were watching your six, that wisp of anxiety disintegrated entirely. It was so natural to have them there, Sam on your right and Dean on your left, that you usually dreamt with each brother somewhere in your peripherals. Hazy flying dreams and late-to-school nightmares included. Well, the school nightmares were less strange—once upon a time, you’d really gone to school with Sam and Dean.

Your parents were hunters. That made you like any other sullen, directionless hunter kid in the business, desperate to follow in their parent’s footsteps but terrified of becoming anything like them. Most pure-bred hunters like you didn’t have the fortune of an Uncle Bobby, though. Looking back, you wished you’d had more time with your parents—but you were grateful for the days they dumped you on him. Around when you’d entered middle school, Bobby’s house had become something of a hunter daycare. He wasn’t big on the idea. Obviously. But Bobby melted like all grouchy old men inevitably did, and soon your days spent racing to get him books and spell ingredients overlapped with his days babysitting Sam and Dean.

Dean was two years your senior, and had usually been the bane of your existence. But you’d both existed in the strange place between a hunter and a liability for your parents, so together, you were eager to please, learn, and emulate. Dean had done this because he’d wanted to graduate to a full-on hunter, but you were content with bringing phones to Bobby and helping without being in the way. Sam was much of the same. He was… He was quiet and sweet and he’d cut out the gum Dean had put in your hair without wrecking it. He wrote school essays that were cool instead of boring, and made everything seem interesting and beautiful. Dean had embodied hunting to you, then, and Sam was the breathable living space between.

You loved Dean, and you’d learned a lot from him. But you lived and breathed Sam—and the new, exciting proposition of a home somewhere else—because of the ideas he represented. Being a hunter so young had gutted your faith, and Sam, somehow, had rerouted it all. He’d shown you that there were seams between hunts that you could use to find your footing. Bobby had taught you how to be smart, Dean had taught you how to be practical, and Sam had promised you that all of this wasn’t for nothing. You figured that was why all of the hunters you met were weapons more than people; Sam Winchester hadn’t cupped their face on Bobby Singer’s porch and kissed them like they were still human.

That’d been more than a decade ago, and you could still feel how the rain had made your hair cling to your face, how the shoulders of Sam’s sweater were damp from the weather. The kiss had been brief and childish and a little unmoored. And yet it’d carried you through everything, even the literal end of the world, Sam going in the cage… all of it. He’d been your living space.

That had been built on the rare weekends you happened to be at Bobby’s at the same time, so having a few months of school together bonded you for life. They purposefully forgot to mention that John was settling them in your town and your school, hoping to surprise you. In hindsight, it was a sweet gesture, but there was a bold line between your hunting life and your school life for a reason. High school was awful for you. Your parents’ deaths had left you as exposed as a bloody nerve. With no one else around, your foster family unaware of… the real world, and a valley between you and the life you used to know, hunting was all you’d had. You’d spiraled into it deeper than you ever had before. One misstep in the hallway had spilled all of your research books and spell ingredients out of your backpack, immediately casting you as your school’s new resident freak.

Neither of the boys knew about… the bullying. It was such a pathetic word. You never told them, probably because school was as much of a sore a subject for them as it was for you. So they’d turned up, gleaming with excitement, only for whatever image they had of you as some tough, unflinchable hunter to shatter.

You’d been eating lunch comfortably alone, fork in one hand and research book under the other. All at once your table was crowded with your grade’s most self-absorbed clique, all of them probing you, asking you questions, and giggling amongst each other even at your innocent answers. They stole your book and read it out loud to each other. They prodded at your backpack, searching for more joke material. It happened so often that you knew better than to lash out, as you’d done before—or react at all, as you’d done before—and resigned yourself to another ruined day.

Then, Dean’s hands had cooly landed on your shoulders. Hey, ____, Sam had greeted warmly from your right, and you remembered how he hadn’t bothered to hide his scowl. Are these jokers bothering you? 

It was such a movie moment, a book moment, that the only thing you could call it was wish fulfillment. There’d been plenty of times when you’d wished they’d been there, or wished you could tell them about something that’d happened to you. But actually having it happen—Dean swooping in with that suave grin, Sam refusing to let you carry your own backpack…

You felt like you owed them. It was a small, easy kindness for them to pay, but after months of loneliness and alienation and absolute, incomprehensible loss, it’d been a surge of heat in an ocean of ice. Sudden and unexpected and life-giving.

Since then, you couldn’t remember a single time you hadn’t been in that same position. Standing there, with Sam and Dean on either side of you. As the Impala pulled up to the bar your witch often skulked, you looked reflexively to your left, and there was Dean in the driver’s seat. For once, you were upfront with him—Sam needed room in the back to perform the witch-killing spell.

“And you’re sure you can… hook him in?” Dean asked, gesturing blandly with one hand.

You bolstered yourself, so the smile you gave Dean was a bit more confident than you felt. “Well, his past victims have all looked like me. And, no offense, but I’ve been swindling guys like this since I was sixteen. I’m not too worried about that part.”

Sam sighed so deeply that you and Dean twisted to look at him. Realizing he’d done that out loud, he bumbled awkwardly over his own reaction and coughed. “Uh, yeah. But, uh, I’ll have to do the ingredients in order, so it might take a second after we get his DNA for the spell to go through. You’ll have to… to distract him, until then.” Sam flashed you a tight smile. “I’ll be fast, I promise. You won’t be stuck with that guy for long.”

“Good,” you said. The eye contact you were sharing suddenly felt purposeful. You eased yourself away from his gaze, though it was more of a lurch than a very casual, not-at-all tension-filled turn.

There was a brief lapse in the conversation that made your skin prickle from your spine to your neck. You could feel Dean’s smug amusement from behind his binoculars, simmering, which didn’t help. The focussed silence that usually settled over the three of you on stake-outs never came, so you rushed to fill it.

“...So,” you opened, “if our witch uses a glamor to make himself appear more enticing to each of his victims, then how can I be sure it’s him?”

“He’s gonna be the best-looking guy in the place,” Sam explained. He’d reined in whatever had bothered him earlier, apparently, because his tone became halted and professional.

Dean sprung up, whistling. “That’s how—there ya go, he’s right there.”

You leaned around Dean, trying to get some idea of what you were hunting, but his big ass binoculars were in the way. The witch was only just across the street, yet Dean adjusted the focus on the lenses, apparently aiming for a microscopic look. You lowered them from his face so you could see past them, and behind the eyepieces he was so flushed his freckles had disappeared.

“I mean…” Dean cleared his throat, but his blush only spread further. “Wow. Just. Wow, that’s a good-looking dude.”

You were already opening your mouth to tease him, but everything you’d planned to say, along with any idea of what your name was, where you were, and what you were doing, drained from your grip like a fistful of sand.

Wow. That was the only word you could remember. It occurred to you that Dean was seeing a totally different man because of the witch’s magic, and christ, were you thankful for it. You’d never hear the end of it if they saw what you were… enjoying. The witch pulled up the curb in a glittering white muscle car—which definitely added to whatever Dean was going through. But for you, it wasn’t the vintage Challenger or the shiny loafers, or… or the, um… the white blazer… or the crisp button-up under, uh, underneath… Or the witch’s face. Which was Sam’s face. No little changes to support your preferences in men. No beautification, supernatural glow or… anything else. Just Sam. Sam as he was right now, sitting in your backseat. Sam with his, uh… his face clean and happy… with… w-with his hair styled all nice, like he always styles it when you dress up…

He emerged from the car, facing away from you. He waved a hand at the parking meter and it fizzed out. The broad shape of his back rolled under his suit, panther muscle moving under pelt, and he turned toward the bar with the same grace. His movements were vaguely not-Sam, if you squinted. It was all too sly, and he walked like he wasn’t as tall as he was. But something in the glamor kept you from pressing that idea in your head. Your mind wanted to indulge the parts of him that did look like Sam much more, so any bumps in his mirage smoothed themselves over, perfecting the look. It was clever. Clever… and… and, um… wow…

You had a thought. “The, um…” you tried, “we…”

“Y/N,” the real Sam chided.

The binoculars you’d pulled away from Dean fumbled out of your hand at the closeness of his voice, and you scrambled to catch it, and so did Dean, but neither of you took your eyes away from the street. You ended up weirdly clutching it together, like the two of you were going to wrestle for the right to see the witch through the binoculars. If you were any more focused, you might have.

“Guys,” Sam said, unimpressed. “It’s just a glamor. Pull it together, please?”

“...Sam,” you tested the name in your mouth, “um, witch glamors, how do they work?”

“They’re projections of power. They make each person who looks at them see their ideal partner. Didn’t I tell you this already?”

“I-I know. Just.” You swallowed. “Do they, like, pull from people the person’s already met, or do they, uh… make it up? To suit the person.”

“Both. But it’s easier magic to just use people the victim already loves.” He stressed victim as pointedly as he could, reminding you of the role you’d be playing.

Dean pried his eyes away from the street. They slid over to you, and you immediately did not like the suspicious gleam waiting for you there. “Why? You see somebody you know?” He bounced his eyebrows.

“What? You? Oh, please,” you laughed. You blurted out the first person you could come up with. “He’s ...Leo. In Titanic. Who do you see?”

“Another time,” Dean dodged. You usually would never let him get away with a blatant conversation shift like that, but he was grinning to himself like he could see you bullshitting too. It made you nervous. “Go on and get in there so we can gank this chump.”

“Good luck,” Sam wished you from the backseat, sounding blunter than usual. “And remember—underneath all that, he’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton murdering innocent women.”

“Got it. Reality check received,” you said. Taking the door’s handle, you shot the boys one last look to confirm they’d have your back, and ducked out of the Impala.

_

The bar was of a higher-end than you were used to, so it took some mental adjustment to prepare for your role. Usually, the barflies you tricked preferred rougher, meaner girls, and you got the feeling that wasn’t what fake-Sam—Hermes, you reminded yourself—was into. If he was going after married unfaithfuls, he probably enjoyed mature, deceptive women who talked a lot about all the money they had. It was weird to think of someone with Sam’s face being into that. 

The few pieces of gold jewelry you owned rattled on your wrists as you approached the bar. It was eight, prime drinking time, so everyone who’d had a long day at work or a date filled every inch of the place. Anyone who could afford the obscene prices, at least. A few minutes after you entered, you glimpsed Dean dissolving into the crowd. Hermes immediately took an isolated booth in the corner, where it would be easiest for him to scope out women at the bar. You only caught a glimpse of him. He lounged back, ankle on his knee, the low whiskey-hued light stroking one side of his face. It was… very Sam. He could’ve been on the couch at home, sunk into the cushions and reading a book by lamplight. You tried to reign in the confusing elixir of anxiety and attraction brewing in your stomach.

So far, he’d already begun to sort his targets. His honed-in look was unmistakable on Sam’s face. You made sure to pass in front of the women he was eyeing, and silently applauded yourself when his gaze was hooked on your figure. He trailed your slow saunter over to the bar with those intense, paletted eyes, lingering on the wedding band you wore. Knowing it was Sam—thinking it was Sam both helped and made things a million times worse. Your thoughts wandered like they never did on hunts, heart pounding.

Focus, you hissed to yourself. You needed to get him to drink something, so Sam, your Sam, could use the DNA on the glass in his spell. After setting up your act with a few coy glances, you suppressed the sickness rolling in your gut and summoned the bartender. “Two drinks—one for me, and another for the gentleman in the booth there.”

You almost ordered him Sam’s favorite beer, then felt supremely weird about it when deciding on a pricey whiskey instead. Man, was this place just begging for you to blow some cash. And this hunt… was really begging you to look some unspoken feelings in the face. As you waited for the drink to be delivered, it settled on you what Sam had said before—that this witch was wearing the body of your ideal partner. You weren’t stupid, you knew that’s what this was, but the confirmation from magic of all things…

It’s easier to just use people the victim already loves, Sam had explained.

You knew you loved him. You’d known since you were kids. But that was only ever something you told to yourself—now, the universe was shouting it back to you. It’s not like this witch reached into your mind and knew to choose Sam to get under your skin the most. The glamor was an automatic sort of magic, that you could tell. And if it was automatic… then it was all real. Your ideal partner really was Sam. Not even some dramatized, romantic version of him. The authentic article. It welled up inside you right there in that stupid-expensive bar on your stupid-expensive stool, a surging flood of emotion that seized you and tethered you to the floor.

Those feelings were always followed by the phantom pressure of Sam’s broad, gentle hands on your face. Your first kiss with him must’ve been more than a decade ago. He’d been so nervous that his hands shook, and he hadn’t taken up bow-hunting yet so the pads of his fingers were still soft. You’d held his wrists and trembled too, but you were relieved and excited and warm with wild summer liking, face tacky with dried tears. The last day had been spent weapon training. You’d shot a gun for the first time, and it’d stabbed the reality of your life right through your ribs. You were gonna kill things. It was going to be your job to kill things. Sam had sat with you while you’d sobbed on Bobby’s porch, squeezing you against him even though it was storming like hell. He’d sat there until your sides ached from laughing and you weren’t so worried about everything.

Sam promised you’d go through all this together, and he’d been right. Of course you were in love with him.

Okay. Hunt. Danger. Witch. Focus. He’s a decaying, millennia-old skeleton, you reminded yourself.

But the hand brushing your bare shoulder was young, healthy, and familiar. Down to the bow-hunting callouses.

“Excuse me,” he greeted. His voice wasn’t purring with seduction or intent, as you’d imagined. It was just light, easy Sam. Like it’d been a bit since he’d seen you, and he’d just climbed out of the car to give you a secure hug and a kiss on the hair. The witch settled his glass on the bar between you, expression glittering with feigned curiosity. “I’m sorry to bother you, but it was kind of you to send over the drink. I wanted to say thank you.”

Maybe he was reaching into your mind to emulate Sam. Why would a thieving, money-hungry witch be so polite?

“Anytime,” you said, and found yourself responding like you were really talking to Sam. The witch’s smile broadened into his dimples; he wanted familiarity. “It’d be rude to leave such a cute guy without a drink on such a nice evening, don’t you think?”

“I think it’d be rude to leave a beautiful woman without company,” he agreed, eyes twinkling.

Unfortunately, your body wasn’t in hunting mode, as it should be. It was in act-normal-around-Sam mode, but “Sam” was actively flirting with you—so all of your nerves were going haywire. Your skin warmed in ways it never did for the men you won your dinner money from. Or any other man but one, period. An embarrassing, genuine giggle burst out of your chest. “I-I don’t mind,” you beamed.

“Hermes,” he said, offering you one giant hand to shake.

You gave it to him, and immediately he turned it over in his palm, lowered his face to your knuckles, and kissed them appreciatively.

“Y-Y/N,” you blurted, instead of your alias.

Dear god. Jesus Christ. What the fuck.

“Y/N. Really.” The witch repeated. Now he was turning up the sultriness. His voice was so nice and his hand was just like Sam’s and he—he even smelled like Sam.

