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lostandsearching · 3 years

Text

You'd Come Over Right?

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.5k?

Summary: As time for Y/N’s departure approaches, she finds herself wandering through brief memories of a love shared with Natasha, a love she so desperately hopes to cling on to.

Warnings: None (let me know if you think I should add some)

A/N: So I can actually make short oneshot, go figure. This is inspired by a song and some movies but I’ll keep that to myself for now. Please ignore any and all mistakes left behind, always tired when I finish these. As always, hope you enjoy this, I welcome comments and appreciate reblogs. Header credit: @its-just-may

You watch as the sea laps at the shore, soaking the sandy beach with the salty water, the sound of the crashing waves muted within your home. You turn your gaze away from the window with a gentle sigh as you make your way to your bedroom.

Your right hand fingers graze over the sheet covered couch as you pass, the roughness a contrast to the softness of the tips of your skin. You listen to the soft scratchy sounds as your fingers caress along its length.

Your left hand extends out and your tips wander across your collection of books, feeling the ridges along the spines of the well read novels bumping underneath your skin. One by one you tip the books to its side as you meander towards your bedroom, enjoying the grooves you feel, reminding you of countless lazy days spent reading with your head on her lap, the gentle thumps of the books falling over filling the silence.

You hold both hands out and gently push your bedroom door open and for a moment you bask in the light. You always loved this room with its light painted walls and large bay windows. You had left them open, the soft breeze causing the faint, sheer curtains to billow gently in the wind, fanning the smell of the sea and salty air towards you.

Your travel bags are set by the foot of your bed, a reminder of your departure. You like your bed, the large pillowy mattress always the tempting mistress to stay buried within, coaxing you with its warmth and suppleness, seducing you with decadent dreams of ample breasts welcoming you as strong arms encompass you in their heat.

You take a seat on your velvety sheets, your eyes honed in on a weathered shoe box, beaten with time and travel. An innocuous box, not one that would merit anyone’s attention but to you, it was a treasure trove of history, of memories that you weren’t ready to relinquish even as the sands of time trickle steadily away.

Carefully lifting the lid and setting it aside, your eyes cast over the myriad of trinkets you had collected over the years. Your hands gently grasp a crumpled bar coaster, you lay it on your palm and delicately flatten it out in your hand, taking care not to damage the worn piece further.

You had come crashing through your apartment door in a fit of giggles as Natasha carefully guides you in, your hand still struggling to pull your key free from the lock. Chuckling at your pitiful attempts to free the metal, she softly wraps her hand around yours, twists the key a fraction before delicately withdrawing it.

Natasha pulls you inside laughing at your inebriated state and all you can do is drown in her melody. She would tell you in the morning it was the litany of gins and tequila you'd ordered, you would tell her it was the presence of her warm body holding you firmly against her that did it.

You place your hand on her cheek and guide her to your lips, the heat from the alcohol felt comparable to nothing but cold ice in contrast to the burning heat that she pours into you with her plush lips.

You feel the hesitation still her movements as she gently pulls away, breaking the kiss and cooling the moment. Her green orbs search your face for recognition, for confirmation that the change in your friendly dynamic was a welcome one, rather than a regrettable moment of weakness that may shatter your relationship altogether.

Your bungled thoughts hone in on her face full of consternation as her eyes run with the endless question, awaiting your acceptance or refusal. You will yourself sober, face softening as you pepper kisses to her cheeks before placing gentle pecks to her full lips. You want this, you want her, she relents.

The chaste kisses quickly turns heated once more as lips crashed together and tongues dance, vying for control. Moans slip from your lips only to be captured by her, as your hands find purchase on her hips, the strength in your legs crumbling with your control.

She kicks the door closed behind her, lips prying submission from you as she explores within, tasting the melding sweetness and bite of your cocktails, the salt and tang from the shots, the mellow vanilla that was you. You concede to her, allow her to take the lead, to taste you, relishing in the bitter taste of her beer as she explores and in the sweet citrus of her she leaves behind.

She moves you back, hands gripping your hips as your mouths dance with want, your hands now tangled in her red tresses as you moan in desperation. You feel the cold kitchen counter behind you press against your hot skin and you let out a yelp of shock at the contrast.

Natasha takes the opportunity to suck marks along your neck, drawing unrestrained mewls from you. She wraps her arms underneath your legs and lifts you up onto the counter, your clothed breasts displayed before her, your legs wrap around her waist to draw her closer into you.

She moves back and a whimper escapes you at the loss of her lips against your skin, your desire dulled mind trying to focus on her rather than the fiery ache between your thighs.

She firmly wraps her hand under your jaw, tilting your face towards her, forcing you to stare into her lust blown orbs, no hint of green free from the dark pools of her hunger. “Sure?” she husks, voice laden with desire.

You bite your lip with anticipation, the choking need for her touch consuming you as you nod along dumbly, oozing desperation.

Natasha runs her thumb along your bottom lip as she pulls it free from between your teeth. “Say it” she orders

A quiet moan escapes as you feel a rush of need soak through your underwear, pooling between your legs. Her assertive command overrides your senses, pulling away any ability for coherent thought. “Yes” you manage out as you wrangle control over your frazzled mind.

She wraps her long fingers around your neck and pulls you into a bruising kiss, her other arm wrapping around you and lifting you off the counter to lay you on the cold kitchen floor, ripping your clothes off in a frenzy to expose your sweat soaked skin to her touch.

She discards the rags to the side, the material collides with your handbag, knocking it over, allowing a single stolen coaster to tumble out as moans fill the room and the walls shake in time with Natasha’s thrusts, coaxing you to your first orgasm of the night.

You place the memento back and gently finger a pressed rose. You carefully lift the tender flower and inhale the scent from it, her perfume still lingering behind after all this time. You turn the rose in your fingers, the color still as ruby red as the lips you loved to be worshipped by.

You lay with your head on her lap as she absent-mindedly thrums her fingers through your hair while pouring over a mission debrief. You lose yourself in the words printed in the pages of your book as one hand holds it open and your other draws lazy shapes against Natasha’s exposed thigh.

The blasting A/C was doing nothing to dent the sweltering heat, a drought had been announced earlier in the day, but not even the discomfort of the temperature would separate you from your current closeness with the redhead. Moments like these were rare with the Avenger, she had sparse few moments where she could solely spend her time with you rather than other engagements that took priority.

You would revel in these quiet moments of domesticity with her where there was nothing but you and her. No missions, no training, no Avengers.

As your eyes track the words on the page of your book, you miss her fluid movements as she sets the file aside and looks down at you adoringly before a mischievous quirk of her brow ticks up.

Her slender fingers pinch the top of your book before yanking it from your grip and holding it at arms length behind her.

“Nat” you whine “Can I please have my book back? It was getting to the good bit” you pout

She taps her chin in mock thought before replying with a devilish smile. “If you want it, come get it” she husks

Never one to back down from a challenge, you flip to your front and crawl on top of her, reaching out for your book but her long arms keep it just out of your hands. With a frustrated huff you try to move further up her body only for Natasha to wrap her other arm around your waist, pinning you in place.

“Baby” you whine “Please give me my book” you try to ask sweetly this time as you flutter your lashes at her.

“Are you sure that’s what you want?”

“Nat-” “Oh” you moan with surprise as Natasha presses her thigh against your core.

Your face flushes at the unexpected contact but your pride forces you to answer against your body’s wishes. “Yes, I want my book back. Please” you repeat a little petulantly, your heart already racing, your sex heated.

“Are you sure?” her whispered question sultry. Without forewarning, her arms pull you closer into her thigh as she tenses her muscles and grinds it into your clothed cunt.

Your head falls into the crook of her neck as you moan at the rubbing friction, the slick coating your lips evident to you already.

“Tell me detka, are you sure it’s what you want?” she rasps in your ear, hot breath fanning your lobe causing your skin to erupt in goose bumps and your nipples to peak and press against your shirt.

“No” you reply breathlessly, your hips riding her thigh without her direction

“What do you want?” she asks in barely a whisper as she licks and nibbles your ear before sucking on a tender spot on your neck.

You moan loudly at the sensation, your hips movements speeding, your arms now wrapped around her neck.

“You” is all you can stutter out and without hesitation, your book falls from her hands as she flips you over on the couch so she’s nestled above you.

Giggles dance with sounds of wet kisses on skin and words of praise in your apartment, as a single red rose lingers alone in a vase, suffering the desert like heat.

You replace the rose and your eyes linger over a single leather glove. The color had worn down from use and the creases where your fingers would bend were now tearing but the memory of when Natasha had first given it to you was as vivid as ever.

Natasha was driving you back from the restaurant but a freak blizzard had caught your unawares. Not wanting to get into an accident, Natasha opted to park at the side of a deserted road as the snow piled up around you.

