#I love the ships but it's not about the ships | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

minkieater · 1 day ago

Note

most to least likely in ateez to wanna share their girlfriend with the members…?

SHARETEEZ ☆ atz ot8 x fem!reader

please i love this topic so fucking much, thank you for asking this !!!!! shareteez is so important to me. the only government ship i used is yungi because im insane and addicted to them 😄 not proofread sorry 4 any mistakes <3

smut mdni 18+ | wc ~4k

most likely …

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐖𝐀 ☆

idk what it is about hwa but something about him screams voyeurism to me. i think he’d be the one to bring it up, and i also think he’d share you with every single member if he could. as the oldest, even if he doesn’t share his personal items, something about sharing you gives him a sense of control. he’s always sitting in the corner of the hotel room, watching, analyzing as one of his best friends makes his girl feel good, but also, something about watching two people he loves together, right in front of his face, gets him off. he doesn’t wanna be involved— he wants to sit in his corner and watch, see how you react, see what the others do that he does or doesn’t do, watch how his members fall apart because of you. he’s prideful about it, it’s a way of showing you off, showing his members what they can have for a night but never to keep. he’s never jealous if you cum quick or if you’re screaming for another member, he’s watching with calculated eyes, taking notes, trying to ignore the ache of his cock that he doesn’t touch until he can’t take it anymore.

his favorite person to share you with is san. san is a passionate man in everything he does, his motivation never dies, and god does that statement remain true when it comes to sex. seonghwa is addicted to letting san fuck you, he’s the only member that’s fucked you more than once, hwa is obsessed with how you react for him, how easily you fall apart under his touch, the sounds the two of you make… seonghwa nearly asks for his wrists to be tied to the chair. its impossible not to stroke his cock while san’s eating you out, to not cum at the same time you do, to not drool as he watches the muscles in san’s toned back flex as he fucks you. hwa is a mess in his corner, his lap covered in cum, hand slick and wrist aching while his cock lays flaccid and utterly spent— but he still can’t stop, not when san hasn’t finished yet, not when you aren’t brainless and lifted to that fuzzy space that only san brings you to so easily. seonghwa could watch you for hours, his own personal movie, his favorite part would always be when you twisted your head to stare at him as you came, every single time. seonghwa would die a happy man in his corner if he was watching one of his best friends fuck you stupid.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐍 ☆

san would quite literally do anything his gf asked of him, but i think san is a fucking freak to begin with and watching you with someone else would be a dream to him. he’s obsessed with your pleasure, a demon possessed when it comes to getting you off, there isn’t a day that goes by where you aren’t finishing from some ministrations of choi san. if you even so much as look at another member with lingering eyes he’s on it— he’s observant, he’s horny, and his mind is always going, thinking of something new, trying it out with you, getting you past the finish line with it. san is a quiet man but he’s always storing details away, saving them for later, rewording them into propositions to make you think it was his idea. when san drops the idea of you hooking up with someone else, you’re the one shocked as if he’d just stripped you bare, peered inside your mind, as if all your thoughts were written across your forehead. san doesn’t get jealous, he’d do anything to get you off, and he means that.

san giggled to himself when he watched you approach yeosang in the backlit bar. quiet and meek, san would have never expected yeosang to agree to dance with you— but the blush that crossed yeosang’s cheeks, how his ears tipped red, san knew he was going to have fun with this. san stood with wooyoung as he watched you dance with yeosang, grinding on him, hands around his neck, lips ghosting his skin, san’s pants were agonizingly tight and only grew tighter every time yeosang glanced their way with worried eyes. he didn’t stop, though, he never asked for permission, and for some reason it made san hornier that yeosang knew you called the shots. so when the three of you made it back to your shared place and you sat with your back pressed against san’s chest and yeosang between your thighs, it was no surprise to any of you when san ended up finishing untouched, ropes of hot cum painting your back, sticking your skin to his. it was so hot, hotter than san could have ever expected, too hot to not make the occurrence a regular thing. after that night you invited the rest of the boys to your bedroom, one by one, it became a game to you and san. who could get you off the fastest, who did new things that you could incorporate into your own sex life, who you wanted to invite back into the bedroom. san was always present, always watching, always right there, always touching, always finishing at the same time as you.

𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈 ☆

mingi would share the world with yunho, so yungi topping mingi’s gf is so real to me i’m 100% convinced it’s true. unlike the other two before him, mingi is possessive and jealous by nature, he can be shy and insecure, but never when it comes to yunho. he’s third on this list because i think he’d be dating his gf for less than six months before he let yunho get his hands on her, Grade A Lover Boy ™, he’s so open to the idea that he’s the one pushing it to happen— he’s been having threesomes with yunho ever since he started having sex, so when it comes to you, his perfect little girlfriend, why wouldn’t he want to show you off to yunho? he boasts about you all the time, how pliant you are for him, how your pussy is the best he’s ever had, how your body was sculpted by god himself. it makes yunho drool and fills mingi with such a sense of pride he needs to show him as soon as he can, let him experience it for himself, but asking you is the hard part. somehow explaining the relationship between the two without making it sound like he’s objectifying you in any way, because he’s not, you’re the two people in this world he loves the most, and he’s just as confident in yunho’s skills as he is in how he feels about you.

when you agree without a second of contemplation mingi knows he’s found the one. so he invites yunho over to your shared apartment on a random weeknight, a couple glasses of liquor between you to ease your one sided nerves, and you were laid out bare on your mattress before you had a moment to second guess. two huge men towered over you, taking you for everything you were worth, making you finish over and over and over until you had nothing left to give. yunho’s long fingers inside you combined with mingi’s thick, calloused hands roaming across your body, in your mouth, in your hair, when the both of them filled you up, at the same time, you were a sight to be seen by the end, the end that you weren’t sure would ever come. you didn’t want it to, and neither did mingi, who loved everything about it. he enjoyed threesomes with yunho always, but with you, they’ve never been more in tune with one another, it’s never been so intimate. fucking has always been fucking, but with you it was more, it was a dance, a rhythm, a mutual agreement never spoken out loud. mingi’s relationship with yunho changed after that— aspects of your own relationship with mingi changed after that. it didn’t stop with just that one time, neither you or mingi could let it be a one time thing, yunho kept coming over, the two of you kept seeking him out, even when you were in public yunho became regular, routine, never spoken about, only enjoyed.

𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐆 ☆

even if wooyoung is a fucking freak i think this would definitely take him by surprise. i KNOW he is the mayor of freakville and would do anything at any point in time, but i think inviting someone else in, someone he knows so closely, so intimately, might make him double take just for a second. especially because its neither you or him that initiates it, it’s the third party peering in, the third party who has watched you, listened to you, can’t stop thinking about the two of you and wants to join in on the fun. you’re down immediately, but wooyoung…? as much as he would be down for a threesome, inviting a member in makes him think logistics. for once he’s thinking with his brain and not his cock when it comes to you, you’re his, and as much as he loves to show you off, a shred of insecurity lies deep in his gut somewhere. he thinks on it for a total of two (2) days and then he can’t stop thinking about it, what you’d look like under him, what you’d sound like, how he’d look inside you… it’s all too much for him all at once, the realization that he needs it, that he’d beg for it if it came down to it.

but he quickly remembers that it was him the two of you needed that final yes from. seonghwa comes over as soon as he shoots the text and the three of you are stripped bare without as much as hello, wooyoung thinks that maybe the two of you have him beat in freakiness. he doesn’t feel left out for a moment, though, not as seonghwa slips into easily found dominance, giving the two of you instruction, watching you make out sloppily on the bed before he’s pulling you apart and making you obey him. wooyoung’s cock was rock hard the moment he stepped foot into your bedroom, as soon as seonghwa used that voice on him, hitting that sweet submissive spot in his brain he couldn’t always tap into so easily. you were both switches in your relationship, neither of you dominant all the time, usually switching in an out of roles during one singular session, but seonghwa tamed you both with ease and wooyoung ate it up, he was a whimpering mess before he knew it, cock overstimulated and red and angry, laid against his stomach still wet from seonghwa’s mouth as he watched him fuck into you with no mercy— you were a crying, screaming mess, too, already came too many times, yet none of you wanted to stop. seonghwa was toying with you both and wooyoung was obsessed, he let it go on until either you or seonghwa had enough, and it seemed you had the same idea, too. both of you wanting to please him, satisfy him, give him what he wanted from both of you. only on nights where both you and wooyoung were reminiscing particularly hard did you call him and beg him to come over again, to dominate you both, to send you back into that headspace you’d never forget.

𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐆 ☆

yeosang is only down here cus i think if you brought it up poorly you’d hurt his feelings. he’s really a chill guy and he’s super versatile when it comes to sex, i think there’s not much that he’d say no to, but he’d definitely have to think it over for a long time before deciding to say yes to opening up your relationship to anyone, let alone another member. you’d have several conversations about it before even thinking about choosing a partner, setting boundaries for one another, what a threesome would consist of, why you’re doing it in the first place. choosing someone was another week-long conversation, going through every single member before deciding on one together, the reasons why you were choosing him, making sure none of this was being easily decided. yeosang is heavily aware that this is a big ask of another member, and he won’t be anything but wise in his choosing, in his intentions. then it came down to actually asking him, the safety of it all, precautions and boundaries, what would actually happen during the encounter. yeosang would want all bases covered before going into it, you’re too important to him to lose, and his members are too important to him to fuck up his dynamic with any of them. it’d be months of just talking and planning before anything actually happened.

the two of you choose wooyoung because he’s the closest to you both, you spend a decent amount of time together just you three, wooyoung going as far as joking that you adopted him to the other members all the time. he’s kind, respectful and light-hearted, you both trust him deeply, and you think you could show him a good time, and vice versa. wooyoung is def thrown off when you approach him with the seriousness of it all, he’s probably like yeah sure and then you two throw a five page long essay about why you chose him and what would happen in said threesome. not really. but it probably feels like that to wooyoung, who’s ready to strip his clothes off when you asked him if he’s open-minded. yeosang is feeling confident when the night finally comes, and falls into pace and rhythm with wooyoung easily, the two of them bouncing off one another and leaving you a writhing mess. it’s a dance of hands and spit and tongues and cum, kissing yeosang while riding wooyoung’s face, blowing wooyoung while yeosang stretches you out, relying on two sets of strong shoulders while they both try to fit inside you, fighting to keep your eyes open to watch as they messily makeout over your shoulder. it was a true threesome; not one of you left out, no one left untouched, wooyoung was exactly what you expected him to be, if not more. it left yeosang feeling so confident that he’s the one to suggest it happen again— after you caught him making out with wooyoung after one too many beers at the bar.

