#prompt: clinch
Text
Dean Winchester x Reader - Prompt Response - "Sleep. I'll keep you safe."
Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader
A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.
There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!
This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).
Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.
Please do not do any of the above. Thank you for your understanding.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex
Word Count: 12k+
Taglist: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187
Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith
Jensen Taglist: @samanddeaninatrenchcoat
"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."
Soldier Boy version | Beau version | Jenny version | Tom version | Jason version | Anael version | SDV Alex version
You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago.
It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?
Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.
You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you.
“Y/N?”
“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.
Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”
You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.
“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.
“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”
“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”
“You don’t know that!”
“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”
A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.
Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”
“Y/N, I—”
You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.
Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?
You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.
You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance…
He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that.
You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.
Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you.
You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?
A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.
It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.
Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.
Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.
You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”
He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back.
You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.
“Hey! Y/N!”
He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.
“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.
He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”
“Oh, I…”
You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”
Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”
“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”
“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.
You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.
“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you.
You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs.
“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.
“Will do,” you forced out.
“Good luck,” Jack offered.
When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.
After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s.
Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean.
“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.
Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.
Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.
You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway.
It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.
You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.
You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone.
You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.
You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up.
You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention.
He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him.
“What are you listening to?”
He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”
“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.
“What?” He nearly yelled.
You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.
“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.
Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?
You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”
“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.
You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall.
Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”
“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”
“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.
“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin.
“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.
“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”
“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.
“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”
His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”
“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”
“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.
“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”
“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.
You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”
“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”
This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”
He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”
You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least.
“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”
A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.
He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”
You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”
“I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay.
“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.
He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”
You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”
Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.
“Really?”
“What? It’s our song.”
You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.
“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”
Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.
You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.
A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?
You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”
You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.
“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.
You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”
His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were.
You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.
You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.
You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.
Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.
You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.
You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”
“Yes, Sam.”
Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.
“You’re going to be an uncle.”
Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.
You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.
“How?” Sam finally asked you.
You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”
“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”
You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.
“Were you ever going to?”
Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.
He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.
You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”
Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control.
You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise.
You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.
So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help.
“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”
“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”
“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”
You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”
“You betcha. Talk soon.”
You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How?
It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”
It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.
It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then.
You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.
Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.
A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”
Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”
You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.
“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.
You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head.
Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”
You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”
Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”
“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”
Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”
Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”
Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”
If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”
“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”
Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly.
There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.
Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?
He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him.
“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”
Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”
Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”
“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”
Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”
Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones.
He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away.
Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why.
He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed.
Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.
The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.
After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard.
When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that.
Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.
Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.
Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”
Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.
His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”
“They’re sleeping.”
“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”
Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”
Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.
“The present,” Jack simply answered.
Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?
“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”
Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.
“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.
Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”
Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”
“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.
“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.
Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”
“What? No, I just…”
“Dean,” Jack called.
When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?
Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:
…When you’d met.
…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.
…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.
…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.
…Your relationship.
…Your breakup.
…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.
…That last night.
…The next morning.
Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning:
…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.
…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.
…Your fears.
…When you’d vanished with everyone else.
…Your panic upon your reappearance.
…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.
…The call from Sam with the news of his death.
…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.
…Your conversation with Sam.
…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.
All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile.
By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.
Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.
“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”
Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”
Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”
Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”
“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam.
Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.
“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”
“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.
Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”
Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.
Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.
“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”
Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”
Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.
Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.
“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”
“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”
“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”
Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”
“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”
Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same.
Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”
“Of course,” Cas agreed.
Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.
“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.
“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.”
His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.
“Dean.”
His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”
Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”
Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently.
Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.
“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”
Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.
Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”
Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.
“Cas, please…can I touch her?”
“Dean…”
“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”
Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.
“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”
Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.
“Dean,” Cas gently called.
Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”
“Dean, Jack said—”
“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.
Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”
“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules.
Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.
A/N: Please don't hate me. *ducks tomatoes and eggs thrown*
Please let me know what you think. 👉👈
#dean winchester x female reader#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x y/n#dean x reader#dean x female!reader#dean x female reader#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester#supernatural fanfiction#supernatural#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x female!huntress!reader#dean x female!huntress!reader#prompt response#supernatural fandom#spn#spn fanfiction#female!huntress!reader#jensen ackles#jensen ackles character#thebiggerbear writing
562 notes
·
View notes
Note
can I get the "too much communication" with jack?
I think that's what your last post was for 😭
shut up (with affection!) | jh86
sum: in which jack likes to hear himself talk
prompt: too much communication (💀)
warnings: smut, angst, fluff ☺️ use of y/n :/ ,use of she/her pronouns for reader, short
a/n: help yes, im sorry i wasn’t clear with what i wanted but if you haven’t noticed im pretty small on hockeyblr 😔 so i didn’t think anyone would actually ask but omg so happy you did ❤️ also not sure why im seeing this decades later.
—
LIGHT shone through the curtains in Y/N’s bedroom, though that wasn’t what woke her up.
An arm was slung across her waist, legs were tangled with hers, a face was buried in the crevice of her neck, and soft lips were moving up and down her shoulder. She felt something go off in her stomach. She could get used to this.
“Awake, angel?” Jack’s rough morning voice reached Y/N’s ears and could’ve just melted right then. He had been with her for close to ten months now; meaning they had practically moved in with eachother, she was at every home game, he was at every soccer match, she had a drawer at his, he had a toothbrush at hers. They were slowly intertwining in each other’s lives and neither of them wanted to stop anytime soon.
And then he started.
The endless rambling that half annoyed, half endeared Y/N.
“Wait no- I mean that I should use a different word instead of pretty because you’re so many things and you like when i use long words, don’t you ? I should-”
“Jack, my love, slow down,” Y/N says, facing him and cupping his cheek. His hair is tousled, eyes droopy, bottom lip jutted out, and brows furrowed. He’s shirtless and the sunlight bathes him in a soft golden light. Her heart skips a beat as she assures him that complimenting her in any way would melt her even if it was the same thing, every day, for the rest of their lives.
—
The room was dark and hot and the bed rocked with Jack’s movements. He had one hand loose around Y/N’s throat and the other supporting her leg that was thrown over his shoulder.
It was all going fine until
“Y’know what Trev told me the other day.”
Y/N’s eyes snapped open. What the fuck???
His hair was falling in his eyes and a thin sheet of sweat covered his body. He looked so good and was doing so well.
“Jack? What-” she stopped short when he thrusted particularly roughly making her jaw drop and her eyes roll to the back of her head. Jack wasn’t phased though.
“He- told me how-oh fuck I’m so close, baby-” Y/N quickly shut him up by yanking his mouth down to hers. She really didn’t want to hear how fucking Zegras did whatever in her current position.
—
Y/N stood off to the side as Jack abruptly wraps up the post game interview after giving curt responses. She raised her eyebrows; normally it could get hard to not make him overshare.
Jack had already showered and changed into a delicious suit that was for sure coming off as soon as they got home.
“Hi, angel.” Y/N got on her tip toes to press a soft kiss against Jack’s lips. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed, pulling back and resting his forehead against hers. “Hey.”
It was short and quiet and so unlike Jack (even after a loss) and she hated it.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” Y/N reached forward to cup his cheek and lightly caresses it with her thumb. He leans against her hand and his eyes droop.
“Nothin’, sweets. Just tired.” Y/N knew there had to be more, she could tell by the way his fingers were fiddling with eachother and the almost unnoticeable clinch of his eyebrows.
“C’mon, baby, talk to me,” Y/N softly murmurs, Jack’s new behavior doesn’t feel natural at all. He was so full of energy all the time (definitely because of the three hour naps) that she didn’t even have to match it if she was tired; he had enough for both of them.
“D’you-,” he pauses and steps back, removing his arms from her and running a quick hand through his hair. “Do you think I talk too much? Or I over share? Does it bother you?” His brows furrow deeper and Y/N’s heart stutters. She understood why he got so closed off all of a sudden. Her tough, strong boyfriend had such a sweet heart she could cry.
“Oh hon, well yes you do but it’s never bothered me. I actually really love it. You’re able to talk so much all the time and there’s nothing I love more than the sound of your voice.” Y/N watches as Jack’s expression softens. She steps closer and weaves her arms around him from the inside of his suit jacket.
“I love that you’re so expressive. I love how you just say anything no matter, I love how-” Y/N pauses. The three words dancing on the tip of her tongue, waiting and anticipating. She takes a deep breath and sneaks a glance at Jack, who had the hint of a smile that reached his eyes.
“I love you.”
He goes limp in her arms.
“Y/N I-”
“One second. Let me finish.” Y/N steps back and fully looks into his eyes. “And I know you love me too. You know why, angel? Because you tell me every single day. Every sweet nothing, all the random babbling about how I’m so sweet to you at any given time, gave me enough courage to say it right now.”
Jack looked like he could cry; Y/N didn’t get the chance to see it though, because of the soul crushing hug he just pulled her into.
“I love you so much more.”
“I might get dry as fuck during sex though.”
“Yeah? Wanna take me up on that?”
369 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
#ACLA24#ACLA24Leaders#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental justice#environment protection#environmental health#Youtube
17K notes
·
View notes
Text
Day 1 Kinktober
Being caught.
Kaz Brekker x Fem!Reader. +18 Drabble
Ask: “Hi for the October thing can you please do the prompt 'caught' with Kaz? Maybe he catches the reader masturbating or something like that.Thank you”
Warnings: Hair pulling, being rough, being caught, being punished, implying belt usage, chocking implying, masterbating, pinching of the cl*t. Bargirl!goodgirl used.
Hands beneath the small lace under your dress made it hard for you to control your breaths. Rubbing your fingers on your painfully swollen clit after a day of day dreaming about your boyfriend, his glare and tone the whole day made your hormones acted up. You could feel the mess you made in your underwear while working around the bar and crossed your legs when kaz came down for a few. His dark eyes falling on you made you bite your lip to try and not moan on the spot.
“Oh fuck,” you gasped when you pinched your bud between your fingers like kaz always did, and you tried to forget how his tongue would lap across your folds. The flash of his hands wrapped around your throat as his cock buried deep within your hole. The way the sheet’s beneath the two of you was always wet with your juices, or his cum leaking out of you.
As you remember how it felt to have him within you it made you closer to release and made you whimper. Your fingers moved faster and pressed down on the right place to send you over the edge. So close to cumming and feeling bliss, his face was the only thing you could picture. Though your hands stopped and heart skipped a beat when a knock was heard on your door.
One knock.
Before you could jump up from the bed the door opened and you saw him standing there, looking over the room until he saw you. Your cheeks flushed hot and your body bumped with embarrassment. His eyes stared at you for a second and tilted his head then followed your hands that hid behind your skirt. Just from seeing how tense and embarrassed you seemed, he knew just what you where doing.
“Hmm.” Stepping in your room he closed it behind himself. You watch him lock the door and slowly take off his jacket and you swallowed hard thinking of his body. “I pay you for filling up drinks, smiling at the costumers,” his back was turned and you could hear and see him undo his belt. A thrill sent down your body then to your pussy making it clinch and ache to be filled.
You sat up and pulled your hand out of undergarments and leaned on you hands, looking at him to try and make him forgive you. “Sorry, wouldn’t do it again.” You pouted. His gazes turn to you again and his belt clinched within his hands as he slowly limped to the bed. You could tell by his look he was mad at you.
“You couldn’t wait to touch yourself for another hour? Or, come to me. Such a beautiful, horny girl.” As he walked closer to your side of the bed you couldn’t help but lean up with him. You needed him so bad, so you leaned up on your knees and gave him puppy eyes of submission. He smirked down at you and lifted his hand up to your chin and took it lightly in his grip.
“A bad girl,” you gasped as your head got yanked back as his hands quickly took a fist full of your hair. “You ask for permission, yet you didn’t do that. You work when I tell you to, didn’t do that too. Instead you decided to play with your filthy cunt.” Whimpering out you grab your skirt for support.
“M’sorry.” You cried out and tried to look at him but he just kept making you whine, his hold get tighter and moving you around. His other hand reached down to his pants and unbuttoned and unzipped them, pulling them open. “Good girls show respect. You aren’t a good girl, so you have make it up to me.” He let’s go of your hair and you looked down at his undid pants and take a deep breath.
“Yes sir.” You gulp and leaned down to take his cock out of his trunks. Your mouth watered at the thought of having him in your mouth and making his moan, to taste his cum. “I’ll make it up to you,” You tugged him closer and set his aching hard cock out “Promise.”
#kaz brekker smut#kaz brekker x reader#kaz brekker x reader smut#shadow and bone smut#kinktober 2023#Kinktober#kaz brekker drabble#kaz brekker x fem!reader
234 notes
·
View notes
Text
Lost (27) - Cold Shoulder
Tara Carpenter x female Reader
Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.
Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics
Word count: 4.7k
Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part
-So while the knife is twisting, I take the blame, I've been building a wall and I can't tear it down, get a chill when you call me, I'm freezing you out-
The place was a damn maze, stairs, halls, small rooms, large rooms, some meant for storage, some looking more like offices, little to no windows, and walls and doors that looked the same, Tara was inside for less than fifteen minutes, and she already felt disoriented. The dust made it more difficult to breathe, but at least the place was well-lit, the lightning was probably fixed by the cult.
Tara glanced back at Kirby, she didn’t look too confident now that the three of you were inside. She gave the two of you detailed instructions and directions, you were all supposed to reach an old archive where Kirby’s mole would meet up with you and then you could proceed with the second step of the plan. And despite Kirby being the one most familiar with the layout of the place you were the one leading, because you were the one most capable of fighting, and handling potential danger in case you ran into a Ghostface.
