Title: Shitty Situation
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 1,066
Based on this
Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Sexual moment
A/N: its funny how my url corresponds with this lmao
Fic:
“Dean, that burns!” Your shrill voice pierced the air as it blended with the water falling like a…
Title: I’ll Be Seeing You
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 994
Request: Could you do an extremely major HUGE fluff Sam imagine based off “Not About Angels” by Birdy?
Trigger Warnings: Mention of Death, Mention of insanity, Mention of drugs and addiction
A/N: I feel like I went way off topic with this which I sincerely apologize and if you don’t like it, I will for sure write you a new one! It came out sadder than I planned.
Fic: 987
It seemed like only yesterday. Yesterday seemed so near, but at the same time felt so distant. Yesterday was a time frame that you had a craving for that was far worse than any other addiction that had could have infiltrated your body. Instead of cocaine dancing elegantly in your veins as the powder wrecked your organs or the sweet taste of pills such as Vicodin or Oxycodon sliding their way down your tongue to ease your pain, the only addiction that was making your bones weak and heart heavy was the constant yearning for yesterday. The past was vacant of these wants and were fleeting thoughts that you had always shoved to the back of your head to keep them from surfacing to the front of your mind and to the tip of your tongue. That apex of your tongue didn’t want to be tainted with your own fears of losing him being spoken aloud. It was accustomed to the taste of his skin, his lips, and everything in between. It had caressed every jagged corner that constructed his face and every crevice that had once held you such as his arms. His body was familiar to you. The heat of it. The structure of it. The comfort of it. He was by far the most sound structure that you had seen built. The grounds for his construction were unsteady with that of a distant father, a dead mother, and being cognizant that there were worse things out there than Kim Kardashian’s sex tape. A soldier that had served over seas wouldn’t be able to measure up to the horrors that your building had seen. Some of his windows were cracked from years of abuse, physical and emotional. The shingles on his roof were falling and decaying from being weathered down by years of disaster and destruction, but he claimed that they were stronger than ever. He had once exclaimed that you were reviving the bricks of his foundation and patching up the wood rot within the walls. You were fixing him, or at least what could be fixed. You were repairing every wall, ceiling, and floor that he consisted of and he couldn’t have been more thankful. Couldn’t have been. What a funny way to put it. You could no longer say ‘be’ thankful or 'is’ thankful. You could say 'was’ thankful and 'used to be’ thankful without being incorrect. You knew that when you lost someone that every aspect was painful, but you hadn’t experience this kind of hurt. His death was affecting you in every way possible. When you would lace up your shoes in the morning, you would catch a glimpse of him rounding the corner to tell you that you’re tying them wrong. He wasn’t really there. Sometimes you would flip through the channels on the television and leave it on a cheesy talk show and he would loudly complain that Oprah was overrated. He wasn’t really there. Occasionally you would lose your keys only to find them on a counter with a note attached from Sam that read 'See you when you get home’. He didn’t really do that. You couldn’t kid yourself much longer; you were losing it. You had lost your life, your sense of safety, your reason to live happily a month ago. You were now losing your mental state which was something that you could barely handle. Dean had ditched down a few weeks ago. He had gotten to where he couldn’t even look at you without thinking about his brother. He couldn’t even click a pin, pick up a piece of paper, or open a cabinet without seeing his life, safety, a reason to live. So he left. Dean was the last reminder that you possessed except for a couple of shirts and a half empty bottle of cologne that his brother had spritzed on himself only an hour before his death. The bottle sat longingly, almost as if it were begging you to pick it up and spray it on yourself to pretend that he was near. Once it was in your grasp, the glass that encased the light brown liquid was strangely cold against your finger tips. You lifted it to your nose as you inhaled the smell, a million memories flooding like a broken dam in your mind. A pair of arms wrapped themselves around your hips tightly, the hands binding themselves ever so strongly in the center of your stomach. You started to sway your lips back and forth, the grip swinging with you as a chin rested on the top of your head softly. A deep hum sweetened the salty air that was stained from so much despair and cries while the deepness of the voice caused goosebumps to rise all over your skin so strongly it felt like they had sprouted on your heart as well. The overwhelming scent of his cologne was infiltrating your nose at a dangerous level, but you didn’t care. You began to move your feet backwards, the body moving with you. His lips began to plant soft affections on your head as they moved down to your neck, leaving a warm trail. The bottle in your hand spritzed from accidental pressure from your finger sending the cool liquid onto your arm which shot your eyes open back to the vanity that you had picked it up from. The pressure of a body leaning on yours had disappeared as you glanced at your surroundings in the mirror. You were alone. Like always. Tears started to moisten your eyes but were abruptly halted by a harsh knock on the front door. You fled from the scene, forcefully flinging the wooden portal open to have your eyes take in the image of the older brother. His face was blank and coated with an eerie look of emotionless as the few murmured words trailed from his lips, his mouth hardly moving.
