#but she never can no matter how hard she tries
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thinking about fwb!frankie smiling a little too bashfully at a pretty lady in a bar. thinking about you watching from the table, hand tightening and slipping against the cool wet of your glass.
too occupied with her, he's missing the way you frown, how your stomach drops and churns. how jealousy - something you promised each other you'd never feel - begins to swoop up through your legs and into your arms and up your throat. misses how pope has to snap his fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention, misses will's sharp look across the room to where frankie is standing. the whirring of understanding in his features, of pity.
he misses the quiet satisfaction you have of knowing that will is wrong - that you're not just friends, that you know what francisco morales feels like. in your mouth, between your legs, inside you, on top of you, behind you, below you. know what it's like to have him beg and plead, know the feeling of absolute power when he is on his knees in front of you.
you're cold when he comes back to the table. joking and laughing with the boys, clinging to benny's shoulder. the other man looks fucking delighted, and it makes frankie sick. you don't snort at his jokes, don't acknowledge his stories. and he's begging you, mind to mind, to look at him.
when you do, over the rim of your glass, your eyes are like stone.
you've always made him nervous. from the very first time you walked into the hangar and introduced yourself as the new rpa pilot, he'd known he was in trouble. fiercely intelligent, unflappable, capable, confident, terrifyingly beautiful, he was fucked from the start.
and here, now - retired, covered in scars, riddled with nightmares - he's nervous in a different way. worried about what that look means, something broiling crashing in his stomach as he watches you and benny.
he follows you home in his truck when you leave the bar. walks through your front door timidly, twists his cap in his hands on the welcome mat. flinches when you jerk your head at the stairs. can't look at you as you strip before him in your room, his gut twisting. is ordered not to look at you as you tie his wrists behind his back, knees pressed into the carpet.
he can only hear how wet you are as you sink your fingers into yourself on the edge of your bed. he tries desperately to separate the sounds from what you're telling him. how maybe he should have gone home with that other girl if he was so interested. how you saw how she made him laugh, how she touched his arm, how he blushed. but he knows better than to think you're jealous. knows better than to tell you how that wasn't what he wanted at all. how every time he looked at the table, waiting for a rescue, you were turned away. how he couldn't find your eyes, his lighthouse while he's lost at sea. how he can't think of anyone else, doesn't want anyone else, blushed because he felt so disgusted at the way she touched him, desired him.
you tell him to look at you when you're close. something confusing burning in your chest, the confession you'd made in a roundabout way. you don't know if he heard it for what it was, but it doesn't matter when you command him to shuffle forwards, when he buries his face in your cunt.
he eats you like a man starved. sloppy and focused, tongue hardened to a point against your clit as he sucks you up, swallows, moans. hot and wet and vulnerable, your hands buried in his hair. he makes you come like that, and then twice more, before he's almost in tears. so achingly hard against his zipper it's painful, so sorry for how he made you feel. ready for you to take him in your arms, for the facade to drop, for you to be you again. he's patient, he's good. he knows the rules, knows his limits just as well as you do. senses the end coming as you pull gently on his curls, tilting his head back, cooing at him with eyes warmer than magma. you swipe your thumb along his bottom lip, cradle his chin, his cheek in your hand. lean forwards to press a kind kiss to his forehead.
he wants wants wants.
wants his hands free, his dick free, wants to feel you on him. wants you.
so close he can taste it as you kneel beside him, pressing more kisses to his cheek, his jawbone, his temple, the corner of his lips. he holds his breath as your fingers work at his restraints, lungs clenching tight as you whisper in his ear -
'you gonna beg, baby?'
yes, yes, he will. he'll do anything for you.
'please -' he croaks, 'please, baby, let me touch y-'
there's a pounding on your front door downstairs. frankie knows from the way you freeze you're just as surprised as he is.
he whimpers as you rise, as you wrap your robe around yourself. moans against your mouth when you lean down to kiss him softly, tasting yourself on his skin.
'wait here for me, baby,' you murmur, 'let me go and see who it is.'
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Cw: oviposition, tentacles, breeding, med kink
Something something Mountains heats being so intense that the only thing that helps him is being tied to a breeding bench and letting the other ghouls in the ministry run him through. They make a line, they have to to stop them from fighting over him, from smallest to biggest.
Dew goes first. They all watch as Dew struggles to Mount him, growling impatiently. Thankfully Dew never lasts long and his knot never does either, too small to stay locked inside Mountain especially with how wet he is.
Auroras next, eating out Dews load out of him and making him cum with her very skilled tongue. Cumulus goes next, using her equally as skilled fingers to pull another orgasm out of him. Phantom follows, he has the eagerness and grace of a newborn giraffe and, like Dew, struggles to mount him. But that doesn’t stop him. He fucks him twice, growling at Mist when she tries to pull him off but he’s so desperate to get his knot into him. And just like Dew, he can’t get it to stay locked for more than a few minutes.
Mist follows, fucking him with her tentacle for a bit before she can’t take it anymore and pushes four of her eggs into him. That satisfies Mountain for a bit but it doesn’t matter because Rains next and he gets three more eggs pushed into him, along with a load of thick black slimy ink to go with it. He can feel it all dripping out of him and running down his thighs.
Cowbell helps him push them out. Squeezing his tummy from behind and watching as each egg stretches his cunt out before popping out. He pushes a few back in, fucks him with them a little before he’s getting shoved out of the way by Swiss. Swiss fucks him hard and fast, two fingers in his ass because he knows Mountain goes crazy for it. Swiss doesn’t last long, not when Mountain is so wet and sloppy. The barbs on his dick dig into the soft walls of Mountains cunt and lock them together in way that’s so painful it has Mountain cumming over and over.
Zephyr follows Swiss. He’s evil and fucks Mountains ass that Swiss had so nicely prepped for him. He’s uses the this spade of his tail to flick at Mountains clit, making him clench tightly around him. He fucks him slowly, his stamina impeccable. He doesn’t knot him, not with two impatient quintessence ghouls growling behind him. Instead he pulls out and cums across Mountains back, watching as his back muscles move and twitch as his load lands on him.
Second to last is Aether. He kneels down and with one gloved hand probes around his hole. He scoops up some of the mess that had spilled out of him and pushes it back into him. He uses a speculum to stretch him out, watching in awe as as all the cum pours out of him and into the floor below. He takes two of his fingers, pushing them in with the speculum and pokes around at Mountains cervix, telling him how well he’ll breed and ripe and ready he is and that he’s literally perfect to be bred and that his womb is begging to be filled with kits. He watches as Mountains cunt twitches around the speculum and he can feel as his cervix pulses as he cums.
Once Aether is done it’s Omega. The one Mountain had been dreading and hoping for at the same time. He’d once jokingly compared Omega to bull but now that he was pushing into him and stretching him out he doesn’t think it was much of a joke. He folds himself over Mountains back, biting as his neck. He reaches under him so he can grope at Mountains tits, pulling and twisting his nipple while he whispers how good they’ll feel all full and leaking with milk. He tells him how he’s going to breed him, how he’s not letting him go until he can smell his littler in his belly and see him bulging all fat and round with the evidence. He knots him three times, making Mountain beg for it each time, before he’s finally satisfied. And so it Mountain.
Sometime later, Copia wanders into the ghouls den, oblivious to what they’ve been up to and just curious as to where all the ghouls have disappeared to. He walks into the site of a very satisfied and blissed out Mountain, still tied to the breeding bench and several glowing eyes of the ghouls looking at, telling him it’s his turn.
#I know I’ve missed a few ghouls#but in my defence I wrote this in a sleep deprived state#ficlet#the band ghost
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He Doesn’t Know That I Turned into an Animal - Roger Barel (Premium End)
As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this. None of my translations are proofread until a day after posting
Roger: Can you follow this scent too?
Roger held out a white handkerchief to me.
(This is the handkerchief I lent to Roger on a mission…!)
(Could it be that the one he’s looking for is me…?)
Roger: I have sharp ears, so I was listening for the voice of this handkerchief’s owner, as well as her heartbeat and footsteps.
But I haven't been able to hear anything.
So…please. Help me find her.
(Last night you were listening for me…)
(Why did I assume that he wouldn’t?)
(I want to tell him that I’m right here since he’s so worried about me!)
I led Roger to my room.
Roger: The scent led you to this room?
Kate: Arf! (Yes!)
Roger: …Any clue where she went after?
I made laps around my room. I wanted to convey to Roger that the scent couldn’t be traced out of this room.
Roger: You’re telling me that Kate never left her room…? No…that’s not right.
She left without anyone noticing?
(Yes! You’re doing great, Roger!)
I’ve been wondering about how I ended up like this, but…
I think the cause was me touching some kind of chemical while cleaning up the infirmary.
The things Roger researches range from useful to questionable.
The fact that he had a drug that could turn a person to an animal shouldn’t be a surprise.
(Since Roger’s the one that manages the drugs, he should be aware of the possibility of me turning into a corgi…!)
Roger: …Like if she could disappear like Liam, or transform, then no one would notice her.
(You’re pretty sharp, Roger…!)
Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…
(You’re getting there, Roger!!)
Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up…
Meaning you’re—
Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)
I met Roger’s eyes and barked to make it sink in. However…
Roger: …
No, that’s impossible…
Roger looked away from me, throwing the answer he worked toward out.
Roger: This is bad. I don’t have a clue.
(You’re kidding me…All that work and you’re not putting it together?!)
From experience, I knew Roger was knowledgeable and open-minded.
Normally it’s impossible to turn into an animal, but I thought he’d consider it.
(How do I tell you…?)
Roger: Hmm… I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…
Roger took out a notepad from his pocket and started writing things down.
Maybe he was writing down things he noticed while looking for me.
(...It felt like Roger was analyzing things just then, but maybe I was imagining things?)
(In any case…I can’t give up! I’ll keep trying until I get through to Roger!)
And so I used all of my corgi brain power…
I tried to tell Roger that this corgi was Kate.
I tried to use the typewriter… (My dog paws were too big)
I tried to use the piano to show that I was human inside… (William praised me for being a genius, though as a dog)
I tried to show the mystery novel where people and animals swapped places… (Harrison tossed me out his room)
After numerous failed attempts, the sun set—
By the time I returned to the infirmary, I was completely exhausted.
(What can I do…)
Ale: Arf? (What’re you trying so hard for?)
Kate: Awoo…(I want to tell Roger that I’m Kate…)
Ale: Woof woof? (That guy can’t understand us though?)
…Woof, woof (...Sometimes Roger gives me a sad smile)
(Huh…?)
Ale: Awoo…(Maybe he still thinks about how he couldn’t wake my previous owner up)
Woof, woof? (I enjoy being with Roger, but I can’t tell him that you know?)
Kate: Woof… (Ale…)
(Until now, I’ve always thought that it was important to deliver people’s thoughts and feelings. But as a fairytale keeper…)
(...I’m now in a position where I can’t no matter what I try, so I understand the pain better now)
Ale: Woof! (There’s no point in moping. Let’s eat some snacks!)
(Snacks…?)
Ale: Arf? (Hey Roger, what do you have there? In your pocket!)
Woof… (It’s been rustling for a while now…)
What Roger’s been repeatedly taking out of his pocket was just a notepad.
Every time I did something, Roger would take it out and jot something down.
Ale: Woof?! Woof! (Do you have tasty treats in your pocket?! Give it here!)
It seemed that Ale mistook Roger’s notepad for a treat or something.
Suddenly, Ale jumped high and the notepad fell out of Roger’s pocket.
Roger: Ah, Ale!
Ale: Woof… (What the…This isn’t a treat…)
The notepad fell open on a page…and I happened to catch what was written on it.
“Animal transformation curse observation record…Subject: Kate”
And then the page turned thanks to Ale’s paw touching the notepad.
(...Hm?! This…)
“She understands human speech, but can’t speak due to having a dog’s vocal chords.”
“To reveal her identity, she played the piano and tried to show me a novel. She’s kept her memories from when she was human.”
His notes were filled with information related to me as an animal.
Kate: Arf…? (Roger…?)
