priscilla 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

the pitt, the boys, supernatural, er, animal kingdom

[cillasvilla]

PRISCILLA - 20, she/her

masterlists the pitt the boys supernatural john carter pope cody

[dollivic]

JUST KNOW THAT I’LL WILL FIND MY WAY TO YOU

summary: Exes who can’t seem to stay away always find their way back. When Sam goes on a hunt alone, he ends up running into his ex or was it intentional?

warnings: black cat x golden retriever trope! making out, sexual tension,mention of blood and death (not them), reader teasing sam, fluff, different povs, hate everyone but sam (he just can’t know it)

The rain in Ohio didn’t just fall it clung to everything like a damp wool blanket.

Sam sat in front of the seat of the impala, the heater blowing dust and dry air into his face as he stared at the flickering neon sign of the diner. He was supposed to be tracking a shapeshifter.

The heavy thud of the car door shutting was the only sound in the gravel lot, instantly swallowed by the quiet of the night. Sam stepped out into the cool air, his flashlight his flash light cutting a sharp beam through the darkness until it landed on the crumble shape slumped against a nearby concrete barrier. He drew his weapon, stepping closer, but the tension in his shoulders dropped the moment he saw the dark, streaming pool of black blood.

He crouched down, shining the light on the monsters chest.

Sam knew the rules of being an ex-hunter boyfriend: you don't call, you don't look up their coordinates on the police scanners, and you definitely don't hope to run into them on a solo hunt. Yet, as he stared at the clean, precise knife cuts on the monster's chest, he knew. It was her signature. Sharp, efficient, and completely reckless.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked down at the freshly slain beast. Even if he hadn’t been the one to drop it, he couldn’t just leave a monster corpse rotting in a diner gravel lot. It took twenty minutes of heavy lifting, dirt under his fingernails, and a makeshift grave behind a row of pine trees to get the job done.

Back in the front seat of the car, Sam turned the key just enough to kick on the dashboard lights. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

It took four rings before a raspy congested voice answered. “yeah?”

"Hey. You alive?" Sam asked, leaning his head back against the headrest.

“Barely,” Dean groaned, followed by the wet, pathetic sound of sneeze. “My head feels like a bowling ball and the motel cable only has three channels. Tell me you got the damn shifter so i can sleep in peace.”

"I found it," Sam said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "Or, well... someone else did. I just got to the parking lot and it was already dead. Clean slash right through the chest."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The sound of shifting blankets echoed through the speaker. "Wait. Clean slash? like you know"

"Yeah," Sam murmured, his voice softening. "Exactly like that."

A heavy, congested chuckle came through the phone. "Oh, man. Your girlfriend's in town. Have fun with that, Sammy."

“She’s my ex, Dean,” Sam rolled his eyes, through there was no real heat in it. “And she’s not my—“

"Whatever you say, kid. Don't do anything I wouldn't do. Which, let's face it, leaves you with zero options. I'm going back to sleep."

The line went dead.

Sam tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, shaking his head with another eye-roll. He put the car in drive and pulled out of the lot, checking his notebook for his next lead a local bar where the victims had last been seen.

As he drove, a strange, warm flutter bloomed in his chest. He tried to brush it off, tried to tell himself he was just focused on the case. But he couldn't deny the sudden, quiet rush of adrenaline at the thought that, sometime tonight, he was going to see her again.

The neon sign of The Rusty Anchor flickered against the damp brick wall, casting a buzzing red glow over the wet pavement. Sam pulled his brown jacket tight against him and pushed open the heavy wooden door. The smell of stale beer and fried food hit him instantly.

He slid onto a stool at the bar, casually flipping open his leather badge wallet to reveal his fake FBI ID. "Evening. Agent Landis. I’m looking into the recent string of unusual deaths in the area."

The bartender, a tired-looking guy wiping down a glass with a dirty rag, barely blinked. “Already talked to one of your partners earlier today, Agent.

Sam’s brow furrowed, head tilted. He and Dean hadn't talked to anyone yet. "My partner?"

"Yeah. Short lady. Had a real attitude on her, too," the bartender said, setting the glass down. "Wore a black jacket, gold rings, and these low-rise jeans. She came in, ordered a club soda, and started asking the exact same questions about the victims. Then she played a single game of pool by herself, cleaned the table, and walked out without saying goodbye."

Sam’s heart gave a sudden, violent thump that the thought of what she’s wearing.

He knew the way she chalked a pool cue, her eyes sharp and scanning the room while pretending to focus on the game. It was her. She was already ahead of him.

"Right," Sam said, clearing his throat and trying to keep his voice completely professional despite the sudden rush of adrenaline. "My partner. Did she say where she was heading next?"

Leaving the bar behind, Sam drove back to the motel, the tires crunching softly on the wet gravel. He slipped his keycard into Dean’s room first to check on him. The space was an absolute disaster empty soup cans littered the nightstand, tissues were piled like tiny snowdrifts on the floor, and Dean was sprawled face-down across the mattress, snoring so loudly the cheap light fixtures practically rattled.

Sam rolled his eyes, a fond but exasperated huff escaping him as he quietly shut the door and walked over to his own room.

He swiped his key, stepped into the dark room, and tossed his duffel bag onto the luggage rack. Weary from the long drive and the grave-digging, he unbuttoned his jacket, tossing it onto the bed, and reached up to take of his shirt. He turned around, pulling the fabric from his collar and froze.

Sitting in the worn armchair in the corner of the dim room, one leg elegantly crossed over the other, was a shadow. As his eyes adjusted, the faint neon light from the motel sign outside caught the slight smile on her lips and the dark, glossy leather of her jacket.

You leaned your head back, lips curving into a slow, wicked smirk.

"You stalking me now, Sammy?" you asked, voice a low, teasing purr that cut straight through the quiet room.

Instantly, a hot, furious blush rushed up Sam's neck, heat blooming across his cheeks. He practically choked on his own breath, his fingers fumbling with shirt as he tried to find his words.

"I—no! I'm not stalking you," he stammered, his voice cracking slightly as he took a hasty, defensive step backward. "I was, I'm on a case. A lead. I was actually just investigating at the bar, and-and how did you even get in here?"

your smirk only widened at his reaction, dark eyes glittering with amusement as you watched him squirm. you loved how easily she could throw the giant, entirely off his game after all she knew how to get under his skin and under him.

"Locks are easy, Winchester," you murmured, standing up slowly, the sheer magnetic pull of her presence filling the small space between them. "And you're still a terrible liar."

you took a slow, deliberate step toward him. The heels of your boots clicked quietly against the cheap linoleum, a sound that seemed to beat in sync with the sudden hammering in Sam’s chest. you stopped just inches away, looking up at him through your eyelashes. your eyes dragged down his frame noting the sharp line of his V line and the way he’s gotten so much bigger , the way his hands still twitched near his collar you were subtly checking him out without a single shred of shame.

you let out a soft, amused hum.

What?" Sam asked, his voice coming out a little breathless. He reached up, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck as he tried to find somewhere else to look besides your lips.

you didn't answer right away. you just stared at him, hiding the way your heart did a tiny, familiar flutter at his sheer awkwardness. you loved that you still had this effect on him.

"What do you got?" you asked finally, tilting your head.

Sam just stood there. He was completely spaced out, drowning in the scent of your perfume and the sheer reality of you being right here in his room. He stared down at you like a hopelessly love-sick puppy, his mind a total, fuzzy blank.

"Huh?" he mumbled, blinking.

you let out a quiet, mocking laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "The case, Winchester. What do you have on the case?"

Sam let out a soft huff, a quiet smile finally breaking through his shyness. He raised his eyebrows at you, crossing his arms over his chest. "First time I've seen you in months, and that's the first thing you have to say to me?"

you let out a slight laugh, rolling your eyes as you took another half-step forward. The distance between them was shrinking fast. "Oh, I’ve seen you, Sammy. You just haven’t seen me."

A fresh wave of heat rushed to his face, but this time, a playful grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down slightly, matching your level. "Oh, really? So who’s the stalker now?"

"I’m not stalking, I'm monitoring," your corrected smoothly, your voice dropping to a teasing murmur as you stepped directly into his space. he was close enough now that he could feel the faint warmth radiating from you, close enough to see the quiet, hidden fondness in your eyes that you tried so hard to mask. "There's a difference."

"Right, monitoring," Sam echoed, his voice suddenly thick. He didn't back away this time. Instead, he held her gaze, the playful banter melting into a heavy, charged silence that reminded them both of exactly why they were so dangerous to each other.

"Did you want something?," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck. you pulled him in, pressing soft kisses to his neck, taking your time to build what you’re were about to do to him. When you sucked at the spot right beneath his ear, he let out a whimper, throwing his head back slightly to give her more access to his neck and more.

The tension breaks the moment you close the final inch of distance between them, Sam’s mind completely shorts out. His hands hover in the air for a fraction of a second

Within seconds, he wrapped his arms around you and leaned in deeper into the kiss that grew deeper by the second.

When you tried to pull away to get the air you needed and so does sam but he wouldn't let you, he pulled you deeper by the waist. You pull him down more your tongue slipping in his mouth. He lets out a loud whimper understandably. You two haven’t , held and kissed each other in months and that was enough reason for sam. He had been waiting for this. Craving you.

Craving your lips on his, craving your hands wandering up and down his body, craving you whispering sweet nothings into his ears. Telling you how much you missed him. Telling him how good he was for you.

you slowly push him back, guiding him towards the bed. smoothly taking off your jacket.

click

The sharp, sudden sound of a card swiping in the connecting door shatters the silence.

The door flies open, and Dean freezes in the threshold, wrapped in a blanket, looking pale, congested, and completely bewildered. "What the hell?" he croaks, his voice thick with a head cold.

You pull away from Sam smoothly, not a single hair out of place, while Sam hurry’s and stand up looking flushed, breathless, and looking like he just got caught stealing from the cookie jar. You look over at Dean, and roll your eyes.

"Shut up, Dean," you say flatly.