“I’ve been seeing Sammy.”
Title: Taste the Family Issues
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 798
Request: I was wonderin if i could have a dean one shot where the reader is upset because her older brother (only family she has maybe?) is mad at her and says he never wants to see her again. She stays in her room and keeps quiet but dean comes in a comforts her. Very fluffy? (Love you and take as much time as you need!) godstiels-fallen-angel
Trigger Warnings: None
A/N: I hope you feel better and I love you so much and all you deserve is sunshine and happiness and a unicorn and Jensen Ackles naked
Fic:
His words were the equivalent of a spring that had always provided you with such quality and clean water transforming into a polluted brook that’s liquid was laced with hatred and harmful words which poisoned you slowly. You were accustomed to absorbing such dangerous components from other oceans and rivers, but to soak in those same thoughtless products from a trusted source was a pain that you couldn’t even fathom into words. You were cognizant of that fact that a human can’t be all hunky dory and supportive every second of their lives, but you also understood that there an amount of consideration that people needed to put into their words because sentences can scar deeper than any knife wound.
These thoughts were pacing through your cluttered mind as you were sprawled out on your bed, your eyes circling around every stained detail on the roof. It was an old, crummy place so a few water stains and cracks decorated the white top that protected your eyes from the bright sun up that laid outside the building. A ceiling fan slowly turned, more confidence churning the blades that any amount of reassurance you had in your body. It was tough being told by someone you love and known all of your life that they never wanted to see you again, you cause bad things to happen. There’s a natural sense between siblings that you can say some of the most heinous things and it all be okay in the end, but he had used up all of his passes; you weren’t the most forgiving person. You were still a little peeved that Dean had eaten your bag of Skittles that you had bought specifically for yourself; that was two weeks ago and you still weren’t over it. You sighed as you threw your hands over your head in disappointment as you realized you had compared being told that you were wanted out of someone’s life and a bag of candy that was only two dollars. While the breath escaped your quivering lips from trying to muffle a cry that had been trying to break free from your body, the door pushed itself open so slowly that it seemed like one of the ghosts of the Men of Letters that haunted the halls had opened up the portal. After a few seconds, a shiny grocery cart forced it’s way into your room as it was followed by the thief who had taken your precious, sugary candy. The cart was piled high to the brim with bags of Skittles and even had some stacked on the lower compartment. He had a silly grin on his face as he playfully strode into the room, anticipation and pride trailing every step. His body rested itself on the foot of your bed while one of his hands relaxed upon your leg. “I know you’re a little pissed about the Skittles, so I bought you a year supply or a week supply during a breakup, so it never happens again,” A toothy grin flashed across his lips as he poured his eyes into yours, but detected something was wrong. The smile immediately faded. “I’ll go out and buy more. I mean, that’s only about two hundred bags so I understand if you want more. I only maxed out three of the credit cards anyway. I can afford-,”
“Dean, it’s not that, alright? I really appreciate the gesture, I do. I’ll be sure to eat every last one of them when I watch The Notebook,” You sighed out, but he didn’t seem anymore comforted. You sat yourself up as you crossed your legs and brought your face close to his. “You remember that time we were on a hunt and you had to blend in with a group of druggies and you accidentally used Sam’s high school diploma as paper to roll a blunt?” The words left your lips with a soft giggle trying to slip out from recounting the wild story. Even Dean smiled a little bit as his own terrible mishap. “He was so mad at you that he threatened to go back to Stanford and never associate with you again,”
“And then I cried like a little bitch and you held me while I actually let my emotions out,” Dean chuckled while he scooted his body closer towards you.