So, Tara turned to look at your back. For a moment she wondered how many times did she look at your back and felt safe. Frankly, she lost count, from actual danger, or during harmless situations, you standing in front of her as the unbreakable shield between her and anything else, keeping her safe. She’s looked at your back so many times, yet you’ve never looked as strong as you were now. And if you being stronger than ever wasn’t enough to reassure her this would all end well, the bulletproof vest you were wearing under your jacket certainly did. All three of you had bulletproof vests, because this Ghostface didn’t hesitate to shoot, and you weren’t taking chances.
You stopped abruptly and raised your hand, prompting her and Kirby to stand by the wall as well. Footsteps echoed the halls, yet none of you were moving and despite having absolute faith in you Tara still swallowed the lump in her throat, she still felt her heart skipping a beat when she saw the black robe rounding the corner. You moved faster than Kirby, trapping the surprised Ghostface in a clinch and landing an uppercut on his guts. Ghostface grunted, stumbling slightly as you yanked the mask off and punched him in the chin. He fell back, hitting the wall as you pulled the gun out and shot him in the head.
“Good job,” Kirby commented as you took a few steps back, your hands trembling under the weight of the gun. You were looking at the fish painted on the mask and then at the gun in your hand.
Tara stepped closer to you and hugged you from behind, even with the vest on she still felt you flinching at her touch. “Breathe, please, just breathe,” she whispered, slipping her hand into yours. You took a couple of deep breaths and squeezed her hand before turning back to smile at her.
The smile wasn’t quite reaching your eyes, and it was a tiny smile at best, filled with remorse over having to do this. And Tara wished she could take it away, she wished neither of you got involved in this Ghostface hell, where you had to kill to stay alive and keep your family safe. “Thank you,” you whispered back and though reluctantly, the two of you separated and continued walking, leaving the dead Ghostface behind. At least it was one of the three responsible for Danny’s death.
Would that bring you or her comfort? No. It wouldn’t. It was a sick, twisted situation to be in, to again and again take life, yet here she was, pregnant, roughly half a year away from bringing two new lives into the world. It was in self-defense, these people, every Ghostface Sam, you and her killed was trying or planning to kill you, but the lines blurred, especially since Sam…
“We’ll figure it out tomorrow,” you suddenly spoke up and Tara’s eyes widened. You weren’t even looking at her, but you knew, you understood exactly how she felt, and you calmed her down before her emotions could get the better of her.
And you said tomorrow, making an unspoken promise that there wouldn’t be serious injuries, that no one would be comatose after this, that all of this would be over by tomorrow.
You stopped again, though this time it was in the middle of the hall. “Kirby is this the right way?” you asked and Tara looked ahead, at the roll-up garage doors that looked like it was stuck.
Kirby approached you, clearly puzzled. “We followed the directions. Do you think you can lift this up?” she asked.
You crouched down and grabbed the handle. Carefully you tried to lift it up and it moved, though slowly. “I can, but it’ll make a lot of noise, it’s a bit rusty,” you leaned your ear against the doors and narrowed your eyes. “I think I hear water?”
Tara glanced at Kirby. “What do you make of this? Can we trust this mole?”
Kirby nodded. “Yes, she’s an experienced cop, we’ve worked together before, I trust her. We’re supposed to meet up in the archive though,” she looked conflicted, uncertain if the three of you should keep going.
“Let’s see where this takes us then,” you grunted a bit, but the rusty doors moved up. “Damn! It’s really rusty,” you complained, lifting it up to your chest. “Go, go!”
Tara and Kirby slipped beneath the doors to the other side, and just in time, as the mechanism broke and the doors closed before you could even react.
“Y/N!” Tara cried out.
“I’m okay, I’m okay! I’ll just have to find another way to you!” you reassured her and Tara felt her heart hammering against her chest as she placed her hand on the doors. You were alone, and she still remembered what happened the last time you faced Ghostface alone.
“Please be careful,” she told you as Kirby placed a hand on her shoulder to comfort her.
“I will, and you better be careful as well,” she could hear your voice wavering, you were worried for her, afraid that maybe you wouldn’t get to her in time. “Kirby, if anything happens,” the warning in your voice was clear and despite everything Tara couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.
“I know, Ghostface will be the least of my worries,” she sighed. “We need to move, that was loud, someone must have heard it,” Kirby ushered both of you to move.
“Go, I’ll find you,” you promised Tara one more time and though you couldn’t see her, Tara still nodded. She heard your footsteps and turned around when she heard Kirby’s gasp. “What the fuck?” Tara couldn’t help but ask as she looked at a yacht a bit less than 40 feet long from what she could see, and it looked like it was loaded with military equipment.
“Tara, we need to move,” Kirby breathed out, pulling Tara toward some stairs on the side, from the looks of it her and Kirby were still on the right track, but Tara could tell Kirby was getting increasingly more tense as they climbed up the stairs. She pulled out her phone and tried to call her mole, or someone else, Tara didn’t know, but her movements were frantic and hasty.
~X~
You needed to meet up with Tara once again, but first you needed to stop the bleeding. The mechanism breaking caused the doors to cut into your left palm, it wasn’t too deep, and you could still move everything properly, but it would be a pain in the ass if you kept bleeding all over the building. So, you used a torn piece of your shirt to wrap the wound.
You took refuge in a small room near the roll-up doors, aiming to hopefully catch a Ghostface or two by surprise. And soon enough you heard two sets of footsteps. You left the doors slightly open, so you could look at two figures as they walked over to the roll-up doors and one of them knelt to check the blood stain. You couldn’t hear them, but you saw the one still standing pulling a knife out and abruptly slitting the other Ghostface’s throat.
Your eyes widened as the Ghostface that remained pushed the body away and turned around, the dog on the mask was now stained by blood. Sam. It had to be Sam. So, as risky as it could have been, you stepped outside.
“Hey, Sam, long time no see,” you greeted her, the anger forgotten for a moment, right now you needed to bring her back to sanity, to bring her back to Tara’s side, and you couldn’t do that with rage fueling you.
“Y/N,” she took the mask off, dropping it and looking at you, her eyes hollow, haunted by what she had to do.
“Why did you do this Sam?” you couldn’t believe your eyes, you couldn’t recognize the woman in front of you. All you knew was that something horrible must have happened to push her into acting like this.
“I need to protect all of you, Y/N,” she whispered somberly.
“By looking like the monster that caused all of this in the first place? It’s not too late, please, please stop this,” you tried, hoping against all odds that she would listen to you. “This isn’t protecting anyone. Especially not-”
“Y/N!” she yelled your name, abruptly cutting you off. “I can’t protect Tara unless I do this. I don’t care what the price is.”
You gritted your teeth, anger getting the better of you. All the sleepless nights Tara spent worrying about Sam these past few months, the times Sam chose to smoke near Tara, how many times Tara cried in your arms, worrying that Sam would leave her again and that she couldn’t do anything to stop it. And then the past month. Luring you so you could get framed, Danny dying, Tara being captured! “This is protection in your eyes? Locking me up? Tara getting captured?! Do you even know your cult had her, you stupid asshole?!” you yelled, not caring who could come.
Sam at least had the decency to be shocked, either because she didn’t know Tara was captured or because she didn’t expect you to just call her out like that. But it just proved your point! How could she not see this wasn’t protecting Tara, that this, in fact, put Tara in more danger. “I need to kill them all,” she looked down, her hands shaking as she lifted the knife up. “Shut up, just leave me be!” she cried, raising her hands and gripping her head.
You took a few steps closer to her. “Sam, get it together, we can still fix this,” you tried offering her your hand.
“We’ll never be left alone, Y/N, he’ll just keep coming back!” tears began streaming down her cheeks as she looked up, broken, defeated, the robes hid it, but judging by her face, the sunken cheeks, the gaunt eyes, she lost a lot of weight, and she clearly wasn’t sleeping well.
“Sam, let me help you,” at this point you didn’t even feel angry, you just felt sorry.
“No, go find Tara, I’ll kill them myself!” she demanded, pointing her knife at you.
How did she not understand that she was hanging on by a thread, that as she was she wouldn’t be able to make it out of this alive if you just left her alone. “Tara is with Kirby, I need to make sure you survive first,” because Sam was important to you, and to Tara, and you’d make sure Tara didn’t have to grieve anymore than she already was.
And then Sam gritted her teeth. “Move, or I’ll get you to move!” she lunged at you, knife raised.
You sighed grabbing her forearm and pushing her back. Sam stumbled back, but didn’t fall, and judging by her eyes she wasn’t about to give up. “Guess I have to actually knock some sense into you,” you relaxed your posture, bouncing from one foot to another and raising your fists up.
~X~
Tara thought she’d be used to feeling dread by now, especially since she felt it constantly while you were gone, but this was different. She couldn’t shake off the bad feeling clutching at her heart, and she reached for her inhaler as Kirby led her up the stairs. How were you? Were you okay? Did you come across Ghostface?
Yet, despite worrying about you, what she dreaded the most was what would happen to Sam. How involved in this cult was she? How much did she know? Could she still go back to living a normal life after this?
She’d have to think about that later, as Kirby opened the doors at the top of the stairs and froze.
“Shit!” Kirby cursed, rushing toward a Ghostface with a wolf on the mask.
Tara’s eyes widened as she pieced it together, this had to be her mole, and as Kirby knelt by the Ghostface’s side, taking the mask off and revealing a woman in her early thirties, with short black hair and blood dripping down her chin, but she was still breathing.
“I need to stop the bleeding!” Kirby exclaimed, moving the robes aside and finding the stab wound in the woman’s stomach. It looked deep, but it seemed like she was knocked out due to hitting her head, and not the actual stab wound.
“I’ll keep watch,” Tara assured her as she looked around. There were two ways to come inside, the doors that led down the stairs that they just came through that were behind her now, and another door to Tara’s right. The room looked like some kind of control center, with levers and controls, as well as security cameras, but they seemed to be disabled, since she couldn’t see you anywhere, and the camera that showed this room showed just Kirby’s mole at the computer. Meaning it was set to loop. If she could get the cameras to stop looping the footage she might be able to locate you, as well as see if anyone else was coming, but she’d need Kirby to stand watch to do that.
She heard coughing and looked over to Kirby. The woman was waking up, and despite the situation Tara was relieved to see her sitting up.
“Agent Reed, sorry, they caught me,” the woman apologized.
“It happens, you did enough,” Kirby assured her. “We had some issues as well. Y/N got separated, so it’s just Tara and I for now,” she pointed toward Tara.
“Hey there,” Tara greeted quickly.
“Agent Woolf, nice to meet you, miss L/N,” well, that was an ironic name. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you while you were held captive. Golubeva did as much as she could, but still.”
“You apologize a lot,” Tara smiled.
The agent chuckled a bit at that. “I get that,” she tried to stand up, but stumbled back to the floor.
“Take it easy, you might have a concussion,” Kirby helped her sit up.
The doors suddenly opened, and Tara lifted her gun up, but the bird on the mask made her stop. It was Anya and then… behind her, the one that killed Danny, the one with a bear on the mask.
“Ghost-Monkey did say we have a mole, I just didn’t think I’d see you again, Tara L/N,” the one with the bear spoke, his accent showing despite the voice changer. Tara couldn’t shoot him, not unless he moved away from Anya, as it was she was between him and Tara, and Tara honestly doubted he didn’t have a bulletproof vest or something, since he knew about Woolf being a mole. Not to mention he was pointing his gun at Kirby.
Anya sighed, ripping the voice changer off along with the mask. Tara couldn’t read the woman, but she saw her looking at Woolf, and then at Tara, specifically at her stomach, and Tara fr a moment remembered how the woman reacted when she realized Tara was pregnant. “Lower the gun, Igor,” she told him.
He tilted his head as she turned to look at him. “After all this? I’m fixing injustice, these people took so many lives and got to walk free,” he argued.
Tara’s eyes narrowed. They didn’t get to walk free, sure, they never went to jail, but they could never go back to their previous lives, Sam especially. She somehow managed to deal with what happened, with what she had to do, because she had you, and together, you and her managed to build a relatively normal life, aside from nightmares, mistrust, and all the small and big ways what happened influenced your decisions. But Sam? Sam didn’t have that, even when Danny was alive, she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder, she couldn’t stop being worried that every person she met was a potential Ghostface, and it made every part of her life difficult. She used to work at a coffee shop when the three of you first moved to New York, but then Bailey and his family, as well as Thomas, attacked, and ever since then… Since then Ghostface was no longer a part of the friend group, someone she had to let in, ever since then Ghostface could be anyone, and this cult just proved her fears right.
Tara was so deep in her thoughts she nearly missed Anya sighing and closing her eyes. When she opened them again Tara saw so much sorrow in the woman’s eyes it almost made Tara cry.
“What’s with that look cousin?” Ghostface asked as the MMA fighter looked at him.
“I’m sorry,” Anya said and moved so fast Tara for a moment thought she was watching you move.
~X~
Sam wasn’t weak, not in the slightest, but she was too emotional, too desperate. She telegraphed her attacks so much in advance you didn’t even need to try. You grabbed her wrist before she could stab you in the shoulder, that was another thing, she wasn’t aiming to kill you, she just wanted to get you out of her way. “Come on, Sam, this is pointless,” you moved to the side, pulling her forward and slipping behind her.
She yelped as you pulled her arm behind her back and twisted it slightly until she dropped the knife. “Stop! You know you can’t fight me,” you were still trying to simply restrain her, without hurting her, or using unnecessary force.
“You think I can go back?” Sam bit out, trashing in your hold. She hit you with the back of her head and you took a step back, letting her go in the process. “I killed your father, my mother, I can never go back after that,” she ripped the robes off and you saw just how much weight she lost. You wondered when was the last time she had a proper meal. She lost muscle mass; she really was a ghost of who she was before.
“Tara needs you, Sam, stop being their daughter and be her sister!” you were wasting time, dodging and redirecting her attempts to hit you, so, when she came close to you one more time you swept her legs from under her and pinned her to the floor. “Think of Tara, please.”
