Well, Sam wasn’t wrong. The panic room wasn’t any kind of paradise to be locked in, no matter how much the occupant needed it. Cot’s a piece of crap, too. Dean knows Bobby doesn’t go for the softer things, much, but man. Given that being shut in here had a pretty decent chance of turning into your last night on earth, he could’ve at least sprung for a mattress pad. A decent blanket. Something.
Dean sits on the edge of the bed. He turns his wrist against the handcuff and looks at the underside, the blue veins. Knows he could pick it if he had any damn thing left on him to pick it, but Sam didn’t leave him much but his boots. Knows he could pull, and bleed, and dislocate or even break his thumb and force his way out that way, but Sam’s locked him pretty tight and he’s not positive he could drag his way out, and if he screwed it up then he’d just be in a bunch of pain, and Castiel’s probably too mad at him to heal it. He could just bleed out. He turns his wrist in the cuff again, grips the edge of the mattress with both hands. Easy to imagine. The blood sluicing down—and it’d take a while, unless he hurried it along somehow—snapping a spring off the bed and making the wounds jagged and wide and red—making the world slow and slide and shut down, hopefully permanently, so he wouldn’t have to bear it anymore. So Bobby and Cas and everyone who ever relied on him wouldn’t have to bear it, anymore. Except of course it wouldn’t be a solution because he can’t. Everything he was ever taught flooded up against that last lead door and stopped. More’s the pity.
The panic room door opens, creaking. He keeps looking at the floor.
“You want some water, or something?” Sam says.
Dean smiles at the iron between his boots. “I’m good.”
Drag of metal on metal—Sam pulls the desk chair over, sits a yard away from Dean. Not far enough away that Dean couldn’t grab him, if he made the lunge. If he wanted to. He doesn’t know why Sam isn’t worried about it.
“What’s in the box?” Sam says. Dean smiles at the floor. “Don’t make a Brad Pitt joke. The box you had, in the motel in Cicero. I put it in the trunk before I drove the car back up here.”
Dean looks up. Sam’s watching him. Small frown but he’s not mad. He doesn’t even seem disappointed, even if Dean’s been—everything he’s been.
“What I had,” he says. His voice is rough and he clears his throat. “Just… stuff. I thought maybe you’d…” He shakes his head. “Feels stupid. Talking about, you know, crap maybe you’d remember me by, except here I am. Just stuff. Dad’s jacket, my gun, my keys. Wrote a letter.”
Sam raises his eyebrows. “A letter.”
Dean shrugs. “Doesn’t matter, now.”
Sam looks like he’s not sure about that. Dean wishes he hadn’t mentioned it. Imagines Sam ripping off the duct tape and reading the stupid crap he’d written down and thinking that it was all Dean had wanted to say. Felt too messed up to leave without even a note but he couldn’t—formulate it, not out loud and not in writing either, turned out, especially if Bobby or someone else might see it too. How much he loved Sam and resented him and needed him and how this hole in the center of his gut that had started who knows how long ago had just gotten bigger, and bigger, and he’d worried that what he felt for Sam would fall into it and get lost but it didn’t seem to work that way, somehow. The hole got bigger and what him-and-Sam meant got bigger, too, and stranger and stronger and more unwieldy, until there were days that Dean thought he’d suffocate under it, or drown maybe, or that he’d lose his mind with worry, or that he’d—start to hate Sam, maybe, for making him this terrified. For being this thing he couldn’t stand the idea of losing and yet that had been lost to him over and over. Until the hole felt like it took up all of him, just this absence held vastly empty under the barrier of his skin, and what him-and-Sam meant was going to destroy the whole planet, and it felt more right to just—simplify the equation. Subtract the thing by half and maybe there’d actually be something left, afterward. Even if Dean weren’t around to see it then at least there’d be something.
“I wish I could make you believe it,” Sam says. Dean refocuses. The spinning shadow of the fan above cuts random light over Sam’s face. His mouth tucked up on one side, sorry. “I don’t know how. There’s not any—evidence I can show, or logic. It’s not a case. It’s just something I know and I can’t make you understand.”
“Guess I shouldn’t have dropped out,” Dean says, and Sam smiles in this weird flat way that doesn’t look like smiling at all, and Dean can’t make him understand, either, how sorry he is, and how little it matters that he’s sorry. That he has to say yes to Michael because there is no other way he can think of in the world to save as many people as they can but also to save Sam, from Michael and from Lucifer and from himself, most of all, and to save Dean from having to see that, too. He’s thought about how it’ll go. When they got to talk to Jimmy Novak he explained that being possessed by an angel was like being chained to a comet: terrifying, absolute, a blaze of blinding light, and Dean thinks—hopes—that that’s true, that with an archangel it’ll be worse, that he can close his eyes and sink into it and there’ll be pain, he’s sure, but he’s been through hell and pain’s nothing he worries about, if he won’t have to see his brother fall.