“Well this time, I’m the little bitch,” You murmured as you lowered your head onto his chest while his arms wrapped themselves around around your hips and you pulled you in so close that it felt like your bodies could have merged into one.
“If you eat all those skittles, you won’t be so little,” He chortled as he grabbed one of the bags, tore it open and chugged it down with you.
Title: You’re A Man, Sam Winchester (Part Two
Link: Part One
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 957
Request: Do you think you could write one where young!sam takes reader on a date to the drive inn and asks Dean for advice and so Dean sneaks in and tries to help Sam and the reader…
Title: Equilibrium
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 547
Request: Can you do like a v fluffy imagine about you and adam dancing to “what’s the matter” by milo greene (u first met when this song was playing and thanks :))
Trigger Warning: None
Fic:
As human beings, we are inclined to feel, inclined to love. The emotions that burn a fire within us are hot and unforgiving as they erupt into overzealous volcanoes that splatter misery, jubilation, and every other emotion under the sun. We consider ourselves one of the most complex animals in the history of this ancient earth, yet we are the most simple beings that have been molded and shaped by God’s own hands. This feature in our minds tends to over complicate things for us as a race on a daily basis: we think that we may only love someone because they are taken by someone else, but the truth of the matter is that you want them because they are no longer obtainable. We over think things. We under think things. There is no real balance for this, but you may experience another human that makes you think you found your equilibrium, they become your equilibrium. Of course, this is a rare occurrence in today’s time or any time really, but you had found your balanced scales during this life time. You felt so close to him that it felt like you had known him many life times before which everyone who had seen you both together agreed. There was something that just clicked between the two of you better than a pen being tapped repeatedly by a nervous student in a quiet classroom. There was also a pleasant sound of his shirt ruffling under your touch, your arms draped over his broad shoulders that have seen your tears and comforted you so many times before. His hands that were grasping your hips were familiar with your curves since he has held them while your whimpered away at pointless chick flics and even when you two found yourselves irresistible to one another and took care of those urges. Your head was placed lightly on his chest to the point where you could faintly hear his heart beat that was pounding slowly because he was calm from being to close with his equilibrium. The song that had been sweetly playing on the speakers above at the shop where you two met was playing in the background, bringing back those fond memories. You had both lunged for the same pair of underwear in a bin which sounds totally unromantic. You had been asked by your mom to pick some up for your brother so you had to dig around in a pile of boxers in the department store as Adam’s hands had met yours as you both tried to pluck the blue briefs at the same time. You could tell by looking at him that there was something about him that made you not want to apologize and drop the meeting, and he obviously felt the same. A nervous ‘I think you’d look better than me in these anyway’ had fluttered from his lips as he dropped the boxers. You had left the scene since you thought it was just one of those moments when you meet a hot stranger, but he followed you all the way to the checkout counter and things just unfolded from there.
It wasn’t the most fabulous meeting, but it was the best encounter that had ever occurred in both of your lives. The song playing in the background complained of losing love, but you knew that you were never going to lose this. This moment. This memory. This man.
Title: You’re A Man, Sam Winchester (Part One)
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 909
Request: Do you think you could write one where young!sam takes reader on a date to the drive inn and asks Dean for advice and so Dean sneaks in and tries to help Sam and the reader finds out when Sam tries to got asks Dean something for the hundredth Time and the reader tells Sam to just be himself?