It didn’t take long before the vehicle was buried in the frozen perspiration and the car was blanketed in darkness. You fumbled for the light switch on the roof of the car, turning it on and bathing the small space in a gentle glow.

The heater wasn’t doing much for your freezing hands, you weren’t adapted to such harsh temperatures. You place your hands in front of the heater and rub them together in attempts to warm them.

Natasha notices your discomfort and begins to remove her gloves before you stop her. “No, then your hands will freeze” you say through shaky lips.

“I’m Russian, I can handle the cold Y/N” she retorts playfully

“No” you huff before continuing with trying to warm your hands.

Natasha takes a glove off her right hand and throws it on your lap. “We’ll share then” she says simply.

“But what about your other hand?” you ask, already putting the glove on, thankful for the warmth that Natasha had already imparted to it.

“We’ll just keep each other warm” she replies before grabbing your ungloved hand in hers and huffing her warm breath against your skin before placing a lingering kiss to the top of it.

With soothing music from the radio, and Natasha sharing her heat with you, you felt oddly warmer than you should while trapped in a blizzard. You can’t help but think that no matter the storm, she would always help you weather it with ease.

“You know, there are other ways to get warm” she says with a wink

“I am not getting naked in this cold, I’ll freeze to death before I get my pants off” you state firmly

She chuckles beside you and butterflies of elation swirl within you, knowing you were the reason for her happiness.

“Come sit on my lap, and I’ll promise you won’t have to take off a thing” her voice turns teasing as she places an open mouthed kiss on your hand. She peppers smaller kisses down your fingers before wrapping her mouth around two of your digits, swirling her tongue around them, coating them with her spit.

If anyone were to cross the pile of snow on that abandoned road and deigned to wipe it away, they would have been met with two women in the throes of ecstasy as Natasha buries herself deep within you, your jeans hiding her hand, your heat keeping her warm.

You wonder if she still has the other glove, if she cares for it like you had cared for it all this time. Placing the glove back, you look at the numerous tokens of precious moments you had collected during your time with Natasha, but not all memories are happy ones.

The torrential storm outside did nothing to pierce the heavy atmosphere always present after a session of love making.

You were panting heavily, breasts heaving under the sheets, body drenched with sweat as the room is heady with the smell of perspiration and sex. Natasha was a goddess in bed and she knew how to strum your chords just so until you were singing a symphony.

But you knew tonight wasn’t a night where she was all yours, she had told you as much when she came to see you not four hours ago. She had prior engagements that she needed to be at and your time had run out.

Placing a quick parting kiss to your lips, she whisks her discarded clothes from the floor and throws them on in a flurry. “I’ll call you soon” she says before rushing out the door, probably already a little late in leaving you.

No, the torrential storm did nothing to pierce the atmosphere inside as the storm out there was nothing but a drop of rain compared to the one within your home. Your heavy pants from sex were replaced heavy pants of utter panic.

You loved Natasha, you wanted her to stay but you knew she couldn’t, you knew she wouldn’t.

As the streets flood and the lightning cracks bright, streaking lights across the sky, a single woman lays crumpled in her sex soaked sheets as she drowns in the scent of her lover and in her love.

You look at the flashing clock on your bedside table, it’s almost time to go. As much as you want to reminisce through more items, you need to lock them away safely. Putting the lid back on the box, you handle the box carefully, as if cradling it would keep your precious memories safe a while longer.

Opening the safe, you place the box within before shutting and locking it once more. Memories are constantly lost, forgotten through illness, through time or death but your hope is that this safe might preserve the best moments of your life even if you couldn’t, even if all you could hold on to surely, is the day you left.

“Why are you doing this Y/N?” Natasha asks, her voice pained

“Because I love you but you won’t stay and I can’t keep breaking my heart for you” you reply as tears stream down your face.

“You know I can’t” she says meekly as she reaches out to hold you. You never could deny her, you let her wrap herself around you as you soak her in, your senses alight and full of Natasha.

“Because you’re with him” you blubber

“I can’t leave Bruce, you knew when we started this” she says softly “Please don’t leave”

“I can’t stay Nat, I can’t do this anymore” you sob

You stay that way a while, her holding you as if you were her one and only, you holding onto her as if you were never going to leave but you aren’t her one and you are leaving.

An impatient honk sounds from the streets below, your taxi is getting restless as he pounds the horn continuously.

“I have to go” you whisper as you pull away from her. You grab your last bag before turning to her. “If the world was ending, you’d come over right?” you ask

You watch her jaw clench with effort and her breathing begin to labor, tears pooling in her eyes but she stays silent, not a single motion to tell you she would. That's an answer enough in its own right you decide as you finally walk away from her.

You take calming breaths, now’s not the time to ponder those painful memories. You don’t have much time left until you have to leave.

You look towards your disconnected phone, you want to call your Uncle Benny but you know he isn’t happy with the way you’re going. He wants you with him and his family but you know that’s not where you belong.

“Seriously Y/N? You’re being ridiculous!” he huffs angrily down the phone

“Uncle B, this is my choice. This is wh-”

“No!”

“Uncl-”

“No Y/N, you should be here, with your family, with us” his anger slowly fading with his words.

Uncle B had always taken care of you, even when your own parents abandoned you in search of fame, he never left your side and raised you as his own daughter.

“I’m sorry Uncle, I love you all, I do, but I can’t. I’m doing the right thing for me.”

“Y/N please don’t go like this”

“I love you Uncle B. Bye”

“Y-”

You disconnect the chord and cut the call, you know he’ll keep calling if you don’t. It’s better this way, you tell yourself.

You eye your luggage, you’ve got time left. You exit your bedroom and make your way out of your home, the air almost still, the breeze nothing but a whisper.

You feel the warm, wet sand stick to your feet as you walk away from the house. You look out, the sea had receded into the horizon, only a faint sliver of blue to mark its existence in the distance.

The world was still now, not even a flutter in the wind, you were surrounded by silence as you stood stationary on your private beach, eyes closed, letting all your fear, worry and pain seep away like the tide.

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snap open, you know the voice, the rasp unforgettable but fear coursed through you, locking you in place. What if you were going mad, worse, what if you were mistaken and her memory is truly slipping away.

“Y/N?”

You whip around and surely enough, it really is her. Your eyes inspect her vibrant red hair plaited into a thick braid, draped over her shoulder. She stands just out of your arm's reach, a hesitancy in her stance that you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re really here” you all but whisper

“Did you still want me to be?” she asks but her voice cracks, betraying her confidence

“Always”

A smile breaks out before she takes a long stride to break the distance and wrap you in her arms. It had been a year since you left, a year away from her, a year without hearing her voice, a year without her touch and a year without her taste.

You hold each other tightly, her arms wrapped firmly around your waist, yours clinging to her neck, each buried in the crook of each other's neck as gentle tears prickle your skins. You feel the wind pick up as you pull your faces away to look into each other's eyes.

“I should have said yes”

You furrow your brow in confusion

“The day you walked away, I should have said yes. I wanted to, god how much I wanted to” she admits softly

“It doesn’t matter, you’re here now, but what about Bruce?” you ask with hesitancy, you know it doesn’t matter anymore, time is ticking away.

“He left with the others and I came for you” “I should have never let you go” she says, her voice rising as the wind speeds up.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, we’re together now” your voice raised over the sound of the billowing gale

“I LOVE YOU!” she shouts

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

You stand there in each other's embrace, finally, after all this time, she had said the three words you had longed to hear all these years. You see the burning adoration and love encompass her emerald eyes and not a flicker of doubt crosses your mind that you were hers and she was yours.

As the winds rage around you and the wall of water approaches you, the small bubble of a world that held you and Natasha was still. Nothing moved, nothing sounded, nothing mattered beyond the woman that owned your heart, Natasha Romanoff.

You pulled her into you and crashed your lips against her moving together like the never forgotten dance, her tast-

A/N: So you got to the end. The song was inspired by ‘If the world was ending’ JP Saxe ft Julia Micheals and the title for the specific end of the world film that popped into my mind escapes me at the moment. Did you get the hints of the world falling apart? Let me know what you all thought in the comments :)

Taglist: @vancityfire13 @reminiscingtonight @theperfectlovestory@perfectromanoff @mindofwesley @8bitscarlet @daenerys713 @diaryoflife @inlovewithfaberry @lovelyy-moonlight @lee-a-toiling-writer @wellsayhelloaagin

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fireheartbuzzard · 3 years

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my dream

day one: i just realized i’m desperately in love with you

author’s note: hi everyone!! this is my very first rowaelin fanfic, so i’m sorry if it’s bad lol. i’m also sorry that it wasn’t posted on time. my senior year of high school started at the beginning of september so everything was very hectic and crazy around that time, still is with college applications coming up, but i was able to finish this story. for all the other prompts, i either have an outline/idea for it or i’ve started writing something already. i know it’s late, but bear with me as i try to balance high school and everything else. i’ll add a header photo later, i think. idk. i’m new to this 😭

content warning: slight angst, lots of repeated words/phrases (sorry lol)

word count: 4.3k

Rowan’s eyes drooped as he walked into his home after a long day of work, desperately needing a nap on his lumpy couch. He set out to make some coffee for later tonight, knowing that he’d have to stay up again to finish another project for his summer class.