“No. Uh. Y/N L/N, not Y/N Really,” you joked. Your full name. Out loud. Instead of your alias.

What the actual fuck.

“Forgive my asking,” and fake-Sam ran his thumb over your wedding band, his lips parted and his breath lingering on your hand. His voice was coated with want and humor. “But is there a Mr. Really?”

Fuck. Wait, yes. This was good. This was what you wanted.

You gathered yourself, but not too much, cause he seemed to like your clumsiness. Or maybe it gave him more incentive to kill you. “Yes,” you said, tip-toeing with your wording, “...does that bother you?”

Hermes just grinned and shook his head.

The witch gestured to the stool beside yours, and you nodded maybe a little too much. He claimed it, folding his legs uncomfortably because he was a bit too tall. It made you realize that the glamor worked even better (and harder) up close. All of the little details you loved about Sam—the slight crook of his left incisor where it’d almost been punched out a million times, the freckles under his collar and sleeves—loaded in. You swore they hadn’t been there before.

But, you still haven’t seen him drink from the cup. He wraps his hand loosely around the glass on the illuminated bartop, but otherwise doesn’t make a move, brushing his thigh against yours. You make up bland conversation about a long, arduous day at the wealthy company you work for. You complain a little bit about the doggy daycare your pure-bred Pomeranian goes to. When the bartender comes by, you tip him a good chunk of money right in front of Hermes. And if none of that is working, you bait him with the wedding ring and the cut of your dress.

It’s weird. It’s so fucking weird. But that’s kind of your life, so you’ve learned to accept the strangeness, and you enjoy the surface flirting with this millennia-year-old man who’s planning to kill you. While wearing the face of the love of your life.

You realize that you’ll probably never have this with the real Sam. Not the murder part, but the easy date night flirting—not without the cost of your friendship, or testing Sam’s feelings about relationships. 

When you’re satisfied that he’s hooked, as Dean put it, you raise your second round of drinks together and toast to them. You make something up about good company, and Hermes drinks. He lets his hand cover your bare knee, drawing circles that set every hair on your body on end. After what feels like hours, you brush your nails against the hair at the base of his neck, lean in, and whisper in his ear, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

And with that sly, clever Sam smile, he agrees. But— “My place is close. May I walk you?”

“You may,” you reply, even if it’s a complete deviation from his M.O. The witch always takes his victims back to their own homes, that’s how he robs them. What, was he genuinely attracted to you? Was this a real hookup thing? Or, did he recognize your real name and planned to kill you? Knowing your luck, you’d put money on murder.

Instead of offering you his arm, the witch is gentle and sweet as he gives you his hand. Just before you slip away from your seats, you put his whiskey on the stool, away from the well-meaning bartender who might clean it. The second you make it out the door with Hermes, Dean skulks out of the crowd and drops the empty glass in a plastic bag. Now you’re on the clock. Either the boys get Hermes first, or Hermes gets you. No pressure.

When you get outside, the Impala’s parked elsewhere. You’re both bothered and comforted by that, because while it may mean that the boys are out of sight, your spell is being performed where prying eyes can’t see. That’s good.

Hermes gives your hand a playful squeeze. While you’ve held Sam’s hand before, those moments were always too fleeting for you to take in much. You imagine your mind, or Hermes’ glamor, is filling in the blanks for you. His fingers are long and his hold is encompassing, swallowing almost the whole of yours. You talk for the two of you, since it’s a part of his act to give as little information about himself as possible. He pretends to enjoy your conversation. It’s your mind’s greatest impression of an interested Sam, his brow furrowed, his head ducked in thought, his focus honed in on only what you have to say. The witch leans in close when he does speak, murmuring into your ear. He loves to touch your bare skin, so his hands linger on your shoulders and the exposed portion of your back. It’s all a tactic to win over your suspicion, you know that, but it’s Sam’s hands. It’s his hands and his voice and his face.

“You know what?” Hermes surveys the street, and peaks into the alleyway nearest you, weighing your options like it’s not obvious where he’s going to drag you. Come on. “Let’s take this shortcut here.” He gives you a devouring look, “I don’t want us to wait any longer than we have to.”

“The suspicious, dark alleyway?” You joke. Just a few more minutes. Almost there. It’s gotta be.

Fake-Sam’s smile is fond, and with the same quiet resolution that Sam brings to everything, he parts from your hand to wrap his arm around your waist. He cups your side and brings you against him. His arm is the perfect shelter from the chilly night, bleeding with body heat and the homey scent of the man you love.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he purrs, and admittedly, that’s when you start to panic.

Not because he was edging you into a creepy alley—alleys, in the hunting life, were familiar territory. Or because you realized you were about to fight him. That was more than routine to hunting; it was hunting itself. What made you panic was your own willpower here. You could cut down a thousand evil witches a day, but nothing in this world could make you put that knife to Sam’s throat. Not death, not hell, not heaven. All of them had tried. Every one of them had failed.

This wasn’t Sam. You knew that. The difference was palpable. But it was close enough to make you hesitate, and you were dreading what that could mean.

“Alright, hero,” you flirted. “Lead the way.”

He teased your waist with a squeeze, then began the slow, intimate walk he imagined you were hoping for. The witch started to chat about how much he loved the city, how lively the people were. Bullshitting. Trying to settle your anxiety—so you were open to attack. Well. If he was so hellbent on cornering you now, all you could do was drag it out for as long as you could. You snuggled close to him, and pretended to admire the night sky between the towering downtown buildings.

The two of you passed the back end of a business’s warehouse. Its windows were thin-paned and close by, shimmering with neon light the closer you came to it. You made bubbly, flirty conversation, and calculated in your head when would be the perfect time to smash the glass and attack him with it.

He must’ve had the same idea.

You woke up two seconds later, glass in your hair, in your dress, and prickling painfully between you and the icy concrete floor. The warehouse ceiling floated overhead. Streams of moonlight poured through the uneven shape of the now-destroyed window. It took you but a breath to register this, then you were rolling onto your hands and snatching up the biggest shard that had survived your crash. In an instant you were heaving yourself to your feet and plotting: just a little more time, they just need a little more time, all you had to do was distract.

A long shadow fell over the glass debris. This was the part where your adrenaline would kick in, but a hot, ugly dose of fear joined it. That was Sam. You were fighting Sam. No, y-you—you weren’t—

“Well, isn’t this special,” Hermes cooed. He strolled toward you, the glass crunching under his loafers to the beat of his lazy walk. Everything but his smile was obscured by the dark. “The Winchester whore. I’ve heard of you. I have to say, I’m a little—”

“—disappointed? Let me guess: I’m shorter than you thought, prettier than expected, yadda yadda,” you filled in for him. “G-god, can’t any of you losers find different scripts?”

You knew the shard wouldn’t do much, but you’d hoped having it out in front of you would make you feel better. It didn’t. Hermes stepped into a shaft of light, illuminating Sam, with his hair in his eyes and a curious, calculating turn to his lip. It was straight out of any pink-hued day of your teenage years. Like he’d just found something fascinating in a book he was reading, and was beckoning you over to share it with you. And if it came down to it, you’d have to make him bleed if you wanted out of here.

“Fine. We’ll skip the pretense, then,” Hermes bargained, and with a wave of his hand you were slammed back-first into the nearest product shelves.

Pain exploded across your back, whiting out all else. You dropped a whole foot to the floor and collapsed there, pathetically gripping the closest table to find the courage to stand up. You couldn’t. Every deep breath you took seized your ribcage like a snapped trap. Shuddering in place there, you heard Hermes step across the glass, coming closer. Closer. Come on, Sam, you thought. For a moment, just a moment, you were truly afraid of him.

But this was Sam’s face. Out of all the faces you could see the moment before it all went dark, you’d be glad if it was his. The fear lightened. You lifted your face to meet his, snarling. Hermes waved his hand, and in one great cacophony, like a chandelier dragging itself across the floor, the broken glass fluttered up in a swirling cloud and hung in the air around you like stars. Deadly, jagged stars.

“One less thorn in my side,” he decided, and the hand—a copy of the love of your life’s hand, closed into a vicious fist. The shards whistled.

Hermes exploded into smoke.

The glass hung in the air for a moment more, then rained down on the floor again, shattering into powder. You flinched away and jerked to cover your head, and when all was quiet, and Hermes’ smoke was dissolved in the wind, you rolled onto your side and let out the breath you’d been holding.

People saved. Things hunted. Fuck, your back hurt.

You laid there for a moment longer, having fun pitying yourself, when a sharp cry of your name echoed down the alley outside. It took you a second to gather enough breath to holler back, “In here, Dean!”

Dean sprinted clear past the window, then backtracked so hard he almost tripped. “Y/N,” he sighed. Relief could’ve bowled him over at that moment.

As he charged through the broken window and swung his gun at the dark, you sat up, aiming to smile. You couldn’t really do it. “The witch is dead. Sam got him. High five?”

Dean hesitated, but after stashing his pistol in his waistband and taking stock of your injuries, he gave your raised hand a light smack and opened his arms. The gesture alone made all your injuries feel numbed. “Alright. Up and attem’. Let’s get you some Barbie bandaids and a big dinner, huh? You deserve it.”

“Hell yeah,” you breathed. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Without hesitation, Dean scooped you onto your feet, brushed the hair stuck to your bloody forehead aside, and started to guide you toward your exit. After a long beat of you laying your head on him and soaking in everything that's happened, Dean murmured, “The witch didn’t look a thing like DiCaprio, did he?”

You watched your footing instead of Dean’s face. “No. No, he didn’t.”

_

After the bigger chunks of glass were taken out of your skin, you took a quick, wince-filled shower, and toweled your hair on the motel bed you shared with Sam. The glass was surprisingly the least annoying part of fighting the witch; what had really fucked you up were the bruises, which were blooming all along your back in shelf-shaped rectangles. Your injuries were pretty light for a witch hunt, though, so you contented yourself with being alive in a pair of snuggly pajamas.

It was well past eight by now, so the rooms adjacent to yours were quiet, and the road outside threw occasional beams of light across your bedspreads. You always loved the motels on the outskirts of town more than their inner-city counterparts. Though they were usually more run-down, the sounds of tires whisking on asphalt and frogs croaking in the weeds comforted you. Dean rarely let you keep the windows open, but he wasn’t about to snipe at his poor, injured best friend, so you arranged the salt on the sill in neat lines and soaked in the midnight breeze. In safer times, you and the boys might’ve had a bonfire at Bobby’s on a night like this.

Dean left the bathroom light on and propped it open enough to see by. He lapsed into his post-hunt ritual in the half-dark, chattering about your success, while Sam perched in a chair and didn’t speak.

He’d succumbed to an unnerved, unbroken silence once you promised him on the drive back that you’d live. A couple of throws and one window weren’t going to kill you. There was no chance in hell that he couldn’t sense that the witch was eating at you for different reasons, though. If he could tell the route a car had taken while blindfolded, then honing his sensitivities to the daily shifts in your mood was child’s play. But if you pushed him to let it go, he would, because he respected your limits—you just weren’t looking forward to having that conversation.

Dean chattered constantly, like he usually did when something was wrong in the air between the three of you. He’d even tried to hold a conversation with you through the bathroom door while you showered, for god’s sake. When you emerged, hissing at every pinch in your back tissue, Dean was waiting with clothes, a careful smile, and a medkit. His brother was still silent, though he’d jumped up from his seat.

“Sam?” You worked up the courage to say. “Could—would you mind, uh, helping me with my back? There’s… still a lot of pieces I couldn’t get.”

“Uh… Dean can.” Sam drilled his eyes through your room’s door, hunching into the collar of the jacket he hadn’t removed yet. “M’ gonna walk. I need to clear my head,” he sighed, snappishly, and poured all his willpower into not scrambling out the door as fast as he could. It whipped shut behind him too quickly for you to say anything back.

“...Okay. Well. Sucky job, huh?” Dean said. You heard him pop open the medkit and dip the mattress behind you, so you shuffled back a bit and carefully lifted the fabric of your shirt covering your back.

“Yeah,” you muttered. Sam’s shadow flew past your window and disappeared in long, curt steps towards the cicadas chirping by the roadside. You leaned further and further to chase his figure by the porch lights, but Dean gently reeled you back so he could start in on the tinier fragments.

“You helped a lot of people today,” Dean said, trying to goad you back to the conversation. You could hear in his pauses how worried he was about his brother, but you both knew that it was better to give Sam time to simmer, then return.

“Oh, just women willing to cheat on their husbands,” you rolled your eyes.

Dean braced his hand on your shoulder, and gave you a little warning squeeze every time he was going to pull one of the pieces out. The bloody glass tinking into the tin and your sharp winces soon formed a shaky rhythm. “Still people,” he pointed out. You didn’t reply, simmering in the thrum of his voice and the burn of your bruises.

When Dean started putting antibiotics on the cuts and loading them up with Barbie bandaids, as promised, you blurted out: “You think I upset Sam?”

You were hoping for a doubtful laugh or even some kind of scoff, like Dean found it hard that Sam could ever be mad at you, because that’s how his world worked. He needled the two of you all the time for how inseparable you were. You were you and Sam was Sam, mingled too closely for anyone else to squeeze in the middle. Usually, if you asked Dean something like that, he’d shrug. You’d know better than me, pal.

Instead, Dean released a deep breath from his nose. He did it like that so often now that you could recognize it, which unsettled you, since it was Dean’s withholding-sigh. You could usually pry just about anything out of him, but he had this wall that he hit sometimes with Sam. Brother confidentiality or whatever. You could respect that—when things didn’t involve you potentially upsetting Sam.

“Dean,” you tried again, “did I do something wrong? I feel like you’re not telling me everything here.”

He tore open another bandaid with his teeth and choose not to speak. It was enough to tell you that Dean knew he shouldn’t intervene, even if he wanted to.

You glanced over your shoulder to look at him. “Dean. C’mon. How many favors do you two knuckleheads owe me after today?”

Dean counted them in his head, closed his eyes, and cursed. “Don’t make me say it, Y/N. You’re a smart girl. You can’t be this blind.”

“Dean.”

“You don’t get it. Sam will be pissed with me.” He snapped the med-kit closed.

“If he gives you shit for it, you know I’ll cover for you. I’ll tell him that I coerced you and everything, that I cornered you,” you goaded. To make your argument even harder to ignore, you whipped down your shirt and rolled around to face him, your eyes big and bleeding with heart. “Sam is clearly upset. All I want to do is help him.”

Dean’s arms hung at his sides. His tells were small, but for a second there, you could’ve sworn you’d loosened his resolve enough. Instead, he shut you down with a short glare. “...Show me your shoulder.”