Trigger Warnings: None
Fic:
Something was off. It wasn’t that typical feeling that rolls around in the back of your mind that you forgot to unplug a hair straightener once you were three hours away from your house or even when you’re dead asleep and wake up with the sudden realization that you had forgotten to do your homework. It was an uneasy feeling, one full of uncertainty and unsteadiness. The inventor of the emotion rumbling through you wasn’t from the teacher who was obnoxiously smacking her gum while her eyes scanned the newly received book reports that were messily crumpled in her hands. The kid in the desk next to you who was loudly tapping his foot while he gazed longingly at the girl ahead of him wasn’t even making you feel uncomfortable. The pencil that was grasped in your young, sweaty palms began to scribble along the blank paper that was meant to be tonight’s homework if you didn’t finish it in class, but you didn’t care. You kept pressing the lead tip harshly on the paper as you tried to ignore the eerie feeling, but it wouldn’t flee from your crowded mind. It was almost as if you were being watched intently by a human who’s eyes could feel like they were staring holes right through you, their glare so strong you could feel the concentration from their eyes focus on you. As the tip of your pencil snapped under the continuous pressure, the bell for dismissal rang and you didn’t hesitate a single second to escape that room. The hallways were hectic as always with love struck couples obstructing the walk way with their annoying, wet kisses that grossed out people their own age but intrigued the underclassmen since they hadn’t experienced much physical contact with their own sexual preference yet. Well, neither had you, but you weren’t too worried about your love life because there were many more important things to worry about than finding your prince charming. Prince Charming? You thought as you observed the nerdy, douchey boys that inhabited the same hall. You slightly shook your head to yourself at the possible thought of any of the guys being considered nice and the least bit respectful of girls’ bodies.
When you reached the outside of the school, the front yard was plagued with many of the hormonal bodies that were either running to their cars to get the hell out off of that godforsaken school property or messing around with their group of friends as they waited for the bus. Unfortunately, you didn’t have a cool older sibling that could cart you around on a single whim, so you were stuck riding the ancient and horrifyingly smelly bus. As you took your first steps off of the grass and onto the sidewalk, you felt a hand grip itself cautiously on your shoulder. Your first instinct was to immediately scream and knock whoever it was out, but as you whipped your head behind you, you lost the urge to be violent. Your tired eyes from sitting in a desk all day long were met with the largest hazel eyes that you had ever seen in your life, yet they were familiar. You were accustomed to seeing them in your last class whenever you would turn in your desk to hand back some papers. It always seemed like they would meet with yours at the right moment every time, even if he wasn’t prepared for you to turn around in your desk. His brown hair that was starting to grow out past the length of his older brother’s was hanging from his face in all the right places and angles. He had a look of nervousness on his, his mouth trying it’s best to spawn a goofy grin. “Hey, Y'N. I was wondering if you wanted to go to the drive in with me tonight about eight and I’m sure you have better things to do but I’m the type of person who hates to wait and postpone things and my brother says that’s a quality i should really work on but he has a lot of things he needs to work on as well like how he treats girls because he kisses on the first date which I have too much respect for girls to do that unless you want to kiss on the first date then I totally have respect for you and-,”
“Sure. I’d love to,” You smiled as his fast pacing mouth abruptly stopped shaking from it’s continuous run on. A polite smile shined on your face to reassure him that you really wanted to attend the drive in with him, which was true. He had always managed to catch your eye which was different from every other person in the school, but you were never really sure if you gave him the same impact.
“Really?” He smiled, attempting to try to contain his ecstatic smile, but it was no use. He was obviously over the moon.
“Absolutely. Pick me up at eight o'clock, alright? You said you have more respect than Dean for girls, so live up to your statement by not being late,” You jested as you started to back up slowly as your bus crept into the corner of your eyes.
“I’ll have to push my make out session with Mindy Craig until tomorrow night, then,” He kidded as you stepped onto your bus, awaiting for whatever the night had in store.