But before Sam could answer you felt a heard gun firing and saw bullets flying right past you, luckily missing your head. The two that hit your chest were stopped by the vest, but it still knocked some air from your lungs. “Y/N!” you heard Sam yelling as you jumped to your feet, and she dragged you back into the room you were in before. Ghostface with rhino on the mask shot at you while another, this one with a monkey on the mask showed off a bloody knife, and you, worried about Tara, felt rage pulsing in your veins.
~X~
Tara gasped when Anya tackled Ghostface and pinned him to the ground. She put him in a hold, much like she used to when she was fought professionally, her arms around his neck and arm, her legs locking his own in place and her body weight stopping his movement.
“What’s the meaning of this?!” he gasped, the voice changer falling off and his mask cracking due to the pressure she was putting on it.
“You’ve gone too far, turn yourself in and maybe you can still stay alive,” Anya pleaded, and Tara felt like she understood, this man was Anya’s family, and Tara would have done the same for Sam if she was in this situation. “I don’t want to hurt my family, but I can’t let you kill anyone else,” she sounded devastated, like she was the one being hurt by what she was doing, and not him.
Ghostface struggled against her hold, trying his best to reach the gun he dropped. “It was you, wasn’t it?! You freed Y/N, didn’t you?” he yelled, the mask slipping off the lower half of his face and showing her bared teeth.
“I just wanted to keep you out of trouble at first, to trade information for your freedom, but you put a pregnant woman in danger Igor,” Anya’s hold on him weakened when he began gasping for air, and that was enough for him. He twisted, grabbing the gun, and pointing it at Tara. “Wait, don’t!” Anya cried out, letting him go as he pulled the safety off.
~X~
You blindly fired your gun through the crack in the doors in retaliation, and well, you were hoping that maybe you’d be lucky enough to hit one of the Ghostfaces. Judging by the sudden grunt you heard maybe you did get lucky, and a bullet did hit, or at least graze one of the Ghostfaces.
“Talk about luck,” you stopped firing, you had to be careful, you’d run out of bullets sooner rather than later if you weren’t careful. Kirby may have given you a gun this time, but she was kinda stingy with the ammo. You had three bullets left, so you had to make them count.
“Go through that door, you’ll be able to get behind them if you go left,” Sam told you, motioning toward the door in the back of the room. This place really was a damn maze.
“What about you?” you asked, looking her up and down, at least she looked like she was thinking rationally.
“I’ll stay and kill them if they come in,” Sam told you as she hid behind a shelf. You didn’t notice while you were running into the room, but she managed to grab her knife.
Well, that should somewhat work. “Right, don’t get too excited,” you moved, carefully opening the door, and looking outside. You couldn’t see anyone, but that didn’t exactly mean you were safe. You slipped into the hall, following Sam’s directions and soon enough, when you looked around the corner, you saw Ghostface slowly approaching the door of the room you were just in. He had a gun, so you raised your gun and fired, shooting him in the shoulder from behind. “Guess my aim is shit,” you muttered to yourself, firing again as he stumbled, the bullet missed though. “Fuck!” you cursed as he twisted his body around, aiming his gun toward you, you fired at the same time as he did, but seeing as you hit his right shoulder his aim was off and a bullet flew right by you, while you, by another stroke of luck, managed to shoot him in the head.
Years of fighting made you more aware of your surrounding as you spun around, catching the wrist of the other Ghostface before he could stab you. You were almost certain you were out of bullets, but just to be sure you pulled the trigger, only to hear the click. At least it was worth a try, as you flipped the gun around and hit the side of Ghostface’s head with it.
As the doors opened and you saw Sam coming out you kneed the man in the stomach and pushed him toward Sam so she could stab him in the throat with her knife.
~X~
Tara’s eyes widened as Anya dropped to the floor. She jumped in front of the gun, she took the bullet for Tara, a small caliber bullet, ravaging her insides, and much like Danny, there was nothing anyone could do to save her.
“Why- why would you?” Ghostface didn’t get to hear the answer as Tara fired her gun, the first bullet shattered the mask, the second ended his life without a doubt.
Tara ran toward the fallen woman and tried to put pressure on the wound, but the bleeding wouldn’t stop, she couldn’t do anything. “Why would you do something so reckless?” she felt tears falling from her eyes, blurring her vision as Anya groaned in pain and still managed to smile.
“I wasn’t thinking… but I guess,” she took a deep breath. “You’re pregnant. I don’t need another reason,” she sighed, pushing Tara’s hand away. “I should have worn a vest,” she joked, knowing this was her end. “You need to stop this, the cult leader can’t escape,” she warned and placed an USB stick in Tara’s hand.
“She’s right. I couldn’t tell you over the phone, but he’s been playing the long game,” Woolf revealed. “Richie and Amber were the first step, his equals, they were meant to reboot the franchise and get more people to join the cult. This group was hand-picked, though poorly, but there are other small groups, if he escapes, he’ll just rebuild the cult,” she explained as Tara’s blood ran cold.
“As long as he lives your nightmare will never end. There’s data on that, his connections, all the victims of the cult, and the members and supporters,” Anya coughed, her voice growing weaker. She still placed her hand over Tara’s, closing Tara’s fingers around the stick. “That’s your sister’s evidence, everything she gathered, given to me and Woolf, and you need to stop her as well. As it is she doesn’t intent to walk… out of this alive,” she said, her grip on Tara’s hand weakening until her hand fell, and Tara, shocked by the information she received couldn’t do anything.
She could only watch as Anya took her last breath. Her heart began beating rapidly and she couldn’t breath properly. Sam was planning to die? Sam was… her Sam… her sister would… Tara began shaking, her arms wrapping tightly around herself as tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t let that happen! But she couldn’t move, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t even react as Kirby rushed over to her and grabbed her inhaler. She could only just barely open her mouth to prevent an asthma attack.
~X~
You sighed, tossing the gun aside, you were out of bullets and so was the Ghostface that had a gun. Well, so much for an easy way out. You guessed you would have to deal with anyone else the harder way. “Do you know where to go from here?” you asked as Sam cleaned the blood off her knife.
Sam paused for a moment and then looked at you. “Go back the way you came, take the second left turn, then up the stairs, keep going, fourth door to the left will take you to the control room. Tara and Kirby must have passed it, or maybe they are inside it,” she told you and now it was your turn to stop.
“You sound like you’re not coming with me?” you raised an eyebrow.
“I have something else I need to do, you need to protect Tara,” Sam told you.
A/N: Well, three chapters to go, this one took a while, but we are approaching the end of the action part of the story. In case you lost count of Ghostfaces, which I wouldn't blame you for, all that is left is the leader and Ghost-Lion.
Taglist: @alexkolax
#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter#tara carpenter x female reader#scream#jenna ortega x reader
81 notes
·
View notes
Text
Declan Rice (Arsenal) - Triumph
Requested: yes (THIS WAS REQUESTED IN LIKE SEPTEMBER IM SO SORRY IM ONLY GETTING AROUND TO IT NOW)
Prompt: just cute girl-dad Declan
Warnings: none tbh
The sun was setting over the Emirates Stadium as the final whistle blew, sealing Arsenal's victory and clinching the Premier League title. Declan Rice, clad in the red and white of his beloved club, couldn't contain his joy. He hugged his teammates, exchanged high-fives, and then spotted his wife, Y/n, and their adorable daughter, Lily, waiting for him on the pitch. Lily made her way quickly to her father who in turn was running towards her with open arms. "Daddy!" She squealed as he neared her. "Oh my darling, how are you? Did you see that? We won!" Declan exclaimed as he scooped up his daughter, who was wearing a tiny Arsenal jersey with her name printed on the back.
Y/n smiled, her eyes sparkling with pride. "We saw, didn't we, sweetheart?" Declan looked up and pressed a gentle kiss onto his wife's lips. "Ah, I love you." Declan sighed as Y/n reached around his neck. "I love you too. I'm so proud of you." Lily tugged at her dad's jersey and pointed towards the shiny trophy the players had been going around with. "Do you want to go see it, darling?" Declan asked. Lily nodded enthusiastically as the trio made their way towards the other players.
As they approached, Kai and Martin had turned and hugged Y/n, talking with her briefly as Declan held onto Lily. All the while, Lily couldn't take her eyes off the trophy gleaming. It only took a minute or so for Declan to notice her and he chuckled. "We'll get a photo now, okay?" Lily gasped. "Yes!" She exclaimed, making the other players laugh alongside Y/n. "Sorry lads, I'll have to borrow her for a quick photo and you can have her back." Declan smiled as he turned towards the photographer.
Lily giggled and clapped her hands, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She reached out towards the gleaming Premier League trophy, her tiny fingers almost grazing its surface. "Not yet, Lily. Let's take some photos first." Y/n said, pulling out her phone to take a photo of Declan and Lily first before quickly running back to get a photo. Declan grinned and posed with his family, the trophy gleaming in the background. Lily squirmed in his arms, eager to explore the pitch. "Okay, okay, darling. Let's see what you've got." Declan chuckled, lowering Lily to the ground.
Lily toddled off towards a group of other players' children, her Arsenal ball bouncing happily beside her. Declan and Y/n followed closely behind, enjoying the celebratory atmosphere. "Y/n!" She turned to see Kai's girlfriend Sophia walking towards her with a smile upon her face. "Sophia! Did you grab a photo with the trophy yet?" As they mingled with other families, sharing hugs and congratulations, the crowd suddenly erupted into cheers. Declan and Y/n exchanged puzzled looks, then turned to see what had caused the commotion.
Their hearts swelled with pride as they watched Lily, determined and focused, waddle towards an empty goal with her miniature football. "She's going for it!" Declan grinned from ear to ear, his chest swelling with love for his fearless daughter. "Go on, Lily! Shoot!" With a determined kick, Lily sent the ball rolling into the net, her face lighting up with joy as the crowd cheered just as loudly as if her dad had scored the winning goal.
Y/n and Declan laughed as they watched Lily get closer to the fans with her arms held high just as her Dad would have done, followed by her falling to her knees in an attempt of a knee slide. "She's her father's daughter." Y/n joked, wrapping her arms around Declan's waist. Declan hugged her tightly, his heart overflowing with love for his family. "We need to get her into football properly." He murmured, pressing a kiss to Y/n's forehead. Y/n hummed in response. "Maybe she'll even put you into retirement." Declan rolled his eyes playfully. "I'll be long gone by then. I'll be in a rocking chair beside you watching her from the living room." Y/n rubbed his chest as the walked towards Lily on the far end of the pitch.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the stadium, Declan, Y/n, and Lily played together, basking in the warmth of their shared victory. For in that moment, they were not just celebrating Arsenal's triumph, but also the joy of being champions together.
#football#football imagines#football blurbs#football x you#football x y/n#football x oc#football x reader#declan rice imagine#declan rice imagines#declan rice x reader#declan rice x y/n#declan rice x you#declan rice blurb#declan rice fanfic#declan rice fluff#declan rice
48 notes
·
View notes
Note
can i request "drunk dancing" with swayman?
POST CLINCH CELLY
this is my first sway anything, so i really hope you all enjoy cause i think he's so slay and i love him sm <3
"drunk dancing" (from this prompt list)
tw: alcohol consumption (all legal)
the bruins clinched, so obviously the only right thing to do was celebrate. and celebrate you did. well, you didn't, but you watched jeremy celebrate.
he deserved to celebrate and be celebrated, so you watched from the booth with a few other girls as everyone else danced drunkenly on the dance floor.
jeremy was a protector, so every so often, he would look back at you every once in a while and when he found you, he would wave to you like a kid on a merry-go-round waving to their parents every time they went around.
it would warm your heart as you waved back every time.
he eventually stumbled over to you, slurring apologies to the people he bumped into, before landing in your lap, "hi." a smile easily found it's way onto his face.
"hi, honey." you reached for the water pitcher that wasn't getting very much attention and poured him a glass, "can you drink this for me?"
he took the glass and drank it down, then looked to you, "will you dance with me?"
"i don't think that's a good idea, jer."
"why not? you love this song, don't you?"
you smiled at the confused look on his face, "jeremy, if we tried to dance right now, i think we'd end up flat on our faces because you are so drunk, i don't think you can stand up straight."
"i can stand up just fine." he quickly stood up, stumbled a bit, then caught himself and stood up straight, "see!" he exclaimed.
"all right, maybe. but just one song." you held out your pinky.
"one song." he linked his pinky with you, then set the drink in your hand down then grabbed your hand, and led you onto the dance floor. he spun you around a couple times and sang along to the song, making you laugh.
"are you having fun?" you asked, reaching up and brushing back some of his hair, as a means to tame it.
"yeah." he nodded, leaning into your touch, "we're going to the stanley cup." he giggled. full on giggled.
"yeah, you are." you smiled back, "i'm so proud of you, jer." you leaned your head on his shoulder.
"you and me. couldn't be here without you."
"whatever you say." you hummed.
taylor's 2.5k celly!
#jeremy swayman imagine#jeremy swayman imagines#jeremy swayman x reader#jeremy swayman fic#jeremy swayman blurbs#jeremy swayman#nhl imagine#nhl imagines#nhl fic#nhl blurbs#nhl#hockey imagine#hockey imagines#hockey fic#hockey blurbs#hockey#boston bruins imagine#boston bruins imagines#boston bruins fic#boston bruins blurbs#boston bruins#taylor writes#taylor writes: hockey#taylor's blurbs#taylor's prompt lists#taylor's 2.5k celly!
208 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc
The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!