Without another word, you brush past him, stepping out into the cool night air. The heavy motel door slams shut behind you, the sound echoing through the gravel lot.

a/n: yes there is a part 2 (maybe😗) and this is not edited sorry!!!

[butcheredsaint]

what’s your girl dad butcher headcanons???

OOOO I love this ask 😭 Here are some of my Butcher girl dad headcanons:

• He’d swear up and down that he never wanted kids..then he’d have a daughter and suddenly she’s the most important person in his entire world.

• He’d buy her gifts that are very Butcher coded!! Toy dinosaurs, little leather jackets, Doc Martens when she’s older, nerf guns, silly keyrings he’d spotted while out, a stuffed bulldog, and every Christmas she’d end up with way more presents than he ever intended to buy.

• If she pointed at something in a shop and said, “That’s cute!,” he’d grumble about wasting money..then somehow it’d mysteriously appear on her bed a few days later.

• If she was sad, he’d be absolutely hopeless with words. He isn’t the type to give a big emotional speech. Instead, he’d quietly sit beside her, hand her a cup of tea or hot chocolate, put an arm around her shoulders and mutter, “Come ‘ere then, sweetheart. Tell me who I’m sortin’ out.”

• The second she cried because she’d hurt herself, he’d panic internally. Outside he’d stay calm while cleaning up the scrape and sticking a plaster on while muttering, “You’re alright, love. Looks worse than it is.” Then he’d absolutely spoil her for the rest of the day.

• She’d 100% have him wrapped around her finger. The same man who’d tell Homelander to piss off would immediately cave if his daughter asked for one more bedtime story.

• Hughie would become the designated babysitter whether he liked it or not. Billy would constantly dump her with him then threaten him with bodily harm if anything happened. “You lose ‘er, Campbell, and I’ll bury ya.”

• Frenchie would teach her random bits of science she definitely didn’t need to know, Kimiko would happily colour with her for hours, and MM would be the responsible uncle making sure she actually ate vegetables.

• She’d climb all over the Boys without asking. Sitting on MM’s shoulders, stealing Frenchie’s goggles, drawing on Hughie’s notebook..and Billy would just stand there smirking because she’d somehow turned the most dysfunctional group of people into doting uncles.

• Billy would absolutely insist they all bring her birthday presents. He’d act like he didn’t care, but if one of them forgot he’d never let them hear the end of it.

• Nobody was allowed to swear around her lol..except Billy, apparently. He’d accidentally let one slip, hear a tiny voice repeat it five minutes later, and immediately look around the room like, “Right..who taught ’er that then?” Everyone would just stare at him.

• At the end of the day, she’d fall asleep on his chest while he absent mindedly played with her hair. He’d stay completely still for hours because the last thing he’d ever want to do is wake her.

————-

The image of Butcher acting like a menace to everyone else but secretly making sure every single member of the Boys spoils his daughter is soooo fucking wholesome. I can picture Hughie turning up with a stuffed toy, Frenchie bringing back some weird little trinket from a mission, Kimiko teaching her sign language, and MM making sure she has actual routines because Billy certainly won’t. It’s such a fun dynamic🥹🖤

[jewellaces]

Asking your neighbor for a wrench ꨄ︎

Summary: Your dad asks you to run next door and borrow a wrench from your neighbor, Beau Arlen. When you return home, you find your dad fast asleep on the couch. You head straight back to Beau’s garage where you end up getting a lot more than just a wrench.

Warnings: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, age gap, thigh riding, finger sucking, praise, unprotected sex, risky, public setting, mild power imbalance.

wc: 1.3k

“Hey hun, can you ask Beau if he has an extra wrench?” your dad yelled from under the truck, his voice echoing in the garage.

You were sitting on the tailgate of the pickup, legs dangling, sipping cold lemonade. The ice clinked against the glass as you sighed.

“Yeah,” you called back, jumping down and sliding your feet into your sandals.

“Thanks, kiddo.”

You crossed the yard to Beau Arlen’s house, the grass warm under your feet. With a quiet knock, you waited on his porch steps, nervously fiddling with the thin strap of your tank top.

The door swung open and there he was, tall, easy smile, flannel shirt unbuttoned just enough to be distracting.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Beau drawled, his grin widening when he saw you.

“Hi, Beau,” you said, still tugging at your strap. “My dad was wondering if you had an extra wrench he could borrow?”

Beau’s eyes flicked down to your hand, then back up to your face. He reached out and gently caught your fingers, stopping your fidgeting. His touch was warm and steady as he tugged you inside.

“What kind of wrench, baby?” he asked, leading you through the house toward the garage, thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

You shrugged, heart beating a little faster. “I don’t know… a normal one?”

He chuckled as he opened a large metal toolbox. Tools clinked inside as he searched. After a moment he glanced back at you.

“Why don’t you go ask your daddy exactly what type he needs?”

You sighed, turning on your heels, cheeks already feeling warm.

“Okay, be right back.”

You jogged back across the yard, but when you reached the garage, your dad was already passed out on the old couch inside, snoring softly with a rag still in his hand. A small smile tugged at your lips. You turned around and ran straight back to Beau’s house.

“Hey Beau,” you said, slightly out of breath as you stepped into the garage. “He said any wrench will do.”

“Oh yeah?” Beau shook his head with a knowing smirk, walking back over to the big toolbox. He popped it open, pulled out a wrench, and handed it to you.

“Here you go, baby.” He patted the top of your head gently, his hand lingering for a second.

You took it, then immediately shook your head. “This isn’t the right one.”

“Oh really? It ain’t?” He scoffed, clearly amused.

“Mhm. It’s not,” you giggled, hopping up to sit on his workbench, legs dangling.

Beau watched you for a moment, eyes darkening. “It’s hot as hell out here. Why don’t you run inside and grab yourself something cold? While you’re in there, get me a beer. Then you can tell me which wrench is the right one.”

You smiled and hopped down, hurrying into the house. You grabbed a beer from the fridge for him and a cherry popsicle for yourself from the freezer. When you came back out, you handed him the cold bottle.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

You hopped back onto the workbench and unwrapped the popsicle, swinging your legs as you licked it slowly. Beau’s eyes followed every movement.

“Hm, is this the right one?” 

You shook your head, deliberately letting the cold red juice drip down your chin.

Beau let out a low chuckle. “I think you’re just enjoyin’ the view, darlin’.” He stood up with a grunt and walked over to you, stopping right between your knees.

“Maybe,” you said, still kicking your feet playfully. “But I really do need to bring the right wrench back to my dad.”

He reached up and wiped the sticky juice from your chin with his thumb. Instead of pulling away, you looked him in the eyes and slowly licked the popsicle again, slow, deliberate, and suggestive. Beau’s jaw tightened, his gaze locked on your mouth.

“Careful now,” he warned, thumb still brushing your bottom lip. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not gonna let you leave this garage for a while.”

“And what if I want that?” you said with a shrug, voice sweet and a little breathless as you looked up at him.

Beau’s eyes darkened instantly. “Fuck, baby.”

He didn’t waste another second. His big hands grabbed your hips and pulled you forward on the workbench so your core pressed right against his thick thigh. The rough denim of his jeans rubbed against you through your thin shorts as he guided your hips in a slow roll.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he praised, voice low and rough. “Look at you, already so needy for me. Grind on my thigh like a good girl.”

You moaned softly, rolling your hips harder, chasing the friction. The popsicle slipped from your fingers and fell forgotten to the floor. Beau watched you with hungry eyes, one hand sliding up to cup your jaw.

“Open up,” he murmured.

You obeyed, parting your lips. He slipped two thick fingers into your mouth. You sucked on them instantly, tongue swirling around his digits just like you’d done with the popsicle. Beau groaned deeply.

“Atta girl, just like that. Suck my fingers nice and pretty while you hump my thigh. You’re doing so good for me, baby.”

The praise made you whimper around his fingers. You sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks, while your hips moved faster, grinding desperately against the hard muscle of his thigh. Wet heat soaked through your shorts as pleasure built quickly.

Beau’s free hand gripped your ass, helping you move. “That’s my good girl. So fuckin’ pretty like this. You gonna make a mess on my leg before I even get inside you?”

You nodded eagerly, moaning around his fingers. He pushed them deeper into your mouth, gently fucking them in and out while you rode his thigh. The pressure, the praise, and the filthy sounds of your own wetness had you trembling.

“Come on, darlin’. Let me feel you come like this,” he growled, eyes locked on your face. “Be a sweet girl and soak my thigh.”

The orgasm hit you hard. You cried out around his fingers, hips jerking as you came undone, thighs shaking against him. Beau kept praising you through it, voice warm and filthy.

“Good girl, that’s my baby. So perfect. Look at you makin’ such a pretty mess.”

You were still panting when he pulled his fingers from your mouth, slick with your spit. He kissed you deep and hungry, tasting you on his tongue. Without breaking the kiss, he yanked your shorts and panties down your legs in one rough motion.

He freed himself from his jeans, hard and heavy, and pulled you right onto him. You sank down with a broken moan as he filled you in one smooth thrust.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned against your neck. “Tight little thing… takin’ me so well.”

He fucked you right there on the workbench, deep, steady strokes while he kept whispering praise against your ear.

“That’s it, baby. Ride me just like that. Such a good girl for me, lettin’ me have you like this.”

Your arms wrapped around his neck, nails digging into his shoulders as another orgasm built fast. Beau’s grip on your hips tightened, thrusting harder.

“Come on, sweetheart. Come on my cock this time. Let me feel you.”

You shattered again with a loud cry, clenching around him. Beau followed right after, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he came inside you, hips stuttering.

For a long moment the only sounds were your heavy breathing and the distant birds outside. Beau stayed buried in you, pressing soft kisses along your neck and jaw, hands stroking your back gently.

“You okay, baby?” he whispered, brushing damp hair from your face. “Did so good for me.”

You nodded, still dazed and glowing, a shy little smile on your lips.