Rowan probably shouldn’t have procrastinated his assignment in order to spend time with Aelin at the carnival earlier this week, but he’d rather that than have Aelin spend time alone with Chaol. Just the thought of his name made Rowan scoff.

After being friends for a couple of months, Chaol had recently become Aelin’s new summer fling. Rowan always knew he’d had ulterior motives, but when the idea was brought up to Aelin, she’d laughed and said, “If anyone here had ulterior motives, it’d be me.” Rowan had no clue as to what Aelin was talking about, but she’d insisted that it was only a one-time thing and so far, had been determined to keep a buffer between them, which meant that Rowan had to accompany them on every single “date.”

Despite grumbling the whole time to Aelin at the carnival, Rowan had to admit feeling satisfaction after shoving the ice cream into Chaol’s face in order to prevent him from kissing Aelin. While Aelin looked amused during the whole ordeal, Chaol looked the exact opposite with a scrunched up mouth and furrowed brows. Rowan thought he looked constipated.

Maybe, he was. Rowan shook his head, no no, he was definitely angry.

Rowan smiled to himself as he poured boiling water into the coffee strainer over his mug. Letting it sit when he finished, he walked over to his couch and laid down, allowing his body to rest after hours of exhaustion. His eyes drifted closed as he thought back to Aelin’s situation with Chaol.

Rowan didn’t understand why Aelin wouldn’t just break up with him if she didn’t like him at all. Hell, he doesn’t even understand the reason why she does half the things she does, her mind truly baffles him. He wouldn’t trade her for the universe though, not for anything. Every single part of Aelin fuses to create the most amazing person Rowan’s ever met; Rowan adored everything about her—her witty remarks, her melodious laughter, her long golden hair, her beautiful turquoise eyes with a ring of gold, her bizzare and wicked humor, just about everything.

Gods, don’t even get Rowan started on her smile. Rowan fucking loves her smile. He would do anything in the world for her face to brighten with that glorious smile of hers. It’s the first thing he thinks of in the morning and the last before he goes to bed. Just thinking about her can light up his mood and make him smile.

Settling into the couch even more, Rowan drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face and his mind stuck on Aelin.

Rowan woke up with a start, accidentally jerking the dead weight on his arm. He felt warm breaths puff against his chest as he looked down at the culprit of his numb arm. Aelin lay in his arms, halfway on top of him, with her arm thrown across his waist and her legs entwined with his. Rowan smiled as he looked at her slightly open mouth and her golden blonde hair cascading down the edge of the couch.

Rowan had to get started on his project soon and he had his coffee waiting for him, but he couldn’t even move with Aelin lying on top of him, not that he wanted to anyway. So, giving in to this small defeat, Rowan stroked Aelin’s hair as he thought about his dream.

Rowan woke up to a smattering of kisses across his face and the loud giggling of a toddler, followed by quiet laughter. He felt a slight weight on his chest and small hands grabbing at the skin on his face. Opening his eyes, Rowan was met with striking cerulean blue eyes and a head of silver hair.

“Hey, papa!” The toddler grinned at Rowan, eliciting a smile from him.

“Hey, baby,” Rowan grabbed the toddler’s head and placed a loud smacking kiss on her forehead, evoking even more giggles from the kid.

He noticed Aelin drifting closer, hands cradling her swollen belly. “Alaïa wanted to wake you for breakfast. It only seemed fair to have her loudly slobbering all over you as your wake-up call since we all woke up early to make breakfast,” Aelin smiled as she spoke, her face glowing with happiness and amusement.

As Aelin sat on the edge of the bed, next to Rowan’s arm, she leaned down and pressed a kiss to his lips. Leaning in towards his ear, Aelin whispered, “Hurry up and get your spectacular ass downstairs before all the food is gone.” Aelin gathered Alaïa into her arms before leaving the bedroom.

By the time Rowan was downstairs, breakfast was in full swing. Instead of going to the dining table, Rowan stayed standing at the foot of the stairs, observing his family. A girl—with the same golden hair as Aelin and the same pine green eyes as Rowan—ate quietly with her shoulders back and her head held high. The boy across from her—with Aelin’s eyes and a head full of silver hair—smiled at his younger brother who was struggling with getting the food onto his spoon. The younger boy looked exactly like Rowan, as if someone made a clone of him with his hair.

Alaïa was a sight to behold. With food on her face and clothes, she looked to be having trouble maneuvering the food to her mouth with her spoon, accidentally flinging it into her silver hair instead. She seemed to be on the verge of tears from frustration, but with one quiet laugh from Aelin, Alaïa peered over at the smiling Aelin and gave a little giggle.

Aelin glanced up at Rowan in that moment and opened her mouth to say, “Da—”

A small noise of content broke Rowan out of his reverie. Rowan looked down and noticed that he’s still stroking Aelin’s hair as she nuzzles her head further into his hands. A small smile graced Aelin’s face, making her appear peaceful. Watching Aelin sleep made Rowan smile; he could watch her do anything and never get bored because he was just so enamored by her.

Rowan jerked to a stop. Enamored? His brows furrowed in confusion as he thought back to Aelin. Rowan does not believe he can live his life without Aelin in it; he doesn’t even want to think about the prospect of it.

As a groan broke out of Aelin’s lips, she snuggled closer to Rowan. He watched as her eyes fluttered open and she took in her surroundings before smiling up at him. It was the sight of that smile that made Rowan realize the truth of why he’d felt so satisfied upon smashing that ice cream cone into Chaol’s face and why his heart beat a bit faster whenever Aelin’s attention was on him. Just like it was now.

“Hi,” she croaked, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Rowan smiled, “Hi.” He looked around before looking back down at Aelin, “So, how’d you get in here?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion before she quickly snapped her fingers. “I broke in by using a rock to smash your windows,” Aelin grinned. Rowan felt blood draining from his face at her answer.

“WHAT?!” Rowan sprung up from the couch and walked to his front windows. Knowing Aelin, that couldn’t be exaggerated and didn’t sound like it’d be far from the truth. However, as he got to the curtains, he heard quiet giggles and turned around in time to hear them turn into loud cackles of laughter.

“Calm down, Buzzard. I was only kidding. I snuck into your backyard and used the key you hid in your shed by breaking down the shed door.” Aelin rolled her eyes at his exasperated expression, “Oh, don’t be so dramatic, you told me where you hid the spare key when you were confessing secrets while drunk off your ass,” Aelin waved a hand.

Rowan was never so mortified before. Secrets? Not just one, but more?!

Aelin must’ve seen the mortification written on his face because why else would she bellow with laughter like she was right now. Rowan just shook his head as he walked into his kitchen and grabbed his mug of coffee.

By the time he got back, Aelin was scowling at her phone.

“What’s wrong?” Rowan asked as he sat back on his couch and took a sip of his coffee. Aelin only groaned before throwing her hands up in the air and kicking her feet like a petulant child, causing Rowan to chuckle at Aelin’s antics.

“Chaol wants to go on another date,” Aelin frowned. “He’s insistent on continuing to meet up until he has to go back to Rifthold by the end of the summer.”

Rowan couldn’t help but frown along with Aelin. “I don’t understand why you won’t just call it quits. You obviously don’t like spending time with him.”

Aelin rolled her eyes in return. “I find his company companionable and I want to keep having him in my life.” Aelin sighed, “Anyway, can you please join us? He wants to have a picnic on the beach this Friday.”

Rowan thought about seeing half-naked Chaol and his grabby hands around half-naked Aelin on the beach and grimaced. He did not like the idea of seeing Chaol around Aelin at all, let alone a half-naked Aelin, so Rowan definitely had to go.

Rowan sighed as he ran his hand over his face, “I’ll go.”

“Really?” Aelin beamed. At Rowan’s slight nod, Aelin shifted on the couch and squeezed Rowan tight around the waist. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She murmured into his chest. Rowan wrapped his arms around her frame and squeezed her back. Rowan could definitely get used to this. Aelin pulled back a second later and stood up from the couch. “Okay, I’ve got to head home and feed fleetfoot now,” Aelin smiled, “Thanks for the amazing power nap.”

“Break in again anytime,” Rowan smiled as he heard her chuckle.

“Yeah, yeah, Buzzard.” Aelin waved goodbye before leaving the living room and closing the front door behind her.