I stared hard at Roger and quickly put his notepad away.
Kate: Arf! Arf?! (This! This is my record, isn’t it?!)
Roger: Ah…You saw, lil’ lady?
Kate: Arf! Arf?! (Just now! Did you say “lil’ lady”?!)
Grrr…(You noticed that I’m Kate, didn’t you…!)
Roger: Can’t understand what you’re saying, but I know you’re angry.
Kate: Arf! (Explain!)
Roger: You probably want an explanation now?
Roger sat down on a chair in the infirmary and began his explanation.
Roger: I didn’t notice that you turned into a dog until this morning.
When you led me to your room after smelling the handkerchief…
That’s when I finally realized that you might be a dog.
~~ Flashback ~~
Roger: As an animal, the lil’ lady wouldn’t be able to say anything or call for help…
(You’re getting there, Roger!!)
Roger: And then a cute female corgi just so happens to show up…
Meaning you’re—
Kate: Arf! (I’m Kate!)
Roger: No, that’s impossible…
~~ Flashback end ~~
(You did notice at that time…?!)
Roger: …This is probably why you became a dog)
Roger fetched a green bottle from a shelf.
Roger: This bottle has a “become whatever animal you want to be” drug.
But…it was leaking because of a crack on the bottom, so you probably touched that while cleaning.
Kate: Woof…(Yeah…)
Roger: Also, I have a guess on how to turn you back. With a kiss…
(K-kiss…?)
Roger: Like in the fairy tales you know? A curse is broken with a kiss.
(If you knew that, then why…)
Roger: Why didn’t I turn you back immediately? So that I could study you, of course.
Those words reminded me of how Roger acted this morning.
~~ Flashback ~~
Roger: This is bad. I lue.
Hmm…I should write down what I know so that I can find Kate…
~~ End flashback ~~
(At the time, I thought Roger’s tone was analytical…)
(I can’t believe you were pretending to take notes to find me when you were really just writing down your observations…!)
If Ale hadn’t jumped and Roger hadn’t dropped his notepad…
I would never have known.
Kate: Grr…Yip! Yip! (You…mad scientist! Egoist!)
Roger: What’d you expect me to do? It would've been such a waste to turn a valuable research subject back so soon.
But I’ve done enough research for now, and I miss your human form.
Shall we turn you back?
Kate: Grrrr…! (You’re the worst…!)
It’s true that Roger looked hard for me before realizing who I was.
Last night, he looked so serious while listening for me.
(But…that’s besides the point!)
(I worked so hard to make you realize who I was so it’s right for me to be angry that he decided to use me as a research subject!)
Ale: Woof…? (I don’t know what’s happening, but is it Roger’s fault?)
Arf! (In that case, go all out!)
(Go all out…Yeah, let’s do that!)
Following what Ale said, I jumped onto Roger’s lap—
Roger: !
I kissed Roger on the lips.
I didn’t do this for Roger, but because I wanted things to go back to normal, but…
Maybe because I wasn’t used to having a corgi body, I only touched the corner of his lips.
I doubt this could be called a kiss.
(Will this really turn me back…? …Ah)
At that moment, my body grew hot…The corgi body started to shift.
Kate: Finally! I’m back…!
Roger: Ah…Lil’ lady, I don’t wanna say this, but…
Roger’s gaze on my body made me realize that I was naked.
Kate: D-don’t look!
I quickly wrapped myself in a blanket and huddled a corner of the infirmary.
Kate: Will you take responsibility for making me your research subject and bring me some clothes?
Roger: Yeah, no problem. But…
Is that what all?
Roger pointed at my head and my body that was hidden by the blanket.
Kate: …? What do you mean—
I casually touched the spot on my head that he was pointing to…And froze.
There was something coming out of my head that shouldn’t have been there.
Kate: W-what is this?!
I borrowed a mirror to check…
I still had corgi ears on my head and a short corgi tail on my butt.
Roger: Maybe because it wasn't a full kiss so it wasn’t a complete transformation. This really is interesting.
Kate: No way…! How do I turn back completely?!
Roger: Why not kiss me again?
Kate: It doesn’t have to be you, does it? All I need is a kiss.
Roger: If that person loves you, then it’s no problem.
Kate: Love…
Roger: Actually it has to do with the area of contact, the duration, and saliva composition…
A loving, passionate kiss should do just the trick.
A loving kiss is what breaks the curse in a fairytale after all.
(If that’s the case, then the half-hearted kiss only undid part of the transformation…)
Kate: Roger…do you…l-love me?
I felt oddly embarrassed asking that, and my voice was shaky.
Roger: Of course I do. You were so cute as a corgi.
Roger’s answer wasn’t really what I wanted to hear.
He probably knew what I was really asking and dodged the question on purpose.
Roger: Is that all you wanted to ask? Then go ahead and kiss someone else?
Kate: …
I was angry with Roger for knowing who I was but not saying anything about it because of research.
That’s why I wanted to kiss someone besides him…
(...Why can’t I move my legs?)
Roger: Just so you know…
If you leave this room with those cute corgi ears and tail, you’re gonna run into some troublesome men.
Not everyone in this castle’s a gentleman.
Since research’s my priority, it’d be safer to kiss me.
Kate: Why are you saying stuff to make me stay?
Roger: It doesn’t feel good watching someone you’re fond of wagging their tail for someone else. It’s only natural.
(I can’t take this anymore…)
(I should be angry with Roger, but more than that…)
(I really want to kiss him)
Surely this was just an after-effect of Roger doting on me when I was a dog…
That’s what I told myself.
Kate: Okay…
Since you took care of me while I was a dog, I’ll take care of you.
Roger: That so? Thanks.
The moment I saw Roger’s satisfied smile, my tail started wagging under the sheet.
(What am I so happy for!?)
Roger: But before a kiss to turn you back—
—Let me do a thorough examination of your body.
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(not proof-read!)
My father never talked a lot
He just took a walk around the block
'Til all his anger took a hold of him
And then he'd hit
simon flexed his fingers, his knee bouncing up and down. he needed to calm down, he wanted to calm down. he thought about leaving the house for a few moments to not run into your or the kids but he quickly crossed this off his list.
no, he would stay here and work through his anger instead of fleeting it. he would actually try to solve it before finding his escape at the shooting range.
he wasn’t like his old man. he would never be.
My mother never cried a lot
She took the punches, but she never fought
'Til she said, "I'm leaving, and I'll take the kids"
So she did
simon didn’t like to see you cry. no matter if he was the reason or not. he despised it. seeing tears streaming down your face made him feel like his world was falling apart; because it was. you were his world. you and your kids.
and never in a million years simon would lay his hands on you or your kids. he would rather shoot himself.
sometimes—when it seemed like he couldn’t calm himself down—he thought about what would happen if you would walk away from him. it made him realize what he would lose if he wouldn’t be able to keep himself in check.
seeing you walk away from him—with the kids—in front of his inner eye gave him a certain calmness. it made him still and think about why he was angry and if it really was necessary that he was angry.
Scattered 'cross my family line
God, I have my father's eyes
But my sister's when I cry I can run, but
I can't hide
From my family line
simon didn’t know how many mirrors have suffered the force of his fist already. sometimes it was at night when his tried self was looking back at him through the mirror, sometimes it was during the day when the anger took a hold on him and he thought his father was staring at him, mocking him.
when ever he looked at the mirror too long he saw his reflection shifting into a picture of the bastard who had the audacity to call himself his dad. and simon would grip the sink, of even afraid of breaking it with the force of his grip.
and in moments—when you weren’t able to get him in time—his fist would collide with the mirror. but when he looked at the scattered pieces on the floor, he didn’t see his father anymore. no. he saw him. he saw tommy.
afterwards he would sit in silence as you whisper soothing words while patching up his hands with careful, loving and gentle hands.
“you’re not him,” you would tell him, before you kiss his forehead and keep him close.
It's hard to put it into words
How the holidays will always hurt
I watch the fathers with their little girls
And wonder what I did to deserve this
How could you hurt a little kid?
I can't forget, I can't forgive you
'Cause now I'm scared that everyone I love will leave me
when simon held his first child in his arms he was afraid. he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to live up to the role as a father. he was afraid he would fail. not only his child but also you.
he could still remember the days he spend crying in the backyard as a kid because it seemed like everyone had a loving father but him. everyone’s life was good and fun except his.
he would watch his friends play with their parents from afar and he would pray and beg that his father would change, even tho he knew he never would.
simon never understood why he needed to take blow after blow, punch after punch, burn after burn but he did. he never understood why his father didn’t love him. he never understood how anyone could love him.
because his mother loved him and she left. tommy loved him and he left. tommy’s wife loved him and she left.
everyone who ever loved him left.
except you. you had stayed. you didn’t go anywhere. and he was keen on keeping it that way.
Oh, all that I did to try to undo it
All of my pain and all your excuses
I was a kid but I wasn't clueless
(Someone who loves you wouldn't do this)
All of my past, I tried to erase it
But now I see, would I even change it?
Might share a face and share a last name, but
(We are not the same)
simon went to therapy. he tried at least. he never lasted more than two sessions, maybe three. he felt like it didn’t help him. he felt like he was shutting himself down even more after ach session.
every therapist had tried to work through what his father did and why he did it but nobody understood that simon knew why his father did what he did. no one understood that simon was aware of what his father did.
he tried to erase it, tried to forget about it but he couldn’t. it was chasing him down, finding every single hideout he so carefully constructed for himself. he couldn’t escape who he was and what he’s been through.
but you, you didn’t care about that. you didn’t care about who he was and what had happened to him. you loved him for who he was now and what he was doing now. and you made sure to tell him that.
“you might be a riley but a name doesn’t carry what you might think it does.” that’s what you told him when he finally opened up about his fears about ending up like his father. “you carry your fathers dna, yes but you also carry your mothers and your mother was a lovely woman from what you told me.”
you would pull him into your arms while sitting on the couch, your hand gently playing with his hair. “you decide who you are and who you want to be. not your name and not your dna. you won’t be like your father if you don’t want to be like him. and i know you don’t.”
simon cried whenever you told him that. he would cry into your chest, seeking all the comfort he could. “you share the same name but you’re not the same,” you whisperd into his ear as you pulled him closer to you, your arms tightening around him.
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was thinking about this post from @/lambmotifz on the way to therapy
(CW: noncon/dubcon Wincest...very nsfw)
thinking about how Dean wants to kill Ruby and show her who Sam belongs to, but knows she'll fight back again and there will be other chances to kill her. she will die, just not now, because he's gotta teach his Sam a lesson first.
