#but he also knows that Dean is the one that gives him everything he asks for | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hintsofhoney · 6 months

Text

Ladies With Experience

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever... who are you to deny him?

Tags: smut, first time, virgin!reader, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dean, p in v, oral (female receiving), spanking, fingering, not-so-innocent reader

Word Count: 5k

A/N: As always, thank you to my loves @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean for beta-ing. Would be nowhere without you two 🥰

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Anyways, let’s say you’re right, fine. Who would want virgins?”

You know Sam didn’t mean it like that , and you felt stupid for letting it bother you. For letting this case bother you.

“You got me,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I prefer ladies with experience.”

And there it was, like a punch straight to the gut. You hated that it hurt you as much as it did. So what, you’ve never had sex. But you’ve done almost everything else. You knew what you liked and what you didn't. You’ve been around the block a few times with the various sex toys in your nightstand drawer. It’s not like you weren’t experienced at all . But that didn’t make Dean’s words hurt any less. You swallowed down the burger and fries from lunch that were threatening to come up, before standing up from your seat at the small motel room table.

The brothers looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I — bathroom,” you managed, before quickly making your way there, slamming the door shut behind you.

Staring at your reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, you let the tears fall. Silently, you wiped them away as Dean’s words echoed in your head, and you hated that you loved him. Hated that you’d never be ballsy enough to admit it to him, especially now.

Something like five minutes passed and you knew you didn’t have long before one of the boys — likely Sam — would come knocking to check on you. You flushed the unused toilet so they wouldn’t suspect anything and turned on the faucet, splashing your tear-soaked face with cold water before using a hand towel to wipe it dry. When you emerged, the guys were packing up their duffels.

“Did you find them?” you asked, hopeful.

Dean checked his gun, before flipping the safety on and stuffing it in the back waistband of his jeans.

“I sure as hell hope so, ‘cause if I’m about to crawl through the goddamn sewers for nothing —”

“They’re down there, Dean,” Sam replied, giving him a pointed look. He turned his attention to you, and if he had noticed anything off, he hadn’t let his face show it. “You coming?”

You grabbed your gun off the dresser and holstered it in reply.

Six hours later, the three of you were sweaty, panting, and splattered in blood after a close fight with dragons in the sewers. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to wade in any actual sewage. You hadn’t said a word to either brother since you had gone to the bathroom six hours ago, and to keep them from growing suspicious of your sudden silence, you opted to take a nap in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the motel.

You stirred awake as Dean pulled into the parking lot, barely conscious enough to catch the end of the brothers’ conversation.

“I’ll get her,” Dean said.

Sam nodded and got out of the car, gently closing the passenger side door before heading inside.

You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them as Dean’s face came into focus. He was looking at you over his shoulder, one arm resting on the top of the front bench seat.

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

It took a moment for the feeling you had been filled with prior to your nap to come back to you, his words from earlier echoing in your head. I prefer ladies with experience . You shot him a cold glare.

“Alright. What’d I do?” he asked, turning in his seat to better angle himself towards you.

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t said a word since we left for that hunt, Y/N.”

“How do you know Sam didn’t do something?”

He replied with a knowing look.

You stared at your hands, clasped together in your lap, and muttered, “It’s nothing. Stupid.”

“C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.

You hated this. How easy he was to talk to. How you had always been able to tell him what was on your mind.

But not this . You couldn’t tell him this.

You shook your head.

“Hey,” he said softly, shifting in his seat. He was fully turned around now, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at those green eyes. “Talk to me,” he repeated, no room for argument in his words.

“I can’t,” you whispered. You wanted to throw up. He was your best friend, and you were utterly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with him. He preferred girls with experience, and you had none. Not in the way that it mattered. And he had known that, thanks to a late-night stake-out game of Never Have I Ever .

His jaw clenched. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You briefly met his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long.

“Was it something I said?” he prodded.

You stared at the buttons of his open flannel, your eyes quickly darting up to meet his in silent confirmation.

He sighed, pulling his hand away from your face and folding his arms on top of the backseat, resting his chin on his forearm.

“Do I at least get a hint?”

“Dean, I —”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’ve never not told me anything.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

“Because I can’t stand not talking to you.”

Your heart leaped at that confession, however innocent it might have been.

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Because I’m making you. You would have silent treatmented me into next week.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed again, defeated. “Y/N, c’mon. Please? Whatever I said, I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean that you ‘prefer girls with experience’?” you retorted quite sassily. The question tumbled out before you even had time to think of the implication that came with asking it.

Dean opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish.

“Thought so.” You began to move to make your way out of the car, when Dean reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay if you do. I told you, it was a dumb thing to be upset about.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t stop to think about how this case might have been affecting you. You know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, right?”

You swallowed, nodded. His hand felt like fire around your wrist.

“But for what it’s worth, I wasn’t serious. I don’t prefer anyone one way or the other. Sex is sex. If anyone’s willing to have it with me, I consider myself lucky.”

“Romantic,” you quipped.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I could show you, y’know.”

You almost threw up right there in the backseat. Your eyes grew wide.

“What?” you croaked.

“Well, if you’re worried about not having any experience… I just mean I’d be happy to, y’know. Show you the ropes.”

“… Of sex?” Really, you thought it was cute that he had this misconception of you. You knew about the ropes. You’d just never been tied up with them.

“Of whatever you want.”

“You think I want to have sex with you?” It came out harsher than you meant it to, like part of you still thought you could hide the fact that you were in love with him. Like if you just joked it off it would go away, and you wouldn’t have to cross this line with him, even though you so badly wanted to. But you had to protect yourself, your heart.

You didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“No, that’s not what I —”

You suddenly felt the need to clarify your question.

“No, I — I didn’t mean it like that either.”

Dean’s face morphed into one of confusion. “…So you do want to have sex with me?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and your throat bobbed. “Uh…”

“Forget it, stupid question, you don’t have to an—”

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. Fuck it. Who were you to hold yourself back from the one thing you’ve been wanting for years? You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Oh, cut the shit, Dean. Like you’re surprised. Everyone wants to have sex with you.”

He scoffed. “ Everyone , Y/N, really?”

“There are literally smutty fanfictions written about you,” you replied, reaching into your back pocket for your phone, dead set on proving your point.

“Gross. And Becky doesn’t count as everyone.”

“Actually, Becky only writes for Sam.”

You realized what you said at the same time he did, and he eyed you suspiciously.

“Why do you know that?”

God dammit. “I don’t. I mean — I — like, she obviously loves Sam. So, like, she wouldn’t write porn about you. Obviously.”

“Uh huh…” There was an uncomfortable silence for a beat or three. And then, “How much smut have you read about me?”

Your face felt like it had just been rinsed with fucking lava, and you knew it probably looked as red as it, too.

“None!” you exclaimed, way too quickly.

Dean smirked. “You do really wanna have sex with me,” he remarked, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Trust me, the urge is fading by the second.”

His grin disappeared almost instantly. “Would it help if I told you that I think about fucking you all the time, too?”

“Well, I don’t think about it all the —”

“Y/N.” He said your name like a warning, and the tone of his voice settled right in your core.

“Yeah,” you squeaked. “Yeah, that helps.”

“Good,” he smirked, before grabbing his phone from beside him.

“Uh… What are you doing?” You watched as he scrolled for a second, pressing a button before putting the phone to his ear.

“Telling Sammy to beat it.”

Your eyes grew wide. “What!?” you whisper-yelled. “No! Just — we can just do it back here!”

He gave you a pointed look. “I’m not taking your virginity in the backseat of my car, Y/N.”

“Why not!?”

“Because we’re not sixteen, for one. And for two… I wanna make it special.” He rushed the last bit out, like he was embarrassed to say it. And he should be. You cringed as you heard it.

“Oh my God,” you began.

“Shut up.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Shut up. Sam, answer your phone, God dammit!”

“I have done, like, almost everything else, you know. In the backseats of many, many cars. You don’t need to make it special for me, Deano,” you teased.

“For the last time, shut your mouth, or I’m gonna shut it for you,” he said, the look he gave letting you know he wasn’t in the mood to play. No, he wanted to fuck you. Beyond that, he wanted to dominate you. And you were more than happy to submit.

You might have been a virgin physically, but mentally? Mentally, you’d probably give Dean a run for his money.

Sam didn’t answer. Naturally. He was probably in the shower, but you were kind of grateful because as much as you wanted Dean, you didn’t want to make Sam uncomfortable. Or worse, give him any reason to give you the talk . Because he totally would. After trying his brother two more times, Dean decided it would be better to just get a room of your own, and you were much happier with that decision.

You watched as he unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping aside, gesturing for you to go ahead.

“Ladies first.”

“You mean you’re not gonna carry me over the threshold?” you joked. “Thought you wanted to make this special .”

He gave you an unamused look, and you shot back a sarcastic closed-mouth smile before you were being swept off of your feet and over his shoulder faster than you could process.

“Dean!” you squealed, as he carried you through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him before practically throwing you onto the bed.

He was hovering over you seconds later, his face a few inches from yours, and the mood shifted from playful to serious.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded, your fingers coming up to play with the collar of his flannel.

“If I tell you something, you promise you won’t make fun of me?” you questioned, your eyes glued to the plaid pattern on his shirt.

“Promise.”

“I was kinda… holding out for you.” You drew your eyes up to meet his.

“Seriously?” he asked, half laughing. You could tell it wasn’t because he thought it was funny. It was because he couldn’t believe it.

You swallowed nervously, nodding again as you stared into those green eyes, and you hoped that this meant as much to him as it did to you. Something told you it did.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he said.

You tilted your head in question.

“About making it special for you. I know it’s like, the grossest thing I could have possibly said but, you deserve so much better than me, and so if —”

“There’s no one better for me, you idiot.” And you almost told him everything. That you’ve been in love with him ever since you met one summer at Bobby’s, back when you were just kids. That everything felt like it led up to this moment. That you wanted him to fuck you and make love to you all at once. That you didn’t want this to be the only time he did. But instead, you grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him towards you, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like it could have powered an entire country’s electric grid.

He deepened it, and the two of you were nothing but tongues and teeth and lips — it wasn’t sexy. It was hungry. Starved, more like. Like he had been thinking about kissing you just as long as you had been thinking about him.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down towards your denim-covered core, down until you felt the hardness underneath his jeans pressed up against the spot where you needed him most, down until you couldn’t help but grind against it. He moaned as he kissed you, so you did it again. And again. And again. And —

“You need to stop that.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. You noticed that your arms were above your head, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress. You don’t know when that happened, but you weren’t complaining. In fact, it spurred you on.

You smiled mischievously and rutted against him once more.

“What’re you gonna do about it, Winchester?”

He dropped his forehead to yours, steadying his breaths.

“I can fuck you like it’s your first time, or I can fuck you how I actually want to.”

“And how’s that?”

He took a shaky breath, like he was actually having a hard time controlling himself. You felt a sense of pride shoot through you at that.

“Like the fucking brat you are.”

You almost came from that alone.

Wanna know some common misconceptions about virgins? That they don’t have kinks. That they don’t watch porn. That they don’t have a plethora of sex toys in their nightstand. That they sit and crochet in their convent dorm room all day. Sure, you were years past the age when girls typically lose their virginity, but you were no saint. In fact, you enjoyed being quite the opposite. And you enjoyed being put in your place.

“Do your worst.”

It was like something in him snapped. His eyes were lust-blown and hungry and you didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked, and then he was undressing you so fast that you could’ve been part of a quick change act. He muttered something about a light system as he took off your clothes, and you nodded in a way that let him know that you already knew how all of that worked.

When you were down to just a black lace bra and panties, he paused as his fingers hooked under your waistband. He stared at you, his expression serious, and you knew that he was going to give you one more warning. One more opportunity to say, “Actually, I’d like to have a totally normal, non-kinky, first time experience, please.” But that wasn’t what you wanted.

“You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You rolled your eyes. “I trust you. Put me in my goddamn place, Winchester. You’ve only been wanting to do it for the past two hours.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to do it for a lot longer than that, sweetheart.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, huffing a small laugh before pulling off your panties in one swift motion. His hands came to rest on your bare thighs as he locked his eyes with yours. “Any hard limits?”

You shook your head. “I trust you. I mean, like, don’t pee on me or —”

“Not gonna happen. But… most everything else?”

“Dean,” you began, looking at him pointedly, “I trust you. If it helps, I’ve used like, toys on myself before. And I don’t mean just a vibrator, I mean like… well, you get the gist.”

“So I don’t have to go easy on you, is what you’re saying?”

“Put me in my place,” you repeated.

“Alright,” he replied, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs as he roughly pushed them apart, “but just so we’re clear, that’s the last order you’ll be giving tonight.”

Your throat bobbed and you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

You meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. No, the title came out in a way that made his jaw clench and his eyes darken and it stoked the fire raging in your core.

Dean didn’t waste any more time talking after that, his tongue moving through your folds seconds later, drawing gasps and soft moans from your lips. You arched into him, your hands in his hair, silently begging for more. It wasn’t the first time a man had gone down on you, but it was the first time it felt like this .

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one hand splayed over your abdomen and then his tongue was inside you and “eating you out” didn’t come close to describing his ministrations. He was devouring you like his life depended on it, like the sounds you were making were a goddamn Zeppelin song that he wasn’t anywhere near done listening to. And then he added a finger, and then another, and it didn’t matter how many times you had imagined him doing this while you had your own fingers inside you — nothing would have prepared you for how good the real thing felt.

“Oh — fuck,” you gasped, and he chuckled into your sex and you had to actively think about not coming on his face and ending this whole experience early.

“You’re close,” he observed, flicking his tongue over your clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, and it was so fucking hot how he just knew that. It was like he had been fucking you for years, the way he knew your body, your tells.

You nodded. “Mmhm,” you confirmed, unable to form words with the way the coil in your abdomen was tightening.

“Hold it,” he ordered.

Your eyes shot open, because it wasn’t the command you were expecting, and you tried to lift your head to shoot him a cold glare but you couldn’t. And he just kept pumping, flicking, licking, chuckling — fucking asshole.

“Mm — fuck — please!” you cried out.

“When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock. So hold it.”

You didn’t think you could. You had played this game with yourself and your vibrator and your self-control was majorly lacking and God his mouth and fingers felt so fucking good and you were there, the coil wound so goddamn tight, it would take nothing for you to let it snap, and then —

He stopped.

He pulled his mouth away from your core, his fingers out of your pussy, and you were writhing underneath him, because you had been right there and you needed him to be touching you again right the fuck now.

You whined.

He spanked your pussy. Not hard or anything, just enough to see if it was okay with you, and fuck, was it.

“Stop whining,” he demanded. He positioned himself so he was hovering over you again, his face inches away from yours as he stared into your eyes. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

You were curious as to what that something would be, but sensed that right now wouldn’t be the best time for that question. You nodded instead.

“Good girl.” He smiled when he said it, like he knew exactly what those two words would do to you.

You squirmed underneath him, it had been too long since he’d last touched you. Too long being thirty seconds at most, but still. It had felt like hours.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he began, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your collarbone, “that you are very,” another kiss to the other side, “very,” one more to the middle of your chest, “impatient?” He slowly pulled down the left cup of your bra, your breast spilling out of it. “Makes me wanna take my time.”

His eyes stayed glued to yours as his head moved down to your hardened nipple, taking it into his mouth at a goddamn snail’s pace. You arched your back, and he let you this time, chuckling at how easy it was to make your body react. His other hand slipped underneath you, unclasping your bra in a way that reminded you that he had a lot of experience doing so, and you refused to water the seed of jealousy that had sprouted from the thought. It didn’t matter that he had done this a million times. All that mattered was that he was doing it now, with you.

He pulled your bra off and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were completely naked, and he still had 87 fucking layers on, the outermost of which was still speckled with dragon blood, and it’s not that you were anywhere near clean, but you certainly didn’t want those clothes touching your bare skin.

“Dean?” you rasped, and he pulled away from your nipple to give you his full attention.

“You okay, sweetheart? Do you want to st—”

“No! God, no. It’s just —” you sighed, exasperated. This was dumb. You were going to stop him for this? Your eyes landed on a spot of blood on the shoulder of his flannel. Yes, yes you were, because that’s gross. “It’s just that your clothes are covered in monster blood and I’m like, totally naked, and I don’t want —”

He chuckled like you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “I gotchya, baby.”

Baby. Baby ? You tried not to overthink the pet name as he climbed off the bed to take his clothes off, watching you the entire time. Sweetheart, you’d been called a million times. He called everyone sweetheart. But baby? Baby was his car, and no one else. Unless, that’s what you were to him now. His, and no one else’s. You filed the thought away under “Things to Think About After You Lost Your Virginity to Dean Winchester”.

He was in nothing but his boxers now, his cock already hard underneath them, and you bit your lip as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and slid them off. And then, there he was, exactly like you’d imagined him but also better, because this was real and happening. You gaped at him, at his size. He wasn’t any bigger than the fake one you had in your nightstand, but that one was nine inches and you could never fit it all the way in. He was perfect. All of him.

“You okay?” he asked again, crawling back onto the bed.

“Mhm,” you managed, gulping.

He was on top of you again, his forearm holding up his weight as his free hand came to grab your thigh, hooking it over his hip and leaning down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as he moved his hips, teasing you with it.

“Dean,” you breathed.

“Hm?”

“I want…” you couldn’t find it in yourself to finish your request.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You decided you liked “baby” better.

“Please.”

“I thought you wanted me to put you in your place?”

You shook your head. “N-next time. Just, please .”

His eyebrows shot up, and you realized what you had said.

“Next time, huh?” he asked, with that shit-eating grin of his.

You rolled your eyes. He stopped moving, the smile wiped off his lips as he gripped you underneath your chin, somewhere between rough and gentle, the look on his face telling you he wasn’t messing around.

“Roll your eyes at me again, and next time I’ll really do my worst.”

You bit back a smile, and you just knew he was thinking, Brat. But you asked your question anyway.

“But not this time?” There was a devilish gleam in your eyes. You were tempting him, and he knew it.

“Do you ever get tired of being such a brat?”

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Do you ever get tired of it?”

His jaw tensed, and he forced a sardonic, closed-lip smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hm. But not this time, right?”

“Y/N —” he warned.

“Afraid you’re gonna hurt me? Scare me? What’s really keeping you from putting me in my place… Sir?”

For the second time that night, something in him snapped. You yelped as he flipped you over and grabbed your hips, dragging them upwards so your ass was in the air and your chest was on the mattress. Four hits to your cheeks came down in quick succession, and when you reached your hand behind you to block them, it was quickly pinned to the small of your back. Three more hits followed, accompanied by a pathetic, “Ow!” from your lips.

“Color?” he questioned roughly.

“So fucking green,” you replied, dazed.

Seven more hits followed, each one harder than the last, and you didn’t think there was anything better than the sting you were feeling right now. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to mark you up like this.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he commented. Five more hits.

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out at the last hit, one that felt like it reverberated through your entire body. One that definitely left a handprint behind.

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. He spanked you four more times. “You just wanted me to mark you up, is that it? Think of me every time you sit down for the next few days, hm?” Three more.

“Mmph!” Your cries were muffled by the comforter.

“Yeah, I can tell. Look at this fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through your soaked folds. “Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath, and then he was flipping you back over. He nestled himself between your legs, his tip teasing your entrance. His expression softened as he stared into your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathily.

He slid into you slow and easy, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out.

“Good?” he asked.

“So fucking good.”

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when the time did come, this was how you wanted to go out.

“Harder,” you encouraged, and he obliged. “Faster.”

He was properly fucking you now. Hard and fast and dirty. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, forcing him to go deeper. His head was buried in your neck, your nails were clawing up his back, and the room was filled with moans and pants and expletives that put a sailor’s mouth to shame.

“Shit, baby,” he panted into your neck. “God damn, you feel good. So fucking tight.” He sped up his thrusts, and the bed was squeaking so much that you thought it was going to fall apart underneath you, but you were too far gone to care. He reached a hand down in between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling it expertly. You were on the precipice of your release in seconds. And then —

“Come. Soak that fucking cock, baby. Come for me.”

And you screamed loud enough to get both you and him kicked out of the motel if they cared enough as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, his pace only faltering moments later, right before he pulled out and painted your stomach white. It looked like a Jackson Pollock on your abdomen. Kinda hot, actually.

“You okay?” Dean asked, looking down at you as he finally caught his breath.

“More than,” you smiled.

He mirrored the look on your face before crawling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He came back moments later with a damp washcloth, gently cleaning his masterpiece off of your skin. When he was done, he threw it across the room, aiming for the bathroom, and it landed on the tile in front of the toilet. He laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest as he pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you wanted to ask so many questions, all at once. What were you two now? How long had he been wanting this? Would there be a next time? Instead, you opted for —

“You know in fanfictions, they write you as a submissive most of the time.”

He snorted. “They’re half right.”

“A switch?” you asked, surprised. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled softly. “Sorry about your ass.”

You shrugged. “I was asking for it.”

“Oh, you were definitely asking for it. Still, I… I dunno. It was your first time, I didn’t want to get too —”

“It was perfect, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, smiling, dozing off already. “Yeah.”

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester smut

5K notes · View notes

wh0reforcoriolanussnow · 10 months

Note

Hi sweet angel, I have to admit that I'm new to your profile, but my obsession with your writing is almost as great as my obsession with snow, I have a request that changes the story a little bit.

Coryo is completely obsessed with the reader, but she thinks he is just an affectionate friend, both become mentors and instead of snow falling in love with lucy, it is the reader who falls in love with her tribute, and begins to move away from Snow, he can not accept this and manipulates the games, Not for lucy to win, but rather, to get rid of the reader's tribute. (Sorry for any mistake, English is not my mother tongue, so I use Google translator)

Slipping Through My Fingers || Young!Coriolanus Snow x reader

GIF by i forgot sorry :( divided by @firefly-graphics

A/n: this took me forever to finish idk why 😭 also this has to be the longest fic i've written so far.

Warnings: mention of blood, possessive coryo, mentions of death

Wc: 2,975

Coriolanus Snow Masterlist

"Can I see you tomorrow morning?" Coriolanus looks down at you with hope in his eyes, you open your mouth but close it before sighing. "I can't, sorry. My parents want me to be home when my grandparents are there," You lie through your teeth as he hums, nodding.

"That's fine, tomorrow afternoon then?" His hand touches your waist as you smile up at the boy. "Of course Coryo, I'll see you then?" You touch his hand that was at your waist as he nods. You give him one final smile before disappearing around the corner.

You felt bad for lying to him but you didn't know how he would take it if he found out that you were actually going to meet your tribute first thing when his train from the districts arrived in Panem. Your tribute, Dean, from district 8 intrigued you. You couldn't keep your eyes of the screen when he appeared. He caught your eye immediately.

Coryo couldn’t stop complaining all day about his tribute from district 12, Lucy Gray. Saying that she would not last a second in the game. Unlike him, you had faith in your tribute.

So here you were, standing on the platform waiting for the train to come to a halt as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. A smile on your face, dimples on display as the doors open revealing Dean. He was taller than you imagined, but nonetheless, he looked surreal. There was no denying that Dean was good looking, incredibly good looking which you would imagine would play a role in the amount of donations he would have.

"Dean. Y/n Y/l/n. I'll be your mentor." You extend your hand out in front of him as he looks you up and down before shaking your hand. His shake was firm, his fingers calloused. An indication that he was a hard worker.

"Are you supposed to be here? I don't see other people like you around here," He says as he looks around the train station. You notice Coriolanus' tribute, Lucy Gray walking by and staring at the two of you questioningly. You make eye contact with her before clearing your throat and looking back at Dean who hadn't kept his eyes off of you.

"No. I'm not supposed to be here." You confess, your hands fidgeting with the ends of your skirt as Dean raises an eyebrow at you. "Then.... what are you doing here?" You pause. What were you doing here? You could have waited like the others for tomorrow to meet him.

"I uh- I wanted to welcome you to the Capitol." You offer him a smile. Silence. "Can I be blunt with you Dean?" Your head slightly tilts, a habit of yours when you ask questions. "Sure," He shrugs. "I see potential in you," You hold his hands in between yours as he glances down at your intertwined hands with an expression you couldn't quite figure out.

"You can win this hunger games. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that you do. Such potential like you for a bright future shouldn't be wasted," You solemnly smile at him. Dean stays quiet for awhile, his hand still in yours before a peacekeeper roughly pulls him away from you.

"Hey!" You shout as you follow the two. "It's time for them to go Miss." The peacekeeper says as he throws Dean into the back of a van. Just as he walks away from your view to close the door, you jump into the van along with the rest of the tributes. "What are you doing!" Dean whispers yells at you as you stay hidden behind him.

You let out a sigh of relief once the doors close. "What's this? Is this your mentor, Dean?" A girl you recognised to be Carol asks with a sinister smile. You push past Dean and extend your hand out for her to shake. She looks at your face then your hand and lets out a laugh.

"Why would I shake hands with someone like you." She spat as a few others laugh alongside her. You notice Lucy Gray once more, sitting there silently. "Why do you get special treatment Dean, huh?" Carol pushes you backwards catching you off balance as Dean catches you.

"I could kill her right now," Carol chuckles like a maniac. Dean moves you behind him, "Leave her alone," He voices out, his tone screaming authority. Before Carol could respond, the van shook violently as you all lose your balance. You let out a groan as you felt your body slam against the van door before it flies open, causing you all to roll out onto hard rocks.

You let out a groan as you slowly lift up your head, squinting your eyes at your surrounding before you hear Dean's voice. "Y/n! Are you alright?" He asks worriedly as his grips your bicep, aiding you to stand up as you realise where you were. You were at the zoo cage.

You place a hand on your head as you let out a low groan. "Excuse me! Hello! Over there! Can they not hear me in there?" You hear a familiar voice belonging to Lucretius Flickerman. Dean takes a hold of your forearm, helping you keep balance as he whispers to you, "Own it." You look up at him with a small smile. He offers his arm to you as you link arms and walk towards the iron bars.

"Y/n Y/l/n, one of the mentors for the 10th hunger games." Lucretius says to the camera as he then directs his gaze towards you. "The game makers did tell you to jump into the cage with them," His tone was skeptical. Dean looks down at you as you glance at him before looking at Lucky.

"They didn't tell me not to. They just said it was a mentor's job to introduce our tributes to the citizens of Panem, and I thought well if Dean is brave enough to be here, then why shouldn't I be too?" You say with confidence, "For the record, I didn't have a choice," Dean butts in.

"What is Y/n doing there?" Arachne gasps as she ctaches the attention of Snow and the others as they look to the screen. There you were, linked arms with a tribute, looking awfully comfortable with him to add. Snow furrows his eyebrows at disbelief that you were there.

You told him that you were to be at home, but clearly not. Coriolanus watches with intent as you look at Dean when he spoke. His fists bawl up as Clemensia makes a comment. "You alright Coryo? You look.... bothered," Her hands rest on Snow's upper arm as he pries her touch off of him.

"I'm fine," He snaps as he leans forward on his seat. He was bothered. Very bothered seeing you so close with a tribute. "He's obviously not fine, he's bothered seeing Y/n so touchy with her tribute, isn't that right Snow?" Arachne teases as he slams his hand on the table causing her to shut up. "Shut it, Crane." Coriolanus says through gritted teeth as Arachne puts her hands up in surrender.

"They look really close. Can't blame Y/n honestly, she got a good looking one," He hears Clemensia quietly say before he had enough and stood up, storming off.

"Coryo," You call out as you catch up to him, adjusting your bag on your shoulder as you offer him a smile. He says nothing, his face stern as he continues to walk, not bothering to look at you. "Hey listen, I'm sorry I stood you yesterday, I just got super busy-" "Yeah I saw, busy with your tribute right?" He gives you a sarcastic smile as you scrunch your eyebrows.

You were all making your way to the enclosed cage to talk to your tributes. "What?" Snow rolls his eyes at you, finally stopping. "I saw your interview with Flickerman. Looked awfully close to your tribute," You let out small chuckle as his face shows no sign of amusement.

"Coryo, I was just introducing myself to him and getting to know him that's all. I have faith in him that he will win and I wanted him to know that. Wouldn't you do the same with your tribute if you had faith in her?" You touch his arm as he looks at your hand.

"Right?" You try and get a response from him as he sighs, "I guess," Is all he says before intertwining his hands with yours. You look down at your hands, a sweet gesture from him. When you both get closer to the tributes, you unclasp your hands with Snow and walk towards Dean who has already seen you and was making his way closer to you.

"Hey," You greet Dean as you look through your bag and find the half of your sandwich and cookie which you put away for him. You hand it to him as he thanks you, immediately taking bites as you watch him. He could feel your stares as you look away. Your eyes land on Coriolanus and Lucy.