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐎 ☆

jeong yunho is a deeply possessive man, we all know this, and i think there’s only one way this could possibly go. he isn’t possessive out of insecurity or jealousy, but because you’re his, and no one else should be able to see all of you, hear you the way only he gets you. soft and submissive, bendable, pliant, obeying— that’s how he loves you, how he needs you, yunho is dominant, extremely dominant, and when it comes to your sex life, you will not do anything unless he asks it of you, or unless he makes you. so when you make a silly joke about fucking mingi, he takes it personally, he almost spanks you for it— why would you want to invite anyone else into your bedroom? why do you want someone else to fuck you? you had a long session that night, yunho took it upon himself to fuck some sense back into you, because yunho is all you need, jokes or not, you know better than that. as the days followed, yunho found himself daydreaming about fucking both of you, dominating you at the same time, two people crying and begging at his mercy… it was less about sharing you and more about making the both of you his, even if it was just for a night. his cock was standing tall at the thought, he could see it in his head, thinking of his best friend that way opened another can of worms he wasn’t sure he even wanted to act on, so he didn’t. not for months.

then there’s that one time he’s out with you and mingi somewhere completely innocent, like the farmer’s market, somewhere the three of you go often, probably twice a month when your schedules allow. the two of you are deep in conversation standing in front of a fruit stand, and yunho’s speaking to you, trying to get your attention but neither of you hear him, and it pisses him off. he snaps his fingers, something he does to you when you’re lost in a session, when your mind floats away even with all of your training, when he needs you to come back down to earth. but instead of your head snapping up it’s the both of you, with wide eyes and parted lips, waiting for yunho to say something, waiting for instruction. it awakens a feeling he buried deep in his gut that he couldn’t help but get you both in the car and back to your place immediately. the bond the three of you shared has never gone unnoticed in your years of being friends, and that mental link you had was proving itself more than ever now, how both you and mingi went straight to the bedroom, sat yourselves quietly on the bed awaiting yunho’s instruction. it was heaven to yunho, as he instructed mingi on how exactly to make you cum, how to suck on your clit, how to curve his fingers inside you to hit that one spot that made you squirt on demand. it was even better when he instructed you on jerking mingi off, how he held mingi’s hands behind his back, how he made you edge him over and over until he cried, abdomen clenching and sweat beading down his skin. yunho’s favorite was when you both sucked him off at the same time, how your tongues danced with each other on his cock, how you both had that gleam in your eye solely to please him. yunho couldn’t get enough after that— having one person completely submit themselves to him was one thing, but to have two? it’s safe to say that was not the last time mingi was in your shared bedroom with yunho.

𝐊𝐈𝐌 𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐉𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐆 ☆

another possessive demon freak is hongjoong! you would piss him off so bad if you didn’t bring this up in a delicate way, honestly even if you did bring it up delicately he’d still prolly be pissed off. i think he’s the only member that would get mad mad tho, like not speak to you or sleep on the couch or something. why would you need anyone but him? he gives you everything you ask for, and it’s still not enough? when would it be enough for you???? it drives him insane for days, bro can’t work because he’s legitimately tripping over you thirsting after another one of his members. plus your sex life is great, he breaks your back every time he fucks you, he doesn’t consider it sex unless you’ve came two or three times. why would you need anyone else??? even if he could accept the fact that you wanted more— he has to come to terms with the fact that he’s to share you? the thought is ridiculous. someone else seeing you spread out, writhing, hearing you, possibly touching you? it makes him homicidal tbh he’s actually fucking crazy. knowing you have exes makes him rage enough, but to willingly let someone else see you is a whole different ordeal.

but he hated the idea of letting someone else watch a little less, so there’s your compromise. you let him choose because he’s insane and he tries to think of someone who would get the most pleasure out of sitting off to the side and just enduring, someone borderline pathetic, someone so horny they’d say yes to everything. naturally his mind leads him right to wooyoung, who said yes in a heartbeat. sat in the corner of the room in a cozy chair, wooyoung already had his pants pulled down to his thighs when hongjoong had just started kissing you. he smiled into your lips, knowing he was putting on a show, pride consuming him at the fact that he got to show this part of you off. as much as he hated the idea initially, he warmed up to it quickly when he realized how desperate wooyoung was, when he saw how badly wooyoung wanted to join in, wanted to be touched… depriving him of that made his cock harder, made him want to please you more, wanted to show wooyoung what he’ll never fucking have. hearing wooyoung whine and moan and gasp whenever he locked eyes with you, when hongjoong made you cum again, it made hongjoong want to work harder, want to make you cum again and again and again, just to hear you, to hear him, to dangle you right in front of wooyoung’s face. hongjoong never thought of himself as an exhibitionist but i think that experience definitely changed his life, and he wouldn’t mind showing you off for someone else again.

𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐎 ☆

tbh i think jongho would be weirded out. he doesn’t see a point in opening up your relationship unless he wasn’t enough for his gf, and at that point he’d just end the relationship lol. if he was invited in to someone else’s relationship i think he’d literally say fuck no. too easy to get messy, for feelings to get involved, what if another member got jealous and couldn’t look at jongho the same way? these guys are his brothers, he doesn’t need to know what the inside of their girlfriend feels like. that’s territory he’d legit never cross. he trusts the members and their intentions but his relationship with them is too important to let a night of fun mess all of that up. but if you begged him for a threesome, like really begged, and strategized in a way that’d leave jongho with no more valid arguing points OR leave him with the feeling of not being enough for you, the one person he’d share you with is hongjoong. hj knows how to keep a secret, he can turn the switch off to separate his feelings, to realize when a situation his purely situational. he trusts hj with every bone in his body, he knows hj would take care of you, and if jongho never wanted to speak about it again he knows hj would never bring it up first.

what jongho has never realized because why would he is how versatile hongjoong is when it comes to sex. when jongho laid down the ground rules hongjoong was respectful, which was the most important thing to jongho, about yours and his boundaries— no kissing, no saying names, no cuddling, no spending the night. everything else was free game, though, and hongjoong took advantage of every unchecked box. it came down to worshipping you, and he was everywhere jongho wasn’t, you wondered if the two even realized the other was there. if jongho was inside you, hongjoong was feeling you up, fingers pressed to your clit, his other hand tweaking your nipples, whispering nasty shit in your ear. if jongho was kissing you he was behind you, licking and sucking down your back, his hands roaming every inch of untouched skin, praising you about how soft you are, how sweet you taste. jongho was pleasantly surprised, hongjoong slipped in like he’d done this a thousand times before, like your pleasure was all that mattered to him, and that was all jongho could ask for, aside from his rules. they totally never spoke about it again tho.

… least likely

masterlist

perm tags: @chimivx 😛

323 notes · View notes

dcafanzine · 1 day ago

Text

May Update

Helllllooooo everyone! Sun and Moon and the Fanzine crew have been quietly working away here at Glitches and Glitterglue HQ but it’s about time you lovely people had an update! I think Moon is ready for a break after being worked so hard, but Sun will not accept anything less than perfect for you all!

Well, we are well on our way! We’ve now ironed out the last wrinkles with all our production companies and we’re super excited to share the results of our labour! We are just awaiting final proofs for the last changes on a couple of items and to give the green light to produce the goods.

Our next steps will be receiving the goods, boxing up and dispatching in waves! We cannot express how excited are to be so close to the finish line and have these bundles in your hands.

A few of you have been asking about tariffs and what these will be impacting. The tariffs (from our understanding and research) would mostly affect items being imported to the US, the zines and merch coming directly to our shipping team from manufacturers from overseas. We are planning on our US items being shipped to backers from within the US and many of our international items being shipped from the UK, with a few exceptions. This was always our plan to both help split the load for our team and this should also help with tariff issues should there be further problems and fees trickling through the shipping systems.

The honest answer is we’re charting uncertain waters with this but to our current understanding, this shouldn’t impact you but may slightly increase the waiting times for things to arrive with us. Should there be any need for further guidance, we will let you all know via update.

Sneak Peeks! Aren't they amazing? Some snippets of works you have to look forward to from the talented RAVLIKSBLOG, LYCANKEYY and ELDRITCH-BEETLE!

Annnnd here’s an updated timeline!

Updated Fazwatch Timeline

What's happening next? Here's the up to date estimated outline as of May 2025!

There were some small issues that have been resolved with our manufacturers, but after reviewing and finalizing proofs, items are in production!

We expect to begin receiving some items in the next few weeks and into June. Here is the updated timeline reflecting the delay.

February-March 2025: Funds Received & Items Ordered! We have received the funds from Kickstarter and are in the process of finalizing our order details and sending all of the amazing art to our manufacturers. Proof and Production times can vary, but we will send updates to backers as details are finalized and items go into production.

April-May 2025: Proofs Reviewed, Revised, & Approved. Printing and Manufacturing is underway! Proofs received from manufacturers and our team has reviewed everything for quality and accuracy. This process can go back and forth multiple times. With the final approval of the art, the manufacturers will begin production!

June 2025: We will send out Backer Surveys to confirm everyone's shipping details. We are planning on surveys being sent out in June, but will send an update prior to sending and to remind backers to look for them once they are sent.

Mid June-July 2025 (estimated): Items arrive and fulfilment begins!

July-Sept of 2025 (estimated): Packages are Shipped & Digital Rewards are Sent! Once we have confirmed where everything needs to be shipped, we will begin to send out packages in waves. This does mean that everyone's packages will not arrive around the same time, but this in unavoidable with how many of you there are! It will be during this time we plan to send out the digital rewards.

More detailed information on digital reward fulfilment will be coming in a future update.

These are estimated dates that we’ll be able to further refine as we get farther along in the process. These may change depending on manufacturing, and other factors we have done our best to plan for.

Thank you all for your patience and I’m sure you’ll hear more good news from us soon!

#dca fan zine #dca fanzine #glitches and glitterglue zine #zine update #dca fandom

357 notes · View notes

httyraptor · 2 days ago

Text

So yuriful

#i swear to god ive never been this flavor of insane about a ship b4 #at least not in a WHILE #ugh i love them i love yuri goodnight #eat ur food raptormoms enjoyers i hope it's good #jwct #chaos theory #jurassic world chaos theory #jwct fanart #soyona santos #the handler jwct #the raptor handler #raptormoms #whistlelight #laserwhistle

82 notes · View notes

sp-aarks · 21 hours ago

Text

This is the thing that I really can't wrap my head around with young folk and censorship in fandom spaces nowadays... I, too, can recall being a kid with essentially unlimited access to the internet, and it was wonderful (thanks mum and dad, you guys were so real for that). In fact, I remember very vividly the first time I saw a piece of hentai (I wanna say it was on Newgrounds and I was probably around 12 or 13 years old) and it blew my tiny mind.