Title: Revenger Is Sweeter Than You
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 896
Request: (I don’t remember if i requested this or not so sorry if I already did) A Demon!Dean x Demon!Reader where they both get stuck in a devils trap at the bunker (Either Sam did it for kicks or he isn’t there and they walked on it by accident) so they are stuck in it for awhile and it get really fluffy between them? Love you!! - godstiels-fallen-angel
Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Sexual Situation
A/N: I may have distorted the meaning of ‘fluffy’ a little bit
Fic:
If you were to imprison a moonstruck, lackadaisical murderer in a room with the remains of something that haunted him to his core, you would in turn receive a disconcerted and furious criminal. He would have many stranger’s and friend’s blood on his hands and in his own soul, yet surrounding him with that one memory that he had never been able to overcome would shake his bones. Every theoretical culprit including myself and you even, have our own memories that we wouldn’t want to face no matter the situation. There could be a gun positioned against your head, and you still wouldn’t face it. You weren’t being followed by memories, rather a person, more or less. Your past thought had green eyes, the kind that seemed like they were scanning your soul for it’s previous sins whenever he gazed in your own pupils. His touch was something that was unfathomable because it could make any creature fall to his finger tips, die from the peck of his own lips. There wasn’t a sliver of humanity located within his vessel at this point unless it was stocked deep down in his heart, yet he was still able to feel like a human: be a human. When he had first turned, it was a frightening sight to witness because that precious love and protection that was programmed within him as if by a computer program that God made himself was extinct. He would kill on a whim, whether to get himself released from the hunger of blood or just for plain amusement. It was a sickening time until his inner self began to reconnect with how he felt as a human and with the help of Castiel, he was able to have emotions once again. He was a complex memory that you had escaped for so long, but you couldn’t avoid him now. A devil’s trap was your cell and the precious paint on the floor were the bars that held you there. The wooden floors of Bobby’s house were familiar to you, but you didn’t anticipate a trap underneath his trusty rug in the study since you had walked over it many times with no problem. So there you were, held hostage in a demonic trap along that memory who was sitting with his legs crisscrossed as if he planned to stay there for a good while, kick back and drink alcohol out of a coconut. You on the other hand had your arms crossed as you stood near the outskirts of the circle, waiting for someone to arrive to get you out of the uncomfortable predicament. Your legs turned slightly, just enough so your eyes could be brought to his figure that was rested so comfortably.
His eyes glared up at you, the irises in his whites lighting up from the lights above. A devilish grin was painted across his face as the situation was the obvious artist that had created the obnoxious smile. “Oh, come on, Y/N. This isn’t too bad. You and me alone in a room together. We haven’t been this close since the summer of '69,” His arms threw behind him as he propped his midsection up, examining your body with his possessive eyes.
The Y/E/C orbs on your face rolled as you took a few hesitant steps towards him, not letting your arms down. Your heart felt like it was about to burst each time your heel clicked with the floor, but you continued to waltz over to his body. “You weren’t even alive in the summer of '69, your moron. I should know. I’ve been kicking since the slaves were freed,”
He raised his brows in defeat as he twisted his body towards you, making sure his abs were visible through the outline of his shirt. He may have been a douche bag, but he was the hottest damn one you had ever seen. It almost made you forget that he once tried to sacrifice you to pull Adam from hell in some odd ritual he had found. You were still scorned over that, but you tried to shove the anger to the back of your demonic little mind. “Well, I know something else that used to make you kick,” He mumbled as he bucked his hips slightly in a suggestive manner, licking his lips. A sly grin was playing on his lips as it faded abruptly when you forced him to the ground, the wooden floor colliding with his back. Your legs were bent so you were on your knees and your arms stretched out as you were crouched over his body. Your chest was pumping wildly whether from irritation or from the sudden lunge, you weren’t sure. What you were sure of was that he was going to pay for trying to rid you from the world for the sake of a pathetic human, a Winchester at that. His lips melted into yours as you harshly mixed yours in with his, feeling him crumble with each touch your gave him. Your plan was simple: make him fall in love, then make him fall in death’s grips. It might be hard because his brother was protecting him at every which way, but Dean Winchester was going to know what revenge felt like whether it be from the loss of his brother’s life or his own.
Title: Forgiving Is For The Living
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 1140
Request: could you do one where the reader and dean get in a huge fight and she walks out and then she gets like attacked by [whatever you want] and dean saves her? sorry if ts to much of a hassle thank you!!