He was talking to her about something as Lucy looks towards you and Dean. Snow finally looks at you, his expression cold as you gulp and look at Dean who was already looking at you. "He your boyfriend or something?" He asks as he takes another bite of the cookie. Your eyes widen. "Who? Coryo? No." You laugh as Dean stares at you.

"He's just a close friend of mine." You say as he nods, unbothered. "Do you? Do you- uh- have a-" "No." He deadpans as you slowly nod. From afar, Snow was watching the two of you interact the entire time. "Do you want to win Lucy Gray?" He turns his attention from you to his tribute.

"Do you think I can win?" She asks him as he thinks. "Honestly? no." He admits as Lucy scoffs. "But if you listen to what I say and do what I tell you to do, you will." His tone was stern as Lucy nods, her eyes following his eyeline which led to you and Dean. "That your girlfriend? That girl who was with us yesterday in the van."

"Her and Dean seem to be close, don't you think?" Lucy watches Coriolanus' face, his jaw clenching at the mention of the two. "They're not close, she just knows how to play the game," Coriolanus snaps before standing up and backing away from Lucy Gray.

You hadn't spoken much to Coriolanus the past couple of days. You were with Dean quite a lot, making up strategies and scenarios for when the games started. "I care about you, Dean. A lot." You take his hands in yours, the sound of his iron shackles making you cringe as you look him the eyes. Dean looks around the room before caressing your hand.

You and Dean have gotten very close over the past days. You both had faith in each other, trusted one another. Coriolanus narrows his eyes at the two of you, 2 desks away from him before his gaze settles on your touching hands.

He lets out a quiet scoff as Lucy Gray looks over to you and Dean. "Do you know him?" Snow asks her as he cocks his head towards Dean. Lucy shakes her head. "You want to win, don't you?" He leans in close to her.

Lucy hesitantly nods her head, "Yes. Yes you do Lucy." He answered for her, his gaze hard on her as she squirmed under his stare. "You need to kill Dean first. You need to before he kills you. He's a strong competitor, I can tell, that's why you need him out first. Then, it will be a piece of cake." He smirks as he leans back on his chair. "What do I need to do?"

“Y/n,” Coriolanus calls out as you turn your head to his direction, a small smile on his face as you beam at him. You run to him, throwing your arms around him as you hug him tightly. Coryo was caught off guard but eventually hugs you back.

“Good luck,” You say, although it was slightly muffled against his shirt. “You too,” He says back, his hand rubbing your back as you pull back, giving him your pearly white grin that only a few were able to see. Coriolanus felt a pull at his heart for he knew what was going to happen would break you.

Your other classmates arrive as you get settled for the 10th hunger games to start. Your eyes were trained on the screen as you watch Dean kill 2 people. You bite your fingernails as you continue to watch it play out infront of your eyes. Coriolanus offers his hand as you take it, squeezing it as you watch Dean.

A couple hours pass by and everyone sits up when they watch Coryo's tribute, Lucy Gray being corned by a few of the others, Dean included. In the corner of your eye, you watch Coryo come up to his screen and rapidly click.

Your eyes flicker back to the screen as drones of water come flying at the tributes, knocking them out as the room erupts in gasps. "These drones are not very good," Flickerman comments. "Hey! What are you doing?" Vipsania shouts as she stands up.

"You can't attack the tributes Coryo!" You snap at him. "I'm just sending water," He coolly says as you shake your head and scoff. Dean managed to dodge them luckily. You watch as Lucy Gray runs, Dean chasing after her as your leg bounces.

She manages to hide in one of the vent holes as you notice Snow let out a sigh of relief. Dean punches the vent in anger as he eventually leaves her. A few more hours pass by as you fell asleep, the sound of banging wakes you up. Coryo was nowhere to be found.

Your eyes focus on the screen as Dean and Coral stand underneath a vent pipe. Coral's pitchfork was reportingly stabbing at the vents above. Dean follows the noises, his gaze on the vent. "Coral. Coral she's right here," He whispers to her as she continues stabbing at the vent. Coriolanus then runs in, "Lucy Gray, is she okay?" He says out of breath.

"She wont be for long," Festus comments as everyone's eyes are trained on the screen. All of a sudden, Dean touches his nose as he looks confused. You immediately stand up on your feet, "Wait, what's wrong with Dean?" You move closer as he falls on his knee making your heart race.

"Did Coral do something to Dean?" You panic as Dean starts spazzing out on the floor. Coryo glances at you. Lucy Gray did what he told her to do. He had snuck her rat poison to use, if a small amount was to be inhaled, it would be deadly.

You cover your mouth as your eyes widen. Dean was laying on the ground, not moving at all. You flinch at the sound of a buzzer going off, indicating that he was in fact dead. Dean was dead. And you didn't even know how it happened. You storm out but before you could, Coryo grips your arm, "I'm sorry," He says as you furrow your eyebrows at what he meant before snatching your arm from his grip. "Dean is down. Good afternoon Miss Y/l/n," Flickerman calls out.

You storm out with rage. Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to make it out alive. You even promised him he would come out alive and go back to his family. One moment he was perfectly fine, and then the next, he's on the floor spazzing out and then dead. Your mind drifts back to Coriolanus' words, I'm sorry. What did that even mean? You assumed he was just apologising that your tribute was dead.

Lucy Gray had managed to win. You were happy for Coryo of course. But Dean’s recent death still plagued your mind. “Y/n,” Coryo breathed out the moment you opened your door to him; he reached out for you, pulling you against his chest.

It caught you by slight surprise before you hugged him back. The pent up emotions finally releasing the moment he rubs your back affectionately. “Shh” He softly shushed you as waterfalls fall down your cheeks. Everything was chasing up to you.

“I-I don’t even know what happened to him,” You sob in his embrace as he traces shapes on your arm. You continued to rant to him as he brought you to your living room.

You rested your head against his chest as he listened, sometimes he would bite his tongue at the things you were saying about Dean. "He was just a tribute y/n-" "He was not just a tribute." You snapped, lifting your head up as you stared at his blue irises.

Coriolanus rolls his eyes the minute you turn your head back around. "He's human, just like you and I. He had dreams, he had a family to go back to Coryo, do not just sit there and tell me he was just a tribute. He's more than a tribute," Coriolanus listened to every single word that came out of your mouth.

He did not agree with most of the things you said but for the sake of it, he said nothing. When you spoke about Dean, it grew on Coriolanus that you infact liked him, alot. Perhaps even more than like. And that was why he felt the need to kill him. You were his, only his. And after all, he couldn't have some lowly district boy taking over your body and soul.

#fanfiction #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus fanfiction #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x lucy gray #the hunger games #the hunger games ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas imagine #young coriolanus snow #young president snow #president snow #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus smut

3K notes · View notes

cherriegyuu · 1 year

Text

Willow | 01

pairing: seungcheol x fem!reader genre: angst, marriage of convenience word count: 8.3k summary: seungcheol always knew that he was going to marry you, but things only get harder once he does (or in which seungcheol is just really dumb and doesn't know how to show his feelings)

part one | part two | part three (final) | drabble

You looked at yourself in the mirror and you looked pretty. Many people had worked hard to make you look like that, and at the end of the day, they had succeeded. The only problem was that you didn't feel beautiful. On any other day, you would have loved the attention and would have enjoyed the feeling of getting your body so meticulously cared for. But that wasn’t one of those days. Not when the choices of you ever doing what you wanted again were so slim.

The idea that now you had to report your every move to someone pained you as much as it angered you. Of course that you weren't angry at him; just like you, Seungcheol had little to no choice in the matter.

It was just that much worse that the person you were supposed to be with was Seungcheol. You had known him for most of your life, went to the same schools, had the same circle of friends up until high school. The problem was that you never saw eye to eye in situations, whether it was something as simple as deciding where to go after class or more pressing matters — like wanting or not to be part of your family's business.

To your surprise, Seungcheol wanted it. You had always seen him as the one who would break away from the family, who would drift away from expectations and be whatever he wanted to be. But such a thing never happened.

The last time you saw Seungcheol was during your high school graduation. As thought back to that day, it was easy to notice just how much he had changed. As your final year approached, you slowly drifted apart, and it was during that time that you realized that Seungcheol was your future, and he probably knew that you were his as well.

You expected him to go around talking to everyone, being his usual talkative self but none of that ever happened. That was probably the first time you saw Seungcheol with a frown on his face, hands deeps inside his pockets, as he looked at everyone else without a word. Almost as if he was studying the people around him.

Looking at him, you felt like he was saying goodbye, finally realizing the inevitable future that lay ahead of him. You felt an uncertain need to go to him. You felt everything he seemed to be feeling, you were just better at hiding it. When you took a step to get closer to him, Seungcheol looked at you. It was easy to figure out that he didn't want you to come closer to him, so instead to do what you thought that you should, you walked away.

Throughout the four years of college, there was radio silence on his end. Although both of you attended the same university, your majors were entirely different — his was law and yours was music — and so you never crossed paths.

If you were being honest, you expected him to be popular, to always be the center of attention among his classmates and with girls but none of that ever happened. The only certain way to get any kind of information about him was when you called your parents not that you asked but Seungcheol is doing fine, top of his class, your mom used to tell you.

You always laughed at the notion. The Seungcheol you knew, that loud boy with a cheerful attitude, was average, at most, when it came to studies. The mere idea of him being the best in his class was laughable. Or at least it was until graduation.

As you had expected, your parents made you go. You sat far in the back, as away from the graduates as you possibly could. All of it was truly boring until you saw Seungcheol go up to the stage Top of his class since the first semester. You couldn't really believe it but you also couldn't doubt the dean’s words.

You sat there in complete silence, watching Seungcheol give the most boring and uninspiring speech someone could ever give. He didn't try to say nice things, like most people would have, far from that actually. If you knew Seungcheol well, and at some point, you did know him, his speech was a loud screw all of you, but that was hidden behind a nice mask and carefully chosen words.

That was five years before.

The next time you met was on your wedding day. There were no meetings, encounters, or dates. Emails were never sent and phone calls never happened. Neither one of you had a solid story to tell about your sudden marriage, or at least you didn't.

“y/n?”

You finally turned away from the full-length mirror when you heard your dad's voice. Despite the situation, you found yourself smiling at him.

All through your life, your dad let you off easily. Where your mom would try to hold you back with a firm hand, your dad would loosen the leash a little. Your dad had always been more concerned about the things that you wanted to do, instead of the things that he and your mother expected you to do. When you told him that you wanted to study music rather than become an accountant like him, all he said was as long as you're happy.

You weren't happy, far from it, but in what world could you say no to your dad? Even to your mom, with who you didn't have a good relationship with, you could never say no to her. You knew that even though she was cold, she loved you in her own way.

“How are you?”

Your sigh was more than enough for your dad. You weren't good, fine, or even okay. You were living the moment, even if you thought that the moment was terrible.

“You already know, Dad”

He nodded at you at the same time that his hand reached for your shoulders.

“I know that it may seem like the end of the world now but I assure you that it isn't. Marrying Seungcheol is my way of making sure that you'll always be cared for, and that you'll have someone to rely on when things get hard. Your mom and I married the same way, you know, and we love each other. It didn't start in the way you see in movies or read about, it wasn't passionate from the get-go. We had to build our love, nurture it and cherish it every day. Trust Seungcheol to be there for you just as I know that you'll be there for him”

Trust Seungcheol.

Easier said than done.

Seungcheol indeed have a cover-up story.

We've known each other almost since we were born. In my senior year at university, we went to a family gathering and it all started from there.

It was simple, so simple that no one really had the nerve to question it, though you were sure that a lot of people wanted to. Especially your friends and some of his too — or maybe they were all coworkers, it was hard to tell.

Your friends looked at you as if you were insane for getting married so suddenly, without ever even mentioning Seungcheol. Yeda just did her best to hide her surprise behind a smile, saying, now I know where you went every weekend. Upon hearing those words, Seungcheol's fingers got heavier on your lower back, and his body tensed up, but he didn't say a word.

Contrary to what you expected, pretending to be happy had been easy. It seemed like the feeling was mutual for Seungcheol, judging by the smile on his face. You couldn't expect something different from him, the man was a lawyer — a very good one — who did a fine job of charming his way around. Clients loved him, judges loved him, and even other lawyers couldn't help but also be charmed by Seungcheol.

“Cheol!”

From the other side of the room, someone shouted for Seungcheol. The two of you turned around to look at where it came from.

“Seokmin” Seungcheol sighed.

He should have guessed that if someone was going to make a fuss at his wedding, it would probably be Lee Seokmin.

“I had no idea you even had a girlfriend, so imagine my surprise when I got your wedding invitation”

Inviting him was an idea that Seungcheol was already beginning to regret. Seokmin was a rookie lawyer, just starting but with great instincts. It wasn't usual for his firm to hire someone fresh out of college but the moment he laid eyes on Seokmin, he knew that the kid wasn't just another law student who thought he knew it all. Seokmin actually knew much more than he led on, was smarted than most rookies they ever hired.

“We have been rather… private about our relationship,” you said.

Seokmin’s eyes move at you, and he reached a hand to shake yours.

“I wouldn't want a man who’s more handsome than me around my incredibly beautiful girlfriend. Wife, sorry. Still processing what happened today”

You had to press your lips together to hide a smile. Seokmin reminded you of a younger Seungcheol, though that was something you would never say out loud.

“Remind me again why I even invited you” Seungcheol said between his teeth.

Seokmin put his hands in his pockets, an easy smile on his face as he rocked on his heels.

“Because, even though you shouldn't have favorites, I'm yours” Seokmin looked back at you again and winked “I'm his favorite of all the rookie lawyers”

This time you couldn't control your smile. At your side, Seungcheol grunted something in disagreement and silently shot daggers at Seokmin. You pulled Seungcheol's hand from on back and tugged at it, pulling him forward.

“Will you excuse us, Seokmin? We still have to talk to our parents”

You pulled Seungcheol away, more for him than for yourself. While you seemed to be enjoying the quick conversation with Seokmin, your husband looked as uncomfortable as someone could possibly be.

“Are you not friends with him?” you asked quietly.

Seungcheol didn't answer you for several seconds, so you turned to look at him. The way he looked at you almost made you want to take a step back and away from him but you knew that you shouldn't. But Seungcheol didn't let you. His eyes were hot on your skin, as if with one simple look he could make your skin catch fire. He pulled you closer to his body.

“Let's not pretend, okay? We may be married but we are not close nor friends, we are merely acquaintances who were forced to get married”

From the outside, whoever looked at your thought that you were a young couple in love, but that couldn't be further from the truth. His smile hid well the true meaning of his words, and the proximity of his body showed everyone that he wanted to be close to you when the truth was that he wanted anything in the world but that.

You leaned up in his embrace, your arm around his shoulder and your lips dangerously close to his ear. He could feel the hair against his cheeks, as you pushed on your tiptoes even further to reach him.

“Pretend is what we have to do best from now on, husband"

For the first time in his life, Seungcheol didn't understand your behavior. For the first time, he didn't have you completely figured out.

Before, he always knew your next move, and Seungcheol took pleasure and fighting his way against it. He loved seeing you get angry and thought that it was funny how your cheeks seemed to be on fire. But looking at you in that moment felt different. Your cheeks no longer got hot, your fists weren't balled at your sides and you sure didn't look like you wanted to murder him.

The biggest surprise came when you didn't move away from him completely, and instead, your arm slid down his back and wrapped around his waist. Maybe you were better at putting on a show than he expected

“Seungcheol, y/n"

You turned around and smiled back at Seungcheol's parents. They were responsible for this marriage just as much as yours were to blame but that didn't mean that you would be disrespectful towards them. Even if lashing out at them was exactly what you wanted to do.

“Mom, Dad,” Seungcheol said.

Walking up to the two of you, behind Seungcheol’s parents, were your own parents. Your dad seemed relieved to see you two get closer, though he knew that much of it was just for show. But a slow and fake start was better than nothing at all. And your mom was smiling at you.

She was sure that you would eventually lean on Seungcheol, that you would let yourself fall for him but she never expected for it to happen so fast. She thought that knowing him since childhood would be a big factor in making things easier for you — if you allowed things to move forward between you and Seungcheol.

Since the day they told you about the marriage, you pulled away from your parents, and from what they could tell you also pulled away from your friendship with Seungcheol. Your mother hoped that while you were in college you would find your way to him, find a way to love him. Seeing the smile on your face while Seungcheol, now your husband, was so close to you made her happier than she could have anticipated.

She knew that you thought that she didn't love you or, at the very least, that she had a very odd way of showing it. But that couldn't be further away from the truth.

“I'm glad to see you're getting along fine"

A smile spread through your face, and you visibly squeezed Seungcheol's waist.

“We'll find our own pace, so you don't have to worry"

The smile on your lips surprised Seungcheol yet again. The version of you standing in front of him in that very moment was so much different from the person he knew when he was a teenager.

You were never one to mask your feelings. Whatever you felt was on full display for everyone to see, and you seemed to care very little about what people thought of you. The only person who seemed to be able to say anything about you without you wanting to bite their head off was your brother.

Seungcheol put his arm around your shoulder, pulling you against his side.

“We ignored each other for years and worried you guys, but now we’re together in this. Like y/n said, we’ll find our own pace”

The wedding lasted longer than either of you could have predicted. You were told that you would be able to leave around midnight, but it was way past three when people started to get ready to leave. Both Seungcheol and you could no longer take it. It was hard to sit by his side, hold his hand and pretend that everything was completely fine.

The worst part was probably when they took you outside to get the couple's pictures. The photographer was only doing his job, you knew that, but that didn't mean that you enjoyed the entire situation.

“Can you guys kiss?” he asked.

You felt uncomfortable enough already as it was, with Seungcheol behind you, his arm around your waist, his cheek lightly pressing against the side of your head, as both of you smiled happily to the camera. Kissing him would just intensify the discomfort, cementing the reality that you would never be able to walk away.

“Is that really necessary?” Seungcheol asked.

It wouldn't be the first time you kissed. Although you didn’t kiss him when the judge pronounced you officially married, after giving a beautiful speech about love and wishing you both a life filled with happiness and good memories, Seungcheol had been your first kiss.

When you were sixteen all of your friends, including Seungcheol, thought that it was a good idea to play spin the bottle. You were all young and somewhat foolish at the time, and the game seemed like something teenagers did while drinking. You had managed to successfully dodge any questions that could lead to someone finding out about your lack of physical contact with the opposite sex, lying through your teeth. While you were almost scared, Seungcheol was having the time of his life. Not even once did he choose truth; he always wanted a dare.

He always did things like that back then. While you were shy and tended to keep more to yourself and your small group of friends, Seungcheol was outgoing. When you were quiet he made sure to be extra loud. So if you chose truth he had to choose dare.

Up until then, the dares had been minor, eat a package of chips in under one minute, drink two cans of soda without burping. Most dares were simple but not when Mila was the one giving out the dare.

You knew the moment the bottle landed on Seungcheol that his dare was going involve you, and he knew it too. It was in the look he gave you, like he was half apologizing and half saying screw you.

“Kiss y/n”

Most of the kids cheered you on, while others, mostly your friends, gasped. Everyone knew that you and Seungcheol didn't have the best relationship, that you were nearly at each other's throats whenever you were around but not Mila. She always said that you two were just faking it, and that most of your fights seemed staged to get attention from people.

What you could possibly get from that was something you were still trying to find out.

“Can’t you give me something more stupid? Like running naked outside?”

“Trust me, that'll happen. For now, I just want you to kiss her"

Seungcheol looked at you and you blinked at him, pressing your lips together, it was your way of telling him that he could do it. You knew that if either of you said no, things would just escalate for the worse. Mila would never leave either of you alone and for the rest of the night, neither would your friends.

“Fine but I'm not kissing her with you all breathing down my neck”

He got out of his seat and pulled you up by the hand. He lead you to the kitchen and made you stand by the refrigerator. Most of your body was hidden and your friends could only see half of Seungcheol's.

You half expected him to not kiss you at all, or even make a whole show of pretending to kiss you. He did neither. If anything his actions surprised you.

Seungcheol ran his index finger across your forehead and down your cheek until his hand reached the back of your neck. He had a hint of a smile on his lips, lips which you couldn't stop looking at.

“Do I make you nervous, y/n?”

The answer was on your lips to be spoken but you never got the chance. Seungcheol pressed his lips on top of yours, lightly at first until he lost his patience and calmness and pressed harder. His entire body was against yours.

You were young and Seungcheol was the first boy you ever kissed so you didn't have any experience, but he made you feel like you knew exactly what you were doing. It lasted only a minute but it made you dizzy, made you want to pull him closer to you and stay there. But the moment his lips pulled back, he was gone, away from your side and the party altogether.

After that, you both started to avoid each other to some extent. Your eyes would automatically try to look for him but he was never around again. You were glad for his absence. Kissing Seungcheol evoked feeling within you that you had no idea could even exist but at the same time, you disliked the idea that he was one doing it.

“Make sure you get this in camera because we're not doing it again”

You turned around so that you were facing him, your arms going around his waist. He was warm, so warm you almost to the point you wanted to hug him entirely. Having him so close to you again made you feel like you were that sixteen-year-old girl yet again, hiding behind the fridge, wondering what he was thinking. It was like a part of you that had been dormant for years was finally awake.

The thought made you take an instinctive step back. You didn't manage to go very far though.

The second your body was no longer in contact with his, Seungcheol pulled you against him. His actions mirrored exactly what happened when you were a teenage girl, his fingers went down your cheeks until they reached your neck. You closed your eyes, anticipating the light pressure of his lips on top of yours but it never came. Instead of kissing your lips, Seungcheol kissed your forehead.

You couldn't help but feel disappointed.

Your mother had a master plan to make sure that you and Seungcheol would be together no matter what.

While the preparations for your wedding were being made, you took no part in it. Why should you when you were being forced into a relationship you didn't want to be part of? But once you walked inside the apartment you would have to share with Seungcheol, you regretted that decision.

You should have made some decisions, especially when it came to housing arrangements. Your mother, probably Seungcheol's too, decided to only furnish one bedroom. No, scratch that. You were moving in with Seungcheol and he had a fully furnished spare bedroom, or at least he did until both your mothers decided that you didn't need it.

“You can have the bedroom if you want," he said quietly.

His words surprised you. Seungcheol was never the kind of person to be nice for no reason, especially to you, so his sudden rush of kindness was something new. You weren't too sure if you liked it or how you should take it.

“No, thank you” you shook your head “It's probably gross in there. The couch is fine”

Instead of a smart comeback, Seungcheol was in silence, just looking at you. You expected him to say something nasty, at the very least have him tell you fuck you but he did neither of those things. Seungcheol just sighed and turned around.

You sat on the couch, wedding dress still in place, looking at your new life. That was it. An apartment too big for just two people — much less one — and a husband you had a hard time being around.

For most of your life, you had been a romantic, always expecting the love of your life to show up. Even after your parents told you about your inevitable marriage with Seungcheol, you still thought that you could make it.

Being a silly teenage girl, you thought that if you found someone, someone who was really worth it, someone you could love freely without a single doubt, you could walk away from everything like your brother did. But you never, not even once, met someone like that. It's true that you always had your guard up. Why would you get involved with someone just to have your heart broken at the end of the line? It wasn't worth the trouble. However, no one ever made you even question your parents.

Seungcheol walked back into the living room a couple of minutes later with blankets and pillows in his hands, he sat them on the couch without looking at you.

“You can use this until you find yourself a bed" he cleared his throat and scratched the back of his neck “They're not dirty, so don't worry about that”

That side of him, one that seemed unsure and maybe even a little bit shy was new to you. The Seungcheol you remembered, even the one who showed himself at the wedding, seemed completely in control of things but the one in front of you didn't look like it. Looking at Seungcheol you saw the boy his parents often mentioned while out for dinner with yours, he seemed shy.

“Thank you,” you said with a nod “Goodnight, Seungcheol"

By Monday morning everything went back to how you knew it. Seungcheol was back to being a jerk after you avoided each other for the rest of the weekend, and you were back to ignoring him.

At night, you found him working in his office, he had glasses on and bit the end of a pen while reading a document in front of him, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Since when do you wear glasses?”

You didn't dare to walk inside, so you stopped at the door. You were afraid that he would bite your head off if you did walk in.

“I hope you are well aware of the fact that we won't go on a honeymoon"

The way in which Seungcheol said those words almost made you take a step back. His voice was filled with spite and something that you could only describe as hatred. It was true that you and he had never seen eye to eye on things, that you always enjoyed battling a little but it was never like that. Never before have you thought that Seungcheol could really hate you.

“I never thought that we would,” you said quietly.

You couldn’t help but wonder where that version of him, from those few minutes in the living room, had gone.

“That's good. You can go now, I'm busy”

He said all of that without even sparing you a glance. You never thought that you would be hurt by some of his actions but there you were, walking away from his office as if he had just kicked you in the ribs.

Avoiding Seungcheol was surprisingly easy, even though you both lived in the same house and you were currently out of a bedroom. Even though the spare bedroom still didn’t have a bed or a chair, you spent most of your days inside it reading or on your phone. Seungcheol was either inside his office or went to the firm.

The hard part was explaining to Yeda why you didn't go on a honeymoon — something that is expected of newlyweds. You walked in circles for minutes, trying to come up with a reason that was good enough, and in the end, you had none. Nothing came to mind. Sure, you could have asked Seungcheol what he was going to say to his friends and coworkers, if he was even going to say anything at all, so your stories could match up but you didn't dare to approach him after the way he talked to you.

“Come on, be honest. I've known you long enough to know when you’re lying. Your whole ‘Seungcheol is busy at work’ crap won't work. Also, you don't look half as happy as someone who just got married is supposed to. In fact, you look a little depressed”

You weren't supposed to tell anyone, you were supposed to keep quiet and live your life by Seungcheol's side without anyone ever finding out the truth about your marriage. The two of you got married out of convenience for both sides of the family, sides that never once consulted your wishes and desires. But the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them, before you could think about what you were doing.

You talked for a long time, all while Yeda listened to you quietly. She didn't try to stop you nor she asked questions while you were speaking. All she did was sit there in silence, sipping her coffee quietly while you talked like a radio that never stopped broadcasting.

“So you're saying that you got married to someone you don't love because it’s some sort of tradition in your family?”

It sounded stupid when it was put like that, but it was the truth. When your parents told you about your future wedding with Seungcheol your dad gave you a way out. He said that if you agreed to take over the company, if you went to college and studied to be an accountant just like him, then you were free to marry whoever you wanted — as long as the company was taken care of.

For a tiny second, you thought about it. You could not work as a music teacher, you could work as anything else. Lots of people don't have their dream job, they don't work as something that they want but still manage to find happiness. If other people could do it, then you surely could too. One look at your mother was enough to tell you that either way you would marry Seungcheol, though — even if you gave up everything and did as your dad wished.

“It's more complicated than that” you sighed.

When it came to you and your family, nothing was as easy as it seemed.

“You, my friend, are in some next-level shit"

When Seungcheol saw you walk inside the wedding venue, he was mesmerized. To him, you were always the most beautiful woman he has ever seen, even when you were angry at him for whatever crap he said again. But that day was incomparable. Was that how other people usually felt when seeing their bride walk down the aisle?

Seungcheol learned that he was going to be marrying you when he was only fifteen and you had just turned fourteen. He didn't know what it was supposed to mean, what the implications of him getting married would be. He only knew that he would never have to go through endless dates until he found the one that was meant to be with him.

In a way that made Seungcheol happy. How could it not? His parents were making his life easy, he thought. And then he met you, not the you your parents wanted the world to see but the real you. And he was so surprised to see that you were nothing like he had expected.

Seungcheol knew your brother from school so he thought that you were going to be somehow similar to him. Oh, just how wrong he was. Your brother was quiet, moved through the motions without a care in the world and he seemed to be happy while doing it. And sure, you had that whole aura about you as well but the second your parents were out of sight, or once you found yourself in a comfortable environment you changed completely.

When only your friends were around, you were something else entirely, someone who Seungcheol liked to see. You became loud and cheerful, your laugh loud enough that people around your group of friends would turn around to see just who could be that loud.

But Seungcheol couldn't get too close, he knew that he shouldn't. You were younger than him and still looked at him fondly, which meant that you had no idea about both of your parent's plans. And he had been warned off by your brother, who knew about his parents' plans.

When he left for college, he couldn't stay away for too long. Even when he didn't have to, even when he shouldn't because he had too much to do, he still found time to go back home. He stayed in between high school kids because it was the only way he would ever see you. If he went home and his parents went over to your house for a gathering, you always found a way, or better said an excuse, to do something else.