#ACLA24#ACLA24HighSchoolStudents#youtube#youtube video#climate leaders#climate solutions#climate action#climate and environment#climate#climate change#climate and health#climate blog#climate justice#climate news#weather and climate#environmental news#environment#environmental awareness#environment and health#environmental#environmental issues#environmental education#environmental justice#environmental protection#environmental health#high school students#high school#youth#youth of america#school
18K notes
·
View notes
Note
Hello! Thank you for providing all of this Willy content! 🙏🏼 if requests open is it okay to request this prompt “ You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” with Willy?
You’re very welcome love ❤️ Yes yes yes! 🙌🏻 🔥 Just a heads up, this has really no plot to it, and is just pure sex and more sex 🙈 I apologise that I didn't get to write more to this...
Warnings: 18+ smut; unprotected sex (p in v);
・✶ ｡ﾟ
“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” ⚡️
The clock ticked away, the scoreboard showing 3-3, as overtime had everyone perched at the edge of their seats, the tension filling the air.
But then, the vital moment came.
With finesse and speed, William Nylander deftly manoeuvred past his opponents, effortlessly guiding the puck with his stick, then swinging it high, and stirred the puck pass the goalie's reach and into the net.
The entire arena erupted in a symphony of cheers and applause as the Leafs clinched the victory with a mere 30 seconds remaining.
And amidst media duties and locker room celebrations, players' families and partners lingered outside, patiently waiting to congratulate the lads.
One by one, players emerged, sporting wide grins after the nail-biting win.
And eventually, your boyfriend also came to appear among the last to exit, as always. His handsome Swedish features lit up with a contented smile, well aware that he had secured the game-winning goal.
"Hey, babe,” he greeted you with a kiss, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips.
"Hey, why the confident look, love?" you asked, letting out a light chuckle.
"Oh, just excited about the win, and now we're going home to celebrate."
Feeling the growing excitement between you, you understood his intentions – a post-win tradition.
"We better get going then – can't do that here," you flashed him a sweet smile.
"Well, it worked fine last time," William whispered in your ear, planting a gentle kiss on your temple as he held you close.
"That was a one-time thing, and we nearly got caught, remember?" you nervously chuckled, recalling the close call that was both embarrassing and yet thrilling.
"Oh, I remember it all, babe," he said, satisfaction evident in his tone as he playfully raised his eyebrows.
"You're terrible... Let's leave before you get more ideas," you laughed, gripping his hand as you both left the Scotiabank Arena.
And getting home didn't take long, as William skilfully navigated through traffic, perhaps pressing the accelerator a bit too hard, but your hand on his thigh acted as encouragement. Playing with fire, you lightly massaged his inner thigh, getting close to his slowly growing member while he tried his best to focus on driving.
In short, the car was parked quickly, and William practically pulled you out and into the elevator. Once you got to your floor, he hurriedly took you into the apartment, and with laughter and smiles, you both removed your coats where then William hoisted you over his shoulder, playfully giving your ass a good slap, as he made his made to the bedroom, where he settled you down.
Clothes were quickly scattered everywhere, and neither of you bothered with being romantic nor gentle. Your mouths met passionately, sharing breaths and kisses eagerly, as hands explored every inch of skin, touching and caressing.
And without hesitation, you came to straddle William as he lay down on the bed on his back, gently stroking his throbbing cock between your folds, seductively coating his length with your juices.
"Fucking tease," William muttered, desperately wanting to feel himself inside of you, while you took your time enjoying yourself, and teasing him just enough to cause him to gently quiver in anticipation.
However as impatient as he was, he then firmly held onto your hips, taking charge, and you couldn't help but smile. You loved how excited he became, especially after a win like tonight.
And feeling your own cunt pulsating and craving his touch, you yielded to his eagerness, lowering yourself gently onto his cock, letting him fill you deeply and reach that satisfying spot inside you, only he could.
"Shit, Willy," you moaned, breathing deeply, as his hands guided your hips to move in rhythm with his. Using your hands for support on his chest, you passionately rocked your hips, letting him slide in and out of you.
"Yes, just like that," William moaned, feeling the tightness around him, as he stimulated your clit with his thumb, making you arch your back and let out a louder moan.
Even though the sex was quick and both of you knew it would end sooner than usual, it was still full of raw desire and longing for each other.
It worked perfectly; sometimes you engaged in long, passionate lovemaking, while other times, like tonight, it was more primal and didn't require any romantic words.
"I'm about to come, Willy," you gasped, feeling the sensation building as his thumb pressed against your sensitive pea of nerves.
William loved this position, as he was able to watch your expressions while you rode him, while despite seeming like you were the one in charge, he knew he held all the power. And with a few more movements, you let yourself go, releasing your orgasm, feeling the rush of intense sensation wash over.
Following the intense climax, you nearly collapsed onto William, but he quickly supported you and flipped you both over, initiating a more vigorous pace.
Your intense orgasm had you tighten around his cock, urging William closer to his own release. And with his forceful and deep thrusts he made your body surrender, your mind lost in the moment. William's intense movements hit all the right spots, leading you to a second orgasm.
The handsome Swede above you was covered in sweat, as he was nearing his climax, and after only a few more forceful thrusts, William let out a deep groan and reached his peak, releasing himself into your heat.
"Fuck baby," he breathed heavily, as the sex had been nothing short of passionate and intense, leaving both of you catching your breath. And it took a few minutes before you both regained composure, and William gently pulled out and laid beside you.
In all your time together, your sexual chemistry had never been boring. Teasing was a regular part of your dynamic, and tonight, William had let loose after you pushed his boundaries just enough.
Your bodies always seemed to sync effortlessly, and there was never any awkwardness between you.
And tonight was just one of those quick yet intense nights after a victory.
So, after a quick wash, you both slipped back under the sheets, cuddling until you drifted off to sleep.
**
As morning dawned, the lingering sensations from yesterday's intimate escapade still tingled through the bedsheets. And glancing at the man sleeping beside you, you couldn't help but admire him. His steady breathing rose and fell, as you gently ran your hand over his chest. Knowing your boyfriend well, a mischievous idea popped into your head, and you ventured your hand lower beneath the sheets only to confirm your suspicion – he wasn't wearing anything.
And he had a noticeable morning erection.
The naughty thought excited you, causing a tingling sensation down between your legs, and with a smirk, you cautiously began to stroke his shaft.
Knowing William was a deep sleeper, you knew it would take a little while for him to awaken, and in your mind, this was the perfect way.
Resting your head on your arm, lying on your side, you took a gentle hold of his cock and started to stroke it gently.
Soft moans then came to escape his lips, and you sensed he would soon wake up, as his eyes twitched under his closed lids and his hips shifted slightly.
It brought you pleasure, feeling aroused by the act of waking William up with your touch. And before long, he slowly began to stir from his slumber.
Again, soft moans were let out from William as he gradually felt the pleasurable touch on his member. And opening his eyes, he was met with your mischievous smirk and intense gaze.
"Morning, babe," you greeted softly, playfully biting your lip, and William couldn't help but be amused by your teasing way of waking him up.
"Good morning," he responded in a rough, husky morning voice, as you slowly stopped stroking him. "Quite the wake-up call."
A faint smile appeared on his lips as he relaxed, resting an arm behind his head.
"Well, I was intrigued by something hard," you teased with a grin.
“You’re still horny? Didn’t I fuck you hard enough last night?” William chuckled.
"Hmm, maybe not."
Your playful response instantly ignited something within your boyfriend, and a broad grin formed on his face as he shifted to hover over you. He then leaned in, pressing his lips firmly against yours, catching you off guard and leaving you breathless. Instinctively you tangled your fingers in his hair, drawing him closer.
William’s stiff cock gently nudged your inner thighs, teasing your core just enough for you to whimper into the kiss, earning you to break it.
"Willy, please," you pleaded, your voice filled with desire.
"So eager," William chuckled softly, as he shifted his position, leaning back onto his heels, lifting your legs and placing them over his shoulders before he leaned over your body, pushing himself deep into you.
Your loud moans filled the room as he hit your most sensitive spot, before he established a steady rhythm, pulling out and thrusting back in with strong controlled movements of his hips.
This position was William's second favourite, offering both intensity and intimacy between you both. Your pleasure-filled cries were uncontrollable, encouraging him to increase the force and speed of his thrusts.
Following the pattern from the night before, William was deeply buried in you, his hips thrusting deep and hard, letting you know just how good he could fuck you. As the little tease you both knew you were, had him only more motivated to show off, and you were turning into a complete mess underneath him. You couldn’t even keep track of your number of orgasms as his determined pounding kept on going, sending you into a world of ecstasy.
"Yes, baby, I'm gonna come,” William moaned loudly, and you could only echo a similar response.
With his hips slapping harshly against yours, William let out the same grunt as the night before and once again coated your walls with his white liquids, making sure to empty every drop into your deep.
And as the euphoria faded, both of you were left catching your breath, and William grinned mischievously.
"Still horny or have you had enough?" he teased.
You chuckled, purposefully tightening your walls around his cock.
"Oh, baby, I'll never get enough of this.”
69 notes
·
View notes
Note
Aww, I miss you, lovely! I've been gone for a minute myself. Give me something sweet with Edward and Esme, or maybe Esme's pov of the Ephraim confrontation 💕
Thank you for the prompt! I miss you too, I hope you're doing well 💖
2007.
After months of chaos, dozens of strangers in her house, and the ever constant threat of death looming over her family’s head Esme was savoring the first quiet moments back in her studio. No sooner had she laid a rough underpainting when a familiar footfall made its way down the hall and eventually stopped in front of her door.
He did not knock, he never did, but instead walked into the room as if it was his own. He slumped into the loveseat — too big for the room but a requirement of him and his father — slinging his legs over the armrest.
“I’ve missed you,” Edward sighed.
She raised her brow, eyes focused on her canvas. ‘I do not believe I went anywhere.’
“I can not hear you,” he said, tapping his temple. “Bella,” he smiled like a fool whenever he said her name, “is practicing her restraint, she wanted to test blocking the voice I know the best.”
“Is that not Carlisle?” She asked, noting how the shuffling of papers downstairs halted when she mentioned his name. Nosy or besotted, she was unsure which.
“It appears I know what he is going to think before he does.”
Her eyes rolled before she could think better of it. The two were too similar for their own good.
“So I am second fiddle,” she said, attempting to feign annoyance. She knew better than to tease him, but he made it far too easy.
“Think of it as you’re the person I know better than almost anyone else in the world.”
“Mhm.”
They fell into comfortable silence. Edward began leafing through a decade old copy of Architect Digest. Esme began mixing her color palette, something light and peaceful, a slow introduction back to painting. She would not let her art get tainted by the turbulence, the fear, the anger…
“You truly can’t hear my thoughts?”
“No.”
‘You can not hear this?’
“If you are asking me if I can hear you the answer is no.”
‘How did you know what I was asking?’
“I know you, Esme,” he grinned, that knowing smile he had worn since the day they met eighty years prior.
She set down her palette and turned on her stool to look at him fully. ‘I enjoy jazz.’ His face did not change. She narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that sleeveless shirt you wear is ridiculous.’ Nothing. ‘Carlisle and I were the ones who broke your baby grand in 1948, we let Emmett take the blame.’ That clinched it. This revelation would have caused a civil war in their house, and yet nothing. Besides a slightly amused smile.
“You can’t hear me,” she breathed.
“You are too stubborn for your own good.”
She scoffed, he beamed. “I am the stubborn one!”
“Your husband is close behind.”
“This is rich,” she laughed to herself.
It was an odd feeling, being completely alone in her own brain while he was sitting across from her. The only time her brain had ever belonged to her alone were years she wished to never relive. She could think of anything at all.
The latest bodice ripper she was reading.
Their fight of 1927.
The whispered sweet nothings Carlisle said in the privacy of their bedroom. Or his office. Or most recently the garden shed.
“Please, stop thinking of Carlisle in the nude,” Edward groaned lightheartedly.
“You said you couldn’t hear me!”
“I can see your face,” he grimaced.
“You are such a prude for a man who’s had a child,” she laughed, unable to deny his accusation.
She returned her attention back to her paints, letting her thoughts roam, now with a few restrictions.
“That’s the first time you’ve called me a man,” Edward said quietly after a minute or two.
“No it isn’t.” The palette knife cut a dollop of prussian blue, then crimson, mixing the two in a pool of titanium white, mix.
“Yes,” he nodded, “it is.”
The three colors were now a well blended lavender. “I… it is not the… I feel as if… I must have thought it before…if not…”
As she tried to formulate her thoughts, it dawned on her that in eighty six years she had never had to tell him how she felt, about anything. He had always known, was constantly piecing together her thoughts before she did. How was the first time she was expected to verbalize her feelings now? Was she supposed to tell him how much fatherhood had changed him, had fundamentally changed their relationship, how she could never view him as she once did?
Crimson, cadmium yellow slapped onto the palette with a smidgen too much force, six parts titanium white.
“I know, Esme. We don’t have to do this, I know.”
‘Thank you,’ she thought. She knew he couldn’t hear her. Yet something by the way he smiled and nodded, turning his attention back to the article he had read dozens of times before, told her maybe he just knew.
#edward cullen#esme cullen#my stories#thank you for the prompt sorry this isn't pure sweetness but every time i tried to write just them this conversation kept bugging me
33 notes
·
View notes
Note
I saw a prompt about a human servant working for a bunch of yan vampires and whenever they see darling clean up there "meals" they lose it well what about when it gets hot around the castle/mansion so darling starts doing there work while wearing like shorts and a crop top or sometimes even shirtless
I can just imagine the vampires just drooling at the sight of darlings huge thighs as they walk up the stairs with the laundry or how toned they are from the labor they do every day it would probably go like this
Darling: [out in the sun trimming the hedges without a shirt]
Vampires: [all under beach umbrellas and drinking blood from wine glasses while admiring darling from afar] your doing great darling
Darling: [annoyed and sweaty] BITE ME!