You held there for a moment, unmoving and stern, just to press how serious this was to you. If you’d done something to hurt Sam’s feelings, all three of you knew the lengths you’d go to make it up to him. And Dean keeping the reason why so close to his chest could only go two ways—either it was so light and petty that it wasn’t worth mentioning, or it was too terrible to voice. Only one of those ended with Sam nursing an infected wound for months. Few emotional appeals would reach Dean’s ears, but you thought he and his brother deserved someone who fought to right any grievances made against them.

With two fingers, you yanked your collar to one side. Sitting in the meat at the curve of your neck was a fat gauze bandage as wide as three fingers. Dean tested the edges with his thumb while you jabbed, “It’s fine. The stitches didn’t get messed up in the shower.”

“And the painkillers?” Dean checked.

“Working,” you answered. “Now, tell me what’s up. You can’t lie to me for shit.”

Again, you expected an awkward wince or a reluctant grimace from him. And again, Dean surprised you. He sighed deep into his shoulders, cupped the unmarred side of your neck, and shocked you into place with a burning, deathly serious look. “...Son of a bitch, fine! This is a big deal to me, okay? I’m breaking my brother’s trust here—but only because I think it’ll be better for the both of you, capiche?”

You nodded just as gravely. “What is it?”

“Sam…” Dean held you in place for a second more, then drifted out of your orbit, following his thoughts and hesitation in a circle around your hotel room. You let him think, a slow ugly sickness building in your throat. “Sam has feelings for you, okay? He’s—he’s had them for a while. So long that it’s insane to me that you haven’t noticed it yet—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you laughed. “Dean, please, I’m really worried about him. I don’t have time to mess around right now.”

Dean’s flailing arms dropped to his sides. He just stood there looking helpless, waiting. Waiting more.

“...Dean.” The name tasted like oncoming tears. You straightened up and steeled yourself, pressing into every new, stinging wound at your posture’s disposal. “This is… now y-you’re just being mean. You know how I feel about this.”

“I’m…” his hand fumbled upwards, like he thought about calling upon a higher power for help here, then remembered how that’d turned out last time. “Y/N, I’m not messing with you here. Sam has been crazy about you since we were kids.”

You believed him. It took some pacing, some crazed muttering, and some hard, labored breaths, but eventually you broke out of your trance and realized you believed him.

Dean nudged his chin at you, waiting for a response.

Pathetically, you said: “W-why?”

“Pardon?”

You summoned your best glare. “Level with me here. Just. Why?”

“Why the hell would I know?” Dean sputtered. He shrugged up to his ears, smiling a bit, like this was as grand a mystery to him as it was to you. “All I know is that he’d burn this world to the ground for you. Everything today… with you playing bait, and everything… It freaks him out, your scrapes. I mean, it freaks me out too, but I know you can handle yourself. It’s… I dunno, he’s mushier. It’s more personal to him.”

You thunked down on the closest surface, which could've been a hot stove for all you cared; numbing tingles rolled all the way up your arms and legs. Usually, you had a good reign on your own feelings, but now they galloped free too fast for you to catch. Exhaustion’s sweeter cousin barrelled you over. Shock and relief and love and terror each took their own swing at you, until you sat there with your hands limp in your lap, feeling like you’d laid down on the sidewalk and all of your feelings had lined up to kick you around. For the first time in your life you sat down and cried at the drop of a hat. It was fucking awesome.

A bubbly laugh rolled out of you. “Me too. I-I do too. Holy shit, am I over-reacting or what?”

Dean’s warm hand rubbed a spot on your arm the glass hadn’t touched. “Uh, maybe a bit. But I guess you’ve both waited a long time, so Sam’ll probably think it’s… sweet, or some bullshit like that.”

Another laugh surprised its way out of you. “Shut the hell up. God, you were right—I’m so blind. Do you think… Should I…? Sam, he’s still mad.”

Dean paused, enjoying how panic and delight warred on your face. “Not mad. More like…” he searched for the word, beaming slyly, “...jealous.”

_

Sam returned to a buzzing, eager silence in the motel. The second he had inched the door shut behind him, sheepish and looking like it, Dean shoved on his driving boots. You noticed how Sam was careful to catch your eye just once, otherwise entertaining himself with the pattern of the carpet. He at least seemed a touch more clear-headed. Sam had always loved a good, breezy walk; one of a million of his quirks that you loved too much to forget.

“Alright,” Dean scooped up the Impala’s keys, flicking the lapels of his jacket. “I owe Y/N her favorite dinner, like I promised. You want anything while I’m out?”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “Her favorite place is at least an hour and a half from here,” he said, because of course he remembered that.

His brother shrugged. “I’m in the mood to drive. Cabin fever n’ all. See you nerds in,” he was not at all subtle when checking the clock in your room, or smiling about his results: “...three hours. Ciao.”

“It’ll be cold by—” Sam started, but Dean had already sauntered passed him, swinging his keyring in one hand. His whistling carried all the way out to the lot, and quietly you wondered how long he’d been wanting to tell you what he had.

Sam was forced to turn to you. His displeasure from before had slowly melted into embarrassment, but he wasn’t about to show it. He made a helpless gesture at the door like, welp, there goes that, and the elixir of liking in your chest shook loose a giggle. A real giggle. At least you could be embarrassed together.

Since sleeping on your back was off the table for the next week of your life, you’d gotten comfy on your stomach. With Sam gone, you had the room go completely diagonal on your shared bed, angling toward the dingy colored light of the TV. Dean had put on some random soap opera you weren’t a fan of, but tonight you thought of nothing but one thing. Sam has feelings for you, Dean had said. He’d burn this world to the ground for you, Dean had said.

Repeating them to yourself felt like writing the words down and holding up the paper by Sam’s face—weighing those images against the man you knew. You’d… guessed. Hoped is more accurate. But to see those words in action, moving and breathing in a person, totally blew you out of the water. Dean was right; you were dumb as hell for not seeing it before. Sam teetered on his heels in front of you. He wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans, hiding behind his bangs and forcing himself to stand still. When you shied away to look at the TV, you could feel his gaze devouring you in every dose he could manage. Searching and memorizing. Every time you were occupied, Sam admired the soft curve of your back in your sleep shirt, your swept hair, your shorts, the exposed skin of your neck, your face.

Still, you’d hoped and only hoped for so long. You believed Dean. But you couldn’t bring yourself to understand that it was possible in the first place.

While you watched the television and panicked over what to say to him, Sam toed off his shoes and hung his jacket on the nearest chair. After a moment of hanging in the middle of your room, directionless, he followed his heart to your bedside.

“You feelin’ better?” He dipped the mattress just beside you, your side pressed against his night-chilled back.

You shuffled up onto your elbows, smiling at him with such vibrancy and realness that Sam flushed up to his ears. “I’m all good,” you promised, and it was the truth. “Happy to rid the world of another tie-wearing evil.”

That earned a dry smile. You carried through it, buoyed by everything except thought. “Only got three stitches this time,” you told him, sounding smug, and pulled down your collar to show him the bandage.

All your mind wanted to do was take a shovel out of the Impala and bury yourself off the edge of the highway, but the unbridled joy in your body didn’t care. It brimmed over everything else. The heady, healthy foam of it conquered every other feeling. Your nervousness, your terror, your anxiety. You couldn’t believe that you were just sitting here and talking about nothing. The truth was giddy in your ribcage, like good news you couldn’t keep from him any longer. Sam recieved it so rarely.

Sam just stared at you. You could only make out one side of his face in the dark, the cheek painted with the waltzing colors of the soap opera on the screen. Blues and peaches and warm grays. He was bent so close to you that you could keep your head comfortably sunk into your pillow, and you did, studying him as he studied you. The longer he took you in the more he seemed to relax. One of his hands flexed against the mattress, bringing him back to the world the two of you shared. Your exchange went on for so long that the hand on your open collar went slack, and so did Sam’s jaw. Dean was gone and the two of you were in the safe realm of the dark again—usually, Sam would reach out and brush his hand down your back, squeeze your arm, or kiss your forehead.

“If you’re good, then… good,” he said, distantly. “I’m beat. Let me help you move, huh?”

“Okay,” you hummed.

Even as Sam stood, his face chased yours, one side of a magnet seeking its counterpart. He hovered as you shuffled onto your calves, then pulled back the covers for you to worm under without disturbing your torn skin. You only had so much time to say something—and after so long, nothing could keep you from telling him. Not if you were sure he still felt the same way. You hesitated to lay down, and Sam, sensing your need to speak, paused too.

“Oh,” Sam realized. “I’d almost… forgot. Can I…?”

He waved to your forehead, and before he could retreat out of awkwardness, you convinced yourself to nod. Sam went as far as cupping your arm, then wavered. It was just cute, now. “You can,” you murmured between you, “go ahead.”

Sam dropped a brief kiss on the side of your face, then turned tail for the bathroom to get ready for bed. You had this whole fantasy in your mind of Sam letting his lips linger, burning the shape and feel of them into your soul like you wanted him to, but the two of you hadn’t breached this territory in years. Both of you were terrified of it. Before you could let that fear control you, you blurted out:

“He looked like you.”

Sam’s figure twisted toward you in the dark. “Huh?”

You cleared your throat, which burned front to back with need and apprehension. “The witch, Sam. He looked like you. To me.”

Sam couldn’t look at you dead-on without light, but he tried. Those hungry eyes, hungry for safety and closeness, scraped down your outline. Then again, testing the groves they’d dug. Sam was reminding himself of all the blood he’d seen before, driving back in the Impala and pulling glass out of your jacket with slippery, trembling hands. He deflated. He started toward you, then deflated again.

“He did that to you, with my face—” Sam bleeds.

Before he can start to spiral, you rope in his hand and squeeze it through his sleeve. It’s big and enveloping, just like Hermes’ was, but there’s so much more that the magic just couldn’t replicate. He has a mole on his wrist you’d forgotten about and these subtle veins that bump under your thumbs. His knuckles are strong and feel almost welded, but underneath all that you can feel how gentle he’s worked to be. How much he’s still scared of himself. His mind may be enclosed with good intentions, but Sam had always thought of his body as something that didn’t fully belong to him. Even if the witch didn’t possess him, to Sam, the used goods, the meat suit, it feels like it. And the last thing he’d want his possessed body to do is hurt you. Manipulate you.

“Shh,” you soothed. “No. You’re missing what I’m trying to say. The witch… his glamor made me see the most p-perfect—the best man my mind would come up with.”

Sam just stared. You squeezed his fingers, willing him to understand. His other hand, chilled by his walk, wound slowly over your shoulder. His two leading fingertips lingered over the square white bandage at the junction of your neck. Though he was repulsed by what he thought was his own handiwork, you pressed closer, chasing the rough pads of his bowhunting calluses no matter how much it stung.

“Sam,” you said, sternly.

He just shook his head, ripping his free hand back. Sam pressed: “When he hit you, he looked like me.”

You wound your tether to him ever closer, growing bolder, bringing his hand into the warmth of your chest, entwined against your collarbones. The tears surged into your lashes, but you resisted them with a shake of your head. “It made it easier,” you laughed without mirth. “When he was flirting with me, but at the end, too, yeah. Is that fucked up?”

Sam breathed short from his nose. “Yeah, a bit. But you know I’d never—”

“That’s not even a question. Of course you wouldn’t,” you swore to him. Since the humor was teasing into his voice again, you joined it with your own, pressing your face into his arm. “But, um. If you were jealous of him, well. You should know that there’s really no contest.”

Another long, draining silence haunted you from overhead for a moment, and Sam swayed in place, his hand dropping suddenly on your shoulder. For balance? Was he really… winded? Floored? The show on beside you faded to black, submerging you both in inky, sightless dark. You could feel it in his hands now—Sam was quivering with disbelief. His broad palm scoped up your neck. His hand parted from yours between you, palming across your shoulder. They joined seamlessly together on each of your cheeks, cupping your face just like they had before. You rose into the touch, following him up, until you were standing between his socks at your bedside with your face in his hands. They were still pretty cold; but warming up, and fast. Just like before, you softened all over and held steady to his wrists.

Sam swallowed. “Dean told you?” 

“Yeah,” you choked, afraid of what your voice was capable of. “Don’t be mad at him. Or jealous of some stupid witch. There’s… you have to know by now, that nobody even holds a candle to you, right?”

Sam laughed breathlessly. His long thumbs caressed your skin, your under-eyes, weighing the feel of you and your closeness like it’d be taken from him any minute. His left hand pressed even closer, and you met the scar there with your cheekbone. This is real, you promised him.

“Me too,” he gushed, and the sound poured right out of him just as yours did, overboiling with joy. “For you. Nobody, Y/N, this whole time, nobody compares.”

Real happiness was so new to you that the two of you hovered there, waiting for it to be ripped away. Your face ached, from smiling, from crying, from bruising, and it strained your chest a bit to laugh. You surged into Sam and let it all go anyway. Giggling uncomfortably rattled the injuries on your back, but any ache you felt was soothed by Sam's broad hand in your hair, stroking it away from your face. He was still chilly from his walk. There was a small building heat in the middle of his chest, so you squeezed even closer to meet it and found a leaching embrace instead. The pressure of him all around you could’ve put you in tears again. It hadn’t been long since you’d hugged him, but you could feel that love this time—the way Sam swayed with you in his arms, the way he kept pawing your neck to bring you closer and closer. Like the feeling of you laughing in tandem with him wasn’t enough. He needed to absorb you, be you, for you to be close enough to satisfy him.

He was careful to watch the injuries on your back, but you didn’t care. You wanted him to palm your bruised shoulder blades, to drag his nails down your glass-pocked spine, to squeeze you as close as possible no matter how much your material body hurt. A button on his shirt was digging into your cheek and his chin was poking your head. But it didn’t matter—he was the real deal, imperfections and all, just how you liked him. Loved him.

“Nobody?” You murmured, in disbelief.

Sam shook his head. “Nobody, Y/N. Not anyone.”

Nothing could pull you away from him then, so you didn’t bother to arrange yourself comfortably to kiss him. His face was so close to yours that you could breathe only him and the old books he smelled like. You knew that the second you kissed him that it’d be all over—forever marrying your visions of living to him, and giving your lifeblood a name. It was dangerous in this business to give your reason for living legs and a heart. But Sam’s sleepy eyes had closed and his pulsed swished under your hand, and you knew it was decades too late for that.

Your palms dropped to his chest, and Sam pinned them between you, ducking his head low enough to ache and searing you hard against him. It should’ve been awkward and cramped. You forgot that as you melted into the smell of him, a slab of chocolate in the sun. The kiss should’ve been cursed, since the angels swore he was, that you would be too. If it was, then cursed was warmth and love and closeness. Safe at last! Your body sobbed into the kiss. It all felt silly; like you could’ve done this ages ago.

Sam burst into snickers. You did too, against his mouth, and between peals of laughter you tried to scold him, “Shhh, you big idiot—” but Sam just shushed you back and kissed you again.