By the time you started college, Seungcheol saw the change in you. He knew that you were well aware of the fact that yes, you would be marrying him, but you chose to stay away so he decided that he too shouldn't care. But he couldn't bring himself to do that either.

He kept an eye out for you, silently taking care of you without you ever knowing. He never did anything unless he thought that things could get out of hand and you never really got into problems that you couldn't take care of yourself. You were quiet and never went out much and if you ever did was just to make sure your friends wouldn't drink and drive.

He always remembered special dates, your birthday being the utmost important one of them all. Seungcheol would always leave a present at your door. The first time he did it was in your last year of high school. He didn't know what he should get you, had no idea of what you liked so he just got you the biggest teddy bear he could possibly find. It was funny to see your face when you opened the door to a white bear with the words take me, y/n on it’s front.

Not even after college was over, and the two of you were moving on your separate ways Seungcheol stopped. When he ran out of ideas he sent you flowers, more flowers than what you knew what to do with — more flowers than your tiny apartment could ever comport.

As the date of your wedding approached Seungcheol saw himself grow anxious and uncertain. He didn't know just how aware of things you were, if you had planned anything at all and what would be your reaction for what was yet to come. Imagine his surprise when he found out that you had no idea of what was going on, that you went to the venue without knowing what your dress looked like.

The look on your face told Seungcheol everything that he needed to know, you were sad. The amount of sadness, of hurt, there was in your eyes made Seungcheol want to take your hand and just take you from there. You looked beautiful and your smile was marvelous, making people who didn't know you that much, or just didn’t care, think that you were happy. But he knew better. Seungcheol knew you.

He intended to make it better, try to make it as bearable as he possibly could but he didn't do that. No, far from that. Seungcheol was a complete idiot, the biggest one he knew. The moment you tried to say something, the first thing you said to him out of your own will after years, his first instinct was to push you away. It was what he did for years.

The only way to get some kind of reaction from you was to push your buttons the right way, and the only way Seungcheol could do that was by picking on you. It was stupid, so incredibly childish, the worst possible way he could ever use to try and get closer to you. Seungcheol knew all of that but it was also the only thing he could do. The old him, the one who was too young to understand the magnitude of what getting married meant, used to think that the only way to get your attention was by being a complete idiot to you. Even now, when he knew for a fact that being mean would get him nowhere, Seungcheol didn’t know to act differently. Because even years later, when both of you were no longer the two kids you once were, the only to get you to even look at him was by being rude. “I have no idea what you’re talking about” Seungcheol knew that he would get nowhere by lying to Seokmin, his friend was far too good at knowing when the people around him were lying. “You can correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t you be, at the very least, at home with your wife?” Rolling his eyes at his friend, Seungcheol sat back down on his chair and pretended to be looking at the files on his desk. His mind was anywhere but at his work. No, correct that. His mind was on you rather than on his work. He kept thinking that, despite his apparent lack of interest, you still told him where you were going and what you were doing. It's true that he did ask you if you needed a ride for work because Seungcheol knew that you hated driving, but you still made a point of letting him know. “I was given days off since I just got married,” you said to him.

In the quietness of his office, Seungcheol felt guilty. He should be at home with you, trying to figure things out, trying to come to an agreement on your relationship. Your marriage didn’t start the way you’d expect, and it certainly wasn’t the kind of marriage that starts simply out of love. Your relationship, if you could even call it that, wasn't anything like either of you had ever experienced. But the truth is that the two of you needed to find some common ground, needed for things to be clear, and boundaries needed to be created.

“You’re such a terrible liar. It’s a wonder how you are still a lawyer”

Trust Seokmin to be completely blunt and tell Seungcheol off the first chance he got. That was one of the many reasons why Seungcheol chose Seokmin as his right-hand. Despite the age difference, how he was the one who would one day run the office and was clearly above him in the hierarchy ladder, Seokmin was the kind of person he could trust.

Seungcheol trusted him enough to tell him the truth about his marriage, about how he has been pinning over his wife since he was a teenager — granted that he slightly when he told Seokmin all of that, but he was only able to say those things because he trusted him that much.

“I regret hiring you every time you open your mouth” Seungcheol sighed.

“You would never fire me though. I’m your favorite, everyone here knows that”

Seungcheol sighed and looked up at Seokmin, his attention momentarily away from the case files.

“Do you have something to say? I have work to do, in case you haven’t noticed”

Seokmin shook his shoulders and turned to walk out of Seungcheol’s office. He was gone for two seconds before he popped his head back in, with a grin on his face.

“Go home, Seungcheol”

You were in sweats and a shirt most of the day, except for the few hours Yeda came by and took furniture shopping.

On a normal occasion, you would have thrived on the news of a few days off. After all, it was something that you had been wanting to do for a very long time but in your mind, you would travel with Yeda, somewhere sunny and beachy. Yet you were stuck inside an apartment that wasn’t yours, without a bed, and with your stuff scattered on the floor of a bedroom that wasn’t yours either.

Telling your friend the truth about your life felt like getting a weight off of your shoulders. It didn’t cure anything, and it didn’t make anything better but it made you feel better, and for a while that would have to be enough.

You kept thinking of ways to talk to Seungcheol, to try and reach a consensus with him on how things should move forward. You were married now and that meant Seungcheol would be a constant in your life. At the very least, you should be able to trust him.

Even so, trust was too much of a strong word, something that felt foreign even though he was someone who had been around you for most of your life. No, trust wasn’t it, at least for now it wasn’t what you needed. What was of vital importance were the rules — coexisting rules. After Yeda left, you sat down with a piece of paper and started to scribble down what you thought was necessary for the two of you to cohabit. It couldn’t be too much, nothing too out of the ordinary or crazy. Seungcheol, although he was a grown man who could and did support himself, could turn into a twelve-year-old that needed to be babied — or at least that’s how you remembered him. When he finally got home from work, you had already ordered pizza and were sitting on the couch watching the eight o’clock news. “Our first meal together as a married couple is pizza” he grunted as he sat down on the easy chair on the opposite side of you. You pushed the box towards him and leaned back on the couch. “If the pizza is any indication of how our marriage is going to be then I would say it will go pretty nicely” Because Seungcheol seemed stressed when he left in the morning, and if you were being honest all through the weekend as well, you decided that you would order his favorite pizza. If you were a little more domesticated then you could have probably cooked him something, try to make it even harder for him to be an asshole to you for a few hours. But cooking was never something you enjoyed or were good at, so the whole get a man by his stomach wasn’t going to happen with you two.

You survived college only through packaged meals and fast food. You weren’t about to start cooking because of him. The only thing he could get from you was some takeout or order in, if that. “Are you suddenly optimistic about our marriage?” You shook your head and you gave him one of the contracts you wrote. “No, I have something to ask” He laughed as he took the sheet out of your hands. “That’s how it’s going to be now? You feed me and ask for something?” he put the paper on the table and went back to looking at you. “Isn’t that how most marriages go? I even got them to take off the pineapple from the pizza Not even half with the delicious pineapple. I really tried” It was hard for Seungcheol to keep a straight face. Yes, you were trying. If the roles were reversed and you had treated him the same way he did to you, he would not even look at you twice, much less would he try to talk to you.

“I'm in a good mood, so ask away”

“Can I use your office?”

Seungcheol looked at you, confusion all over his face. Out of all the things that you could have asked him that would be the last one in his mind.

“There's more stuff in here”

He didn't bother to read what you wrote, whatever your conditions were, he would comply.

“Ah yes,” you ran your hands on top of your thighs cleaning them before turning around to face him “Since neither one of us wanted this, I thought that we should have some housing agreements. Number one is: you're in charge of food”

He knew how to cook, he wasn't good enough to make it to Master Chef but he wouldn't starve. He almost laughed remembering the day your mother went to his house to plan for the wedding. She said that you were perfect in all other ways but that Seungcheol should never let you get near the kitchen unless it was for takeout. I don't know what else to do, I teach her and she actually tries but she just can't.

“I can do the shopping but that's it” you looked at him, expecting him to fight back but all you got from him was a quiet agreed “Good. Number two and three: because you're cooking I'll do the cleaning but we will share doing laundry. I refused to get anywhere near your underwear, Number four: We will share the office. Although I like my bedroom and it's big enough to fit everything, thank you for that, I prefer to paint with natural light and it doesn't have much of that”

He nodded at that too. When Seungcheol moved to his apartment he chose it because his bedroom, as well as his office, had a nice view of the city but the spare bedroom faced other buildings in the same complex, so there wasn’t much sunlight. He didn't care much about that at the time since he was alone for a while. He was sure that when you finally got married, you would move to an actual house, he could remember you saying that was something you wanted. But since the marriage itself happened so quickly neither one of you had the time to look into it.

“Yeah, that's okay. Move stuff around as much as you want, I don't mind. Have you bought the furniture for your bedroom? I didn't think to buy anything because I didn’t know they would get the bed removed, I'm sorry. What about your instruments? I haven’t seen anything”

You almost shocked on your saliva. Never before had you heard Seungcheol apologize to someone and sound sincere while doing it. Every single time he said it before, it was pushed out between his teeth, his hands closed into fists. He hated to apologize more than anything in the world, even if he was completely wrong.

He is really trying.

And the fact that he remembered about your instruments, that he even thought to ask about them, made your heart do a little leap inside your chest. You wanted to press your hand over it, as if telling it to calm down

“I went today with Yeda, they'll probably bring the stuff tomorrow” you purposely didn’t mention your work.

“I don't think that sort of thing happens so fast”

You snorted turning the page in the contract. You were almost embarrassed by calling it a contract. He read actual contracts and official documents every day at his job, and whatever you wrote was probably like an insult to him.

“It does when you pay extra”

A groan escaped your lips when you heard those words, hated saying them out loud. For all the three seconds that it took you to say them, you sounded just like your mother and that was not a comparison that you would like to be part of.

“Anyway, item number five: all of our extramarital activities should be done outside this apartment. This is our safe haven. Whatever happens, needs to stay outside”

It was something hard to say, something that felt bitter on your tongue, but what other choice did you have? Both of you were thrown into a marriage without love, a marriage that neither of you really wanted and yet were stuck with each other.

Saying those words left a nasty taste in your mouth. Not once before, while imagining what it would be like to married to someone — married to Seungcheol — you pictured yourself bluntly saying that he could be in a relationship with someone else, a person who wasn’t you. You’ve always known that Seungcheol had a few relationships before and you were okay with it. You weren’t anything to each other but a promise, and so you never expected him to be faithful in the first place. Even though he never said anything to you, even though you never saw those things happen right in front of your eyes, word always got out and found its way to you. It never really matter how badly you didn’t want to hear about it. Knowing those things made your heart drop as if it was no longer beating in your chest like it was supposed to. And you hated yourself for it. Why did you care? Why did it hurt to know about those things when Seungcheol didn’t mean anything? You were seventeen when you were told that you would be marrying Seungcheol and ever since you never really contemplated the idea of being with someone else. Not because you were in love with him but because you knew that he was the one who you would end up with no matter how you wanted it to happen. So why should you engage in a relationship when it was bound to end? In college, while all of your friends went to parties and did all the things that it was expected of college kids, you stayed back and did your best at school, thinking that you could enjoy your life later when the plan for your career was set in the right direction. But you never actually did enjoy anything. School was over and all you did was focus on your work. And Seungcheol was always in the back of your mind, quietly reminding you that no matter what you did, he was the one you would be with in the end. He wasn’t the one you wanted but he was the one you were stuck with. So why, just why, was it so painful to say that he could be with other people? Tentatively, you looked at him. His eyes were focused on the paper in his hands, running over the same sentence again and again, hoping that if he read just one more time, it would magically change. For a second, it was as if he wasn’t even breathing at all. “My own wife is telling me that she wants to date other men while saying me that I should date other women” his bitter laugh made your heart drop all over again, and the sight of him writing his name under all the things you listed made you want to throw up “Good night, y/n”

hi! thank you for reading! let me know if you want to be tagged once part two is out, you can either message me or send an ask

#seventeen imagine #seventeen x reader #seventeen x you #svt x reader #svt imagine #svt x you #seungcheol x reader #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seungcheol x you #scoups x you #scoups #seventeen angst #seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines

2K notes · View notes

star-wrote · 5 months

Text

nsfw alphabet : sam winchester

ao3 link

character: sam winchester x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw(obviously) | sexual details | mentions of scars and monsters | intentional lowercase | 18+

a/n: roughly season 2 era, but applies for most of his eras. first time writing for sammy boy, enjoy :)

-praying this doesn’t get hidden like my daryl dixon one did </3

(not my image or character)

A- aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

sam is very big on aftercare. he’ll hold you until he feels like cleaning you up, gently kissing any parts of you that he was particularly rough with. when he lies down with you again, he whispers sweet words into your hair until you and him giggle and talk yourselves to sleep.

B- body part (their favorite part of both of your bodies)

sam’s favorite body part on himself is his arms. he loves how he can lift you and toss you around, and he knows you like how they flex while his fingers pump into you.

sam’s favorite body part on you is… everything. he knows that isn’t much of an answer, but it's true, he loves every atom of your existence. the way your eyes hold love and lust for him, how your hips are so easy to grasp onto, your lips that can take his length, and your ass that gets so red from his spanking.

C- cum (anything to do with it)

this man loves to cum inside of you. filling you up is better than the heaven he experienced in death. his load has to be bigger than average with how it fills you up and leaks out in thick globs.

D- dirty secret (self explanatory)

sam secretly loves fucking you when you get back from a hunt since you’re more bratty than normal. he knows you want to be set straight and he’s just the man for the job.

E- experience (do they know what they’re doing)

even though sam is a huge nerd, he’s very experienced. it probably causes you a little jealousy to think about how he got so experienced, but at least he’s using that experience on you and not some other girl.

F- favorite position (self explanatory)

any position where he can look into your eyes is his favorite. he likes to see them roll back when he pushes into you for the first time. he can’t deny how good it feels to take you from behind, however. occasionally he’ll let you on top, but somehow he still ends up in control.

G- goofy (how serious are they)

pretty serious, but he always laughs at any joke you make. one time, you guys even stopped halfway through since you both were laughing so hard.

H- hair grooming habits (how much hair do they have down there)

it varies, but he usually keeps it slightly trimmed since he doesn’t have much time or privacy in between hunts. he also doesn’t care what you do; he knows your body enough to bring you pleasure either way.

I- intimacy (romantic or rough/dirty)

both. he can be romantic and kiss you sweetly as you both cum while looking into each other’s eyes. but he can also be rough, spanking you and making you cry into the pillow while you’re asking permission to cum.

J- jack off (how often do they masturbate)

again, not much privacy in between hunts. when he’s away from you, most showers in motel rooms involve him stroking himself while thinking of you.

K- kinks (self explanatory)

size kink- he loves to see how big he is compared to you.

choking- having his hand around your neck, whether squeezing or not, is usually a must.

spanking- he loves to see how red your ass can get from his hand.

praise and degradation kink- he loves praising you to see how your eyes glaze over. but he also loves to call you things like “a needy slut.”

crying- sam gets hard when you cry for him. you just look so pretty.

eating you out- sam could cum just from giving you pleasure this way.

marking- he loves to mark you up to show others that you’re taken. dean makes fun of the hickeys on your neck, but you smirk when you remember how you got them.

multiple orgasms and orgasm denial- he loves to deny you when you ask to cum, and then make you cum too many times after that.

sam is pretty much always the dominant one when it comes to sex between the two of you. not being in control for most of his life led to him needing to be in control in the bedroom.

L- location (where they like to get it on)

most often in motel rooms while dean is out. sometimes you guys get it on in baby while dean sleeps in the motel room, but you have to keep that a secret.

M- motivation (what turns them on)

when you get sassy with him, he wants to fuck that sass out of you. he also can’t help but get turned on when you look up at him sweetly. and when you research lore with him… and when you kill a monster. he pretty much just gets turned on by you being you.

N- no (turnoffs or absolutely won’t do)

he won’t do anything with you in public or anywhere someone could see you. he gets a little possessive and doesn’t want anyone seeing what’s his. he also won’t do anything that will put you in danger.

O- oral (do they prefer receiving or giving)

definitely a giver, he could suffocate between your thighs with a smile on his face. however, he does love when you give him head. seeing you struggle to take all of him in your mouth is a sight that he wants ingrained into his memory.

P- pace (do they prefer fast or slow)

depends on how he’s feeling. if you both are hopped up on adrenaline after a hunt, it’s fast. if one of you had a near death experience, it’s slow and loving.

Q- quickie (do they like them)

quickies are a must as a hunter sometimes. sam makes sure to take advantage of the time, though, assuring that you’re both sated.

R- risk (do they like to try new things)

he’s down to try anything that you want to try, as long as it doesn’t put either of you in too much danger.

S- stamina (how many times and how long each round)

sam clearly has insane stamina. he can go for multiple rounds without finishing, making sure he’s pulled as many orgasms from your body as he can.

T- toys (do they like using them)

he’s not particularly into toys, but if you ask, he’ll use one on you in a heartbeat. maybe he could get one that’s similar to his cock so you can only think about him while using it.

U- unfair (how often do they tease)

sam is so unfair in his teasing. he teases you with his words and his body, making sure you’re begging to cum by the end of it.

V- volume (how loud are they)

not very loud, but dirty talk and grunts in your ear make up for it. he loves to hear you moan for him, though.

W- wild card (anything random)

sam is insecure about the scars on his body from hunts. but when he sees you kissing them gently and calling him a hero, he decides that he shouldn’t be insecure about them anymore.

X- x-ray (what’s going on down there)

larger than average; about 7-8 inches when hard. curves slightly upward and is cut. pinkish-purple that leads to an angry red mushroom tip.

Y- yearning (sex-drive level)

very high sex-drive, arguably higher than dean’s. he always wants you.

Z- zzz (how fast do they fall asleep)

he usually waits until you fall asleep, and then falls asleep with you if he feels like it’s safe enough, holding you through the night so the monsters in your dreams don’t hurt you. <3

#sam winchester #sam winchester supernatural #sam winchester smut #smut #sam winchester alphabet #sam winchester spn #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x female reader #sam winchester x you #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester/reader

441 notes · View notes

shanastoryteller · 12 days

Note

Shana, your tags on this post ...I need to know more! What exactly was the plan for Supernatural season 3 if it hasn't been for the writer's strike??? And how haven't I heard about this already?? I need the deets!

i'm so glad you asked :)

the original plan for season 3 was for sam to descend into using his demon powers to get dean out of the deal, and for dean to never go to hell. then the writers strike happened, the season got cut from 22 eps to 16, with only 4 after the strike, and that wasn't enough time to establish sam's spiral and powers, so changed the ending. it's on the wiki and there are some articles around about it

this was, in my opinion, the worst fucking decision they could make

it ruined the characters in a lot of ways and really unbalanced everything in a way the show never recovered from

the thing is that this arc is so well set up!

literally at the end of season 2 we get

"You're my big brother, there's nothing I wouldn't do for you. And I don't care, I'm going to get you out of this. I'm going to save your ass for a change."

sam has evaded azazel's every attempt to corrupt him. his shitty home life, all the demons he's exposed sam to, killing jessica, taking away his father, putting him in a literal life or death hunger games scenario. each time sam refuses to play ball

(sam's incorruptibility is what makes him qualified to be king of hell, but that's a different post)

he's the moral compass between him and dean. always has been. there is nothing in sam's messed up, twisted life that has pushed him pass mercy

but dean could do it. there's nothing sam wouldn't do for his big brother

john told dean that he had to either save sam or kill him. except he's never needed to save sam, because it's literally always sam making the measured, compassionate, merciful call. he's the one holding dean back, not the other way around

and sam straining towards darkness for the first time, for dean, would kill him. we'll come back to this

mystery spot, as an episode, is actually pointless if the plan was for dean to go to hell. because sam's sneak peek into what his life is like after dean doesn't do anything. i love this ep, but it's narratively pointless now

however

with the og plan, mystery spot is the turning point. it not only tells sam how miserable he'll be after dean is gone, but it also establishes what he's willing to do to get him back - pretty much anything. it's not theoretical pain, it's not theoretical grief. mystery spot is the thing that pushes sam towards being hard, away from the moral sweetness he's embodied for the past two and half seasons.

the next ep, jus in bello, shows this. sam is considering doing the terrible thing. he's now capable of considering the terrible thing in a way he wasn't before mystery spot. this is when his descent starts, when sam decides he's willing to trade his humanity for his brother's life

and then the writer's strike happened

right when it's getting good, right when sam's arc is ramping up, we lose it. and instead of picking it back up, pushing dean's deal to next season and giving it the weight it deserves, they say fuck it, and send dean to hell

but this fucks it all up. we have sam's "descent" with ruby and demon blood. except not really because he's not even hurting anyone. and dean's back, but not because of sam. sam didn't save him

this fucks it all up

because deans anger and fear and desire to save sam should have been tempered with the knowledge that he did that to save dean's life. that once more someone dean loves has made a terrible sacrifice for him, which he can't stand, which he hates. he has the self esteem of a gnat and the best people he knows keep destroying themselves for his benefit

i think the og build up was sam strengthening his powers to kill lilith, doing it, and then releasing lucifer at the end of s3. sam unwittingly starting the apocolypse to save his brother (does he regret it, dean wonders. it would be easier if he did)

and now everything is shit and dean's drowning but here and his brother has turned himself into something that's not unlike the kid dean loves so much it almost killed him, but not exactly the same. and now he understands john, because this is the sam that dean has to either save or kill, except he could never kill him. he loves him (and how can he kill sam for doing this when it's dean's fault, when dean made the deal that doomed his brother when all he wanted was to save him)

this is the flip that the show has been building towards. dean having to be the moral center for his brother for once. dean being the one saved. dean finally having to face his father's words and deciding once and for all if he's john's son or sam's brother

but instead dean goes to hell. and he's no one moral's center. because he broke in hell, he tortured people and he enjoyed it. they ruined dean with this. because instead of fighting and growing from his violence, they push him into it, and then they call him a righteous man. dean was the one harming people, he's the one that descended into darkness, not sam. sam and his demon blood had still only been trying to good, and in the end did do good, far more than anything dean did in hell, or has done since. his moral outrage, his anger, his disgust towards sam isn't only wildly out of character, it's hypocritical as hell. sam remains the moral, compassionate one, even through this. it never slides to dean. neither of them are really forced to grow or change, only to become twisted into each other in ways that hurt them both

this should have been the story of what sam would do to save his brother (anything) and what dean would do to save his brother (anything)

they should have saved each other

#instead we get dean as an abusive asshole and sam the perpetual victim from him from lucifer from everyone #in magicians julia has a line after her sa about how shes not a delicate flower or a fragile piece of glass that she's a person and ppl hea #they never let my boy heal #either of them #something something everyone is sam's family making deals that he has to pay for #supernatural #asks #flamingwell

228 notes · View notes

uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year

Text

click, p.2 - Sam Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3.

Pairing: Sam Winchester/Reader (late s5) Tags/Warnings: angst, love confessions, romantic sex, oral sex/cunnilingus, (aka, Sam pussy addiction: the shequel), Sam is Lucifer's vessel, reader is AFAB. Word Count: ~11k. Notes: i was commissioned for the second time by the lovely @daffodil-mania, who wanted a continuation of her last fic set during the "say yes" era of s5. (sooooo dangerous to let me put my grubby hands on this version of Sam, btw). i cannot express how BUCK FUCKING WILD uncouth-nation went for the first part of this fic, so this is for all the wonderful people who gushed over click, commented, threw me some kudos, or even just read it and liked it. lots of love, and i hope you enjoy <3 i did my best to rip out your soul as best i could. THIS CAN STAND ON IT'S OWNNN AHHH. i mean. if u wanna read it <3 Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

FIVE YEARS LATER

The walk from the bus stop to your apartment is a safe and easy seven minutes. If you were any other person in any other world, you’d glide onto the bus after your night shift at the university, hop off at your stop, and bumble toward your apartment without a single care in the world. Maybe stare at your phone the whole walk back. Text a hot guy who isn’t the physical manifestation of the devil on earth. Normal stuff.

But this is your life, so you sit front seat on the bus, hands in your lap, tapping a nervous beat against the angel blade hidden in your book bag. The windows rattle in their frames and gleam with rain. You could get off at your stop and take those easy seven minutes home—but the bus driver could also be a demon, so.

Since you aren’t in the mood to die a slow death tonight, walking a few extra blocks to keep anybody from knowing where you live will have to work.

On day two of this, you’d called Dean and asked if you were being extra paranoid. He’d kindly pointed out: Extra-paranoid is just extra-survival. I dunno about you, but survivin’ a lil’ extra sounds fan-fuckin-tastic to me right about now.

He’s right. You know he’s right. But it still doesn’t feel like a good answer, and that makes you picture Sam, twenty-three and still bright-eyed, running his fingers down your bare back and scowling. I’m sick of surviving. One of these days, I want to actually live my life.

But that had been before the apocalypse, before Dean’s deal, before everything. Sam was a different man now. Hunting had reached into all three of you and ripped all sorts of things out, but you would never forgive it for taking Sam’s hope for something better. God, you missed that Sam. You missed him more than anything.

The city bus lumbers up to the curb and spits you out onto the sidewalk, where you superstitiously hover, waiting for the other passengers crawling away from their night shifts to scatter. It’s only when the bus is a dark spot in the mist down the street that you start to walk, your whole body caked head to toe with oily rain.

This time, you take a random left toward your apartment and serpentine street-to-street, never walking the exact same way the same week. By the time you’re closer to where the bus could’ve actually dropped you off, the lingering smell of old research books has been practically power-washed out of your clothes. You try to think of anything but the freezing, biting, face-stinging rain… and, like a moth to a flame, your mind floats back to Sam.

It’s been over two weeks since he dropped the nuclear option. Over two weeks ago, Sam wanted to say yes to Lucifer, and over two weeks have passed since the massive, unstoppable-force-meets-immovable-object fight that’d erupted as a result.

Dean had blown up. Sam had pushed. You’d burst into tears and clawed into Sam just as deep, because why, why would he ever go there—why would that even be a fathomable possibility in his mind? Did he really think so low of himself? How could he ever give up like that? How could he leave you—?

The worst part was easily the way Sam had reacted. With Dean or John, he could yell himself hoarse, but when it came to fighting you all he could do was sit and take it. He put his head down and nodded at everything you said, even the cruel things. In some ways it made you angrier, but also inconceivably, cosmically guilty. This was Sam’s choice. And of course, because this was Sam, his choice was to save the whole goddamn world. Not a single bone in your body carried that level of selflessness, yet Sam bled the stuff.

You were still furious with him, but only because being mad at him was the only option you had left. The right thing to do would be to tell Sam, I trust you to make this decision, this is your life, and let him take that jump… But you didn’t have it in you. Saying that felt like pushing him over the ledge yourself, or telling him you’d never cared about him in the first place. If you were angry at least you were still fighting for him in some way.

You’d been on board for everything—trying to find a way out of Dean’s deal, trying to kill Lilith, everything. But the argument with Sam had torn out the final piece of you that could stand this, so you packed a bag, told Dean you’d be in a strict research-only role, and booked it back to your hometown. It was cowardly and stupid and beyond selfish, but you knew your stance. The hunt had taken everything from you. You refused to let it take Sam, too.

Maybe, Sam would take you stepping away as a serious sign to change his mind. You couldn’t imagine a world where Sam and his Winchester stubbornness would ever do that, but. It was a nice wish to hold onto.

By the time you make it up the steps to your apartment building, you’re soaked to the bone and audibly making pathetic shivering sounds. Your bookbag feels heavier than ever, digging a trench into your shoulder as you fish around for your keys. The second your apartment door is open the true weight of your exhaustion hits you—

—and then utterly disappears, replaced by a shock of pure adrenaline.

There’s a new pair of boots by your front door.

You catch the heavy door before it goes swinging against the doorjamb, straining your ears against the ringing silence. The bedside lamp is on in your room.

On dead-quiet feet, you slip in, click the door shut behind you, and slip off your bookbag. Your angel blade is in your hand in a second, but you risk a few extra steps toward your kitchen table to wiggle loose the pistol you taped underneath. Just the weight of your weapons in your hands flicks the hunter muscle memory back on in your body, and before you can think you’re hiding in the shadow beside your bedroom door. Listening.

Soft breathing. The pages of a book turning.

You know, instinctively, who it is—you would know him dumb and blind and dead. But these days, anybody could be piloting his body around.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, heart throbbing in your ears. You wait until the fingers on your gun aren’t shaking anymore, then burst inside the room, slamming the door into the wall and whipping your pistol up to eye level.