TAGS

[doveysalt]

LAUNDRY DAY // sam winchester

summary: laundry day rolls around, and sam is stuck guarding your clothes. he has too much time on his hands. word count: 1.3k tags: gn!reader (be warned: you're not very present here lol); sam's pov; pervert!sam; panty stealing; semi-public masturbation; scent kink. a/n: daydreamed about this in the middle of a busy work day and couldn’t stop smiling. i know where home is. anyway, here’s part one billion of sam jerking off in different locations because god knows he needs it to calm the hell down!!

Not many know this, but laundry day is one of the busiest days for a hunter — especially for the Winchesters. Living out of a bag isn’t the tidiest of work, especially when the brothers have to account for their many, many costume changes — fake police uniforms, safety vests, fitted suits and priestly attire. 

You find the whole thing absolutely hilarious. Compared to other hunters you’ve met, the Winchesters are by far the most committed to their craft.

“Is this… a Buc-ee’s uniform?” You snort whilst sorting the laundry into piles — lights on the left, darks on the right. You’re all in agreement that it’s best to pile everyone’s clothes together — family style — to save on money. You certainly don’t have the funds to complain.

Sam glances at you, huffing out a laugh. The cartoonish, buck-toothed beaver grins maniacally on the chest of the bright red T-shirt. “Yeah. Weird case, that one.”

You grin, holding the shirt against you as if seriously considering whether you should borrow it or not. It wouldn’t be the first time you shared clothes with Sam; he always has to downplay how much he likes the sight. “Did the case involve Buc-ee haunting the gas station, or…?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” he says with a small smile. He cringes a moment later when he lifts a pair of Dean’s dirty boxers up. He picks it up by the waistband with the very tips of his fingers, tossing it in with the dark pile. “God, this is gross. Dean, come touch your own stuff, man.” 

“In a second,” the older brother calls back, punching his thumb into the keypad of the laundromat’s vending machine. Dean returns to his station a moment later with a small bag of peanut M&M’s and a handful of quarters for the machine. He lets them clang against the top of the washer before looking between you two with a smile. “Hey, wanna vote on who gets to stay with the stinky socks?”

Sam glances at his brother, squinting. “And how, exactly, are we gonna decide that?” Nobody wants to be stuck sitting around with the laundry — everybody knows that.

“Easy,” Dean says. He touches his nose, quickly muttering, “Nose goes!” 

Before Sam can react, you drop a pair of your own pants to touch the tip of your nose. He sends you a look of absolute betrayal, and you shrug, smiling innocently. 

“What? He said nose goes, Sam. I have to respect it.”

Sam’s shoulders sink, and Dean pats his back with a shit-eating grin. “Tough luck, kid.” 

Once the three of you have sorted the laundry into piles, Dean hooks an arm around your shoulders, flashing a smile at his little brother. 

“We’re gonna play hooky. Call us when the chores are done, Sammy.”

You shoot Sam a pitying look, gently removing yourself from Dean’s side. “See you. Don’t have too much fun.”

The younger brother wears a tight smile, watching you leave with his brother, driving off to who-knows-where. He deflates once he’s alone in the laundromat, leaning against the washing machine with a heavy sigh. He begins to shove the clothing into the washing machine — lights in one, then on to the darks in a second machine. In the middle of tossing piles of clothes into the machine, something drops to the floor. Sam bends down to pick it up, only to stop in his tracks. 

Navy blue underwear, clearly yours, lay innocently upon the linoleum floor. Sam’s fingers twitch, still halfway to daintily picking them up and throwing them in with the rest of the load.  

Unfortunately, Sam’s cock twitches, too. 

He shouldn’t be this invested in a pair of underwear. They’re nothing spectacular — there’s not much time for sexy lingerie or lacy panties on the road — but they look soft. Gently worn and lived in. A vision of you wearing one of his shirts with a comfortable pair of underwear beneath is beamed directly into his brain, and he blinks hard, trying to will the arousing yet domestic image away. 

He’s going to pick them up, Sam tells himself, and he’s going to toss them in with the rest of the laundry. Simple as that. He’s not going to be weird about this. He’s certainly not the type to steal them like some creep.

…But he could always borrow them. Just for today — just for a few minutes, really. You’ve borrowed his clothes before, after all. What’s so different about this? 

Even Sam knows that explanation is flimsy bullshit, but it’s all he can offer when he suddenly shoves your underwear down his back pocket and sets the washer to run. The next hour and a half or so will surely be a miserable, boring wait anyway — he might as well have some entertainment. 

Sam glances around him before scurrying off to the restroom in the back corner. He locks the door behind him, presses his back to the door, and reaches for the underwear in his pocket. The fabric bunches up in his palm, crumpled in his big hand. Just looking at it is making him half-hard already. 

Hesitantly, Sam lifts the underwear to his face. He’s terribly curious to know what you smell like — even if pressing the gusset of your panties to his nose makes him blush from the shame of it. Sam inhales deeply, audibly sighing on the exhale. Every fantasy he’s ever had about stuffing his face between your legs is suddenly about to get far more vivid. 

Sam audibly moans, parting his lips against the fabric. He breathes against it for a minute, hot air blowing past his lips. Without thinking, he closes his mouth around the cotton gusset, sucking on your underwear. It’s embarrassing how he’s salivating, his spit wetting the navy dye into black. 

His jeans are already so fucking tight. Sam stuffs your panties in his mouth, holding them in place between his teeth while he reaches down, hastily pops the button, and parts the zipper’s teeth. The second his fingers curl around his cock, Sam stiffens further, standing at attention. He aggressively pumps his cock with his fist, drooling into your underwear all the while. The heady scent of you has him moaning into the cotton, his head thudding back against the door while he leaks into his palm. 

It’s not enough. 

Still drooling, Sam pulls the garment from his mouth, draping it around his stiff cock. He closes his damp hand over it, then begins the friction anew. Your panties are dragged up and down his shaft, getting soaked in spit and precum, until the fabric is little more than a damp rag for him to fuck into. Sam can still taste you, the flavor of your used undergarment lingering on his tongue. He groans, lashes fluttering as he gets off, finally cumming on your underwear with a stuttered sigh. 

When the post-orgasm clarity hits, Sam slumps against the door, still clutching the soiled panties around his softened cock. The fabric is utterly soaked through with fluids. Sam grimaces at his own handiwork, dragging your underwear over his cock to wipe up the overspill. Now that he’s holding the damp garment in his hand, he’s not sure what to do with it — but the sight of his cum soaking your underwear is truly picture-worthy. With shaking hands, he dares to flip open his phone to snap a photo. Something for later, he tells himself, that isn’t so deplorable. 

Sam washes his hands and reluctantly rinses off your underwear. He’s careful to make sure no one’s around — the laundromat is still empty, thankfully — and Sam quickly tosses your underwear in to be cleaned with the rest of the load. It’s out of his system now. 

Until he plucks them out of the dryer and stuffs them right back into his pocket, that is. A dirty little secret, a last minute decision that has him blushing. It’s fine, he assures himself. He’ll give them back the next time you have to do the laundry. 

You certainly won’t miss a single pair until then, right?

> masterlist. > main.

tag list . . . @ravenhood2792 @fuiabarcelos @bitesizedtales @sammy-simp

[themeraldee]

hi!! if ur still taking requests can i ask for something with prompt list #1 option 1 or 20.. :D

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 3.4k | Want to send your own request? | Prompt Queue | Homelander x female!Reader | Established Relationship. Happy moments. Fluffy sex. Using sex as comfort. Handjob.

You’ve always been a light sleeper. Moving from your dingy apartment in the dodgy part of the city to the top of the Vought tower meant that there were no more oppressive sounds of cars, drunken people, or fights right outside your window. It was quiet. It felt like for the first time you got to enjoy a whole night of peaceful sleep.

At first Homelander slept like a baby. With his arms around you, his chest tucked as closely to your back as possible, your warmth and comfort put him to sleep fast.

Those days you woke up rested, still in each other’s arms with his lips ghosting across your neck, placing a couple soft kisses in between a raspy ‘good morning’. Those were the good nights.

In your time together you’ve also discovered the bad nights.

You wake up to Homelander screaming, crying or thrashing around often enough that you’ve learned to manage it. 

One way or another.

Some nights it requires soft cooing words as you hold him close, rocking him from side to side, taking on the role of a mother soothing a crying child. Another night you hum anything that comes to mind—soft songs and rhythms that put Homelander to sleep faster than you’d expect. 

Some nights neither of you manages to fall asleep again so you sit in the dark of the room, talking in hushed voices akin to naughty kids staying up all night during a sleepover—worried the adults might overhear. While nobody is here to hear the two of you, the fantasy of a lighter moment in time feels too exhilarating to abandon.

You talk about anything and everything those nights. You talk about silly things like favourite colours and why there’s more to life than red, white, and blue—no, gold doesn’t count either.  Have big debates on what are statistically most likely to be people’s favourite meals or drinks—you insist it’s not milk—or what would be the most nutritionally logical food if you could only eat that for the rest of your life. It’s the type of conversations you’ve had with friends instead of studying or working. You’d think they’d be too mundane to entertain and distract Homelander but he’s glowing, immersed in the experience of a low-stakes conversation that won’t matter by the morning. The memory of a peaceful time, however, will.

You make it your mission to give him the sleepover experience he’s never had in those evenings.

You talk about life experiences and events—you even share your most embarrassing moments just to get his mind off things and pretend to pout and get mad when he can’t hold back his laughter. It’s a rare thing these days—you enjoy it fully even if it comes at your expense. 

You introduce him to many games. You play ‘Would You Rather’ for at least an hour. It gets sillier and sillier by the hour.

“Would you rather have the Deep as your best friend or never get another blowjob?”

“Oh Christ, can we go back to when I was picking between a hug and a kiss?”

“Nope, you gotta answer. That’s the rule of the game.”

The 4 am giggles have fully set off by now and you find just about everything funny. The choked noise of disbelief at the question alone sends you into a wheezing fit. Homelander pulls you closer, and you can’t stop the way your laughter makes you shake against him.

“What if it’s a long-distance friendship? I kick him out of the Seven and send him back to Sandusky.”