Dean waiting until they're alone and Sam's got his guard down before bringing out the cuffs, giving his brother a chance to put them on. and ofc Sam says no, lashes out at Dean for wanting to restrain him like he's a monster, but it doesn't matter because Dean is stronger and better at close combat and pins him down on his stomach to cuff his wrists to the bed, arms stretched in front of him.
and maybe Sam is a little off his game, because every movement they're touching, his brother's hands are on him, and maybe he could use his powers but the thought of using them on Dean -- well he can't even finish that thought before the cuffs are secure and Sam can only yank against them, demanding Dean take them off. eyes going wide and voice cracking with a panicked Dean! when his jeans get yanked off and his underwear gets shoved down and ohmygod are they really doing this NOW?
but yeah, they are, and Dean's got a hand on his ass, asking if Ruby touched him there, and Sam tries to avoid the question but gasps when he gets his ass slapped hard and Dean just keeps asking until he admits it, yes, she has. another brutal slap followed by Dean telling him she doesn't anymore, because this belongs to him.
and Dean knows. knows what his brother's into, knows that he's let Ruby fuck him when he sticks his finger in Sam, barely wet with spit, and asks again, did she touch you here? and Sam tries to lie but Dean always knows and just shoves in another finger and another way too fast, way too deep, before Sam breaks and says yesyesshedid (and thanks god again that Ruby used such a big dildo recently because he's just loose enough still to avoid tearing even though it hurts).
and Sam's ass gets slapped again with Dean's free hand, other one still curling fingers deep inside, and Sam's head is going fuzzy with the pain and the stimulation and everything happening too fast, too much, with Dean's voice the only thing grounding him, telling him she never will, never again, you know why Sammy? because all of this belongs to me.
it's barely any prep before Dean starts fucking him and god it hurts, it hurts like hell, but it's Dean and he's missed his brother so much and if he belongs to Dean then Dean must still want him, must still love him, and the love and the pain and the anger at Dean for doing this, anger at himself for wanting this all blur together and it's too much, and then one of the thrusts hits something there and it's really too much when Dean adjusts his angle because she can't give this to you, not like I can, she'll never hear you scream like this
and when his brother starts asking, demanding to know who Sam belongs to, obviously the only answers is you, yours, Dean Dean Dean because it's always Dean and Sam hates that it's always Dean and Sam loves that it's always Dean. and it's after the third, maybe fourth orgasm -- Sam doesn't count, maybe they're just spasms, nothing's coming out anymore -- that Sam starts sobbing.
you left me. it comes out all wobbly and pathetic, accusing and hurt and furious and devastated. you left me you left me Dean
and it's only then that Dean stops, placated by his brother's tears, reassured by the words hidden between the lines. i needed you, i missed you, i needed you so badly. and it rips Dean up inside to know he wasn't there for his brother, that because he was gone Sam was desperate enough to trust a demon, but it consoles Dean because no matter how angry his brother is or how much he hates him for trying to control him, Sam still needs him and he's right for doing this. his baby brother needs him.
so he uncuffs his brother (not like Sam was in any state to fight back now) and turns him over. shushes him while he sobs and kisses him tenderly and slides in slow and sweet, giving instead of taking. tells his baby brother i know, i'm here now Sam, i'm not leaving again, not leaving you ever again
(and then Dean kills Ruby and Lucifer never gets freed /j)
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something about being close — sam winchester
pairing : s.2!sam winchester x gn!reader, featuring platonic dean ➖⟢ genre : angst, fluff, ➖⟢ cw : sam and reader are lovingly mean to each other, bad insults (weird, stupid, lame), bad jokes, swearing, canon typical violence and ghosts, arguing, so much kissing, could be ooc but idc, edited but most likely still contains a few mistakes, single usage of y/n ➖⟢ wc : 9.5K
summary : sam is acting weird, and when it puts people in danger, you can't let it slide (despite the fact that you're totally in love with him).
“hey, check this out,” sam calls to you and dean, not bothering to look up from his computer screen. “think we found our violent spirit.” you part from your own research without a single qualm, resting a hand on the back of sam’s chair as he leans back for you and dean to get a better look. “marissa hancock. she was a student at the college, died a violent death there, just like we thought. it’s thought that the janitor impaled her with his mop while he was working in her dorm hall, but he was never put away for lack of evidence.”
“explains the janitor kabob,” dean quips, already headed to shrug on his jacket.
“easy solve,” you admit. it only took a solid half hour of searching through records to find the right murder. “but why’s she killing now? she’s had, what?” you lean further over sam’s shoulder to inspect the record, “fifty some years to be killing janitors, why start now?”
“dunno,” sam shrugs, and you can feel his shoulder brush against you, reminding you how close he is. doing your best to stay casual and maybe not stare longingly at his pretty face from this close up, you straighten your back and go to grab your own jacket as sam types away on his keyboard. “looks like her original murderer died two weeks ago.”
“right when the killings started,” dean finishes. “alright, let’s go. you got where she’s buried, sam?”
“yep,” he stands, shutting his laptop. “saint mercy cemetery, not too far.”
“hm,” you laugh out, “second saint mercy cemetery this month. people need to get more creative,” you note as you exit the motel room and head down the short hallway to get to the impala.
“and what would you name a cemetery?” dean asks, ready to catch you off guard or tease you for anything he can get his hands on.
“i should have thought of a clever answer before saying that,” you admit, “but i do wish it were socially acceptable to call them dead people neighborhoods.”
“that’s lame,” sam grins, throwing his arm around your shoulders for just about two seconds before he has to let go to get through the small doorway and outside.
“c’mon,” you complain, “i know it’s kind of lame, and definitely insensitive, but imagine someone just asked you where you’re headed after work and you get to tell them you’re going to the dead people neighborhood. cemetery’s no fun, at least dead people neighborhood is accurate.” you close the back door of the car behind you as you settle in to punctuate your point.
“you’re weird,” sam teases in a matter-of-fact tone, not even looking back from the passenger's seat to see the sneer on your face.
“no, you’re weird,” you fire back.
“alright, kids,” dean interrupts, “enough bickering like we’re four, we’ve got a job to do,” he snickers as he backs the car up.
“okay, dean,” you and sam chime, voices full of mocking and almost totally in sync. dean rolls his eyes hard, because it’s just one of those days where the two of you can’t stop feeding into the antics of the other, regressing the combined mental age of the three of you by at least twenty years.
having known the brothers since you were kids through bobby, and starting to hunt with them about a year and a half ago, you’ve certainly grown close with the both of them. but a little closer in age, you and sam are nothing but two peas in a pod. and much to dean’s chagrin, that means it only takes a split second for the two of you to switch things up and turn against him when he tries to break up your banter. it’s pretty much all loving argumentation, of course, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t annoying as all hell for whoever has to witness it.
“and for the record, i like dead people neighborhood,” dean offers, ignoring your moment of synchronicity with sam.
“yes!” you celebrate, reaching around the seat in front of you to lightly hit sam’s shoulder. “you’re the lame one, you’re no fun.”
he scoffs, mumbling something to himself about how, “of course dean likes dead people neighborhood. it’s stupid.”
you resist the urge to tell him that he’s stupid, and instead follow dean’s direction to focus on the case.
“hold on, dean. you should drop me off on campus first, one of us should make sure another janitor doesn’t fall on his mop handle before we can burn the bones,” you suggest.
“no.”
your brow furrows at how fast sam shuts you down, his serious tone a harsh contrast to his practically whiny mumble moments before. you glance at dean to see that he’s got his own eyebrows raised in confusion.
“what’d’you mean, ‘no’?” you question.
“i mean,” he clears his throat as if he’s just realized his strong denial was awkward, “that that could be dangerous alone, so i’ll go and you can stick with dean.”
you send a bewildered look to dean, one he doesn’t catch trying to pay attention to the street name up ahead. “i’m sorry, are you suggesting i can’t handle a measly ghost?” mostly you’re confused by sam’s words, but you can’t help letting a bit of offense slip into your voice.
“n-no, no that’s not what i’m saying,” he fumbles, trying to fix what he said, “i meant– i meant it would be safer for anyone not to go alone. so– so i’ll go with you and dean can stick with burning the body.”
it’s a clumsy, bad save that’s entirely unconvincing.
“you’re seriously gonna stick me with grave digging duty?” dean grunts, “y/n’s right, it’s just one ghost, we don’t need two of us to deal with it. digging up a grave is arguably harder.”
“exactly,” you reason, “which is why i should go scope out the dorm hall, and you should go with dean to the dead people neighborhood.”
“she’s buried in a family mausoleum,” counters sam, “her grave doesn’t need to be dug up, which means it’s a one person job, and since there could be an actual violent ghost in the dorm, two people should go. and don’t try to make dead people neighborhood a thing, at the very least it’s too long, not to mention it’s not funny.”
despite the fact that he’s teasing you, you’re glad to hear something normal come out of his mouth. his hesitancy to let you take on the ghost is odd, especially considering the ghost might not show up at all. it’s not like he’s never been protective of you, it’s in both his and certainly dean’s nature. but he knows full well that you are completely capable of handling one violent ghost, and he’s been weird like this for the past two weeks.
you laugh when you admit, “it wasn’t quite as good in context as i thought it would be, but it wasn’t that bad, i’m just tryna to stick with my bit,” you defend, “and fine, two people at the dorms, one on dead person arson.”
“are you serious?” sam laughs, halfheartedly tossing his head back to give you a judgemental look through the corner of his eye.
“dead serious, pun absolutely intended,” you let out a full laugh at the strangled sigh he lets out. oh how you love to rile him up with bad jokes. “you’re too easy, sam. for that, i’m sticking you on grave duty. dean and i will handle the dorm.”
“you should be on grave duty, for all the bad jokes today,” he argues.
dean practically growls in annoyance, “how about i go on grave duty, so i can get away from your annoying asses.” it’s not a suggestion, and the both of you huff out a sigh, but don’t argue.
dean drops you off a little ways from the dorm hall for you to grab a shotgun and salt rounds with less of a chance of being seen. you leave the other shotgun for dean just in case, bothered that yours is still broken from the last hunt. there hadn’t been enough time to fix it yet. so, you grab an iron rod, hoping to use that before any guns on a college campus. it’d be a sticky situation to get out of, being caught with shotguns in a dorm, and at the very least incredibly inconvenient to scare the hell out of a bunch of college aged kids at eleven pm. sam sticks the shotgun under his jacket, generally hiding it from the view of anyone not looking too closely.
walking a few minutes, you find the right dorm hall and sam hands the gun off to you to pull out his lock pick. but, glancing behind you, you shove the gun back into his hands and yank him into you.
“the hell?” he resists for a split second before you quickly interrupt him.
“shut up! hide the gun and act like you’re piss drunk. someone’s coming,” you hiss. in a swift movement, he tucks the gun back under his jacket as you shimmy the iron rod into your sleeve, then he swings his free arm around you, practically dropping half of his weight on you. “dude,” you complain, before falling into character. “sammy, come on!” you whine loudly. “i can’t reach my id with you like this,” you pretend to feel around for something in your back pocket while keeping him standing, and he immediately picks up on what you’re trying to do. he stumbles forward so that you have to use both hands to keep him upright, and you curse at your false struggle. “help me out here, sammy, will you?” you try to make your voice sound overly desperate, maybe a little innocent too, “why don’t you lean against the wall so we can get inside,” you beg, trusting sam to play his part well.
“nooo,” he slurs, dragging the word out in a whiny pitch, “don’t wanna.” he turns into you and haphazardly wraps his lanky arm all the way around your form, tugging you to him and nearly knocking the both of you over. you feel heat rush to your cheeks at this and desperately remind yourself that he’s only pressing his face into your neck so that he can get a look at the person approaching and keep the shotgun well hidden from view.
you see the girl out of the corner of your eye, young and clearly a student headed for the dorm.
“oh, thank god!” you exclaim, “hey, i’m so sorry to bother you, but do you think you could open the door for us?” you ask as sweetly as you can, pulling your eyebrows together to gain sympathy, before adding on a humorous tone, “my boyfriend is stupid drunk and i can’t get us inside.” you can feel sam stiffen for a split second at your words, and you yourself wonder if you should have just gone the “friend” route for the sake of your own sanity. you’re going to want to keep calling sam your boyfriend, over and over again.
“oh my god, of course,” she laughs goodnaturedly, and you thank the lord she’s laid back, rather than some uptight rule follower ready to report you to administration. she swipes her id and holds the door open for you, and as you struggle into the building, you think that sam is making this harder for you than it has to be. but there’s absolutely no denying you love the way it feels to just have him all over you, even for the sake of illegally entering a building with a gun.
“thank you so much,” your voice is one big sigh of relief, slightly muffled by the fabric of sam’s jacket.
“yeah, don’t worry about it,” she smiles, “you two are super cute, by the way,” she compliments before turning towards the stairs and waving a kind goodbye.
you do your best to not stumble over your words as you thank her, heat once again rising to your face, and you’re sure that sam can feel the warmth of your neck. body stiff, you turn and head down the hallway in the opposite direction, sam still clinging to you until it’s clear.
“alright, get off, you big dork,” you snort, gently pushing him away and doing your best to regain your composure to proceed as if you don’t have a massive crush on him. “did ya have to make it so hard for me?”
he shrugs with a sly grin, “had to make it convincing, didn’t i? besides, it was your idea, you don’t get to complain.”
you stick your tongue out at him and he raises his eyebrows as if to say, “really?”