Sam’s head flinches towards you. He is exactly as you saw him two weeks ago; solemn, determined, and open, the air around him practically steaming with safety and goodness. He’s sat comfortably on your bed, reading a book he brought with him. Despite everything, your belly still curls with butterflies when you lay eyes on him. Sam. Definitely Sam, and no one else.

Still, your paranoia has gotten you this far. You both stare at each other for a beat, equal parts scared out of your minds and relieved. Without a word, you keep your gun trained on him, and Sam lets you, his eyes big and understanding. You shuffle sideways to your dresser, and without turning away from him, pop open the top drawer and toss him the silver flask of holy water you keep hidden inside.

He catches it. So, not a shapeshifter, then. Sam takes a drink of the holy water, even turning to the side so you can see the water go into his mouth. (A demon in Missouri had slipped past the three of you by pretending to sip—only Sam would know that.) You’re still a little terrified, but you manage to pull your weapons back down to your sides. You still don’t know what to say.

He’s really here. The part of you that had worried the argument with Sam would be your last wails with joy. He’s here, alive and in front of you. No matter how awkward you feel you can’t bring yourself to stop staring at him. By the buttery light of your bedside lamp, he literally glows with beauty, and you realize he’d scrubbed his boots off on your welcome mat to not track mud in, and he’d hung up his rain-soaked jacket in your shower to dry. Stupid polite Sam things.

You dare to glance back at your kitchen, then swivel to squint at him. “Did you… do my dishes?”

Sam lets his hands relax into his lap and nods, shy. He’s looking at you in a way he never really has before, eyes big and soul-rending. “…Yeah. I used the key you gave me to get in… Hope that’s okay.”

There’s another long pause. Usually when you stare at Sam, he doesn’t stare so intensely back, but you share a weird mutual moment where you just stand there and take each other in. It’s so obvious it’s painful, but if he’s doing it then you feel entitled to devour him with your eyes too.

“I got, uh, bored. Waiting for you,” Sam clarifies. “Thought I’d make myself useful.”

Sam stands from the bed. For a second you think he’s heading straight for you, but he moves toward the dresser behind you, kindly tucking the holy water back where it was stowed. You flit out of his way as fast as you can and set your weapons down on the closest available surface, feeling off-kilter. Why would he come here? Is he going to tell you that he changed his mind?

You hold onto the question, but you know it’s too out of character to hope for. Despair sinks into your gut like a rock in a pond. You know why Sam’s here. He would never make this decision without telling you first—without at least saying goodbye in person.

Your throat locks up with tears.

Behind you, Sam hums, “You changed your hair.”

Right. You’d altered it to be more undercover. You resist the urge to reach up and play with your hair, or give in to any of the fluttery feelings you always feel around Sam. “It’s safer.” Tightly, you ask him, “What are you doing here?”

Sam drags a long breath through his nose. You clutch the end of your bookshelf, your chest crumpling with misery. Please don’t say it. Please, please, lie to me if you have to.

“...I’m not taking the jump,” Sam breathes.

There’s more that he says after that. He talks about how you and Dean are right, and how, surely, after everything that the three of you have been through, there’s got to be another way to end this. You’ve always found another way in the past. Sam explains all this to you in a sure, quiet voice, like this is something he’s thought about for a long time, but you barely hear him after those first words. There’s this persistent tension in your chest that’s telling you that there’s something wrong here, but you don’t care—you don’t give a single fucking shit, because Sam—Sam isn’t saying yes. Sam’s staying.

“…are other ways I can make up for the mistakes I made,” he’s telling you, scrambling to fill the nagging silence.

You take a moment to force back your tears, and Sam, nervously, keeps talking.

He swallows, trying to smile. “I-I would’ve called and told you, but something tells me you wouldn’t have picked up.”

When you’ve got your bearings back, you push away from your bookshelf and turn to face him. Your legs are so leaden that you feel as if you have to physically pick up your body and drop it down the other direction, but you manage it. “What… what made you change your mind?”

Sam gets one look at your face and wilts with guilt. He doesn’t answer your question in words—just shoves his hands in his pockets and stares down at his feet, then around your room, as if his reason was in the air with the two of you. In the apartment. His eyes flicker over you just once, and you understand. Seeing you leave really had scared him.

“Be careful,” you start to joke with him, “you start validating my childish reactions and we’re gonna have a whole new set of problems on our hands.”

Sam scoffs. “It wasn’t childish to run away.”

You raise an eyebrow at his word choice, which gets an honest-to-god laugh out of him. A real good Sam Winchester laugh, dimples and all. The last dregs of anxiety in your gut melt at the sound, and Sam reassures you, shrugging, “You needed to get out. In case you forgot, I kind of invented wanting to get out. I understand. I really do.”

You know that he does. That’s not exactly going to stop you from feeling guilty about ditching them, but at least it kicked some sense into him. God. For the last five or six years, your every moment had been spent with Sam and his brother. Even just a couple weeks without him had drained you, and having him back only makes those feelings more clear. Sam’s presence commands the space in a way that turns your shitty, undecorated bedroom into someplace magical, someplace good and safe and warm, and just seeing him standing there draws the ache out of your spine.

Your reach out for his sleeve. Somehow, he’s more real than ever, a tangible person instead of the memory you’ve chased for so long.

“You’re really not saying yes?”

Sam unwinds your hand from the fabric so he can hold it instead, your fingers scooped in his fingers. You’re given a firm squeeze and are hypnotized by him in an instant, the world narrowing down to this moment between just him and just you.

Sam looks into your eyes when he promises, “I’m not going anywhere.”

The tears you’d resisted before return in one big, merciless wave. You’re so tired and the rain was so fucking cold and you’re so sick of being scared that Sam, thank god, Sam, is everything you could possibly need. He’s not going anywhere. Before you can stop yourself you’re clutching him for dear life, shoving your face in his shirt and crushing his body against yours. These last few weeks have submerged you in survival mode, and you don’t realize how deep until Sam pulls you out of the current. He’s warm and dry, and when you inhale to sob he smells like a 24-hour-laundromat, the Impala, and home home home. You could’ve lost that. You could’ve lost him.

“Th-thank you,” you choke out at nothing in particular, “thank you.”

You’ve cried a lot this week, so there are not many tears left to shed. Still, Sam holds you through all of them, swaying back and forth with you and cooing in your ear. You hear him sniffling too. When you’re both all sobbed out, you pull back to tell him you love him, to remind him of all the things he needs to hear, but Sam strangely doesn’t let you. The second he feels you pull away he clutches you back against him, and you get the uneasy impression that you’ve been comforting him more than he’s been comforting you. His whole body’s shaking.

Sam hugs you for longer than he ever has before. It’s a little worrying, but you’ve both needed it so much that you don’t even complain.

After a while, Sam slips back, and in traditional Winchester fashion tries to play off his vulnerability. He’s always been a dead-silent crier, so you have zero way to gauge how bad things are until you see his face. He looks like he’d sobbed his heart out. Your shirt is still wet from the rain, but even then you can feel Sam’s tears soaking your shoulder. Saying anything about it will just embarrass him, though.

“...I-I, uh,” you lick the tears off your lips, mumbling, “I don’t know bout’ you, but I’m beat. Do you have somewhere you gotta be, or,” you add hopefully, “or can you stick around?”

This is the part where Sam will start coaxing you to drive back with him to where he and Dean are holed up, you’re sure of it. You’re already plotting in your head what to pack and what to take, but Sam never brings it up. He doesn’t worry about tomorrow yet.

He presses his lips together. “I was hoping I could stay here tonight, actually.”

This is an even better answer. You’re nodding before he’s even finished the thought, stroking your hand down his chest. It twists your gut in knots to see him like this, so you start to steer the conversation toward something more playful, something less daunting to think about.

“You’re lucky I like you then,” you smirk. Somehow, you manage to peel yourself out of his bubble and teeter toward your dresser, scrubbing the tears off your face. “Make yourself comfortable. I dunno about you, but I’m getting the fuck out of these work clothes, I’m freezing. Do you need anything to sleep in? I’ve got at least five years of your stolen shirts in here.”

You hear him ease himself down on the end of your bed again, but there’s no sassy retort, sly comment, or any sort of line about you and your stealing habits. Instead, sweet and simple, he says, “I’ll just sleep in this. You can have them.”

Okay. Weird.

Since he didn’t take the bait, you throw out another line and try again. This time, you kick off your shoes, open a drawer, and turn back to him with two of his shirts in hand. “Really?” You wave them teasingly in the air. “You sure?”

They are some of his best shirts, easy. You’re not a cheap thief. The first is a holey, feather-soft Red Hot Chili Peppers tee, and the second is a deep maroon Stanford sweater. He has so few artifacts from that time in his life that there’s no way he won’t want this one back. Right?

But Sam just gazes at you, his whole face soft and loving as he says, “You should wear the Stanford one. It looks good on you.”

Those old hot-shivery feelings for him seep down your spine, and you feel in real-time how your cheeks flood with heat. Damn, okay. Consider yourself wooed.

You’ve been down this road with Sam many, many times—enough to know when he’s flirting with you. The forbidden labels had never been thrown around, but. Well. Sam had been your first time, as well as the many other times after that.

He’s usually leagues more subtle than his brother, but for whatever reason he’s pouring it on by the truckload tonight. When you turn around he’s nothing but big, happy puppy eyes, waiting patiently for you at the end of the bed. (Like you’re his girlfriend. Like anything about this is normal at all, and you and Sam are going to tuck into bed together like it’s any other night). Fuck, you missed him.

The bathroom is only a few steps away, but this is Sam, so you decide to just throw on your pajamas right here. Your shirt is so wet that it hits the floor with a slap. It also takes some experience to wring yourself out of your denim-turned-cement jeans, so it’s not the sexiest show in the entire world. Still, Sam’s gaze traces sensual lines down your back. You would rather go to literal, actual hell than wear your bra for a minute longer, so the second you’re free of its death grip, a long happy sigh drains out of you. A similar dreamy sigh drains out of Sam. Dork.

“I will never get tired of that,” Sam murmurs. You expect to hear some kind of hunger there, but the timber of his voice bleeds with admiration and fondness.

There are very few ways to be a normal human being while Sam Winchester adores your nude body with his eyes. The best you can do is burst into flustered, giggly laughter and give him a good eyeroll, your entire face cooking like a stove burner.

“Alright, loverboy,” you scoff, “I’m gonna go brush my teeth and take my makeup off—”

“Can I help?” Sam asks.

You sputter out another laugh, confused. “You wanna brush my teeth for me?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, smiling big, “Lemme take your makeup off for you.”

Okay. Weirder. But it’s sweet, and you like this side of him, so you decide to indulge his mood. “...Sure.”

You go about your night-time routine. Sam continues to be a weirdo, trailing you into the bathroom, leaning against the doorframe, and blinking slow endearing blinks at you as he… watches you brush your teeth. Just. Stands there, watching, utterly enamored with this little moment of domesticity with you. On the surface level you’re a little thrown off, but it falls under the category of Freaky Sam Things that made you catch feelings for him in the first place, so. You grin into your toothbrush the whole time.

When he’s satisfied by his little ogling fest, he drifts off to hunt around for your makeup wipes. Either you’re predictable or he knows you too well, because he finds them within seconds, and patiently sits back as you finish up your routine, watching you like you’ll disappear on him the moment he turns away. Click click, you feel inside you.

“Okay,” he says when you’re done. “Close your eyes.”

You do. You wait for the cool touch of the wipe on your face, but instead, Sam’s big, rough fingers find your chin and hold you still. It takes conscience effort to not melt into his touch like a cat in a square of sunlight. Your willpower is nothing on Sam’s, though, so you give in quickly, sinking into his hand and sighing through your nose. In gentle swipes, he cleans your face. It must be a nightmare of smeared mascara considering how you’d cried earlier… And yet Sam had still been so transfixed by you. He’s the fucking best.

Sam’s hand tilts your head from side to side to survey his handiwork. Pleased, he tosses the wipe in the trash and says, “There you go.”

You open your eyes and go to double-check his work in the mirror, but Sam hasn’t removed his hand from your chin, and you really, really don’t want him to. His thick thumb comes up and caresses under your lips. He looks at you like he loves you, and with all the honesty in the world, he utters, “...You are so pretty.”

…The only way for you to survive this is by throwing him a dry look. “You��re full of shit. What’s your game, Winchester?”

That earns you another authentic Sam laugh, along with a handsome boyish smile. “There’s no game. What are you talking about?”

You squint at him. Liar.

“This.” You gestured between the two of you, suspicious. “You’re mooning over me. Why are you mooning? Are you planning something?”

A ripple of discomfort rolls across Sam’s face, but it passes too fast for you to read. His hands go right back in his pockets and he leans into the doorframe again. “I’m just… happy we’re not fighting,” he confesses.

Oh. That makes sense. Sam hasn’t exactly made up with you like that before, but. These times change everyone. You ease up on your teasing and admit, “Me too.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you away,” Sam says, and far, far too seriously for your liking, he whispers, “I’m sorry for everything.”

Your answer slips right out of your mouth without hesitation. “I forgive you, stupid,” your brows furrow together. “And I’m sorry, too. I said some pretty shitty stuff back there.”

Sam wilts against the doorframe a little. “Nothing I didn’t deserve.”

A dull pulse of anger flares in your chest, which flickers out and dies not a second later. There’s so much you want to say to that.

It is so fucking unfair—biblically, cosmically unfair—that Sam, the good guy to end all good guys, thinks of himself this way. He is the kind of righteous they make saints out of. And yet he sits in your silly little bathroom in your shitty little apartment and gives you that look, the look that says, I deserve this and so much more. I deserve to rot in hell for all eternity. He gave you that exact look when he brought up saying yes. He gives it to you now, because Sam sees everything as a sin to serve penance for—freeing Lucifer from the cage and making you a little worried. He thinks he’s so evil, so beyond saving. It makes you want to get your fists in your shirt and just shake him.

You’re good! You want to scream. Just for once in your life, listen to me! None of this is your fault!

There’s nothing you could say to him that would ever make him let go of his guilt. But, at the very least, you could help him forget about it for a while.

“You beat yourself up too much,” you scold. Then, softer, you add, “C’mere, Sammy.”

Sam does as told, planting himself right in front of you. God, he’s changed. You look him over with a bittersweet smile. He used to be so spindly. The last few years have filled him out, forcing his body into something ready for war. The hunt reached in and tore all sorts of things out of people, but you’d been wrong about what it’d ripped out of Sam. His optimism was still there, warm and humming in the tissue of his body, and just seeing it fills you with hope. He looks so different from the man you’d had all to yourself in that cabin, but you can feel that he’s still in there. He’s still your Sam.

You take his face in your hands, smoothing your thumbs into his dimples and quietly, needily rasping, “...Can I take care of you?”

Sam’s whole body shudders with relief. “Please, yes.”

The next few beats of this dance haven’t changed. Like always, Sam comes flying in with a big, smashing kiss that shatters any leftover barriers between you. You’re not Sam’s girlfriend and he’s not your boyfriend, but Sam makes you his with this kiss. (If only for a little while). Your noses mash together and his eyes squeeze shut and then everything is just Sam, Sam, Sam at every angle. His hands are at his sides then suddenly they’re all over you, taking two greedy handfuls of your waist under the Stanford sweater. He jams your hips against his and kisses you senseless, towering over you, surrounding you, so that when you pull back to gasp for breath your lungs are flooded with his familiar heady love potion.

Either he’s giving off some Poison Ivy-level pheromones, or your body is so familiar with these steps that it knows what comes after this kiss… because you’re instantly wet.

You realized a long time ago that you and Sam have sex a bit too often for it to be considered “casual,” but even if it was, Sam is not a casual kind of lay. After that first soul-stealing kiss, Sam stares you down like a four-course meal, spins you around, pushes you down chest-first onto the bathroom counter, drops to his knees—

—and shoves his face between your legs like it’s his goddamn job.

In the middle of all your surprised shrieking and squirming, Sam nuzzles his face into your panties and moans deep and bassy in his throat, “Yes.”

Like he’s won something. Like he’s been waiting weeks to do this. Holy fuck, you’ll never get tired of that.

The second you have even an atom of your reason back, you slap a hand over your mouth. Neighbors! Sam has already forgotten what neighbors are, and is holy-mission-from-god-determined to make you noisy. He’s extra hungry for it tonight, too. You squeak out his name, not so much in shock, but more because having those huge hands squeezing where your ass starts to round out tends to produce a reaction, and Sam rumbles like a lawnmower in approval. Holy fuck.

He doesn’t have to ask you to spread your legs. One of the hands appreciating your ass slides between your thighs, cupping you through your underwear, and you have to try not to squeal when the meaty pad of Sam’s thumb swipes across your clothed folds. He presses a big kiss in that exact spot as he drags your panties down your legs, and it’s a weirdly sweet gesture that makes your heart and your belly flutter with shivery heat. Fuck. Fuck, you missed him so much.

The first few times Sam had sprung this move on you, you hadn’t exactly had enough time to fully rev up. But Sam is deadly efficient in and out of the bedroom, so he makes a point to get you extra wet (for him) with his spit, laving his hot, slippery tongue over you in one long swipe. He eats you out with all the obscene, noisy enjoyment of somebody gorging on the juiciest fruit they’ve ever tasted. Even you are scandalized.

It becomes embarrassingly clear that covering your mouth isn’t going to keep Sam from what he wants. The high, desperate moan you try to stifle only makes him work harder. You press an arm flat to the counter and bury your face in it for strength, since you’re weak and whimpering for him already.

Sam was good in bed when you met him. But, by nature, he is a relentless and avid learner, and it’s been five whole years since he put his mouth on you for the first time. Now, Sam is a certified pussy-eating weapon. He knows your body better than anyone possibly could. You’re over the edge in a minute flat.

Your climax flies through you in one whizzing, sparking rush, then keeps flying, until your body’s squeezing out little squeaky pleas for mercy of its own accord. This is his favorite part. You claw into the countertop and wail for it, pushing at the floor in your socks to gain any sort of leverage. To press closer? To squirm away? You have zero fucking clue, since the thought part of your brain has been blasted into a smoking crater. Sam wraps a big arm around your spasming thigh to pin you open, and holy fucking shit, could that man suck the chrome off a tailpipe. His mouth is a whirlwind of licking and suction just on the right side of oh fuck too much that makes your skin feel like it’s fizzing. You are a thread that he’s just pulling and pulling until you’re so thin you could snap into nothing—

You wait for the moment when Sam pops off you, stands up, and goes for his zipper, but he never does. He remains on the floor, determined to lick you through overstimulation and straight into round two. But that’s a whole minute you could spend with his dick inside you instead, and there’s no fucking way you’re wasting that. Not when he’s here and real and not going to say yes. Sam’s not going anywhere. He’s staying, he’s alive, and the world isn’t going to end tomorrow.

“No no no,” you bite out in one short, rattling breath. “S-Suh—Sam, please please—” An unexpected sob shreds out of you. “Miss you. Need you.”

You’re actually, genuinely crying, and not entirely in the fun sexed-out way. Sam backs up. He’s not even halfway standing when you wrench him up the rest of the way, straight into a desperate, maddening kiss. It’s a brutal cross of teeth and tongue. The need for body heat and skin and him burns through you like genuine bloodlust, so you cram yourself up against him with life-or-death urgency. You get your nails into him until you feel something like shirt fabric and viciously yank it over his head, waiting for the moment when he grabs your wrists or shoves you onto the bed o-or—or starts to blow off steam. Cause’ that’s what this is all about, right?

He drags your mouths apart. Sam pants, “Slow down.”

You stop.

This is. This is new.

There’s no slowing, with this. You both go and you keep going until there’s no more fuel in your tanks, and you crawl out of bed the next day feeling like you’ve beaten the rot out of each other. You’ve never once slowed down during this before, and as your wheels spin to a halt for the first time, reality filters back in around you.

Sam stares at you. His hair is all over the place. A patchy blush speckles up his heaving chest, burning in his ears and in his cheeks. Your slick shines on his lips and the bulb of his nose. He’s just standing there and fucking looking at you, but for whatever reason it feels like the color has seeped back into the world.

“S’okay. Gonna be okay,” Sam hushes, bleeding with sweetness.

He picks up your hands, moving you as if you were a delicate glass he was turning over in each palm. Each of your hands are kissed in the center (oh my fucking god) then wrapped around his neck, and when he has you in his bubble he scoops up your face and kisses you.

It’s a boyfriend kiss. Not a blowing off steam thing, or any other excuse the two of you have used to feel each other. A genuine, I’m your boyfriend and I love you sort of kiss, foreheads pressed together, noses touching, the whole nine yards. It’s the kind of kiss that’s meant to say something. Every inch of what he’s trying to tell you echoes through your body in one ringing smash, like you’re a big cymbal he’s taken a mallet to.

He slips off your lips and hovers, bracing himself for impact. You suck in a rattling breath.

…Then you press up onto your tiptoes to give him a kiss of your own, just pressing your lips against his, unmoving. It’s undemanding; an answer. You try to find the words to describe the shift that’s occurred between you, and end up feeling stuttery and shivery and fucking elated. Romantic. It’s fucking romantic.

“Sammy,” you sob out.

“Shhh. C’mere,” Sam whispers, his voice throaty and whiskey smooth. “Lemme make it better.”

He tries to walk you straight back out of the bathroom and towards the bed, he really does, but you stop Sam every other step to overwhelm him with obsessed, affectionate kisses. God. His chapstick is all over your fucking mouth (along with your slick) and his hands are everywhere else, feeling instead of grabbing.

“You always do,” you breathe, and that might be the most honest thing you’ve ever said to him in bed.

Sam gets this quiet, pleased smile on his face. No matter how naked and turned-on you are, you’ve always got a snappy reply ready, and you’re about to throw one at him—until you’re fucking obliterated. He smoothes his palms down your arms. Your wrists are scooped up again. With all the tenderness on the planet, Sam slides in close, kisses your throat, and places both of your hands firmly on his belt.

“Take it off,” he rasps.

This. This isn’t the first time he’s given you that order. But knowing, feeling that he’s playing this all out like it’s more than a fling to him… that Sam’s gonna fuck you like you’re someone special to him… sweet jesus, it makes you lightheaded.

“Bossy,” your murmur, grinning.

You’re downright feverish going in to kiss him next. Sam parts your lips with a slow, sinful swipe of his tongue, and there must be a drop of psychic still in him, because suddenly you’re flooded with visions of that filthy mouth between your legs. You can still feel the ghost of him there, keeping you open with his thumbs as the blunt tip of his tongue pushes you somewhere vast and sparkly and wonderful. This is going to be even better.

He sounds like he’s praying when he says, “I just like to watch you.”

Muscle memory serves. You work his clasp open without peeking down and let it hang in his belt loops, mostly because it lets his jeans sling low on his hips in the most enticing way. His belly twitches at even the slightest touch of your hands; always so responsive. Sam drops his forehead on your shoulder to watch you work, and you take the rare opportunity to kiss the top of his head. This is one of your favorite parts. When his button is undone and his zipper’s down, you’re free to smooth your hand under his waistband and take a big handful of him.

You reach in and—squeeze. Sam’s hand snaps up to clutch your arm. His nails dig in, and he rocks forward onto his tiptoes to really dig into your touch. “Yes.”

It’s the kind of soft, needy sound that makes you want to smother him with kisses and hug him until he suffocates. Instead, you cooly purr into his hair, “So sensitive, Sammy.”

A hoarse, sharp laugh snaps out of him, which dissolves into a shuddering groan. You tug at his jeans until they’re somewhere you don’t care about anymore, and forget about everything else entirely at the sight of his cock. All these years of sneaking around with him have conditioned you. Just seeing the pretty speckling of dark hair that leads to it, then the real deal, hanging blood-hot and heavy between his legs, makes your tummy flip and your mouth water. One of a million embarrassing Sam-reactions you’ll have to bring to your grave.

You take his cock in your hand, trying to swallow back the slutty amount of saliva in your mouth. Sam whimpers. A real, desperate sound, with his nails stinging down your arms and everything.

“Know you wanted to slow down,” you struggle between open-mouthed pants, “b-but—can’t—don’t wanna wait—”

Sam physically curls towards you, his hips seizing into your hand and his arms hooking around your shoulders. You’re dragged in for a sloppy kiss so deep you swear it melds your souls together. Sam is just as affected, rumbling like a racecar in approval.

“Then don’t.” He begs.

If this was any other night, Sam would just take. You’d be face down and drilled halfway through the mattress by now, no preamble, all business. He got off and you got off and everyone was happy that way. Sam would want the room dark and you would hide your face in the bedding, the two of you eager to touch and experience but terrified of breaking the illusion. He’s so generous that you suppose he’s got to have at least one place in life where he’s selfish, and you’re happy to be his outlet for it, but.

You’ve never seen him take this way before.

He looks at you and he never really stops, transfixed. You don’t doubt you could walk in a circle around him and Sam’s eyes would follow you the whole way, his gaze oozing with longing and something else—resolution? Faith? You push him onto the bed, and he drops down as if hobbling into a pew for the first time, unsure how to clasp his hands in prayer because it’s only ever been something done in his head before.

You stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do next.

“God,” Sam utters, spellbound.

You’re blushing so hard that you forget to be sexy as you crawl into his lap, but Sam doesn’t care, still giving you those big slow doe blinks to express his love. It’s so different from the Sam you know (yet also so deeply, deeply him) that you forget what it means to be sexy entirely. He coaxes you closer to plant tender kisses under your chin, and the plan to seductively peel off your sweater for him and flash him your tits blips out of existence.

You wait for the moment when Sam shreds the Stanford sweater off you. Instead, those wonderful fucking hands tease under the hem to squeeze your waist, and Sam croaks out between kisses, “Should wear this all the time. You’re beautiful in anything, but this… you’re… mmn.”

Your heart gives a pathetic flutter. You press mindless kisses against his mouth and rock your bare core down on his lap, because he’s never acted this way before and you don’t know how else to return the favor. “Not nearly as beautiful as you, Sammy.”

The only reaction you get from him is a single huff out of his nose, like it’s something he can’t commit a whole laugh to. Like none of that matters anymore, like it would never matter for Sam, because his body may be beautiful, but it hardly belongs to him anymore. God, you’re shitty at compliments.

You’re fucking wonderful, you suddenly want to tell him. A whole swarm of little truths and sweet nothings roars straight up to the surface of your mind, a whole sea of better things you could say to him, but then one of those perfect hands is slipping between your legs and Sam’s asking you in that perfect, tinted glass voice, “You still on the pill?”

“Yes, doctor,” you tease.

Another flood of sticky heat rushes between your legs, because that question is always a precursor to being pressed into and filled and stuffed end-to-end by Sam’s dick. The one barrier that doesn’t—didn’t exist between you.

“Good,” Sam sighs, relieved, grateful. He never turned down going raw in the past, but he’s downright starved for it right now. Closer closer closer, his whole body begs.

You’re tugged in by a big hand hooked around your back, and you fall right into Sam’s summer-warm, sweat-sticky chest, giggling. He loops both arms around your middle and teddy-bear squeezes even more laughter out of you. The only way to hold yourself up is by planting two hands on his shoulders… which turns into his cupping his neck… then caressing his face, because it’s impossible to be witness to that quiet boyish grin and not shower him in affection. There’s all these little freckles on him that you can only see up close. He feels good, mystical good, prophetic-chosen-one type good.

This is the moment. You can feel the blood in your body pounding between your legs, and Sam’s cock bumps not-so-innocently against your core as you kiss one another. Every shift of his hands sends your muscles clenching tight, bracing for impact, but Sam doesn’t push into you just yet.

Your confusion must be clear on your face, because he says, “Just let me feel you for a second.”

And, obviously, you’re not an idiot, so you let Sam feel you for as long as he pleases. For the next ten uninterrupted minutes, you makeout like lovesick teenagers, whimpering and sighing and swallowing every sound the other makes. You’d always pegged him as a romantic. But seeing it, feeling it, adds a whole new dimension to him you hadn’t realized you’d been craving.

By the time the pool of need in your gut has opened up into a blackhole, Sam has caressed or squeezed or kissed every part of you ten times over. He continues to be weird and obsessed with you. (So still in character, then). Sam even pinches the ends of your ears and smooths his thumbs over the bumps of your ankles, being sexy about it but also a little terrifying. He touches you like he’s never gonna see you again.

Around the time that Sam starts suckling marks into your neck and trying to tickle you under your arms, you giggle out, “O-Okay—okay! Enough—!”