Vampires: oh don't tempt us with a good time
Another day, another grueling shift beneath your smitten masters. You felt like some celebrity being followed by groupies or eye candy as a beach from how they watched and followed you around. Today just like the rest with them stalking your ever move, but there was the added bonus of a blistering sun beating down on your back.
You were out in the garden, picking tomatoes for dinner. Your normal work attire had been swapped for a tank top and a pair of shorts cut right around your upper thighs. The shirt was a size too bigger and gave on lookers a peak at your chest from the right angle. You gained some muscle from your years as their servant; the entire fit showing off that toned skin and leaving your masters barking like dogs.
"Looking great, Dearest!"
You glare at the one who just shouted; fangs exposed from their toothy smile as they go for a sip from the glass in hand. Another whistles; having finally out your attention. Your gang of stalkers sit around an umbrella covered table; watching you over the rim of their fancy shades. The sunlight was horrendous even from their spot in the shade, but they'd be damned if they missed the opportunity to see their favorite little human in your current state of dress. Such a tease could only be made better by one thing. They turn their backs to you.
"So who gets to do it?"
After a couple rounds of rock paper scissors, one of the vampires saunters over to you; umbrella and glass in hand. They lean over your shoulder as you pluck another tomato from its vine; mischief dripping from their entire being.
"How are things going, Y/n?"
"Fine." You state, throwing the tomato in the basket before wiping the sweat off your forehead. The vampire smirks, licking their fangs at the sight. How they wondered what that supple skin of yours taste after all this hard work. Just need one little thing to make you a real feast for the eyes. The vampire takes one final sip of their drink.
"You look exhausted, Y/n. We wouldn't want you to get a heat stroke. Let me cool you down."
You clinch your sheers; knowing your fate before it even happens. Your master tips their hand, the remainder of the blood in their glass splashing onto your body. It dyes your shirt a light red and makes it cling to your chest; beads of it dripping down your neck. The ice cold liquid is refreshing in the moment, but not enough to stop the boiling of your rage.
Both of your fists tighten; squeezing the ripe tomato in your opposite hand. Your master bends forward and laps up the juices that run down your arm.
"Perfection~"
The other lords holler in excitement; some having to hold down another before they run over to you without protection. You stand up; sticky from the sweat and blood that covered you. This only gives the overgrown bats more of a show as the pool of blood collected at the bottom of your shirt drips down your shorts and over your thighs. Frustated and growing sick of their calls, you pick up the basket of fruit and carry it over to them; slamming it down on the table.
"I'm taking my break. Try to stop me and I'll break your necks."
"Oh we'd love to see you try, Y/n."
"Need a little help getting undressed? Maybe with a shower?"
"I think I have some dishes left in my room. Could you grab them first before you get changed? They're on my bed."
You storm away, much to their disappointment; even if seeing you walk away was yet another treat.
-
You return to your room, getting dressed in your regular clothes. You were going to sweat your ass off, but it was worth it to avoid giving them what they wanted. A knock on your door alerts you to someone's arrival. You go to answer; one of your master's greeting you with a happy grin.
"Y/n, dear, how are things? I know you're taking a break, but the pool needs cleaning once it's over. Here's your uniform for it."
They hand you a pair of swim shorts - and nothing else. They're even shorter than the ones you put on earlier. You shut the door; turning in early for the day.
#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere oc#yandere ocs#yandere scenarios#yandere imagines#yandere x you#yandere insert#yandere headcanons#yandere harem#poly yandere#yandere vampire#yandere drabble#yandere x y/n
827 notes
·
View notes
Text
Happy Wednesday! I love you all. Thanks to @heartstringsduet @carlos-in-glasses @alrightbuckaroo @paperstorm and @three-drink-amy for the tags. Christmas fic #1 is fully drafted, so here’s a little something from it.
“And maybe we can [REDACTED] a little longer next time,” TK whispers, heart rate ticking upwards for a moment against the transparency of his confession. Despite himself, and despite already knowing what the response will be, it becomes an anxious moment. There’s a breath of silence and TK’s stomach clinches, something just this side of a gentle fear.
And then Carlos kisses him, slow and deep and on the lips this time. It swallows the fear, it stills his anxiety, the steady warmth of Carlos’s soul reaching out to hold TK’s together.
“You want that?” Carlos whispers, breath hot against TK’s lips.
“I do,” TK replies, and Carlos nudges his shoulder then, prompting him to roll over. No arguments tonight about who’s going to be the big spoon. TK rolls his eyes, but he smiles. He wants the warmth of his husband at his back. He wants to be held until he sleeps.
No pressure tags below
@birdclowns @goodways @carlos-tk @catanisspicy @chicgeekgirl89 @tarlosmalec @tarlosluvr @lutavero @lightningboltreader @liminalmemories21 @lemonlyman-dotcom @louis-ii-reyes-strand @noxsoulmate @never-blooms @sugdenlovesdingle @welcometololaland @herefortarlos @orchidscript @velvet-ink @rmd-writes @rosedavid @reyesstrand @strandnreyes @bonheur-cafe @wandering-night19 @wtfuckevenknows @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @fitzherbertssmolder @inflarescent @mooshkat @theghostofashton @thebumblecee @sanjuwrites and YOU if you see this and aren’t tagged.
49 notes
·
View notes
Note
hi hi!! love your writing sm!! and i was wondering if you had any fic idea between 2012 leo and mikey! i feel like their bond as oldest and youngest brothers is really sweet 🥺
thank you! hope you enjoy, thanks for the prompt! :)
x
Mutagenic goo rains down from the dark sky in thick splatters. Leo’s breath is ice cold in his chest as he takes desperate heaves to swallow it down.
The remains of the Mega Shredder lay still across the long stretch of road, unmoving and in pieces, there’s a faint trill rattling around in Leo’s head.
He lifts himself up off the floor. His limbs feel like lead.
He makes a disjointed reach for one of his katana’s. There’s a lone nunchuck laying beside it.
Where’s Mikey? His heart slams into his chest in a second. Where’s—
Donnie and Raph have appeared in front of him. How they managed to reach him in such succession, he neither asks or cares. They look furious.
“You took him with you,” Raph seethes. His sai’s wink at him where he’s got them in tight grasps at his sides. “You took our little brother with you on your suicide mission.”
Leo tries to speak — tries to defend himself that Mikey insisted he come with! But words fail him, sticking in the bottom of his gut, he tries to twist away to catch a glimpse of his youngest brother but Donnie is catching his wrist with his hand and forcing him towards him.
“It’s your fault!” He more or less growls at him, like a wounded animal. His entire face knits itself together with unbridled anger. “It’s all your fault!”
Leo’s chest grows tight. His legs seem to be buckling from beneath him, certain that the only thing keeping him upright is Don’s iron grip on his arm still.
“What will you tell Splinter?” Raph spits. When Leo looks towards him there’s a wet, glossy sheen clouding dark, fierce green eyes. “How will you tell him about what you’ve done?”
Leo chokes on the words that won’t come, replaced with hot, burning bile instead that’s creeping up his throat, he whines instead and then —
A scream. Loud and shrill and all three brothers are turning so fast they all nearly lose balance, and it’s April, crouched over a familiar, unmoving shape and…
“Don’t look.” Casey is here too now. He looks… haunted. “It’s not good.”
Leo tries to scream. But nothing comes. His throat is raw and burning, but no noise is able to escape him.
Leo wakes with a start, his heart crawling back down his chest again, he feels it pounding across the inside of his plastron.
His palms are slick with sweat as he rips his blanket off his legs, swinging them over the bed he steadies him as he stands.
It… it was just a nightmare.
The dark corners of his room slowly come more into focus as his eyes adjust to the night. He quickly regains himself by pointing out the details that he knows:
His Space Heroes poster that’s tacked up on the far wall, a little creased and torn after finding it in the middle of an old, outdated magazine.
The old martial arts book that Splinter gifted him long ago; the spine cracked from overuse and the bookmark that’s wedged two thirds of the way in.
This is his room. His eyes slide towards his nightstand where his lamp stands. Flicking it to life, a small explosion of orange hue lights up his corner of the room, illuminating the framed photo that stands there beside it.
He swallows thickly.
It’s an old photo, taken when they were maybe around twelve years old, growing into themselves still evident in the bulk of their shells and the muscle lean, Mikey takes up most of the frame with his wide, toothy smile and bright eyes and Leo feels his chest clinch.
His nightmare was exactly just that. Something sour tickles the back of his throat. But it had almost not just been a nightmare. Today it had very nearly become a reality.
The bitterness refuses to budge even when he swallows again, so he moves from his room towards the kitchen in refuge of water.
He stops short when he notes the figure standing at the fridge before he can get there first.
“Oh.” Mikey says shortly as he whips around. He doesn’t have his mask, instead pulled around his neck loosely, this way Leo can make out the purple rings that circle his brothers eyes. The tiredness that’s etched itself deep across his boyish face. “Busted,” he grins. “Oops.”
Leo sighs, dragging a hand down his face like it might rid him of his own exhaustion, he only manages a small, weak huff of a laugh. “Yeah.” He says. He moves closer, Mikey making way for him as he reaches for a bottle of water. “Why you up so late?”
Mikey holds up the bag of shredded cheese in his grasp before reaching in with the other hand, bringing out a handful, he grins at him. “You won’t tell dad, will you? That I’m making a midnight snack out of his stash.”
Leo snorts. “He always finds out,” he says plainly. “He has the nose for it.” He pauses. “Literally.”
Mikey shrugs, having weighed up the consequences already it appeared, he tips his head back, opens his mouth and sprinkles in the cheese.
Leo watches him as he unscrews the cap off his bottle. “You know cheese before bed is bad for you,” he tells his brother warningly. His own nightmare ebbs around the corners of his mind. He takes a swig of cold water like it might just wash it away entirely.
Mikey hums. “Yeah.” He sets the bag down on the counter. “Couldn’t sleep anyways.”
He says it like it’s so normal. He says it in a way that has Leo’s gut growing hot and cold at the same time so he puts his drink down and sucks in a breath.
“Yeah, me neither,” he tells him.
Two days ago, Leo truly thought he’d lost his little brother. Two days ago he’d watched a monster devour his sibling, tossing him down his gullet without care. Two days ago he’d felt a grief and rage burn so hot inside him, he could feel the after effects of it healing within him.
He isn’t so sure how Mikey is here, standing before him entirely unscathed after that entire ordeal, but he isn’t going to dispute it. Still. Guilt is eating away at him like a growing parasite. He shifts from foot to foot and Mikey gives him a sideways glance because he’s always the first to notice when something is up with one of his brothers.
“I need to apologize,” Leo blurts before Mikey has a chance to talk. He averts his gaze, ashamedly, staring at the bottom of the fridge instead. “For the other day.”
There’s the rustle of the cheese bag where Mikey’s got it in his hold again, fingers dipping in for seconds. “Apologize?” He questions. “For what?”
Hurt bubbles up in Leo’s chest like an ugly blister. He closes his eyes but all he can picture is his father’s horrified face when Leo tells him what happened. How he… how he almost got Mikey killed.
“I should never have put you in danger like that. The other day, at Shredder’s lair.” His throat bobs. There’s still that awful taste lingering there. Regret, Leo thinks it might be. Regret and shame. “It was a really stupid thing to do.”
“Put me in danger?” Mikey says after a beat, voice catching onto an airy laugh. Little bits of shredded cheese fall around at his feet as he waves his hand about. “Leo. I chose to go with you. You didn’t make me – if anything I’m the one who should be saying sorry.”
Leo’s quick to shake his head at that notion. No. He thinks sourly. This was never his fault.
Mikey sets the cheese back down again, this time to reach over and land a hand on Leo’s shoulder.
He looks up to face him. Baby blues blink up at him. He’s still a little taller than Mikey but as he stands here in the dull light of the fridge bulb, he notes how much more he’s filled out in the past months. The shape of his arms no longer distinguished by stubborn baby fat. The way his shell seems to fit him a little more snug now (with still some space to grow because he’s always going to be the runt, but Leo would never admit that outloud to him.) This brother right here resembles nothing to the picture he has in his bedroom. He’s not a kid anymore.
“I’m okay,” he tells him, voice low and gentle. “I survived and so did you and yeah it was a little reckless what we did, but when are we never not stupid?”
Leo laughs, something wet and wobbly sounding in his chest. He draws back a shaky breath.
“Dude. I get it. You’re my big brother, you guys are always gonna worry about me. Nothing is gonna change that, not in this lifetime anyway.” He smiles, all soft around the edges and knowing. “But I can handle myself. If I’m doing stupid shit like getting eaten by Mega Shredder’s it’s because I did it all by myself. Not because of whatever mistakes you think you’ve made.”
Leo’s heart squeezes around itself. “But–”
Mikey shakes his head back at him, cutting him off swiftly. “Nuh uh.” He moves only to put the bag back in the fridge, closing it, the room quickly fills with darkness. It’s a familiar comfort. “We’re done here. So you can either go back to bed and sulk about it or…” his mouth curves upwards into a slight grin. “Or we can totally watch the Space Hero’s made for TV movie with the subtitles on until one of us falls asleep.” He gives Leo a pointed look. “Your choice, bro.”
And truth be told, Leo doesn’t like sulking all that much. Not when he’s doing it alone, that is.
So he follows his brother into the pit where there’s already an array of blankets and Mikey’s found the VHS tape in mere minutes, sniffing it out like a bloodhound and they watch their movie on mute as Mikey grows heavy against him, eyes drooping shut, Leo doesn’t nudge him awake or remind him he needs his eyes open to watch the subtitles.