I knew it was something I shouldn't be looking at, but it was titillating and exciting (literally and figuratively), and I knew I wanted to learn more about it. It didn't take long before I discovered sites like fanfiction.net and deviantart and livejournal, and later tumblr and ao3 etc., and found people with similar creative interests to me who I could interact and share ideas with, and thus began a lifelong love of fandom, I guess.

And yeah, you can argue with the benefit of hindsight that that probably wasn't A Good Thing, and to a certain extent I do agree that children should only be exposed to age-appropriate material and media that they can understand. But I wonder if we've gone too far in that respect, to the point where formerly adults-only spaces now have to pander to children and place caveats everywhere like 'minors dni' in case they happen to stumble across adults-only material. 'Back in my day' (ugh I hate myself) it was the opposite, where the onus was on you (or your parents, ig) to moderate your own experience and decide what was or wasn't fit for your consumption. If you came across something you didn't like, you moved on (young folk really don't know about squicks, ship and let ship, DL;DR and DD:DNE huh).

The point is, like OP, discovering that stuff was a feeling of unmitigated joy, limitless possibility, and validation for me, as well as learning that it's okay to be weird and that maybe your interests aren't that weird, actually (or if they are, you definitely aren't the only person that feels that way).

I can't imagine having the exact opposite reaction and wanting to flame people and spaces for perceived 'problematic' interests and points of view.

The fact that kids nowadays want ao3 to be censored— guys. Guys. Where is your sense of adventure? When I was 12, and homeschooled, and had unlimited internet access on my second hand laptop, all I felt upon discovering ao3 was unmitigated joy. A whole platform where people can be fucking weird and post toe-curling novel-length diatribes about ANYTHING. How beautiful is that?

And then you, the reader, can just jump in and post your own weird shit? And people might comment just to say “nice job!” Or “where the fuck is the next chapter” on your 20k coffee shop FNAF AU? Bro. Them’s the little things that make the internet worth anything.

Ao3 is so beautiful. I love scrolling past indescribably disturbing descriptions. I love knowing they have a place to be posted. I love knowing that, should I feel the urge to indulge, I can do so with no repercussions.

Mi familia. Mis amigos. Por favor. Take a step back and be grateful that not every facet of creativity has been locked behind an algorithm.

#I guess a lot of it comes down to conservatism in general #fandom #fandom thoughts #minors dni lol #antis too

4K notes · View notes

h1nanii · 21 hours ago

Text

Not that kind of guy.

This is a oneshot

Jealous!Zoro x F!Reader (Pre-established relationship)

Genre [fluff, Romance, slice of life with cannon-verse context. Jealousy, self-consciousness]

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x F!Reader.

[Warnings: none]

A midday nap on the deck in which your moss haired boyfriend couldn’t help but eavesdrop on your “ Girl Talk” with Robin & Nami.

It started harmlessly enough.

You were helping Robin and Nami fold laundry on the deck while Zoro napped nearby. The sun was warm, the ocean calm, and the wind carried lazy conversation across the ship.

“I mean, I used to dream about a guy who could write poetry,” Nami said with a laugh, folding a towel. “Someone smart, mysterious, charming.”

Robin nodded thoughtfully. “A gentleman. Tall, elegant. Maybe someone who brings you flowers.”

“Exactly! The kind who dances at galas, gives surprise gifts, knows how to talk sweet…”

You smiled softly, hugging a fresh shirt to your chest. “That sounds lovely.”

Unbeknownst to the three of you, Zoro was not actually asleep.

He’d cracked one eye open just enough to catch the words charming, sweet-talking, and gives flowers—and then you saying “That sounds lovely.”

He didn’t stir.

But he definitely heard.

⸻

Later, he was quieter than usual. He trained harder, longer. You found him by the mast that evening, sword drawn but unmoving, his eyes fixed on the sky with a frown on his face.

You approached, the hem of your loose shirt swaying with the breeze.

“Zoro?”

He glanced at you and went back to wiping down Wado.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

You stepped closer, picking up the cloth he wasn’t really using. “You’re not.”

He paused. “Just tired.”

“…Is it because of what Nami and Robin were saying earlier?”

Zoro blinked. His grip tightened slightly.

“Thought you liked that kind of guy,” he muttered. “Charming. Pretty words. Surprise gifts. That’s… not me.”

Your heart softened painfully.

You stepped in front of him, taking the cloth from his hand and setting it aside.

“I said it sounded lovely, Zoro. Not me.”

His brows drew together. He wasn’t mad—just distant. Hurt. That quiet kind of hurt he didn’t know how to express.

You reached for his hand.

“I never wanted someone who dances at balls or writes poetry,” you said gently. “I wanted someone who protects the people he loves without hesitation. Someone strong, steady—even if he’s quiet. Someone I can trust.”

You leaned your head against his chest.

“I wanted you.”

Zoro stood frozen for a moment. Then you felt his arms wrap around you, slow and hesitant at first—but tightening.

“…I don’t say the right things,” he murmured into your hair. “I never know what you need to hear.”

“You don’t have to,” you whispered. “You show me every day. That’s enough.”

He held you closer, resting his chin on your head.

“…Would it kill you to want a guy who talks less and lifts heavy things?”

You giggled into his chest. “I think I already have him.”

He exhaled something like a laugh, then mumbled, “Good.”

After a moment of silence, you peeked up at him. “But… if you ever brought me a flower, I wouldn’t hate it.”

He gave you a suspicious look.

“…Don’t push your luck.”

And you didn’t, you never pushed expectations onto the swordsman since the start of your relationship. But he always seemed to surprise you from holding a soft spot deep down for you.

The island air was heavy with heat and the scent of wild fruit, the thick green jungle humming with cicadas and bird calls. The Sunny had docked off the shore of a bright tropical cove, the water so clear it shimmered like polished glass.

You’d had to shed your usual layers—the thick clothing of your shirts was too much in the heat. Instead, you wore a soft pink bikini set, the top trimmed with gentle frills, a gauzy wrap fluttering at your hips, barely covered by the denim shorts you bought a few weeks ago.

The others had gone exploring. You had too—until you realized something was missing.

Zoro.

You hadn’t seen him since disembarking. You asked Luffy (who was chasing a parrot), Sanji (who was too distracted by your outfit to be helpful), and even Brook (who offered to help you search “spiritually”).

No luck.

Eventually, you gave up, returning to the quiet stretch of beach near the ship, your bare feet curling into warm sand as you gazed at the waves.

The sun was starting to dip behind the cliffs when you felt it:

A strong, familiar arm wrapping around your waist, grounding you instantly.

You didn’t even jump.

His other hand came into view, calloused fingers holding something delicate and unexpected.

A single water lily.

Large, white, with a faint pink center—its petals soft and open like a sunrise.

You blinked in surprise, turning your head slightly.

“…You disappeared,” you whispered.

Zoro stood behind you, chin resting lightly against your shoulder.

“I was looking for this,” he said quietly.

Your eyes widened. “For me?”

“Tch.” He shifted slightly, but his arm didn’t move from your waist. “You said once you wouldn’t hate it if I brought you a flower.”

You blinked. “You remembered that?”

“I remember everything you say,” he muttered, then cleared his throat like he regretted admitting it.

He held the water lily out to you—awkwardly, like it might explode—but his grip was steady.

“I don’t dance,” he said. “I don’t do sweet talk. But I saw this, and I thought of you. Soft. Pink. Floating, but not fragile. Strong enough to grow out of still water.”

Your throat tightened.

You took the flower gently, cradling it against your chest. “It’s beautiful.”

He stepped in front of you now, facing you fully. His eyes dropped down to your pink bikini for the first time—he stared just a beat too long before coughing and looking away.

“…You look good,” he muttered.

Your cheeks flushed with heat taking in his own appearance. “So do you.”

He was shirtless—swords still at his side, muscles cut by golden light, hair messy from the wind. He looked like something out of a story: a storm made man.

You stepped forward, placing the lily gently in his hand and guiding it to rest above your ear.

“Now I’m yours,” you said softly. “Everyone will know.”

Zoro watched you for a moment. Then he reached for your waist again, pulling you against him with no hesitation this time.

“They already know,” he murmured, just before pressing his lips to yours.

The waves washed over your ankles as the sun dipped lower, casting the two of you in gold.

And Zoro—quiet, rough-edged Zoro—stood there with his hand on your waist, a flower behind your ear, and a look in his eyes that said:

You were always the one.

170 notes · View notes

mortalscience · 2 days ago

Text

#standing. next. to. each. other.#my ship lives lmao #actually dying over thinking about luke being penelope's emotional support during this though #everybody on the team loves will obviously and have hung out with him or worked with him many times #but i feel that penelope would have known him better than the rest of the team bc of how close she and jj are #and how long they've known each other #how many times did penelope go over to jj's place to hang out or have dinner #all the times giving presents to the kids and participating in all the family parties over the years #and will was there #penelope loves being a part of people's lives so i bet she got to know will pretty well #anywayyy pen will need a shoulder to cry on and fortunately luke is there for her #garvez #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #criminalmindsedit #luke alvez #penelope garcia #cm s18e02 #my stuff

59 notes · View notes

nadiajustbe · 3 days ago

Text

The other thing I immensely love about Bartimaeus of Uruk is how inhuman he is. Usually in media authors tend to "humanise" inhuman characters, by giving them stable human appearance or/and character traits. This vampire is actually a 17yo guy. This devil is a 30yo man. This magical god is a always teenage girl and they act accordingly. This is an easy route. Johnathan Stroud doesn't chose it.

Bartimaeus is not a woman but nor he is a man (even despite using he/him pronounce primarily it is canon all spirits are genderless out of nature, some just stend to stick more to one gender than the other). Sure he is not a "child" but nor he is an "adult", because he was never a human in the first place and was never fully presented as either of this. He doesn't devide love in platonic and romantic and doesn't feel a need to clarify. He struggles to explains the way he thinks and difficult for it to translate it to a human reader. He doesn't act as someone of a particular age in "human" understanding as well. He knows thousands of languages and switches between them. He loves humanity and yet still has an unique outside perception of it because he's not a human. He doesn't fit in any of human boxes to check, he's everything and nothing at once. He can look an act of any age or gender or feeling and perhaps fit none of those in your mind.