Trigger Warnings: Cursing, Blood, Cheating
Fic:
Anger. Animosity. Outrage. Many words are kept locked inside of a dictionary and let loose from their cell whenever an author wants to amplify their words. Another outlet for the sayings to be used is when human emotion takes part and lashes out how their body feels. We are extremely capable and equipped with an excessive vocabulary that can portray the human mind’s perturbation. However, during a certain time in everyone’s life they come across a moment where words can’t possibly bespeak how they feel inside. Whether the situation that restricts the communication is one of joy, fright, or irritation, it still is a powerful silence within you that is hard to process. The emotional illness that had cut out your tongue was a feeling of distress and the haunted thoughts of his vicious acrimony floundering around within your mind. His lips may have tasted like burning whiskey, but when he was provoked, his words singed your ears worse than any of his alcohol ever could. His hands that had grown to be a soothing remedy to the stresses of the world whenever he touched you had now transformed into foreign palms that you no longer recognized. The green iris that took solace in his eyes weren’t those of comfort, but those of reminders of what he had done. You knew that when you had bonded yourself to Dean with a concrete relationship, anything could happen. You could waltz into your room one day and see his mangled body sliced on the floor, his blood being absorbed by the ancient carpet that had witnessed many crimes before in the motel room. You weren’t expecting that another human would be the down fall; you had always prepared yourself for the building of trust that you two had built together to be yanked down at the hands of a monster, not some floosy chick in a bar. He had sworn that it was solely for the case, but you hesitantly agreed with him. What case would cause a man in a committed relationship to passionately make out with a strange woman whom he had only just met and not the one who has been by his side for over a year? Nothing made sense; nothing made your restless heart stop it’s anxious fluttering from the adrenaline that released in your veins from the shocking news. He claimed that he only told you because he didn’t want you to freak out if your ran into her while you were working, but you felt that it was because the common sense in his head was replaced with that of guilt of what he had done and regret. The watchful and sorrowful gaze that emitted from Sam was enough to shove the last bit of belief off the cliff of understanding ledge as he was sat on the bed diagonal from you.
Dean was stuck in front of you, his tall stature looming over as if his closeness would pressure you into forgiveness. Tears were swelling in his eyes at the steady flow of realization that was streaming into his mind that he had really wrecked it this time. He crouched down as his elbows rested themselves upon your cold thighs, his hands thriving upon your face. You flinched at his touch as you turned your face away, refusing to get entranced by his eyes. A depressive, low sigh left Dean’s body while hurt radiated through him at your reaction to his finger tips laying on your face. “Y/N. Come on. I’m sorry. She didn’t mean anything. That didn’t mean anything. I don’t mean anything- without you,”
You shut your eyes which removed the pattern of the carpet from your vision as you could feel your own tears of sorrow start to flood in your orbs. Your hand slyly rose as you cuffed it around his wrist, forcefully shoving it from your touch in which he took a deep breath from the sudden rejection. “Dean, I need to go. I don’t know if I can forgive you, but I know for sure that I can’t do it with you breathing down my neck, especially when you were kissing on hers,” The words fell from your tongue like lead as they felt like bullet grossly buried in Dean’s ears. You forced yourself off of the bed and led your body outside to escape the tension that started to feel like a strangling hand that had wrapped itself murderously around your heart. It was cold out, but it was no match to the way that you were preparing yourself to treat the man who had scorned you so. You had always been a believer in second chances, but he made you severely doubt that belief. When you first met him, he had killed the thought that your life was meant to be spent alone, so when he came along he salt and burned that ideology. The tables had turned at an extreme angle, and you weren’t really sure how to feel exactly. Sure, you were pissed beyond comprehension, but you felt a larger surge of emotions being constructed within your head.
The only distraction that had destroying your speeding train of thought was the abrupt force that was placed upon your shoulders as your back harshly collided with the side of a stranger’s car. The inertia from your head had been used to it’s full potential which resulted in your skull cracking the window that had viciously hit your head. A warm trail of blood started to trickle through your hair which erupted goose bumps along your body since the warmth felt so relaxing in the bitter cold. An unfamiliar hand was shining in the moonlight which had implanted itself on your neck, the palm squeezing to it’s maximum ability. Your feet started to fidget as they were being lifted from the ground, the hand keeping the oxygen that had been dancing in your lungs locked inside. You were sure that death’s loving grip was finally tickling your soul, begging you to come with it. You had always imagined that your death would be from something idiotic and thoughtless that you had done, which you assumed was right since you had taken it upon yourself to wander in the night with weaponless.
Right when you felt the last bit of life flow from your body, your would have been murderer’s grasp was strongly taken away as his eyes lit up, giving away the fact that it had been a demon. As the abomination’s body slumped to the ground, Dean stood behind the bloody body with the demon knife clutched tightly in his hand, only the outline of his body visible. “You may not be able to forgive me while I’m around, but you sure as hell won’t live long enough to think it out without me,”
Title: Home
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 832
Request: Can I request a Samandriel one shot where he’s been staying at the bunker but has flashbacks about being tortured by Crowley and as he’s telling the reader she’s stroking his hair and he falls asleep, holding onto her and not letting go
Trigger Warnings: Mention of Torture
A/N: Sorry it took me so long to get around to it!