Upon hearing Aelin leave his home, Rowan thought back to his revelation earlier today. Rowan Whitethorn was in love with his best friend and she didn’t even know it. He was screwed. He was so irrevocably screwed and he had no clue as to how he’d get himself out of this mess.

Rowan was fuming. He swore that steam was blowing out of his nose and ears like those cartoon characters. Aelin had given him a popsicle to “cool off” and right now, Rowan felt like a petulant child at the beach.

The whole day, Rowan’s been doing his damn best to block Chaol from Aelin, but it seemed like Chaol caught onto his game and is now quicker with his actions. Aelin hasn’t been helping either. Not with the way she’s voluntarily playing in the water with Chaol right now in her show-stopping black bikini with embroidered little golden dragons.

Earlier, Chaol offered to put sunscreen on Aelin’s body for her. Before Rowan could beat him to it, Chaol had already started applying the cream to her long tan legs. Aelin didn’t even protest, but she didn’t miss the sharp glare Rowan sent Chaol’s way, silently laughing at Rowan.

It certainly didn’t help when Chaol was applying the sunscreen slowly, as if trying to memorize the feel of her skin. And instead of quickly stopping Chaol, Aelin keenly kept an eye on Rowan, an amused look on her face as she caught the narrowing of his eyes.

A while later, they played in the sand together like two toddlers on a date. Aelin giggled the whole time as she buried Chaol in the sand and created a mermaid body for him. Rowan figured she needed help getting sand so he repeatedly kicked sand towards Chaol from where he sat on his beach chair. A lot of the sand landed on Chaol’s face, which earned him a shout and glare from Chaol, but it wasn’t Rowan’s fault that the sand landed on his face when Rowan aimed it towards his neck.

Totally not his fault. Must’ve been the wind.

Aelin seemed to be amused by the whole ordeal, if the twinkle in her eyes and the giant smile spread on her face were anything to go by.

The rest of the day seemed like it was “Ignore Rowan Time” because they both ignored Rowan and kept to each other. They went to buy popsicles together and deserted Rowan at the beach. They reappeared about twenty minutes later, only to desert him again to go into the water. Rowan had enough of it.

Now, Rowan watched from afar as Chaol put his slimy hands all over Aelin, carrying her onto his shoulders and dropping her into the water. Sighing in frustration, Rowan angrily bit down a big bite of the popsicle before throwing the rest into the trash can a few feet away.

Grumbling the whole way, Rowan walked down towards the water, looking for ways to easily throw Chaol into it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Aelin spin towards him, smiling as she looked at him. Rowan returned a small smile, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace.

As Rowan crept towards Chaol, he kept eye contact with Aelin, conveying his plans to her through the movement of his eyes. Aelin’s face shone with amusement as her eyes held a mischievous gleam. Chaol, noticing something amiss and Aelin’s wandering eyes, turned just in time to be tackled into the water by Rowan’s broad shoulders.

Aelin cackled as Chaol’s arms flailed above the water, paying no attention to Rowan as he stalked toward her. It was already too late by the time Aelin felt herself get lifted by Rowan’s hands.

“Don’t you dare, Buzzard,” Aelin warned as she repeatedly slapped Rowan’s bare back. Rowan only slapped her butt in return, to which Aelin quickly gasped, “Rowan Whitethorn! You did not jus—”

Aelin was thrown into the water before she could even finish her sentence. Rowan watched in amusement as Aelin’s arms flailed before she pulled herself above water, spitting a mouthful of salty water at Rowan’s chest. Wiping the water from her face, Aelin glared at Rowan before running as best she could in water and trying to tackle Rowan. Rowan was immovable, but he grabbed her around the waist and fell backwards into the water anyway, pulling Aelin with him.

Up above the water again, Aelin glared at him and huffed as she crossed her arms over her chest, Rowan’s arms still encasing her to his body. Rowan’s chuckle reverberated through Aelin’s body from where their bodies were touching.

The sun was setting, creating beautiful hues of pinks and oranges that reflected off of the many white fluffy clouds in the sky. Seeing Aelin bathed in that light was surreal. The ring of gold in her beautiful turquoise eyes, eyes that Rowan loves, more accentuated in the golden sunlight. Her golden hair glowing as if it was on fire. Aelin looked stunning.

Aelin grinned as Rowan’s hand flattened against her waist, his fingers contracting as if debating letting her go. Rowan noticed Aelin’s hand lifting to cup his face. Her hand was warm, as though the warmth of the sun she personified extended to her fingertips.

Rowan stared into her deep questioning gaze, eyes inquisitive as if waiting for him to do something. Rowan could only stare as she carefully stroked her thumb across his cheekbone, her hands slick with the beach water.

His eyes locked onto hers as she lifted her other hand to his face, her fingers tracing the lines of the tattoo along his temple. Rowan’s breathing turned ragged as he was reminded of the day’s events: how he was constantly left behind to watch over their things, how he was left out of the activities Aelin and Chaol had chosen to do, and how utterly frustrated and defeated he’d felt when Aelin didn’t try to avoid Chaol’s advances on her.

“Rowan,” Aelin breathed as her fingers slid down the side of his tattooed cheek, reminding Rowan of the way she’d touched Chaol today and how she’d allowed that touch to be reciprocated.

He quickly yanked both wrists off his face. He didn’t want her to touch him when she was fawning over some other man. He dropped her hands and stepped back, staring at her as she briefly closed her eyes in hurt.

“Don’t do that,” Rowan rasped, “Don’t—touch me like that.”

Aelin swallowed, her face burning red, “I’m sorry.” She backed away a step. “I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It was nothing.”

Rowan’s eyes shuttered, “Good.” The word repeated in his head. “Fine.”

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

Rowan kept a neutral face as he stalked away, trying not to look like a wounded puppy. He quickly toweled himself off before gathering his things and leaving the beach without Aelin in tow.

Rowan didn’t know why he was here. He’d definitely ruined things between him and Aelin if the hurt on her face was anything to go by. But, Rowan couldn’t go to sleep knowing that he’d done something that hurt Aelin. He’d lied in his bed, staring at his ceiling before deciding to just go apologize to her. He didn’t look at the time at all, just put on some clothes and left his house. He didn’t take his phone, didn’t take anything but the keys in his hands.

Now, Rowan was staring at a small two-story cream-colored house. Kingsflame flowers lined either side of the short path leading to the front door. Aelin’s favorite flowers.

“Fuck,” Rowan sighed. He shook his head as he slowly brought it to lean against his car horn. “I should’ve gotten her flowers.” He glanced at the clock to see if there’d be a possibility for him to make a quick trip to the flower shop. 2:48, the clock read.

The flower shop wouldn’t even be open at this time.

Rowan sighed as he quietly got out of his car and made his way up to Aelin’s door, dread pooling in his stomach at the idea of Aelin ignoring him completely. As Rowan waited after ringing the doorbell, he took note of the light ballad coming out of Aelin’s small home, the sorrowful melody hitting him in the chest. Aelin only ever listened to that type of music when she was feeling heartbroken and Rowan was hurt knowing that he’d been the one to cause that pain.

He rang the doorbell another time before deciding that she probably couldn’t hear if her music could be heard from outside. Sighing, Rowan pulled out his phone and called her, hearing the music pause for the duration of an unanswered call, and waited until the call went to voicemail before he reluctantly walked to the fourth kingsflame flower from her front door.

Rowan, then, got onto his knees and dug out dirt until he was met with Aelin’s spare key, which was only supposed to be used in dire emergencies.

Oh, this was very dire.

Grimacing at his dirty hands, Rowan walked back towards the front door and opened it before getting inside. Rowan threw the spare key onto the counter before rinsing his hands and hightailing towards Aelin’s bedroom.

Slamming open the French doors, Rowan’s eyes frantically searched for Aelin, finding the woman standing at the threshold of her connected bathroom in nothing but a blue towel wrapped around her lithe frame.

Shocked still, Aelin stood with wide, puffy, red eyes and a frown marring her beautiful face. Rowan knew she’d taken a bath to feel better, but it wasn’t enough to abate her emotions if the tears still lining her eyes were anything to go by.

Rowan’s chest hurt, his face crumpling in pain at the sight of her. “I am so, so sorry, Aelin,” Rowan apologized as he looked deeply into her sorrowful eyes. “I hadn’t meant to react like that—like your touch had been so repulsive that I had to quickly get rid of it. But when you did touch me, I was reminded of how you’d touched Chaol earlier in the day, how you’d allowed yourself to be touched by him. I didn’t like watching you with him, let alone touching him.” Rowan took a step forward and some of his anxiety quelled at the insistence in her eyes for him to keep talking. “I was mad and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”

Aelin seemed at a loss for words as she silently processed everything he’d said, her eyes analyzing his face as she searched for the sincerity of his words. Her head tilted slightly as if trying to further understand his words. “Why were you mad?”