And this gives so much freedom for creating and fanfiction. Go on make him a young adult college student! Make him a middle aged man who has thousands of jobs! Make him a fourteen year old Ptolemy's twin! Create an AU where he as an anger or a cupid or an ageless God and none of it would be OOC to him! Human!Bartimaeus can be a traveler, a performer, a coffee shop barista, a hired killer! Perhaps don't make him a human at all, what If he is a tired cat who Kitty feeds on her way to work in a shop?

The possibilities are endless because instead of being a human with some cool flashing eyes and superpowers he is not actually a human. He's Bartimaeus of Uruk and that's it.

#sure he is 5k years of age and it TRACKS you can FEEL it but that's also doesn't fit in any human box #it's actually wonderfully done #he's both great for teenagers to relate with and is STILL not a human who's seen empires fall #(and also no human is 5k of age lmao)#I think this one of the reason Bartimaeus random doesn't have ship war — it's both fandom being full of people who respect each other #and the fact that Bartimaeus doesn't fall into any “human/inhuman” discourse #like he's none of those tropes people on TikTok are complaining about #I may not be a Bartolemy fan because Ptol was 14 and that's just not my cup of it #but also it doesn't icks me borderline at all as many other (respectfully) similar ships may #because my brain doesn't really see Bartimaeus as an “adult” and nor it sees him as a “child” he's just beyond that stuff #sure you can hc him as one or the other and as I said before it's perfectly okay he's none and all at all #this goes to gender too probably (fem! Bartimaeus fics would go hard sure why not #(he can also be nonbinary or agender OR bigender OR unlabeled or...)#it's just I love it so much Bartimaeus of Uruk you're easily one of the most wonderfully written non-human character there is #(although I'm sure there's other ones!)#bartimaeus #bartimaeus sequence #bartimaeustrilogy #the bartimaeus trilogy #bartimaeus trilogy #Bartseq

59 notes · View notes

mystic-writings · 2 days ago

Text

i want you to love me

PAIRING — dean winchester x fem!reader

SUMMARY — dean keeps coming back to see you. you keep letting him. it never seems to end well anymore, but neither of you can seem to stop.

WARNINGS — angst, smut (unprotected p in v, slight praise kink), fwb-type relationship, hurt/no comfort, kidnapping, torture, violence, implied happy ending

WORD COUNT — 10,414

NOTES — title from the fiona apple song of the same name; also yay first fully fledged smut fic & first later seasons spn fic! it kinda sucks lmao but i’m still getting used to not feeling so awkward when i write smut so whatevs

masterlist | taglist

Your relationship with Dean Winchester was little more than transactional. Ships passing in the night, so to speak. You only ever saw him when his Impala rumbled through town like a siren’s call, always followed by a text with a location and the expectation that you would show.

You always showed.

It was always a no strings attached kind of relationship. Always the same routine. Just one night of intense, burning passion every few weeks, and then he would be gone again and you would go back to your normal, civilian life.

And then slowly, in the few times before he would leave, when Dean would stick around and chat for a little, something changed. You liked him. He was sweet, and kind. He loved his brother and saved the world more than a few times; not that anyone actually knew about it. He told you as much about himself as he was willing to share with a hookup, and you did the same. You showed him parts of yourself you weren’t sure most long-term boyfriends had seen before, but that was okay. Because it was always no strings attached. Just sex. Right?

It was how you ended up here. Bare legged beneath the sheets, wearing only a shirt and underwear as Dean sat at the corner of the bed, fully dressed, lacing up his boots. He was leaving again, like he always did, but this time the ache settling in your chest rested a little heavier than the other times. You could usually bear it, push it away and let the sting fade on the cab ride home, but something about this time just… hurt more.

Your eyes burned into Dean’s back as he stood and grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, turning to you as he shrugged it on and smoothed the collar down.

“I’m headin’ out now, sweetheart,” he said like it was the most casual thing in the world. Like the way he called you ��sweetheart’ didn’t deepen the already painful ache.

You nodded, forcing yourself to try and sound casual as you said, “Okay.”

Dean paused near the foot of the bed, his brows furrowing as he looked at you, as though he was trying to find something hidden beneath your skin. “You alright?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled, nodding again. “Yeah, I’m fine,”

“Well you don’t look fine,” Dean persisted, stepping a little closer to the bed. “You’re frowning, sweetheart. I don’t know about you, but I thought we had a good time.”

You cleared your throat and nodded, crossing your arms and trying to prepare yourself for the choice you were about to make. “We did,” you admitted softly. “That’s… sort of the problem here, Dean.”

It took Dean a few moments to catch on, leaving you both to bask in thick, tense silence as his eyes met yours and his expression shifted from concerned to guarded within seconds. “You know how this works, sweetheart.”

“I know,” you said quickly, defensive as you dropped your arms and toyed with the sheets, your gaze falling with it. “I just… I wish you’d stay the night, at least. Just once, y’know?”

“You know I can’t do that,” Dean sighed, stepping a little closer to the bed again. His expression was still guarded, but a little softer now. His jaw ticked when you looked back up at him, and he ran a hand through his cropped hair before he spoke again. “You’re a good friend—” Ouch. “—but I can’t… I can’t give you anything more than this. My life, it… doesn’t exactly leave much room for relationships.”

Taking in a deep breath, you blinked hard and gnawed on the inside of your cheek. You already knew the answer to the question that fell from your lips, but you asked it anyway. “You don’t even want to try? At all?”

Dean’s expression hardened again, like he was upset at you for not seeing his point. But you didn’t. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen that part of his life before. Hell, it was how you two had met in the first place. “This isn’t about what either of us wants. This is about what I can’t give you, Y/n. I’m trying to keep you safe here. Staying away keeps you safe, don’t you get that?”

“Safe from what, Dean?” You nearly scoffed, bitter disappointment mixing with the hurt hollowing out your heart. “From you?”

“Yeah, from me.” Dean confirmed with a small nod, his voice hoarse but firm as he dipped his head to recollect himself before meeting your gaze. “From me. From the life. From everything. People get close to me and they… they get hurt. Every time. I don’t want that for you.”

“I get it,” you said, the words coming out harsher than you had meant them to. Pausing, you took a deep breath and swallowed hard. “I do, Dean. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less. Every time you leave, I…”

Dean sighed and approached the side of the bed, swallowing a lump in his throat as his hand twitched, like he had contemplated reaching for you but ultimately decided against it. “Maybe we should stop,” he suggested, his voice still hoarse and quiet as he looked at the floor.

His words hit like a swift punch to the gut, the ache in your chest increasing tenfold, face falling and eyes wide as you stared at him as he stared at the ground. “You don’t mean that,” you finally said, firm and full of denial as you shook your head.

Out of every way you thought this would end, you had simply never considered that it would be Dean calling it off. In every scenario, it had been you. Either by finding the courage to stop things for your own sake or by finding someone who made you feel anywhere near the way Dean does, it was always you ending it. Never him.

When Dean didn’t speak again, only raising his head to meet your eyes with guilt ridden green irises, you swallowed and kept going, pure hurt in your voice as you spoke. “I would rather have some of you like this than not have you at all, Dean.”

You watched as Dean tensed, hurt flashing across his face before he clenched his jaw and shook his head. “Don’t say that,” Dean insisted, his voice quiet and trembling. “Don’t. You deserve a hell of a lot more than this. You know that. I’m only gonna hurt you.”

“You’ll hurt me either way,” you told him, voice soft and solemn as you held his gaze. That ache in your chest grew deeper, cracking like a fissure and bleeding you dry. It had probably been there since long before you realized your feelings for Dean, but it had been growing slowly with each of his departures. You were finally feeling the whole of it now, and it felt like it was killing you.

“You don’t need me,” Dean insisted, his voice full of pain and self-loathing. Didn’t you see that he was just trying to protect you? There was no easy way for this to end, he knew that, but at least this way you would be safe. Alive. He’d rather not have you and know you were alive than have you and watch you die bloody.

You scoffed at him, the sound wet and thick as you shook your head. The fissure deepened slowly as you swallowed, trying desperately to ignore the pain. “Maybe I don’t need you,” you agreed softly. “But I want you, Dean. I want you in any way you’ll let me have you. Even if it’s just like this. Even if it’s only when you have time to spare to come and see me, to sleep with me. I’ll take it.”

Dean’s heart ached, fighting back tears as his gaze softened, taking in the pain practically radiating off your words. He just wanted to do the right thing, but right now, seeing you so hurt because of him, sure as hell made him feel like it wasn’t.

“You deserve a normal life,” Dean tried again, his voice shaking slightly as he tried desperately to get a handle on his emotions. As he tried to get through to you, to make you understand. “A house, a family, a couple kids. I can’t give you any of that. My life ain’t exactly easy, sweetheart. And at some point, you’ll regret being with me.”

Something swelled up in your chest, burning hot and choking you as you listened to him. “I don’t regret a damn thing,” you insisted sharply, your words quick and defensive. “Not a damn thing, Dean. So don’t you ever say I could end up regretting choosing you. Not now, not in the future.”

Dean gaped, sighing softly as he shook his head again, but you beat him to the punch.

“And it’s not like I’ve ever really wanted those things to begin with, Dean.” You told him, voice softer now. “I don’t care about living the perfect life. I never have. You know that.”

“I didn’t say you would have regrets now,” Dean insisted, taking a deep breath and crossing his arms as he stared down at you, taking the authoritative route, pain still hidden in his eyes despite his hardened expression. “I’m saying that you will, at some point. I know you will. Because you might think you’re okay with it now, but my life ain’t exactly sunshine and rainbows. You can say you’re okay with it, but you won’t be later on. I know you won’t. You deserve somebody who can give you everything you truly deserve, and I’m not that guy.”

“Dean,” you sighed, the sound pained as you struggled to keep your tears at bay. But he lifted a hand and you stopped, closing your mouth.

“I’m a hunter,” Dean said, his tone firm and gruff. “All I can give you is a couple nights out of the year. That’s it. Just some nights. And you… sweetheart, you deserve so much more than that.”

Your heart ached, beating and bleeding in your chest when you realized your initial point wasn’t getting through to him.