“Enough what?” Sam cocks his head. His hand makes another dive for your belly, making you shriek and squirm with more giggles. You try to wriggle away to protect your tickling sides, but Sam’s too strong and you’re a little in love with him, so it’s easy for him to pull you flush against him and blow tingly-warm breaths beside your ear. He purrs, “You need it that badly?”

“Fucking yes! So quit torturing me,” you pant, and you’re pretty sure this grin is going to get stuck on your face.

Sam’s smile gets even bigger. “Only if you say please.”

Your attitude slips from your grip like water. Next time, you’ll play push and pull with him, but right now there needs to be a lot more pushing and pulling in a different context.

The words are out of your mouth in an instant. “Please, Sam.”

As reluctant as he is to stop teasing you, Sam’s a little in love, too. He leans back enough to fist his cock in one hand, and you can’t help how your breath hitches when Sam’s touch follows the curve of your ass to where you’re soaked and sensitive for him. Those thick, maddening fingers spread you open. The velvety tip of his cock finds your hole right away, and your legs nearly give out when Sam starts to swipe himself up and down your folds one dizzying stroke at a time. Back…. and forth. Up… and down. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay, fine…” He concedes, his eyes glittering with joy. “You’re just so cute when you act all tough.”

Maybe not all of your attitude is gone. You bark out a laugh, telling him, “I hate you.”

Sam presses down for the last time, then presses in. You don’t mean to look into his eyes when he fills you up, and that’s probably what does you in. Sam’s rosy face flutters and twists with pleasure, but he never stops looking at you, not even once, terrified to miss even a small moment. The long hitching moan that slips out of you makes his whole face darken with desire. You’re pulled onto him deeper and deeper and deeper until—click. Cue the angel choir.

Your fingers dig desperately into his hair. Sam curls into you in one slow pulling movement, a thread pulled taut, until his face is stuffed in your neck and his hands are mindlessly scrabbling down your back.

“God, I love you,” he moans.

Soon your pussy feels achy and hair-trigger-sensitive and beyond full, which could mean that you’re all the way on him. It’s impossible to tell, since the first full minute of having Sam’s dick inside you sends you straight to the moon every time, where everything falls in peaceful slow-motion and the whole world hums with cosmic, sparkling pressure. You shove your face into him and nuzzle in a daze, little ripples of electricity sparking up your spine.

…Wait.

“What?” You register, slow.

Sam is still clutching you for dear life, even if the moment’s slowed and you’re both comfortable. He hugs you full-bodied, nose in your neck, tilted forward, the kind of hug where he sways you side to side with joy. Sam sucks in a harsh breath. Can’t hold back anymore.

“I love you,” he gushes. The words burn out of him, declarative, overjoyed.

There’s so much you want to say to that. But then Sam digs his fingers into your ass and pulls you off his lap, only to gloriously sink you down the rest of the way, and. Fuck fuck fuck. His cock drags thick and hot against the pliant walls of your pussy. You couldn’t be any more full if you tried, clamping down on him with long, silky ripples of pressure that outline the shape of him inside you in obscene detail. It’s the kind of mind-blowing that’s beyond comprehension, beyond feeble human understanding. Your eyes squeeze shut and you whimper into his hair.

“God, I love you,” he chants again through grit teeth. “So much. So fucking much.”

You find his face with your hands and kiss him quiet, tasting the promise in his mouth. When you part and the two of you really start to move, you kiss him again, and again, whispering where only he can hear, “I-I love you too.”

It should scare you how easily the confession slips out. You should be terrified, because even if you live to see next week, or next month, or next year, even if Sam isn’t saying yes to Lucifer, those words are a death sentence. And yet.

“I-I miss you,” you choke out, “I need you.”

“Me too. So much,” Sam soothes, his voice tight and sharp with restraint. You know his instinct is to jackhammer up into you and never stop, but he puts in effort to resist, letting you both marinate in the wonderful, glistening, twitchy feeling of each other. His hands are rubbing your back and he is so fucking warm, turning the rain outside to steam.

He doesn’t bounce you on his dick. It’s more of a slow, cresting drag, waves stroking a beach. You don’t think you could handle much more than that, anyway—sometimes these positions make him feel big enough to pop you like a balloon. What you can’t fit on your own, your weight pushes you down onto anyway, turning your whole body into a big expanding bubble of pressure ready to burst at any moment. You clutch at his shoulders and just throb around him for a second.

“Nuh-uh,” Sam leans away, not letting you shove your face in him like you want. Instead, a big hand cups one side of your neck and keeps you in front of him. “Wanna see your face. Look at me. Look at me,” he insists, genuinely pleading.

When your eyes find his, that’s when he decides to snap up into you for real. You don’t even get a full look at him. The arm slung around your waist drags you up off your wobbling knees, then slams you down into a beautiful, endless white space popping with color.

“Sammy!” You choke.

That’s the magic word. You’re instantly thrust up into four more lightning-fast times, one-two-three-four, and hitch out four squeaky gasps to match. Sam’s eyes bore into yours with every beat, blazing with liquid love. For a second you wonder if you’ve fallen back into your rough routine again. But then words and thoughts melt out of your brain altogether, because Sam draws you into the tenderest, sweetest kiss human beings are capable of, fucking into you deep and smooth with that deeper, smoother voice, “Keep saying that.”

Sammy Sammy Sammy, you rattle out under your breath. Sam hisses out your name the exact same way.

You do your best to help him out a little, bobbing up and down in his lap, but’s a drop of water in the ocean for him. All Sam cares about is seeing your reaction. He soaks up everything you do like a sponge, moaning when you moan, gritting his teeth when you bite your lip, grinding up as you stir down. The weight of his eyes on you is so heavy that your skin stings in its wake. Again, it’s Sam’s brand of freak-sweetness that makes you get stupid notions in your head about wedding rings and anniversary presents. But that’s—

…something he knows about. Something he just said to you five minutes ago. Above the haze of bouncing, rhythmic pleasure, you’re flooded with relief. You can tell him! Holy fuck, you can tell him!

“I love you,” you gasp out again, and just saying it feels like it could save the world. “O-oh, god, Sam—”

The breath you have left is stolen from you by another fierce kiss from him, so passionate it lets you taste the bassy, happy hum that rumbles in Sam’s throat. You’re devoured by feverish kisses for a full minute, then Sam pops off you to sob, “So much—so fucking much, yes.”

He slips a hand between the two of you to thumb your clit, stirring in and never once stopping. Every so often he’ll brush up against where you’re hot and filled to the hilt with him, your bodies sliding together with slick, filthy noises that are so—so fucking much that your thighs cramp up, protesting the constant pistoning. But the pleasure is easily worth the burn. Your core booms with long echoes of pleasure that shudder through the trembling spiderwebs that make up your nerves. You make a move to lean back on your hands and switch up the angle, (since you’re a damn good cowgirl, thank you very much), but Sam refuses to stop kissing you. He physically pulls you back in with a hand fished around your neck and kisses you breathless, determined to pound you to your climax one thorough snap of his hips at a time.

“So beautiful,” Sam gushes. His voice is hoarse and thready, like he’s moments away from bursting into tears of pure desire.

You smooth your hands down his flushed cheeks, telling him between huffy moans, “It’s okay, s’ okay, Sammy… so pretty… love you so much…”

You feel him pull the Stanford sweater up over your ass and out of his way, exposing more, more, more of your bare skin for him to touch. Sam palms the slope of your back and your belly in a daze, but that’s still not enough—he’ll never be satisfied with how little of you he’s had. He wants more. He wants forever. You embrace each other to the fullest, cheeks smushed together, chests flush, his parted lips claiming your throat, making you his—but. Sam’s breath ratchets up. Not enough not enough not enough—

In one ragged motion, Sam rolls you both over, tossing you back-first onto the bedding and smothering you with his weight.

A squeal of delight jumps out of you. “Hey!”

If Sam wasn’t all over you before, then he literally is now, dropping onto his elbows so he can cup your face in both hands and surround you completely. “Sorry,” he croaks, “need you. Need to fill you up.”

You whisper against his lips, “Then fill me up already.”

His thumbs press into your cheeks a little. Sam’s breath fans across your face, throttled by the lump in his throat.

“Tell me you love me again.”

Um. You don’t exactly have the sexy heat of the moment to hide behind this time, but you still want to say it for him. His eyes swim with something unreadable. Desire and love, enough love to put a lump in your throat too, but a third thing also. It worries you.

You bring your hands up to stroke his wrists, and give a bit too much of your soul to him when you promise, “...I love you, Sam.”

The words hit him like a bullet. Sam shudders from head to toe, unable to reign himself in any longer, and plants a long, surging kiss on your mouth that makes your belly flash with nuclear levels of lust. He squirms his hands underneath your body so he can cradle you against him—genuinely cradling, one palm cupping the back of your neck—and then burrows into you face-first, groaning your name as his cock nestles itself as deep as it can go.

With all of his weight on top of you, you couldn’t move if you wanted to. You caress and kiss and dig your nails into him, and somewhere along the way you’re given a dose of whatever has made him fucking insane for you right now. It fogs your head and turns your reason to ash, so when Sam returns to ruining you for any other man, you whimper, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Oh, baby,” Sam hiccups out, and something strange hangs in his voice.

You would ask him what’s wrong, but the shuddering, flimsy scraps left of your brain are busy being blasted all over by white-hot pleasure. Everything scorches. Sam’s bare skin and his breath and his hands feel fucking molten, melting you down like hot glass. You’re pinned down in every possible way, and it pushes the sinking, gorgeous pressure inside you all over your body, like it’s not just Sam’s cock filling you up, but him, just him, the source of all good in the world. Holy fucking fuck. His hips glide back and then thud back into you again and again and again. You get why it’s called making love, now. You can taste your love for him in the back of your throat, feel it sitting in a sticky film on your skin. It hangs like humidity in the air of your apartment. And jesus christ, it bleeds from Sam, glowing off him like fucking radiation.

When you’re shamelessly wailing gut-deep in ecstasy, Sam peels himself off you. He forces himself to sit up. His chest putters up and down with desperate little breaths, and a gloriously big hand scoops under your thigh and welds it against your chest. Whatever he sees from this new angle—probably your wet, abused pussy stretched tight around the full base of his cock—makes Sam gape, utterly transfixed. You watch as his mouth falls open, and then those dark, soul-swallowing eyes crawl up your body to meet yours.

“Keep lookin’ at me,” Sam rasps.

Even if he doesn’t sway your opinion with a few dizzying, stomach-deep drags of his cock, (which he does), you’re convinced. You lock eyes with him—and then suddenly feel stupid for not watching him the whole time. A long curl of hair hangs in his eyes and sways as he fucks into you. His expression flutters with these sinful little giveaways, exposing just how starved he is for you, how in love. Maybe if you’d looked back sometime in the past five years, that’s what you would’ve seen: how much this has always meant to him. He searches your face for the same pleasure, obsessed with his effect on you.

“Fuck,” you shudder out. “C-could cum just watchin’ you, Sammy.”

“That’s right,” he hisses, and you’ve never heard him sound so damn happy. “Cum for me. Please. Look so pretty when you do.”

Usually, when he makes you cum, it’s the roughest part of the whole act. He’d get both your wrists pretzeled behind your back and pinned viciously in one of his hands, and that’s when you’d know the big finish was coming. His pace would go from bouncing to bruising. But this Sam, your Sam, would stop time if he could, so he slows down even further, winding you closer and closer to the top of the mountain with little figure-eights of his hips. He gazes down at you the same way you’re sure you must gaze up at him. Beautiful, he murmurs under his breath.

You utter another, tight, almost-sob of, “love you so much, Sammy,” and his dick twitches wildly shoved in you to the hilt.

“Ohh—shit,” he chokes out, and his other hand snaps desperately towards yours on the bed. They find each other easily, and you squeeze his hand with everything you’ve got, infusing in him all the love he’s infused in you.

The slow, mounting tsunami of perfection you’ve been moving towards finally overcomes you, and in one long gorgeous slippery rush you cum for Sam. And because your life is a movie—he cums for you too. He rocks faster and falls forward to kiss you, your faces pressed together, your mouths slotting against each other, your pussy squeezing down on him in golden rippling strokes. Sam hisses your name out between his teeth as he cums. You’re lanced straight through by a whole fucking universe of fluttering, flickering pleasure. To be honest, you’re a little pissed about it—because it’s the best fucking orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, and it’s all because Sam raggedly chants those words to you again and again, laying sloppy, obsessive, head-over-heel kisses all over your face. Love you love you so much baby you feel so good squeezin’ down on me.

You could’ve had this ages ago. How much more time could you have had with him, if you had just stopped being stupid?

Sam’s crazed, sobbing, hitching I love yous somehow become, in true Sam fashion, a low spiral of thank yous. He lays there and clutches you until there’s a Sam-shaped imprint in your body. You’re pretty sure he would stay inside you all night if he could, but you coax him into some cuddling instead, since you both are in desperate need. It’s. It’s new, but it feels cleansing in the holy way.

What feels like hours later, your brain dimly connects to the rest of your body. You’re halfway through detangling Sam’s hair with your fingers as he hides face-first in your chest, pretending he’s not embarrassed that he cried. At least, that’s what you assume. The Winchester mind is a mysterious one, and as much as you would hope to know what Sam’s thinking, the slow hand drawing circles on your hip tells you nothing. Is he shy that he got emotional? That seems silly, since you both sobbed into each other earlier. Is he embarrassed about everything he confessed? Does he regret it?

Just when your train of thought really starts to take the curves of your spiral hard, Sam tiredly croaks into your neck, “I meant what I said, y’know.”

He draws in a lungful of your perfume through his nose, soaking up as much of you as he can possibly get. His hands smooth over your body, innocent and loving, caressing you, memorizing you, begging silently for forgiveness.

Sam is a dead-silent crier. But you hear him sniffle as he gushes, “God, I love you.”

Maybe if you hadn’t been so tired, you would’ve picked up on it. Or maybe you’d heard it in his voice, seen it, something, and ignored it, hoping it was something else. Everything he felt, he put into a teeny, unmarked box that he’d bury god knows where, far from where anybody could be hurt by it. Sam didn’t—he wouldn’t say that to you. Not unless it was the last time he ever could. He would feel it, but it’d go right into that box where it couldn’t hurt you. You should’ve known.

Lie to me, you’d begged him.

…And Sam had.

The dull realization that you are awake sets in around noon. Noon as in after-noon, well past when you’re normally up and at em’. When you wonder why the hell you slept in so late, you remember last night’s rain, thrashing against the windows all night, and Sam, his face haloed by lamplight and bleeding with quiet resolution.

Sam. Alive, and not going to say yes.

He’d been the one to keep you up all night. With his mouth and his hands, yes, but then afterward he’d been hellbent on talking. Just… talking. You’d been sluggish and cozy and sated after having sex, but no matter how close you came to falling asleep, Sam wouldn’t let it happen. For two straight hours he asked you every question he could come up with to keep you up with him.

Do you remember when we met? Cause’ I do. Do you remember what I said to you? Do you remember what you thought about me? I remember thinking how similar we were, y’know, how much we’d get along. You were so pretty… my whole face went red every time you looked at me. Do you remember…?

Being cuddled, kissed, and protected by the man you love really tempts a girl to doze off, too, so this was not an easy battle. But Sam persisted. He studied your face intently, uttering I love yous even when sleep started to pull you under. Hearing any Winchester drop those words on you still blew your fucking mind, to be honest. Sam especially. But it was romantic as it was worrying, so you’d shut him up with a kiss goodnight and echoed it back to him. Love you, Sammy. It was probably just an anxiety thing, you assumed—Sam, for some fucking reason, was a pretty insecure guy, so you imagined that was his way of making sure you wanted all of this. He seemed… scared. He wasn’t used to being wanted.

The apocalypse was still on. Maybe the world would end tomorrow, or maybe you’d get lucky and live a whole lifetime with Sam. Regardless, he’s never saying yes to Lucifer, and that alone means that there’s still hope for the future. You’re going to spend every second of it making Sam feel wanted.

Sitting up in bed, you scrubbed at your sleepy face with the heel of your hand and stared around the room. Sam was physically incapable of staying asleep after five in the morning, so the familiar evidence of his military-efficient morning routine was all over the place. You smiled to yourself. He’d picked up after the two of you, and had tucked another blanket over you in your sleep. Stupid chivalrous dumbass.

To think, you’d been terrified you’d never see him again just last night.

You push out of bed, only to almost buckle onto the carpet rag-doll style. Even being torturously gentle, that man manages to make you sore. With a very, very happy groan, you hop (and wince) into some clean underwear, then traipse out into your kitchen to show that dork who’s boss.

“Dammit, Samuel, you’re not my maid—” you start to say, but of course, this is Sam, who wouldn’t miss a morning run for anything. Right. That explains your empty kitchen.

…But it’s afternoon. Sam would be back by now. Your gut prickles with a bad feeling, and you superstitiously sweep your apartment, looking for him. His clothes from last night are still sitting in your hamper, his shirt folded neatly in your dresser and his watch on your nightstand. A spike of nausea rolls through you seeing that his jacket is gone—and his boots. But his duffle—it’s. It’s still on your kitchen table. It looks a little smaller than usual, but his books and his laptop are still inside. He probably just ran out to run some silly errand for you, determined to make up for worrying you so much. Yeah.

You force your hunter’s paranoia down to a simmer, padding over to your breakfast table. There’s a big ol’ note smack dab in the center of it, perched on his half-open duffle bag, and you start to play with one of the bracelets Sam left behind as you pick it up.

You cross your fingers, smiling ear-to-ear. “C’mon. All bets on breakfast. Please be getting me breakfast, please be getting me breakfast—”

…That’s not what the note says.

You read it.

Then you read it again, and the hammer falls, crushing the breath out of you and doubling you over the kitchen table. You read the note for the third time, needing to be sure, and the thin sliver of hope you had—maybe you’d just read it wrong, m-maybe he was fine—turns to ash. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t.

You’re fighting back a surge of ugly, choking tears in an instant. He’s… Sam… he…

Your whole apartment lingers with the heat and goodness of him, like he’d been here just minutes ago. Just seconds. Even your clothes still smell like Sam. Just inhaling it tears chunks out of your reason, like—like you’d just missed him. Clawing around for something to do, you pace in a daze between your bedroom and the front door, desperate to recreate the moment you realized he was gone. You’re still just in the Stanford sweater and your underwear, but you don’t give a single shit and go careening out into the hall, stalking up and down your floor for him—because, b-because Sam wouldn’t, he wouldn’t do that to you—he would tell you first, he would never leave you in the dark like this—

…But you know Sam. And if it meant fixing his mistakes, saving you, saving everyone… Then he’d say yes in a heartbeat.

“These belong to you. You deserve a world to live in. I’m sorry - Sam.”

- tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1@lacilou@cevans-winchester @leigh70@ seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1

#uncouthspn #spn #supernatural #sam winchester #user uncouth #sam winchester x reader

1K notes · View notes

oceansblvds · 9 months

Note

You and Coryo being Academic rivals, one day you're arguing in class too much and highbottom kicks you out and tells you to figure it out and come back once the two of you finally get along - however you keep arguing until the tension is too much and you end up making out in halls of the academy. 👀 also imagine highbottom catching you and being so over it like "that's not what i meant when i told you to get along"

perhaps.... had too much fun with this LOL

warning(s): nothing rly. kissing?

you and coriolanus had never been close, you were both convinced that the only thing you had in common was where you two both stood academically. you two were both at the top of the class together, the dean even said it himself, there was no way of distinguishing who was higher than the other because of how close you two were grade wise. both of you always got essays and tests back with one hundred percents, both of you were always the last two people in the library when it was almost midnight (always on opposite sides of the room), and the both of you absolutely hated it. you both hated that you couldn't best each other. the arguing never stopped, the bickering getting on everyones nerves. some people thought that you two would be good friends if you just talked to one another, but no way, not when he was your worst enemy. or so it seemed.

it had gotten so bad that the two of you were even arguing in front of teachers. the most recent time, when everything changed, you two were arguing over something to do with calculus. you were solving complex, two variable integrals and he was committed to telling you how wrong you were about the way that you had solved it on the whiteboard. although the teacher had given the class time to solve problems with your table while she talked with the dean, who had stepped in to have a private word, their talk was interrupted when the dean told you that you two needed to take a breather, and learn how to talk to each other without ripping each other to shreds.

you were fuming, walking out of the classroom before him and stepping into the hallways. you could hear his footsteps behind you, and when you were far enough away, in a hallway that didn't have any classrooms and was instead lined with shelves of past academic pictures, you turned around. "what do you want," you asked him, standing in the middle of the hallway. coriolanus looked almost amused by how pissed off you were. "you know, you ruin everything," you said. "i've never been kicked out of a classroom before until you." your words were venom.

then he began talking. about how you drove him crazy with how smart you were, and how much you liked to rub it in his face. "i just wish that for once you could shut your fucking mouth," coriolanus said to you. he had gotten closer, his breath fanning your face as he towered over you. this close to him and you could smell the faintness of roses, you could see the smile lines on his face, the tiniest bits of freckles dotting his skin. you hated him. you hated how beautiful he was. and so, giving the faintest of a smirk, you stated, "make me."

and although what happened next was a wrong move, on both of your parts who were so keen on keeping appearances and your reputation in toe. put coriolanus grabbed your shoulder and waist, slamming you into the wall of the hallway. you didn't pull away, instead pushing your lips towards his almost as fast as he did the same thing. he muttered something about how he knew how to shut you up against your lips, barely giving you enough time to breath between heated kisses. it was rough, bruising even, like he was trying to consume your soul. his lips were so soft, pissing you off enough at their perfectness that you nipped at them, sucking the bottom one into your teeth and biting. he hissed at the feeling, pulling away for just a moment, panting, and putting his finger to his lip that had a little blood splattered on it. instead of saying something, he kissed you even harsher, tongue pressing into your mouth and slotting between your tongue and the roof of your mouth.

coriolanus' hands were in your hair, pulling it harshly down to gain better access to your lips, his other hand pressing into your hip to keep you against the wall. your hands were on his back and around his neck, fingernails scratching against his pristine skin that gave him goosebumps.

the two of you stayed like that, kissing and basically morphing into one complete enigma for who knows how long. long enough that both of you heard someone clear their throat. it was dean highbottom, looking at the two of you like you were crazy. your cheeks burned, thinking that this was it, you were going to be kicked out of school and you would never have a life ever again. instead, he just looked at the two of you for another moment as coriolanus pulled away, leaving you against the wall. "when i told you to get along . . ." dean highbottom said, turning on his heel to walk away, "that's not what i meant."

you two got detention for a week.

at least afterwards the two of you could continue to get along.

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow smut #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #tbosas #the hunger games #tom blyth #angelica talks!!

563 notes · View notes

scoobydoodean · 4 months

Note

ok so forewarning, i don’t really have a question here, just lots of thoughts.

there’s so many layers to the general *badness* about the mia vallens therapy scene. like to the manipulation (for lack of a better word) that sam rewrites. like it makes such a difference that she thinks jack is their little brother instead of the son of the thing that killed dean’s best friend/loml. not to mention the fact that it’s been what like a week since *everything*

and like yes dean’s being cold towards jack and giving him orders (which, i could argue they weren’t uncalled-for), but tbh he’s only being moderately colder/more direct with him than he’s been with cas at times on hunts (thinking hunteri heroici) and even similar to how *sam* has been with like claire and even dean himself (thinking that episode dean turned into a teenager and all of MOC). like genuinely, how was sam expecting him to act like?

also (half joking) i genuinely think dean would’ve warmed up to jack even quicker than he did (we can already see it in this same episode, like that look he gives jack when he asks mia if buddy hurt her too) if he heard jack say he hates anakin skywalker lol

ok wait i do have a question. do you think jack actually was “terrified” of dean during that therapy scene?

(post linking to some context)

Okay so I rewatched 13.01-13.04 on a plane this past week so it's all extra fresh on my mind rn. The thing about 13.04 is that Dean wasn't comfortable bringing Jack on the hunt, and Jack didn't want to go, but Sam pushed insistently for all of them to go on the hunt together... primarily because Dean's feelings were thwarting Sam's plans for Jack and his own emotional coping mechanisms in a larger sense.

I think Dean's feelings compared to Sam's here are relatively more simple (and yet somehow still intensely misunderstood to a baffling degree). Dean was grieving. He was grieving Cas who died right in front of him, he was grieving Crowley (he pleads with Chuck to bring "even Crowley" back in 13.01!) and he was grieving Mary.

The thing with Dean's grief over Cas is this: instead of viewing it from Dean's perspective, we tend to analyze it as omniscient viewers who know Cas will come back, refusing see how miraculous Cas’s return truly was. We refuse to see Cas's death was different this time and appeared very permanent. There was no uncertainty like there was in season 7 or 8. His wings burned into the ground and his grace extinguished. Dean pleaded and prayed for Cas and Mary and Crowley's return to the only person who ever brought Cas back from certain death (via explosion in 5.01 and 5.22)—the person who told Dean in 11.23 he was leaving and Dean was on his own. Dean didn't hear back. The ONLY reason Cas comes back in 13.05 is that 1) Jack woke him him up unwittingly using powers no one knew he possessed and 2) Cas then annoyed a creature they didn't even know existed into letting him out of a place they 3) didn't even know existed and 4) Cas somehow came back with a body even though he had been burned to ash. All of this is completely miraculous. It was unforeseeable. It doesn’t even make complete sense as a viewer. In other words, Dean has ZERO reason to hope for Cas's return. There was ZERO reason to refuse to acknowledge that grief… but that's exactly what Sam does. He suggests Dean pray for Chuck to bring Cas back in 13.01. As soon as Sam knew Dean already tried that and Cas was DEAD dead, he treated Cas as something Dean needed to reframe and get over:

SAM: You thinking mom is gone and Cas is gone, and that Jack can’t be saved. Dean, after everything we’ve gone through… We just lost people we love, people who have been in our lives for a long time. Everything’s upside-down. I get it. But we’ve been down before. I mean, rock bottom. And we find a way. We fix it because that’s what we do.

This is the "Pull yourself up by your bootstraps" speech in 13.02—like a day after they burned Cas's body. Sam's wording here is cruel too—saying Dean is "thinking" Cas is gone as if he didn't die right in front of him? He refuses to acknowledge Cas's death as something Dean was actively and rightfully mourning. This becomes a major point of contention between the brothers at the end of 13.03.

DEAN: Look, I know you think that you can use [Jack] as some sort of an interdimensional can-opener and that’s fine, but don’t act like you care about him! Because you only care about what he can do for you! So if you want to pretend, that’s fine! But me? I can hardly look at the kid! Because when I do all I see is everybody we’ve lost! SAM: Mom chose to take that shot at Lucifer. That is not on Jack!

Sam will only name Mary—the one person whose death they can’t 100% confirm (the same thing happens in front of Mia in 13.04). The absence of Cas’s name here is pointed. So Dean says:

DEAN: And what about Cas?

And how does Sam respond?

SAM: What about Cas?

Uh... wow. That's what really sets Dean off to full on shouting:

DEAN: [Jack] manipulated him, he made him promises, said, ‘paradise on earth’ and Cas bought it and you know what that got him? It got him dead! Now you might be able to forget about that, but I can’t!

Sam's denial of what Dean literally SAW (Cas died) and how that hurts—his insistence that Dean also halt grieving to hope for the impossible—it's a major sticking point and very revealing of Sam's own coping mechanisms. Sam's chief response to grief is to disassociate himself from it. We see a textbook case in season 8 (see: 8.08), but in most of the series, what this actually looks like for Sam is to keep moving and hunting (ex: 1.02, 2.02, 2.10, 2.11, 2.18 3.11, 4.09, 9.01) which is also why he insists on bringing Dean and Jack on the hunt in 13.04. Sam tries not to think about what they've lost and focuses on what he CAN do. He focuses on hoping Mary can be saved because she's the one person he didn't SEE die.

The thing about Dean’s grief over Mary is this: he convinces himself Lucifer had to have killed her. She's the one person whose death Dean can't be certain of, but he absolutely cannot bear the thought of hoping she’s alive and it turning out he’s wrong. He knows he wouldn’t psychologically survive hoping in that and his beliefs being crushed. It would be like losing his mom all over again (a THIRD time). So he sticks to what is most likely: Lucifer killed her. He can't contend with the hope Sam is clinging to desperately, and that's what makes them such poor companions in grief. Sam feels off balance when Dean won't keep moving and hoping like him—when Dean can't keep up the pace Sam wants to run at in his own grief—and in doing so, Sam keeps pushing Dean to contend with hopes that open Dean up to a WORLD of pain Sam can psychologically convince himself not to feel. Grieving together just really just doesn't work for them because they're never on the same page and deal in such different ways—and this has been hurting them from as early as 2.02!!!