Rowan subtly winced as rubbed the back of his neck, ducking his head and staring at the wooden floor. “Like I said, I don’t like Chaol,” Rowan explained.

“No, no. You said you didn’t like watching me with Chaol. You were jealous,” Aelin deadpanned.

“Mad or jealous, I don’t care. All I care about is you and the fact that I love you,” Rowan shouted as he threw his hands into the air.

Aelin’s breath hitched as she stared in shock at his sudden outburst. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times before she gaped at him. “Wh-what did you just say?” Aelin sputtered.

“I had a dream, Aelin. I was woken up by a 2 or 3 year-old child and she was laying on my chest when you walked in. You told me that you had her wake me up by giggling and kissing my face because while I slept in, you and the kids woke up early to make breakfast. Our children were in that dream and you were pregnant with our fifth child.” Rowan ran a hand through his hair before he took the remaining steps between them and gently cupped her face as he looked into her eyes. “When I actually woke up, you were right there in my arms. I’d never been more peaceful and content than when you were in my arms. As you were laying there, I’d realized I wanted that dream to become reality. And, I wanted that with you. You’re it for me, baby. You’re my dream and my forever. I love you, Aelin. Please forgive me.” Rowan gently rested his forehead against hers as he wiped the tears streaming down Aelin’s face.

Aelin’s hands came up to grasp his elbows as Rowan leaned down and kissed her right cheek, his hands moving to tuck her hair behind her ears. His lips moved towards her other cheek, pressing another light kiss there before moving onto both of her eyelids. He continued placing light kisses onto her forehead, her nose, and her chin.

As Rowan got to her lips, he angled his head away from her face to stare into her eyes, seemingly asking for permission to continue his path. When Aelin reached her hands up and gently cradled his face as he slowly leaned in, Rowan threw all caution to the wind and finally pressed his lips on hers.

Kissing Aelin was better than anything Rowan had ever known. The soft and hesitant, yet determined and insistent press of her lips against his set his body on fire. Rowan felt like he was burning inside out, but he didn’t care because every second with this woman in his arms was worth burning to ashes.

Pulling away, Aelin looked into his eyes, placed her hands on his shoulders, and said, “I know.”

Rowan pulled back a bit, pressing another kiss to her lips before looking at her questioningly. “What do you mean you know?” Rowan gently rested his hands on her waist and pulled her closer to his body.

Aelin sighed, “I mean, I know that you love me. Don’t worry, I love you, too, Rowan.” Aelin leaned onto her toes to lightly kiss him on his lips. “Why do you think I’d devised all these plans to make you jealous anyway?” Aelin shrugged.

Thrown off guard, Rowan froze as he stared her down. “Plans to make me jealous? What are you talking about? How did you know?”

“All I have to say is that you need to learn how to control your alcohol intake. Getting a love confession from my best friend when he’s shitfaced drunk was not how I planned on learning about his undying love for me.” Aelin waved a hand, “Anyway, I had Chaol act like an obsessed lover so you would get riled up and finally make a move. He’s truly only a friend that’s visiting for the summer and he has a fiancée back in Adarlan; she's actually in on it too, so no need to worry. I’m not so sure if my plan was a good or a bad idea, considering the tumultuous outcome.” Aelin glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

Rowan didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. A sudden laugh erupted out of Rowan, startling both him and Aelin. “It was definitely a good plan if I’m able to be yours in the end,” Rowan muttered, leaning down to kiss Aelin.

Aelin pulled back and quirked a brow. “Who said you could be mine?” The question was paired with Aelin’s arms crossing over her chest. Rowan immediately paled.

“Well,” Rowan rubbed the back of his neck, “I assumed that since you reciprocated my feelings, you’d be my girlfriend now, but…” Rowan trailed off awkwardly.

“Did you ask yet?” Aelin inquired, a serious expression taking over her face.

Gripping Aelin’s hands in his, Rowan looked into her eyes as he asked, “Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, will you do me the honor of allowing me to become your boyfriend?”

Aelin pretended to be thinking for a few seconds, eliciting a pinch in the side from Rowan. Aelin grinned, a smile so beautiful, Rowan would be a fool to not smile back.

“Of course, Buzzard.”

#rowaelinmonth #rowaelin #rowan and aelin #rowan x aelin #rowaelin angst #rowaelin fluff #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #aelin ashryver galathynius #throne of glass #fireheart #buzzard #fireheartbuzzard

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

Text

Venti and Barbara: Relationship HCs

of course^^ I think Venti and Barbara are really cute together haha. To be fair, this could have gotten really sad but I’m trying really hard to stop making everyone suffer.

I did no research on this. I just used whatever knowledge I had stored in my brain but my brain has been turned into mush. But I hope you still like it anon!

Lads. I’m so tired. That Venti, Dvalin, and Andrius one took so much out of me. Tbh I don’t know if anyone would like it since it’s such a rare pairing but I hope you did because I wanna turn into spaghetti. Damn, trying to use paint to make headers doesn’t really work out haha.

---

Alright, today’s appreciation post goes to toxic-luck. I really wish I could tag these people but tumblr absolutely craps itself whenever I do it [which I don’t understand why and it makes me really mad] but hopefully you see this haha.

Istg you and a couple others [I’m gonna be dedicating the next couple appreciation posts for you all^^ ] are actually speed it’s kinda scary but tyty 💕💕💕 I’ve seen you pop up a lot and I just wanted to let you know that hey, I like you and you’re a lovely person.

---

[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover @dilucsz

---

Venti and Barbara: Relationship HCs

Barbara refuses and still continues to refuse that Venti is actually Barbatos. The archon that she has prayed and dedicated her cause to CANNOT be a alcohol obsessed bard that goes around pulling pranks on everyone. Her mental state would not be able to handle it. No matter how many times Venti tells her otherwise she suddenly can’t hear him. The acoustic’s in here are terrible or the wind is too loud where Venti himself knows that, no there aren’t any winds. He’s the anemo archon. He can do that. Barbara ple-

Despite how they seem on the surface, Barbara and Venti really like each other’s voices and fully admit to it. They have different styles and Barbara has even tried to hint at Venti to teach her his melodies that she still has troubles with. Barbara was kind of nervous to be teased at when she first approached Venti, since that’s just his nature. But to her surprise he was incredibly sincere and brought her to the Windrise tree to practice. He would strum his lyre while giving pointers to Barbara and it would a nice bonding experience for them that later turned into small lunch dates.

Meanwhile, Venti think’s it’s so cute and fascinating that Mondstadt has evolved to where music has went from bards singing in taverns to actual concerts. Venti isn’t interested in the idol lifestyle but he enjoys supporting Barbara and carrying her voice throughout the winds. If anyone asks the acoustics are just that good in Mondstadt. You can thank the anemo archon for that and you should definitely buy a green bard a glass of wine for good acoustic luck.

When Venti makes his special “A Buoyant Breeze” for Barbara he always makes sure to include the heart which makes Barbara flush pink and ignores it. Which leads Venti to pout and whine like an overgrown spoiled cat, even though he’s allergic to them, until Barbara gives up on her man-child of a partner and says that it’s the best thing she’s ever eaten as if Barbatos himself blessed it. She has to get on her hands and knees begging and pleading that “Venti please stop, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it and I will never disgrace the time and effort you put into making this hear-why are you laughing you tone-deaf bard?!”

Venti is a bit of a troublemaker and thought that since Barbara was his partner, that somehow gave him free reign to do whatever he wanted in the Church. It’s always amusing to others, like Jean, when she sees her sister scolding an archon that no, he cannot burst into service because he was bored. Really everyone knows that Venti just misses her and uses any excuse to see her. They were basically praying to him so it was fine right?

Barbara and Venti made an unlikely couple and appeared more like siblings with Venti’s constant teasing and Barbara having none of it. But when it’s come to pray in the Church, Barbara puts her heart and soul into everything which both makes Venti happy and sad. He’s happy that Barbara was dedicated to the Archon of Freedom but sad that he wasn’t exactly within her expectations.

But Barbara has been healing people and making sure everyone was okay, that no matter how much Venti grins or smiles she knows. So she goes to the statue of seven in windrise, right under the giant tree, and prays out loud to Barbatos that she has the best partner in the world who was hectic, made her life a complete mess, constantly played pranks on her, and might be the cause of too many headaches. But that he was also talented and showed her that she had the freedom to pursue anything she set her heart out to do. That she loved him and all his teasing ways.

Whenever Barbara has her 10 second bouts of sadness, a feather always lands next to her and tickles her face until she starts laughing. Then Venti will suddenly and magically appear and drag her off to a lively tavern where they can both sing a duet. By the time the night is over, she had forgotten what made her upset in the first place.