“Dean,” you pleaded again, your eyes searching his as you waited a moment to see if he would try to interrupt again. When he didn’t, you kept going, sitting up straighter in the bed, voice laced with a hint of agony and the desperate need to be understood. “I don’t care, okay? I don’t. Not anymore. I’ll take whatever you can give me without complaint, but I refuse to lose you like this. To lose seeing you in any way, even if all you can give me is a night or two every once in a while. I’ll take it,”

You knew you sounded desperate, and it was everything you hated about those rom-coms your friends always loved to watch, but it was exactly what you were. Desperate. Desperate to keep Dean in your life in one way or another, however he wanted to be.

For a moment, Dean nearly broke. The intensity in your voice was almost the chink in his armor, weakening his resolve but not quite pushing him over the edge. Dean had never had anyone be so willing to fight to keep him by their side like this, and especially not in the way you were doing it. You weren’t lashing out at him, yelling and demanding more from him than he could give. You were just asking. Asking if he would be willing to give what he could, and nothing more than that.

And it seemed that understanding that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Because Dean knew he should call it quits and walk away, for both your sakes, but he found himself unable to. He found himself not wanting to.

“Just…” you sighed again, the sound quiet and trembling as you broke your gaze from his and looked at your lap for a moment before returning your gaze to his. You swallowed hard, voice trembling and losing all intensity, falling back into a saddened softness as your brows furrowed. “Please, Dean. Don’t just walk away.”

It was a raw, aching plea, and hearing it had shattered whatever remained of Dean’s willpower. Everything in him was screaming at him to run, to get away from you to save you from him and his cursed hands, but he just… couldn’t. His feet remained planted on the carpeted floor, his body moving of its own accord, hands reaching out to cup your jaw in his hand, soft skin against a rough calloused palm.

“There’s just about a thousand reasons why I should walk away,” Dean spoke, his voice soft and trembling as he held your face in his hand. “But I… sweetheart, I don’t think I could, even if I tried.”

You heaved a shaking breath, relief flooding the fissure in your chest like a temporary balm. Your eyes fluttered closed, a soft smile splitting your lips as you tilted your head up towards Dean. Daringly, you allowed yourself to lean into his palm, finding that his warm solid skin brought you a great deal of comfort. Reaching up, you let your hand cover his on your palm, trapping it against your skin for a moment.

It was late, somewhere around 3 in the morning, and you knew he would have to go sooner or later. But at least now you had the slight assurance that, sometime soon, he would come back. It would hurt, but you would gladly take it over never seeing him again.

Dean’s chest tightened at your small gestures, tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously as he stared at you. He knew that this wouldn’t last. That sooner or later things would have to come to an end. But still, part of him refused to let go. To just give up on one of the few solid, steady things in his life — one of the few things he could leave behind and know it would still be there when he came back — despite the risk it put you in.

When you opened your eyes again, gaze soft and pliant under Dean’s, you could tell you were thinking the same thing he was. One day, this would end. One of you would decide that it was just too much, or maybe you’d find people who were better suited for you, and you’d probably never see him again after that. For now, though, in some small way, Dean was yours and you were his, and the unfortunate truth was that you were in love with a man who was too kindhearted to drag you any further into his life than a borrowed bed every once in a while.

Despite it all, though, you would take whatever he was willing to give. With open arms and a forgiving smile, you would take however much of Dean Winchester you could get.

Dean knew he was making all the wrong moves by keeping you around. Hell, he should probably be running for the hills right now, getting as far away from you, from this town, as fast as he possibly could. But seeing you staring up at him, warm and soft and pure in his hands, he could feel his resolve continuing to crumble.

So, instead of breaking away and leaving you behind like his mind was yelling at him to, Dean stayed for just a little longer, his thumb brushing soft strokes along your cheekbone. His eyes raked over your face, gaze soft and grateful and all kinds of things swirling in his chest that he couldn’t put a name to.

Love, A small voice within him called out, a soft echo from deep down inside his battered, guarded soul. You are in love.

Dean could’ve sworn his heart stopped.

After an internal battle, and a few more long moments simply staying by your side, Dean let his hand fall from your cheek as he forced his gaze to move to the analog clock on the motel nightstand, blinking a slow, 3:27am back at him.

“I have to go,” he murmured, a soft sigh falling from his lips as he took a small step away from the bed.

Slowly, you nodded, voice just as small as you spoke. “Okay.”

Dean watched you stand from the bed, the shirt you wore covering your thighs as you stood in front of him, chests practically touching. He wondered if you knew how badly he was tempted to keep you in that bed all night.

He knew he should move. He should step back and turn around and walk right out that door like he was so used to doing, but he couldn’t. Part of him would remain with you until he came back again, and he didn’t want to let that go. So, he cupped your cheek again, pulling you a little closer, his temptations slowly taking over. Telling him to give in and throw you right back onto that bed, to hold you, touch you, feel you until the sun came up.

“Dean…” you murmured, gaze softening sadly but making no real effort to push him away. “You should… you have to go.”

He knew you were right. His logical mind knew you were right. But his heart and his soul were already weeping with the distance, and he hadn’t even left yet. If he didn’t leave now, he’d never be able to.

So, he nodded once and reluctantly let you go, stepping back and licking his lips. “I’ll, uh… see you soon, okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, forcing your face not to show any negative emotions as you watched him slowly step further back. The only indicator that you were feeling anything at all was the immense oceans worth in your eyes, a raging storm brewing in your irises as you watched Dean continue backward until he was almost at the door.

“Goodbye, Dean,” you said softly, a small smile splitting your lips, hoping it looked happier than you felt.

Dean nodded again, silent as he watched you put on a brave face. He wondered, now, how many times before had you worn that same face, that very same fake smile, as he left and he didn’t notice. God, he felt like an idiot for not noticing.

“Goodbye, sweetheart,” Dean replied quietly, sporting his own small, slightly saddened smile as he turned his back, reaching for the doorknob and twisting it open. He paused for a moment in the threshold, daring one last glance back at you, trying to burn your image into his mind to hold onto forever.

You did the same, your eyes sloping intently over the curves of his side profile, the glint of moonlight in his pale green eyes, the soft spikes of his short hair, the silhouette of his jacket hanging over his frame, down to the slight bow of his legs in long-worn jeans. You soaked the image of him into your mind, always to look back on and never to forget about.

Saying goodbye always hurt to some degree, but never had it been as dragged out as this one, and never had it come with conversations like that one you’d just had with Dean. A small part of it all had felt very… final. Almost as though, despite what you had both just agreed upon, you would never be in a room like this with Dean ever again. Like you would never feel his skin against yours again, never feel his lips on your neck, never feel him fill you and mold you to him and transform you entirely ever again.

And you hated it, more than anything.

Then, with sagging shoulders, Dean nodded once more and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him. Everything in him screamed to turn around, his instinct to go back to be with you gnawing at his gut with every step he took further away from the door and closer to the Impala. And he almost did.

But his mind flashed with that sad smile you gave him, and he couldn’t stop as it morphed into pain, and his mind conjured up gruesome images that would haunt him forever if they came true. And the only way to stop that was to keep you at a distance.

As painful as it was for Dean to leave, staying would only hurt you more in the long run.

Still, if he could see the way you stood in that motel room, alone and shivering from the sudden wash of cold that came over you, staring at the door like it would bring him marching back to you, he wouldn’t hesitate to scoop you up and keep you at his side forever.

But he couldn’t see you. He couldn’t see that hollow look in your eyes, the way you flinched slightly as you heard the rumble of the Impala spark up and slowly fade away with the distance it put between you and him, how it felt as though your heart was cleaved in two, an open wound in the very center of your chest, spilling agony from that familiar, Dean-shaped fissure in your soul and pouring out everywhere like it was blood from a wound.

He didn’t see the way you tried to contain it, to pull yourself together and gather your own clothes, silent in your movements as you mentally reassured yourself that you would see Dean again soon. You would see him again.

You had to see him again.

Every day that passed after that first month marking the last time you saw Dean, you practically prayed that he wouldn’t be a coward. That he would come back at some point, even if it was just for his usual night of casual sex. It made you feel just a little pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Dean Winchester was a drug, and you were addicted. You had gotten that first hit so long ago, and you’d do anything to have more of it. More of him.

But that first month passed, and then the second, and then half of the third. It was the longest you’d gone without hearing from him, and you had started moving on. You hung out with your friends more and buried yourself in work and the occasional guy from a bar, but you never found it within yourself to take it further than a one night stand. Maybe you were just as bad as Dean was, but you didn’t dare let that thought linger for too long.

You had given up on thinking you’d see him again anytime soon when the text came through, interrupting your half drank vodka cranberry and a story one of your friends was telling for what must’ve been the thousandth time.

‘Glen Pines motel. Room 119’ It had read, short and succinct and catching you off guard, as his texts usually did when you received them.

Still, it had heat pooling low in your belly and muttering a half-assed excuse to your friends, tossing enough cash on the table to cover your portion of the tab before you were slipping out of your chair and heading for the exit.

When you got there, Dean was, as always, waiting to answer the door, pulling you inside and shutting it immediately. He seemed almost crazed as he shut the door behind you, his green eyes wild as he took you in — dressed casually, but still a little nicer than he typically saw, some kind of gloss coating your lips and your eyelashes carefully painted with mascara.

Relief seemed to course through you both, as though even being near one another was enough to feel like the first hit of whatever euphoric drug flowed through your veins. The mere sight of Dean cleared your mind and relaxed your body, and it seemed to do the same for him.

You dropped your purse on the ground beside the door, stepping closer and pressing your chest against Dean’s, body aching for more as you kept your gaze firmly on his.

Everything else seemed to disappear when you stepped closer, Dean’s hands flying to your waist, torsos flush and barely leaving any room to breathe. No longer could you feel the heartache, only Dean’s hands sliding from your waist to grip your ass, the twitch of his jaw as your hands slid upward to cup his face, and the crush of his lips on yours.

The kiss was heated and desperate, as it usually was when you first got your hands on each other. An angry clash of teeth and tongue and spit, a fight to tangle yourselves together as fast as you could.

Your hands slid down, gripping tightly to the back of Dean’s neck as he squeezed your ass twice and pulled you closer to him, his telltale signal. With practiced ease, you wasted no time breaking the kiss and jumping into his arms. He caught you easily as your legs wrapped around his waist, his lips pressing to your neck, hands holding the backs of your thighs in a vice-like grip.