He dipped his head like actors in the movies did, intense-eyed and deeply fond, which made you flush and giggle harder. You both gave lose attempts at more sweet pecks, only to absolutely lose it when Sam almost knocked the lamp off the bedside table. Eventually, you were giggling too hard and stumbling too much to kiss properly at all. This didn’t intimidate Sam, who cleverly angled your cheek with his thumbs and kissed where you weren’t laughing. You squealed and wiggled for an escape that wasn’t actually alluring to you at all. Each time Sam caught you on the brow or the corner of your lip, you’d giggle and squirm away, only to float back into his orbit again. Parallelling the millions of games you’d played together as kids; tag, hide and seek, marco polo. Just another chase. Just another step in your infinite cycle.

“Really,” you said, eventually. An embarrassed heat prickled through your entire face. “Nobody compares to me. You really think that?”

“How many more times would you like me to say it?” Sam asked. He did this with both of your hands closed in one of his, his tone clever and sincere. “Not anyone.”

“You… you cheeseball,” you accused, and Sam’s mouth snapped closed to suppress another bubbly chuckle. It’d been ages since you’d gotten him to laugh so hard, so you were gluttonous off it and determined to steal more. “This whole time, you’ve been running around with this schoolyard crush on me… Man, this is quality blackmail material. Did you gush about me in your diary? Write Mr. Sam L/N in all of your notebooks?”

In the stark darkness, Sam again inclined his face over yours. “Did you?”

“No,” you blurted, a little too fast. “...It was Mrs. Y/N Winchester, obviously. It’s different.”

Sam just shook his head, charmed. You could feel him standing there across from you, admiring you in the silence, and it slammed on you like a ton of bricks that Sam must’ve done that before. A couple of times, at least. Just looked at you because he liked you so much. Any flirty confidence you’d built up was overpowered by a wave of shyness.

You rushed to fill the loving silence. “But. About the comparison thing… Good. I-I’m, I’m happy. I always wanted… I always wanted to be your… your first choice, I guess. Is that selfish?”

Sam hummed a no, and again his hand floated up to your face to warm your cheek. It filled you with so much want that your knees nearly buckled. Flustered out of your mind, you rambled: “I wasn’t a fan of Ruby, or, uh, that Becky girl from the convention, or the doctor chick in Iowa…”

He rumbled your name. “I don’t want to talk about them,” he murmured, amused, and kissed you once. When Sam parted from you, the silky lilt of his whisper in your ear flushed your belly with need. “I want to talk about you. And I definitely want to kiss you.”

“Sam…” you murmured. He dipped in for another warm, wet kiss, that instantly wiped your ability to create thought. You had to hold onto his shirt to steady yourself, and by then Sam had paused to not interrupt you. “I-I just…” you scrambled for anything to say, made honest by the dark, “I remember how you looked at them. I imagined how your hands must’ve felt on them… how theirs felt on you. I-I know I’m killing the moment here, but I need you to know—I was, I was out of my mind with jealousy, Sam. I—yeah.”

The hold on him grounded you, and again a second time when his hand settled over yours. Sam brought his arm around your waist, which made you realize how much he’d held you versus how much you’d held him. It was a disappointing ratio, so you welded him closer and snuggled your arms under his shoulders, letting your hands praise the unwinding slopes of his back.

A pleasant sigh seeped out of him, which broke into a careful chuckle. “I’m gonna be honest with you—pretty much nothing could ruin this for me right now,” Sam admitted. Which really meant something, because the chances of this being ruined by just about anything were 80-20. “I’ve wanted this since I was like, twelve. I guess you could say I wasn’t a fan of that waiter in Kansas, or your date to junior prom, or even Dean.”

You choked on your own laugh. “C’mon. You’ve got to be kidding me. Your brother, Sam? That man does not wash his underwear.”

Sam’s weighty shoulders shrugged against your cheek. You could feel his smile against your hair, that slight dimple in his cheek…“He always gets the girl. N’ the others… I don’t know.” Plainly and clearly, he turned into your embrace to speak face to face, “It’s you. It’s always been you. But I’ve never been brave enough to say it.”

You had no clue how to respond to that. A winning lottery ticket could be dropped in your lap, hell could close its gates forever, the angels could finally decide to leave you alone, and you’d know exactly what to say. Holy shit, maybe. Or even a tasteful, what the fuck. But what was good enough for Sam? What words could you say to make him happier than he just made you? You’d never been as sincere or as well-spoken as him, but he deserved that and more.

“I’m just glad we’re saying it now,” you murmured, your throat tight with building tears. Whatever channel was playing illuminated more of your face to him in a frame of white, and there Sam seemed to absorb everything you couldn’t put into words.

His thumb brushed your cheekbone. “How long have you been sitting on this?”

“Since our first kiss,” you flushed. “So, uh, fifteen years?”

You could sense Sam’s smug grin coming from a mile away. He always glanced aside beforehand, like he knew he was about deliver a clever blow. “Sixteen,” he boasted. “When we almost shocked ourselves to death taking apart that old Ford in Bobby’s salvage yard—you taught me what an intercooler was, and I was so impressed I wanted you to be my girlfriend.”

“Sixteen whole years,” you scoffed. Just for emphasis, you gave Sam a little push, and he dropped down to sit on your mattress. Without question, he left room for you between his legs and you flushed down to your toes taking up that space. “You gotta beat me at everything, don’t you?”

“Maybe. But I hear it’s gentlemanly to let your girlfriend win every once in a while,” Sam hummed.

That was an obvious challenge put down just for you. It was all too easy for you to rise to the bait and fluster all at once, since Sam knew how to engineer his bets just for you. The divide between your friendship before and your relationship now was a web more than it was a line, so dipping a knee in his lap on the bed was easier than you would’ve thought. Leaning in and smoothing your hands around his neck was not. Sam’s breath hitched in his chest, which you relished in. All these little reactions he always had—they were all because of you. His shyness, his cute hesitation, his miserable attempts at being neutral.

“Well, I,” you clarified, walking two of your fingers up his collar, “hear that it’s gentlemanly to ask her out first.”

Sam really was a dork, because just a little physical flirting had his hands flitting without direction around your middle. Every time your fingers took a further step up his neck, his breathing grew deeper, straining for composure he wouldn’t ever find. Not on your watch. When you finally stole the kiss you’d been itching to take, Sam’s eyes fluttered shut and his hands scuttled to find a place on your waist, wracked with shyness. He really didn’t want to mess this up. It was a sweet notion, if it was even possible in the first place.

Eventually, they found their hold on your hips. You hovered in his space, soaking up the feel of him in the dark as his fingertips memorized you, cataloged you, admired you. Sam’s chin tilted up, silently asking for permission as his hands hovered at the edge of your shirt. Your kiss was all the answer he needed. Gently, his fingers slid under your shirt, where they stoked the sensitive skin of your belly just for the sake of feeling you.

“Would you be my girlfriend?” Sam whispered. He was nervous and everything, as if there was a universe where you would ever turn him down. 

The hands you’d braced on Sam’s shoulders pressed closer, taking in the texture of his shirt and the muscle underneath it, until one of your warm palms had snuck underneath his collar to press flat to his back. Sam released a low hissing breath. You met him with a deep, meaningful, possessive kiss, tickling your nails against the top of his spine. 

“I’m all yours,” you promised, and Sam’s whole body sunk in relief.

He made a desperate sort of gesture along the bottom of your back, avoiding your bandages but wanting you closer, deeper, nearer to him. Emboldened by his obvious yearning, you offered your knee over his thigh. Sam invited you closer. Anxiety swirled in your gut, but the touch of him was merciful and yielding; he’d do only what you wanted to do. This was Sam. You’d never felt safer, so you sunk comfortably into the bowl of his lap.

You kissed him in long pecks at first, the soft bulb of your nose pressing into his cheek. His lips were soft and plush and warm, and the deeper you tasted them the more they drove from you. Any rigid fear left in your chest dissolved at his touch. That’s what he must’ve been waiting for, because he put his arms around you only once you untensed, and with all the urgency of too-in-love teenagers, you embraced. Sam slotted your chests together. You cupped his neck and roamed his hair, crushing him closer until you could feel his firm middle flatten to yours. A low wanting sigh rattled out of him. It was so authentic and distinctly Sam that you felt foolish for ever seeing a thing in the witch’s glamor. This was Sam, with his gentleness, his fear of his strength, his hesitation to take what he wanted. You were proud of your choice of words: you were all his, because this Sam was definitely all yours. This was the Sam you knew.

It occurred to you just how much you’d dreamed of this before. Reality surpassed expectation with ease, purely because there was so much you hadn’t considered. Often, you’d dissolve into gooey daydreams of kissing him or making him happy, only to come out of them scolding yourself for feeding your feelings. Your unreciprocated feelings. But there were dreams you couldn’t control and times where you’d indulged yourself more than usual. Even then, though, you always kept Sam’s emotions out of the way. You’d dream of getting home late from work—in the “normal” world you’d never share—and crawling into his arms, sleepy, or vice versa. You’d dream of going for long drives with him and snuggling with him in the Impala. But you were always the one who said those three scary words to him, while he simply existed as he always did. If you puppeteered Sam into saying it, then you were taking a machete to any notion that your fantasies could be real—and making Sam lie in order to please you.

What you hadn’t considered was what would happen if Sam did say I love you, and, even better: if he meant it.

Sam murmurs it as you’re admiring him in the dark. His eyes had fallen closed and his head had tilted back, receptive to your touch. You loved to touch his face; you warmed his lap, cupped his cheeks, stroked the smooth back of your hand against his temple, and pushed the hair from his forehead in the cool motel darkness. Every once in a while the headlights of a car would give you a glimpse at him, and each time Sam’s gaze would almost be too much.

You whisper it back, thankful for the boldness the dark gives you, and feel something blaze hot inside you when his mouth drags down your cheek to your jaw. They’re deep and punctuating kisses. You’re reminded again of the sinking acceptance you’d felt when Hermes’ shadow had fallen over you. For a second, you’d thought that was gonna be it. Sam would’ve never known the truth, and would’ve ended up in that warehouse instead, picking the glass out of unresponsive skin. And though you’d survived today… Tomorrow, a reaper would have a million opportunities to take what had only just been sown.

You bunched your hands in Sam’s shirt, sounding urgent. “...Let me show you how much.”

Sam hung there for a moment, weighing the silence between your bodies. Weighing the space between them, and how much of it left there was. “You want that?” He asked. Sam made it sound like you were asking to stick your hand in a shark tank. “You’re… you’re sure?”

Your hand on Sam’s cheek turned over, so you were stroking your softer knuckles against his skin. You nodded, realized he couldn’t see it, and pressed in to brush your noses together. Sam’s head tilted all the way back to meet yours when you prayed: “I’m sure. I… I waited a long time to be close to you, so… I’m not gonna waste a second more.”

A breath rasped out of him in understanding. Like everything else in your life, this could be taken from you. Sam’s fingers crept up the back of your shirt, sliding around for where the bandages began and ended. He confessed, “Me either.”

His kiss drew deeper, more lovesick, chasing each one to their full depth. Your hands shyly migrated to the buttons of his flannel and smoothed there. He nodded, flattening his hand to the small of your back, and after that you didn’t have to wonder once how Sam felt about you. It was outlined clearly for you in Sam’s handwriting. He showed it in the absorbing nature of each of his kisses; how he nosed every new inch of your skin, taking care to declothe you the right and patient way; how aware he was of your bruises and bites. When you’re clothesless, he runs both of his hands down your arms and just feels you in the dark. Sam gives you the same courtesy. When you help him out of his last layer, your hands smooth against his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his neck, but the contact still isn’t enough—you need to be closer. You drag him into another gapless embrace, and Sam is already there, eager to pull you in. His hands knead you with purpose. Your hips, your waist, your stomach, are squeezed until every part of you feels raw and achy and alive. She’s real, Sam’s body sighs. Another surging, dizzying kiss has you dragging your nails down his back, tasting every puckered scar and raised laceration from his shoulders to his obliques. He’s plush and warm and firm and right, a missing piece finally filled.

With his arms around you, you kiss him breathless and thumb open the button of his jeans. Your spine tingles in delight the second your fingers are hooked in his belt loops. The butterflies in your belly are birds by the time his jeans are past his hips, and when you’re on your knees in front of him, Sam’s calloused palms exploring your neck and your hair, the bruises and cuts on your back are just a memory.

“You don’t have to—” Sam starts.

The smile on your face is a bit too clever. “I know.” You frame his waist in your hands, pressing both thumbs into the divots of his hips. Sliding downward to find his boxers, you can feel his legs trembling at your touch, the skin there prickling as it’s exposed inch by inch. You press a lingering kiss to his waistband that makes Sam’s breath hitch in his throat. “Just helping you out of these,” you smile innocently, plucking the edge of his boxers. “I’ll have my fun with you like this when your brother isn’t coming back in an hour.”

“O-okay,” Sam agrees, and even in the dark you can tell he’s grinning.

When he’s nude, Sam finds your hand in the dark and brings you to stand with him. Again, you’re slotted into place in his arms, skin tacky with building sweat and cooled by the open window. His face and neck are blazing with a blush. You push the back of your hand against it, feeling him, all of him, in the honesty of the dark. His face lowers to yours, and again you’re met with the impression that the moment he kisses you, you’re his—curse and angels and demons and all.

You accept it with nothing but bliss.

He guides your knees back to the bed again, this time supporting your thighs as you lift yourself up. Your whole body reacts like before, surging into him and purring deep in your throat. You loop your arms around his shoulders in a claiming sort of way, and where your skin meets it sticks and melts together. Dragging you in around the middle, Sam hoisted you into his lap and moaned into your kiss; you slot right onto him, knees tight to his thighs and your chest pressed to his. You have the slightest advantage over him like this, your shadow falling on him. Sam’s eyes flutter shut and he sucks down breath after breath, his hair in his eyes, illuminated in slivers by the television. Something about it just makes you wetter. When you push further into him, there’s a glide between your bodies that makes Sam groan.

“Sh, sh, be careful of your back,” he warns. “Could you—could you hand me my wallet?”

You pat his chest, forehead pressed to his, and answer with a laugh instead: “I’ve got the pill?”

A shift goes through Sam’s entire body, radiating up from his lap. He shuffles his hips, lips parted, and you can feel his excitement pounding in his chest. “Atta girl,” he decides, smirking. “That’s good too.”

Flushed from head-to-toe with heat, you cup Sam’s neck and meet him kiss for kiss. During, you find him between you and tilt in your hips, finally asking the silent question. Sam’s fingers scramble across your thighs, your sides, and around your back. He hangs there, trying to pin down how real this is. This is really happening, his heaving chest says. She’s right here in front of me. A wet, passionate kiss balms his worries. He gives you the littlest nod. That's all it takes for Sam to be met with new, plush territory. You pant into each other’s mouths, fingers digging into flesh, hips dying to sink further in, hanging on the precipice, and when Sam’s certain that you’re ready, that this is really what you want, he presses your thighs down.