He’s bargaining and all it does is send you down another spiral of tears-in-your-eyes laughter.

“Still gotta be a best friend though. You’d have to get on the phone with him ever so often.”

“Fuck—okay, define best friend.” 

“Somebody you go to with your deepest, darkest secrets. Somebody to hold you close when you’re upset.”

“Mhmmm, I have you for that.” He nuzzles into your neck, pressing a couple cute kisses into your skin. You’re so sensitive to laughter that the tickling sensation makes you burst into giggles. You make your escape but his iron grip doesn’t let you get far.

“You’d have to go to him too! What if we get into a fight? You gotta talk to your bestie Kevin about that.”

“Please, don’t ever say that—You know what—I mean—pfft—blowjobs are overrated anyway. Handjobs are still on the table, right? We’ll just have to get your hand really wet and then it’s no skin off my back.”

“Wow, okay, I’ll remember this.”

“Babe—”

The petulant tone just sends you into another fit of giggles—you swear your abs are gonna ache in the morning.

“Alright, your turn. Would you rather be skinned alive or burned alive?”

“What?! Those are horrible options. The fact that you’re even making me think about it is mean enough.”

“Exactly—now you know what I’m going through. Not that I’d let either happen. You know I’d save you, right?”

“Yeah, your water bestie could put out the fire.” 

“Alright, now you’ve done it.” 

The tickle fight that ensues makes you scream with laughter, begging for mercy like you’ve never had to before.

That ends the ‘Would you Rather?’ round and you move onto more unique games. You start enjoying Homelander’s powers for silly reasons. You’ve seen them in action, you’ve even seen him abuse them in bed but never have you just… had fun with them.

That night breaks another first for you both.

You’re both lying on your back staring up at the ceiling. Homelander’s using his penetrative vision to see through all the layers of the tower’s rooftop, pointing out the direction of stars he can see.

“How far can you even see?”

“Well, far, but they’re pretty fucking far away. Still just looks like a spec in the sky. Do you want to fly out with me? We can hover in the sky, watch the stars together.” It’s romantic and sweet but you’re more than content with just being next to him here. No great feats or displays of powers necessary—insane eyesight aside. Plus the bed is awfully comfortable and his body is oh so warm against you.

“No, I want to stay here. But let’s do that another night, I think that’s a really fun idea.” 

You tuck yourself closer to him, his arm automatically wraps around you, stroking up and down the side of your arm as he looks in other directions telling you all he can see through buildings and how many layers he manages to see through. You feel him puff his chest out anytime you let out a particularly amazed ‘wow’. 

When his discoveries lend to people getting ready in the early mornings or having sex is when you shut this activity down. But the laughter he’s freely sharing with you just might be worth invading other people’s privacy.

You spend these nights together until the dawn breaks. Both of you end up feeling more tired than usual in the middle of the day, but one knowing look is enough to put a fond smile on your face.

There are, however, some nights that are harder to recover from. His nightmares can leave him shaky and tense in the confusing state of in-between sleep and wakefulness and sometimes words are not enough to untangle the mess in his head.

He lashes out, screams, or pushes you away—seeing you for someone else.

He’s turned away from you. Too frazzled to even seek out your comfort. You know a part of him is worried that he’ll lose control of his lasers and blow two holes cleanly through your skin and bone—he’s said so before. You can’t say that hasn’t crossed your mind before, but he’s not hurt you yet—even accidentally. 

He’s not asleep, you can tell he’s still tense. He’s clutching the shared duvet so tight, it’s a straight line across your bodies. He nearly pinches it entirely off your side. Glancing into the mirror across from him doesn’t help you. While the moonlight illuminates the room, it’s not enough for your average eyes to discern anything more than vague silhouettes.

“Homelander,” you tap his shoulder gently with your fingertips, resisting the urge to pull back when he flinches. “It’s okay.” The rest of your fingers land on his hot, soft skin, slowly lowering your palm fully over his shoulder blade. You rub in slow circles over the tense muscle. He’s almost scorching hot, as if all that pent up frustration and inability to pulverize a target to release the pressure cooks him from the inside out.

“I’m fine—” His voice is hoarse yet one you could barely call menacing.

“Sh, sh, shhh…” You cut in, letting your tone extend into silence as your hand moves closer to his spine stroking your knuckles along the left side of it. “Just focus on me.”

If there’s one thing he’s even more affected by than the messy thoughts in his head it’s touch. Simple press of skin against skin that would mean nothing to anybody else. No matter how long you’ve been together, the novelty of every time you go out of your way to touch him has not worn off. Whether it’s holding his hand or seeking out a hug, he makes you feel like that’s the best part of his day.

You alternate between stroking with the back of your finger across his nape, just about meeting the short hairs and turning down to his back, palming over the expanse of his bare skin.

Anything to get his mind out of the dark spiral you drag your finger in the shape of letters across his back, spelling out a range of words and phrases ranging from ‘Homelander’ to ‘I love you’.

You smile to yourself once you see the tension of his shoulders release with a sigh. Your lips swap shifts with your fingers and you place little kisses across his neck and shoulders, enjoying the way he shudders and leans closer to you.

“Mhmm… closer.” He rumbles softly, his voice more a purr than the tension-strung rasp it was before.

You grin into the kiss you’re placing against his shoulder as you scoot over, your body now firmly pressed against his back. Homelander sighs in relief, the presence of you grounding. Your arm snakes in between his arm and his side as you let it limply curl around his midriff.

It’s not enough for Homelander. He grasps your hand in his own, pressing it firmly against his chest. He releases a heavy breath with the added pressure of your palm in between his pecs. Once he lets go, his own hand now hanging limp and loose with the fatigue of waning adrenaline rush, your hand kneads the pliable muscle and skin, nails making little lines in between the swirly chest hair.

Surprising even yourself, you let out a salacious little heavy breath when your hand goes in to cup his pec from the bottom giving it a squeeze. Without a thought you press your hips against his ass as if you could grind into him from this angle.

Getting a handful of his pec feels obscene enough to him too, except Homelander isn’t shy about the raspy moan he lets out. Feeling encouraged, your fingers give his nipple a squeeze before going back to kneading both of his pecs, one after the other, with a little thrust from your hips against his. Most of it isn’t even conscious, your body just reverts to what it knows best. Comforting one another through sex has always been a reliable remedy.

His body feels so good in your hands. Suddenly you wish he was lying underneath you so you could get two glorious handfuls of his tits, squeezing them and seeing the look on his face as you do. Even with the time passing the room is still too dark for you to make out his expression through the mirror’s reflection.

“You want me to take care of you?” The deep rasp of your voice should embarrass you but the need with which you run your hand across his body takes over.

His nod is followed by a nearly inaudible whimper.

His nerves are long gone but he’s not eager to twist this moment into your usual dynamic. The feel of a phantom hand that he cannot see is a thrilling change to your usual comforts.

Your hand slides down to his stomach, squeezing the side of him before tracing lines across his skin—teasing the line of his waistband.

“It’s okay John, I’ll make you feel so good.” You whisper his name into his ear like a dirty secret. Homelander groans and bucks his hips forward on autopilot—his body used to the naughty sensation of grinding against your silhouette in the middle of the night. This time he doesn’t meet the soft swell of your ass in front of him so he pivots, pushing back against you instead.

Your hand settles over the top of his soft cotton sleeping pants. Part of you is glad he’s worn them today, the feeling of them is divine when you brush up and down his thighs. While the feeling of his bare thighs against your palm is a nicer indulgence you enjoy the way he jumps when you squeeze, not expecting the faint sensation to turn so vivid within half a second.

He’s so jumpy like this. He has nothing to be afraid of nor surprised by. It’s not the first time you’ve touched him by a mile. Yet he’s acting like a virgin hitting third base.

He gasps out loud when your hand slides across his cock. He’s already hard. You wonder what was the first thing that made his cock jump in excitement in your comforting gestures today.

He’s usually more of an active participant in your bedtime activities but today he’s letting you lead. It’s a nice change. His cock is hard and hot through the fabric of his sleeping pants. He’s not wearing any underwear so you get to feel the glorious fullness and heft of his cock through the soft cotton, gift wrapped just for you.

You lose yourself in the feeling of your hand gliding over the thick outline of him up and down. The softness of the material against the pulsating hardness is a fun textural feast to experience. It’s mouth-watering. Homelander always needs, yearns so strongly his body takes over where his words don’t hold up.

“You’re doing so well, baby.” You continue whispering in his ear, kissing tiny little tickling kisses into his neck right under his ear. “Does this feel nice?” You ask, sweet as honey, as you cup his balls through his pants before returning to tapping your fingers across the head of his cock, feeling the wet little patch where he’s soaked through the material stick to your finger each time.

“Do you want more?” You tap your fingers across his considerable length.

“Uh-huh.” His response is clipped and breathy, choking on the way he’s been holding in his overwhelming reactions.

You both hiss in unison when your hand squeezes tight around his cock, feeling the pulse thud confidently against your grip. You rarely get to feel him tent a pair of loose-fitted pants like this. His suit is rigid and unforgiving—removing the fun of feeling his cock ache to be touched directly.

Even though you’re enjoying this soft play a little too much, making your own underwear damp the same way he’s making his pants at the highest point, you want your man to relax. He’s gone back to feeling tense and high-strung. Albeit for nicer reasons.

Your fingertips dance around the thin elastic band, finally slipping underneath and wrapping around his thick cock. The skin of his shaft is velvety soft and smooth, a treat for your hands when you feel the bump of his underside vein throb under your fingertips. You need better leverage to grip him properly and give him a good long stroke.

“Help me out?” You nudge at the fabric.

Instead of just pulling the waistband down enough to give you full access to his heavy cock, Homelander rips the fabric off, letting it separate at the seams and fall in tatters down on the bedroom floor next to his side of the bed.

You can’t deny that the effortlessness of it sends a thrill down your spine. You’ve long stopped him from ripping your clothes off anytime things get heated fast because you got frustrated with having to replace your wardrobe each month—seeing this makes you reconsider.