Now to bring Jack into this more fully: Jack represents Sam and Dean's different perspectives on grief and on Mary. Just like Dean despairs over Mary's demise, Dean despairs over the possibility of Jack being good. He can't bear the idea of hoping in that and being wrong. The psychologically safest option for him is to assume the worst and not hope or believe in anything turning out okay.

Sam, on the other hand, pretty much immediately sees a way to use Jack to get Mary back. This is clear when he and Jack get locked up together in the jail cell in 13.01. After establishing that Jack isn't hearing things and (probably) isn't going to murder him imminently, Sam immediately starts down a line of questioning establishing how well Jack understands his powers, and then asks him outright:

SAM: Jack, look, um... before you were born, you -- you opened up a door to another world. Do you remember that? JACK: Yes. SAM: Okay, um, could you do that again?

Shortly after, when Sam arrives, he tells Dean (who is convinced after everything that happened in 12.23 that 12.19 that Jack is evil or will turn evil):

We need him.

Sam repeats this sentiment multiple times with clear meaning, and later in 13.04, he admits to Jack that he wants to use him to open the portal. This doesn't mean he doesn't also grow to see himself in Jack quickly and genuinely believe in his capacity for good, but he isn't fully honest with Jack about his motives until 13.04 where he finally comes clean, and this poisons the well with Jack a little.

@shallowseeker has pointed out before that in 13.03, while trying to figure out how to get Jack's powers to work (and spying on Jack through cameras from another room) Sam is seen reading "The Drama Of The Gifted Child". I wish I could find the post because Shal probably brought it up too, but when I was rewatching this episode, I noticed the chapter Sam had just settled into read before being interrupted was titled,

"Depression and Grandiosity: Two Related Forms of Denial"

Given the accusations flying from Sam toward Dean then from Dean toward Sam about denial in the following episode (13.04), this feels amusingly pointed. Dean is depressed (and about to attempt suicide in 13.05), Sam is depressed and has "grandiose" ideas of using Jack to pop open a portal to another reality while hiding behind the guise of being the most rational person in the room when he... isn't necessarily? And it's easy to argue "Well, Sam turns out to be right even if he didn't ultimately have much of a reason to think he was" but the core problem here is how his beliefs effect how he treats other people's grief. He isn't honest with Jack about his motives (while Dean is somewhat brutally honest) and pushes and watches even while claiming he's giving Jack space (13.03), he refuses to give Dean space to grieve even the family member they know is dead, he inserts a therapist into the situation and criticizes Dean's grief when Dean won't play his game, and in 13.05, after Dean says that he can't believe in anything right now, Sam's clumsy attempts at help involve plying Dean with alcohol he says he doesn't even want and trying to send him off to strip clubs—believing that Dean performing being okay will somehow address his mental state because Sam's idea of coping himself is simply "going through the motions".

As for Jack, I don't think he's scared of Dean. I think he's scared of what Dean believes. He's scared that Dean is right. From 13.01-13.06, Jack is contending with the question of whether he's destined for evil or good, and in his depressed state, Dean believes Jack is destined for evil because hoping in anything is completely beyond him at that moment. Sam tells Jack that he can be good, but he hides ulterior motives as to why he's being nice, and when those ulterior motives are revealed, it leaves Jack thinking Sam is the kind of person who will lie to Jack and tell him he's good just to get what he wants. Meanwhile, Jack knows Dean is being completely honest with him about what he believes. 13.03 and 13.04 clearly demonstrate that Jack understands the difference between beliefs and facts: Dean could be right or he could be wrong. What Jack holds onto like an anchor is that he can trust Dean to tell him the truth about what he believes—even if it hurts.

It's also just so obvious that Jack immediately wants Dean—specifically—to like him (see: Jack mimicking Dean's mannerisms while eating in 13.02, and his clumsy attempts to earn his favor in 13.04). Sam also picks up on this, and encourages Jack to seek Dean's approval in 13.04 to try and change Dean's beliefs. Sam (and to some extent Jack) are thinking in 13.04, that if Jack can prove to Dean that he can be good, and if Dean tells him he did a good job (which Dean does in the end), Jack can believe that. Sam sees that Jack wants Dean's approval and the impression that Dean's beliefs have had on Jack and thinks by pushing them together as soon as possible (when neither of them want to go on the hunt) and treating them as a family and forcing Dean to accept Jack when Dean just isn't ready (including by paralleling Jack with himself in a way that becomes an accusation), he can "fix" Jack so he isn't scared of his powers anymore (13.03) and then he can teach Jack to use his powers and Jack can open a portal to save their mom.

Jack's attempts to earn Dean's favor in 13.04 are clumsy. His first attempt is directly ignoring Dean telling him to wait in the car and sneaking into the crime scene, potentially contaminating it. At Mia's office, Jack's outburst about losing a mother is what allows Sam to set up the whole family therapy trap to begin with, and because Dean knows Sam is going to use that to hurt him, he warns Jack not to make outbursts like that. Dean is not being nice. Point blank. And I do think his tone is a little different than with Cas which in the past felt more like exasperation. I also don’t think it makes him the devil. I think that's understandable when putting in even a tiny amount of effort and it's kind of laughable to me how few people seem to even try because they're so caught up in Sam's happy family narrative and the idea that someone wanting Dean's approval presents an obligation that Dean give it no matter how emotionally impossible—and in a situation where asking him to lie would actually destroy that much more of Jack's trust.

#13.01 #13.02 #13.03 #13.04 #13.05 #dean and mary #mary #dean and jack #jack #and cas is my best friend #the flannel business #bad therapist sam #season 13 #mail #i just stopped

191 notes · View notes

spaceagebachelormann · 10 months

Note

MARS CAN I HAVE HCS FOR DOING UR MAKEUP WITH THE DUCKS <333333

PLSPSLOSLSLSLSÑSLSPSLSÑSLÑSJSLDLSJSKS ILYSM KSBDND

doing ur makeup with the ducks !

✧ warnings: none!

✧ characters included: charlie conway, adam banks, lester averman, fulton reed, connie moreau, guy germaine, julie gaffney, ken wu, dean portman, luis mendoza, dwayne robertson

✧ additional info: can be read as romantic or platonic! readers gender isn’t explicitly specified but is supposed to be fem

✧ m.list — nav.

ೃ༄ charlie conway

he’s. very interesting about it

he’ll mainly just sit and watch cause he doesn’t know what else to do but will ask questions

“omg what’s this” and it’s probably mascara

even though he’s a guy u would think he knows that

he’s not mean about it or anything, he actually asks a lot of questions because he’s genuinely interested

ೃ༄ adam banks

i have a hc he has an older sister so he actually knows what a lot of the bottles are

he’d let u test lipsticks on his arm <3

and if u wanted his honest opinion on how ur makeup looks he may or may not be able to give it 😭 but if he thinks it looks bad he’ll hesitate for like 5 mins before finally saying “you look a little crazy.. i’m sorry”

and he’d let u put some on him for funsies

ೃ༄ lester averman

he’d talk non stop the whole time u do ur makeup

it’s like 40% questions and 60% random nonsense

it’s entertaining though because he knows all the gossip and has fun facts that are actually terrifying

he’d wanna try to put makeup on u but u don’t let him cause he’ll fuck up 💕

and if u get up to go to the bathroom or just to get something u come back and bro looks like a clown

ೃ༄ fulton reed

despite the fact he’s very silly and chaotic and always has something to start yelling about he actually likes the peacefulness of when ur doing ur makeup

it’s like a little free period for him cause he can get hw done, sleep, just sit there and talk normally, etc

ofc cause he’s a Teenage Boy he’d probably make fun of u a little but he’s overall amazed by the process and how long a full face takes

and also would ask u to tell him whatever gossip yk and his responses are so funny

“so yk chelsea?—” “OHH THE ONE WHO GOT PREGNANT??? YEAHHH” “apparently the dad is j-“ “JAKE??? I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

ೃ༄ connie moreau

i feel like she’s one of those girls who only wears like mascara and lipgloss (not cause she’s a pick me but because she doesn’t know how to do anything else)

will ask u to do hers for her! and teach her how to do stuff like blush and eyeliner since she doesn’t know how but rlly wants to learn

and she also compliments ur makeup every 2 mins

“omgg u look gorgeous!” “connie babes i haven’t even put anything on yet” “and? <3”

ೃ༄ guy germaine

says things like “you look so pretty” or “that looks so cool? omg?” every 2 seconds

he genuinely thinks ur the greatest at doing makeup

and he also let’s u test lipsticks on his arm

i feel like he’d ask u to put eyeliner on him just cause he wants to see what it looks like on him <3

also his hands are probably really steady for some reason?? so if u have shaky hands hed help u put stuff on

ೃ༄ julie gaffney

100% curls ur lashes for u if ur also terrified of the lash curler

does hers with u even though she doesn’t rlly use concealer and foundation and skin stuff cause she washes her face every day <3

but she’d know how to use literally everything and is fucking amazing at it and can help u with whatever u want

would ask u to help her choose colours if she decides to have colourful eyeshadow

let’s u paint her nails <3

ೃ༄ ken wu

i’m ngl he probably just sits there and watches

probably uses the time to just talk about whatever

and if y’all have classes together he asks for help with hw 😭

“so what’s number 4 again??” “oh it’s 13 over 6” “ty!!”

he’d also start organizing ur makeup for funsies and brings u snacks and water if he gets bored

ೃ༄ dean portman

will look through literally all ur makeup for funsies

and also asks a shit ton of questions

would probably say “that’s so girly 😹🫵” as a joke but he’s actually rlly intrigued and likes watching u do it

hands u whatever u need but u probably have to explain it to him and he grabs it at the last second to be a bitch

“can u hand me the lash curler?” “the what” “that curvy thing that looks like a little science tool” “wtf r u talking about” “oh my god let me—“ “OHHH U MEAN THIS”

sometimes he actually has no idea wtf u mean though

ೃ༄ luis mendoza

knows what everything is cause as we all know this MAN WHORE has had like 400 gfs

would suggest different lip colours to do

will 100% rizz u up while ur putting on lip gloss or lipstick

“i like that colour, u should kiss me so we can both have it” “that wasn’t smooth at all”

he also makes jokes like the little comedian he is (compares random people to random shit)

ೃ༄ dwayne robertson

he’s like adam but more talkative

would try to guess what everything is used for and like very rarely gets it right

but when he does he gets so excited

he’d do ur hair while u do ur makeup so u don’t have to after

WOULD PLAY COUNTRY MUSIC IN THE BG.

#lizorious meow meow 🤍🤍🤍#mars silly little mutuals <3 #the mighty ducks #tmd #charlie conway #adam banks #lester averman #fulton reed #connie moreau #guy germaine #julie gaffney #ken wu #kenny wu #dean portman #luis mendoza #dwayne robertson #tmd x reader #the mighty ducks x reader

427 notes · View notes

river13245 · 8 months

Text

They React To You Being Asexual

Dean, Sam, Castiel, Crowley, Rowena, Lucifer

(this is going to be a thing that I do regularly so request)

Dean Winchester

The both of you have been dating for almost a month now. You weren't oblivious to the fact that Dean was a very touchy guy. He would go to bars and pick up women all the time before you came around. Maybe that's why you had a pit in your stomach. You go to dean who was in the main room of the bunker and ask dean if you could talk to him in private.

He gets up and walks into your guys's room. "what's going on. Something happen?" he asks and you shake your head. "no not yet. Uh I just thought I should tell you something" He sits down on the bed and looks at you. :alright what's going on?" you take a deep breath in and speak all in one breath "Im asexual. I know that you like sex which is not a fault but I just know i'm not going to be able to give that to you"

He asks you to explain it to him and when you do he nods and its quiet for a moment before he speaks. "babe this isn't going to change anything between us. You don't want sex. that's fine i can take care of myself if i need to. Don't feel bad" when you sit beside him hs places his hand on your thigh and you rest your head on his shoulder.

Sam winchester

Your boyfriend was sitting on the bed reading when you entered the room. He looked so nice in the sweatshirt and sweatpants he was wearing. You were taking a moment to think about how you wanted to tell him that you were asexual.

Sam had never once made you feel as if you had to do anything you didn't want to do. If anything he was always cautious for first moves. your first kiss he leaned in slowly, making you close the gap. He also never really asked or initiated for the both of you to go any further beyond just kissing and cuddling. You had a feeling he knew which made you less nervous. "whets going on in that head of yours" he asks as he looks over at you.

You sit onto the bed beside him. "there's something I need to tell you" he puts his book down to give you his full attention before nodding. You take a breath before saying calmly "i'm asexual. I don't ever want to have sex with you. I should have told you sooner and i'm so sorry I didnt i was just waiting for the right time an-" You stop speaking because sam has placed both of his hands on the sides of your face and kisses your lips. "its okay honey, I have had a feeling that you might be and I still love you either way. Plus i have a lower sex drive than most people so you dont have to worry with me okay?" You nod and you cuddle up against him as he reads a little while longer.

Castiel

You were sitting on your bed just thinking about how you were to tell your boyfriend that you were asexual. Your boyfriend had never really said anything about wanting sex or anything like that but it still made you nervous. You knew Castiel wouldn't break up with you because of it. So once you calmed yourself down a bit you prayed for him. "castiel I need to speak with you"

Wasnt even 2 minutes later and hes standing in front of you. "Theres something on your mind?" he asks and you nod. "yes there is. I just needed to tell you that if we are going to continue our relationship..there will be no sexual acts. Kissing and everything is fine but just not sex."

He looks at you for a moment before he takes your hand in his "That is perfectly fine. Angels dont need to have sex." you lean in and kiss his cheek and hug him

Crowley

Crowley had been in one of his moods today. Your boyfriend was a very moody person. One thing could piss him off so because of this you were not looking forward to telling him about the fact that you are asexual. In fact you were thinking about not telling him. Not for a while anyways.

However when he walked into the room he could see the way you didnt come up to him to welcome him back like you always did. So he crossed his arms and looked at you. "what" you asked as you looked up at him. "What is going on? You arent acting normal" this caused you to roll your eyes at him. "when have I ever been normal" he shrugs but doesn't say anything else which makes you sigh.

You laid down onto the big bed you two shared. "Crowley I am asexual. That's why I haven't made a move to do anything more than kissing" He uncrossed his arms and lays down beside you. "really that's what's got you so weird?" nodding in response he rolls his eyes. "I'm a demon and have lived much longer than you have. You being asexual is the least of my problems. I want to be with you either way"

Rowena

Rowena was doing some of her witchy stuff looking beautiful while she focused. You knew you shouldn't interrupt her but this was eating you alive. Your friends had been talking about their partners and how they were great in bed and everything else. You loved your friends of course but its started to eat away at you. That you couldnt and wouldnt give that to Rowena.

She was a woman and many women want that part of the relationship. That kind if intimacy and you were feeling awful about it. Rowena deserved an explanation so before you could talk yourself out of it you walked up to the table and took a seat. "Rowena Love" She looked up at you and when she noticed how you looked she stopped what she was doing. "what's wrong dear"

You let out a long sigh before explaining to her about what you and your friends were talking about and then you pause for a moment before speaking again. "I know that you probably want that and I cant give it to you. How could you possibly be happy like this" She places both her hands on the sides of your cheeks and kisses your forehead then your lips. "I am happy with you. There has not been a moment where I doubted us or my feelings for you. You are the one that I want to be with for the rest of our time here" She pulls you into a soft hug

Lucifer

You had just walked back into your home and Your partner was sitting on his chair that he had claimed as like his "throne". He had been talking to a few other demons that worked for him and so you tried to walk quickly past them but he made you stop. "where do you think your going?" he wasn't angry he was just confused because you usually greet him when you come back home. You look at him "i'm going to our bedroom"

He could tell by the tone of your voice and your body language that something was wrong. So he quickly made the demons leave before turning to look back at you. "come here" you walked closer to him and he looked at you sitting up more on his chair. "what happened while you were out?" He was very protective over you and it was written all over his face. You knew he was going to find out anyways so you begin to tell him.

You tell him about how your friends were asking about how you and your boyfriend was. Asking how the sex is going etc etc. Lucifer nodded and was actually letting you finish speaking. "when I told them that. We don't have sex because i'm asexual they started judging me and everything." He almost speaks up but you cut him off "why do you stay with me. Lucifer I know that you have had many demons and even other angels in your bed before. Why stay with the one who cant give you what you need"

Lucifer looks at you as if you just said something in a language he didn't understand. He uses his power to bring you closer to him and then he stops and holds his arms out for you. Silently telling you to sit with him and so you do. You sit on his lap and rest your head on his shoulder. "I may have had others share a bed with me. But none of them have had such a emotional hold on me before. You are the one that i fell in love with. Don't ever doubt me or my feelings towards you." he says the last part with such a serious tone and all you can do is nod and let him hold you.

312 notes · View notes

thebiggerbear · 4 months

Text

Call My Name - One - Phase One Is A Go

Summary: And so begins Phase 1.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Female!Reader

A/N: Ahhhh I'm so excited to take this journey with you guys. I've been working on it for forever!!! I really hope you like it. It has been so much fun to write!!!

I have to be honest, I'm still learning all the ins and outs of posting fanfic on here and what that entails so I want to say up front that this is a sort of dark fic but not completely? Without giving anything away, there will be some dark elements. I will absolutely put those warning when that chapter happens but I just want to give you guys a heads up early on in case.

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Songs for chapter (also listened to while writing): Prison Fight - Tyler Bates; Run For Your Life - The Siege

Series Masterlist

Warnings: sanctioned assassination; violence/blood; implied gore/death/murder; Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy; language; implied sexual imagery; hints of manipulation

Word Count: 8515

Series Taglist: @mostlymarvelgirl; @deangirl96; @avada-kedavra-bitch-187; @ej13928; @rieleatiel

SB Taglist: @deans-spinster-witch; @birdiellie; @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith; @muhahaha303; @just-levyy; @solacedthistest; @deansimpala; @foxyjwls007; @onlyangel-444

Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

Some days were tough. Some days were harder than most. But here you were, getting through each day with only one goal in mind. Everything you did, every decision you made, every breath you took — it was all leading towards one specific objective.

And that’s why you were here now, at a black op CIA site, watching as they pulled a comatose Soldier Boy out of containment.

“Are you sure about this?” Grace Mallory asked as you both stared down from the observation deck at Vought’s original Supe they had cooked up. It wasn’t too often that Grace showed her soft side; most didn’t even know she had one actually. But right now, out of the corner of your eye, you could see concern mixed with understanding topped off with a bit of careful hesitation. While you hated the concern and appreciated the understanding, you couldn’t blame her on the hesitation. Soldier Boy was basically a nuclear reactor in human form and he hadn’t gone down under the best circumstances, which was putting it lightly. Not only did he not want to go back under for another deep sleep, but Butcher and his team would be in his sights now. And based on what he did to the last team who betrayed him, you all were in for a shitstorm.

You knew this was a terrible idea, that you could very likely die before achieving your goal and you could bring hundreds if not thousands of people with you if you weren’t careful. But you were out of options and just like Butcher and company had arrived at the same decision some months earlier, you had chosen to unearth the strongest weapon you had in your arsenal in the battle between Supes and humans.

Grace had fought you on it of course. The government had strongly agreed with her assessment; Soldier Boy was too much of a risk to allow him to gain consciousness never mind walk around free. And yet they had no answer when you questioned why they didn’t just destroy him and end it, making the world that much safer. You knew why; they wanted to be in possession of that power, that weapon deep within the Supe’s chest. And that you could work with.

The older woman already knew your backstory and when you pressed the right buttons, backed by Butcher of all people, eventually she came around. You had no idea who she spoke to or what favors she had called in, but sure enough, your mission was greenlit with barely any resistance though a ton of uneasiness. Not unexpected and not entirely unfathomable. Funnily enough, President Singer was kept in the dark on this one; he was too close to Vought and by extension, Homelander and Victoria Neuman. You didn’t exactly mind. It was better for you and the mission as a whole if no one knew that Soldier Boy was still alive. How Grace managed to keep his existence under wraps for all of this time, you had no idea, but you were grateful she was on your side. So when you got the go ahead, you and Butcher took the win and hightailed it to the CIA facility before anyone could change their minds, or worse, figure out what you were up to and try to stop you.

There were stipulations as you figured there would be: daily briefings, a carefully selected unit of CIA under Grace’s command would be monitoring your every move closely, they reserved the right to pull the plug at any time and put Soldier Boy back into containment, and while you were in charge of the op, Butcher was who you had to answer to in Grace’s absence. That definitely set your teeth on edge. You and Butcher had different ideas on how to get things done, but you reminded yourself that you both had the same goal and that was all that really mattered. So you begrudgingly agreed and now here you were ordering the staff to begin the process of waking the original Supe up.

You watched as two men in Hazmat suits appeared to be choosing who would pull the figurative straw. You rolled your eyes; they were wasting time. Before you could hit a button and bark out an order, the one on your right seemed to be the one who had lost and warily approached Soldier Boy to remove his mask, practically darting away once he was finished. The staffer on the left was holding a radiation meter in his hand. From your viewpoint, you could see the levels slowly begin to rise. Sure enough, when you flicked your eyes over to the Supe, you could see movement underneath his eyelids, as if he were having an intense dream.

Grace saw it, too, and she ordered the two men out at once. There was no hesitation in following her command. Once they were out, Grace nodded to the staffer on her other side and he stayed at the ready, finger hovering over a button that you assumed would flood the room with Novichok gas within seconds if needed. Another employee darkened the windows in front of you. You could still see out but Soldier Boy wouldn’t be able to see in. A switch was flipped somewhere and the lights went down. The backup power source came on and the room was flooded with a red halo from the emergency lights. An alarm started to sound throughout the facility, as if someone had infiltrated the building, but everyone’s lack of movement and surprise confirmed there were no intruders. Instead, everyone’s focus was on the Supe who was going to open his eyes at any second.

Grace turned back to you. “Are you ready for this?”

You grabbed the gas mask that had been given to you as a contingency. “Butcher and his team ready?”

“Ready and standing by,” someone informed you both.

You gave Grace a nod and turned to leave the room.

“Hey,” she called, stopping you in your tracks. You glanced back over your shoulder to see that concern again, this time framed by the cold steel you’d gotten to know over the last few months. “If it looks like it’s not going to happen…” She let her warning trail off; both of you knew what would happen if things started to go sideways. She’d do her best to get you out before you got killed, but there was a high chance it wouldn’t happen. Then you’d be sealed in with a live nuclear reactor and that would be the end of you, and all of that would be before Soldier Boy could choose to unleash any of his wrath on you.

Giving a curt nod, you swiveled your head back in the direction you were headed in, determination filling your veins no matter the outcome. People cleared the path for you, fear plain as day on their faces. Not fear of you or even for you, but fear of what lay beyond in that chamber. Fear of what you had lobbied hard for to be woken up that would have been better left sleeping, for all eternity if some of them had their way. You didn’t pay them any mind and held your head up higher, a familiar blanket of cold indifference settling over you. You ignored their terrified gasps as you pulled one of your swords out of its sheath and headed for the open door. Once you were past it, after a few feet, you stopped right before the entrance to what could very well be your death, ignoring the sound of the door sealing shut behind you.

You waited to be confronted by a group that had been specifically chosen for this op by Grace and Butcher. You could hear them approaching, talking low amongst themselves and trying to formulate a plan, which from some of their tones you could tell it wouldn’t hold up very well and not even that long even if you weren’t there to stop them. Sure enough, as you knew would happen with a few more footsteps, they rounded the corner, looking for an exit, only to find you.

The group of men had been dressed as security for the facility and the six of them varied in size. The one in front, a big burly guy who appeared to have declared himself as leader, sneered over at you. “Well, what do we have here?”

The way he looked at you, the vibe coming off of him as well as a few of the others… They had been chosen well; you could already feel the urge to wipe them off the map radiating throughout your body. Your thoughts were running rampant and as one of them leered, you could sense an all-too familiar rage attempting to burn brightly within you that you then masterfully directed throughout your body.

You swung your sword in your hand and tensed, getting ready.

The leader laughed, turned to the other five, and ordered, “Get the bitch.”

The corner of your lips lifted in response. This was going to be a fun little workout for you that you could get in right before facing off with the final boss. Three men came charging at you and your sword flew with incredible precision as you spun in a dance you’d practiced a thousand times during training. You sliced open one and cut the other’s throat before either of them could even dream of laying a hand on you. When the third came closer, you made short work of him, and as you were about to injure the leader, he took one of the other two that had been hesitant to engage you, practically cowering, and used him as a human shield. He shoved the lanky man forward, right into your sword. You left it there and pulled your other one, kicking the dying man to the side. The sixth man cursed out loud and began running in the other direction. You pulled one of your knives from your belt and sent it careening into the back of his head, making him fall flat on his face. You then turned towards the one you had purposely saved for last.

“You fucking bitch,” he hissed. “You want some of this? Then come get it!” He pulled your sword out of the guy he’d thrust onto it and began trying to swing at you. You effortlessly dodged each of his blows and you waited for him to lose energy. He wasn’t even worth parrying with. Sure enough, when you saw the arc of his arm begin to slow down, you made your move. You avoided the blade coming for your torso by dropping to your knees and sliding over to him and cutting into his side with your sword. Your movement propelled you forward, cutting deeply, and he let out the loudest yell you’d heard yet. He pathetically tried to point the sword in your direction but you easily sidestepped the movement, watching him begin to bleed everywhere.

He tried to weakly lift the weapon once more as he held a hand over his gaping wound but you stopped him by bringing your blade down on his arm, effectively removing the limb and forcing him to scream out in pain again. It was like music to your ears and you stood there before him, glaring down at the piece of shit who didn’t deserve to be alive to even have come across you. You had a sneaky suspicion that Grace had chosen this one.

“Now you know what they felt,” you snarled quietly.

He scowled back at you and spit blood in your direction, with you stepping back to avoid the spray. “Fuck you, you dumb bitch! Just like all the rest!”

You gave him a nod and lifted your sword, his eyes slightly going wide at the sight. “Like all the rest,” you echoed and brought the blade down, hard.

Though his screams turned piercing, you took him apart piece by piece within seconds, making sure he felt everything before you finally ended him. It was more mercy than he deserved. He was worse than all of the others combined, not that they were angels themselves. Blood coated you and both swords so you used one of the others’ shirts to wipe the red stains from one of the blades. You pushed it into its sheath on your back once you were finished and held the other aloft as you pulled out the security key card Grace had given you. You could hear Soldier Boy’s breathing increase and you knew you had to get into his room and fast.

You made your way to the control panel on the left side of the doors, scanned the card, and tossed it once the green light appeared. The tell-tale sound of the doors opening sounded and you readied yourself, sword in hand.

Once the doors had pulled aside and a low level of smoke cleared which you suspected was gas (perhaps Grace had to keep him subdued while you were meting out justice on that asshole), you saw exactly what you had come for.

There stood Soldier Boy, glaring at you, his chest rising and falling, his hands in fists. Obviously, having just woken up and gotten to his feet, he was still a bit disoriented but not enough that you could take him by surprise and win. You could also see a sheen of yellow beginning to form in the center of his figure and you knew you only had seconds.

You stepped into the room, knowing there was no going back now and that Grace was watching every move from behind the dark glass. The yellow glow started to manifest and you took a quiet breath in. His eyes narrowed and he moved to face off with you, his right fist clenching harder.

You held up your free hand. “I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to break you out.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “You’re with the Reds, aren’t you? You Commie motherfuckers expect me to believe that again?” He roared with a rasp, the color of the light in his chest turning from yellow to a luminous gold with a pinkish haze.

You lifted your sword and placed it into the other waiting sheath on your back. At the action, Soldier Boy tensed further and took a step towards you.

You raised your other hand. “I’m not here to harm you.” He eyed you sharply, disbelief all over his face. “We’re not in Russia. We’re in the US, in upstate New York, at a black op CIA facility. You’ve been here for the past six months and I’m here to get you out.”

His expression didn’t change. “Why?”

“We can talk about it later. Right now, we—”

“Why?” The Supe yelled, fury lacing his tone, and the gold light got even brighter.

Gas suddenly began to flow into the room from vents in the ceiling and another loud alarm sounded, one you hadn’t heard yet. Shit. Grace was getting ready to lock it down. You’d had your shot and it hadn’t worked. You literally had one minute to get the hell out of there. But you were nothing if not stubborn and determined to see this through.

You pulled the gas mask from underneath your thin coat and held it up for him to see. You tossed it over at him and he caught it just like you hoped he would. His eyes snapped up at you, distrust and anger still clearly in his green gaze. You really couldn’t blame him but right now, you didn’t have the time.