“I’m kinda jealous Cas got to beat you up,” Sam says. Dean snorts. Then Sam leans forward, quick, takes Dean’s face in both hands. Dean stiffens but Sam doesn’t—hit him, or choke him, or kiss him. All equal possibilities considering the day. Sam only looks him in the eyes, with this expression like—he’s five years old and wishing for answers Dean can’t give. Dean reaches up with his uncuffed hand and grips Sam’s wrist. His pulse fast under Dean’s thumb. Sam takes a deep, shuddery breath in, closes his eyes tight. When he opens them they’re damp but he doesn’t look five anymore. “We’re going to save Adam and you’re not going to say yes. I don’t care if you don’t believe it. I know.”
This year’s been too terrible for the empty pit in Dean to feel any smaller. “Okay, Sam,” he says, because it’ll get him out of this room. Sam nods and stands up and goes for the keys. Dean watches him, tall and broad and beautiful, and wishes he had faith.
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aizawa gets demanding
pairing: aizawa shouta x fem!reader
wc: 1.38k
summary: bf!aizawa loves how much you want his dick and it shows.
tags: dominant!aizawa; bf!aizawa; fem!reader; reader is aizawa’s age (~30); aizawa has a big dick (let’s be honest, he probably does); aizawa is condescending but also a sweetheart; his dick makes your brain go brrrr; explicit consent; grinding; teasing; rough sex; lots of pet names, sweetheart, princess, little girl (used once), babygirl, baby, good girl, slut; daddy as title; praise; hair pulling; multiple orgasms; doggy style; pronebone; edging/denial if you squint a little; a smattering of drool; a sprinkle of spanking; smut without plot
a/n: this was meant to be a quick drabble like i normally do, maybe 300-400 words max, but it was too fun to write and got away from me. enjoy! :)
mdni banner made by @cafekitsune
original aizawa banner manga edit by @strawbystroobs.
Shouta grabbed your face and turned it back, jaw gripped tightly in his hand.
“Oh, you wanna get fucked, sweetheart?” he taunted. He released his grasp and shoved your head into the bed. “Then put your ass up, and show me what you want.”
You could feel your pussy tighten and flutter around his thick length as he spoke.
“B-but-”
“That wasn’t a question,” he said in a low voice.
You shivered hearing the firmness behind his tone.
Shouta straightened up as he grabbed you by the hips, pulled out most of the way, and slammed his cock back into you. A loud cry ripped from your throat as one thigh quivered slightly from the pleasure in response.
“Show me. Don’t be shy,” he said.
Breathing heavily, with slight hesitance, you arched your back as he’d asked and pulled your hips away from his before pushing back into him, once, twice, again and again, finding a comfortable rhythm. It felt impossible to think, the way shudders of pleasure ran through your body from each thrust as you moaned.
“Fuck, y’so big, Sho,” you mutter. “Feels so good.”
Shouta hummed in satisfaction, a groan slipping from his lips. “Now how hard was that, little girl? Took you too damn long to drop the act and fuck yourself on my fat cock like the needy slut you are.”
You whimpered under the weight of his words. After being with him for a few years, and despite being close in age, the condescending way Shouta says “little girl” - like he owns you - still makes you blush. Each thrust of your hips became a little harder than the last, the sheer size and feel of his cock unraveling you bit by bit as you took his full length. Pleasure intensified, curling its way around your thighs and crawling over your skin to the point of overwhelm. Your knees started going weak and your thrusts slowed and softened slightly.
“Please, Sho-”
“I didn’t tell you to stop. I’ll fuck you when I’m good and ready. ‘Till then, you’re gonna keep that pretty ass up and I’m gonna watch you swallow my cock,” he said, running his hands over your soft hips and backside. “Keep going, slut.”
Shouta gave your ass a sharp spank, making you whimper as you felt your pussy clench hard around him as you paused your movement, processing the sensation.
The smirk was evident in his tone of voice. “Y’like that, princess?”
A groan of frustration came from your chest as you started thrusting your hips again. You held your tongue instead of snipping back a, “Yes, you already fucking know that,” because giving an attitude would mean not getting fucked the way you wanted.
For once, he let your lack of a verbal response to his question slide as you answered with your body, greedily pushing yourself back into him as you fucked him, his warm hands running over your skin.