“she was really nice,” you note, voice almost wistful in a way that sam easily picks up on. about a year into hunting with the brothers and dean was off buying food, you and sam had collapsed onto a motel bed together as you had many times before by then, both exhausted after a long case. that night, as you spoke in tired, hushed tones, with no need for anyone but the other to hear your words, you had somehow ended up with your head resting on his biceps and one of his legs swung over yours.
that’s the night you told him you were jealous that he got to go to college, even if it wasn’t for long. you’d told him how you liked the idea of that life, even if you had to return to hunting after it was over. you wanted friends your age, to learn, go to stupid parties and have a college partner. you knew the experience wasn’t all rainbows and butterflies, but you wanted it anyway. he’d said, sure, it wasn’t perfect, but it was a hell of a lot better than hunting in his opinion. he wanted you to have that. once this was all over, and you both got justice for your families, he’d help you apply, make sure you got in somewhere, maybe even go with you. a hush fell over the room and he knew you weren’t convinced.
“yeah, she was,” he says, his own voice a touch more gentle than moments ago. “we were lucky.” he doesn’t want to tell you that most college kids would be at least cool enough to let you inside, maybe not as friendly as her, but that it’s true you’d like it here. he doesn’t want to remind you of what you can’t have.
a silence falls over the two of you, punctuated only by the shuffling of your feet or the rustle of clothes. it’s comfortable and easy because you’ve done it a million times before. you don’t have to say anything to agree that you’ll head to the basement where the original murder occured. the both of you stay quiet and light on your feet, sam always peering around corners before rounding them.
in the basement he stops you with a simple finger to his lips. he leans in close to whisper as quietly as he can, “janitor’s here.”
you resist the urge to call said janitor an idiot, because who the hell is going to be cleaning an area in which three of your coworkers have mysteriously died in the past two weeks, but you just nod instead, taking in the way that sam’s eyes look under the dim light.
“wanna wait around til dean calls or warn him?” you ask, equally as quiet. he turns his head to look back around the corner before continuing.
“well, we should warn him, but we can’t use the drunk ruse on an employee. he probably has a radio scanner on him, might even be connected to campus security,” he points out.
“fbi?”
“we look too much like college kids right now,” he reasons.
“right,” you agree, “well then, stupid college kids trying to see a murder scene? we’ll link arms and you can hide the gun behind your back. just so we’re near him til dean burns the bones. hopefully nothing’ll even happen.” it’s as if you jinxed it all in that moment, as the lights immediately begin to flicker, the buzz of electricity filling your ears and a sudden chill filling the air. “nevermind,” you curse, flicking the iron rod back into your hand and barging around the corner, only a hair behind sam.
“way to jinx it,” he grunts.
you just scoff and beg him, “just try not to use the gun.” this time neither of you attempt to hide your presence as your shoes pound against the tile floor.
“no promises,” sam says, the gun up and loaded in front of him.
“what the hell?” the janitor barely has the time to exclaim before he’s thrown against the wall.
“i got it,” you warn sam, eager to avoid gunshots and sprinting full speed towards the apparition, iron rod in front of you. you throw all your weight into reaching the ghost of the young girl before she can flicker out of reach. the iron in your hand makes contact, and she evaporates for the time being. unfortunately for you, your momentum keeps you going, through the space the ghost just occupied and straight into the section of the floor slick with soapy water. with no time to gain any semblance of your balance, you slip and come crashing to the ground. your back hits the floor and the wind gets knocked out of your lungs in the same moment that the iron skitters out of your hand.
you struggle a bit to sit up due to the wetness underneath you, gasping slightly and letting curses fall from your mouth the moment you can speak again.
in a split second reaction, sam shouts your name, his voice inappropriately taught and worried for such a silly accident. he’s by your side in an instant, strong hands pulling you up and his anxious voice asking if you’re alright. you wave him off easily, unconcerned for yourself.
“help him,” you urge, “i’m fine.” but he doesn’t back off nearly as easily as you’d think.
“are you sure, did you hit your head? you couldn’t breathe for a second there,” his hands stay glued to you as he rattles off his concerns, ones that you find utterly unnecessary and unhelpful considering the fact that you’re fine, and the ghost could reappear any second. his strong grip keeps you from bending down to scoop up the iron rod, but you have to wrench yourself away from him when you hear a strangled cry come from the janitor. he whirls around with you to see the ghost with her hands around the janitor’s neck, crushing him against the wall as his feet dangle just above the floor. the iron rod is back in your hand in an instant, but sam’s shotgun lays abandoned on the floor a few feet away.
he dives for the weapon, but with a flick of the ghost’s hand, he’s knocked against the wall with a noise so loud it hurts to hear. before she can pay you attention, you fling the iron towards her, vaporizing her once more. the iron clatters to the ground as the janitor collapses to his knees. you rush towards him, pulling him away from the wall before tugging a container of salt from your jacket’s inside pockets. apologetically, you haul the poor man to his feet, throwing a quick look over your shoulder at sam. he’s groaning painfully, but already moving to get back up.
knowing he’s easily survived worse, you turn your attention back to the janitor, who’s sputtering out confused and incoherent questions about what in the goddamn hell is happening.
“just stay there,” you urge him, too pressed for time to add adequate sympathy to your tone. “stay in the circle and she can’t get you.” with practiced ease, you shake the salt onto the ground with barely enough to make a small, solid ring around the man.
you scoop up the gun from the ground, then turn to help sam onto his feet. “we’re gonna have to tough this out til dean gets done,” is all you say when you place the weapon into his hands, despite the urge to ask what the hell is wrong with him and why he’s so off his game. you turn to grab your own weapon, but it seems the ghost is reappearing faster and faster. this time, you’re the one who gets tossed into the wall, but you stay pressed against the cold surface as a mop flies to meet you, the long handle pushing against your throat and cutting off your air supply. you take in a strangled gasp, hands clawing at the old wooden handle and giving yourself a few splinters that you couldn’t care less about in the moment. of course, it doesn’t budge.
the second you’re flattened against the wall, sam shouts your name again, this time with his gun in the air, swinging around to get a shot at the ghost. but before he can react, it flies out of his hand and she reappears right in front of him, pushing him against the wall across from you.
he struggles against her wildly, his hand itching to get free of her hold to reach the hidden iron knife in his pocket. but before he can get there, her grip weakens and she lets out a strangled scream as she bursts into flames. the flames climb up her old fashioned pencil skirt and swallow up the bloody wound in her abdomen. her grip on you and sam falters as she burns away, then dissolves completely as the last of her ashes fade out into the musty basement air.
you drop to your knees, coughing and gasping for breath as the sound of the mop clattering to the floor echoes through the hallway. sam’s saying your name, half through a cough and his voice still so worried as he stumbles towards you. then he’s on his knees too and his hands are sturdy on your shoulders.
“‘m fine,” you rasp out, hand reaching for his bicep to ground you to something solid and steady. he stays right there, completely ignoring the poor man who’s still practically frozen in fear in the tiny circle of salt and the ringing of his phone. one of his hands slips around you to rub soothing strokes up and down your back and it brings you even closer to him, your forehead dipping to rest on his shoulder. you feel silly for how much he’s fussing over you, but you can’t quite scold or question him until you’ve caught your breath. clearly something is bothering him (and you want him so bad), so you let him hold you close.
“are you hurt anywhere?” he finally asks once he feels your breathing even out under his touch.
you pull away from him gently, shaking your head before verbally confirming, “no, i’m alright sam. nothing more than your typical bumps and bruises.” your voice is a touch raspy from the pressure on your throat, but it’s nothing that won’t go away with some water and rest, maybe some tea if really necessary.
his hands stay on you as he stands. “are you sure?” he asks, and you can’t figure out why on earth, heaven, or hell he’s so overly concerned about you. frankly, it’s starting to worry you. and definitely annoy you. all the sudden he’s acting like you’re fragile, like you can’t take care of yourself. things which he should know for a fact aren’t true.
he lets you slip away from his hold as you swoop down to pick up your lost weapons and face the poor janitor.
“sorry about that all. you can step out of the salt now.” he looks at you as if he can’t be sure, and your tone softens a bit. he’s young, probably just a college kid himself. “she’s really gone this time, i promise. you won’t ever have to worry about her again. though, i wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to look for a different job.”
he nods and thanks you, and you tell him to repay the favor by not mentioning you and sam. then, at a pace you certainly can’t blame him for, he scurries away.
“c’mon,” you nod to sam, “we should get out of here. you should also call dean back. he’s probably worried you didn’t answer.” with that, you turn back in the direction of the stairs without looking back at sam, rolling your eyes when your own cell ring. you pick up with a, “we’re fine, dean,” before he can even ask why the hell it took you so long to answer him. he lets out a sigh, half relieved, half annoyed.
“what took ya so long?” he asks anyway.
“had a few bumps in the road since little miss janitor-killer showed up, but we’re fine. neither of us are hurt. would’ya pick us up in the same spot you left us?”
“yeah, ‘course. already on my way, see you crazy kids in five.” with that, he hangs up and you don’t have to glance over your shoulder to feel sam following behind. it’s all just the familiarity of his footsteps, the sound they make, and the pace at which he walks. it’s the particular rustle of his favorite jacket, soft and scratchy sounding all at once. it’s the feeling of his tall figure, his broad chest so close behind you that he’d run right into you if you stopped even for a moment. you debate whether to ask him what the hell is up now or at the motel. for now, the priority is getting out unnoticed, so you clench your jaw a bit and continue in silence because you’re beginning to feel a little angry with him. you think he can feel it, so he stays quiet too, all the way out the dorm and down the street to wait for dean.
it’s not uncommon to be quieter after a hunt is finished because you’re all usually tired and more often than not achey from some toss around or another. but sam can tell there’s something else bothering you tonight. from the way you tilt your shoulder away from him, the distance so nearly imperceptible that only he would notice, he’s willing to bet that he’s that something. and though he doesn’t want to admit it, he thinks he knows why. he just won’t be the first one to say something about it because he’s stubborn, a little prideful, and most of all, too afraid to explain why he’s acting this way.
even so, he just can’t help himself. he hovers near, so near that once you’re settled by the side of the road, you can feel him without actually touching him. you’re tempted to nudge him away, just because of how overprotective he’s acting. you’re also tempted to lean back into his chest because somehow you know his hands wouldn’t waste a second in gathering you up and keeping you closer than ever before. it starts to rain a little bit, soft and almost unnoticable if it weren’t for the new chill in the air. for a moment, you can feel one hand hover over your waist, just for a second before there’s a light swish of fabric when it falls back to his side. you wonder if he’s worried about you getting too cold.
you hear dean before you see him, the rumble of the impala coming into earshot moments before its headlights appear around the corner. the car slows as it nears you, pulling to the side of the road with the front windows down and some classic rock guitar riff filtering into your ears. the music’s quieter than you know it was just moments ago from when dean was alone. he greets you two with a simple, “hey,” once he’s fully stopped and you place your hand out, palm up and wordlessly asking for sam to hand you the rifle to put in the trunk.
“i got it,” he says, not waiting for you to argue when he takes the iron from the loose grip of your fist and makes his way to the trunk. you slide into the back seat behind the passengers side and return dean’s greeting.
he twists in his seat to watch you as you close your eyes and massage your shoulder with a wince. it’s beginning to become more sore, just like all the rest of your body.
“you okay?” he asks, voice full of his normal gruffness that tells you cares enough to ask but knows not to be too worried.
you open your eyes back up to give him a nod. “‘m fine. just the usual ghost beat down. y’know, bumps and bruises.”
“mm, sure do,” he agrees, “so what? dearly departed marissa thought you were janitors?” he asks skeptically. you hear the slam of the trunk, and moments later sam’s settling into his seat in front of you.
“no,” you scoff, “some idiot kid was actually cleaning down there. told ‘im to get a new job,” you snort humorlessly.
“well, i’ll say,” dean raises his eyebrows in agreement before twisting back to face the wheel. he sneaks a look between you and sam before switching the car out of park and getting back on the road. for a few minutes, all you hear is the muted music, the constant roll of the engine, the light patter of rain on the metal roof, and the road under the tires. then dean switches off the music. “anything happen back there that i should know about?” he ventures.