You let out an airy little laugh, “yep, that’ll do. Thank you.” You reward him with a little kiss on his neck. He preens and exposes more of his skin, letting you nuzzle into him fully. Daringly, you lick a line up the pretty slope and attempt to suck a hickey into the softest part of his neck. You fail—of course—but you’re persistent, surely one of these days it’s going to take.

You finally wrap your hand around his bare cock, forming a fist over the head. The poor man has been diligently leaking pre-cum, thoroughly wetting the head from where he rubbed it against the fabric.

You coat your hand in the substance, rubbing the smooth tip in a circle before you slide down, stroking just over the edge of his tip. It’s a sensitive part of him, you feel his thigh twitch against you involuntarily.

You spread his wetness down his shaft, impressively there’s enough of it for this to be a smooth comfortable slide of your hand. So attuned to each other’s bodies you both groan at the first full stroke of your fist down the entire length of his cock.

Your hand repeats the motion, stroking up and down in a soothing rhythm, neither too fast nor too slow. Just right. Even a simple rhythm is too much for poor Homelander who’s nearly trembling all over at the way your hand twists at the top. 

His cock makes a little wet squelchy noise when your fist runs over the head and closes at the top. It shouldn’t make you as wet as it does but there’s something inherently sexy about his body getting so aroused he’s produced enough pre-cum to slick your hand fully.

Your thumb slides over the tip and across the slit each time you stroke upwards, reaching a faster, heavier rhythm. The thud of your hand is nearly embarrassingly loud in the quiet home as your fist meets his hips at a steady interval.

Homelander’s freely whimpering now—to an untrained ear he sounds closer to sobbing (and he might well be) but you know that his most tortured whimpers equate to the best pleasure. 

It doesn’t even take beyond two minutes in total for him to fall apart. Your hand concentrates at the top of his cock, gliding over the edge of the head seamlessly, sending electric pleasure down his limbs. His cock twitches all over, throbbing heavy and hard in your hand.

His wet choked up moan is all you get as a warning before his entire body flexes and releases, his cock spurting pearly white ropes of come over your fist and his torso. He’s even managed to reach up to his neck. You give him a couple more deep and long strokes, really squeezing it all out of him.

With a heavy sigh he sags against the mattress, all of the fight and stress released out of him. In more ways than one.

“Mhm, that was beautiful.” You lean over and finally give him a little peck on his lips.

“Thankss for….mhmmmm… that.” His speech is slurred and a little heavy but the content smile on his face is all the thanks you need.

“Tissue?” He groans weakly and you nod, turning towards your end of the bed, plucking a wet wipe or two out of the package.

By the time you turn around with the wet tissues he’s asleep, huffing little sleepy breaths as you wipe his chest down off his own mess. Since he’s already asleep you go the extra mile to get out of bed and walk to the nearest trash and dispose of the tissue.

On the way back to bed you notice it’s gone 4am already. Settling back into bed hoping to fall asleep quickly you’re surprised when Homelander turns around, spooning you just like you did him earlier, huffing a quiet sleepy breath and settling his head against the top of your back.

Regardless of how the night goes, you will always have each other to rely on.

Taglist (you can add(or remove) yourself to be tagged when I publish a new fic):

@infinetlyforgotten | @rafecamsgirlll | @nervoussystemss | @hom3landr | @mrsdesade | @nommingonfood | @littlegaaby | @jokesonyoupup | @natliecole | @chaimshelii | @gingeraleluke | @sing1art | @biodegradable-glitter-fest | @woahhajimes | @aprosiacperson | @alexxavicry | @emolander | @strayy-cat | @deathbloomofficial | @hurts-my-brain | @inyuuu678 | @cillasvilla

[mcschnuggles]

[baynton]

[imjunebitch]

[jewellaces]

One week with dad's best friend ৻ꪆ

Summary: Your dad leaves to go on a business trip, leaving you with Beau Arlen, your dad's best friend. He was supposed to keep you safe, instead he ruined you for anyone else.

ᢉ𐭩 Warnings: MDNI, 18+, NSFW, large age gap, drunk sex, lots of praise and pet names, finger sucking, unprotected sex

wc: 3.6k

Your dad had mentioned he’d be gone for a week. That was fine, you’d handled a few days on your own before.

But this time was different.

“Beau’s gonna stay over for a bit, alright?” he said, eyes glued to the football game on the TV, barely glancing your way.

You stopped in the middle of the living room. “Wait—what? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious, hun.” He took a long swig of his beer. “No arguments.”

“Come on, Dad, I’m eighteen. I’m perfectly fine by myself,” you argued, stepping right in front of the screen to block his view.

He leaned sideways with a sigh. “No arguments. And you’re lucky it’s Beau. Could’ve been your grandma.” He waved you out of the way, muttering, “At least he won’t knit and lecture you about your love life.”

You groaned, but the conversation was clearly over. He was already focused back on the game.

Later that evening, the doorbell rang.

You opened it and there he was, Beau Arlen, in the flesh. Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing a worn flannel over a dark t-shirt, and jeans. His stubble was a little thicker than usual.

“Hey, kiddo,” Beau said as he dropped his duffel bag just inside the door. “Heard I’m on babysitting duty for the week.” He grinned and reached out to ruffle your hair.

You dodged his hand quickly. “No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, he is,” your dad cut in, giving you a pointed look from the couch. “And don’t give him a hard time, alright? It wasn’t his choice, it was mine.”

“I know, Dad,” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

Your dad sighed and pushed himself up. “I better hit the road.” He pulled you into a quick hug and kissed your forehead. “Love you, even if you hate me right now.”

You frowned but hugged him back. “Bye, Dad. Love you.”

He gave Beau a nod and a wave on his way out. The front door clicked shut, leaving the two of you alone in the sudden quiet of the house.

“Aww, bunny, don’t pout,” Beau said softly, patting the top of your head. He’d called you that since you were little, it was impossible to stay annoyed when he said it. “He’ll be back in a week.”

He smiled down at you, then grabbed his duffel bag again. You reached for the smaller one before he could.

“I can show you the guest room,” you offered.

Amusement flickered across his face as he followed you down the hallway. “Lead the way, hun.”

You led him down the hallway and pushed open the door to the guest room. It was simple but comfortable, fresh sheets, a big window, and the faint scent of laundry detergent.

“Here you go. There’s an extra blanket in the laundry room if you need it,” you said, nodding toward the end of the hall.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Beau gave your back a gentle, appreciative pat that lingered just a second longer than expected.

You swallowed hard at the warmth of his hand, then nodded quickly.

“Mhm. I’m gonna go make myself some food,” you mumbled, suddenly feeling awkward. You hadn’t exactly planned on having company.

“No worries, I won’t bother ya,” he replied easily. He tossed his duffel bag onto the bed and headed back toward the living room.

In the kitchen, you filled a pot with water and set it on the stove for ramen. A couple minutes later, a low voice rumbled behind you.

“Whatcha making?”

You startled slightly and pulled out one of your airpods. “Just some ramen,” you said, fidgeting with the strap of your tank top.

Beau’s eyes dropped to your hands. Without a word, he stepped closer and gently adjusted the strap for you, his fingers brushing your shoulder. Your breath caught.

“I can order us some pizza,” he offered, voice warm.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that…” You felt weird accepting. He was being so nice.

“Let me, hun. It’s been a while since it’s just been the two of us.” He leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his broad chest. “You used to crash at my place all the time when you were younger.”

You smiled despite yourself, memories flooding back. He really had been like an uncle to you growing up.

“Okay, fine,” you said with a small giggle, sliding onto one of the island counter stools.

Beau glanced up from his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen. “Cheese or pepperoni?”

“Whatever you want is fine.”

You started spinning slowly in the chair, feeling a little restless. Beau’s hand landed on the back of the stool, gently stopping your rotation.

“Careful now, bunny. You’re gonna make yourself dizzy,” he said, voice low and amused.

You looked up at him, suddenly aware of how close he was standing. The way he towered over you, green eyes crinkled with that familiar teasing smile.

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s alright,” he chuckled, ruffling your hair lightly. “You’re always moving, aren’t ya?”

He tapped a few more times on his phone, finishing the order. “Pizza should be here in about thirty. You still like cheesy breadsticks?”

“Okay, cool. Thank you,” you said with a smile, hopping off the barstool. “And yeah, I still like them.”

Beau nodded toward the hallway. “Go on, I’ll let you know when it’s here.”

“Thanks again!” You grabbed your phone and hurried to your room, relieved to have a few minutes to yourself.

You flopped onto your stomach on the bed, legs kicking lazily in the air as you scrolled through TikTok. A few minutes later, a soft knock sounded on your door before it cracked open.

“Hey, hun. Pizza’s here,” Beau said, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes flicked over you for a brief second.

“Oh, okay. Thanks.” You quickly pushed yourself up and adjusted your pajama pants before following him out.

On the kitchen counter sat a plate with two slices of your favorite pizza, already waiting for you. A small smile tugged at your lips.

“This looks really good, Beau. Thank you again.”

“Stop sayin’ thank you,” he chuckled, reaching over to pat the top of your head. “But you’re welcome. Now go eat.”

You carried your plate to the couch where he was already settled, a few slices in front of him as he watched some random game on TV. You sat down pretty close, closer than you probably needed to.

Without hesitation, Beau draped his arm along the back of the couch, his hand resting lightly behind your shoulders. He kept eating with his other hand.

You gulped at the warm weight of his arm, heat creeping up your neck. He’s just being friendly, you told yourself, trying to focus on your pizza instead of how good he smelled or how solid he felt beside you.

Once you finished your pizza, you grabbed Beau’s plate too and carried everything to the sink.

“Aww, thanks bunny,” he said, smiling as he watched you. “You used to hate doing the damn dishes as a kid. Look at you now… all matured.”

You felt the weight of his gaze on your back but kept your focus on the plates, a shy smile tugging at your lips. “I still hate it,” you admitted with a soft giggle, opening the dishwasher and sliding the plates inside.