“Like I said, I’m here to help. We don’t have time for me to explain right now. So unless you want to go back on ice…” You nodded your head towards the billowing gas making its way rapidly down to him. He glanced back in the direction you indicated and he cursed, quickly slipping the mask on. You noticed the light in his chest didn’t get any brighter but that didn’t mean he wasn’t locked and loaded, able to go off at any moment.

He met your eyes again and you inclined your head back towards the doors that were just beginning to close. “I suggest you come with me,” you threw at him and then spun on your heel, making your way out of the room. You walked a few feet and stopped, glancing back over your shoulder, hoping like hell he would follow you.

Right before the doors could close the last few feet, Soldier Boy slipped past them and came to a stop in front of you. He yanked the gas mask off but held onto it, breathing deeply of the clean air. You had made it out of the room, gotten him out of it — you’d survived the first phase of the plan and now you just needed to get through the next.

His eyes roamed over the remnants of the scene you both were standing in, seeing the bodies and blood everywhere, and landed on the mask in his hand. His gaze snapped up to you and his expression hardened, his tone dark and dangerous. “Why are you helping me?”

“Because,” you took a step towards him, staring into his eyes, pretending not to notice him tense in preparation for a fight. “I need your help.”

He huffed out a chuckle that was lacking any amusement. “Always a fucking catch. What do you want?”

You took another step towards him and you observed his jaw tightening. “We can talk about it later but right now, we really need to keep m—”

“What do you want?” He repeated.

“I need your help to take someone out.”

“Based on your handiwork,” He gestured to the scene around you with a hand. “I’d say you don’t need any help there, doll.”

Your own jaw clenched. “It’s a Supe.”

His eyes flashed and you knew that he was now aware of just who you were talking about. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together, you knew that. There was only one Supe in existence that Soldier Boy had been made to go up against before; the only one that had been as strong as him and he had been evenly matched with; the only one that he would be woken out of a Novichok coma like King Kong and sent to go fight Godzilla. “Homelander,” he spoke through gritted teeth.

You gave a nod of confirmation.

He watched you for a moment and then scrubbed a hand at his jaw. “Why the fuck would I help you?”

You lifted your chin. “He’s always been a problem but he’s only gotten more dangerous and more unstable since you were put under.”

“Not my problem.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes but trying to keep the rage boiling within you in check. “Actually, it is your problem. He wouldn’t even exist if you hadn’t given Vogelbaum a sample of your DNA to work with.”

He approached you quickly, the fury radiating off of him and the rose gold pulsing in his chest. You stood your ground. “I didn’t know that Vought would make a fucking kid with it!” He roared.

You wanted to ask just what he thought the mad doctor would do with his sperm but you kept that thought to yourself, knowing this wasn’t the time. You never broke eye contact and you watched as he panted harshly, his hands in fists again, the gas mask dangling from one. You remained quiet, waiting to see what would transpire. One wrong move here and you’d be toast, gone before you could even begin the most important mission of your life. One you were determined to see through no matter the cost.

Seeing that you weren’t going to respond or react in any way, the gold light dimmed slightly and his hands slowly relaxed. “I didn’t ask for them to betray me and hand me over to the Reds where I was tortured every goddamn day for years. I didn’t ask for them to whip up some wannabe replacement behind my back. I didn’t ask to be forgotten,” he hissed.

You were a little surprised when you noticed the hurt and betrayal shadowing his gaze, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. You watched as he turned to glance behind him, presumably to glare back at the room he’d been held in. But you knew he was also attempting to mask the tiny piece of vulnerability that had unexpectedly come through. You’d seen the videos of the torture he’d endured back in Russia, read his file back to back, sat through his crappy films, and you’d been fully briefed by Grace, Butcher, and the rest of the team who had exclusive dealings with him the first time he’d returned to the States six months ago. You’d also delved deep into Payback’s history and studied up on each and every one of its members. You knew about his PTSD, how he tended to self-medicate with booze, drugs, and women though he was in denial about having the disorder. You also knew that while some of his toxic beliefs and archaic attitudes were still in place, he was not entirely the same person he’d been before he was strapped to a table and Russian scientists proceeded to check off a list of several hundred different ways to try to kill him. The cocky swagger that had come so naturally to him before that was no longer the real deal. If anything, he overcompensated to try to make people believe he was the same Supe he’d been and just as dangerous as ever, with the added bonus of a nuclear threat sitting inside his chest.

“Maybe not,” you agreed quietly. He turned back towards you. “I can make it worth your while.”

A sly smile began to form on his face as his gaze roved over you. “Appreciate the offer, sweetheart, but you’re not my type. I like ‘em a little older. Although, I will say the swords and the blood, you walking in there like some goddamn avenging angel…kinda hot.”

You fought not to roll your eyes. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Well then, unless you’ve got some fucktastic pussy waiting for me to wreck it along with some Bennies and grade A reefer, we’ve got nothing to talk about.” He lifted the mask up in a gesture of thanks and turned to slip down the hallway past you.

Watching him step barefoot in the blood, you waited until he had made it a few feet before saying, “Your freedom.”

He froze at that, turning his head slightly to the side, listening.

You walked up to him, only stopping a foot or so away. “You help me with Homelander, and you get your freedom. No more Vought, no more government, no more pulling of your strings. You’ll be free.”

He slowly turned to face you, his expression hardened though you didn’t miss the tiny glimmer of hope carefully hidden away in his gaze. “Bullshit. You don’t have that kind of pull no matter how you found me and got me out.”

“You’re right, I don’t. Grace Mallory does.”

“Who the fuck is Grace Mallory?”

You took a step closer, noting how this time he didn’t tense in preparation. In his mind, he had already dismissed you as someone he needed to worry about. While that was a good development for your plan, it irked you a little. You may not be Homelander, but you were certainly no weakling. And with this guy, guaranteed he automatically dismissed you as a threat because he saw you as weaker than him, and also because you were a woman. “Someone who does have that kind of pull.” You took yet another step towards him, confirming your theory when he only glared down at you. “You should know, you’ve met her before.”

At his knitted brow, you supplied, “Nicaragua, 1984.”

You watched as he searched through his memories, realization dawning on his features when he found the right one, his brows arching in slight surprise. “Captain Lesbo?”

You gave him a scowl that would have made a lesser man curl up in a ball. Grace and Hughie had warned you about his outdated and toxic takes on the world around him.

That sly smile was back on his face. “She was gorgeous back then. I bet she’s aged like a real fine wine by now.” His tongue ran along his bottom lip and you felt queasy at his obvious lustful thoughts of the older woman. Right. Butcher and Hughie had given you a heads up on that, too.

Before he could get too lost in that fantasy, you made sure to interrupt with “She’s got the pull. So, are you in?”

He eyed you sharply, thinking over the offer. You also knew that he was thinking over how to secure the freedom you had dangled in front of him without having to deal with you or Grace. The sound of approaching security had you both snapping your gazes towards the noise. This was a group you couldn’t dispatch as easily as you had the first considering they were the real deal. Well, you could but you wouldn’t. You snuck a glance at his chest, seeing the gold beginning to shimmer underneath his skin once more. You had to get him out of here before the guards showed up.

He glanced back at you. “What do you get out of this?”

“I told you. Homelander dead.”

“No,” he ground out, taking a step towards you, his eyes burning into you and the light in his chest shining a golden halo on your face from his close proximity. This time, you were the one tensing, preparing to defend yourself. “What do you get?”

“My freedom as well,” you informed him, never breaking eye contact or stepping away. You were telling him the truth. Once the strongest Supe on the planet was no more, you would be free, in a way. He didn’t need to know how, though.

His eyes roved over you and he let out a disgusted huff. “You’re a Supe.”

You didn’t respond; you didn’t need to. “So, do we have a deal?” You both could hear the men getting closer. “Tick tock,” you reminded him.

The anger never faded from his expression but the light in his chest began to grow a little brighter. “How about I blow this place to hell instead and you come with me? I could do with a little entertainment after being locked away in this shithole.” He let his gaze roam over you appreciatively and you could see just what kind of entertainment he had in mind.

You squared your jaw, not at all in the mood for his womanizing machismo bullshit. “If you blow this place up, the deal is off the table. Mallory won’t stand for it and considering my freedom is on the line, neither will I. I don’t need a bunch of CIA crawling up my ass while I go after Soldier Boy Junior. As for entertainment, now’s a good time for you to get reacquainted with your right hand because there’s no way you’re getting any of that from me,” you snarled. “So either take the deal or I leave you to be hunted down by every single agency and military across the globe once word gets out that you’re still alive. And it will get out.”

You both continued glaring at one another but he didn’t say a word. The men were getting closer.

“Best of luck with that,” you snapped, and turned to slip past him, intent on leaving him behind. Your anger wasn’t feigned; you were pissed. You knew he would be stubborn, mistrustful even, given what he’d been through, but this was just beyond irritating. You didn’t have time to stop and hammer out details; you were now on the run for Christ’s sake.

You headed in the opposite direction of the guards, pulling one of your swords, readying yourself for the sprint to the exit you’d planned for. Grace must be pissing her pants right about now; she’d given you both plenty of time to get out of the building. And if she was pissing her pants, you knew Butcher and his team were crapping theirs. Soldier Boy was awake and now it was up to Grace and the CIA to put him back under, your plan a complete failure. It wasn’t your fault that the Supe was indeed the most idiotic one as Grace had stated him to be. You’d given it your best shot.

You surged forward, planning to keep casualties as low as possible should you come across anyone. A hand gripped your shoulder, hard, and turned you to face one very pissed off Soldier Boy. You got ready to start the battle of your life, knowing you were most likely going to lose, but you stopped when you noticed his chest was no longer glowing.

“You got a way out of here?”

You arched a brow up at him. “You’re taking the deal?”

He snorted and released you, his eyes flicking back towards the opposite end of the hallway you were in before returning to you. “You get us out of here, get me some food and the shit I ask for, and we’ll talk.”

“No deal, no dice.”

You went to move past him when he stopped you again, his hand gripping your upper arm. You could feel the superior strength behind it; if he wanted to, he could snap your arm like a twig, exerting very little pressure. But thankfully, he seemed more focused on getting you to listen to him rather than harming you. “You want me to help you kill Homelander?” At your nod, he let out an angry breath. “Done. I would have hunted down that sniveling pussy on my own, anyway. But after you give me what I just asked for. And then I get my freedom,” he dictated.

“We both do,” you tacked on, still shocked that you had managed to get him to agree.

His eyes roamed over your face and then he gave you a nod, letting you go. “So which way to the fucking exit?”

Just then, the guards broke through the door and spilled out into the hallway, spotting you and shouting at one another to take you both down. Soldier Boy turned a ferocious glare on them and began to step around you to take them on when you grabbed his bicep. The action prompted him to glance down at your hand, his gaze then lifting to yours. “This way,” you urged, and began to run. Thankfully, he fell in step right behind you. Bullets were suddenly being fired in your direction and you had to practically fly out of there. Those bullets might ricochet off Soldier Boy but they wouldn’t bounce so easily off of you.

As you were passing a small vehicle that you’d seen security guards traversing in on your last visit, he picked it up and launched it at the guards pursuing you. You heard the sickening sounds of machinery crunching flesh and you could only hope no one had died or had life threatening injuries. Instead, all you could manage to do now was to distract the Supe and get him out of there.

“Through here,” you called back to him. Relief pooled in your chest when you glanced back to find his attention on you. He hurried over towards you and you punched in the code Grace had given you to memorize. The door opened and you ducked as you pushed past it, hearing the sounds of more bullets flying your way. Soldier Boy was right behind you and you hit the button to close the door. Once it was shut you used your strength to punch the control panel and destroy it so the guards couldn’t follow.

You turned to find Soldier Boy’s brows arched at you in surprise before a leering smirk appeared on his face. “Well, that answers that.”

You let out a quiet scoff and slipped your sword back into the empty sheath on your back. “Like I said, that’s not happening.”

“A shame,” he practically purred at you, amusement clear as day in his eyes alongside a fire you hadn’t seen there before. It became quickly apparent just what that fire was. The image of you both tangled up in one another, the blood still on your skin, and him slamming into you up against the walls of the hallway you were now in made the queasiness from earlier reappear. It got even worse when the image transformed into one of you emerging into the room he’d been held in and him taking you right on the gurney he’d been laid out on, neither of you caring who showed up, who watched, or who ended up dying when he was finished. The queasiness had become full blown nausea at this point, and you forced it back down. You had a job to do after all.

You ignored his eyes roaming over your body and lifted your chin. “Time to go.”

You marched past him and continued on the route you and Grace had planned. Thankfully, he followed and the images began to peter out the closer you got to the outside. You were beyond grateful for that; you could only see his face contorted in pleasure as he rutted into you so many times before you would actually throw up. Not for the first time since you’d been turned, you cursed this gift you had been given.

“I take it Captain Lesbo gave you the code back there?” He asked.

“Who do you think told me where to find you?” You countered.

You led the way through another tunnel until you came to a heavy door that supposedly led to the parking lot outside. You yanked out both swords, pulled your hood up, and flicked your gaze over to the Supe. “Ready?”

You watched as his hands clenched into fists once more. “Lead the way.”

You tested the door. It swung open and suddenly both of you were engulfed in the bright light of the sun. You scanned the parking lot when you noticed the office supplies van parked about three hundred feet away, right where Grace said it would be. “It’s a short run but we’ve got to make it fast. She’ll only be able to get us a blind spot from the cameras for a few minutes. We’re headed for that van over there.” You gestured in the vehicle’s direction. “So when I say go, we run like hell.”

The man gave you a curt nod and held a hand over his eyes, looking over the lot as well.

You waited, tensed and prepared for a fight, hoping it wouldn’t be a long one. Grace should have eyes on you by now and Team B should be ready to engage you the moment you both stepped out further. You really wished you had an earpiece for this part but due to Soldier Boy’s extra sharp hearing, it had been decided across the board that it was too much to risk. You would just have to keep trusting in the timing of the plan you had come up with. You could hear the rumbling of a motor coming closer, picking up speed and gaining momentum. You held up a hand near the Supe and began to manually count down from 5.

A box truck was about to pass by as you got to 2, signaling to you that Phase 3 was a go, when suddenly everything went to hell. Soldier Boy stepped out in front of the vehicle, unflinching as it made impact with his body. To your absolute amazement, you silently watched as his feet stayed stationary and the truck began to wrap itself around the Supe, the object needing to go somewhere, and split right down the middle. You could hear the loud screeching of the metal and the terrified yell of the driver before it was abruptly cut off. Your brain barely had time to process what you were seeing when Soldier Boy picked up one half of the sliced truck and launched it in the air as if it were a football. It was aimed at a location where you knew reinforcements were waiting to rush out and engage you from. You heard the tell-tale screams and ensuing splat. Mallory was going to be pissed.

The Supe then turned a glower back onto you. “No need to run now.” You could see that though he had been attracted to you a few minutes ago, had mostly agreed to your deal, and you had broken him out, he still didn’t trust you completely. You could understand that, respect it even. But you couldn’t have him going off script like this if your plan was to succeed. And the plan could not fail. Something you would make clear to him once you were both far away from here.

Truthfully, you should have anticipated something like this. Soldier Boy was volatile, unpredictable at best, but once you had gotten him to switch off the nuke in his chest, you had naively thought you could get him out with a low body count. That certainly wasn’t the case now. You were grateful that you were already mid-op because you knew if you weren’t, Mallory would have immediately shut you down. No way in hell was that happening.

That last thought spurred you into action. You nodded and sheathed both of your swords, heading towards the van. A strong hand on your shoulder stopped you.

“Choose something else,” he ordered.

You shot him an irritated glare. “That’s the vehicle they have set up for us. Which means there’s keys, gas — the works.”

“It also means they can track us.” You were slightly surprised but you kept it off of your features. “Butcher and his cumguzzler thought I wasn’t listening to their bitchfests when they were tracking down my old team for me.” His eyes snapped to yours. “I was.”

Of course he had been. You could see now that this was something everyone had missed when dealing with him in the past, his most recent foray into the modern world included. Butcher and his team had been so focused on the danger the Supe presented and his lethality, that they hadn’t realized just how closely he had been listening and watching. Several examples of this behavior flickered through his mind quickly and you saw every single one which had always turned things to his advantage while turning badly (sometimes deadly) for others. Butcher and Hughie had easily dismissed him as a fossil who didn’t know what a smartphone was. Even Mallory had said he was the most idiotic of all the Supes to ever exist. And he had let them. He let them think he was the Soldier Boy they had seen on their TV screens once upon a time, in old newspaper clippings, and what had been jotted down in his file over the years he had been active with Vought: the public persona and the demanding celebrity personality behind all of that. But this Soldier Boy…this one was far more clever, calculating, and you knew then that this was where the real danger resided. A quick flash of a woman you recognized as Crimson Countess bound to a chair in a double wide followed by an explosion and another image of her charred corpse afterwards confirmed your suspicions.

Right now, any other person having realized what you just did, they might have turned back. Or they would get him to the next location and bow out, let Butcher and Mallory handle it from there on out. But you weren’t that person and you were fully in this. You had started this and you were committed to see it all the way through. And see it through you would, come hell or high water or murderous Supes. There was no other option; there never had been from the moment you woke up with a foreign chemical running through your veins, enhanced abilities, and fine-tuned senses. What you just discovered about the Supe currently glaring you down could only help the plan in the long run while also ensuring you were even more careful than you already planned to be.

You turned to face him fully and stared into his eyes. “Understood.” You wanted him to know that you knew, even if he didn’t know how yet, and that despite that, you were still sticking to the plan which included him.

He studied you for a moment and you could see that while he was still unsure about you, he was deciding to trust you…for now. He released your shoulder and slightly relaxed his stance.

“Any ideas?” Since he had changed this part of the plan, you figured he could offer up an alternative.

“Don’t care as long as it runs.” He glanced towards the lot filled with other heavy duty vehicles.

“Agreed. But we still need to move. We don’t have long before the cameras turn back on.” You immediately made your way towards a dark blue SUV sitting parked near a curb. You had a feeling this may have belonged to some of the agents he had just killed, but it only meant three things to you: keys, gas, and a working car that could handle the speed and damage you would need to get out of here. You tried the back door, finding it unlocked, and you immediately knew you had been right. No one was coming to reclaim this vehicle, not for a while anyway.

You quickly removed the scabbard from your back and slipped it into the backseat before jumping behind the wheel. Soldier Boy hopped in next to you, watching you as you turned the engine over. You didn’t bother mentioning that once Mallory and Butcher figured out you were in this vehicle, they could track it as well; that would only be counterproductive to the plan and make him more suspicious of you.

You pulled away from the curb and sped out of the lot. When you got near the security booth, a platoon of armed guards tried to flag you down. This was one of the reasons why the office supplies van had been selected. You could have removed your gear and passed yourself off as a delivery driver; Mallory had already greenlit that part of the plan. This…well, you would need to improvise.

You glanced over at Soldier Boy who was scowling in their direction. “Hang on,” you warned. Not that he needed to; he’d already proven that nothing could damage or even dent that super strong body of his. You, on the other hand, had to duck down as you pressed the gas pedal to the floor, gunning it. Bullets began flying towards your car but you didn’t let up, not even when you presumably hit a couple of the guards in your bid to escape. You felt Soldier Boy’s hand roughly push you down further in your seat and his other hand land next to yours on the wheel. A few more sickening thuds, pings from bullets, and wet crunches when the car jumped up slightly as your wheels mowed over those who hadn’t moved, and then you were scot free.

“We’re clear,” Soldier Boy gruffed out next to you, releasing you and moving back into his seat.

You lifted up and glanced in your sideview mirror, seeing the destruction you had just caused getting further and further away. You tried to feel remorse about it, you really did, but that emotion — any emotion — was the gateway to weakness and you couldn’t afford that. Especially not now.

“You injured?”

You weren’t but you slid your hood back and automatically glanced down at yourself to double check. “Nope. You?”

You looked up at him and as expected, his bare muscular chest was smooth, free of any injuries. His arms and face contained barely a shadow of a bruise, never mind an actual wound. He noticed your perusal of him and his lips twisted into a cocky smirk. An image of him railing you in the backseat had you turning back to the road, trying to mask your disgust.

“I’m good, doll,” he assured you. “Real good. Fucking horny as shit, though. It’s been a while. Think you can find us a place to pull over and let me fuck you quick?”

This was going to be a long ride. “Seems to me your right hand is free.”

Instead of being annoyed at your answer, he only smirked wider. “Is that your way of telling me you’d like me to start us off by jerking it while you look for a place?”

“No,” You met his gaze head on. “That’s my way of telling you not to let your wrist cramp up on this mission because you’re going to be jerking it quite a bit.”

He seemed completely unbothered by your words. “You want to see my dick?”

You scoffed in disgust and focused back on the road.

“I’m fully hard right now and let me tell you, it is a fucking sight to behold. Extra strength wasn’t the only thing the V gave me.” His teeth dug into his bottom lip as he continued trying to convince you. “Women love my dick. There isn’t a woman I’ve fucked that has ever walked right again.”

“Wow,” you quipped. “Quite the selling point.”

He ignored your snarkiness. “You see it for yourself, dollface, and I guarantee you’ll be changing your mind. All I’ve gotta do is pull it out, right here, right now, and you’ll be begging for me to slip it inside you.”

You had noticed the bugle in his sweats out of the corner of your eye before you turned away just before; you knew he was telling you the truth. He was horny, hard, and literally about to whip it out. Not unless you shut him down hard. You may not be able to keep him from pleasuring himself right there next to you, but at least he would know there was no way in hell you were going anywhere near his supposedly legendary manhood. You wished you could tell that he was lying but you could only see images of women worshiping him and his body as he thought back over his vast amount of conquests. When you saw his hand reaching into his sweats from your peripherals, you decided the time to make your firm boundaries on this subject known was now.

“I’m never having sex with you so don’t even bother. I’m here to do a job and that job isn’t you, as much as you might like it to be. When we get to the motel, if you want to find an old lady willing to help you with your problem, fine by me. But this,” you gestured between the two of you. “Is never happening.”

He snickered next to you. “You say that now but I’m telling you, doll, one peek at my dick might change your mind. Or when you hear how fucking good I’m giving it to some other gal.” He turned another filthy smile on you. “But just know that when I’m wrecking that pussy, I’ll be thinking of you and how good I know you’d feel squeezing around me.”

The images of you in the throes of pleasure returned and you tensed, your jaw tightening, but you forced yourself to think only of the plan. “What every girl hopes to hear,” you muttered. You glanced in the rearview mirror and very far back, you noticed Butcher’s vehicle following you. You weren’t surprised; Mallory had never really turned the cameras off and it’s not like you hadn’t left a big blinking neon sign back there to get her attention on where you had exited the compound.

Soldier Boy’s hand rubbed over the bulge in his pants a few times before he chuckled under his breath and went to look out his window. “So, you know who I am, you know my name… I don’t know yours. Why don’t you tell me?”

You clenched your fingers on the wheel and held your breath, focusing your vision on the rearview.

A moment later, Soldier Boy turned to look at you, smirking. You subtly let out your breath and relaxed your grip on the wheel, placing your eyes back on the road. “I bet it’s a real pretty one. Come on, tell me.”

You could hear him dialing up the flirtation, switching from being direct to now trying to charm you. “Name’s Persephone.”

“Persephone? That is pretty but it sounds like a Supe name.”

You briefly glanced over at him. “It is.”

He seemed to think it over, nodding after a moment in approval. “What’s your real name?”

“Nope.” You shook your head.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

You met his eyes once more. “Because you haven’t earned that yet.” You waited another moment before finally breaking away from his intense gaze.

You could see as he took you in, how his eyes roamed over you hungrily, and you knew the moment he decided to accept the challenge he was determined that you presented. Another chuckle escaped him and he looked out his window again. “Alright, doll. We’ll play it your way, for now. Besides, it’s really my name that matters in this situation here.”

Your brows began to furrow and you did your best to get a read on him. What was he talking about? “How so?”

You watched as he turned to look at you and you could feel the rush of desire that immediately ran through him as images of you screaming, begging, and moaning “Ben! Oh my god, Ben! Ben, don’t ever stop fucking me, please! Fuck, Ben! Fucking give it to me! Oh fuck, right there!” floated to the forefront of his mind. You knew what his words would be before he even said them. “Because you’ll be screaming it before long.”

The nausea from earlier was back but you tamped it down and waited until he turned away from you again. Your eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and relief consumed you when you noticed Butcher’s vehicle was no longer anywhere to be seen. Not only had you successfully distracted the Supe but the moment Soldier Boy became interested in the topic of you, Phase 4 of the overall plan began. Now you only had to get him to the motel, get him rested and recharged, and then your work could truly begin. Leading you all down the path to the only thing that mattered: the eradication of Vought, and the end of Homelander once and for all.

Please let me know if you would like to be tagged for this series.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

banner by @cafekitsune

Main Masterlist

Main Tag List Submission Form

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy #soldier boy fanfiction #call my name chapter 1 #call my name #thebiggerbear writes #the boys fanfiction #the boys fanfic #the boys #soldier boy fanfic

170 notes · View notes

hollybell51 · 1 year

Text

Last night on Earth

^don't mind me going absolutely feral over this gif

Navigation

Cas x AFAB!fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005), s05e03 "free to be you and me"

Word count: 6.4K

Summary: following the hooker failure, you feel that sitting alone in a shitty abandoned house is not the best way to spend one's last night on Earth. Cas seems to agree with you.

Content: smut! Yay! First kisses, first time, making out, handjobs, hickeys, penetrative sex, safe sex (yay!), cowgirl, mutual masturbation, fingering, gags? if you squint? maybe? like a hand over the mouth. Discussions of sex work and sex workers (I'm not commenting on anything, it's just there as dialogue due to the nature of the episode, and all dialogue/internal monologue regarding the topic is purely for the furtherment of the plot). Talking during sex, Cas is loud. Sex on a couch, spooning, almost-love-confessions ("like-confessions"). Very light comment on body image, some very vague descriptions of scars (reader is a hunter). Cas is just Cas and I love him for it. He's also a virgin. Dean's probably a warning but I adore him.

Notes: Heyyyy how's it going? One day into my holidays and I churn out this bad boy. Couldn't get the idea out of my head, and hey, I'm a sucker for virgin angels. This show is rapidly taking over my whole life lmao.

It's also been a while so I just thought I'd remind people of the taglist form, and the existence of my AO3 (if you wanna read my stuff there for whatever reason). Anyways enjoy, stay safe out there xx

“That was quick,” you called as the door creaked open, Dean’s low chuckle echoing through the hallway. You closed the book you’d been reading – a shitty paperback you’d picked out of a bargain bin – and watched as the other hunter dropped his jacket onto a rusted dining chair. You’d expected them to be gone for a few hours, hence your foray into the realms of “downtime”, but it had barely been one since they’d left, Dean throwing an obscenely enthusiastic wink your way as he shoved an apprehensive looking Cas out to enjoy his last night on Earth.

“We had to wrap it up pretty fast.” Dean glanced over his shoulder at Cas, laughter still clinging to his face. You hadn’t seen him look that happy in ages, not for this long. Well, that was something at least.

You’d had your doubts about the whole idea from the moment Dean had mentioned it. Sure, sex was sex. It was something that could be pretty darn nice and that you were glad for in your life, but you weren’t sure if Dean fully grasped that it was never the same with a hooker. It would never feel as good, it would never be meaningful, it would be a service purchased from a provider. A business transaction. That wasn’t any way to experience it for the first time, in your opinion.

“Good time not a long time, then?” you asked mildly.

“Would you say that, Cas?”

The angel stiffened, hands shoved into the pockets of his trench coat.

You wrinkled your nose, suddenly wondering if you should feel bad. “Bad time?”

Dean snorted. “I’m turning in. You tell (Y/N) about it, she’ll give you a pat on the back and tell you it’s alright. And don’t look so… grief stricken.”

“G’night,” you waved to his retreating back, then turned back to Cas. “Really bad time?”

He really did look grief stricken, standing stock still in the dimness. Even his hair looked droopier than usual, and you almost got out of your seat just to push it off his face. You settled for putting your book down and leaning forward.

“She ran away,” he said after a moment. “I think I scared her.”

“Geez,” you frowned. “How’d you scare a hooker?”

He shrugged. “I told her it wasn’t her fault that her father Gene ran off.” Then, as if it explained everything; “He hated his job at the post office.”

You laughed, but stopped quickly. “Oh, Cas. You know the whole–”

“The whole industry is run on absent fathers, I know.” He sighed. “Dean found it hilarious.”