To Dean, this was his own personal slice of heaven. After not seeing you for months, not touching you or tasting you or feeling you, he was practically on cloud nine just having you in his sight. He promised himself after last time that he wouldn’t come back. That he’d spare you of the pain being around him seemed to cause, even if it was just because you cared about him and didn’t want to see him go. But the way you had pleaded with him, the thought of holding you in his arms and finding familiar, bursting pleasure within you… he couldn’t stop himself.

And now here he was, nearly three months later, just like clockwork, laying you down on that cheap motel mattress, a growl rumbling low in his throat as his lips sucked marks into your neck and his hands slid up your waist, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt and tugging it up over your head with little effort.

Your legs tightened around his torso, easily pulling him closer to you, seeking his heat, his warmth — seeking the fire that only he seemed to carry, the only one that burned hot enough to satisfy you.

Dean pressed his hips into yours, pulling a soft sound from your lips that had him smirking against your skin, his calloused fingers digging into your waist, kneading flesh and rippling goosebumps across the plains of your skin.

The need within you burned hotter as his hands roamed your torso, grabbing and tracing and feeling every inch of you like a man starved, his lips drifting across your chest, leaving open mouthed kisses and trailing fire in their wake, your back arching and hips rolling in a natural, instinctive response. Just his touch was enough to have your pussy dripping, panties practically soaked as your need for him grew. It was like you were trapped in the desert, dying of thirst, and he was the only glass of water left in the world. You needed to have him. However you could.

You gasped as he rocked his hips, grinding against your clothed cunt as his breath turned ragged on your skin, fingers tracing along the underwire of your bra. When Dean paused his movements, you sat up a little, unclasped your bra, and tossed it aside. You’d learned fairly quickly that when it came to these exchanges, Dean enjoyed the foreplay but didn’t quite like the lead up to it. He wanted you both naked as quickly as possible, if he could have things his way.

A low growl rumbled in Dean’s throat as his eyes latched onto your bare chest, a gentle hand on your shoulder contrasting the animalistic look in his eye as he pushed you back down onto the bed. He slid his palm down to cup your breast in his hand, kneading the soft flesh as his mouth peppered kisses and small bites on the other.

His free hand roamed down your side, reaching for the button of your tight jeans, popping it open easily and working the zipper free. Dean’s hand fell away from your breast, his mouth still moving expertly against your skin, both hands hooking into the waistband to tug the rest of your clothes off with very little effort.

Dean pulled back to look at you, sprawled out across the bed with your calves dangling from the edge of the mattress, marked up by his mouth and panting, eyeing him with those lust-blown irises that could put him to his knees in an instant. He was quick with undressing himself, undoing his belt with practiced ease and shedding all of his layers in mere seconds. Before you knew it, he was crawling up the bed to meet your eye, elbows braced on either side of your head as he took a moment to admire you. Not your body, not the way he had marked it, but you.

You giggled softly under his gaze, unable to fight the heat crawling up your cheeks. “What?”

“Nothing,” Dean said, trying to sound casual as he shook his head and moved his forearm to brush a piece of hair from your forehead.

“Are you sure?” You asked. He was rarely ever this soft with you. Hell, he rarely ever took this much time to bury himself inside you.

“I’m sure,” he replied, his eyes staring right into yours. He dipped down to press a soft, sweet kiss to your lips, tongue prodding softly at your lips as he shifted his weight to his knees. You granted him access, letting him taste you as his hands fell to your thighs, tracing the skin before travelling down and guiding your legs to wrap around his waist.

The weight of his cock resting against your slick folds was driving you crazy. It seemed to do the same thing for Dean as he rocked his hips once, twice through your folds before he pulled back, breaking the kiss and admiring you as he guided his head to your entrance, watching your jaw fall open and your eyes squeeze shut as he pushed forward with a groan, your walls stretching to accommodate his size.

When you managed to open your eyes, Dean bottomed out inside you, still and waiting for your okay, you felt the breath leave your lungs. In the low light of the motel room — the moonlight and the lamp on the bedside casting a soft glow across his skin — Dean looked more like a Greek god than a human. The shadows and golden light stretched across his torso, accentuating the toned muscles and golden skin, sharpening the features of his face, speckling across the flecks of shimmering gold in his lust-blown green eyes.

You dug your heels into his back as your walls clenched around him, eliciting the softest of groans from his soft lips. When you nodded, hooking your arms under his to find purchase against the supple skin of his shoulder blades, Dean began to move. Slow at first, deliberate thrusts to make sure you were adjusting properly. His head fell forward, buried in the crook of your neck as one of his hands gripped your thigh, his other forearm braced above you on the bed, fingers tangling lightly in your hair.

When he started to hear those soft, needy moans falling from your lips, his pace quickened ever so slightly, his thrusts deep and hard. He responded to every signal you gave, conscious or not. Every clench of your walls around him, every shaking sound that spilled from your mouth, every beat of your heart in your chest as he consumed you, and you him.

“Fuck, baby, feels so good,” you gasped softly, blissed out and close to entirely unaware of yourself as Dean thrusted into you, filling you so effortlessly. As he stretched you better than any other man could.

Dean, however, was a little more tuned into the task at hand. He heard you call him baby, practically whispering it right into his ear with the position you were in. It had his chest tightening, the feeling uncomfortable despite how fucking amazing you felt around him. And he was sure that if he weren’t so lost in you, he would have paused. He would have asked what you meant by using that name on him. But he was lost in you. So he kept going, never faltering as the sound of skin meeting mingled with your panting moans, filling the room and his ears, drowning out the sound of you calling him baby.

He panted into your skin, moving a little faster as your nails dug into his back, the pleasurable sting spurring him on until he was practically slamming into you. Your moans reached a fever pitch, body wrought and arching beneath Dean as the pleasure overwhelmed you, claimed you, set you on fucking fire.

“Dean, fuck, I’m close,” you moaned, your head tipping back, legs already beginning to shake. He responded to every single signal your body gave, his hand on your thigh feeling the tremble beneath the skin as he gripped it tight. With a shaking breath, Dean leaned forward to lay a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck.

“Feel so good,” he murmured into your skin, his voice strained as his hand drifted up your thigh, ghosting over your hip and trailing to the spot where your bodies joined, hovering over your clit. “Such a good girl, sweetheart. Gonna come for me?”

“Yes,” you gasped, your voice tight and stuck in your throat as he brushed his calloused finger against your clit, circling slowly, applying pressure to the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your fingers dug softly into his back, whining softly in his ear as he brought you closer to the euphoric precipice, seeking to toss you over into the crashing waves.

Dean groaned into your skin as your legs began to shake and twitch around his waist, his cock throbbing as he tried to keep his even pace. He was struggling now, urging you to come before he could even think about release. “Come for me, sweetheart,” he panted, his voice a low groan.

“Fuck, right there, Dean—” your voice was strangled, quiet and pleading as you spoke. The pleasure was unbearable, now, and with a soft, shaking moan, you were trembling around Dean as you came. It was unbearably intense, as it always seemed to be when you had sex with Dean. Your walls wept, clenching around him as your eyes squeezed shut and your fingers dug a little deeper into his shoulder blades.

Dean always knew how to give you the pleasure you needed. The mind-wiping release, his body pressed to yours, singing high praises with soft touches and quiet sounds… he was the only one that could even come close to it.

He came just before your walls grew too sensitive to his thrusts, pulling out and shooting hot ropes of cum over your lower stomach. His orgasm was just as intense, it seemed, as his body shuddered and shook beneath your hands, soft grunts falling from his lips as he panted into the crook of your neck.

He pressed his chest to yours, panting heavily and trying to catch his breath. You were still out of it, still recovering from the mind-numbing experience. So much so that you began to speak without thinking. Reaching up, you brushed a hand through Dean’s hair, your other hand still gripping his shoulder blade.

“So good f’me, Dean,” you murmured, your words soft and slurred as your mind recovered from being turned into mush. “So good, Dean. I love you so much,”

It seemed that the bliss of Dean’s orgasm had done something similar to his mind, as he took a second to fully register what you had said to him. He tensed at the sound of your praises, the distinct declaration falling from your loose lips. Cold panic flooded his veins, the fear that he only ever felt when someone was in danger rushing over him and making him pull back. Pull out of your hold, where he only ever felt safe.

When he was pulling away, coming to stand up, you followed.

Clarity came to you the moment Dean tensed beneath your fingers, guilt sinking like a boulder in your gut. Sitting up on the bed, you ignored everything else and focused on Dean. That familiar deep cut fissure revealed itself again as you watched him get to his feet.

“Dean, I’m sorry,” you apologised, voice shaking slightly. “I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking and I just—”

“Don’t,” Dean finally spoke, his voice gruff and laced with something you couldn’t pinpoint. “Stop apologizing.”

He began to gather his clothes, movements harsh and guarded as he tugged his pants back over his legs, then his shirt. Meekly, you ducked from his sight and followed, pulling your clothes back on with haste, the sting of embarrassment and rejection clawing at your brain, tearing it to shreds.

Dean finished dressing first, but he didn’t leave immediately like you thought he would. Instead, he watched you gather your things, his gaze burning your skin as you shrunk away from it. You didn’t dare look at him as you clutched your purse close to your chest.

You kept your back to him, shoulders tense and fat tears hanging from your lashes. Barely turning, you looked over your shoulder but kept your gaze on the ground as you spoke. “I should… I should go, Dean.”

“Sweetheart…” the pain in your words alone was enough to make him regret the way he was treating you. He knew he was being selfish, damnit, but he didn’t want to hurt you like this.

“No, Dean, you… you’re right. Maybe we should stop.” You said, the words stabbing like daggers at your heart even as you spoke them. It was painful to admit, but maybe you had gotten too deep into what was never supposed to be anything but sex.

Dean didn’t speak. He didn’t even know what to say. How to convince you that he wasn’t upset, that he understood, that he wanted you to stay. All he knew was that he was being selfish. That he finally understood why you always wanted him to stay the night afterwards instead of just vanishing in the night.

You finally turned to look at him, heartbreak written all over your face even as you smiled. Dean wanted nothing more than to cross the distance between you and scoop you up into his arms and take away your hurt. But he knew it wouldn’t make a difference, so he stayed put.

“Goodbye, Dean.” You whispered, voice thick. And with that, you were just… gone. Slipping out the door and into a cab, you allowed the tears to fall as the cab peeled out of the parking lot.

Dean was left alone in the oppressive silence of the shitty motel room, his heart feeling like it would break in two if he made even the slightest of moves. He knew he should be leaving, heading back to the bunker before the sun started to rise, even if that was hours away. But he just couldn’t bring himself to take another step when he was still processing the loss of one of the only good things in his life.