A desperate sigh seeps from his mouth to yours, like there's no better place to be in the world than inside you. Something needy and high slips from your lips. For a long time, all either of you can do is bask in it, in each other, breathing hard and shivering. Sam hugs you—genuinely hugs you—against him. There’s a thought somewhere in your mind that you should be nervous at all the lines you’re crossing here, but… Any day of the week you could rub your cheek into Sam’s shoulder like this. It’s a new song, but familiar notes dance all the way through it. The motel room is silent but for the barely-there hum of the TV and the crickets outside, so Sam’s heart under your ear booms. You soak in the familiar sound of it.

“I love you,” you tell him, and Sam hushes it back so fast your voices overlap, then again, “so much—so, so much—” as he starts to move.

Your whole lower half rolls with him, a boat on a wave. An urgent, keening yes squeals out of you the second Sam encourages you down again. It's more than good, than perfect, and entwined so closely like this, you can hear every thought and whim swirling around his mind—can read him better than you ever could before. You feel foolish. How much earlier could you have had this, if you hadn’t been so afraid? There were a million times in your life where you could’ve told Sam. Before the cage, when the apocalypse started, when Dean died and you were stranded with only each other. You latch onto him as you find your rhythm, a hand in his hair, nails in his shoulders, seared as close to him as you can be. Sam gasps your name; happy.

I have him now, you remind yourself. And I’m more than happy with that.

_

tags: @lacilou

#sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #user uncouth

[hearts4golbach]

The Night Shift.

Johnnie Guilbert x Fem!Reader.

Chapter 22.

my head pounded as i dug through my bag, praying i had some sort of pain killer in that damn thing. unfortunately, i didn't have shit. i leaned against the counter and texted johnnie.

me: johnniee

me: Are you up?

johnnie: yeah babe what's up

me: Are you coming tonight?

johnnie: Of course

me: Would you mind bringing something for my headache? it's starting out to be a terrible night, lol

johnnie: yeah ill head that way soon :)

me: Thank youuu

i turned off my phone. the bell on the door rang, and i greeted the customer. "Welcome in. what can i get for you?" Hearing the same repetitive phrase angered me tonight, way more than any other night. i cleared my throat in an attempt to calm myself down.

"Can i get a latte, please?" the girl requested.

i hummed. i turned around towards the espresso machine. i packed it and slid the container into the slot. i pressed the on button, expecting it to work, but it didn't. "you've got to be fucking kidding me." i said under my breath, hoping the customer didn't hear. i turned back around. "im so sorry, the espresso machine is broken."

"Oh, no worries!" she gave me an awkward smile before looking up at the menu.  "Can i get a medium vanilla cream hot coffee?"

"yes ma'am, so sorry for the inconvenience." i picked up the coffee pot, which i had made a fresh batch not long before she had come in.

she finally received her drink. she paid and left, leaving me alone in the cafe once more. i poured myself a cup of cold water and chugged it, hoping it'd dull the pain.

i discovered that the espresso machine had just unplugged, but it was still a bitch to plug back in. i opened the cabinet and moved the extra bags of coffee beans. the plugs were in the very back of the cabinets. i was torso deep into the cabinets, trying to fish the cord out from behind the small opening in the back of it whenever johnnie walked out.

i heard a chuckle slip out of his lips. "You okay over there?"

"Yeah, just trying to plug something in." i mutter as i finally reconnect everything.

i stand up and turn to find johnnie holding a small bouquet of about 5 light pink and white tulips. i purse my lips and try to hold back tears.

"Awe, it's okay, y/n." he smiled softly, coming behind the counter to hug me. i held onto him tightly, feeling as if some of my problems had washed away. he rubbed my lower back and pulled a small container of painkillers out of his back pocket. "Here are those, if you wanna take them real quick."

he kept one arm wrapped around my waist as i did. "Thank you so much," i pecked his lips, "im so glad you're here."

he pulled up a chair behind the counter to sit with me, "What's been going on?"

"It's just that nothing seems to be working. It's just been a weird night. i have a massive headache, and my temper is super short tonight. of course, the thing was unplugged, so i had to fix that. but im only an hour into the shift, and i know the rest of the night is going to be shit." i rambled, dreading the following hours.

"Can i help around the store again? maybe that'll take some shit off of your shoulders." he offered. "What all do you have to do tonight?"

"Well, take orders, obviously. i need to sweep and mop out here and go do the last of the day shift dishes, then i need to wipe down all the counters and tables. we need to take down the valentines decorations, too." i listed off all of the main tasks that came to mind.

"Where's the broom?" he asked with zero hesitation.

"Since you really wanna help, the broom is in the closet right over there." i pointed to my right, "but really, you dont have to help."

"i wanna help, love." he replied before taking out the broom and beginning to sweep the floors.

the next hour worth of orders went smoothly. surprisingly, tonight was a busier night than usual. i decided to stop complaining, as i was getting more money, the more people that came in. johnnie then wiped off all the tables and counters, leaving them spotless.

"youre actually the best." i called from across the cafe. he smiled and gave me a thumbs up before returning to the last few tables.

"You ready to take the decorations down?" he asked, wiping his forehead after tossing the dirty rag in the dirty bin.

"Yeah, let's do it." i climbed up on his shoulders, figuring it'd be best to get the hard shit to take down out of the way first.

"There's a party me and jake were invited to this weekend. Do you wanna come with me? i think tara is going, too." johnnies thumb gently rubbed my thigh.

"Uh, obviously," i stuttered. i tossed the small stack of heart cutouts onto the floor before moving on to the next one. "Why wouldn't i want to go?"

he shrugged. "i dunno."

"My parents are coming to town soon. i told my mother about you, and she wants to meet you." i mentioned. i was anxious for his response. "Do you want to?"

"Uh, yeah? of course i fucking do." he giggled.

i sighed, "i just need to warn you, im not sure if she'll like you. she's very judgemental."

"Then I'll earn it. dont worry, y/n."

"You'll earn her liking you?" i raised my eyebrow even though he couldn't see.

"Yeah, I'll find a way." he patted my upper thigh.

after i picked the last heart off of the wall, i got off of his shoulders. he placed a soft kiss on my lips. i replied, "im sure you will."

#fanfiction #fanfic #johnnie guilbert #jake and johnnie #johnnie guilbert x you #johnnie guilbert x reader #jake webber #the night shift #fluff #café #cafe aesthetic #cafe #tara yummy #hearts4golbach

[mistertf2xreaderfluffballcake]

uh so i just found your blog & ily

anywayssssssss idk if you’ve done this, but can you do the mercs if their s/o accidentally falls asleep on them(like on their shoulder, chest, yk), like how flustered would they get? if you busy just do sniper, scout, & engi please! :D

~🎧

HELL YES!!! This is so god damn cute!!!!! And I will do all of them lol Sorry for being sooo late!!! But yes I hope it was worth the wait!

(Oh also I did this as an crush, like before confession! I hope that is okay!!)

Scout (You both are in scout's room just clarifying)

Scout and you were just sitting on his bed after playing a round of video games. You both were tired of the intense battle. I won this yes!!!! Noooo! You know what that means y/n! ... Y/n~! Fine fine I will pay for your next bucket of chicken! AND~ And yes I will let you eat the leftover cake heavy made! YES! *both giggles*

I am so tired... Yeah me too! *after a little pause* Y/n? z..z.. *plop on scout's shoulder but slips and...* Woah! *pushes scout's back on the bed* !?!?!?!? WAIT WHAT! *looks at y/n* *y/n just sleeping peacefully sleeping on scout's chest* WH- Oh shit I gotta be quiet. um fuck. I- *scout cover his face with his hand* I- *looks at s/o again*

*pats y/n head* *after a while* *whispers* You know...forget about the bucket of chicken and the cake...I would rather spend my time like this. with...you... *blushes madly while covering his face*

Soldier

Soldier was looking for you. Y/N!!!!! *opens the door to the living room* THERE YOU- *y/n drifting sleep on the sofa while sitting up*

Y/n!!! *stills sleeps* *soldier sits next to y/n to shake them awake*

But instead... Y/n I have to talk to yo- *y/n plops next to soldier's shoulder* !?

Y/n!? *sees y/n sleeping peacefully* I-Hmph fine! 10 minutes.

He literally turned into a rock statue, he just froze.

*10 min later* C-cupcake get up! mmm... Cupcake! ...zzz.... *y/n gets closer* *soldier turns bright red* CUPCAKE! !!!! What- what happened! *sees soldier* !!! Oh sorry was I sleeping? *NODS* Oh I am really so- NO. ??? IT'S FINE CUPCAKE, WE NEED REST SOMETIMES!!! Oh um yeah...By the way, why did you scream so loud? Oh well um. WE NEED TO GO TRAINING NOW! Wha- *holds y/n tight and runs off to the training ground* ???

When you glanced at soldier's face for a moment, what you saw was the most reddest and sweetest soldier in America...

Pyro

Pyro was just reading you Little Red Riding Hood to you for the 5th time this month (you were totally okay with this) It wasn't a bedtime story but just an afternoon story time.

Pyro used one hand to hold the book and the other to use for puppets! Finger puppets. They were made by you!

Pyro was halfway through the book and you felt...sleepy...

Mmmphhh! zzz... Mmph? *looks at s/o* mmh? zz....z....

MMphh! *y/n plop of pyro's shoulder* MMPH!?

Pyro thought of moving but you looked so peaceful. (It isn't even bedtime...Oh well, it a nap time then! :D )

Pyro decided to move a bit but you then leaned closer. *Pyro freezes* *Holds very very still*

Pyro glanced at you, ....pat pat.

After patting your head for about 15 minutes pyro also joined the nap time and leaned on you too :)

Engi

Engi and you were FINALLY taking a break after you two worked long hours on a machine project you worked on. You were his proud little helper!

You were sitting on the sofa just wondering about the machine progress and such. Hey, y/n here is some hot cocoa! Oh, thanks engi! Engi's face became just as hot as the hot cocoa by your smile. Oh well um, you're welcome! *engi continues to talk about how the machine works and progresses*

And then y/n you place the-*plop* ?! Y/n you alright? mm... Oh you're sleepin...

*looks at the clock* (Should I wake up y/n? Are they hungry? Are they comfortable?) *Looks at y/n* *engi blushes slightly* You know, you worked hard today sweetheart, *places blanket on y/n*

Sweet dreams y/n we got a hard day of work tomorrow. *leans on y/n* :)

Heavy (just heavy figuring out how to get closer to y/n~)

Heavy and you were just eating a sandvich on a bench. *Sigh* Today's battle was very hard...we lost to the weak baby. It's okay Heavy! Not all battles are a victory sometimes we lose...

You both were just looking at the horizon. Does leetle y/n like sandvich? Oh yes, they are the best!!! *heavy smiles* Very good :)

Heavy and you stayed there and talk for about an hour. About how they lost today, about how to make perfect sandvich, and more!

And then POW! The scout was dead. Hehe heavy gets revenge! zz...z.z.... Y/n? *looks next to y/n drifting to sleep* Y/n...?

Are you ale- *plop* !!! Y/n? zzzz....zzzz

*heavy gently smiles* Y/n very tired. *head pats y/n* Pat pat

*after a while*

Y/n always so kind... HEAVY! !!!! *looks back to see scout approaching* What the hell are you doin' hea- SHHHHHHH! wh- SHHHH ??? Be quiet scout! leetle y/n is sleeping! So wh- *heavy looking clearly pissed and squeeze his fists* ...*stare* OKAY OKAY big guy fine I will call you guys later! Geez... By the w- *GLARE* You know what forget it never mind! *scout runs off*

*Sigh* mm... !!! *heavy continues to head pat y/n*

Heavy wants to get closer to you...But I don't know how...Heavy want spend more time with y/n. Heavy always protect y/n :)

Demoman

Demo decided to join you with his bomb-making process. Y/n then ya place this inside the bomb in here! It is what makes it go KABOOM! *y/n giggles* Bombs are wonderful, aren't they? Indeed demoman hehe.

Oh wait, this part is a bit complicated this will take a while...

*after a while*

And boom it's don- *plop* !!! Demo was about to jump out of his seat. Y/n? zz..z...z... Hehe, it seems like it's gotten pretty late ey? *extremely carefully picks up y/n bridal style* There we go! *looks at y/n* (Their cuteness is so...deadly...demo calm down...ye are just going to place y/n in bed! Why am I so nervous...)

Where is y/n room again? Ah, there it is! *Very carefully gets inside.* *creak* *places y/n gently on the bed* *pulls a soft blanket on them* *pats y/n's head* *sits beside the bed and takes a swing of alcohol* Good night lovely❤ *demo blushes a tiny bit* It seems like I am falling for you more and more...*hick*

Sniper

Sniper and you were just driving in his van. There wasn't a location to where but you guys were just wandering around in the van.

You both soon arrived at a huge grass field. *both get out of the van* *and just sit on the huge grass field*

*a moment of peace* The sunset is sure beautiful. Yeah... *y/n stretches* *sniper gets up* Oh um! *y/n holds sniper hands just a moment he leaves* Can we stay here longer? Till the sun goes fully down? Of course. Anything for you. *sits back down*

*wind blows* Swoosh It's getting windy we shou- *plop* !!! Y/n!? zzzz... !!! Y/n I- *Swoosh*

Oh um! *gently pus his vest on y/n* *y/n leans closer*

Sniper watched y/n, seeing how their hair flowed with the wind, how their skin glowed under the sun setting, ...Sometimes I wonder how I met such a lovely person like you...

*Looks at the horizon* I should take you sun set watching more.

Medic

Oh um medic! Yes? I heard that you have to stay up really late tonight. yes? Can I help you? *heart flutters* Oh um you wanna help me? yes! I will be your little um nurse! But y/n we are going to stay up really late if so, I think you should sleep first, I don't want to stress you out! It's fine medic! I will help you out! Then maybe we could sleep early! Doing everything alone is tough! hehe, You are right! Fine, you may help me deliver some paperwork ok? *nods :)*

Eventually you and medic stayed pretty late, you were pretty stressed since you weren't used to such long hours of work, on the other hand, medic was just full work mode and would be perfectly fine if another 5 hours passed.

You soon decided to take a break next to medic. He was still working on his paper. You started to look closer at his face.

The jawline...the curve of his lip, the sharp eye look, the light reflexing from his glasses, the wave of his hair...you soon became feeling light...

Medic finally looked after trying to avoid your curious eyes, focused on him, y/n-! zz... *smiles* Hehe was my face that interesting or was it too boring that made you fall asleep? *tucks their hair behind their ear* I told you you wouldn't handle the late time...*stretches* *takes off lab coat* *plop* I will continue to finish work, you did well y/n I will take care of rest~ *head pat lovingly*

Spy

Spy really enjoyed reading you books. Just you and him in his smoking room and you coming closer to him while he fluently reads the book like magic.

You both very very subtly were considered snuggling.

You both were very peacefully just enjoying each others company.