---

I should probably mention that character x character fics/hcs are going to be a bit shorter than my usual posts. Sorry did I say a bit shorter? Because I’m down to dedicate another fic to this. I love them both.

But feel free to send any other character x character if you have them. Honestly these are just crack fics.

I really wanna see someone make a Barbara and Venti clip of them singing to “Anything you can do, I can do better” I would donate my kidney for that. Has that been made? I know someone has but I don’t think it was Barbara and Venti.

I got one more pairing to write and then it’s time to commit sleep. For a whole hour. I need to learn pacing because I’m gonna end up collapsing into myself before I finish everything.

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septembersghost · 2 years

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my beloved @fancykraken tagged me! 💖

1. Why did you choose your url?

so, i've technically had six urls through my tumblr history, but the most consistent and important one sits in quiet mausoleum-like reverence because i was only going to be here temporarily (lol), and didn't want to reclaim it, and didn't feel right going back to that blog. alas, here we are. (and now there's an added weight to it because we exist in a world without stephen sondheim.)

when i secretly made this blog in early 2020, i was on a Romantics kick and had borrowed "melodious" from Keats in Ode to a Nightingale (thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees/In some melodious plot/Of beechen green, and shadows numberless/Singest of summer in full-throated ease) because i wanted something music-themed, and "ghost" obviously from my constant theme of being a ghost girl who is herself a haunted house, but it never felt "right," and for some reason i didn't like the way ~melodious~ looked the longer i sat with it, so i switched it to "septembers," because almost all of my urls have begun with an -S, and because it's my birth month, and tied subtly to dean (my birthday being pilot anniversary day on the 13th, then the significance of september 18th). i am quite attached to september in general outside of that, and thus septembersghost felt very much like an accurate depiction of me.

2. Any side blogs?

not here, no, though i have a couple of urls saved despite the fact that i'd never use them.

3. How long have you been on tumblr?

off and on since 2011.

4. Do you have a queue tag?

the very boring "q," i used to always have cute personalized ones (almost all were musical theatre lyric-based) but was too lazy to do that here asdsajkfdh

5. Why did you start your blog in the first place?

i started my original blog literally because of bonnie, whomst did tag me in this post, and because so many people from LJ were migrating here (hilariously, i also started my LJ in 2004 because of bonnie...alexa, play "every breath you take." BLAME HER FOR MY INTERNET PRESENCE! 😂). this one i started in 2020 "just in case"/to lurk (interestingly, for taylor and penny dreadful and better call saul, not at all for spn), but then 15x18 happened and i had...a bit of a hard time...and realized i couldn't handle enduring the last two episodes of that alone after suffering and engaging for fifteen years. (little did i know how MUCH i wouldn't be able to handle it?) so i crept back to spend those final weeks here and never left.

6. Why did you choose your icon/pfp?

because i love her and she IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME and i wanted to mix it up a little. something yet remains.

7. Why did you choose your header?

"are there still beautiful things?" is like...the eternal beating question of my heart. seven in general, with the themes of haunting and memory and the sorrow in nostalgia and grief in love and stories being passed on even when you can't recall every moment or detail. that's my whole essence. also, pink.

8. What’s your post with the most notes?

that quote of jennifer carpenter's...you don't understand. she was talking about haunting HIM? but now she haunts ME. the intensity of the irony now considering that i posted it for my own reference, it was the very first dexter-related post i made here (i didn't even have a tag for the show! i didn't think i'd ever be able to watch that show AGAIN! i'm happy i was wrong, paul rudd look at us.gif), i thought it would be relevant to like three people so i didn't source it in the caption, and the gothic horror tumblrinas got hold of it and it took on a life of its own. i like to pretend that revival never happened and was a very poorly constructed bad dream, and i have to ignore the rest of that interview by extension, but girlie really tapped into the other side when she said that.

9. How many mutuals do you have?

i have no idea but 💛💛💛

10. How many followers do you have?

354, i was at like 395 but then the great bot clearance happened. i am teensy, but once upon a time i had over 1200 and that was a lot. seeing the number bon put on this gives me anxiety omg

11. How many people do you follow? 133

12. Have you ever made a shit post?

maybe? i'm not sure what qualifies as that.

13. How often do you use tumblr a day?

sometimes a lot, even if i'm only here for like five minutes at a time. sometimes i'm not here at all and it's just my queue running ghostily for me, it depends how i'm feeling illness-wise from day to day.

14. Did you ever have a fight/argument with another blog?

an actual fight, no. minor disagreements, yes, being falsely accused of something and having to defend myself to complete strangers, yes, and the zany hate messages which were all one-sided beef from anons who think hating on my faves is a power trip? 🥴

15. How do you feel about the ‘you need to reblog’ posts?

Hate them even if they’re something that is important and with good information. If you add that then I will not reblog them. <- this. it's an unnecessary guilt trip and distracts from whatever information or message is being given.

16. Do you like tag games?

I do! Even if I forget to complete them I still appreciate being thought of. <- this too!!! 🥺

17. Do you like ask games?

i never do them because i'm shy and anxious and also think no one will send any of them to me lol

18. Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?

i don't know if any of them are tumblr "famous"? (are any of you secretly internet celebrities and holding out on me?! 👀) but one of the nice things about tumblr is how that absolutely does not matter here. we can support each other and enjoy one another's content whether we have 12 followers or 12,000 and that's cozy. you're all stars to meeee

19. Do you have a crush on a mutual?

i do not, but i'd hold your hands and kiss your foreheads and wrap you in blankets no matter what.

20. Tags!

i am not tagging anyone because this is long and i talk too much, but please feel free to take it and tag me in it if you do so that i can see your answers! 🥰

#jess.mess #bubble wrap around my heart #tag games

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tintentrinkerin · 3 years

Text

adelphopoiesis

Author: tintentrinkerin

Title: adelphopoiesis

Requested by: @schaefchenherde

Header by: @wincestismyheart

Divider by: @firefly-graphics

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Sam

Warnings: Blood and Gore, Sam Drinks Dean’s Demon Blood, Anal Sex, Not Canon Compliant

Content: Chasing your baby brother around the bunker with a hammer is fun, right? But what if you tickle his thing for blood?

Read here or on AO3

Dean’s most effective weapon is not the hammer he destroyed the door with. The hammer that’s stuck in the wall now beside Sam’s head. It’s not his physical strength, radiating like utter heat from his body, showing in the tension of his neck, the firm grimace of his mouth, his pretty mouth. It’s not the First Blade. A blade powerful enough to kill anything and anyone, but Dean himself.

Sam’s only weapon is a lousy knife. A demon knife, that will barely leave a scratch on a Knight of Hell.

“It’s all you”, Dean says, leaning in the knife, leaning into Sam’s half hearted attack.

The way Dean looks at his brother, it’s tearing Sam apart in so many ways. Ways he thought he’d buried under guilt and hunts and lore and his shame. Sam gives in and takes the knife away, he will regret it so bitterly, he knows. Of course he knows. He can’t even lay a single finger on Dean. The demon in front of him wears the face of his brother but there is nothing left of his soft side for Sam. His voice, how he calls Sam, how he says Sammy, the hair, the determined look, the tongue against his teeth. Like he’s a predator and Sam’s the prey.

Dean’s eyes turn black.

It’s a whooshing sound and it darts Sam’s ears the moment he thought he’d surrender and then, the First Blade, fast as an arrow lands in Dean’s hand. There is not a blink for Sam to react before Dean looks at him with a triumphant smirk. The knife glides through Dean’s smooth skin of his throat like it’s warm butter. Blood spills.

Blood

Spills

Blood is Dean's most effective weapon.

Its smell is so familiar, so luring. So intimate and so…powerful. Sam turns and runs. He needs to go. He needs to get away.

“Oh Sammy, baby brother, don’t run away!”, Dean mocks.

Shit, he’s right behind Sam and Sam’s judgement clouds already. He isn’t even fast. It feels like running through molasses. The air feels thick and strong, pressing Sam down, and the smell of iron and lust and Dean, oh my God, it’s Dean’s blood! - He needs to get away! Sam manages to worm through the destroyed door to the electrical room, but he catches several splinters. Some even bite his face and he gets stuck with the cast of his elbow. Spraining the right elbow, why, Sam, why did that happen? Everything’s against him.

Memories of Ruby appear in his head. Of the smell, the taste, her body, the sex. The grunting and the mind blowing orgasm, the banging against walls everywhere they went. The power, the trip. His increasing power, a stimulant better than any human known drug. It resonates all within him with the odor of Dean’s musk and his blood. He can smell its potential, its strong taste. Sam even imagines how it would make him feel. Running away never felt so hard like right now. He remembers the withdrawal and the pain behind his eyes blinds him as he trips in the hallway and tumbles against a wall. Stinging pain in his arm, in his head and his legs feel heavy. It’s like he has Dean’s breath in his neck all this time. Even though he can’t hear him come close at all. It sounds like Dean is far away, in another world.