Mikey might be right. He’s old enough to make his own choices, whether they’re good or bad. It was just part of growing up; Leo knows he’s had his fair share of bad decisions in his lifetime already. His little brother wasn’t a baby anymore. He was a fully fledged ninja – he’d proven that time and time again and yet–
Leo carefully reaches over his sleeping sibling to drape one of the discarded blankets over his form. Mikey doesn’t stir and Leo feels his heart pinch.
And yet. He was always going to be his littlest brother still. No matter how big and brave he got – that was one thing remaining unchanging.
#this was so fun to do. 2012 leo and mikey have such a special place in my heart ;___; i hope you enjoyed this anon !#once again these do go up on ao3 as well so please check them out there too! :3#thank youuu !! <3#tmnt 2012#tmnt fanfiction#tmnt fanfic#tmnt fic#tmnt leonardo#tmnt michelangelo
106 notes
·
View notes
Note
okay NOW I’ll do a Tito one! let’s go ham shall we!
Tito/Roman Josi - gentleman
This..... turned out so much better than I thought it would? Like this is a RARE PAIR and it is..... hot. I'm into it. They are both too fucking beautiful. Like how is a girl (me) supposed to survive in these conditions. This is in celebration of the preds clinching.
~
Roman slides into the booth next to Tito and puts a hand on his shoulder, thigh pressing thigh as he angles his body towards him.
"Excited to be back in the Playoffs?" Roman says in heavily accented French. It's not terrible— Tito can understand him— but he can tell it's not a language Roman uses often.
"Jos, we can speak English, you know?" Tito says with a laugh. The bar is loud; he can feel Roman's fingers flex into the muscle of his shoulder when he leans in to speak. He tries to ignore the blush that he can feel radiating up his neck.
"I know. I want to." Roman flashes him a blinding smile with such ease; his breath to catch in his chest. "I know what it's like to miss the sound of your mother tongue. I'd like to be that comfort for you. I want to make sure you're being taken care of."
Tito bites his lip in an effort to tamp down the shiver that threatens to slide down his spine. "What a gentleman," he laughs, hoping it doesn't sound forced.
The problem is— Well, Tito learned early in his career— really early— to not crush on his teammates. He has been good about that— really good. It's just— Well— He never thought he would be a Nashville Predator, which might have been naive but— Tito has eyes, okay? He knows what Roman Josi looks like. He could probably draw him from memory at this point, given all the times he's—
Tito is violently snapped out of his thoughts by the spine tingling sensation of Roman's hand sliding across his back, his thumb brushing against the column of his throat and his fingers slipping beneath the collar of Tito's shirt. Roman's talking but he can't process the words as he applies a gentle pressure to the nape of his neck.
Heat curls in Tito's stomach, and it must make his mind go numb because that's the only explanation he has for what he says next.
"Why don't you show me how much you want to take care of me then, captain? My place or yours?"
He's rewarded by the smirk that spreads across Roman's face, his eyes dipping meaningfully to Tito's lips, before he gets up and exits the booth, leaving Tito scrambling to follow.
~
Send me a player or pairing + a word, and I’ll write a mini fic about it. (I am running on quite a backlog right now so it might take me a while to get to your request).
Read other prompt mini fics!
#anthony beauvillier#roman josi#2159#tito/josi#rarepair#nsh#mini fic#hrpf#hockey rpf#requests#rox writes
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
Blowing Bubbles
Title: Blowing Bubbles | AO3 | Rating: T | Masterlist
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F! Reader
Summary: Your stay-cation isn't exactly going as planned...
Warnings: Kissing. Mildly spicy thoughts/behaviors.
A/N: This is the second fic I've written for Hawk and Frankie. Here is the first. If people show interest and the muse sticks with me, I might continue writing little drabbles for them. :o)
“Hawk, what are you doing?”
Frankie’s sudden appearance just inside the living room threshold prompts you to glance up so fast that your neck crackles and pops like dried wood. You let out a hissed curse – not only at the pain, but also because you know you’ve just been caught.
The oversized mug at your elbow is steaming with your third (maybe fourth?) serving and the table in front of you is covered corner-to-corner with tools and supplies of various kinds. There’s really no hiding what you’re getting up to – especially not when it’s zero-two-hundred, and you’re so damn jittery from too much dark roast and exhaustion that you’re practically tap dancing in your seat. You really should’ve eaten the toast you made for yourself, but you just got so wrapped up in it…
“Por favor, cariño,” he rasps. “Come to bed.”
“Five more minutes,” you counter, refocusing on the remaining bits and pieces spread out in front of you. “I’ve almost got it this time.”
“You said that yesterday.”
“I know, but--”
“And the day before.”
Your absentminded grunt. His put-out sigh. The refrigerator hums lightly and the floorboards creak with every other step he takes toward the kitchen. Bare feet patter along the tile, and then, he’s standing over you – the broad, muscular form of him distorted by the headlamp magnifier you’re wearing. A blurry cutout of sinew, Frankie is lit up by a tiny row of LEDs, and his eyes morph, all comically large, before his visage starts to become clearer.
“You look like a mad scientist,” he remarks, deft fingers working to remove your headgear and scoot your mug of black-one-sugar aside. “Even your hair is wild.”
“I think the term you’re looking for is sex hair,” you quip back, unable to hide the smirk crawling its way up the left side of your face. “And I lay the blame at your feet for that.”
A flicker of pride, and then, a furrowed brow. Frankie crosses his arms over his chest and props his cute ass up against the table, but it’s not until his expression morphs into what you’ve dubbed his “frowny, grumpy face” that you know he’s no longer thinking happy thoughts. A man of careful consideration, he weighs his words, practically rolling them around in his mind and mouth before finally speaking.
“We had plans,” he says, succinct, but not unkind.
You rub the back of your neck and stare at your lap, “And I’m ruining them.”
“No, baby, not that – never that. It’s just…A whole week together. Just you and me. That’s what we agreed to. Remember?”
You fiddle with the hem of your t-shirt and nod, your mind recalling the hours-long conversations the two of you had, going over the pros and cons, weighing up the mutual fears and excitement. The serious lack of alone time and the desperate, mutual need for a break – that’s what ultimately clinched it. You and Frankie would have your own, private staycation, while at the same time, a very excited Isabella would be with her grandparents for a getaway at an out-of-town water park/resort.
You and Frankie never have the house to yourselves, and the two of you had plans to celebrate via unabashed orgasms, eating pizza naked in front of the TV, and taking prolonged showers together. No chores. No projects. No plans to go out or catch up with friends or even grocery shop…
But instead of a distraction-free, sexed-up weekend, full of takeout food and Netflix shows without singing cartoons, you’ve been tinkering with Isabella’s damn bubble blaster. You’ve allowed an easily replaceable, three-dollar toy to take up entirely too much of the infrequent, precious alone time you get with the man you otherwise can’t ever seem to get enough of.
You repair helicopters, for crying out loud. And you’re good at your job. In fact, you’re so good at it, the exorbitant salary you pull isn’t just for your mechanical skills – people also hire you on a contractual basis just for your opinions. Shit, you could buy Isabella a plethora of brand-new bubble blasters. Hell, you could upgrade to one of those fancy machines they use at clubs and in movies, but there’s something about fixing this particular butterfly-themed bubble blaster that you simply can’t let go of…
“The replacement parts you’re putting in this thing are more expensive than the toy itself,” he says, voice gruff with sleep and perhaps a hint of agitation. “And with how she plays with her toys… You know it’s not gonna last long.”
Frankie’s remarks prompt you to glance at the table’s surface again. Every inch is covered with a mess of trial-and-error, and the presence of all that’s accumulated – like the multimeter, soldering iron, repair kit, and empty supply packages – simply makes you shrug.
A deep inhale. A long exhale. Frankie closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose – the picture of an exasperated partner who really wanted to get laid without fear of interruption and maybe – just maybe – eat first and sleep in late for a change. You feel terrible for getting caught up, for allowing your obsessive, one-track mind to take over, and you would apologize for it if not for him speaking first.
“I love the way you love her,” Frankie says, tone now warmer, more understanding. “I may not get why you’re doing this, but… I love you. And I love you more for loving her.”
You find it difficult to keep the tears at bay – especially when he looks at you, all soft, soulful eyes full of adoration and even deeper admiration. Frankie has always had the uncanny ability to see you, to get you right down to the marrow, and it would terrify the hell out if you weren’t so in love with him.
“It’s her favorite,” you say, hoping that somehow explains the reasoning behind the sudden madness that’s gripped you. “And I just… I should be able to fix this for her.”
He scratches at the hairs along the column of his throat, “I know, cariño. I know.”
A long pause, and then, you press your luck. “Does that mean I can have five more minutes?” you wonder, sticking out your lower lip and batting your eyelashes for good measure.
The sound that escapes his throat is a combination of a bemused groan and a warning growl. You know you haven’t exactly won, but you haven’t lost, either. Frankie is a man of compromise who always has a caveat, and you know it’s coming when he leans forward, cups your face in his hands, and stares at you in such a way that you’re powerless not to meet his gaze.
“Last chance,” he says sternly. “Then, it goes in the trash. That’s an order.”
You lick your lips and nod slightly, “Yes, sir.”
Frankie’s pupils expand, and his smile wide enough to reveal his dimple, then, he’s kissing you – a relentless, frantic demand of your mouth that’s all possessive and purposeful. Then, he’s slow as syrup when he pulls away, the epitome of stark contrast when he drops a chaste peck to the middle of your forehead and calmly sets a timer on his wristwatch. He doesn’t hover – he simply hands you the headlamp magnifier, wishes you luck, and leaves you to it.
With your heart racing and the clock ticking, you set about reassembling, working off your own drawings of internal components and how the toy had been put together before you started tinkering with it. You slide the battery into place and close the compartment. With a flick of your thumb, the power button slides from off to on, and the colorful lights built into the handle come to life.
The bottle of bubble refill twists neatly into place. You slowly press down on the trigger, and the enclosed blower fan comes to life with a high-pitched, mechanical whir.
“Alright, come on,” you murmur, watching as the soap dribbles pathetically down your wrist and along your forearm. “Come on, baby, come on…”
A strange gurgle. A death-rattle-type wheeze. Then, one, big bubble gives way to dozens more, and you don’t realize you’re on your feet or that you’ve even left the kitchen. Suddenly, you’re jumping on the bed, practically screaming your victory at the top of your lungs, jostling the hell out of Frankie and covering him, the blanket, sheets, and pillows with glittery bubbles.
When you eventually stop your crowing, you’re panting, and your mouth tastes like soap. Frankie’s laughter has slowed, and he’s trying (and failing) to brush the glitter out of his hair and mustache. There’s no denying you’re still giddy and wound up as all hell, but still, you’re careful when you step down from the bed and even more mindful of where you place your prized work, opting for the top dresser drawer and nestling it safely in a pile of socks.
“I did it,” you exhale, mind settling in its relief. “I actually did it.”
“M'proud of you,” Frankie grins sleepily.
You sigh and happily crawl into strong arms covered in soapy sparkles. You let yourself bask in for a moment, permit yourself to soak up Frankie’s sincere compliments, revel in your achievement, and think of how happy Isabella will be. It feels good – good in a way that’s entirely unexpected because the motivation was different.
“I do love her,” you whisper, the words tumbling out like a confession against the soft cotton t-shirt covering his chest.
A beat of silence. Then, you feel warm fingertips beneath your chin, coaxing your eyes up until his gaze meets yours. Frankie cups your cheek and his smile – the one reserved just for you – fills you with such warmth, such comfort, that you can’t help but smile at him in return. His kiss is brief, but tender, and then, he rests his cheek against the crown of your head and holds you just a little bit tighter.
You nuzzle his chest and sigh, “You think she knows?”
He chuckles and nods slightly, “Yeah, cariño. She knows.”
#frankie catfish morales x reader#frankie morales x reader#frankie morales fanfic#triple frontier fanfic#triple frontier fanfiction#triple frontier fan fiction#francisco morales x reader#francisco morales fanfiction#wordywarriorwrites
16 notes
·
View notes
Text
When Carl Weathers auditioned for the role of Apollo Creed, the prizefighter who gives an untried contender a shot at his heavyweight title in Rocky (1976), he was asked to read opposite the film’s writer. “Now – I’m ignorant – and as I finish reading, I say, ‘Well, wait a minute, if you can get me a real actor to read with, I can do this a lot better.’”
Unbeknown to him, his scene partner was the newcomer Sylvester Stallone, who had not only written the script but was playing the title role. “Somehow I got the job,” said Weathers.
A 6ft 2in former NFL linebacker, Weathers, who has died aged 76, brought the full force of his charisma to a role that could in less skilful hands have prompted straightforward hisses and boos. There was a depth and kindness to him that no amount of on-screen braggadocio could conceal. He spoke, said one LA Times reporter, with the “overly concise diction of a TV evangelist”.
To prepare for the role of Apollo, Weathers watched old Muhammad Ali fights for inspiration. Shot for peanuts, the film grossed $225m, won three Oscars, including best picture, and spawned four sequels. A further three films in the spin-off Creed cycle featured Michael B Jordan as Apollo’s son Adonis.
Weathers was taken aback by the instant fame that Rocky brought him. The day after the film opened, he said, “I was out for a walk in Manhattan and street vendors are yelling, ‘Yo, Apollo.’ That is scary. You are not prepared for that.”
He reprised his role in the first three Rocky sequels. Rocky II (1979) begins immediately after the events of the original film, with both fighters in wheelchairs, coming face-to-swollen-face with one another in the hospital.
“Get up out of that chair, chump, and let’s finish this fight right now!” Apollo demands, having won only on a split decision after 15 rounds. Later, there is a moment of tenderness when Rocky, bandaged and slurring, wheels himself to Apollo’s hospital room late at night, nudges open his door, and asks whether Apollo really gave the match his all.