“Shit,” you whined, “Your cock is perfect. So thick. Need you inside me.”
But it wasn’t enough as the heat and pleasure built in your cunt, radiating up your back; the closer you got to orgasm, the more his fat dick turned your brain into mush and left you dumb, the more your legs quivered and made it harder to keep going.
And Shouta knew it, too. He loved seeing that fucked out look on your face mere moments after he slid his cock into you. Loved knowing that you couldn’t keep yourself from going empty-headed and weak on his cock any time he told you to fuck him. He adored the way you lost all sense when his dick was in your face or in your pretty holes - how you needed him, and couldn’t help but moan too much and without care when he fucked you. He knew fucking him like this would leave you wanting more, desperation seeping into your moans as they turned into whining.
“Sho, I- please, I need- fuck me,” you said, stumbling over your words.
“Try again, babygirl,” he said.
A shiver slipped down your neck, a quiet curse left your lips, knowing what he wanted.
“Daddy, please,” you said softly.
Shouta took you by the hips and slowed you to a stop, leaving you groaning in frustration. Your body became utterly weak and desperate when he began grinding slowly into your throbbing cunt and your legs started to shake, which left you wondering if he’d try to get you to cum like this as you moaned into the sheets.
“Please, what?” he asked. He made your head spin as he leaned down and kissed down your neck, quickly finding that familiar tender spot you loved.
“Fuck me,” you said, as though it should have been obvious.
“What’s that, sweetheart? Can’t hear you,” Shouta replied between kisses.
“D-daddy, please fuck me. ‘M so c-close, please, oh god-” you said.
Shouta fucked you deep and hard, pushing you over the edge. You cried out as you came, lost in the pleasure that rolled down your body, legs shaking and eyes white as he carried you through your orgasm.
“There she is…. That’s it babygirl,” he said. “Such a good slut, cumming all over daddy’s big cock. You sound so fucking pretty when you cum.”
As your climax faded, your slick folds became sensitive, yet Shouta kept fucking you at a steady pace. You were about to protest, but quickly found yourself engulfed in an aching need for more.
“Daddy wants to fuck your pretty cunt and fill you up. Gonna take it f’me like a good girl?” he asked.
“Yes,” you said. “Need you. ‘M gonna cum again.”
A growl rumbled in Shouta’s chest as his thrusts grew rougher, faster, hard enough to push you down into the bed a little with each thrust as your knees went weak, the sound of wet skin slapping on skin filling the room. You couldn’t help but moan in response, the feeling of it all sending shivers through your body. He reached up and ran his hand back over your head, tangling his fingers in your hair with a tight grip, making your eyes roll.
“Yeah? Need my cock deep inside you, pounding you ‘til you drool, don’t you, princess?” he said, his voice low and rough.
So blissed out by the hand in your hair and the heat and weight of Shouta’s body as he fucked you, you could only moan in approval, already feeling a spot of drool forming where your open lips touched the sheets.
Shouta gripped your hair a little harder. “Hmm? You can do it. Use your words.”
Your cunt clenched and fluttered as another orgasm drew closer, trying to find the words and form them in your mouth.
“Y-yes, daddy, please,” you whimpered.
“That’s my girl. My pretty princess, taking me so well,” he cooed. “Daddy’s gonna fuck you full of cum, babygirl.”
Shouta’s thrusts got sharper as he groaned. You slipped a hand down between your legs to rub your aching clit, desperate for another release. Drool pooled on the sheets as you moaned, that familiar electric feeling building in your body, making the soles of your feet tingle.
“‘S it, baby. Need you to cum on my cock. Cum for daddy,” he said.
Shouta’s heated voice, those last few phrases, left you crying out again as another orgasm came crashing down, more intense than the last. Pleasure washed over you as your body shook, eyes shut tight.
As the peak of your climax passed, you heard Shouta groan loudly, his thrusts slowing down. You used the little leverage and strength you had left to fuck him while he came, the heat of his cum making you whine as his moans unraveled behind you.
“Unngh, good fucking girl, fuck,” he moaned.
A satisfying shiver slid down your back hearing those words fall from his lips unhindered. Soon after, he stopped your hips and all but collapsed on top of you, cock still nestled deep inside your swollen, spent pussy as you both breathed heavily.
Shouta groaned softly. “You’re fucking perfect,” he said, placing a kiss on your shoulder.
You couldn’t help the warm grin on your lips. “Thanks.”
He nuzzled into your skin. “You’re welcome, babygirl,” he replied. “‘M so glad you’re mine.”
banner by cafekitsune.
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