Beau leaned back against the counter. “Your dad got any beer in this place?”

“Uh, yeah, probably in the garage fridge. I can grab you one.”

“Yeah, please. Thanks, hun.”

He headed back to the couch while you padded to the garage, the cold concrete making you shiver as it touched your bare feet. You pulled a cold beer from the fridge and hurried back inside.

“Here,” you said, handing it to him a little awkwardly.

Beau chuckled, taking the bottle from your hand. With an easy twist of his wrist, he popped the cap off. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You nodded quickly, suddenly feeling flushed, and retreated to your room with a quiet sigh, closing the door behind you.

The next couple of days in a strange, surprisingly comfortable rhythm. Beau had settled in easily, he made coffee in the mornings, fixed the loose handle on the kitchen cabinet your dad had been ignoring for months, and teased you every chance he got. You tried to keep your distance, but it was hard when he was always around, filling the house with his low laughter and that warm, steady presence.

By the second evening, you were curled up on the couch again, this time in an oversized hoodie and shorts, while Beau sat beside you. The TV played some action movie neither of you were really paying attention to.

His arm was draped comfortably around your shoulders, your legs pressed against his as you sat tucked close to his side.

You played nervously with the strings of your oversized hoodie, eyes glued to the action movie on the TV even though you weren’t really into it.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Beau asked, turning his head to look at you.

“Yeah… just bored,” you admitted quietly.

“Aww, you wanna watch somethin’ else, hun?” He reached for the remote, already willing to change it.

“No, it’s okay. I know you like it,” you shrugged.

Beau shook his head with a soft chuckle. “I’m fine with somethin’ else. I’m not gonna make you sit through this if you’re not enjoying it.” He gently squeezed your shoulder, his thumb brushing back and forth in a slow, absentminded motion. “What do you feel like watching, bunny?”

You hesitated, suddenly very aware of how warm he was and how nice his arm felt around you. Your heart picked up speed as you glanced up at him. For a moment, the movie was completely forgotten.

“Uhm, this is really fine, I swear,” you said, suddenly feeling shy and awkward under his attention.

Beau sighed softly, turning more toward you. He reached out and gently caught your chin between his thumb and fingers, tilting your face up to meet his eyes.

“I told you to pick, hun,” he said, his voice low and warm. His thumb slowly brushed across your cheek in a gentle caress. “So pick.”

Your breath caught. His touch was so casual, yet it sent warmth rushing through you. You nodded quickly, eyes wide as you looked up at him. After a second, you mumbled, “Okay… maybe that new horror movie?”

Beau’s mouth curved into a small smirk, but he didn’t pull his hand away right away. His thumb gave one last soft stroke against your cheek before he finally let go and switched the movie.

As the horror film started, the lights in the living room already low, he settled back against the couch and tugged you closer with the arm still around your shoulders. Your side pressed against his chest, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

“You scared of horror movies, bunny?” he teased quietly, glancing down at you.

“A little,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. You pulled your knees up slightly, subconsciously leaning more into his warmth.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.” His hand slid down from your shoulder to rest on your upper arm, rubbing slow, soothing circles.

The movie played on, but it was getting harder and harder to focus on anything except how close he was, the scent of his cologne, the heat of his body, and the way his fingers kept lazily tracing patterns on your arm.

The next day passed in a warm, hazy blur.

In the morning, Beau made breakfast, scrambled eggs and bacon, while nursing a cup of coffee and teasing you about how you looked half-asleep. He was still his usual charming self, but there was a new kind of tension simmering between you two. Every time he brushed past you in the kitchen, his hand would linger on your lower back. Every shared glance felt heavier.

The rest of the day was relaxed. He worked on his truck in the driveway for a while, and you kept him company, sitting on the hood and talking about nothing important. He took you out for lunch, then the two of you spent the afternoon watching movies and bickering over which ones were actually good. The touches kept coming, his arm around you on the couch, his fingers playing with your hair, the way he’d pull you into his side.

By evening, he’d spent it all on the couch with a six-pack, slowly working his way through it while the two of you watched movies. He wasn’t blackout drunk, but he was definitely feeling it.

You were still on the couch, the living room dark except for the glow of the TV. The movie had ended long ago, but neither of you had moved to turn it off. Beau’s arm was heavy around your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with your tank top.

“C’mere, bunny,” he murmured, voice thick with whiskey and want.

He gently pulled you closer until you were practically straddling his lap. His hands settled on your hips, thumbs slowly rubbing circles over the fabric of your shorts. For a while, he just looked at you, eyes half-lidded, breathing deep.

“You’re so damn pretty,” he said quietly, almost to himself. One hand came up to tuck your hair behind your ear, then lingered, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushed slowly across your bottom lip.

Your heart pounded. You leaned in first this time.

The kiss started slow, soft and tentative. Beau tasted like beer and something warmer. He let you set the pace for a few moments before he took control, tilting his head and deepening the kiss with a low groan. His tongue slid against yours lazily, unhurried, like he wanted to savor every second.

His hands slid under your tank top, palms hot against your bare skin as he explored your waist and lower back. He didn’t rush. He just kept kissing you, slow and deep, while his fingers traced lazy patterns up your spine and back down again.

You shivered when his hand drifted to your thigh, squeezing gently and pulling you tighter against him. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans.

“Been wanting this…” he breathed against your lips between kisses, voice rough. “Been good for four whole days, bunny. Tryin’ so hard not to touch you like this.”

He kissed you again, slower this time, one hand moving up to cradle the back of your neck while the other stayed on your thigh, inching higher. His mouth moved to your jaw, then down to your neck, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses that made your breath hitch.

You rocked against him instinctively. Beau let out a quiet, strained sound and gripped your hips tighter, guiding your movement just a little.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he whispered against your throat, even as he kissed you again, deeper. “We got all night…”

Beau pulled back just enough to look at you. His breathing was heavier now, chest rising and falling under you.

“Been thinkin’ about this since I got here,” he confessed, voice low and rough. His hands slid higher under your tank top, palms warm and calloused against your skin as he slowly mapped out your waist, your ribs, the curve of your sides.

You shivered at the touch. He smiled, slow and lazy, then leaned in again, kissing you deeper this time. The kiss was wet and unhurried, his tongue stroking yours in slow, deliberate movements that made your head spin. You could taste the beer on him, feel the slight stubble on his jaw brushing your skin.

One of his hands moved down to your ass, squeezing firmly and pulling you harder against him. You gasped into his mouth as you felt how hard he was beneath you. Beau groaned at the sound, the vibration traveling through your body.

“That’s it, bunny…” he murmured against your lips. “Keep makin’ those pretty little noises for me.”

You rocked your hips again, slower this time, grinding down against the bulge in his jeans. Beau’s grip on you tightened, guiding your movements with one hand while the other slipped further up your back, fingertips tracing your spine.

He broke the kiss to trail his mouth down your neck, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin just below your ear. When he found a spot that made you whimper, he stayed there, lavishing it with attention until you were trembling in his lap.

His hand under your shirt moved higher, thumb brushing just under the swell of your breast. He didn’t go further yet, just teased, slow and torturous, while his mouth continued its lazy exploration of your neck and collarbone.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, almost reverently. “So fuckin’ sweet.”

The slow grind of your hips becoming more needy. Beau’s breathing was ragged now, his hands gripping you tighter as he kissed you again, deeper, filthier, like he was losing the last bit of restraint he had left.

But even drunk, he was still gentle with you, never rushing, like he wanted to draw this out as long as possible.

“Fuck it,” he growled softly, voice wrecked. “I need you, bunny.”

He lifted you like you weighed nothing and carried you to his room, kicking the door shut behind him. The second he laid you on the bed, he was on top of you, kissing you hard and deep while his hands tugged your tank top off. He groaned at the sight of your bare chest, leaning down to kiss and suck on your breasts, praising you the whole time.

“So perfect, look at you, sweetheart. So goddamn beautiful.”

You whimpered as he worked his way lower, pulling your shorts and panties down in one slow drag. Once you were completely naked beneath him, Beau sat back on his knees and just stared, eyes dark with lust.

He brought two fingers to your mouth. “Open.”

You obeyed, taking them between your lips and sucking gently. Beau’s eyes rolled back slightly as he watched, groaning deeply.

“That’s my good girl, just like that. Suck on them nice and slow for me.”

You swirled your tongue around his thick fingers, sucking harder while he watched, mesmerized. When they were slick enough, he pulled them out with a wet pop and moved them between your legs.

He teased your entrance first, rubbing slow circles around your clit before pushing one finger inside you, then two. You moaned loudly as he curled them, stroking that perfect spot while his thumb rubbed your clit.

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he praised, voice husky. “Such a good little bunny, taking my fingers so well.”

He kept pumping them in and out, slow and deep, until you were writhing and moaning beneath him. Only then did he pull them out, quickly stripping off his own clothes.

Beau was big, thick and hard, the sight of him making your mouth water. He stroked himself once as he settled between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked, leaning down to kiss you softly.

“Yes, please, Beau.”

He groaned at the sound of his name and slowly pushed inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. “Ohhh fuck, bunny, so tight. So fucking perfect.”

Once he was fully buried inside you, he paused, letting you adjust while he kissed you deeply, whispering praises against your lips.

“That’s it, taking my cock so well. Such a good girl for me.”

Then he started moving, slow, deep thrusts that made your toes curl. Every stroke was deliberate, his drunk haze making him savor every second. His hands gripped your hips as he fucked you, pace gradually picking up while he kept praising you.

“Look at you, taking every inch like you were made for me. So pretty when you moan like that.”

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Beau cursed, burying his face in your neck as his thrusts grew harder and faster, the sound of skin slapping skin filling the room.

He reached between you and rubbed your clit in tight circles, determined to make you come first.

“Come on, sweetheart, let me feel you cum on my cock. Be a good girl and cum for me.”

You came hard around him, crying out his name as pleasure crashed through you. Beau groaned loudly, the feeling of you tightening around his cock pushing him over the edge right after you.