“no,” sam answers casually, “nothing, just the usual.” you don’t even answer. you just can’t figure out if you should involve dean, tell him how sam was unthinking and almost entirely uncaring about the innocent civilian involved, all because he was so worried about you.
“alright,” dean concedes, glancing at you through the rearview mirror and sounding entirely unconvinced. he doesn’t turn the music back on, just lets the silence reign, so you close your tired eyes and lean your head against the cold glass of the window. you’ve fallen asleep in the back of the impala countless times before, but your drowsiness doesn’t take over this time in favor of letting your mind wander over what to say to sam. you can’t just let it be, and tonight is certainly the worst it’s gotten. plus, it’s an easy habit for you to wait for sleep when you’re already so close to the motel.
when dean pulls into the parking lot, he doesn’t turn off the engine. “gonna grab some grub. i’ll be back in a bit with the usual.”
“grab me something for dessert, will ya? ‘m craving something sweet,” you request, leaning towards the driver’s seat.
“sure thing,” he nods, and you slide out of the car and close the door after a thank you and tired smile. “anything for you, sammy?” you hear him ask.
“i’m good, just the regular,” sam responds as he exits the car. you unlock the motel door, and he’s inside the room just a moment later, closing and locking the entrance behind him. you stand facing away from him at the shitty table, your jacket already strewn across the back of a chair. you can hear him behind you, going through his routine movements. he’s taking off his jacket, setting it down on the edge of the bed. then he’s pulling comfier clothes out from his pack.
“you wanna shower first?” he offers, breaking the silence of the room. you can feel his gaze on your back.
“sure,” you swallow, “thanks,” you say without any sort of edge to your voice.
“‘f course,” he says, and he means that. his eyes follow you as you pull out your own change of clothes, just a tshirt and sweats, and make your way to the dingy bathroom. you’re tired, so you’re quick with it, but the water’s already lukewarm by the time you’re done. you dry off and dress quick, eager to lay in bed.
and yet, when sam takes your place in the bathroom and the sounds of the shower start up again, you sit at the table instead, picking out a few splinters in your hands before folding your arms and resting your head against them. you stay that way, even when you hear the water turn off, the bathroom door open, his heavy footfalls that are only heavy because he’s so tall and not for lack of gentleness, then the scraping of the chair across from you. he doesn’t even say a thing, just looks at the top of your head and the tip of your nose. the shape of your hands, the point of your elbows, and the curve of your back.
with a deep breath and some pain in your neck, you lift your head. you look back at him and slump your chin into your palm.
“i’m upset with you,” you state.
he frowns. even his frown is pretty. “i know,” he sighs.
“so? why are you acting like this?” your voice is tired, but you still manage to infuse accusation into your tone, “sam, why are you suddenly acting like i can’t take care of myself out there? you’ve been weird for nearly two weeks now, and i don’t like it. i don’t like this.”
sam doesn’t know how to respond. he’s used to being yelled at, shouted at, angry at. he’s used to yelling and shouting and getting angry back. and though he’s certainly fought with you before, he’s still not used to the level tone and the way you say each word so slow, like you’re not actually arguing. just upset and rightfully a little angry, like you just want to understand.
sure, he can hear the plain anger in your voice. you’re not trying to hide it. but you’re not yelling. how’s he supposed to use the heat of the moment to shout back, “i don’t know what you’re talking about,” or “i’m just trying to help,” when there is no heat in the moment? instead, he’s embarrassed and the only answer he can come up with, the only one that he can mean if he answers in that same, level tone you’re using is, one he’s having too much trouble saying aloud. any other answer would just be too wrong like that. or maybe if you were shouting, he’d tell you the truth, because he could yell it out, loud and rash without thinking about it. if he says it now, it’s not because he just let it slip. if he says it now, there’s no way to take it back, to get around everything threatening to bubble over the surface like forgotten water on a heated stove.
“i don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. i know you can,” is all he says, because it’s true and it skirts around the real questions. his voice is rough, halfway between pleading and holding back from the anger he doesn’t yet know how to control. you heave a sigh.
“so why, sam? why?” you let the heavy question stew for a moment, then go on when he doesn’t even meet your gaze, “or, i don’t know, if you’re not gonna tell me, just promise me you’ll stop?”
he clenches his jaw because he knows he can’t. he just wishes you would shout. then, he’d tell you. he can imagine the words coming out of his mouth, but only if they’re loud, only if you’ve pressured him to do it. he realizes that’s probably fucked up. but the other way is too vulnerable, too vast of a leap to take to when he’s just not sure.
“sam,” you press, “you don’t have to worry about me, i swear. i don’t understand what’s got you like this, but it’s getting in the way of you being able to do your job right. that kid could have died because all you could do was worry about me,” that’s when you begin you raise your voice, just a little. because that’s what’s making you most upset about this. you hate it ‘cause you feel like he’s doubting your abilities as a hunter, but you hate it even more because it’s making him disregard the safety of others and of himself, for you. “sam, i only slipped. sure i got the wind knocked out of me, but you dropped your gun for that? frankly, that was stupid. and the poor kid was being choked, and if i hadn’t been lucky enough to throw the iron before she could react, he could have died. i need you to understand that. i need you to understand that i can do this job, that i’m strong enough, and that if you don’t trust me with that? people could die. and i’m not about to let that happen. so either you tell me what’s up and we figure it out, or you stop and i pay you the huge favor of just dropping the whole thing, okay?”
suddenly he looks all sad. “i do trust you,” he says, voice all sincerity and nothing more.
you close your eyes for a moment, half in frustration and half because you could really use some shut eye right about now. “that’s not– well, it is. it is part of the point. but i need an answer from you, i need you to tell me you won’t let whatever this is put somebody else in danger.”
he clenches his jaw. he’s still stuck. you still haven’t shouted.
“just spit it out. i can practically see something rolling around on the tip of your tongue. just say it, sam.”
there’s an edge to your voice, so maybe he can.
“i can’t lose you.”
there it is. it’s said with an edge, too, like he wanted to shout it but couldn’t. it’s said rough and a little bit angry and full of this undying faithfulness and yes, love.
but you still don't quite understand it, so it makes you sigh. it makes your eyes soften a bit and it makes you a little angrier than before. it makes you want him to mean that with all his chest and it makes you want to shake him hard until he comes to his senses.
“that’s always been a danger, ever since we met. you know that,” your voice is something so oddly gentle in its frustration, “sammy, you’re my best friend, and i can’t lose you either. hell, i don’t think the words “best friend” even begin to cover the depth of how much i care about you. but we’ll both be safer if we trust each other, if we trust in both of our abilities to keep ourselves and the other safe. tell me that you understand that.”
it takes him a minute to speak again, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he searches for what to say. “two weeks ago,” is all he manages at first. you try to think back to it, and it immediately dawns on you. “i couldn’t prote–”
“sammy, no,” you interrupt, “that wasn’t your fault, okay? i know this doesn’t help to say, but we can’t always protect each other perfectly, to the extent we really want. i’d do anything for you, sammy, you know that.” after that there’s supposed to be a “but” where you explain to him that you can’t let that get in the way of your thinking straight and keeping everyone safe. instead, those last words just hang, suspended and weighty in the air.
“but you could’ve been killed,” the way he says your name is almost desperate. “it was dean that saved you. i was there and i couldn’t even help. what if next time, dean isn’t there? what if–,” his voice breaks, and he effectively cuts himself off from finishing the sentence. you know what he was trying to say.
any answer you give to that, you know isn’t enough. “but i wasn’t killed, sam. i’m here. i’m right here and i’m alive and i’m well and i don’t want to spend all my time worrying about you worrying about me. not like this.” you let that sit for a moment or two, and though his eyebrows are still all sad and pinched together, you think you’re starting to get through to him.
“but i can’t lose you,” he repeats stubbornly.
“sam,” you’re practically begging at this point, frustration creeping back into your voice, “the best way for you to keep me safe from ghosts and monsters and everything else is to take care of the problem, efficiently and effectively, like we always do. if there’s no monster, it can’t hurt me. but if you drop your weapon just because i slipped on soapy floors and lost my breath for a second? then it’s not just you and whatever innocent bystander around who’s more vulnerable now, it’s me too. so if that’s what it’s gonna take for me to convince you to stop fussing over me, then, please, think about it like that.”
sam is smart. he loves logic and reason, and you’ve handed him just that. but even more than that, he loves you. in the end, that trumps all.
“but i love you.”
he says it like a plea. like he didn’t mean to say it at all but it was the only thing running through his mind, and therefore, the only thing running off his tongue.
“sammy,” you breathe out, and then it’s like there’s no more air for you to breathe back in. that sweet nickname of his coming out of your mouth, resting on your tongue before tumbling into the air, is half like a drug to him, half like a bitter wind to sober him up quick.
“i– i only meant that i–,” he meant just that and now it’s said and now he’s never going to take it back, even if you hate him for it. “i meant that,” he says it firm and true this time, “i love you, so i can’t lose you.”
the way he looks at you, right into your eyes like they’re the prettiest things he’s ever seen, like you’re the best thing he’s ever had, oh, it has you hooked like bait has a fish who bit down too hard. it has you praying he never looks at anybody else like that again. it has you rising out of your seat and it’s pulling you across the small, wobbly table. he’s wedged into the grooves of your heart, so deep it could kill you to pull him out, so you follow the tug and he leans in too so the line isn’t so taught, so that it’s easy and comfortable and beautiful to reach his lips.
his hands are like a net that catches you up in big, lovely swaths. they travel from your own hands, that lean against the table to keep your lips pressed to his, up to your elbows and then he knows he can never get enough. so he pushes up out of his own seat, drags his hands further up your arms until they can wrap around your biceps and push you up. not for a moment does he let his lips leave yours as he stands and pulls the both of you away from the table until he can bring you close, right into his wide, warm chest. then his hands can roam, gentle over your sensitive back, up to your neck then the back of your head to push your face into his. the other hand gets to go from your waist to your hips, or dip to the small of your back and press you flush to him.
you can only get away from him for a second, just enough time to whisper, “i love you, too,” before he swallows you back up. you melt right into him, and he loves it so much, but he feels how tired you are and he remembers he is too. so he only kisses you for a minute longer before letting your head rest on his shoulder. without any reservation, he presses a long kiss to your temple and you sigh a sweet sigh into his worn out tshirt.
unwilling to let go, he waddles with you, all bundled up into his arms, to the edge of the bed. without warning, he collapses into it, taking you right down with him and pulling out a little shriek from your mouth that he finds to be nothing short of endearing. he laughs, a belly laugh that you can feel the vibrations of as it moves up into his chest and out of those pretty lips of his. with some struggle to readjust yourself, you press a sweet peck to those lips. another easy i love you.
then you collapse back into his hold and the low quality plush of the motel bed. “now promise me you’ll pull yourself together next time we get a case?” this time your ask is so much more lighthearted, sweeter because it’s mumbled into the skin of his arm. you mean it just as much, but you can’t help the fact that you feel like you’re floating, “now i really, really can’t have you getting us in trouble. i’ll need to be able to kiss you at any given moment, so you have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of myself. because it works, and you know it. it’s the safest way. for both of us.”
the sigh he heaves can be felt through practically your whole body. it’s heavier than you wish it’d be, but he relaxes against you just a bit more. “i know,” he relents, “i’ll do my best, okay?”