You allowed yourself to cry in the backseat of the cab for a little while. The drive back to your apartment usually only took about ten minutes, and for that time, you didn’t even realise something was wrong. You were too caught up in your sorrow, lost in your tears and your pity party of one to notice that the cab driver was heading out of town, instead of further toward the center.

“Hey, where are you going?” You finally asked, voice timid and polite as you wiped your cheeks. “Cook street is that way—” your voice died in your throat as you jabbed a thumb over your shoulder, cold dread washing down your spine.

In the rearview mirror, your eyes met the cab drivers. But where his irises should have been, there was pure black.

“You shouldn’t get into a cab that you didn’t call, doll.” The cab driver sneered, his maniacal smile telling you that he enjoyed how scared you looked. “You never know who’s behind the wheel.”

A scream built and died in your throat as he smirked, pressing the pedal to the floor and revving the engine. The car jerked and you fell back into the bench as he floored it, heading onto the highway.

Dean made it back to the bunker just before sunrise. He hated how empty he felt when he pulled the Impala into the garage and made his way back to his room, making sure he didn’t startle Sam awake as he thumped his way down the hall.

He hated just about everything, really. The way his whole worldview seemed to have been altered, tilted a little to the left and dizzyingly off-balance. It was as though your presence in his life, however fleeting, kept Dean stable. He felt nauseous, like he was constantly motion sick. Collapsing on his bed, not bothering to change his clothes or even pull off his boots, didn’t seem to help, either. The impact sent a rush of air upward, and the faint scent of your perfume stuck on his skin rushed Dean’s senses, forcing another rumble of heartache through his chest.

Days passed like this, and Dean felt horrible for it. He was supposed to be helping Sam figure out how to locate a particularly annoying, up-and-coming demon that even Crowley had lost his handle on. One of those pesky Lucifer loyalists that didn’t seem to want to give up on the idea of freeing him from the cage. Again.

Instead, he was sitting around, trying to find the motivation to get off his ass and do something about their current problem. Sam had clearly seen that something was off, but Dean had kept Y/n and that part of his life secret from his brother. He wasn’t sure why he did it, but once it started, Dean didn’t have the heart to tell Sam why he would go off in the night once every few months. Hell, he didn’t have the heart to tell Sam that he was even going anywhere.

Four days in, Dean managed to plant himself in the chair across from Sam in the library and use his own laptop to help Sam do some research to find a way to stop the demon from getting his hands on an artefact that would help him spring Lucifer. He’d been there for hours, retinas burning from staring at his computer screen for so long, the words blurring and shifting, when his phone rang. He let it ring the first time, since the number was unknown and nobody who wasn’t important really knew the number on that phone, anyway. But then it rang again, and then one more time, and Sam was giving him a look that said, ‘are you gonna answer that?’ so, he did.

And he regretted it the moment he put the phone to his ear.

“Dean!” A male voice cheered, his voice laced with fake appreciation. “So nice of you to finally pick up the phone.”

“Who is this?” Dean asked, his voice dropping an octave and rumbling defensively in his throat. “How’d you get this number?”

“A little bird gave it to me,” the man sighed. “You know, I don’t know why you just let her leave like that, Dean. She seems like quite the… active participant.”

Dean’s heart clenched, lodging in his throat. He knew who the person on the other line was talking about, and about a thousand emotions swirled within him before he landed on his usual reaction — anger. He glanced at Sam, who looked at him curiously, before responding. “Who is this?” He repeated, his voice angrier and rougher.

“I believe you’ve been looking for me,” the man replied casually. “Well, I found you first, Dean. And I found your little plaything, too. Man, I’ve gotta say, Dean, I see why you picked her. She’s quite the looker.” Dean’s jaw ticked, but he didn’t respond. The man continued. “Look, I’ve had a fun few days with her, but I’m getting bored. I thought she’d be more… useful than she turned out to be. So, I want to make you a deal.”

“I don’t make deals with douchebag demons.” Dean growled into the phone, and the man chuckled.

“You do if you want to keep Y/n alive.” The demon said, and Dean felt his entire body freeze, his muscles locking up. “Exactly. So, here’s what’s going to happen. I know you have the artefact I need in that bunker of yours. You give it to me directly, and I’ll hand her over in one piece. You can go back to doing… whatever it is you do to her, and I’ll raise Lucifer properly, like the dedicated son I am.”

When Dean still didn’t respond, the demon sighed. There was shuffling on the other line, and the heavy creak of a door opening. Then—

“Dean,” your voice cut through the line, sounding broken, tired, and thick. He could tell you were hurt, just by the wavering sound of your voice. “Dean, don’t do it, whatever they asked, I’m okay, I swear—”

“See, Dean? Now you know I mean business.” The demon spoke, his voice oddly perky and professional.

“You’re gonna burn in hell for hurting her.” Dean growled, but the demon only chuckled in response.

“Been there, done that. You have 24 hours, or I slit her throat and bleed her like a stuck pig.” The demon responded, followed immediately by the click of the other line.

Dean’s phone pinged with coordinates from the same unknown number moments later, and the growl that tore through his throat was practically animalistic. Rage built quickly within him, and he was half-tempted to throw his phone across the library and shatter it completely. But he needed those coordinates. He needed to get you out of there, get you back to safety.

“Dean, what the hell was that?” Sam asked, pulling Dean out of his rage and back to reality. His gaze, suddenly defeated, met his younger brothers. When he spoke, his voice was rough and already sounding defeated.

It was time to come clean to his brother.

“They… the demon we’ve been looking for. He’s got Y/n.”

“Y/n?” Sam asked, the name not ringing any immediate bells for a moment before it clicked. “You mean Y/n from that poltergeist hunt in Topeka? That Y/n?” Dean nodded. “What does she have to—” Sam cut himself short at the realisation, at the hurt on his brother’s face. “We’ll get her back, Dean,”

Dean shook his head, already feeling defeated. Of course, they had to have taken her. Of course, his involvement in her life ended up putting her in danger. “He wants the artefact in exchange for her. If we don’t give it up… he’s gonna kill her, Sammy.”

You’d been tied up for days. It was the longest few days of your life, and you weren’t quite sure exactly how much time had passed, but you felt like hell. The only indication that time had passed was when someone came in to force feed you some sort of slop-like food, a glass of water, and leave again. Whoever had taken you hadn’t shown their face again, but a guy dressed in a sharply pressed suit with perfectly styled blond hair — a perfect vision of corporate Ken, if you had any opinions on his style — visited you far too often.

Sometimes he would taunt you, pacing across your vision with his hands behind his back, spouting nonsense to you with what you supposed he believed was a charming smirk. He’d bramble on and on about some ancient thing, about his perfect plan, how some guy named Crowley was going to ‘regret ever trying to squash me like a cockroach under his heel.’ So far, you thought this Crowley person was entirely justified in that attempt. This guy was fucking annoying.

Other times, though, he would take his frustrations out on you in the form of what he called a good, old-fashioned beat-down. It was always painful, left you in tears and spitting blood and saliva from your busted up lips, but you always swallowed it down. You might not have been a hunter like Dean was, but you knew enough about his life to take a hit or two and keep your mouth shut.

You didn’t understand why this guy had even chosen you to take over Sam. Despite what you wanted to believe, what you hoped, your relationship with Dean was transactional, at best. But you also knew, logically speaking, that the second this guy knew that you weren’t worth what he was asking from Dean, that he wouldn’t just let you go. Opening your mouth meant signing your own death certificate, so you shut the hell up and let him rough you up to feel powerful, and hoped Dean cared just enough to actually come up with a game plan to save your ass.

The Impala rumbled imposingly through the streets of some backwater town in Iowa. The population count in this place — Dean didn’t bother trying to remember the name of the town, he had more important things to focus on — couldn’t have been more than a couple hundred, at most. Half the buildings were squat and falling apart, and the houses seemed to look even worse.

Dean wasn’t focused on the scenery, though. Sam was using the map on his phone to navigate his older brother and the sleek black car down the roads, hoping to reach the other side of town to the address the demon had given them before their time ran out. The brothers had tried to work with what little time they had to formulate a proper plan, but they came up with their usual order of business — violence.

They had hoped to have enough time to get some sort of decoy of the artefact, but that took time that they didn’t have. It was a flimsy plan, anyway, so Dean had resorted to what he knew best — hand the damn thing over, make sure the civilian in danger was safe, and then start stabbing. Sam had Ruby’s blade, and Dean had one of the many angel blades he and his brother had gotten ahold of over the past few years. Tried and true, violence was Dean’s preferred answer to his supernatural problems.

He remained stoic and silent on the drive over — they’d taken off sometime in the night, and the early morning sun cast an innocent glow over the world. There was dew on every blade of grass, the air smelled fresh with the promise of life. Dean knew better than to believe that. He was a man that was about to walk into a warzone and pray that the enemy wouldn’t be the one to make it out alive. He was a desperate man that was about to kill what could very well be a small army’s worth of demons for one woman. In Dean’s eyes, though, she was worth it.

Sam didn’t try prodding at his older brother for answers. He already knew he wouldn’t get any when Dean was like this. He knew, as he typically did, that Dean was blaming himself entirely for another person he cared about being put in danger and hurt by a demon. One too many times had he and Sam lost someone to the evils that they dedicated their lives to trying to take out. Whether due to unfortunate circumstances — or, in this case — someone twisting their arms just enough to take a defeat over a death, Sam and Dean had faced too many near-deaths and far too many losses.

Dean cut the engine a little further away from the location they were given to avoid getting caught out. Sam and Dean didn’t exchange any words, just a singular, determined look before the doors to the Impala creaked open and slammed closed.

Sam carried the artefact under his arm — a chunky wooden box with sigils burned into it. Inside, wrapped in an old, slightly musty smelling flap of animal hide, was an utterly ancient piece of metal. It was warped and twisted beyond belief, similar to the twisted iron of outdoor railings in nice suburban neighborhoods. It was jagged on one end, like it had been melted off of another, larger piece. Through the rust, Sam had seen markings etched into it. He didn’t know what exactly it did, or why this demon truly needed it, and that irritated him. He was willingly giving up a potentially powerful, entirely unknown artefact to a demon. Sure, he and Dean would get it back by whichever means were necessary, but it still bothered him. Just a little.

A woman greeted them at the door of a rundown, clearly abandoned house with a sinful smile, dressed like every corporate American office receptionist. She made a comment to Dean and then her eyes caught the box under Sam’s arm — her eyes widened slightly, almost imperceptibly, before her smirk turned even more sinister and she led the brothers inside.