“Fuck, bunny,” he rasped, burying himself deep as he came, hips stuttering with each pulse.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breathing. Beau stayed inside you, forehead pressed against yours, both of you catching your breath. Then he slowly pulled out and collapsed beside you, immediately pulling you into his arms.

“C’mere,” he mumbled, voice hoarse and sleepy from the alcohol and orgasm. He wrapped his strong arms around you, tucking you against his chest. One hand gently stroked up and down your back while the other played with your hair.

“You did so good,” he whispered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your lips. “Such a perfect girl for me. Made me feel so fucking good.”

You nestled closer, still trembling slightly. Beau pulled the blanket over both of you and held you tight, his body warm and solid. Even drunk, he was gentle, kissing you lazily between soft praises and little murmurs.

“Stay right here with me tonight, bunny. Don’t want you goin’ anywhere.”

You nodded against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow down. His hand kept rubbing slow circles on your back until you both drifted off, tangled together under the sheets.

[violained]

texts with bf!dean & jealous reader !

cw lots of pet names! <3

requested ♡ masterlist !

[cillasvilla]

⋆˚꩜｡ 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋: 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

[whor3ing]

─── ꒲ nsfw needy wet dream / breeding kink blurb w dean winchester . . . ❜ ﹗ ﹙୨꣒﹚ ⊹⠀ᯓ‎ 𝄞 glory box , portishead⌇ f!reader , ❜୧ ‎ ‎ ˙ ⁴⁴⁴

The bunker bedroom is thick with the low hum of the air vents and the sound of Dean’s ragged and deep breathing.

He’s sprawled on his back beside you, sheets kicked down around his hips, bare chest glistening with sweat under the faint glow of the hallway lights.

His broad shoulders are tense, abs contracting sharply with every shallow roll of his hips. His massive cock strains obscenely against the front of his soaked boxers, the thick head leaking steadily, twitching and pulsing as he grinds up into nothing, all in his sleep.

Low, needy groans vibrate from his chest, your name spilling out in broken, desperate pants. One big hand fists the sheets while the other twitches at his side like he’s reaching for you even in his sleep.

His eyes fly open suddenly, dark green and hazy with raw lust and without saying a word, he rolls over you, caging your body beneath his massive frame.

One huge hand yanks your sleep shorts and panties down your legs in one rough motion, tossing them aside.

His cock springs free, thick, incredibly heavy, flushed dark and dripping precum all over your thigh.

“Fuck, baby… I need you so bad right now,” he rasps, voice rough and filthy.

“Was dreaming about this tight little pussy and woke up throbbing—can’t wait. Gotta have it. Gotta stuff you full.”

He hooks your thighs around his waist and pushes in with one long, relentless thrust, stretching you wide around his thick cock.

A deep, absolutely guttural moan rips from his throat as he fills you slow, hips flush against yours, the head of his dick pressed tight against your cervix, almost kissing it.

“Shit— so fucking tight. This greedy cunt is squeezing me so good,” he groans, already rolling his hips in deep, desperate strokes.

“Dreamed about ruining you and now I’m finally buried inside my favorite pussy, hmm? Take it, sweetheart. Take every inch of me like the good little slut you are for me.”

Dean’s big hands grip your hips hard, fingers digging in as he fucks you with raw, desperate, needy intensity.

Sweat rolls down the deep grooves of his abs and drips onto your skin with every punishing thrust. You can feel him claiming you, making your pussy his.

“Please, baby—fuck, please let me wreck you,—let me make you feel so good f'me,” he begs between strokes, voice cracking with desperation.

“I need it so bad. Need to feel you fluttering around my cock, clenching—yeah, fuck.. gonna pump you so full of cum you’ll be leaking me for hours."

He leans down, crushing his mouth to yours in a messy, hungry kiss while one hand slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can drive even deeper, acting as a makeshift pillow.

Every thrust makes his thick cock drag against that perfect spot inside you, making you twitch and whimper. He's so deep you can feel his abs grinding against your clit.

“Gonna cum so fucking much,” he pants against your lips, sounding wrecked and starving. “Gonna flood this cunt until it’s overflowing with my load. You’re mine. This pussy is mine to use whenever I wake up aching and leaking like this."

His pace turns frantic, hips snapping hard and deep. Dean buries his face in your neck, moaning your name like a prayer as his cock swells and pulses inside you.

"God—yes, atta fuckin' girl, I'm so close already baby.. c'mon, milk me, cum against my cock.. let me feel it, squeeze my cock—yes, shit—make me fill you up.”

Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, endless and messy, leaking out around his thickness with every shallow grind of his hips.

Even after he finishes, he stays buried deep, lazily rolling his hips to push his cum deeper.

His big arms wrap around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other strokes down your side, still trembling with aftershocks.

“Don’t move yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs hoarsely against your skin, voice low and needy. “Still so hard for you.. god—gonna stay right here… then I’m fucking you again until I empty the rest of my balls inside this perfect cunt, hmm?"

His forehead rests against yours, breath warm and ragged, cock still twitching deep inside you as he holds you close.

᭝⁀⠀᭝ @obsessivekniss @devotedlyteenagemusic @delilahsturniolo @dollinpearls @jackalthesaint @leena-bee

if you would like to be tagged in future works pls comment!! i am redoing my taglist :,)

꒱⠀₊   ˚⠀⊹⠀ library.

[cillasvilla]

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋: 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐚𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫.

[cillasvilla]

࣪ ˖ 𖦹°⋆ CILLASVILLA FIC RECS!

THE BOYS

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ SOLDIER BOY

twisted by @lashehsal

human nature by @favouritsm

stalker by @godsfaith

keep the pretty parts pretty by @cumkissed

ᯓ★ˎˊ˗ HOMELANDER

abuse of power(s) by @jinkiezzsstuff

mind over matter by @themeraldee

sex pollen by @themeraldee

i’ll handle it by @misoeepy

SUPERNATURAL

⋆.˚ SAM WINCHESTER

everything, everywhere by @nugparfait

sweet dreams by @aseafullofstars

⋆.˚ DEAN WINCHESTER

headlock fucking by @whor3ing

just by @very-merry-birthday

READ THESE I LOVEDDD THEM!!!

[nugparfait]

you ask for requests I shall deliver.

sam teaching f!reader how to get out of binds like rope or handcuffs. tying her up and talking her through how to lock pick the handcuffs or untie the ropes. at first it's serious lesson but it turns playful and flirty with teasing, both of them being kinda into it hehe🤭

btw your last story was soooo good

|| everything, everywhere (1.2k words)

sam x reader, established relationship, smut, bondage

“Not too tight, is it?” Sam asked as he carefully bound your wrists behind your back, the rope scraping the skin of your arms. You were seated on a flimsy chair, courtesy of the inn you and Sam were currently staying at. The room around you was clean and warmly lit, the smell of rosy air freshener and cedar clinging stubbornly to the air.

After a close call during a hunt with a demon, Sam had insisted that you needed to learn how to get out of restraints, more specifically being tied up. You knew the idea of you ever being helpless and in danger scared the life out of Sam, so you agreed. Now here you were, seated with your arms uncomfortably locked behind you behind the chair, Sam’s fingers ghosting against your wrists, his breath just behind your ear as he secured the ties.

“No, Sam. It’s fine,” you replied, turning your head to look at him over your shoulder. Admittedly, the situation had you a little flushed. What girl wouldn’t get a little hot being tied up by her sweet, careful, very handsome boyfriend?

He gave the ropes a small tug, then stood up and walked around the chair to face you. “Alright. Feel the rope with your fingers. Can you reach it?” His voice was low, a little husky, and it only made your cheeks burn.

Your fingers strained, the tips just brushing the coarse rope. “Yeah, I can,” you replied.

“See if you can hook your fingers under it anywhere. If you can, see what’s loose, what you can tug and move,” he went on, those hazel eyes trained on you, watching you shift and move in your seat as your hands worked, how your back bowed forward as your shoulders moved.

“I-I think I got it,” you murmured in concentration, nibbling your lip as your hands worked and tugged at the rope, your slender fingers hooking the fibers.

Sam swallowed, an odd wave of arousal washing through him. He wrung his hands together, clearing his throat. “Ah, uh, yeah. Good. You’re doing so good, honey. Just keep doing that,” he murmured, his voice a pitch deeper than normal. And his words, god, he could be so accidentally sexy at the worst times. It made you puff your chest just a little more, tugging the rope looser around your wrists.

“Jeez, Sammy, you’re gonna make me blush,” you mused. You met his gaze, a playful glint in your eyes. “You know, I think I’m more of a hands-on learner, now that I think about it.”

A red blush spread over Sam’s cheeks. “I- uh, um, really?” he stuttered, awkwardly adjusting the collar of his shirt. You could read your boyfriend like a book. He was so easy to fluster. “I-I guess I could… give you a few tips…”

He shifted on his feet, standing over you. “Just… tell me how I can help,” he mumbled, his large hand cupping your jaw and tilting your face up towards his. His thumb stroked absently over your lower lip. You gently nipped it, keeping eye contact through it all.

“Baby,” Sam croaked. A tent was already forming in his jeans, straining the fabric. He reached for his belt with his free hand, unhitching it and sliding it through the loops of his pants. “Is this okay?” he asked.

You nodded, smiling. “More than okay.”

He unzipped his fly and tugged his pants and boxers down just enough to free his half-erect cock. The sight was mouthwatering. You’d seen it before, of course, but the sight of it was never less exciting than the first time. You brushed your thighs together, needy for friction that you knew he could satisfy, if he’d only give it to you.

Sam gave himself a few rough strokes, spreading pre down his length with a few muffled grunts and sighs. “Baby,” he crooned again, his eyes lidded and dark as he gazed at your pretty face, patient and waiting. “You ready f’ me?”

You nodded. To emphasize, you parted your lips in a careful ‘o’, batting your eyelashes at him. He let out a strangled whine, the sight making his cock twitch in his hand. “God I love you,” he murmured, carefully setting the tip of himself on your tongue. Your lips closed around him, suckling his head, dragging a shaky whimper from his throat.