*after a while of reading*

Ah, y/n would you like to take a break? I could go get some- hm?

He then took a peek from the side and!

Y/n was peacefully sleeping next to spy. Since he was so focused on the book and trying to keep his cool he very much forgot that y/n was leaning to him. very close...

He felt his heart beat faster than before. *spy blushes slightly at y/n peaceful cute face*

He then very carefully adjusted his position so that both y/n and him could be comfortable.

He then continues to read the book but of course, he couldn't focus. How could he read when such pure cuteness is literally next to him?

Y/n...you are truly something...to be able to make such a person like me become such a lovesick fool...

I loved writing this hehe. I hope you enjoy~! ╰(´︶`)╯♡

#tf2 x reader #tf2 scout x reader #tf2 soldier x reader #tf2 pyro x reader #tf2 engineer x reader #tf2 heavy x reader #tf2 demoman x reader #tf2 sniper x reader #tf2 medic x reader #tf2 spy x reader #asks

[musette22]

Oh man, oh boyyyy. So one of my real life best friends sent me a voice message earlier saying, ''dude, you wanna listen to this asap, something happened to me yesterday and this is prime fanfic material, I'm telling you" and uhh, she was right 😳

It's kind of a long story lmao so I'll put it under the cut, but it's worth it if you like romantic, sexy drama (but TW for infidelity and minor bodily harm, I guess)

So my friend isn't originally British, but she's been living in London for years, and we used to be roommates (I know), but then I moved away, and she got a British boyfriend and they're about to move in together. But they're in between houses at the moment, so she's staying with his family in the countryside while he's away on business (something government related that he's always being very mysterious about lol).

So my friend and her boyfriend (I'll call them Maxime and William here, for storytelling purposes) have kind of a complicated relationship. They both cheated on each other more than once and decided to still give their relationship a chance, and while he's a really nice guy (he and I get along really well, too) he's very reserved and rich and British, while Maxime, who's a musician and activist and always works three jobs at a time, is someone who literally used to burst into my room in the middle of the night and fling herself on top of me, crying "I just need to feel something!" (she's fantastic btw, I absolutely adore her)

So anyway, Maxime gets to her boyfriend's family house in the countryside, and when she arrives, William's mother is like, "Oh hello dear, sorry, I need to dash out for a few hours, but James (William's childhood best friend that he's sort of lost touch with and whose name isn't actually James, but you get the idea) is in the garden doing some maintenance." So Maxime is like "Ok cool, I'll go and say hi," because she's never met this old friend of William's.

Turns out, James is ridiculously hot and built and working up a sweat in the garden. So she's just like, "Uh hi, I'm William's girlfriend," and he smiles timidly and is like, "Sorry, I'd shake your hand but my hands are dirty." You get the idea.

So Maxime - selflessly - offers James something to drink, and once he's finished up his work, he comes inside, and they strike up a conversation. They hit it off right away, talking for hours, and at some point they start a game of chess (idek, as you do in the countryside, I guess). Since Maxime is kind of a sore loser, once things start looking a little grim for her, emotions run high and she gets frustrated and snaps at James, "Ugh, I kinda wanna hit you right now."

And he just shrugs and says, "Okay, do it."

So Maxime is like, "...lol, I'm not actually going to hit you, you're crazy," but he starts goading her, until at some point she's just like "Fine!" and gives him a halfhearted slap. James just laughs and asks, "Come on, that all you've got? Really?" so of course my competitive friend is like "Ok well fuck you," and slaps him across the face, hard. AND THIS GUY, this really hot guy, just looks at her with dark eyes, turns her the other cheek, and says, "Please."

So what can she do but slap him again, right?

And then while they're just kind of staring at each other, both of them breathing hard, William's mother comes back. She's oblivious to the tension, but James immediately gets up like, "Right, I'll be going then," and Maxime gets up too to see him out and compose herself a little before facing the mother. And then at the door, before he leaves, James turns to to Maxime, kisses her cheek, whispers, "Thank you for making me feel something."

LIKE. God. JESUS. Like, ok well, damn.

While I'm not a judgemental person, and I believe life and love can be messy sometimes, infidelity isn't something I'd ever encourage, so I did tell my friend firmly that she can't seek this guy out again, at least not while she's still dating her boyfriend, and she said she wouldn't, so let's hope she won't. I'm also aware of the dangers of romanticising toxic behaviour, truly. But the writer part of my brain is just like "...where's the fic??"

I mean, gorgeous, fierce city person meets reserved, rugged country man who likes to be slapped because it makes him feel something?? Ugh, God.

#this is such a bad romance novel plot lmaooo but it'd do great as a stucky fic too imo #there's even a role for p-you know who I mean here #god #why did I ever move away lol #no I'm kidding #I'm not equipped to deal with anything like this #but I love living vicariously through her #minnie talks

[not-your-fucking-kacchan]

Just discovered your page and 😍🖤🔥!

If your asks are still going could you write a little piece with Shunsui from bleach? Maybe with a s/o who is more dominant with others in her squad and doesn't hold back, but for him is a bit of a pushover and gets all soft and smitten.

Sorry if that doesn't make sense haha 😅

Ofc! Had to do a lil research for this because I haven't watched bleach in so long lol

But thank you! I'm so glad you liked my bleach stuff! I'm hoping I get more onto the bleach and black clover fandom because as much as I love MHA, I also really love these other animes too, so your encouragement really means a lot <3

Also peep the Yu-Gi-Oh! Abridged reference 💀

Masterlist <3

Shunsui x Reader - Headcanons

The very thing that attracted him to you was your attitude and your intensity. He thought you were worth getting to know better because your personality seemed to switch completely when you were at work in comparison to when he would occasionally see you off duty.

You were the complete opposite to him, who just stayed on vacation-mode all the damn time. It was intriguing to see someone so 'model-squad member' - like get so shy and bashful when the adrenaline wears off and the responsibility is gone.

The first time he had seen you in action was like watching Soi Fon lead her squad. You were quiet and deadly, often silencing hollows with fast, overwhelming barrages of attacks from all directions as opposed to being flashy and strong like Kenpachi or Hitsugaya, though you weren't quite as strong as a squad leader yet.

Though when he saw you next, sitting in the shade and laughing with your squamates, he was even more interested than before.

He started hanging out with you more and more since then, and since he was your superior, you couldn't really get away, now could you?

He could never get used to the way that you would easily direct a squad of multiple people to work together perfectly, but every time he spoke to you, you would blush and refused to keep eye contact.

You couldn't even scold him for slacking off so damn much.

He's far too handsome and you're far too smitten to risk getting on his bad side and annoying him by being pushy.

When he walks in on a training session where you lead your fellow squad members, he's deadass got the words knocked out of him as he hears you barking orders and directing the group perfectly, being strict and merciless with them in a way he had never witnessed you act before.

He treats you differently after that. He's a little more teasing, but he definitely listens to you just a little more in fear of being yelled at like that, much like husbands will fear their wives' wrath.

After a while though, he clocks that you're literally a pushover for him, and of course this asshole takes advantage of it.

Cheeky bastard.

You manage to catch him drinking sake on the job once, and he only smiles like an idiot as you rattle his ear off about how unprofessional and irresponsible it is, amused at the way you don't raise your voice at him once. You do yell at him though, when he snorts at your reaction and ruffles your hair.

He just falls in love with you as you scold him.

You're already head over heels though, he's just infuriating sometimes.

He totally manages to convince you to help him with his paperwork, and you can't help but feel a little happy that you're helping him and doing something to make life easier for him.

He knows just how smitten you are when he finally clocks the difference between the way that you treat him in comparison to other squad members and even other captains. He knows you're not a kiss-ass, and you're stubborn as an ox, so why is he so different?

Not to mention your reaction when he flirts with you?? You get sleazed on by other men and it's all "huh? You little ****! You son of a ******* ***** ***** **** ****, I'm going to tear off your ****, and shove it right up your ****** ******* ******** ****, and then **** **** ***** on your **** ******* **** with *** ******* *** in the ***** ******* **** and **** ***** your ******* *** and **** ***** so then you'll have to **** sideways-!" but when he does it (albeit in a slightly more respectful and far less creepy way), you're all blushy and squirmy.

That's the main thing that tips him off, of course. You're just so intense and sometimes downright scary when you have to be, but then when you're with him, it's like having a skittish little puppy around.

Of course, as he confesses that he knows how you feel, and tells you that he feels the same, he's holding your chin and smirking like a little shit, even though he's a good foot taller than you. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he fucking thinks it's amusing.

He's grown so protective over you as well- he wouldn't dare pushing his luck with you and making you uncomfortable, or being too difficult for you and stressing you out, and every time he sees that you're upset he's immediately there to make you feel better.

The first time you kiss is something he'll never forget though, especially because of the squad of a moan you released into his mouth when he surprised you like that, and it had him chucking and laughing at you, his chest shaking while you pout and turn away from him, going bright red because of his teasing.

Honestly, he couldn't ask for a better, funnier, kinder, prettier partner, and you were absolutely obsessed with this himbo.

#bleach imagines #bleach headcanons #bleach scenarios #bleach x reader #bleach #shunsui bleach #shunsui kyoraku #shunsui x reader #shusui x fem reader #bleach x y/n #bleach x you #shunsui headcanons #shunsui kyoraku headcanons

[skellagirl]

I am, as usual, late lol, but Y'KNOW. This is gonna be a long, rambly post lol, sorry, I have a lot of thoughts.

2023 was a weird year for me, artwise. When it began I was still deep in my Art Block From Hell, which had begun in mid-2021 and lasted the entirety of 2022.

Being in the thick of such a ridiculously suffocating art block, for TWO AND A HALF YEARS, is like... I can't describe how fucking life-draining it is. It felt like something was fundamentally wrong with me -- like a part of me, which used to be as effortless as breathing or blinking my eyes, had ceased to function altogether. It wasn't just a regular art block, it was a complete identity crisis. I could no longer trust the instincts I'd honed over twenty-plus years, could no longer trust my sense of observation or my ability to recreate what I saw. I felt BROKEN, and every single time I picked up my tablet pen it was like I was scraping my insides with a spoon, trying to pick up whatever tiny dregs of dried-up, crusty shit I could manage to puke up onto my canvas. It was fucking painful and humiliating and completely demoralizing.

I'm not really sure what finally got me to do so, but sometime in summer (my memory is shit lol) I downloaded Game Maker, found a video tutorial on youtube, and just... gave myself over to it. I made myself learn how to use Aseprite, and working with pixels, making teeny-tiny little sprites, forced me to work in ways I usually don't. It was a lot harder for me to find the flaws in my art when my art was thirty-five pixels tall and the anatomy was stylized to communicate clear information rather than be a recreation or approximation of reality. I think I really do credit that time working on game dev as the thing that finally cracked loose all the gunk that was keeping me stuck -- I could not perpetuate the cycle of toxicity I'd fallen into because I could barely even conceptualize what 'good' or 'bad' pixel art even looked like lol. I just knew that I was making art, and for the first time in two years, it didn't feel like I was having to desperately beg the emaciated husks of my sense of self-worth and confidence to cooperate while doing so.

(I actually sort of abandoned my foray into game dev around August/September lol, as my adhd-brain, flitting around like a little hummingbird to every dopamine-rich-flower, is wont to do 🥲 But I wanna get back into it at some point!)

From there I had a rush of inspiration for an original project I've been mulling around in my head for years, and I wrote thousands of words in my worldbuilding document, made a map, developed the shell of a possible actual STORY. I returned to sketching. Conventional sketching. It was, at first, largely still comprised of that same demotivating struggle against myself, but I was so deep in the throes of inspiration (after several years of this project laying dormant in my google drive) that I NEEDED to sketch. So I kept going. And after a while, it got....... easier. And I started hating everything I made a little less. I painted, properly, for the first time in years. I stayed up late into the night, even if it meant I would be tired at work the next day, because drawing felt so damn GOOD again and I had missed that feeling so much. All I wanted to do was draw. For the first time in two and a half years, I could finally see the light at the end of the fucking tunnel.

I still don't think I'm quite out of the woods yet. My style is changing, as all artists' styles do over time, and that comes with stumbling adjustments. My confidence is still small and shaky and recovering; I still catch myself second-guessing what I've drawn, and even looking at some of the things here on my grid makes me cringe a little bit for one reason or another.

But compared to both 2021 and 2022, the volume of art, and in particular the volume of art I don't actively despise, is WAY higher, and I'm really really hopeful that that means I'm finding my footing again.

So! Here's to 2024, and to continuing to move towards the light at the end of the tunnel 🙏🌟 I'm gonna try.

#art vs artist #art vs artist 2023 #my art #skella's ugly mug #I actually did an art vs artist in 2021 but I only ever posted it on facebook lol I wasn't confident enough to post it anywhere else #purple and orange/yellow continues to be my favorite color pallet apparently #sorry not sorry for being sappy on my own blog <3333 #long post

[bots-and-cons]

Maybe megatron and Optimus (separate) with a human charge who has maybe a big scar/multiple scars and when they ask/notice it the reader is like “oh I got it from (insert a battle between the bots the human was at)” and they just realize that their human charge has been hurt pretty bad while with them? Sorry if this doesn’t make sense lol

I almost forgot the whole charge part and started writing this as like a romantic thing, but luckily I caught it before I got too far. So it’s platonic and since I often get this question, a charge is someone the bot/con is looking after, like Raf is Bee’s charge, and Bee is his guardian. I’d say the charge has been with them long before the trouble trio came along. These are pretty short, but oh well

~Optimus Prime~

Your scar was aching, it wasn’t that bad, but enough to make you uncomfortable. You were trying to adjust yourself on the couch to get into a more comfortable position, which Optimus noticed as he walked into the main room of the base.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, which made you jump a bit, because you had been so focused on the dull ache that you hadn’t noticed him come into the room.

“For a big bot you’re surprisingly quiet” you chuckled, and stopped adjusting yourself.

“That does not really answer my question” Optimus said.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, my scar just hurts a bit” you shrugged.

“I wasn’t aware you had a scar. When did you get it if I may ask?”

“I got it a couple of years ago, when you got caught in the fight between you guys and the cons”

Optimus stopped. He didn’t know you had gotten hurt while you were under his protection.

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” Optimus asked.

“I didn’t think it mattered, it wasn’t bad, even though it’s a pretty big scar, the injury itself was kinda shallow” you said. “And I knew you would blame yourself, as you seem to be doing right now”

“I should have protected you, and you should have told me the minute it happened”

“I didn’t want to worry you, and it really wasn’t that bad” you tried to assure him.

Optimus wasn’t really having it. He felt like it was absolutely his fault you had gotten hurt. You were his charge and he was supposed to make sure you didn’t get hurt under any circumstances.

“I apologize for not protecting you, I hope you can forgive me” Optimus apologized.