Though they decide initially against a rematch, Apollo becomes incensed by the hate mail he receives branding the fight a fake. Rocky II ends with the opponents bloodied on the canvas. Struggling to his feet, Rocky is declared the winner.
In Rocky III (1982), Apollo trains Rocky against a vicious new opponent, Clubber Lang (Mr T). The old adversaries get back in the ring at the end of that film for a friendly sparring match, the outcome of which remained a secret until Rocky revealed to Adonis in Creed (2015) that Apollo had clinched it. In Rocky IV (1985), Apollo is brutally trounced in a bout with the Russian boxer Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren). He dies in Rocky’s arms.
Weathers found many of the subsequent roles he was offered to be “pointless and meaningless”. But he enjoyed squaring off against another of that decade’s action heroes – Arnold Schwarzenegger – in the fantasy thriller Predator (1987).
In their first scene together, the men greet each other with a handshake that develops into an impromptu arm-wrestling contest. It is won by Schwarzenegger, his bicep bulging monstrously in close-up – a clear case of the more famous actor literally flexing his celebrity muscle.
Weathers later meets a sticky end during an encounter in the jungle with a shape-shifting alien. He loses an arm – his finger is still firing the trigger of his automatic weapon even as the limb falls to the ground – before expiring with a blood-curdling scream.
During his down-time on Predator, the actor developed with the film’s producer Joel Silver a lead role for himself as a Detroit detective in his own shoot-’em-up adventure, Action Jackson (1988), though a hoped-for franchise never materialised.
He acquitted himself well in the Adam Sandler golfing comedy Happy Gilmore (1996) as a pro golfer whose hand is bitten off by an alligator; in one scene, he sits at a grand piano on a golf course playing We’ve Only Just Begun. He reprised the role in Sandler’s Little Nicky (2000) but was even funnier as a tight-fisted, cost-cutting version of himself in four episodes of the sitcom Arrested Development between 2004 and 2013.
Weathers was born in New Orleans, the eldest son of a labourer father. He won a sports scholarship to St Augustine high school, then attended Long Beach Poly high school and Long Beach City College. He made it to San Diego State University on a football scholarship and graduated with a degree in theatre.
His professional football career began in 1970 with a single season with the Oakland Raiders. After being dismissed for being “too sensitive”, he played for two years with the British Columbia Lions in the Canadian Football League. “How good was I? I was good enough to make it … But I was never dedicated enough. I was never in love with football.” Acting, he said, was “a lot more fun, and I ache a lot less.”
He retired from football in 1974 and won supporting roles in television series such as The Six Million Dollar Man (1975) and Starsky and Hutch (1976), and with Pam Grier in the blaxploitation thrillers Bucktown and Friday Foster (both 1975).
After Rocky, he starred with Burt Reynolds and Kris Kristofferson in the football comedy Semi-Tough (1977); with Robert Shaw and Harrison Ford in the Guns of Navarone sequel Force 10 from Navarone (1978); and alongside Charles Bronson and Lee Marvin in the thriller Death Hunt (1981). He also wrote and performed the 1981 soul single You Ought to Be With Me.
Television work was plentiful, though attempts to fashion a long-running TV vehicle for him were hit-and-miss. In Fortune Dane (1986), he played a political troubleshooter battling white-collar crime; the show lasted six episodes. Its producer Barney Rosenzweig called Weathers “one of the more intelligent people I’ve ever been in business with. But he’s a physical animal. He’s gorgeous … The guy looks like a Greek god.”
He was a regular on Street Justice (1991-93), In the Heat of the Night (1993-95), inspired by the 1967 Sidney Poitier film of the same name, and Chicago Justice (2017).
Weathers also provided the voice of Combat Carl in Toy Story 4 (2019) and played the bounty hunter Greef Karga in the Star Wars spin-off series The Mandalorian (2019-23).
Weathers’ three marriages ended in divorce. He is survived by two sons, Jason and Matthew, from his first marriage, to Mary Ann Castle in 1973.
🔔 Carl Weathers, actor, born 14 January 1948; died 1 February 2024
Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?
10 notes
·
View notes
Note
HI LUCKY i am once again asking for a smut emoji prompt fill:
cullen / rose / 🛀🏻 / ❄️
Thank you for this opportunity to torture my blorbos. This is easily one of the most painful pieces I've ever written so weeeeeeeee. Also I did not do a final proof read soooo... yeah.
For @dadrunkwriting
Somehow this piece clinches all of the following square (kind of incidentally for the Whumptober ones lol)
WHUMPTOBER BINGO:
Pinned down, Aftermath of Failure, Troubled Past Resurfacing, Goodbye Note and Betrayal
KINKTOBER BINGO:
Begging, pain play (play might be a stretch, but there's a lot of pain during sex)
Rating: Explicit
CW: Sex, sex while recovering from severe injuries, there's a lot of pain emotional and physical
WC: 3650
Summary: Cullen is recovering from severe injuries after an encounter with Samson in Emprise du Lion in Rose's quarters. Rose has been nursing her anger and anguish for weeks and it all comes spilling out at last.
***
We’d found him in a grove above the Tower of Bone camp battered and unconscious, pinned to the ground with his own blade through his left shoulder. I’d grown so accustomed to waking to an empty bed that it didn’t faze me initially. But he’d left a note, a short one, and based on our conversations and the persistence of his ruminations and silent brooding, I knew, I knew what it meant.
Forgive me.
The flood of nausea was immediate. I was forever competing with his obsession with Samson and on that day it all came to a head. I’d asked him to stay at Skyhold while we dealt with Emprise, keenly aware of how deeply red lyrium affects him. But he insisted that he should be there to help deal with the templars and I couldn’t find the will to fight him on it. I didn’t have the strength to resist the force of his stubbornness. Not on this.
And I wish to the Maker that I had.
Even with the healing draughts on hand we quickly found their limits. They’d only mended him enough that he became aware of the pain and then all we could do is sedate him for the journey back to Skyhold. He’d need bed rest and the skill of our best healers at Skyhold to repair the broken bones and torn ligaments properly and it was an eleven day ride by carriage, stopping in every reasonably large Orlesian town to seek the aid healers with greater skill than those we had with us.
I had him installed in my quarters upon returning, ignoring Ellendra’s bloody impertinent looks and raised eyebrows. Maker knows everyone in the Inquisition understood we’d gotten together at last. And he wanted to work even though Rylen had it well in hand.
I’m going to allow him to compromise his own recovery.
Not after he denied me the chance to talk sense into him with regard to Samson.
“How much longer am I to be kept here? Are you my lady or my boss?” he complains, propped up in bed by the mountain of pillows I’d made for him earlier. All the contusions and lacerations have long since healed, but he hobbles to see me at my desk like a centenarian and I know I’m right in keeping him a little longer.
“When you can climb that bloody ladder to your loft yourself, you can go back to your own quarters,” I tell him, standing and leaning in gently to kiss him.
“You can hold me, you know. You won’t break me.”
It’s true, I’ve been keeping him at an arms length, clutching his hand from across the mattress so that I don’t accidentally roll onto him at night. I tell myself I’ve been terrified of causing him greater pain. But really it’s the anger. It nests inside me, burrowing deep, severing all the little tethers between us. I’ve been wondering if I’ll ever cauterize the wound inside me. It’s still bleeding.
He returned to a small measure of duty a week ago, taking briefs in my quarters with his closest lieutenants, trying to alleviate the awkwardness by complaining lightly to them about my solicitousness and the stubbornness I’d shamefully reasserted long after I should have.
I slip my arms around him gingerly feeling the anger squash between us. Sighing into the scent of elfroot salve and earth and elderflower that amalgamate to make up him, it evaporates for the moment. I long for a mutual squeeze, so I can squeeze the feeling, the questions that have been ravaging me into him.
How could you leave me like that?
Why didn’t you trust me?
But for now, I surrender to the comforts: his nose and lips nuzzling over my face, the warmth of his body radiating through our comparatively thin casual clothing, the glow of aurum in his eyes as the brightness of the whiteout conditions outside reflects within them. He’s recovered enough that the hunger of his body is readily apparent, bearing into me more than any other part of him. And it’s been weeks without his touch, exacerbating the gulf— real or imagined— between us. I can feel the sensation low inside me, my body opening to him, the yearning taut in my belly.
But the bell tinkles above us to let us know someone is below and I remember what I’d arranged. I hold up a finger and stride over to the stairwell.
“Come up!” I call.
“Come up?” Cullen says in a mild panic. I ease him into my desk chair and toss a blanket into his lap with a mildly threatening smile.
The first things that arrive are two copper tubs, carried in by staff I’d paid extra out of my personal stipend. Then comes the water, hauled two buckets at a time by a string of staff lengthy enough that no one has to make more than one agonizing trip up the six floors of tower steps.
Cullen sits pink cheeked through it all, no doubt worrying over what everyone must think of us, having two bath tubs prepared side by side.
“A little extravagant, Rose,” he remarks, a little tick of consternation marring his brow.
“Since you’ve been resisting more healing sessions, this is the next best thing,” I tell him, perching on my desk in front of him, his legs stretched out on either side of mine from my chair.
“But two tubs? Maker’s breath.”
“Yes two. And it’s not what you think,” I say and the bell rings again. “And now you’ll see.”
A staff member comes huffing up the stairs with two large buckets of crushed ice which they lug into my chamber and dump artlessly into one of the tubs. They hand me a palm sized rune on their way out.
“An ice bath?” he says looking at me like I’m mad.
“Ellendra says an ice bath will keep your inflammation down and help you recover more quickly. So you can return to your cursed loft,” I tell him with tense, scolding brows, bending to kiss him. I hold up the rune. “And then you can take a warm bath with me after.” I drift over to the warm tub and drop the rune in.
“Oh I don’t think so, Rose. I’m not getting into that tub of ice unless you are,” he says emphatically. He thinks he’s outfoxed me but never one to back away from one of his little challenges, I drop my robe, calling his bluff and swish my fingers into the shocking cold of the first tub. If it means he’ll get some proper care, I’ll do it.
Cullen shakes his head at me, hobbling over and I catch him halfway, looping my arm under his and around his middle to help him the rest of the way.
“You’re a terror,” he says with a scolding eye, undressing and wincing and fixing his eyes upon the ice filled water with anticipatory dread. When I pull the nightgown I’ve been lounging around in all day over my head, Cullen’s eyes sweep over me, his breath snagging his his throat and he pulls me back to him again. Breathing warmth into my neck, he rakes his fingernails over my shoulders and then my back like he might just take me right here, powerless against his own saved up lust.
“You’re not getting out of this that easily,” I gasp, when he grazes his fingers between my thighs. “But perhaps we can continue this discussion after the ice bath if you’re cooperative.” And yet I can’t find the determination to stay his hand. He fixes his eyes to mine as he dips a finger into me, gently, like he’s about to taste the cream on a dessert. I shake my head from side to side even as my knees weaken when he nudges my clit with the heel of his palm.
He’d been such an eager student, asking and practicing and remembering, my pleasure an unwritten tome to fill with his discoveries. And I’d been just as eager to find out what made him grip his bedsheets by the handful or groan open mouthed and unrestrained.
I will myself to stop him.
“After,” I insist, helping with him with his clothes which he insists he can do on his own. I wander bare to my desk for my hour glass. “We’ll climb in together and sit for the prescribed five minutes making miserable faces at each other and then emerge utterly reborn. Well. In theory.” I don’t bother with managing my reflexive gape as my eyes devour his sculpted form, his skin flushed under the soft spread of golden hair across his chest and the hardened length of his cock bobbing gently as he turns to me. It took months to convince him to stop hiding it from me and I reward his comfort by biting my lip gently before reaching up on my toes to sweep my open mouth against his.
“We could skip the ice bath,” he suggests, his breath tight in his chest as his finger traces down my upper arm.
“And render all the hard work our staff did moot? I don’t think so. Together?” I ask and I’m met with a pained, defeated expression. I slip my arm under his around his back and steady him while he lifts a leg into the tub, a sharp gasp snagging in the back of his throat as he steps in. I follow suit, standing in the tub fully, my heart fluttering in response to the breathtaking cold and reach to help him in behind me.
“You’re punishing me, aren’t you?” he says. The corner of my lips twitch slightly because the thought had crossed my mind, but no. I just want him to recover fully.
“We’re going to sit down together on a count of five,” I tell him and he sighs hopelessly, the tawny gaze that I’ve coveted nearly since I first laid eyes upon it connects with mine like it’s a lifeline. “We’re going to survive. It’s just ice water. It’s just five minutes.” I flip the hourglass and count down and then we ease in, puffs of strained breath and agony jumping from our lungs. We submerge to our shoulders and he tugs me to him immediately requiring a scold for cheating.
“Maker’s breath. Five minutes?!” he bleats desperately.
“We can sing all the known verses of Andraste’s Mabari. It’ll be over before you know it.”
“I only know two. How many do you know?! I recall you not knowing any that night at Harritt’s.”
“None! But I can mumble along with you. Or make some up.”
Cullen half rises from the water and I cock my head to challenge him on that move, stubbornly staying inside the bone chilling vat. He sinks back down wiltingly, glancing at the hour glass.
“How can we be sure any of our parts will work after this?” he complains, his teeth chattering.
“We can’t. We’ll just have to find out.”
We gasp and bicker our way through the remainder of the sands, our eyes trained fiercely upon the last grains that spiral through the glass isthmus with painstaking deliberation. He rises first— too quickly and I need to lunge forward to assist him out of the tub so he doesn’t exacerbate some strain or tear he’s still nursing. Stepping into the next tub we gasp nearly as much as we did in the first— the relative warmth feeling like it’s scalding our skin.