“thank you,” you breathe out, too relieved to care that he couldn’t quite promise. you know this all means he’ll just be more protective of you, but you can say the same for yourself. now that you’ve kissed him and he’s told you he loves you and you’ve said it back, right against his lips, you’ll worry about him extra. but the both of you know the best ways to keep each other alive, and that has to be enough for you. you allow yourself to snuggle closer into him before joking, “d’you think dean’s ever gonna come back?”
you feel sam’s quiet laugh more than you hear it. “yeah, he really did us a favor with that one, didn’t he?” you can hear the smile in his voice before he remembers himself, “do not tell him i said that.” having you in his arms like this has got him a little giddy, saying things aloud that he normally wouldn’t.
letting out a laugh of your own, you promise, “i won’t. but i’m starting to get hungry. maybe we should call him and tell him the coast is clear, we didn’t tear the room to shreds or anything like that.”
sam chuckles again, and you decide very quickly that you like the way it feels for him to laugh with you so close. neither of you move, not to get a phone to call dean or to stop yourselves from growing drowsy. not for anything.
you’re half asleep when you hear the familiar sound of the impala’s engine near the room. it turns off, then comes the sound of its front door being open and shut. just because you’re hungry and it spells the arrival of food, you force your eyes open and let out a groan when you wiggle your arms out of sam’s hold to stretch. the way his hands shift to your waist as you do so has you a bit flustered and you wonder if you’re supposed to pretend in front of dean that you haven’t spent the last half hour kissing and cuddling. but sam doesn't seem to care, because he just sits up when the door’s lock clicks, one hand by your head to hold him up, the other still settled decidedly on your waist. so you decide not to care either, and turn your head around to accidentally grin at dean when he peeks his head through the door. you had meant to look casual, but the second someone else becomes a witness to the fact that you’re laying together like this, you’re beaming.
dean visibly relaxes when he takes in the sight, pushing the door all the way open to walk in, then lock the door back up behind him.
“hey, there,” is all he says, shooting the both of you a look that says, really, you’re just gonna keep sitting there like that in front of me? it’s not that bad, but he’s allowed to tease because he just turned a twenty minute food trip into an hour purely for yours and sam’s sake. you clear your throat awkwardly, and only when you sit up does sam’s hand fall away from you.
you pad over to the table as dean places the paper bag of fast food on the surface. he drags over an extra mismatched chair and sam follows close behind you, pulling the remaining chair to sit beside you. as you begin to pull food out from the bag, now clearly gone cold to the touch, dean sits down, complaining that they didn’t have pie, so he bought you two cookies for dessert instead.
“well, thank you for the food anyways,” you smile, hoping he picks up on the fact that you’re thanking him for the other thing too, “damn shame there was no pie, though,” you say, more for his sake than yours. you wonder why he didn’t just pick some up from somewhere else since he was gone so long.
“mhmm, and don’t sweat about the pie. just got a slice somewhere else,” he shrugs, “ate it in the car, there was only one slice left and i didn’t want you to feel like you were missing out,” he explains with that familiar teasing edge which makes you think he indeed caught onto the double meaning of your thanks. you let out a small huff of laughter before tearing into the food, only now realizing just how hungry you are. you’d felt it creep up on you on the car ride back, smiled at the mention of food from dean, even stupidly thought about it during a quiet moment in the argument with sam. but the second your lips found his, that was the only hunger you’d felt. to keep kissing him, to keep him close, keep him loving you. only when you settled all the way into his arms, sure that you’d be able to satiate that hunger again, could your body remember you hadn’t eaten since early this afternoon.
the three of you eating like this, late at night and without much conversation, is common and comfortable. dean is on what you assume to be his second burger, because there’s no way he’d have just sat in the car, probably parked in a random lot and wondering how long he should be gone, and just waited to eat an extra-bacon burger until he came back. sam’s nearly the same as always, too, but tonight he sits so close that his forearm brushes against yours. you bump elbows or knees every so often, and the side of his socked foot is pressed against yours the entire time.
you sigh, content with the nearness of him that’s so much more complete and full than it was just hours ago. now, there’s no need to hover. now, you can just swoop in and land, take what you want, give what the other needs.
dean makes no teasing comments, but you can feel the way he’s been examining, reading the two of you. you’re not sure if you’re supposed to say something aloud, but you know that he knows the two of you so well that he understands almost exactly what must’ve happened while he was gone. maybe he’s not teasing because this is the outcome he wanted to come back to. he probably knows better than the both of you how you were crushing, pining even, over the other.
he takes his turn in the shower when he finishes his food, and you and sam begin to clean up a few minutes later. once all the trash is crumbled up and tossed away, you go around and turn off all the lights but a single bedside lamp. as you turn away from clicking off the lamp in the corner of the room, sam’s right there in front of you. you don’t have the time to be startled by him sneaking up on you, he’s so quick to cup your face with his hands and slot his lips against yours. he lingers a long moment before pulling apart just enough to rest his forehead on yours.
“gonna kiss you forever,” he whispers, and you realize you’ve turned this giant man into a complete and utter sap.
“you better.” your grin is wide and real and he can almost feel your lips moving, he’s so close. just as you’re ready to wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him hard, the steady white noise of the shower shuts off. you sigh and laugh a little, leaning in to steal one more chaste kiss before brushing past him. but he turns with you, hands still warm on your cheeks and not letting go until he’s kissed you once more.
when dean’s gone from the bathroom, sam follows you in to brush his teeth with you. you’ve done so plenty of times, but tonight, sam gets to loop his free arm around your waist and pull you into him, rather than stand shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space. he gets to make you giggle through toothpaste when he does so, and you get to switch your toothbrush to your other hand and wrap your own arm around his waist, too. he gets to make you laugh dangerously harder when he tightens his hold on you to prevent you from bending and spitting into the sink when you’re done. you try to hold back the laughter with your mouth full of toothpaste, then he’s the one laughing around his toothbrush because there’s white, foamy spit rolling down your chin from the corner of your mouth and threatening to drip to your dark-colored tshirt. of course, he lets you spit and rinse your mouth, relishing in the continued sound of your laughter.
“you asshole! almost ruined my shirt til the next time we make a laundry stop!” you take revenge as he rinses out his own mouth, splashing the running water onto his face as he swishes water around in his mouth.
he spits the water out in surprise and sputters an indignant, “hey!” before he bursts into laughter again.
you’re both giddy, high off of kissing each other, and silly from the exhaustion of a hunt, so he tugs you into him by your hips and keeps laughing into the crook of your neck. you wrap your arms around his neck and thread your fingers up through his soft, newly washed hair. you kiss the closest thing you can reach and he melts right into your arms.
it’s only when you yawn that he pulls away from you. “we should get to bed, huh?”
you nod and twist towards the door, peeking through it to see dean sleeping in his bed, his still form highlighted by the warm light of the cheap lamp. taking sam’s hand with a shy smile, you lead him to the other bed, turning off the last light and climbing under the covers with him not far behind. he loops his arm under your head, then the other over your waist to splay his hand flat across the small of your back. the way he does it is exactly the way you wished he would, as if he’s thought about holding you like this every night you share a bed, just as you had. with a final glance towards dean, he kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.
you try to stifle the giggle that the soft, ticklish contact of his lips wants to pull from your chest, praying that dean is really as asleep as he looks. the both of you stiffen a bit when you hear dean’s blankets rustling, but you let out another breathy, quiet laugh when it goes silent again.
sam’s about to kiss you all over again when dean’s voice rings out into the hush of the night, startling you both.
“no shenanigans while i’m asleep, lovebirds,” he grunts.
that brings more laughter out of your lips and a rush of heat to your face that you’re sure sam feels, too. he just groans in annoyance at his brother, because of course dean had to get in at least one borderline dirty comment. neither of you really answer as dean shifts around in his bed again, likely turning his back to you and mumbling something mostly unintelligible.
the only word you can catch is “finally.”
#sam winchester x reader#sam x reader#sam winchester x gn!reader#sam winchester x you#sam winchester#sam winchester fanfiction#sam winchester headcanon#sam winchester fic#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester oneshot#spn fanfiction#supernatural oneshot#sam winchester imagine#supernatural sam winchester#sam winchester fluff#spn sam winchester#supernatural#supernatural requests#supernatural fluff#sam winchester supernatural#supernatural x reader#spn fanfic
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mayprompts2024, #31 pride
Chapters 1 to 8 here on AO3
If you like the tattoo AU give it some love on my AO3, please. It would mean a lot to me. TYSM!
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Just to give you a heads-up, this AU is not finished with today's prompt.
But it will be tomorrow!
I wrote a longer ending and I don't want to cram all of it in here today. Therefore, there will be a "mayprompt 32 determined". 😊
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White Pony Tattoo - Part Eleven (pride)
Have I ever wondered about the shop’s name?
John took his time to think about it. Answering Sherlock’s agitated question correctly was of utmost importance. Not trying to guess what Sherlock might like to hear. Sherlock would probably detect any lie in a matter of seconds anyway.
John did not want to jeopardize the trust Sherlock had shown to him so far by opening up about his troubled past. Therefore, he decided to be completely honest.
“Actually, no. I just thought it was a very catchy name and the design of the running pony was beautiful.” John admitted. “Sorry, if that’s disappointing but it’s the plain truth.”
Sherlock laughed but it was a pained and unhappy sound.
“The White Pony is street slang for cocaine, John.” Seeing the involuntary widening of John’s pupils, Sherlock carried on, his voice dripping with self-contempt.
“Yes, I’ve been a junkie. A full-blown cocaine addict at the age of 22 and when I overdosed the third time I died in the ambulance on my way to the hospital.”
Sherlock’s agitation manifested itself in restless pacing around the tattoo parlour while he talked in rapid-fire mode.
“The reason for my phoenix is not as glorious as the one for yours. It’s neither heroic nor is it noble. It’s just pathetic. The tattoo covers all of the damage the needles inflicted onto my veins but the scars are still below the ink for everyone to see if I let them. Which I don’t. My phoenix is reminding me on a daily basis that I’ve been weak and stupid.”
Sherlock stopped in front of the computer, pulling visciously at his curls and staring wildly at John.
John was baffled by the amount of self-loathing Sherlock felt. If all of the caustic derision and acidic hate in Sherlock’s rant had been directed at John, he would have dissolved into a puddle right on the spot.
Carefully, John got out of the recliner chair and walked up to Sherlock.
“How long have you been sober?” He asked calmly.
“Eleven years since my rehab following the reanimation.” Sherlock snorted. “That doesn’t change anything.”
“Sherlock, believe me, I’ve had my fair share of dealing with addiction. Not myself, but my sister has been an alcoholic since her teens.” John spoke slowly and firmly, making sure that every word found its way into Sherlock’s brain.
“She had multiple tries to get sober and been to rehab. But sadly, she never managed to stay that way. The addiction always claimed her back, sometimes it took two years, sometimes it was just two months.”
Sherlock calmed a bit. Curiously he watched John, listening intensely.
“Yes, you are an ex-junkie.” John nodded. “But the emphasis is on the ex and not on the junkie.” John stepped up very close to Sherlock and fixated him with a stern stare to really drive his point home.
It didn’t work.
Sherlock’s face became hard and in a flurry of motion he pulled the black t-shirt over his head and flung it away onto the ground.
On part of Sherlock’s chest and over his right shoulder, John saw a masterfully tattooed realistic head and neck of a pony.
“But that’s exactly it, John! The cocaine will never leave me!” Sherlock exclaimed and slowly turned so that John could see his back. It was covered with the body of a running pony.
“The White Pony is always running behind my back, following me everywhere. It looks over my shoulder, watching and waiting that I’ll cave someday and invite it back into my life.” Sherlock spat furiously.
The total lack of understanding sparked John’s ire. “You totally misunderstood what I’d meant to say. How can you be so fucking thick?”
John’s voice raised in volume. “My sister, Sherlock, she never made it. Nine months after I’ve returned to London, she died of alcohol poisoning and acute liver failure.”
John fought back the stinging sensation in his eyes.
“So don’t you dare,” John poked his index finger right into Sherlock’s chest who immediately flinched over the silent rage in John’s eyes, “to think that you’re weak. Eleven years of sobriety is a fucking long time, Sherlock.”
Another poke.
“You had to be strong to resist the siren call of substance abuse every time when life got difficult again and obstacles have turned up.” John poked the chest once again, forcefully and this time it was intended to hurt.
“You have been strong and you have achieved perfection in what you do!” A vicious double poke followed.
“You should be fucking proud of yourself, God dammit Jesus Christ holy shit!”