“I’m trying to tell you there’s nothing for me to forgive you for. I don’t blame you, besides if you stay alive because I got a little bit hurt instead of distracting you from a fight, it’s worth it” you smiled at him.

Optimus had always wondered why you were so willing to forgive him when something went wrong, and even though he didn’t fully understand it, he appreciated that quality of you.

~Megatron~

“When did this happen?” Megatron asked.

You were taking off your hoodie since it was hot as hell on the Nemesis and your t-shirt had hiked up our stomach a bit, exposing your scars.

“Why are you staring at me?” you asked, before pulling down your shirt, knowing full well why.

“I obviously am not very familiar with the human body in general, but I am quite certain even you don’t just have random lines across your torso”

“Yeah, about that… It was a few months ago when you were fighting the Prime and I got hit by some shrapnel. It wasn’t that bad, I took care of it myself, but the whole thing did leave some scars” you said.

“Damn those autobots” Megatron growled.

“I had a feeling you might say that” you chuckled. “Just don’t get careless because you get even angrier than usual”

“I’m never careless” Megatron said.

“Suuuure you’re not” you rolled your eyes at the old mech. “Just lay off the space cocaine and I’ll believe you, old timer”

Megatron just looked at you with a perplexed look on his face, having no idea what you meant by “space cocaine”, he didn’t even know what cocaine meant. He of course wasn’t about to reveal his ignorance to you, so he just changed the subject.

“Are you in pain because of the injuries you suffered?” he asked.

“Not anymore, it was pretty painful to take out the shrapnel and it ached for a few weeks while the wounds healed, but I’m fine now” you grinned.

“Good, I’ll be sure to cause just as much pain to those autobots as they caused to you” he announced.

Megatron was on yet another path to vengeance, and you weren’t really sure if that was a good thing.

#transformers #tfp #transformers prime #decepticons #megatron #autobots #optimus prime #tfp scenarios #reader insert #platonic transformers x reader

[emisirrelevant]

Goodbye Willow (for now?)

Alright, so this was the post I was dreading making for a while. But I just decided now is the time to do it.

I recently heard about the news surrounding the show Willow. I'm really sad. To say the least.

Apparently people are saying it's not technically canceled, but it's just going on a hiatus.

I've never heard of many shows to do this, but I am interested in what this could mean for the show's future.

Right now, I'm just sad because I won't get to see my favorite trio on screen for a while. My fantasy lesbians are gone for now. And my girlie Elora Danan. I miss that bad bitch every fucking day.

I am slightly concerned about what the show going on hiatus could mean for it in the future. I really REALLY want to have hope that it will come back. And that it actually gets to continue for a while.

I REMEMBER THAT LAST FUCKING SCENE WITH THE BOOKS ALL NEXT TO EACH OTHER I SAW THOSE VOLUMES I WANT MY SEASON 2 AND 3 PLEASE AND THANK YOU.

Okay, that might be asking too aggressively. Anyway, I guess what I want to say with my voice on here is that I really, really fucking loved this show. I know the show writers probably don't lurk on here, but in the like 0/100000000 percent chance they see this, I need to tell them,

DO NOT GIVE UP ON THIS SHOW.

DO NOT GIVE UP ON THE FANS WHO GENUINELY SEE SO MUCH OF THEMSELVES IN YOUR SHOW.

Because it's 2023, and I'm tired of shows getting treated like this.

And also because people on YouTube are tearing it to filth. And I do NOT want that to be what gets this show cancelled. (calling us woke- I'm just so tired??? it's called just let people live their fucking lives?)

I really, really love the Willow show.

If this is really it though, if this is the end, I just wanted to say all of this. Because I think this show is worth continuing. But if it's all going to lead to disappointment in the end, and it's just another show that gets my hopes up only to crush them for the nth time, then I'm glad I said my piece at least somewhere.

If this is really it and it never comes back, then these are my final words. To all the characters (except for the evil ones, lol), you will be severely missed by me.

I will miss Tanthamore and it will hurt like a bitch. But I'm glad we got them right from the beginning rather than not at all.

I will miss Elora Danan so much, I'm gonna be honest, she was my favorite character.

I'll miss Willow, Thraxus, Graydon and Scorpia. Sorry Airk fans, he was kinda just there for me.

But overall, I'm going to miss the whole damn thing so damn much.

If they never come back, I'll never get to see all of their amazing dynamics with each other and the banter between them all, and just the fantasy of escaping my reality and immersing myself into the adventures with them in this silly fun little fantasy world of Tir Asleen.

And it's also mostly gonna suck not to see major storylines continue if the show doesn't come back. I'll resort to fanfic though for that if that's the case, lol. But yeah, I am really going to miss Willow if this is the end of the journey. I'll hold out hope for now that we get to see our favorite little party come back home, but we'll just never know.

Not knowing for sure is always the worst, am I right.

Well. Before I get too emotional or carried away and think about it too long and get sad, I'm going to end it here.

Thank you for everything, Willow. This show truly means a lot. I'm going to miss it all so, so much. If this is it for the cast, I hope they all find success in the future. They all deserve the world. But someday, I hope we can return to the realm of Tir Asleen, and the adventure can continue. Goodbye (hopefully more like see you soon), Willow.

#willow 2022 #willow #willow disney plus #kit tanthalos #jade claymore #elora danan #willow ufgood #thraxus boorman #graydon hastur #airk tanthalos #scorpia willow #queen sorsha #madmartigan #tir asleen #WE WILL GET THEM BACK BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO THINK OF THE ALTERNATIVE #they WILL make it back home #tanthamore you will be loved always #elora danan come back to me soon! #this isn't really goodbye I hope #but if it is... thank you for everything willow

[pomegranates-and-blood]

Vows (500 Celebration)

500 Celebration Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Prompt: From the Quotes category: “To you even betrayal can sound like a vow.”

Word Count: 5083 (😬)

Warnings: My writing (I haven’t written anything worth posting for Ivar in ages, it is worth warning that this is probably very OOC or just plain bad). The usual warnings associated with Ivar. Abduction/forced marriage topics. Angst disguised as fluff. Lying, I guess, if that counts as a warning. Greek/Byzantine Reader. My inability to keep the plot and characterizations of Nostalgia from bleeding into the rest of my work. By extension, Hades/Persephone themes.

A/N: So, one of the AUs that I have always wanted to write for Nostalgia was Praxidice (you can find the reason behind the name and a snippet in the  AU’s masterlist right here),  but I never quite got into writing it as a fully-fledged series, and I’ve always had these scattered thoughts about  scenes in this AU. I have recently come to the realization that I can actually just write and post what I want lol, so I’ll be writing those scenes as drabbles, and yeah, here  I am.

You obviously don’t need to read the monstrosity that is Nostalgia (over 230k words and counting ffs), this just happens to have the Reader character from that series and some plot elements, but it deviates pretty early on (Ch8), so you won’t miss anything.

Sorry, this is entirely too long, both this author’s note and this piece, and I took entirely too long to post something new. I’m working on that, but it takes time, I’m rusty.

Anyhow, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I like this AU so much (not at all because Ivar being lied to about being loved is a thing I am apparently obsessed with, what do you mean?). And also, the weird ass way this dude acted when he met Freydis in Kattegat lives rent free in my head, because while it is almost endearing, it has the potential of being terrifying if you know who he is/what he is capable of; and I tried working a bit of that into the beginning of this piece, hope it isn’t too bad.

Sorry for the ramble!

You walk inside, and try not flinching at the sound of the doors closing behind you as the guards escorting you leave you alone with Ivar. You haven’t been here before, this spacious place of dimly lit fires and candles, this room of wood and furs bereft of anything to speak of life.

It feels cold to you. Everything in this kingdom does, even the people, but this room feels the coldest to you. And you gather it is because your very heart shudders in its slow beats when you realize where this room leads, when you understand why the guards that follow you like dogs since Ivar brought you to his kingdom in chains stopped at the door.

They led you -he ordered them to lead you- to his room. Past the arch you can almost see up ahead you imagine you’ll enter the section where his bed is, and dread churns at your stomach.

Dread and something else, something that poisons you all the more, something that hurts all the more. Because when you first met him, when you refused to give him your name or acknowledge his in some old hut in a besieged Saxon city but still met with him day after day, you thought -foolishly, childishly, helplessly- that you could trust him; and now betrayal lodges itself in your chest, right next to your heart, and it sends pangs of pain each time fear of this new place and dread of its mad king make your heart quicken its beat.

But none of that matters now, the past does not matter any longer. And neither does the future, neither does what your worst thoughts warn you is to happen past that damn arch in that damn bed. Because try as you might to pretend otherwise, you do not have a choice.

You do not have a choice but to be here, and so you are. You do not have a choice but to step forward to meet Kattegat’s King, and so, after a deep breath, you do.

He smiles at you when you walk to him, when you make yourself seen. Strange, really, since you both know he heard you walk in, and heard the silence that came after as you battled dread by the closed door.

But still he smiles. A rushed, somewhat insincere smile. But not insincere in its coldness, or its cruelty, no. Insincere because it trembles on his lips as he stands taller to greet you, because even as he smiles his eyes give away something boyish, something like nervousness.

For some reason it unsettles you all the more, and you can do nothing but stare back, saying nothing, giving nothing. It is unnerving, to find humanity in him, to find it bared so foolishly, so carelessly, so helplessly; when you find it so much easier to think he lacks such humanity, such vulnerability, in the first place.

Ivar clears his throat, and motions with the hand not on the crutch for the table where food awaits you.

You do not move. You know an order when you see one, and you know it takes a very special kind of stupid to ignore Ivar the Boneless’ commands, but still you do not move.

“I have been thinking of what I’ll tell the people about you.” He starts simply, as if this is but another conversation you shared on that city that smelled of despair.

“You dragged me to your home in chains. I’d gather they can put together the rest if they are too curious about what brought me here.”

“They are curious about you. You are-…”

“Just another prisoner.”

You know it irks him when you remind him of what he made of you, and you have a feeling it is because he knows it makes him your jailor.

There’s a refreshing harshness in his eyes when he meets your gaze now, a clear tell of gritted teeth when he clarifies, “A foreigner.”

It is enough for you to have forced him to once again on this pointless battle even if for a moment, to have reminded him of what he has done even if he wants to pretend it never happened to try and escape the consequences of it; and so you only shrug.

Your eyes remain on him, though, studying him. You linger on the way he stands tall by that table set with elaborate foods, shoulders squared and pride coiling on his spine, and wonder if he is hoping you are impressed by this display; you linger on the way he grasps with his free hand at the iron encasing his right leg to approach the table, and wonder why when you have seen him walk without needing to before.

You linger on the way he is acting so unnaturally mellowed, attempting such artificial charm, and wonder, not for the first time, if you have actually managed to understand the reason why he insists on arguing he never made you a slave, a prisoner. You wonder if he is attempting some sort of normalcy in your meeting, if he is expecting you to play the part of a woman willingly spending her time with him.

You once were that, though, you once were willingly spending your time with him, allowing yourself to foolishly trust him, but he couldn’t handle the possibility of not being in control of it all, the possibility that one day you may choose not to spend your evenings with him any longer; so he took your choice from you.

And now he seems to expect nothing to change, he seems to want to return to what was before, now certain he holds control tightly in the same hand with which he holds invisible chains still set on you.

As if he could hear your thoughts, as if he could sense realization dawning on you, he confirms your suspicion by gesturing with his free hand once he sits by that table and prompting,

“Have dinner with me.”

“I thought-…your people dine in the great hall.”

“Not tonight. Not us, anyways.”

You move limbs of lead to sit on that chair, eyes still on him, trailing over his features, lingering on the movements of his hand when he pours you a drink. At the tip of your tongue are demands of honesty about what he wants out of you, about why he chose to take you here against your will instead of asking, about anything other than this strange domesticity, but he speaks before you have a chance to.

“Just a man and a woman sharing a meal, nothing more, hm?” Ivar presses, gesturing to the plate in front of you again, ordering you to eat. To play along.

You bite back words about how once you might have been just a man and a woman to one another in that besieged city, and it was nothing more than a shared meal the many times you at by low fires with him and ate and talked until your eyes threatened to fall closed; but now…now it cannot be, not anymore, not since he captured you like who does an exotic beast and brought you to his cold home.

But that isn’t what he wants to hear, and while you never feared his rage, aware from the beginning of how easily prone to anger he was and yet never hesitating to push him; now, facing this brittle calm, this staining certainty, this eager unpredictability, you cannot rid yourself of something quite close to fear.

So instead of arguing, you agree to the unspoken rules, and you reach for a piece of cheese on the table, taking a bite and swallowing before you quip,

“A Greek Priestess and a Viking King, why would I dare think this is anything but ordinary?”

He smiles at that, a softer smile, almost crooked, but less performative than before, more honest, and your foolish heart does this strange little thing in your chest when you earn the same smile you did when you first met him.

“What would make this ordinary for you?”

“Stone walls, the warmth of the sun, speaking in my own tongue.” You list out, before taking a sip of mead, looking at him over the rim of your goblet, making note of the slight softening of his features as he notices you are playing along, keeping up with him even if only in this small interaction.

“Teach me your language, then,” He orders without hesitation, leaning forward, elbows on the table. At your answering look, he shrugs, a downward curve of his mouth in a gesture of indifference before he clarifies, “Stone is expensive, and I do not yet command the sun. We will speak in your tongue then.”

“Your people already suspect me a witch, Viking,” You remind him, letting slip the title you used on him before, when you pretended not to know who he was, when of you he knew your secrets but not your name. Steeling yourself against the foolish way you let down your guard, you forgot of what brought you here, you continue, a tad more reserved now, “If their King starts speaking in another tongue, they’ll see their suspicions proven right.”

“You care what they say about you?”

“Don’t you? Have you heard what they say about me?” You ask instead, eyebrows raised, almost a dare.

“Have you heard what they say about me?” He retorts, rueful smile curving at his lips, the same dare shining in his eyes.

You concede to his point with a reluctant smile of your own, taking another sip of the sweet drink.

“Yet you made of yourself something far greater than the things they may whisper you are,” Because your stomach churns at the mere idea of giving praise to the man that lied to you, that betrayed you, that chained you; you add, “Now you have even made yourself the captor of a Greek witch. They are sure to be impressed.”

“I didn’t bring you here because of them.” He argues, once again giving away something in that strange way of his, unwillingly yet almost confrontationally. And your eyes narrow as you cannot help but think, almost accusingly, almost pityingly, just how many things have you done because of them, because of what you want them to think of you?

“Why did you bring me here then?” You ask, a colder edge to your voice that you do not care about hiding. “You promised me my freedom, you said I would be free to go, yet you brought me to this town and left me alone for days, followed around by those brutes. I think you owe me the tr-…”

“You still think you are in a place to make demands, don’t you?” He interrupts, a mocking edge to his chuckle and an anger he doesn’t bother hiding rising his voice, giving an edge to his words. After a few moments of silence, he offers, irritated, as if you are the one in the wrong, “I promised you freedom and I do not break promises. You are a free woman, but I have to keep you here.”