I insist on bathing him, training my eyes on the soapy wash cloth as I run it over each curve of him, failing to ignore the new scar, the evidence of his betrayal. The anger I’ve been managing so carefully jostles against the cage I’ve got it in. Swiping trails of suds over his chest then his clavicles and shoulders and around the his back, I can feel his gaze upon me, watching me, waiting for me to look at him. But even at this distance, I find my emotions brewing into a quiet storm, churning behind my carefully fixed gaze.
“Rose,” he says, knowing the way my face holds tension, knowing what it means when my quiet stretches too long. I can’t look at him yet, afraid of what might spill from my lips.
“Darling.” It’s softer. A plea. I let him tug me closer and allow myself to look at it, the healing wound. The backs of his fingers stroke down my cheek and then across my lips. I clasp his hand against my face, my eyes slipping closed, feeling the heft of his palm like it could erase some small scrap of the anguish inside me. Laced gently together in the warm bath, we trace wet fingers over and around each others twin scars, our thoughts circling closer to one another.
“Cullen—“
“I’ve been wondering if you’ll ever be able to forgive me.” We speak simultaneously across the short span between us. The silence aches while I search for words.
“I nearly lost you.”
“I know.” His voice is a hoarse whisper, penitent, his eyes glossy and guilt-ridden.
“I’m just scared. Of what’s becoming of you. This obsession of yours— it’s so personal. I’m scared there will be nothing left of you when all is said and done.”
“I know.”
“And it kills me that I can’t save you from this.”
“Rose. I know.”
I run my finger gently over the taut red line just below his collar bone again, made by his own sword. It had been a warning. Samson could have ended him. But he didn’t, like a filament of friendship still connected them even as bitter rivals in a war for the fate of the world.
“You have to stop. Let me handle it.” I beg him as though I couldn’t stay him with an order alone. But I’ve never wielded my superiority over him in such a way. Cullen’s ragged sigh betrays him. I find myself pleading with him. “I’ll go to Dumat with my best people. We’ll find him. We’ll find Maddox.”
“Let’s not speak of this. Not right now,” he whispers, touching my cheek. “I love you. Kiss me.”
I submit to his command, bracing myself gingerly on the edges of the tub to lean in and kiss him.
We pause to regard each other, the brilliance of his eyes muted to a soft tawny hazel in shadow but there’s intensity there. I know the need that aches behind his eyes, it aches inside me too. I want to drive our agony into one another, through one another. He crushes me against him, our mouths meet with unprecedented wildness. We consume one another, slipping and clinging clumsily in the sloshing bathwater, our arousal proof of life after everything. But ungainly in the tub, I stumble against a particularly sensitive spot and he cries out in pain. Pulling back reflexively, I give him space to stretch and he shakes his head at me, his eyes smoldering into mine like they could ignite me.
“No, come back,” he breathes.
“I’ll hurt you.”
“I don’t care.”
“Then let’s get to bed where it’s a bit softer,” I propose. At his nod, I rise from the tub and step out carefully, wrapping my shoulders in a towel before returning to help him. He groans and winces as he rises and steps out of the tub. When I turn to fetch him a towel he arrests me by my elbow and pulls me to him, his body slick against mine, wet fingers impressing into my rear as he draws me in and backs slowly toward my bed.
“We have to have be careful,” I fret, as he grazes his lips over my neck.
“No,” he insists. “I need this. All of you. Please.”
“Then let me— I could go down,” I suggest, grasping him firmly, his erection warm and heavy in my hand.
“Please,” he says again, tugging us back onto my bed. Even this short tumble elicits an agonized grunt of discomfort and I roll to his side.
“You’ll get reinjured. Your hip—“”
“The bone is mended.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Maker, Rose. Just wreck me,” he says, his frustration and hunger plain. I can’t help the way my eyes widen into unblinking shock at the expression. At the desperation that’s driven him to such vulgarities. “I need you. I need to feel you.”
Stuffing the unresolved feelings down, I run my hand over his damp chest, raking my fingers through the golden hairs. I try to regard him as I once had when everything between us was less fraught. When the beauty of his eyes left me dumbstruck. The way I’d marveled at the sprinkling of freckles across his nose and the sharp cut of his jaw. How I’d ached for him to be mine.
Leaning down gently I brush my nose against his, remembering that uncomplicated feeling. Willing it into existence.
“I love you.” I will those words too.
We lose ourselves in a kiss, so utterly detached that his slight groans and whimpers of pain disappear into the haze that holds us. Our cold lips and warm tongues ply for whatever’s left of one another. Cullen lifts my leg over his hips and we bear into each other, the pleasure surging in jolts as he thrusts past my entrance.
“Maker,” he gasps, as I draw my hips back, withholding. “Please.”
“You really want this?” I ask, ferocity escaping my hold, like my anger wishes to play as well.
“I do,” he mutters against my lips.
When he churns his hips against me, I tilt mine until he can push into me, the friction and our heat mingling, prompting broken gasps from both our lips. I brace myself against the headboard and ride him, the fury I’m desperately trying to hold back slipping out, suffusing through my movements. Cullen grits his teeth against the pain.
“More,” he begs. It seems absurd, watching him strain against the force of it, gripping a handful of pillow and another of bedsheets with blanching knuckles, but I oblige him, driving down upon him until sweat beads at my hairline and between my breasts. His eyes never leave mine, the creases between his brows deep even as he looks penitent beneath me, glossy with tears that won’t spill.
His breathing grows shallow and erratic, taut puffs as his climax builds. I relax and let myself open to my own, pleasure aching in my core, my entire body flushed and charged. He reaches up for my breast and the intensity of it too much and I snatch his hand away, pinning it above him and come, riding it out amidst my curses and exclamations, my thrusts growing more fitful and convulsive. I drop my head over his chest but Cullen grasps my chin with his free hand and asserts his fierce gaze, climaxing himself as I dissolve above him.
He almost never cries out, but today it erupts from him like a caged beast, his hips arching high into me, nearly bucking me onto his chest. He gathers me against him, grimacing and groaning as the pleasure dissipates enough for the pain to break through. As my own surges of ecstasy settle, my emotions wrestle free of my exhausted grip and I wash him in tears. The questions loom heavily even while his fingers tips brush lightly over my back, even as his lips press softly against my hair. His chest jerks from the same sort of restrained sob as mine, matching shudders inside our ribs.
“Why?” I croak the word out from where I’ve kept it all these weeks. “Why, Cullen?”
“I— I felt,” his voice breaks. “I felt it was my responsibility to deal with him.”
“Responsibility?” I ask, my hackles rising. I lift my head to smear the fluids from my nose and eyes and lay it back down again. “Let’s talk about responsibility. You leave me in bed with naught be a good bye note and offer yourself up to him on a platter. Cullen, you know what his powers are like. Better than anyone.”
“I don’t know what came over me. I— I’m sorry. I— think the red lyrium must have clouded my thinking.”
“The red lyrium isn’t what has you obsessed with him. You were ready to leave me over this. Forever. I’ve never felt more alone in these last few weeks.” I lift my head again to stare him down. “Do you know what it was like to find you like that?”
“I would do anything to undo it.”
“You’re my love. And Maker, you’re the commander of my army— and I don’t know how I can trust you again. Do you know how that feels?”
“I’ll make it up to you, Rose. I promise,” he says, reaching to clutch my cheek.
“You were pinned to the ground by your own blade. You were so broken you were nearly unrecognizable. How are you going to take that memory from me?”
Cullen’s tears spill over.
“I’m sorry, Rose.” He avoids those other words, the words he’d written on that too-big piece of paper and left on our nightstand. But sorry won’t cut it either.
I roll gently to the mattress and his hand follows, tracing warm strokes up and down my waist. I don’t know what I hoped would come of this conversation, but I’m left feeling unfulfilled, my grief and distress still roiling about within my breast. My next words escape me, petulant and resentful.
“You were meant to be the steady one.” I hear his breath catch and I regret them as soon as they’ve slipped past my lips. His sigh flutters and he swallows. He withdraws his hand, a void gaping wide between us.
“Well. That was your mistake then.”
#DADWC#theluckywizard#cullen rutherford#cullen x trevelyan#cullen & samson#cullen x inquisitor#cullen rutherford smut#WHUMP#Dead Dove Do Not Eat#Pain Play#Begging#Kinktober#Whumptober#This is going to hurt#rose trevelyan#in the shattering of things#roserford#cullen x rose
19 notes
·
View notes
Note
Prompt 25 with Johnny Cade?
Prompt 25: Memories
~~~
It was a pretty warm night, the wind blew softly not causing much of a disturbance. Johnny had stepped out of the Curtis's house for a moment with a cancer stick clinched in his hand. He watched as the smoke he blew out blinded into the air, only faintly being seen due to the moonlight.
He could hear everyone talking inside still. Most of the gangs voices coming out as nothing more than a murmur. But out of everyone, yours stood out the most. You were laughing, most likely at something Two had said.
"Oh knock it off Two." You said, your voice growing louder the closer you got to the door.
Johnny turned his head as soon as he heard the door creak. You were careful not to slam it behind you.
"Mind if I sit with you?" You asked.
"I never mind when it comes to you." Johnny replied, stomping out his cancer stick.
You couldn't help but smile at his cheesiness, chuckling in reply. You down next to him, lightly resting your head on his shoulder. The pair of you sat in a comfortable silence, just enjoying the atmosphere around you. You could feel his eyes on you making you take your sights off the sky toward him.
"What?" You asked softly, your lips still curved with a soft smile.
He felt he had saw that same smile a hundred times before... but he every time he saw it, he felt exactly how he felt the first time he saw it.
"Just thinkin'." Johnny muttered.
"About what?"
"The first time we met..."
~~~
Johnny was just glad to finally get a break from all the moving around he had done. Dallas had dragged him and Pony all over town, not really planning on going to a particular place. But eventually, they stopped by the Dingo.
But waiting around for time to pass by got boring, even if it did give him a moment to just sit still. So, with an abundance of straws in hand, he and Pony began to blow wrapper and wrapper around the rundown restaurant.
He found a bit of amusement doing so, even if the waiter's and waitresses were getting more annoyed by the minute. But he didn't really pay too much mind to it, the worse they could do was throw them out.
But then, he heard a very familiar voice speak up suddenly.
"What the..." You rose up from the booth you were sitting in, which happened to be right next to his.
The second you sat up you saw him, a straw hanging lazily from his lips as he stared at you in shock. You found the sight of him to be pretty comical if you were being completely honest. You didn't really know what to say to him however so, you just gave him a small smile before turning your attention back to your shake.
Johnny on the other hand, didn't find any humor in the situation in the slightest. He had seen you around for a while and tried to talk to you a handful of times. But, something just always seemed to get in the way of each and every one of his attempts. Out of all the ways he wanted to finally meet you, this was definitely not one he would've picked.
He could see Dallas looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He looked completely confused, not realizing why Johnny was in such shock all of the sudden.
"The heck's wrong with you?" He asked bluntly.
Johnny could feel his face heat up, struggling to find the right words to say.
"They're the person I was talkin' about before." He muttered, hoping you wouldn't hear.
"Oh..." Dallas said, looking over at you before turning back to Johnny. "Go talk to them then man." He urged.
"I can't now." Johnny said incredulously.
"It's just paper Johnny, it's not like you threw food at 'em." Pony reassured him.
Suddenly, another white wrapper came into Johnny view, hitting him right on the chest. He looked up to see you smiling at him mockingly before tossing the unused straw back onto the table.
"I have to agree with your friend there it is just paper." You said calmly. "I think we have the same History class, you're Johnny right?"
Johnny just nodded in reply, feeling relief that you were even annoyed with him.
"I'm Y/N..."
Before Johnny had the chance to reply to you. One of the disgruntled waitresses from before came by, groaning in annoyance at the sight of the white wrapper on the floor.
"That's it, you boys are outta here. I'm tired of cleaning up after you three!" She said sternly, giving the three boys an angry stare.
"We didn't even-" Dallas started, but the waitress was having none of his excuses.
"Oh don't even try to pull that innocent stunt on me! You three are the only ones who were doing that. Get out, now." The waitress ordered before storming off to the front counter.
With much reluctance, Johnny got up from the booth. Just when he had gotten the chance to finally talk to you, another obstacle was getting into his way.
"Uh." You suddenly spoke up, making Johnny halt in his movements. "Sorry I got you booted but... I'll see you around sometime?"
Johnny nodded, giving you a small smile. "Yeah sure."
"You are going to get out or-"
"Alright, we're goin' already!" Dallas interjected loudly before pretty much dragging Johnny out the door.
You leaned back into the booth as you watched them leave, scoffing humorously at the interaction you had with him.
"Well, that's one way to meet someone..."
~~~
"It was a great first impression." You said genuinely.
Johnny shook his head, now smiling himself. "I'd say it was more memorable than great."
"Memorable's great too." You replied reassuringly. "Made sure I wouldn't forget about you." You added, giving him a kiss on the cheek.
Johnny looked back down at you, his heart racing as he did. No matter how long he had been together with you, his heart still had a mind of it's own...
"I'm real glad you didn't forget..."
~~~
A/N: Sorry if these might be taking a bit longer than you might've like. I'll try to get these request out quicker :)
If anyone would like to make a request of their own, check out this list for all the prompts I'm doing!
Images do not belong to me.
#the outsiders imagine#the outsiders#johnny cade#johnny cade x reader#the outsiders x reader#johnny cade imagine
165 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
sonnymoltisanti-blog
rain dance
zerosuitsammie
Zerosuitsammie
jonismitchell
guilty as sin?
reputatiecoaching
ReputatieManagement & ReputatieCoaching
amaljariyahmembangunmasjid-blog
Amal Jariyah Membangun Masjid Program Yayasan Syekh Ali Jaber