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tagging some people @totallysilvergirl @peageetibbs @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @calaisreno
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@moonbiine, I wonder who's fault this could possibly be
Aiden knew it was bad news when his parents came to him and told him that he's going to be an older brother. He'll be the one to take care of them and he'll be the one who loves them. Not their parents, sure his mother always remembered to tell Aiden how excited they were to have him, atleast until he was born. Then he became a problem and he will do everything in his power to make sure that his new sibling won't be anything like him. He would love them no matter what.
Atleast that's what he thought.
From the moment she was born, she was loved. Immediately, she was given a different life from him. His parents stop going on so many business trips, which caused Aiden to stop going out of his room. This made Aiden feel alone in the world, especially since he didn't have Ben anymore. His family deemed him well enough to go back to the, of course Aiden was happy for him and he felt like he wouldn't be utterly alone since he was going to have someone new to spend time with. But that was all delusion. Just false hope for a better life.
They named her Cara. Cara the light of their life, their only child. Even with his parents home Aiden was continously pushed to the side with Cara being in the spotlight. Everyone would practically melt whenever she laughed or even if she just blinked everyone would act like they just got a kitten. He hated it. He hated Cara.
Constantly, his mother never failed to remind him and others "Aiden was our practice child", "Just a test to see how we can improve". And everyone believed them. How couldn't they? He was a freak, he wouldn't stop smiling or he wouldn't stop smiling. Either no emotion or too emotional. Nothing he did was good.
But, of course perfect Cara didn't have any of these problems. No why would she? Afterall, he was only the practice child, the failure, the mistake. Everything she did was just a ray of sunshine, rainbows and unicorns. She was loved by everyone. Even when his parents had a business trip that they would normally move for, they didn't move. Why, that would hurt Cara's social life, how would she keep her friends, it's not healthy for her to be moving constantly. Consistency is the most important part of a young child's life, those were the excuses his parents gave. He was glad they weren't moving away from his friends. But what about him? They were constantly moving when he was her age. What's so special about her and what's so different about him?
He really wanted to love Cara, he really did. But he couldn't no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't. She was everything he wasn't.
The golden child and the problem child, what a great duo
#I didn't know how to include Ben in this#So I had to write him out#I'm sorry Ben#I love you (platonic)#Please forgive me#Also fun fact#Cara means 'beloved' in Latin#And Aiden means "little fire' in Irish mythology#(Atleats if my research is correct)#The meaning of Aiden's name isn't relevant. But I find it interesting and I might write something ab it#Might write more about Aiden and Cara in the future for fun#aiden clark#Cara clark#daniel clark#jessica clark#school bus graveyard#schoolbus graveyard#school bus graveyard webtoon
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dodie Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Felix Catton - Felix Catton Imagine [Saltburn]
Title: dodie Songs That Would Describe a Relationship with Felix Catton
Pairing: Felix Catton X Reader
Word Count: 2,558 words
Warning(s): self-doubt/self-esteem issues
Summary: Three songs by dodie that would describe a relationship with Felix Catton.
Author's Note: I feel like I could make one of these for almost every character in this film because each one of them has a very specific vibe that fits a different artist.
**Not intentionally written in chronological order**
More stories like this!
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6/10
What goes on behind the words?
Is there pity for the plain girl?
I'll close my mouth, I won't say a word
A nod of pity for the plain girl
To say that Saltburn was overwhelming would be the understatement of the century.
I knew that it would be a lot when Felix invited me out. He had told me a few stories. It painted a picture in my mind of a grand castle with endless hallways and countless rooms. If he had told me that they had kept a dragon hidden under the house, I would have believed him.
Being there was entirely different than the stories. I felt like a child being thrown into the deep end of the pool. His family was a glowing example of old money and nothing to do with it. Grand rooms, extravagance following you everywhere you went. It was all very fairytale-like.
It was during the first dinner that I thought about running for it in the middle of the night.
The dinner was treated as a grand event, even though it was seemingly their normal routine.
Felix tried to make me comfortable, truly he did. He helped me find some clothes that would fit in with the rest of them. He tried to pull me into conversations whenever possible. Still, I felt like a sore thumb. A complete fake.
No one was openly rude to me. I just couldn't help but feel like I was getting questioning looks and judgmental glances whenever I spoke or didn't make direct eye contact with someone. Some part of me knew that it was just my mind playing tricks on me. The other part of me was convinced that each and every one of them hated me.
I went out late one night to stand on the balcony. I was trying to enjoy the cold, fresh air but I couldn't help but look out at the estate around me. Was it ever going to feel like it wasn't suffocating me?
"Is that Felix's jacket?"
I jumped at the sound of a voice. I turned around to see Elspeth standing by the door. Even this late at night, she looked almost royal.
Her question registered a few seconds later and I looked down at myself.
"Oh, um, yeah, it is," I said. "I just grabbed the first one that I saw. Sorry."
"It suits you," she replied. "More than it does him."
I grinned slightly at the joke.
"Trouble sleeping?"
"Just a bit," I shrugged. "Needed some fresh air."
"I see," she hummed, walking forward to stand next to me. "Gorgeous, isn't it?"
"Yes," I answered, almost instinctively.
"Are you going to tell me why you're really out here?" she turned to me. She almost seemed comforted by the stunned look on my face. "It's best to learn now that no one can keep secrets from me here. I am incredibly entuned to the feelings of others. Honesty would serve you much better."
I took a deep breath. I didn't know how to explain this feeling. She likely had never dealt with it before.
But she tilted her head at my hesitation and that seemed to make me crack under the pressure.
"I just... I have been a bit overwhelmed," I admitted. "I'm not from this kind of environment. I was lucky when my family could all sit together at the table, never mind being able to dress up together. And it's... It's all lovely but... we both know that I wasn't built for this kind of life. And I'm not very good at pretending like I am."
Elspeth listened in silence.
"And Felix, bless him, has been so sweet," I continued. "But I know that I'll never fit here. No matter how hard I try. I'm just destined to be... incredibly plain."
There was something about her silence and her eyes that made it easy for me to confess all of that. As if she had gotten access to my brain and had started poking around in there to get me to tell her things.
I finally looked away, staring at the yard again.
"Felix doesn't think that," Elspeth finally spoke up.
I looked at her. She was now also looking out at the yard.
"You are likely the most brilliant thing in his mind," she explained. "He called the house after you both first got together. I have never heard him speak about someone the way he spoke about you. I knew then that he was completely in love with you. I would never say that to him, mind you. Boys tend to get so defensive when confronted with their emotions."
I felt my face only turn into a more stunned expression. Felix hadn't said that he loved me yet, so the idea that she knew from one phone call was more than enough for me.
"He adores you," she continued. "He is convinced that you are going to find your place here. And I agree with him. You, my dear, are anything other than plain."
A smile began to stretch across my face. This was easily the most down-to-earth she had ever been with me. And it meant the world to me.
"Thank you, Elspeth," I said quietly.
She smiled back. "I feel like I need a drink before I go back to bed. Care to join me?"
I nodded. "That sounds very nice."
I followed her inside. Maybe it was the darkness in the building, maybe it was just how my mind had settled, but I could have sworn that the walls seemed a little shorter than they were before.
If I'm Being Honest
Could you love this? Will this one be right?
Well if I'm being honest, I'm hoping it might
Could you love this? Did you plan to fall?
Well if I'm being honest, oh I bet it's not that at all
Part of me hated how good Felix was with people.
He was charming and funny and that was dangerous. He could get people to do almost anything he wanted. That included me... quite embarrassingly.
I had only started going out at all because of Felix. He explained it as being a way to combat burnout, but I think it was just because he wanted me to go out.
Felix and I had an interesting friendship. We were pretty close. The only problem was that he had this tendency to say things that could be read as flirty. Logically, I knew that it was just his personality. He was just like that. But that didn't stop me from getting incredibly flustered when he did it.
Sometimes I would try to flirt back, but either I was really bad at it, or he was just immune to getting flustered.
It was another night where Felix had talked me into joining him and his friends. I had been chatting with a few people when I spotted Felix in another corner of the room. He was chatting with someone. He looked very close to them.
Usually, I wouldn't care. But there was something about that night that got under my skin.
"I'll be back in a minute," I told my friend before making a beeline for the other door.
I didn't see that Felix had even noticed me moving. Not until I made it outside.
"Hey, you alright," Felix asked as he followed me out.
I hummed, my brain taking a moment to process the question. "Oh, yeah, I'm fine. Just needed some air. Go back inside."
"What's going on?" he furrowed his eyebrows at me. "You seem... off."
"It's nothing."
"You're a terrible liar, you know that, right? I can always see through you."
I shook my head, looking down.
"(Y/n)...," he murmured, reaching out to touch my arms. "You can talk to me. Please."
I looked back at him. "It's stupid. Please, just go inside. I'll be there in a minute."
He crossed his arms over his chest, planting his feet where he was.
"You are... such a child."
He just shrugged.
"For fuck's sake," I muttered. "Fine! I got... I got jealous."
"Jealous," he repeated.
"I told you that it was stupid!"
"No, no," he shook his head. "Jealous of who?"
"Whoever you were flirting with in the corner earlier," it was my turn to cross my arms like a child.
"I wasn't flirting with anyone," he replied.
"Yes, you were."
"Nope. Didn't happen."
"You probably wouldn't know because it's your natural state of being," I argued.
"What?"
"Yeah," I insisted. "That's why you flirt with me sometimes."
Felix didn't respond. If I hadn't been so focused on defending myself, then I would have seen the way his eyes go wide as he made some kind of realization.
"And that's fine," I continued. "Or I thought it was, but then I saw you tonight and it just... it hit different, okay? It's just because I... I don't know, I got too sentimental about it. It made me nervous and flustered and that was weird for me. And maybe that led to me getting really confused about... this."
Felix started to chuckle and ran his hand over his mouth.
"I... I like you, Felix," I confessed before I could even think to stop it. "I really like you. And I know that you don't feel the same way and that's fine. It was just the flirting and dragging me out with your friends and holding my hand sometimes and- you're laughing. Why are you laughing? Stop laughing!"
"Sorry," he said quietly. "(Y/n)... my flirting with you was very intentional."
"What?"
"Yeah, I'm friendly with people," he explained. "But I was flirting with you. I was very purposefully flirting with you. I... I thought I was being horrendously obvious, but I guess not."
"Why?"
"Why do you think," he asked.
I furrowed my eyebrows.
He chuckled again before going to cup the sides of my face. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine. I froze where I was. I suddenly had no idea what to do with my hands or my lips or anything. All I could think to do was close my eyes and enjoy the feeling.
He pulled away and I opened my eyes.
"Get it?"
"I think so," I muttered. "I still feel really stupid."
He chuckled. "Wanna head inside?"
"Not really," I said. "Wanna walk me home?"
The smile on his face got a little wider. "Sounds amazing."
I stepped back and held my hand out for him. "Come on."
He took my hand. This time, it felt a little different.
It was a very good kind of different.
Party Tattoos
And we're not bruised they're just party tattoos
And that colourful mess is just colourful regret
Black lipstick will never be a sin
We'll regret it when we're old with wrinkled up skin
I had been sitting at a table in the library, frantically scribbling in my notebook when someone plopped into the chair next to me. I looked up and saw Felix sitting there with a grin on his face.
"Hello...," I said, suspicious of why he was being so quiet.
"Hi," he replied.
"Can I help you," I asked.
"Well, I was going to offer to help you," he explained. I raised an eyebrow at him, placing my pencil down and folding my arms over my chest. "You should come out to get a drink with me and a few of my friends tonight."
There was a pause before I spoke up, "I'm failing to see how this is you helping me."
"Well, you told me a while back that you were having trouble making friends here. And it'll get you a night away from your studies."
"Why would I want that?"
"Because I've seen how you study," Felix replied. "You're burning yourself out."
I rolled my eyes and turned back to my notes.
Felix's hand landed on my paper, blocking what I had been trying to read. I raised an eyebrow at him. He looked like he immediately regretted his course of action, but he was too stubborn to back down now.