This time, you did get up, crossing the room to pat his shoulder. You knew Dean wouldn’t have meant anything by it, wouldn’t have been laughing at Cas. Still, a pang of what was almost pity shot through you. It wasn’t about the sex, not really, as much as Dean played that aspect up. It was more all the coulds that never would. Cas wasn’t human, as much as he could pass it off (mostly), but there were so many things that he wasn’t going to get to try now. You just didn’t understand how he could so casually volunteer to die at the drop of a hat. It was either incredibly selfless, or incredibly selfish. Or maybe just stupid.

But no, Cas wasn’t stupid. He was razor sharp, a soldier of God, even if you poked fun at him when he didn’t understand your and Dean’s pop-culture reference infused slang. It had only been the last time you’d seen him that you’d vowed to make him sit through all the Star Wars movies, something you hadn’t realised until afterwards had sounded a lot like a “movie and chill” proposal. Luckily, he wouldn’t have picked up on that. Just like he wouldn’t have picked up – like Dean had – the moments where you caught yourself watching him, or the smiles that were just too damned determined to break out on your face when he showed up – either in the real world or in your mind. And thank the heavens nobody but you noticed the tiny flurries of butterflies in your stomach you’d noticed increasingly often when he was around, the surges of warmth that would sneak up and rush over you unexpectedly when you thought of him, the tingles that flooded your skin when he stood that little bit too close to you.

Which, when you thought about it, was maybe contributing to the ounce of vindication you were feeling regarding the hooker failure. It wasn’t all the “I told you so” type of satisfaction, anyway, and you weren’t too proud to admit when you liked someone.

“Don’t worry about it,” you assured him now, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“You’re giving me a pat on the back and telling me it’s alright,” he sighed, almost mournfully. “Dean said–”

You reached up, pressing a finger to his lips and shaking your head. “You wanna know something?”

He nodded, brows furrowed. He hadn’t drawn back, you noticed.

“It doesn’t matter how much sex Dean has,” you whispered, hand still floating close by his face. “I wouldn’t take a damn letter of his advice in that department.”

“Why not?” His breath tickled your skin, and suddenly you realised just how close you were standing.

You shrugged, dispelling the shiver that had run up your spine. “I just know if a dude came onto me how he comes onto chicks, I’d kick him in the balls.”

“I’ll make a point to not come onto you like he does, in that case.”

It took a moment – past the words “like he does”, not that he wouldn’t come onto you full stop, but like Dean does – for the fact that it was a joke to sink in, then you smiled. Maybe there was, or had been, hope for him yet. You took a breath, turning the words over in your mind. It was now or never, you supposed.

“I want you to know,” you said carefully, “if you die–”

“When. Tomorrow, when I die.”

“Uh, yeah.” You swallowed. How could he be so matter of fact about it? How could he just say it like that? It didn’t matter, you supposed. Whether he said it or didn’t, it wasn’t going to change the fact that it was happening.

“When I die…” he prompted when you were silent.

“I want you to know that I liked you,” you said simply, then shrugged. “I think I was on the way to really liking you.”

He frowned, and for a moment you thought you’d made a massive mistake. “You don’t have to do that,” he said. “I don’t mind. I know I’m… a dick.”

“Jesus, Cas,” you snorted. “Guess we say that a bit too much, don’t we?”

“Maybe.”

“And we don’t say ‘thank you’ enough.”

He shook his head, still holding your hand. “You don’t have to do this,” he repeated.

“It’s not about that. Not all of it, anyway.” You smiled, glancing at your hand where it met his. It looked big, wrapped around your fingers, and it fitted painfully well. “But, you know, if it’s your last night on Earth…” You looked up, wiggling your eyebrows. You could play it off as a joke if you needed to, you weren’t too far in yet.

That familiar almost-smile you’d come to look for danced over his lips. “You pity me, dying a virgin? Dying,” he added. “A virgin.”

You laughed. “I don’t… pity you. Not exactly. Not because you’re gonna die a virgin, and definitely not because you’re a virgin.”

“Because I scared away a prostitute?”

“Her loss,” you laughed. “And anyway, if it’s your first and last time, it’d be nice to… y’know… feel good.”

He frowned. “Surely a prostitute would know how to do that?”

“Maybe the technicalities,” you shrugged, “but there’s more to it than that. There’s feelings, y’know?”

“Feelings?”

Again, you shrugged, suddenly self conscious. What were you doing? “Two way street kind of thing,” you explained lamely. “Not just someone you want, but someone who wants you. Not just your money.” You were acutely aware of the unspoken words floating beneath the casual sentence. I want you. It could be me.

A pause, where his eyes seemed to bore into your soul. He had a knack for that, you’d noticed. Sometimes you felt like he could see right to the very core of your being. In the dimness, they looked even more startlingly blue than usual. He was so close, you could almost count his eyelashes, almost feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath the coat, jacket, shirt, tie…

“When it’s…” He paused, his tongue darting over his lips. God, his lips. “Someone you want.”

“Mhm.”

“Someone who wants you.”

“Mhm.”

“Not just your money.”

You hadn’t taken your eyes off his mouth through the whole exchange, and your voice, when you asked, sounded softer than you’d meant it to, breathy and faint to your own ears. “Do you want me, Cas? Last night on Earth, and all.”

The corner of his mouth curled up, brows twitching into a thoughtful frown. No, you thought, not quite a frown. Something else, more curious than confused. Almost quizzical. “I think…” He paused, drawing breath. “I think I do.”

“Ok,” you smiled, ignoring the butterfly rampage taking place in your stomach. This kind of thing wasn’t supposed to happen in real life. Not your life, anyway, even if it was Cas’s last night on Earth. It didn’t exist outside the pages of those shitty paperbacks.

“Do you want me?” Cas asked.

“Mhm.” It was all you could manage, really. Then you were stretching up the last few inches between your face and his, pressing your lips gently against his own.

He was perfectly still for a heartbeat, two heartbeats, almost three. Then his hand tightened around yours and he pulled you closer, trench coat rustling where your chest met it. He kissed you the way you remembered the first boy who’d ever kissed you – a boy in your year level at school, at a party, playing spin the bottle no less – had kissed you. The want was all there, the enthusiasm and anticipation and the only half-conscious desire for more. His lips remained shut, but you could feel in it that he knew it wasn’t quite right.

You pulled away briefly, just enough to raise a hand to his mouth and run your thumb over his bottom lip. “Like this,” you murmured, pushing just enough to part his lips. Then your hands were in his hair and you were pulling him down to you, and this time it was perfect.

He made a little sound of pleasure as your tongue slipped beside his, stroking, caressing, gently as you could. Without any guidance, his hand had found the cloth-shielded contours of your breast, tracing the outline with a sort of awe. His fingers ran along the neckline of your top, dipping under the material, curving around your bare shoulder, exploratory and cautious.

You let him explore you, his hands mapping out every curve he could touch, tongue darting into every uncharted depth he could find, tasting and learning and discovering parts of you you hadn’t guessed could be felt like this through just a kiss. Your mind spiralled as his hand eased under your shirt, cool fingers tickling the skin of your hip. He squeezed gently, pulling you against him harder, and you gave in completely. You weren’t sure if it was what he had been going for, but when you pushed your pelvis against his he gasped; a quiet, shuddering little sound that went straight to your panties.

“Ok?” you breathed between kisses, then, at his nod, you did it again.

His voice was strangled when he said your name, the pads of his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your waist. Oh Cas, you thought. A rush of affection washed over you at how eager he was, where just an hour before he’d been being literally pushed out the door by Dean, looking as terrified as you’d ever seen him at the prospect of sex. Now he was kissing you hungrily, kneading at your skin, inching your shirt up off your torso, his feet at risk of tangling with yours as he walked you backwards. Not to mention the increasingly noticeable bulge pressed against you.

“Clothes off,” you breathed, already undoing his tie. “On the couch.”

He paused, then he was shrugging off the trench coat, the blazer following suit – no pun intended – and landing with a soft rustling thump on the floor. You stepped back, just a little, as he deftly unfastened the buttons of his shirt, drinking in every inch of skin like a kid in a lolly shop. Fuck, maybe you had the hots for him even worse than you’d thought.

“Are you going to undress too?” The question was mild, matter of fact, but something in the way Cas had paused midway through relieving himself of his pants and was watching you, hands still on the belt buckle, made you stomach flip.

You cleared your throat, but your voice still came out too low, too husky. “Sure.”

His gaze didn’t leave you for an instant – apart from when he kicked his discarded trousers aside – as you pulled your shirt the rest of the way over your head, slid your jeans as gracefully as you could down your legs. You shivered slightly in the cool night air, acutely aware of your hunter’s body.

Cas’s eyes widened, scanning over you and taking in every inch of your skin. It wasn’t perfect, you were aware of that. It wasn’t like a hooker’s body, it carried you around as you fought monsters, and was littered with the proof of said monster fights. You wondered if Cas had seen other – normal – human bodies like this, if he’d find the painfully obvious reminders of your mortality somehow repellent. You suddenly felt very, very small and very, very human.

“Sorry about… y’know…” You shrugged, patting your thigh awkwardly. “The meatsack’s a little dinged up. Most people don’t look like this.”

“Don’t look like what?” he frowned, finally looking back at your face.

You shrugged again, poking a long white scar over your side. The first werewolf you’d ever come face to face with, and nearly the last. “Scarred. At least not as much as I am,” you added.

A shiver shot up your spine as Cas settled his hands on your bare waist, fingers running over the most noticeable marks. “Don’t apologise,” he said softly. “You’re human, and you spend your days killing monsters. It would be more disturbing if you were unblemished.”

You laughed at that, a small breathy sound. “You think I’m disturbing?”

He smiled faintly. “You’re not so bad.”

You felt your own mouth curve, matching his. “Neither are you.”

He leaned down, his lips meeting yours once more. This kiss was softer, more intimate, maybe a little too intimate. You were vaguely aware of the couch behind you. Before your knees knocked against its side, you broke away – a difficult task, given that Cas chased your lips like a lab rat after cheese – and spun, laying your hands firmly on his chest.

“Couch,” you muttered, giving a gentle push.

He pulled you with him as he sat down, his hands running down over your hips, your thighs, back up again to your waist. He watched you carefully as his touch slid up the centre of your torso, over your bra, lingering momentarily on the anti-possession sigil tattooed over your heart before he moved on, across the line of your ribs. Unbidden, the memory of the last time he’d touched you there sprang to mind; the sharp, burning pain and throbbing after-ache of the Enochian sigils being literally carved into your bones.

“I can see them,” he whispered, as if he’d read your mind. “The sigils.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How do they look?”

“Foreign,” he said after a moment. “They don’t belong.”

You shrugged, unsure how to respond to that. Sure, the sigils weren’t part of you, and you didn’t exactly know how you felt about angel writing being carved into your ribcage, but there was also something reassuring about knowing it was there, knowing you carried that kind of magic with you. In you.

Cas’s eyes lifted from your body, fixing on your own. “Can you feel them?” he inquired.

You shook your head. “Not really. Not physically. But I know they’re there.”

“Perhaps I should have asked,” he muttered, almost to himself. “It’s your body, after all.”

“No,” you smiled. “Don’t worry about it. I kinda like the idea of you scribbling on me. Bone graffiti.”

“Bone graffiti?”

You felt the smile grow, nodding. “Besides,” you added, “I’ll always have a little bit of you, even after you're gone. Like a… souvenir.”

“Oh,” was all he said. You supposed people were right about impending death making people sappier. But still, what you said was true. Your own ribs had become a kind of lucky charm, a talisman, a locket of sorts.

You dragged yourself out of that line of thinking before you went any further, turning your attention back to the angel currently underneath you on the couch. Underneath you and very shirtless. You’d placed your own hands on his chest in an attempt to not fall over on top of him, and now you let yourself touch him – really touch him. His chest heaved under your fingers as you swept over him, a tiny, strangled noise falling from his lips.

“Alright?” you asked, pausing for a moment.

He nodded, shifting slightly under you. “It’s good,” he said softly.

“Keep going?”

Again, a nod. Cautiously, gently, you spread your fingers over his chest. His heart beat fast, thudding frantically as you moved your other hand lower, down the centre of his torso, following the contours of his lithe muscles. You reached the waistband of his underpants, pausing.

“Can I?” you asked, your hand hovering over his barely concealed erection.

“Yes,” he whispered, tongue darting over his lips. His eyes flicked from your face to your hand, back to your face again.

You smiled as you slipped your fingers under the waistband of his underwear. His dick was hot to the touch, hard and already damp at the tip. “You ever touched yourself?” you asked as you withdrew your hand, spitting into your palm.

Cas’s breath hitched. “Once.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded, licking his lips again. “Dean said I wasn’t supposed to talk about it.”

“Yeah, well…” You smiled again, wrapping your fingers around his cock and stroking languidly. “You can tell me.”

He gave a sort of half gasp, half moan, his grip tightening on your thigh. “I found Dean’s magazine,” he confessed. “The one with the women, not the cars.”

“Mhm?” You kept your voice mild, focussing on the steady motion of your arm and wrist, your fingers sliding effortlessly over him. You could almost see Cas flipping through the pages of one of those god-awful porn mags Dean insisted on carting around, picture his confused little head-tilt and his frown as he looked through the pictures, his hand creeping to where yours was now, his much larger fingers circling–

“It was uncomfortable,” he continued, jerking you back to the present. “Too hot. I really just wanted it to go away.”

“And did it?”

“Not until I– oh!” He broke off as your thumb slid over the leaking head of his cock, fingers digging into your thigh.

You fought off the surge of heat the sound sent shooting through you, watching his slightly parted lips, his wide eyes. “Did you cum?” you asked evenly.

“Yes,” he panted, hips twitching up slightly. “Oh, (Y/N), yes–”

“Yes, you did cum?”

“Yes, yes I did.”

“Was it good?”

Another soft moan, then he smiled. “Not as good as this.”

Maybe it was the praise, maybe the moan, maybe the smile. Either way, the words went straight to your panties. You ignored it, stopping yourself from grinding against him with willpower that would have impressed Jesus. Although, you weren’t sure how he would have felt about you fucking a literal angel.

You leant forward, kissing his lips gently, then his jaw, then his neck, then his chest. You kept going, tracing a path inexorably downwards, shuffling backwards to straddle his thigh as he shifted with you, now splayed along the couch lengthways.

“Help me out,” you muttered, your hand moving beside your face as you attempted to pull his underwear off. Obediently, he lifted his hips and kicked them aside, the muscles of his stomach twitching as you placed a kiss on the junction of his hip. And holy shit, you could have just watched his torso moving like that forever. You kissed his hip again, sucking gently at the spot, licking over the mark you conjured. Then you added another beside it, and another, and another. A little belt of hickeys across his pelvis.

“Do you, hm, touch yourself too?” he asked, breathless and raw.

“Fuck, Cas.” You paused where you’d been about to kiss the base of his cock, raising your eyes to his. His chest rose and fell, rose and fell again, the skin almost glowing in the dim light.

He frowned. “Am I not supposed to ask that?”

“You can ask me anything you want,” you assured him, kissing the little trail of hair below his belly button. “And yeah, I do.”

“Does it feel good?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

“Do you…” He paused, searching for the words. “Do you want to do it now?”

“This is about you,” you said softly, giving his cock a gentle squeeze. “Don’t worry about me.”

“I want you to feel good too.”

You sat up, studying him. There was nothing by sincerity in his eyes, the genuine desire – and desire there was – for you to enjoy yourself. And why shouldn’t you indulge that? You were having a great time as it was, and there was no denying the throbbing ache that had grown exponentially between your legs.

“You want me to touch myself?” you asked, double checking.

He nodded. “Yes, please.”

“Ok.” You shed your own underpants, shivering as the cool air came in contact with your wetness. Slowly, you reached down and ran your finger over your clit, your breath hitching in your chest. You repeated the action, your hand moving further down to circle your entrance, slick gathering on your fingers. You’d done this countless times before, and you weren’t ashamed of it. Masturbation was natural, it was a perfectly normal perfectly human thing to do. This, however was different. You’d never had an audience before, never had anyone watch you with such rapt wonder and awe.

Cas’s eyes flicked down to your bra, then back to your face. A question, almost a request.

“Off?” you asked, already reaching behind your back. He nodded, watching carefully as you shed the garment and cast it aside to join the pile of clothes on the floor. Slowly, reverently, he stretched up and kissed your breast, his hand leaving its place on your hip to trace over the other one.

A shiver ran down your spine and you bit down on your lip, attempting futilely to stifle your moan. Absently, your hand resumed its place between your thighs as Cas’s hand left your chest and found its way to his cock. You’d never in a million years have thought you’d be where you were now; touching yourself on top of an angel touching himself while he did his best to turn your chest into one giant hickey. You were hardly complaining.

Something rustled in the next room over, and you both froze. Fuck, you thought. Dean was still (hopefully) asleep, only the wall and the hastily closed door to that room barring him from hearing you. Cas seemed to have had exactly the same thought, his head tilted slightly as he listened, his breath raising goosebumps on the spit-damp skin of your chest. There was another rustle, then a quiet snort, then nothing. He hadn’t woken, then.

“We gotta be quiet,” you whispered. You shifted, biting back another moan. “Ok?”

“Ok,” Cas nodded. He pressed his lips firmly together, eyes flicking down to where your hand disappeared between your legs. You hissed as you resumed your movement, acutely aware of every possible sound you or Cas made, ears pricked for any other disturbance from nextdoor.

Cas’s free hand was still resting on your thigh, firmly holding you in place on top of himself. His wrist brushed your own with every stroke of his cock, the skin over his stomach and chest twitching ever so slightly. His own thigh tensed as he thrust into his hand, something that you could only describe as a whimper falling from his lips. Heat surged over you, your mind awash with desire. If only that hooker knew what she was missing.

“Sorry,” he muttered almost immediately, eyes darting towards the door.

“‘Salright,” you replied, swallowing hard. Being quiet was a much more difficult task than you’d anticipated, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy the possibility of being caught just a little bit. You grunted softly as your finger brushed over a particularly sensitive spot, the familiar rhythm and movements working just as well as ever, and even better when you had Cas to look at. Not to mention the warmth of his mouth where it occasionally found your breasts again.

But you wanted more, you needed more. The same part of you that was electrified by your own touch craved his, especially when his beautiful hands were right there and his eyes were still fixed on you like you were the centre of the universe, his own movements becoming faster and more frantic, chest heaving.

You paused, much as it pained you. “Do you wanna go further?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

Gently, you laid your hand over his and peeled it away from his cock. Wriggling forwards a little, you finally – finally – rocked your hips over his, revelling in the hot hardness of him against your slick. His mouth fell open, fingers tightening on your own.

“Here, Cas. I want you inside me, wanna fuck you properly.”

“Oh, (Y/N),” he sighed, his own hips matching your movement.

“Will you let me? Let me fuck you?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “Yes, of course.”

You smiled. “Ok, one second.” You reached over the side of the couch, digging through the pockets of your jeans until you found your wallet – and the little foil package inside it.

“What are you doing?” Cas asked as you tore it open and set the latex atop his dick.

“It’s a condom,” you explained. “So I don’t get pregnant. No offence,” you grinned, “but I don’t really wanna have your babies any time soon.”

“Oh.” He swallowed, processing. “That’s… understandable.”

“All good?” At his nod, you slid the condom the rest of the way down, spitting into your hand once more and resuming your earlier ministrations. “It feels a little different, I know,” you whispered as you moved to grind against him once more.

“It’s still good,” he assured you, placing his hands gently on your hips.

You smiled. “Ready?”

“Yes.” The word was a breath, nothing more, but it was all you needed. Carefully, you lined him up and sank down, watching his face carefully. His eyes widened, his fingers digging into your flesh slightly as a deep groan reverberated through the space between you.

“Gotta be quiet,” you reminded him, your voice not half as steady as you’d have liked. “Don’t wanna wake Dean up, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he echoed, “quiet.”

You leaned forwards and placed a soft kiss on his lips, rocking your hips over his. He was everything you’d imagined and so much more. It was like he’d been made for you, the way his cock stroked every inch of your insides, sliding smoothly with how wet you were. You wanted to go back in time and kick your past self for having waited this long.

“God, Cas,” you sighed. “Oh God.”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he stretched up and captured your lips with his, moving down over your jaw to your neck, sucking gently just as you’d done to the skin of his hip. Your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him close against you as you lifted and lowered your hips, a faint whine somehow slipping from your lips despite your best efforts.

“Is this, hm, ok?” he asked, his usually gravelly voice made even more so.

“Fuck,” you gasped as his hand came to rest on your ass, kneading at the soft flesh, moving up over the front of your hips where your leg met the rest of your body. “So good, Cas.”

“You’re so good,” he murmured, guiding your movements gently. He thrust into you, his hips meeting yours halfway, stomach muscles flexing.

“Let me,” you said, pushing him backwards into the couch cushions. “You relax, yeah? I’ve got it. I’ve got you.”

He nodded, head tipping back as you bounced on his dick, the rough fabric of the cushion beneath you scratching at your knees. Fumbling slightly, your hands found purchase on his chest and you locked your elbows in an odd sort of imitation of CPR. If CPR was done from the front rather than the side, you supposed, but you weren’t exactly doing any resuscitation.

His chest heaved under your touch, another low groan seeming to echo in the otherwise stillness of the night. The tiny part of your brain that wasn’t totally consumed with the wonderful pleasure-ache of his cock hitting deep inside you and the burn of your thighs was torn between telling him to be quiet and just listening to him, but then he was licking his lips again and his mouth was falling open and you were lost.

“(Y/N),” he panted, his eyes fixed on your face. “Oh, (Y/N), oh my–”

“Alright?” you asked, biting back a moan as you found a particularly good angle.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s, hm, so good.” He glanced momentarily down at where your body met his, another groan rumbling in his chest.

“Sh–” you whispered, half tempted to press your hand over his mouth. Or maybe your own, given the struggle you were facing to remain quiet yourself.

“Sorry, sorry I–”

You cut him off quickly. “It’s alright Cas, you’re fine. Just, fuck–”

“(Y/N),” he panted, the muscles of his arms and stomach flexing as his fingers gripped the couch cushion, luminescent in the dimness. Again, his eyes flicked downwards, this time to the soft mound of flesh currently on display.

You smiled, reaching down to take his hand, drawing it up to rest over your pelvis. His skin was warmer than you’d ever felt it, faintly clammy and God his hand was big under your own. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d caught yourself picturing his hands in this kind of context, and you didn’t want to try. His fingers splayed over your skin, moving with you, covering the whole space below your naval.

“That’s where you are,” you panted. “That’s where I can feel you, Cas, right there.”

A small, strained noise you could only describe as a whine. “Is it, ah, good? Do you like it? Do you like feeling… me?”

“Fuck,” you sighed. “Yeah, sure do, Cas. Do you like feeling me?”

He smiled, biting down hard on his lower lip. “Of course. I like it immensely.”

You felt yourself clench at his words, and this time you were unable to restrain the downright pornographic moan that tore from your throat. Any other time, you might have been embarrassed, but Cas seemed to like it. Pressing your lips firmly together, you glanced hastily towards the other room, but as far as you could tell there was no disturbance.

“(Y/N), oh, (Y/N), I don’t think—” He swallowed hard, eyes wide and back on your face.

“Yeah? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t— I don’t think I can be quiet, (Y/N) I—”

Affection bloomed alongside the desire in your gut, and you had half a mind to tell him it was alright, he didn’t even have to worry about being quiet at all. It wasn’t like you didn’t love the noises he was making. But Dean was only one room over, and you didn’t want to wake him.

“You can, Cas,” you breathed, “you can. You’re doing so well already, we just gotta— fuck.”

He’d bucked his hips up into you, the movement jolting the steady knot of pleasure forming low in your stomach. He was close, you could see it as much as hear it, but the thought of the thin walls and your friend sleeping in the next room over had taken root more firmly in your mind now.

“It’s so much,” Cas gasped. “Oh, oh, (Y/N) it’s so much—”

You managed a smile, slowing down your movements a little. “I know,” you said softly. “You’re ok, yeah?”

He nodded frantically. “Hm, yes, yes. Please, don’t stop. Keep going, please—”

Another soft moan slipped from your mouth, Cas’s answering groan enough to make your legs shake. It was too loud, and any other time you’d have soaked up his praises and curses and everything, but not now. After a moment’s hesitation, you clamped your hand firmly over his mouth, sh-ing him gently. If possible, his eyes widened even further and he groaned against your skin.

“Alright?” you breathed.

Another frantic nod, an almost-whimper as your grip firmed up. Well I’ll be damned, you thought vaguely. Who’d have guessed he was into that?

You felt him shiver all over as you continued to rock your hips over his, his hand where it rested on your hip tightening. You wondered if you’d have finger-shaped bruises later. It didn’t matter, you told yourself as he moaned again, his stomach muscles tensing, something that could have been your name squashed under your hand.

“Sh, shh!” you gasped. Between holy shit I’m so close and holy shit he’s so close, the thought that Dean was right there and would hear you was still rooted in your mind. “Cas, sh, Dean’s right– ah, fuck, Dean’s–”

You broke off as Cas’s chest heaved, his hips bucking up into you once more. His mouth had fallen open under your hand and he was gasping something, angel curse-words, maybe? It didn’t matter, not when his eyes were screwed shut and his head was tipped back, your name sprinkled into the litany of foreign words like a prayer.

The sight was enough to make the bomb that had been building in your stomach explode, sparks of pleasure shooting through your aching legs right to your toes and back up again. You might have said Cas’s name, you weren’t sure, but the sentiment was there. You clamped a hand over your own mouth, nothing but the need to be quiet reverberating through your pleasure-blanked mind.

After what felt like an age, your brain managed to find its way back into your skull and the aftershocks of your orgasm faded from your body. Gently, you removed your hand from Cas’s mouth and looked down at him, smiling.

“Alright?” you asked.

His hair was a mess, his brow lightly beaded with sweat, cheeks flushed. There was even a slight red mark where your hand had been, which you stroked gently.

“I’m more than alright,” he smiled, turning to place a tiny kiss on your fingers. “Are you?”

“Good,” you nodded as you slid off him, mourning the sudden emptiness momentarily as you peeled off the condom, tying it in a neat knot to be disposed of later. Then he was lifting his arm, wriggling with you as if he could read your mind, and you were being cocooned against his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a moment, “if I was too loud.”

“You weren’t,” you assured him quickly. “Not at all. Sorry about… gagging you. I should’ve asked. That’s not what usually happens.”

He hesitated, turning to meet your eyes. “I… didn’t mind.”

“No?”

He shook his head, a small, nervous smile dancing across his lips. “No. In fact, I quite liked it.”

You felt your own smile widen as you placed a soft kiss on his cheek, taking his hand where it rested on his chest. “Good,” you said. “What about the rest? What do you think?”

He sighed, a beautifully satisfied noise that flooded you with warmth. “I think I should not have waited this long.”

You laughed, pressing closer. “Mhm?”

“Mhm. Thank you, (Y/N), truly.”

“Oh,” you said softly, turning away to hide the blood rushing to your face. “That’s ok, Cas. Thank you.”

He gave another little hum, shifting to drape his arm over your waist and pull you into him, fingers skimming your ribs. Getting spooned by a divine warrior of God, you thought with a thrill. Real life really was stranger than fiction.

“You’re tired,” he murmured, his voice seeming to rumble through you in the best way possible. “You should sleep.”

“Hold on,” you protested as you felt his arm withdrawing. You grabbed his hand, pulling it firmly back down to rest on your stomach, wiggling closer. “There was a blanket on the back, grab that. I’m staying here.”

You could almost feel him frowning when he replied. “You’d not rather a bed?”

You only hesitated a moment before bending to kiss his arm. “I’d rather you.”

He didn’t seem to know quite what to say to that, but after a beat something heavy and slightly scratchy was being draped over you, and Cas’s arm was tightening around your waist, and his lips were pressing against your shoulder.

“G’night,” you whispered.

“Good night, (Y/N).”

It was Dean who found his two friends curled together on the couch the next morning. He snorted, taking in the gentle rise and fall of your shoulders in tandem with Cas’s, his hand enveloping your smaller one where it rested just above the blanket, the assortment of what was very clearly Cas’s suit and your own clothes scattered over the floor. Well, he supposed, the night hadn’t been a complete failure. He had half a mind to throw something at you, the scene was so jarringly… sweet.

“Rise n’ shine lovebirds,” he called instead, “we’ve got shit to do.”

#supernatural #castiel #castiel x reader #castiel smut #castiel x you #supernatural fanfiction #shameless smut #supernatural smut #smut #fanfiction #fanfic #cas x reader #female reader #x reader #reader insert

2K notes · View notes