Fic:
I could see it as clear as day. The memories that had been stitched into every memory that was encased within my soul had it’s threads being tugged and pulled; the thoughts were floating to the surface like a human body that jumps into a threatening pool of water only to resurface and climb it’s way back to the top. It wasn’t a harmless vessel, nor the carcass of a deceased fish rising to the top. It was rather an anvil that came plunging through the water; the hunk of iron clashing around in my mind with a deadly intent. It was appearing to remind me of the torment and abuse that I had endured just a few months ago, yet I wasn’t able to forget about it too well. His hands weren’t those of comfort like I had often found with my father. The demon’s touch consisted with finger tips that singed my skin and much to my distress, my father had never appeared to sooth the wounds. Of course, like any other heavenly child, my faith was doubted: trials and tribulations. With each cut from the angel blade, I felt another sliver of my hope in the Lord fade against what I would normally think. Thoughts of how could my father possibly allow such a demeaning and murderous process take place among his own creation concocted in my head, but was immediately soothed by ironically his other creation. Two of my brother’s vessels had rescued me from the vile, torturous room that was now soaking up my blood as if it belonged with the cold cement floor. The hunters had reassured me that I would be safe where they took me, which I was understanding and went with them. I could only believe that my father had sent them, after all. They had broken an anti-angel sigil for me to get into the space which I quickly claimed as my home. The collection of books and scrolls that were locked inside of the building was impressive and astonishing, but my own soul’s and my father’s concealed much more important information and a greater amount of wisdom. Within the structure, I found another home. It was warm, bright inside, and one of the greatest treasures that I had come across. Some of it’s bricks had fallen out, revealing that it had been through it’s own struggles, yet it still stood strong for itself, for me. It’s name was Y/N. Her foundation was creaky in some spots and the paint on her walls may have been fading, but she was still the most sound soul that I had ever come across within my existence. I grew to appreciate her even more, adore her even. Her eyes were like windows that I could see through at any time I wanted to, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to immediately touch her and know everything there was to know like I could have done; I wanted to know her from the confessions and information that would flow from her own mouth and willingly into my own ears. Man was imperfect to me and it still is, but she makes me question how they could be too bad.
My home was currently clutching onto my weathered vessel, her hand within my hair as she played with the short fibers slowly. Her free arm was slung over my own broad shoulder as her weight pushed on my upper body, but it felt pleasant. I could feel her long breaths caress my neck as they escaped her lungs, reluctantly leaving her grasp the same as I would feel if I were the oxygen that had to part from her. My own sheepish hand had itself comfortably locked in hers that was dangling by my face which gave me the strongest sense of comfort I had felt since I had left heaven. Her touch was almost like a remedy for the memories that had been plaguing my mind as the thoughts fled my mind. I had finally revealed to her of the torture that had been built within my mind by a factory of memories and instead of telling me to suck it up like the hunters, she had been receptive of the confession. So, I felt at ease, at my true place. I could feel my vessel’s eyelids start to get droopy and lazy as they wanted to shut which I allowed after I had fought them for so long. I wanted to absorb as much of this experience as I could and not fall asleep, but eventually I couldn’t help it. I felt too calm to be energetically up and cognizant of every detail. Even as I felt my body shut down into a deep slumber, I could feel my hand not even loosen it’s grip on her hand. I wasn’t going to leave my house, my home. She was building me up as my own structure, and I never wanted to let her go.
Title: Out Of The Hunter Life, Into The Diaper Life
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 1186
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: Could you maybe write an imagine based off the song Never Grow Up. Like Sam and the reader have a daughter and how like Sammy is with the baby and how he is with the…
Title: Dead Crushes
Author: constipatedsam
Word Count: 1576
Original Imagine/Request/Summary: I’m sorry to bother you but could you maybe write one where the reader is someone Sam met as a kid on a hunt and he thought you died, but then you meet again and you ARE a hunter and you get…