“Come on, Sammy, I know you want a sip of it. Makes you all giddy, doesn't it? I can smell you. All of you.”

Sam yells something, but he can’t even make out what he says.

“Keep runnin’ if you must, but you know I gotta find you sooner or later. It’s my home, too!”

The alarm is blaring again and Sam has no idea how far he can run. There won’t be any walls that might hold Dean back. He’s regaining strength, the human blood wears off. Even that Sam can smell. How much stronger Dean gets with every minute.

“I taste delicious, Sammy. Just fuckin’ delicious.”

Oh, yes, Sam bets he does, that’s exactly why he needs to keep running. The smell gets even more intense now and Sam wonders how much Dean can cut himself up with the First Blade. He should’ve given the damn thing to Crowley when he had the chance to do so.

“Stay away”, he croaks.

There’s another hallway, one leading deep into the intestines of the Forbidden Bunker, how Dean and him called it jokingly, when they discovered it. An area full of locked doors made of the weirdest materials. Only one chance is left for Sam, when he finds that one door he unlocked in these months without Dean. He had learned a lot about witchcraft since Dean left this note on his bed, when he left Sam for Crowley and a life as a demon. When the only way to save himself from Dean was to hide himself in a panic room again, hallucinate again, he would have to do it. He rather sees Lucifer again, Mary, Bobby, all the victims they couldn’t save than to fall for Dean’s lure. Drink his own brother’s blood. This was perverted, disgusting, twisted. Even for them. The monster hunters, the monster fuckers, the monsters themselves.

“The longer you run, the harder I bleed, brother!”

Sam tries every door on the way, but none opens. Sam’s eyes sting from the smell. What the hell is Dean doing? Covering the walls in blood? That would be insane. Even Dean would faint at one point. It must be impossible to drain a body so much before it dies. Dean isn’t possessing a body, he still has his own, whatever that means for him and his physis then. Sam trips again, he falls, on his right arm of course. He tears up from the pain that fills his chest, his arm, his shoulder. He can’t survive that long if doesn’t find a hide-out.

It seems to be near, because Sam still can read the signs on the doors and when he finds room 616, he pushes the door open with a long and agonizing cry and slams it shut. It’s the door he unlocked already, a room, bleak as an empty tomb. Cold and pitchblack, there’s no electrical light, just candles, but Sam won’t be able to find them. He can just hide in here, pressed against a wall, praying to Castiel, to Hannah. He even cries for Crowley inside, someone needs to help him.

Footsteps.

The smell of blood. The First Blade scraping on the tiles, Sam knows it’s that.

“Gotcha! I really thought you’d be a bit cleverer than that. Where’s the fun when you cage yourself like a mouse?”

The door bursts open, way too easily. None of the sigils and runes seem to be an obstacle for Dean. And when light shines in the room and Sam can see not only Dean’s silhouette but also his face, he knows. Dean is covered in his own blood. His face, his slit throat, still pumping blood in long and rhythmic spurts from the wound. His arms are drenched in blood and now, with a biting smile, Dean looks at Sam and the Blade carves an S in Dean’s arm.

“Come here, Sammy. Come to your big bro and lemme get you something real good

The stench is so intense now that Sam first vomits in violent jerks and then faints. The last thing he sees before the world turns completely black is Dean’s triumphant, sweet smile and his eyes. His normal green eyes.

When Sam awakes again, he is tied up. Bound to a chair. They’re in the dungeon again, how did Sam come here? His head aches like it’s been run over by a stampede of bulls and his mouth tastes like vomit and blood. He tenses immediately as he’s present enough to realize his situation. Dean has tied him up here, and now he’s sitting on the desk in one corner, right beside the blood donor box that Sam got from the hospital. His legs swing and he hums a strange melody.

“Oh, look who’s up.”

Dean jumps on his feet. Sam can see the First Blade, the damn Blade, resting on the table. Then Dean takes the syringes of human blood and starts spilling them.

“You won’t need them anymore, Sammy. I think I won our little chase.”

“Dean, don’t do that… please. I can still…”

Dean hisses. His eyes turn black.

“You can still what, brother dearest? I already told you. I am what I am now, I am free. I’m finally free. Of humanity. I’m strong now. Efficient. Deadly.”

Sam winces when he moves in the ties. The ropes cut in his flesh and Dean removed the sling on his arm. His elbow hurts so much, it’s taking his words away.

“You were deadly before already. The Mark made you powerful.”

“But guess what, I’m even better now. Dean Winchester 2.0 - I’m all in for my upgrade. You see it as a bad thing, but what I see is … potential. Chances. Oh Sammy, I can conquer the world. Hell. Heaven. You really want the boring Dean back, huh?”

Sam shakes his head but that makes him feel dizzy, he stops.

“I want my brother back. The brother I loved.”

Dean’s black eyes target Sam like he’s prey again and he hates being looked at like this. It makes him feel less human, less Dean’s brother.

“I am your brother. Nothing ever changed that. But I told you to stay away from me, I told you not to look for me. But you did. You plotted against me, with Crowley, with Cas. You tied me up in this chair, you tortured me with human blood. Against my will. For someone who’s all over the place with autonomy and respecting boundaries you violated mine just perfectly.”

Sam squirms. The problem is that Dean is right. But Sam did it for the greater cause, didn’t he? Dean becoming human again was the best for everyone!

“You make me sound like the bad guy here, that’s not fair”, Sam mutters.

Dean laughs and it’s a deep, rough laugh that makes Sam’s skin crawl. This is so much Dean, even darker than usual. And it shakes Sam to the core.

“Good, bad… Who cares. Human categories, bullshit. Nothing’s fair, Sam.”

“I need something to drink”, Sam says faintly now.

He won’t make Dean untie him, that’s for sure, but maybe Cas will come to the rescue soon, he can maybe delay things. Also he needs to get rid of the taste of old blood in his mouth. Dean doesn’t reek of his blood that bad anymore, Sam is very much aware of the pink line across Dean’s throat. A scar. The blade will cause scars. Or at least the weapon delays even Dean’s healing.

Dean smiles.

“Sure. But why waste water on you when I kill you anyway?”

Sam’s heart sinks.

“Will you?”

Dean shrugs as if he doesn’t give a shit at all.

“Thinking about it. But you’re my brother, as you keep on reminding me. Maybe I should give you a chance to redeem yourself in my eyes and let you live?”

“And how would you do that?”, Sam asks, winding in his ties.

Dean goes away. Doesn’t say another word. Sam is stunned and damn, holy shit, he’s afraid. Dean will kill him. But what is it with the possibility of letting him live?

The smell of iron. Like a perfume, soft and silky. No. No no no.

“Dean? Dean!”, Sam cries and fights the restraints harder.

He did it again. He slit his fucking throat, Sam knows it. And this time, he won’t be able to run, he won’t be able to fight back. He’s tied up, he’s in pain, he’s weak. It’s not like with the other hunters who wanted to force him to drink demon blood. He could fight them off, but now?

Emaciated. Sick. Depressed. A broken arm. Hungry. Tied up. The addiction is pulsating through his veins, giving him the chills. It’s hot and cold at the same time. Like crackling in the air, the heavy scent of blood and Dean, he can only say no.

Dean won’t take a no, why should he? He’s a Knight of Hell. Sam is human. His brother is back, his throat cut deep enough to see the structures of muscles, veins, nerves, his trachea, the pulsing blood. Sam vomits all over his shirt, but there’s not much left except bitter, yellow gall.

“You’re sick, huh?”, Dean coos in a voice like he did when Sam was younger. It’s meant for comfort but now it just feels like mockery and Sam wonders how he deserves to see his brother slit his throat, twice, just to seduce Sam to drink it. It's so fucked up. It’s low, even for lean, mean Dean. Human Dean would’ve never provoked Sam’s demon blood addiction.

Sam nuzzles against the hand that’s stroking his face, his eyes squeezed shut. His lips tremble.

“Let me make you feel better, don’t pull away, Sammy…”

Sam cries out and some ugly big tears fall down his face. Is it so easy to break? He’s gone through so much pain already, through torture, rape, withdrawal. He was betrayed by everyone he loved, especially Dean. Dean’s hand is warm, but his skin feels like marble when Sam leans in, rubs his face in the palm of Dean’s hand. Is this still his brother? Is there any humanity left?

But what would that change? They’re here now. In a bunker soaked with demon blood, Sam is tied up, Dean reigns.

“Hush, hush”, Dean purrs, both of his hands holding Sam’s bobbing head. “It’s gonna be alright… Sammy, just give in. There will be no more pain, just us. You and me, against the world. Like it used to be.”