“Why?” You ask, the question leaving your lips in a tired breath. “What difference is there between now and when you had iron chains to my wrists?”

“Because you now know I didn’t bring you here with the intention to make you a slave.”

This is madness. He is mad and this entire situation is sure to drive you mad as well soon. You force yourself to take a deep breath, and instead of butting heads with him for any longer, you instead ask,

“What then? A witch? A healer?” You press, because you will probably surprise the Gods themselves the day you learn to shut your mouth.

For a few breaths he stays silent, and you are reaching for the goblet again -not too bothered about drinking yourself numb if this madness intends to continue- when Ivar answers,

“A wife.”

Your chest tightens, as if an unseen smoke has clouded your lungs, and your breath quicken so sharply that you have to force yourself to control your breathing, force yourself to focus on nothing but regular breaths in and out.

Still, your eyes, widened at the realization of what Ivar wants to make out of you, stinging with the fear that has haunted you since you were a child, follow him,

“Wh-What are you talking about?”

“I will make you my wife.”

A nervous laugh that sounds manic and uneven to your own ears leaves your lips, heaves your chest.

Dragging your hands over your face, you mutter a quiet, “This is madness,” Before turning back to him and asking, almost pleading, “I don’t-…why do you-…why?”

“You have already been given to me, Priestess,” He tells bluntly you past the clear tell of gritted teeth, with an entitlement that surprises you even though it shouldn’t, considering how you got here. “I am not asking.”

“And I haven’t given an answer,” Because you haven’t done anything but demand, are the words you save, letting the half-truth serve as a reassurance even if you do not mean it. And leaning closer even if all you think of doing is running away, you press, “After everything, don’t you think you owe me the truth?”

“I was born cursed, you know.”

That was certainly not the explanation you were expecting.

“What?”

“I was born a cripple, and all…all my life I have been in pain. I can’t even walk properly; everything has been a…a damn struggle. With myself, with others,” A twitch of anger curls at his lip for a moment, furrows at his nose, and you wonder if the anger is at himself. He continues, “So I have always been so angry, so jealous of everyone around me. And I…don’t know how to be any other way,” It seems that only after a breath he realizes of what he has said, of how quiet his voice has become, and he looks away with a huff of what once would have been a bitter chuckle. You wish you were someone else, or he was, so you could tell him not to dismiss truths he gave away with a scoff, not to retreat back when faced with silence at the baring of a wound. But before you can be someone else, or he can, Ivar meets your gaze again, faint smile on his lips. The bitterness is still there, as is the resentfulness at Fate, as is the grief of something never had, and you understand that smile more than any other. Ivar continues, “Nothing has come easy in my life, and since I was a child I have asked the Gods why.”

And they never answered, did they?

You too asked the same thing, to different Gods or perhaps just uttering different names, but you too asked the same thing; and you cannot help the part of you that wants to offer truth, that wants to stretch out a hand and say something honest, something that when you were just a woman and he was just a man in some cabin in Wessex, you would have said.

But not now, because you remind yourself that he is, beyond anything after what he has done, your enemy, your captor. And you refuse to offer him anything truer than whatever it is he deluded himself into wanting out of you.

So instead you offer something less human than truth, and you whisper,

“I don’t have an answer, Ivar.”

But an answer wasn’t what he expected from you apparently, for he shakes his head with a small smile so reminiscent of the almost soft look he had before, when he was just a Viking and you just a Priestess, that it hurts at some foolish part of your heart.

“No,” He argues, more softly than you would have ever thought a man like him to be capable of, leaning forward, as close as he can get to you from where he sits. Pale blue eyes look into yours, and you’d think he is the one searching for answers and not you from the way he seems to seek something in your gaze. Quietly, he sentences, “You are the answer.”

The coldness of this land returns to you as if you had jumped -or were thrown- into freezing waters, and your breath catches in your throat as you lean back in your seat.

“You aren’t-…that doesn’t make any sense.”

If he hears you, he shows no sign of it.

“I was once told that the Gods mark us for pain, that some of us are…chosen to suffer, to be pushed to the ground, over and over again,” His head moves with his words, gaze deviating to the side before he leans forward, meeting your wide eyes again. “To test if we endure. And I did, I still do. I have done much more than any of my brothers, than any man my people know, ever did. I give Odin and Freyja warriors to take to their halls and wars to rejoice in,” You aren’t so sure anymore that it is only you he is attempting to convince that this isn’t madness. Regardless, he continues, “And I understand now, that when we become what the Gods expect of us, when we…endure, we are rewarded,” A small smile curves at his lips soft even if manic, “The Gods have sent you to me.”

“I don’t…I don’t follow your Gods, they…they have no power over me.”

“That does not matter. It was Fate that you and I met,” He explains without hesitation. “It is Fate that you remain at my side, however I choose to have you.”

All air leaves your lungs in a shuddering gasp that sounds like a death rattle to your own ears, the cold of this land seeping into your very bones and taking from you the last of the spring and life of your homeland you kept with you.

And the woman you know you are supposed to be is screaming that you demand to know why he thinks Gods you do not worship would send you to him, why he think his Norns are to rule over your Moirai and decide your Fate instead.

But the woman you are supposed to be is suffocated, extinguished, under the weight of all this madness, of the coldness of this place, of the death of your home.

And left behind in the wake of the life that will not be, that cannot be, all you hear are the echoes of the life that led you here.

Many years ago, the Seer spoke to me about you, you know, Sieghild told you one day, when you were still a child, still learning the ways of the world, still enjoying the freedom of belonging nowhere, to no one. A part of you wanted to tell her that you did not care about what her Gods had to say about you, but you couldn’t help the curiosity, and so you stayed silent, waiting. Unaware, you think now, of how her words, her prophecy, would haunt you for the rest of your life, he told me that I will return home with you; when the throne is empty, when the witch reigns, when the temple burns. It is Fate, little one.

You always argued with your mother that it wasn’t Fate what made such prophecies come true, but people’s blind belief in them, their resignment to their inescapabilty weaving those words into the threads of their Fate.

And realization dawns on you, crushing your chest with the pressure of it and forcing the words past your lips in a whisper,

“Sieghild is the one who told you my name, who I was.”

“She didn’t.” He argues, but it isn’t a denial of having met your mother, and that is enough of a confirmation, enough of a sentencing.

“But she did meet with you,” You state, not waiting for an argument, not sure what you will do if he chooses to lie now, unwilling to hear from him the truth. Still, your voice betrays you and you push, “My mother gave me away to you, not that Christian.”

“She said it was Fate that you were…left to me.”

Venom clogs your throat, an anger older than you can remember makes your hands tremble as you close them into fists on your lap, a hollowness you remember from when Sieghild first took you with her away from Greece returns to your chest at her abandonment; and for all that you are, all that you believe, you want to retort to his certainty, to her betrayal, to their certainty in Fate, with denial, with anger, with…with something alive.

But there is nothing alive left, not here, not in this kingdom of iron and coldness, not far from the Roads you once made your home; and even your Gods have no life to offer you now, with the Persephone not far from her descent now and her mother not far from her grief as winter approaches.

And there is nothing left to give life to the woman you ought to be.

Survive, until spring comes.

With your mother’s last words echoing in your mind, with her advice finding a home somewhere in the hollowness her abandonment left in your chest; you lift your gaze to meet Ivar’s pale eyes.

Sieghild would have never parted from you with such an order if she didn’t count on you to understand its meaning, she would have never left you alone without a plan to have you reunited with her.

You will only survive Kattegat for the winter if you have Ivar, you aren’t yet proud or blind enough to believe otherwise, and you know…you know you will only survive leaving Kattegat once spring comes if Ivar is blinded enough not to see your betrayal, your escape, coming.

“My mother often spoke of this, you know. Of you,” You tell him, reminding yourself that spring is merely half a year away to keep the waver from your voice. “I just didn’t understand at the time. She was told by your Seer that she would bring me here, I just…never believed her.”

This time it is him who draws back, though he catches himself before doing so completely, and remains hunched over the table you share, searching your gaze for a question he isn’t asking. You notice the way his shoulders are rising and falling slightly faster with his quicker breaths. His breathing give him away, it has since the beginning.

He wants to believe you. You know he does, and you’d venture to say he knows you are lying, just as he knows what he is pretending to be convinced of is madness. But he wants to believe, and you finally understand what you were once told about blind men and those who do not want to see.

In the short time you have known him, you have learned to think of him and think of an open wound, think of all the times you worked on healing an exposed nerve, a fresh wound, and with but a sweep of wind over the tender flesh, in more instinct than anything else, you earned anger and threats, and frantic hands pushing you away to keep themselves from the pain of such injury being revisited.

And that is what he is, at the end of it; at least to you. Exposed nerves giving way to anger at the slightest push, a beast snarling in a tongue you do not understand for you to keep away lest you bring pain, an open wound. But it is also something else, it is a shiver running down his spine at the slightest tender touch, it is restless hope in the hope the outstretched hand brings reprieve and not pain, it is…a weakness.

“So you’ll do it? You’ll marry me?” You swallow past the knot in your throat and nod your head, but Ivar is shaking his, “No. Say it.”

Strangely, it reminds you of the way he stood there, welcoming you to have dinner with him, the way he started a casual conversation while the marks of his chains still lingered on your wrists; for this feels like making you agree aloud to marrying him is but another way for him to fulfill the desire for something real while holding onto control.

Still, you smile and whisper, “Yes. I will marry you, Ivar.”

You wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t so close, if you weren’t looking for it, but you notice the way the tension coiling around his shoulders loosens, the way his expression, almost as if he cannot help it, softens at your words.

To you even betrayal can sound like a vow, you cannot help but think.

You let your hand creep closer, and intertwining your fingers with his would feel like a greater betrayal to yourself than this lie, so instead you let the tips of your fingers trace the back of his hand almost absently, almost as if the touch is mindless. Almost as if you don’t realize the way his breath hitches at the soft caress.

“It has always been my Fate, even when I ran from it, even when I ignored it, to come here, to…meet you, Ivar,” Your voice is quiet, and your smile is soft, you make sure of it, as you add, venom hidden in a jest, “I am not so certain my Fate is to marry you, but…”

“Marrying you would-...it will be...real, once we are married. I want to make you my wife,” It is the most honest truth he has given yet, and still you have a feeling you could draw on the sand the strategy of attack and defense of this conversation as easily as you drew those of the battle for Eleusis. You smile, pretending endearment, and nod your head, a quiet murmur of I know being the only answer you can give. His voice is low, almost hesitant as he offers, “You can ask me for anything you want.”

I want to belong nowhere, to no one, you want to tell him. But you can’t, you won’t.

Instead you do what is easier, even if some foolish part of your heart breaks at your choice, even if with each beat of what is left of it the shard betrayal left embedded in your chest makes the pain all the worse. You do what is easier, and you stand up.

“I want only one thing.”

Taking a step closer, you let one of your hands venture bravely to reach for him, settling somewhere on his shoulder, before lowering just enough to settle over his heart. It isn’t what you want, but it is what he wants you to want.

Pretending you don’t feel his eyes frantically searching yours, studying your face, trying to find certainty in the madness your closeness inspires, trying to find answers to questions he is too proud to ask; you move to settle yourself on his lap, knees on either side of his iron-encased legs, hand still resting proudly, perhaps possessively, over the center of his chest.

You meet the frantic blue of his eyes, and for all the times you found yourself foolishly lost in his gaze before it is easy to pretend now that you lose your breath and your mind to the moment your eyes meet.

But that is all there is: pretending. For you now know, as you were forced to learn when he put chains on your wrists and dragged you to his kingdom, that you cannot trust him, that you cannot lower your guard around him. That he is, despite what you once thought, your captor, a monster.

You would think you ought to feel as if you are watching closely at a predator’s movements, trying to predict the moment it will strike, but now you find yourself facing a beast quietened, meeting the gaze of a monster that out of all things was made to crave softness.

Telling yourself all that pushes you is the desire to survive, you kiss him.

He stills under your touch, so suddenly and so compulsorily that a pang of fear makes its way to your heart, but you do the only thing you can. You reach with trembling hands to hold him against you, one hand grasping at the cloth over his chest while the other reaches up to cup the side of his face to lure him into leaning into your kiss, to prompt him to give in.

It is tentative, clearly laced with inexperience, the way he first attempts to kiss you back, jittery movements as he moves his lips against yours, as he parts them to let you deepen the kiss.

Just shy of doing so, for just a moment, you pull back, to allow yourself this one small indulgence, and give yourself but a breath to admire him.

Ivar leans forward when you pull back, unwilling to part from your kiss, seemingly as bewitched by your touch as the people whisper he is, and the sight of his handsome face relaxed in the closest thing you have seen to the openness that comes with trust sends a pang of something through you, a heat that makes your heart stutter, a pain that stings at a part of you already dead.

You let yourself linger there, in that shared breath, brows almost pressed together, and allow yourself an honest smile, however small, when his eyes finally flutter open to look at you.

Quietly, you prompt, “Kiss me?”

And he does. Without hesitation, without doubting either you or himself.

It’s hunger, hunger laced with something else, something like hesitance. It’s uncertain movements of his lips against yours as he tentatively returns your kiss, yet strong hands fiercely, almost forcefully, holding you against him.

It’s a man that promised you anything you wanted when you lied about being certain you were sent to him by the Gods, and yet a man that chose to betray and chain you before giving you a chance to refuse him.

And that leaves you no chance to be the woman that would have said yes to following him to this kingdom of death if he had only asked, and yet the woman that will leave him when spring comes, and take his heart with her.

Thank you for reading! I hope this was alright! I’m sorry if it was too confusing for people that haven’t read Nostalgia, or too boring for people who have. I tried my best to balance the two.

And yeah, the “Kiss me?” from her was 100% me feeling nostalgia for Nostalgia and wanting to put a little flip on the scene of their first kiss. Couldn’t help it.

Tbh, I wanna write more for this AU, but idk how to go about posting it, so I’d love to hear your thoughts to decide how to go forward. Idk if I should keep Nostalgia and all its AUs separate from this 500 thingies, or if it’s alright to mix them with prompts and post the Praxidice drabbles as a part of this. I just don’t want it to be confusing, or post something in a general masterlist that isn’t clear or fun to read for people that aren’t familiar with Nostalgia, y’know? Would love to know your thoughts, cause I don’t really know what to do here. Thank you!

500 taglist: @youbloodymadgenius​ @xbellaxcarolinax​ @1950schick​ @ietss​ @peachyboneless​ @encounterthepast​ @maggiescarborough​ @fae-sedai​ @zuxiezendler​ @crazybunnyladysworld​​ @stupiddarkkside​​ @northumbria​​ @sagyunaro​ @aprilivar​​

Ivar taglist: @yourwonkywriter​​​​

#ivar x reader #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar #500 fucking hell thank you ily