"Come ooon," he begged. "One drink. If you're not having fun, then I'll get you back home to your notes safe and sound. I promise."
I sighed. "Fine."
He threw his hands up in the air, cheering. I frantically shushed him and waved for him to shut up.
I put my hands over my face, feeling like everyone was staring at me. "Oh my-"
He stood up and started walking out. "I'll meet you outside your building tonight at 7! This will be fun, I promise!"
"Shut up," I hissed at him. He laughed and continued his path out of the building.
That night, I found myself walking out of my building while I constantly adjusted my clothing. I don't know why I owned these clothes. They were anything other than my style. I just knew that I was very thankful that I hadn't lost them.
Felix was pacing outside the door when I made it out. He stopped when he heard the door open.
He smiled at me. "You look amazing."
"I look like an idiot."
He shook his head. "Not even close."
I felt my face warm up. He always said things like that. Sickeningly sweet things that made me feel like a fool. My stomach would do flips. It wasn't fair. I never got to do that to him.
"Come on," he held out his hand. I grinned and grabbed his hand.
Felix's friends had secured a table in the corner before we had made it.
I felt a pang of nervousness in my stomach. That was a lot of people. A lot more than I was prepared for.
I almost tripped when Felix pulled me over to the bar instead of the table. I could barely hear him ordering two drinks for us.
I just followed his lead. He handed me a drink and guided me over to the table. He let me slide into the large booth before sitting next to me.
I didn't expect myself to slide into conversation so naturally, but after a matter of minutes, I found myself laughing with this group that I had never really met before.
I felt very peaceful. There was something about being in this group and not feeling judged that made everything just click into place for me. I couldn't think of a time when I felt like this before. It was nice. Really nice.
It was an hour in when Felix poked my side. I turned to him. He leaned over so I could hear him properly, "How are you feeling? Wanna head home?"
I leaned back and shook my head. "I'm alright."
"You sure?"
I nodded, leaning over to talk to him. "These people are really nice."
He grinned. "Maybe you should take my advice more often."
I scoffed, leaning a bit closer to his ear. "Don't get your hopes up, Catton."
"Can't blame a guy for trying."
I leaned back again, looking at the rest of the table. If this was the company that I could expect when I went out for the night, then I could see myself getting used to this kind of thing.
Maybe I could adjust to Felix's world a bit easier than I assumed.
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#fanfiction#imagine#x reader#saltburn imagine#saltburn fanfiction#saltburn x reader#felix catton imagine#felix catton fanfiction#felix catton x reader#jacob elordi imagine#jacob elordi fanfiction#jacob elordi x reader
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Mc: do you think in a different universe we escaped together
Bela: i'll try as many times as it takes to make it this universe
#resident lover#bela dimitrescu#im allergic to happiness sorry#but like#bela remembering the past resets and trying to find new ways to escape miranda with you#but she never can no matter how hard she tries#every time you choose her is a new way to find freedom for you and the people she loves#but it all goes away in 2 years#and the cycle goes on and on and on#im gonna throw up#thinking about this too long will make me clinically insane#she makes me mentally ill
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Something about how Kristen still hasn’t truly processed all her Helio being the chosen one stuff. Something about how Cassandra literally looks exactly how Kristen looked when she was with Helio. Something about how Buddy Dawn is exactly who she would’ve become if she hadn’t died and met Helio down to his mini having to exact same pose as freshman year her. Something about how she couldn’t even find comfort in Yes! or Yes? because they were just puppets of Sol to try and get her back. Something about how she did everything right and still got expelled because she left Helio. Something about how the only reason Ankarna fell as far as we know is Sol was greedy and didn’t want to share a domain. Something about how even though it’s been reshaped and regifted and refined her staff is still the same as when she fought for Sol. Something about how Kristen was the one to bring back the sun after 4 months of night. Doesn’t that feel special at all.
#im having kristen applebees thoughts#kristen and cassandra parallels. the fact that she can never get away from sol and helio no matter how hard she tries#autism (mads) speaks#fantasy high#fhjy#fantasy high junior year#fhjy spoilers#fhsy spoilers#kristen applebees#cassandra fantasy high#ankarna#ankarna fantasy high#dimension 20#dimension 20 fhjy#d20#d20 fhjy#d20 fantasy high
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i honestly do feel that eiffel's disrespect for authority and willingness to complain are positive traits. in terms of 'these are things i value in real people', but also for what it represents and what he's resisting within the narrative of wolf 359.
it's notable in the face of cutter's personal philosophy and goddard's corporate culture (pryce & carter #5, etc.) ... eiffel won't just accept anything, he won't do his job with a smile (he might not do his job at all, but either way, he reserves the right to be upset about it), he won't learn to compartmentalize. he will complain. he will keep on complaining. he values emotional honesty, and actively encourages others to express their feelings, especially the ones that aren't goddard-approved.
no matter what happens, or how long they've been up there, he never gets desensitized, and i think there's really something about someone who will keep saying 'this isn't normal, it isn't okay, i'm not okay with it, and i ask you to also not be okay with it,' even when he seems alone in saying it. their situation is horrible, and he feels everything so strongly. being able to express that is healthy, and it's human. i find it reassuring.
#wolf 359#w359#doug eiffel#you know?#it's how all of the antagonists in wolf are so good at compartmentalizing. it's cutter's particularly intense brand of toxic positivity#eiffel isn't interested in any of that. he feels how he feels and he's more than willing to express himself.#it's not just that he doesn't get desensitized either. it's that he is always surprised when other people are.#no matter how much callousness he runs up against he never stops being shocked and disgusted that other people can do that#and his emotional honesty creates a space for people who otherwise don't feel safe or comfortable enough to be honest with themselves#minkowski tries so hard to buy into the corporate culture but she's never quite got it.#and hera has internalized on a much deeper level that it's not safe for her to express her feelings#so it's just... nice that he can do that. i like him.#i like that he doesn't try to fix things for hera or tell her to feel better. he's just willing to be there and be upset with her.#to me (and i think for her) that counts for a lot.#& being good at complaining is a very attractive trait. to me.
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thinks about ada wong. thinks about ada wong doing what she can to help leon on missions, her little smile after being called an encyclopedia, leaving that compact behind to clear leon's name. saving sherry, saving jake, saving so many people. cries.
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I somehow forgot how fun Spider Bites is to draw ♥ (Patreon)
#Doodles#Just Desserts#Villainsona#Spider Bites#She is so fun to draw!! She is so cute!! I love her!!#How did I get her design So Right immediately uhghhgh save some for later past me lol - like for the TVAU! Come on! Lol#Honestly tho I just jkdflsafd I know she's designed exactly to my own tastes by design but her design balance! I love her!#Okay enough gushing for now lol (Never! Her stripes and glasses and four eyes and arms <3 <3)#There are actually Some things that I feel could use improvement lol - her legs being a standout#I wasn't very careful with her joints in some of my early doodles of her - I can't tell if she has two or three joints in her legs#Knee and ankle definitely but it almost looks like there's another joint in some of her early doodles! It's a bit hard to parse#She's very cute no matter what I think the extra joint Can look cool I'm just not sure what to do with it :0#I like her anatomy to be a bit unique but how bend what bend?? I've never tried making a skeletal deconstruction of her design haha#Might be fun :) Weird skull - elbows - legs hehe#I still haven't drawn what her second set of eyes would look like it's a mystery to me as well#Silly stretchy in the middle there lol - stretching is a sign of affection! Haha#And a couple of the Queens since they appeared in one of her previous sets but have Actually been designed now!#Queen Charlotte has had the most noticeable design whatevers - additions and changes lol#She wears her hair in a bun in the EPAU :) It's harder to change her wife's look what with her having short hair to start haha#They're both a bit less smiley tho ouò It's a little more serious ♪#Ending off and another design element that I'm not fully satisfied with around Spider Bites - her wings :P#I do like the idea of them being less stable than either individual Charm but completely disconnected from her body? Hmmm#Dunno dunno. Wanna give it a bit more thought and take another crack at it#She looks pleased tho hehe ♥ Very powerful! Very strong and capable! Self-confident! Love her ♪
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I started "Britt Marie Was Here" by Fredrik Backman because my sister had given it to me for my birthday last year along with "Song of Achilles" and honestly, I wasn't expecting much but I'm 7 chapters in and I'm still recovering from the shock that was the first chapter, the way Britt Marie prides herself in things that she's already lost
The image of her priding herself as a wife and caretaker of her home only to peel back the truth that she had left home and she is alone now at a hostel, still staying up for the ghost of what she once had
#clover reads#fredrik backman#britt marie was here#the thing is too that he does this a LOT in this book#he puts up a lot of these motifs but the more you read the more layers he adds onto them#which makes you go back and reread scenes prior with a new perspective#the way she prided herself over balcony plants#but in the current chapter i'm in she talks about how love is no different from balcony plants. not even baking soda can make a difference#that the love got lost a long long time ago#all she's doing is trying to hope that the plants will regrow#i wouldn't be surprised at all if the balcony plants never grew again#no matter how hard she tried#anyways i usually don't chat about reading and this blog is just for quote compilation#but do you ever experience something in a book that it becomes so overwhelming you need to talk about it?#that's what this is lol
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{Hero Archetypes: The More... something version}
The Fallen Hero
You are the Fallen Hero, a tragic embodiment of betrayal, vengeance, or perhaps a heart-wrenching love story turned awry. Whether exposed to corrupting influences, manipulated by deal-makers, brainwashed, extorted, blackmailed, or witnessing the destruction of sacred bonds, your descent into darkness is marked by profound sorrow and loss. You might have turned for the sake of greed. Yet within, a lingering spark of hope remains, compelling you to reluctantly extend assistance to the newcomers. Motivated by the sincere desire to shield them from the same tragic fate you endured, you find yourself driven to guide and protect, despite the shadows of your own past.
tagged by: @tarnishedxknight
tagging: anyone!!
#quiz#((*taps fingers together* I have;;; thoughts on this#so this isn't. quite accurate for Gylfie as she does have morals and does act for what is good#which is going against Vayne and fighting for all of Ivalice instead of continuing to blindly go with Archadia's expansion#because she knows Vayne will destroy Ivalice in his constant need for power and Archadia will devour herself before she's full#so Gylfie never fell in the sense of turning on what is right and following Vayne without question#or continuing to believe that it was the destiny of the Empire to conquer all#with that all said - I can see her having a corruption arc and I think that'd be fun to explore heh#but also this is accurate with how Gylfie sees *herself*#I really should write a post about this at some point lol#but Gylfie doesn't believe herself to be a good person whatsoever. She used to believe Archadia was the best of the best for *years*#and felt it appropriate for the Empire she loved so much to continue her expansion and that Rozarria was 100% the enemy#and... never thought twice about the smaller kingdoms caught in the warpath#her mother's criticism of Archadia slowly began to chip at that but she wasn't disillusioned until Nabudis because *that*#was something she absolutely couldn't get behind no matter how she felt about the Empire. it was a horrific and brutal act that greatly#disturbed her and really snapped her out of it#also Ffamran leaving did make her start to question things a bit but not quite enough#anyway my point is: Gylfie doesn't believe herself to be a good person. she believes herself to be a *product* of war#to be too much like her father to be a good person#and that she's done so much harm that there is no room for her to be good#with that said she doesn't necessarily see herself as a horrible person but. definitely not a good one#and ABSOLUTELY doesn't see herself as *any* kind of hero - she'd honestly just laugh if someone called her one#but she had been brainwashed essentially and she had witnessed destruction of sacred bonds#and she has acted selfishly and she has done horrible things in the name of the Empire#but she also tries so hard to do *right* despite it all. she *wants* Archadia to be better#she *wants* Ivalice to remain whole and she does what she can to see Vayne defeated and Archadia changed for the better#her goal of becoming Judge Magister changes from her believing it was her birthright to her wanting to be one to make sure Archadia#stays on track and continues to do better under Larsa's rule because she knows he'll make the Empire *better*#and she's willing to do whatever she can to protect him and protect Archadia's future#but with that she may have to do things that wouldn't necessarily be considered *good*
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