You bowed your head slightly to take him further, your tongue dragging skillfully down the bottom of his shaft. Sam moaned, his head falling back while his hand slid into your hair, not tugging, just gripping the strands for support. “Shit…” he breathed. His hips bucked faintly, tears stinging your eyes as you fought the urge to gag around his length.

Your wrists strained slightly in the loosened rope, wishing to feel him, touch him with your hands and drag your palms across the plains of his abs, hips, chest. And wishing you could reach between your legs and ease the throb of your heat.

Sam seemed to recognize the neediness burning within you. He groaned softly, his hips stuttering slightly. “I promise I’ll take care of you next, baby. Just a little more, I’m so close,” he whispered huskily, stroking your cheek with his thumb and staring at the way his cock disappeared between your swollen lips with an almost reverant devotion.

With a few more well-placed strokes of your tongue and sucks, Sam was coming, a broken moan leaving him as you swallowed down his release. He carefully drew back, caressing your jaw soothingly. “God, you’re perfect,” he cooed.

Sam knelt down between your legs, brushing his hands up your thighs and sending a jolt through your body. “Your turn, baby.” His fingers hooked into the band of your pants, drawing them and your panties down your legs and to your ankles. Sam’s gaze roved hungrily over your already soaked cunt, practically salivating as he leaned in and latched his lips around your clit, giving it a suckle that had your toes curling and a whimper vibrating through your throat.

“Sam–!” you gasped, shuddering as he began to lap at your folds with fervor, his strong hands gripping your thighs to hold them apart. The pleasure was mind-numbing, your body squirming and arching into him helplessly. “Shit–!”

Sam’s palms rubbed up and down your thighs in a gentle gesture that completely contrasted how skillfully and desperately he ate your pussy, completely drownig in the taste of you. You desperately wanted to brush your fingers through those brown locks of hair, hold him close until you reached your peak. Your trembling hands got back to work on the restraints around your wrists, tugging and loosening, pulling out knots like Sam had instructed until the rope slid free and fell to the floor. Instantly, your palm found the back of Sam’s head, holding him against you as you moaned and rode toward your orgasm.

Sam groaned against your cunt, his fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs as he brought you to your climax, a cry of delight leaving your lips. His tongue strokes slowed, coaxing you down from the high before he completely separated from you, leaning back and gazing up at you. His cheeks were flushed and warm as you cupped his face, Sam instinctively leaning into your touch.

“Hey, you got out of the rope,” he mused quietly against your palm.

You chuckled, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “I had a good teacher.”

|| note: sorry this concept was too freaky to not make smut 👀

[cillasvilla]

this is a straight up work of art

[cillasvilla]

⤷ connor rk800: masterlist

oneshots girl that you love (coming soon) series nothing yet

[writerraider]

nightmares - connor rk800

connor x reader

where connor worries too much about your habit of sleeping at work.

word count - 1.4k

warnings: mentions of struggling to sleep (not sure if that’s a warning but no harm in putting it here)

masterlist

it had been meeting after meeting — multiple, similar conversations about how to deal with deviants. how to interrogate them, prosecute them, even how to defend yourself against an android.

each one was the same.

hence why you saw no issue in quietly dozing off for a few minutes.

or maybe an hour.

“detective.” a soft, quiet whisper, followed by a gentle judge to your arm.

a groan escapes you, you’re not ready to wake up yet. not ready to listen to more rambling about incorrect techniques or whatever they said…

“detective, you might want to wake up.” the tone is still calming. “captain fowler is staring.”

and with that one comment, you gradually sit up straight, removing your head off connor’s shoulder.

“sorry, captain.” you nod curtly, voice rasped as your hands wipe at your eyes.

hank holds back a chuckle from your other side — you’re surprised he managed to stay awake during these meetings too.

with one last stern look, your captain gets back to talking and all the other officers, sergeants and whatnots turn back to him as well.

you just yawn, way too tired to feel embarrassed.

connor leans closer to you, mumbling quietly again, "l/n, do you require a coffee?"

you stare back at him, eyebrows furrowed, "hm?"

"coffee." he repeats, "since you keep falling asleep."

"oh," you smile softly at him, "no, it's okay, thanks connor."

his led flashes yellow briefly before he sits straighter, “if you say so, detective.”

you watch him for a moment longer, taking note of how caring he is for an android — especially when you’re constantly getting told that they can’t feel things.

connor has only been here for a month and he’s already made you doubt that statement on multiple occasions.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

it didn’t take long before you were back at your desk, hands cradling your head and eyes squeezed shut.

thankfully you didn’t have much work to do today. at least, you don’t think you do.

you were enjoying the deep slumber, that was until a certain coin-flicking robot decided to shake you awake.

“connor,” you groan tiredly, hands blindly pushing his solid body away, alas, he doesn’t budge. “give me five more minutes.” you ask, relenting your hands back to cover your head.

“you’ve had a total of two hours of sleep today already — bear in mind, you’ve been in the precinct for four hours.” he states simply, as though tracking how long you’ve slept was what he was designed for. “you need to start working.”

you wish you had another set of hands to cover your ears. “too tired.”

he sighs.

since when could androids do that?

“detective,” his tone is stern now, “your lunch break is in one hour, i suggest you fill out some reports and sleep afterwards.”

when you don’t move, head still glued to the table, he takes one glance at hank — who’s only smirking at the whole altercation — and decides to take things into his own hands.

he pulls a random chair up and slides next to yours.

then, he starts jabbing your bicep with his pointer finger, like an eager toddler demanding attention.

“connor.” a gentle warning. although, it’s more of a disguised plea.

“not stopping until you sit up and log onto your computer.”

a few more agitating seconds pass by before you give up.

you take your time sitting up, typing in your password, and opening up some reports — just to annoy connor.

a smile graces his face, “was that so hard?”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

he didn’t leave your side. not even when you needed to go to the toilet — he waited outside, but that still felt like he was right there with you.

he claimed it was so that you wouldn’t fall asleep again, which didn’t happen, thanks to him.

you were excited for lunch. excited for the small nap you could fit in. however, connor had other plans.

“detective, i can’t let you sleep, especially since you haven’t eaten all day.” his eyes look at you with so much concern

“but you said if i did my work i could sleep at lunch.” you whine.

“i was only negotiating with you. now come on, i know a great place for burgers.” he pulls you up off your chair by your hand, tugging you towards the exit.

“how do you know of good food places? you don’t even eat…” you query out loud.

he shrugs, hand still attached to yours as you now leave the station. “hank eats.”

that explains it.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

it didn’t take all that long to reach the burger stand — and you have to admit, it was good.

you’re both sat on a bench, overlooking a river as it slowly frosts over.

connor thinks it’s peaceful. he notes how still you’ve become. how your heart rate has decreased to a gentle thrum. how low your cortisol levels have dropped.

he’s slightly amazed that you’re not asleep.

yet. there’s still time.

he takes the quiet opportunity to ask you some questions. “y/n…”

he waits for you to look at him first.

“what’s up?” your response is soft. gentle.

he purses his lips — a habit you think he’s obtained from you. “why do you have such troubles staying awake?”

your stress levels increase slightly.

“i just- i don’t get much sleep at home.” a simple answer.

he nods, pretending to understand. “how so?” his voice stays hushed.

his eyes track how you begin to fidget with your fingers.

“it’s embarrassing…”

he shakes his head, placing his hand on top of yours to stop you from fidgeting. “if it’s giving you issues, it can’t be embarrassing. i would never judge you, y/n.”

he says the latter with such sincerity that you would mistake him for a human had you not known he was an android.

then you look at his eyes. they look more human than most.

his led flashes again, awaiting your response.

a sigh escapes your mouth. “i get nightmares most nights. every night, really.”

his thumb begins to stroke circles across the back of your hand — a tactic he’d just searched up to help people calm down. “are they of anything in particular?”

you have to think for a moment, recall every night. then you shake your head, “no. maybe it’s just because of the job?”

“could be.” he comments, actively wracking every website page he can access that mentions ‘nightmares’. he’d do anything to help you.

you shuffle closer to him on the bench, gradually beginning to feel the brisk, winter air.

“an article says that having a companion with you can help to reduce nightmares.” he suggests, “have you ever tried that?”

instantly you shake your head, a laugh leaving you too, “i don’t know anyone who would willingly stay over at mine.”

“i would. to help you, of course.”

your heart beats a bit faster.

he notices.

“i mean- if you wanted to- if it helps, right?”

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

so now here you are, you and connor both sat awkwardly on your bed.

“maybe close your eyes.” he attempts to help but it just sounds like teasing.

you move under your covers, connor copying, “do you know how to turn off your sarcasm?” you jab back.

“sorry, i’m just trying to help.” he absentmindedly moves closer and simultaneously makes you feel bad.

“i was just playing with you, connor.”

“oh.” he looks around your room, “do you need me to turn the lamp off?”

“uhm, sure, thank you.”

he leans over you to reach the switch, flicking it off before laying back down, now even closer to you.

“would you like me to tell you a story?” he whispers.

“no, it’s okay.” you mumble.

“you’re already feeling tired.” he states with a small, successful smile on his face.

you shuffle your head across your pillow, making contact with his chest as you relax into him. “maybe because you kept me up all day.”

much to his surprise, he enjoys the human contact. maybe that’s because it’s you. he wouldn’t enjoy it if hank were sleeping in his arms instead of you.

he quickly blinks that picture away.

gently, he wraps an arm around you, soothingly rubbing your back.

you’re out before you know it.

if connor had a heart, it would be melting. your soft snores take over his hearing. the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.

but it’s not until he looks down at your sleeping face to see your hand clutching onto his top, your face completely relaxed — that’s when he feels it.

love, maybe?

is that something an android can feel?

the room faintly lights up red as he ponders. it quickly returns to blue when he focuses back on you.

he doesn’t care about what he can and can’t feel- not right now- not when he’s got you.

[cillasvilla]

⤷ pope cody: masterlist

oneshots you're so dark (smut) series nothing yet