Sam opens his eyes but all he sees is blurry and red, it stinks of iron and vomit and Dean’s black eyes…

“I wanna see your normal eyes”, is all Sam can say right now.

A smirk.

“Anything for you, Sammy.”

And Dean’s eyes flash back to green and Sam can have the illusion of his brother just for a moment longer. Thick dark blood is pulsing out of Dean’s cut on his throat.

“It looks disgusting, Dee.”

Dean only laughs.

“It’s not supposed to be beautiful.”

Dean cups his hand before the dripping wound, collects a tiny lake of blood in his hand and then, gently presses his blood covered hand against Sam’s lips.

The world turns upside down. Sam feels the spinning, the spinning, the spinning!

The taste makes him want to barf, violently, but the old creature, the blood sucking monster was waiting patiently beneath the surface. Patient but greedy. Now it’s unleashed it bursts out and the first drops, he swallows. His lips limp and curled in utter disgust, but now, oh now, there’s a jolt running through his body, he sits straight up, first ties grinding, the ropes won’t last. The shackles won’t last.

“Come on, sweet baby boy, you want more…” Dean sings, eyes black as the night.

And slowly, very slowly and enjoying, Sam’s lips brush Dean’s hand, collect the blood, a tongue, pink, hot sneaks out, licks the offered hand.

The ropes break. The pain in Sam’s arm fades. It’s a movement even Dean didn’t see coming when Sam bursts out of all restraints he put on him and grips Dean’s hand tight, as tight as possible and sucks three of Dean’s fingers dry.

The Knight of Hell rejoices, pulls Sam close, closer than they’ve been for a very long time.

“That’s it, Sammy, yes, that’s it, let me take care of you… such a greedy boy…”

Dean’s voice is distant to Sam, distorted and hollow, he remembers their youth, the motel rooms, the flickering lights, the old tv, how Dean smelled of whiskey and beer. John’s passed out in an armchair, stained in blood, piss and vomit.

He remembers Dean’s care. The kisses at night, the stealthy handjobs in the shower, how Dean ‘taught’ him how people do it.

Make love.

Sam was twelve. Dean was sixteen. And he was a grower.

A slut.

All of this drenched in velvety red tint.

The ritual.

“Let me take care of you, Sammy…”

“I love you, Dee.”

“Never tell anyone.”

And Sam never had told anyone (but Lucifer knew - he knew everything) and deep down, buried in his mind, these feelings were in peaceful slumber, violently dragged across the floor now, kicking and crying,

A W A K E

Sam is awake.

He remembers the awkward, painful, dry fuck in the back of the Impala after they killed the Wendigo, so long ago, and how they never ever said a word.

Spit is shitty lube.

So is blood.

It roars. The monster roars in Sam’s chest. It’s in agony, it’s in joy, it’s free!

And Sam is just a puppet, always been nothing more than a puppet. He watches himself suck Dean’s fingers, then sticking his own fingers in the wound, stir it, stir Dean’s insides. The gurgling, the retching. Dean’s satisfied moans, his hands all over Sam’s now healed body.

“Yes, Sammy, let it all out, come on… Let it all out.”

Sam only hisses. This blood, Dean’s blood, the blood of a demon, of a Knight. It’s so much more potent than Ruby’s or any other demon’s he’s ever drank and tasted. Dean is delicious. Demon tend to taste like rotting meat, titan arum aroma.

But Dean tastes of all the good things. Dahlia, petrichor, amber. His musk makes Sam’s blood boil and his pants bulge.

“Sammy.”

“Dean”, is the first thing New Sam says.

What Monster Sam says. His voice sounds low, rough, barely in control. His body is shaking, too much force is withhold now.

“Brother.”

The wound on Dean’s throat is closing up again already, the healing ability is really incredible. Sam will bite it open very, very soon, but first…

Dean doesn’t protest, he doesn’t fight back at all when Sam slams him down to the ground like he weighs nothing. There’s the crunchy sound of maybe, bones breaking, or just getting sprained, but even that, Dean will heal in no time. Dean lies on his stomach, attempts to get up.

“Sammy-”

“Sammy is not here right now.”

There’s no surprise, no scare in Dean’s voice. Sam stomps his bare foot in Dean’s back and Dean stays, doesn’t even breathe. The adrenaline rush in Sam’s ears makes him deaf for most other things and seeing demon Dean down on his stomach, defeated so easily, it’s almost an insult. Sam crouches down, one foot still on Dean’s back, pressing him down.

“You surrender?”, Sam asks, eyebrows raise.

“I didn’t mean to fight you at all.”

Dean chuckles, his voice raspy

Sam drags Dean on all fours, rips apart his shirt (the pretty red shirt, ruined with blood anyway) and Jeans and when he holds Dean’s hips, bends over and bites Dean’s neck, Dean hisses “Come on, Sammy, that’s it.”

That’s it.

Sam tears apart skin, Dean’s blood gushes in Sam’s mouth, warm and silky, smooth and delicious.

“Is that what you wanted?”, Sam says in a breathless moment, before he starts sucking the wound dry, the bleeding will stop soon, way too soon for Sam to be satisfied.

Dean growls deeply, pushes against Sam. Pleading. Sam pushes two fingers inside Dean, but feels very quickly, Dean doesn’t need it. He doesn’t want it. He needs Sam. He rips off his jeans, down to his knees and when that’s not giving him enough space, he just tears it to shreds completely. Dean’s ass is perfect. Round, juicy, firm. When he gives it a slap - a hard one - he enjoys the noise Dean makes. And then he thrusts completely inside, without hesitation. No foreplay. No gentle feeling ahead and preparing Dean’s wonderfully tight and delicious ass. He feels amazing, hot, tight, smooth. Dean hands grip Sam’s wrists tight while he fucks into him, raw, without anything to soothe the pain, make it easier, make Dean nice, slick and wet. But he doesn’t complain at all.

“That’s it”, Dean chants, in his low, low “Let’s finish this game” voice. That’s it, over and over.

This is no sex Sam would ever have if he was in his right mind. Covered in his own vomit, Dean’s blood, on the cold floor. Not that he has fucked any guy after he fled off to Stanford anyway. Dean is all he knows. He only knows what Dean taught him about fucking ass.

Dean starts getting slippery with his own blood, Sam’s blood infused spit and finally, cum. Sam loses the feeling of time and space, all he can do is fuck Dean until one of them passes out, and if Dean passed out, Sam would continue anyway.

The adrenaline rush plummets too early for Sam’s taste, the haze clears up and he’s getting aware of his ripped off clothes, the shreds of Dean’s. The fluids, the smell, the feeling. Crust everywhere. Dean is still on his knees, head sunken on the floor, his arms stretched out, breathing heavily. There’s no sign that he’s in pain. But Dean’s a demon, right? He will be fine.

Sam drags him up, and the cocky smile, the perfect hair, it’s all gone. Dean looks like he’s had the same otherworldly experience. It’s a sight that makes Sam chuckle.

“What are you laughing at?”, Dean asks, coming on his feet, gently swaying, but finally his wounds are closing up.

“You threatened to rip my throat out. With your teeth.”

“Not there yet, Sammy. Not yet.”

The situation is unreal, Sam feels unreal. He knows he will never be the same. Something’s broken inside him, crumbled - yet ready to expand again, into unknown territory.

He doesn’t remember the coercion, Dean’s betrayal - or was it Dean’s way of deliberating Sam?

Sam, leaning on the table, watches Dean come close and he leans in, a hand in Sam’s hair, gently pulling. Their kiss isn’t gentle, nothing will be gentle for a while. Teeth clash, the table scrapes along the floor and the throbbing of Dean’s pulse makes Sam rise up again. Dean bites Sam’s neck, sharp pain - and Dean drinks. The feeling is satisfying and roughening Sam up at the same time. He pulls his Knight close, closer, grabs him and bends him over the table, both still bleeding, Dean high from Sam’s blood.

“For a Knight of Hell, you’re very pliant”, Sam growls in Dean’s ear.

Dean chuckles.

“I just bend the knee to my King.”

Sam frowns.

“What do you mean?”

Dean hikes up and drags Sam to the mirror in the Dungeon.

“Take a look”, Dean hums, rich and satisfied in tone, “acknowledge who you are.”

Breathe in. Breathe out. First, Sam’s mossy eyes just look glassy, clear, beaming with desire for Dean.

Then he draws in his breath with a sharp hiss.

“You got your daddy’s eyes, Sammy.”

Sam’s eyes turned yellow.

#wincest #dean x sam #samdean #deansam #demon!dean #sin is sinning #tw:blood #tw:gore #tw:addiction #kink:blood #bottom!dean #powerful!sam #demon blood!sam #yellow eyes!sam #boyking!sam #tw:smut #tw:violence #tw:knives

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