She brought them into the basement, which looked miles bigger — and cleaner, though still damp-smelling — than the rest of the house. Every demon trying to resurrect Lucifer needed a base of operations, Dean supposed. He counted at least seven demons in the basement, but there was a hallway across the room and off to the left — he had no idea how many rooms were down there, nor if there were any more demons in there or not. He felt a little trapped, but you were down here with them, somewhere.

“Sam! Dean!” A voice called. From the hallway, a man around Dean’s height emerged. A quaff of perfect blond hair, a bright, cunning smile stretching his lips. He clapped once, eyes flashing black before back to perfect blue. “So nice of you to join us. And,” he checked his watch, “with just an hour to spare. I’m glad you showed, really. That girl of yours seems like she’d put up a fight if I did try to kill her, and I don’t enjoy getting my hands dirty.”

“Alright, Corporate Ken, enough with the small talk,” Dean ground out, anger and frustration and annoyance swelling in his chest. He glanced at Sam, understanding passing between them, then nodded toward the box and then toward the demon.

For the first time in what must’ve been days, you had more than five minutes to yourself. Nobody was watching over you like you were a prison inmate, and that dickhead had stopped ranting to you between punches. He had been stopped by a female, one of the few here, who whispered something to him and then handed him a rag. He smirked and wiped his hands of your blood, not saying another word as he stepped out of the room and left you alone.

You were trying to strain your ears to hear something, anything — but the walls were too thick, and your head was still swimming. It was hard to keep your wits about you when you could barely breathe, let alone think beyond the throbbing in your skull. After the first day, the demon had at least avoided injuring your face too much. He stuck mostly to your torso, and while the whole ordeal was insane and traumatizing, you were at least grateful that you could still breathe, see, and speak. Even if taking a full breath sent sharp pain stinging across your ribcage, and your vision was often blurred with tears, and your voice was always choked with pain.

Then, a cacophony of rapid, muffled sounds reached your ears. It sounded like a nasty kind of fight, with screams and thuds and things breaking. Oddly enough, it made you feel relieved. It meant, hopefully, that Dean had come for you. That you were getting out of this damp, dingy basement. Out of this chair and these clothes, and to safety.

You held your breath when the fighting stopped all at once, then the haunting echo of footsteps coming closer. You wanted to hope that it was Dean, but these demons seemed nastier than anything you’ve ever come across. Not that you’d ever come across a demon or had anything but the vengeful spirit that used to haunt your apartment to compare them to, but you liked to think that the point still stood.

The door creaked open, your slightly hazy gaze locking on the gap as it got bigger and bigger. Dean stepped inside, and it was like neither of you could breathe. It hurt for you to take a full breath, anyway, but the utter relief upon seeing him had been enough to pause your entire nervous system for a moment or two.

Dean, however, felt like he was dying inside. You were alive. And for anybody else, it might’ve been enough. But the blood and bruises and overall tousled and tired look about you felt like an arrow to the heart. He was the reason you were hurt. He was the reason why you’d been kidnapped, taken and beaten for what he could only assume was fun for that prick he just killed. The demons must’ve known you didn’t know anything, and had rightfully decided to use you as a damn bargaining chip.

This was Dean’s fault. You wouldn’t have been at that motel room if he’d had enough strength to stay away like he had planned to. You’d have been just fine, moving on with your life and living like a normal person, just like he wanted you to. Every single worry he had about you getting hurt because of him had been justified in that moment as he stared at you, broken and bloody. Dean Winchester believed that he was nothing more than bad luck.

But then a broken sound clawed its way out of your throat, and Dean was rushing forward, untying the bounds holding your arms behind the chair. He couldn’t stand to see you so hurt, even if it was his fault. He was quick to cut through the ties on your ankles, freeing you in record time.

Then, as carefully as he could manage despite his overwhelming need to be closer to you, Dean was hauling you up by your biceps, pulling you right into his arms and pinning you to his chest. One of his hands cradled the back of your head to his shoulder, the other splayed between your shoulder blades. And you melted right into him, falling into his warmth like you belonged there. Because you did. You were made for Dean Winchester, it seemed. Despite how deeply he tried to deny it. Down to the very atom, the way you folded into him and slumped against his chest… yeah. You were made for him. He was sure of it.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, his face buried in your hair. He didn’t care that it was greasy and dirty. That you were covered in blood, sweat, grime, and whatever else. He needed to feel you close to him. To know that he wasn’t dreaming and he had somehow managed to get you killed, too.

“Why did you do that, Dean?” You asked, still pressed against him. You didn’t make any moves to pull away, and Dean took that as a good sign. “That was so stupid, you know that?”

With an extreme amount of reluctance, Dean loosened his hold on you slightly. He slid his head around to cup your bruised cheek, careful to avoid a small cut on your cheekbone, his green eyes shining something beautiful and emotional under the single bulb hanging from the middle of the ceiling. He regarded you deeply, his breath stuttering in his chest as his thumb swept over your cheekbone, tracing the line of the deep bruise surrounding the cut.

“Because it was you.” He answered, his deep voice rattling your heart in your ribcage. His words, raw with honesty and emotion, cut you deeply. “Because I’d do anything to keep you safe, sweetheart. Anything.”

Your bottom lip, split open with a small cut by the corner, trembled as you stared up at Dean. His hand moved, and his thumb traced the plump curve of it. His breath shook in his chest, just like yours did, and you watched the preparation building next to the honesty and the deep, unwavering emotion in his eyes.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I wanted to keep you safe, and I still managed to hurt you,” he exhaled, the sound shaking as he took you in, hurt swimming in his gaze. “I don’t want to push you away anymore. Not if it means you’re going to get hurt, anyway.” He swallowed, his lips parting, before he forced the next words out of his mouth. “I love you. And I don’t know what the hell I would do if I lost you.”

Your breath hitched. You had never imagined you’d ever hear Dean confess something like that. Then again, in all the times you had imagined where whatever relationship you had would go, you had always imagined it coming to an end. You never thought it would turn into something new. Something better.

“I love you, too,” you confessed, eyes flooding with happy tears. Your lips split into a bright smile despite how it pulled at the cut on your lip and agitated the bruises on your face, but you just couldn’t contain it.

Dean smiled, too, a soft, relieved laugh falling from his lips as he pulled you back into his chest, tucking his chin atop your head.

You felt the fissure in your heart slowly begin pulling back together, and you knew it wouldn’t heal fully with just a few sentences. But the important thing was that it was beginning to close, and Dean was beginning to open up. And that was really all you had ever wanted.

=======

forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

dean winchester taglist: @johnmurphyisqueer @thanossexual @dryyoursaltyoceantears @killerqueenfan @cadencebeat2662 @jamespotterslover @mariecoded @aunicornmademedoit @bloodyxheaven @mrspeacem1nusone @jessimay89 @supernaturallydc @navs-bhat @xoxabs88xox @unic0rntaking0ver17645 @adhdhufflepuff @erospecies @imabee-oralizard @ellablossom @ajordan2020 @lunepoesie @multitasking44 @alexxavicry @avabh12 @dravinor

my taglists are open!

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester angst #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural x reader

145 notes · View notes

toomanystoriessolittletime · 2 days ago

Text

Wouldn't it be nice

Part four

Summary: A dinner at your place leaves you and Harry talk through things before... things heat up.

Pairing: Harry Castillo x fem. reader

Rating: T

Wordcount: 2.3k

Warnings: (for this chapter; check overall warnings for this series in the Masterlist ) dinner date, food, talking, idiots in love, some making out, feelings, fluff

follow @toomanystoriessolittletime-fics and turn on notifications to get notified when I post new fics

Main Masterlist // Harry Castillo Masterlist // Wouldn’t it be nice Masterlist

Emily was so exhausted from her day at the daycare, that she went to bed without much fuss. You made her a quick dinner (spinach omelette, she’s big on breakfast foods for dinner), gave her a quick bath and it didn’t even take a whole story for you to read to have her asleep in her little pink bed.

Closing the curtains before you got out of her room you quietly closed her door after making sure her night light was on.

Outside of her room you leaned against the door, sighing, your shoulders dropping.

A quick look at the clock told you that Harry would be here in the next 45 minutes.

You used the time you got home after work to tidy a little, Emily being a big help with filling your new bookcase with all the books you had shipped here from home.

It was a small apartment.

A small that hallway only had four doors.

Emily’s room.

The bathroom.

The living room with a small open kitchen.

And your room.

The room you were standing in in now, trying to decide what to wear. Which was…. Stupid. Harry pretty much had seen (and touched and licked) every inch of you. Well before you had a baby. But… you wanted to look pretty.

Hearing that he fell in love with you did something to you.

This man, who could have everything and everyone he wanted, he fell in love with you. But that was three years ago. And he fell for a version of you that wasn’t real. You looked at your face in the mirror, small lines around the corners of your eyes that hadn’t been there before.

You looked different, older.

Exhausted.

Could he really love you?

Shaking your head you took a deep breath before you pulled one of your favourite sweater dresses over your head. Giving yourself one last look in the mirror you walked out of you room, closing the door behind yourself.

You walked into the small kitchen, putting the dishes from the small dinner you had thrown together for Emily into the dishwasher before you wiped down the counters. It almost looked homey.

Lighting one of the big scented candles you had indulged on before you moved you hummed to yourself. You didn’t have a dining table or area. There were four chairs at the kitchen island that separated kitchen from living space, so this would have to do.

Would that be okay?

He was probably used to a different setting. You wondered how Harry lived.

Did he have a townhouse? One of those brownstones you saw on sex and the city?

Or was he more of a apartment type of guy? A penthouse maybe?

You never really thought about it.

Your thoughts were interrupted by a notification on your phone.

Harry texted you he was here.

Suddenly your nerves were back. Your fingers brushing down the fabric of your dress after you buzzed him in.

This was Harry.

Harry, who loved to talk about how he grew up outside of Washington.

Harry, who watched Pride and Prejudice with you at 2 am in a dark hotel room in literal paradise while he held you in his arms.

Harry, who had kissed you in a way you have never been kissed before or after him.

There was a knock on the door and you took a deep breath before your hand reached for the door handle, twisting it to open it.

And there he was.

„You’re nervous,“ Harry had put his phone on speaker as he stood in the big walk in closet of his penthouse. He had prepared everything.

He had ordered food (he ordered at Rezdôra, who usually did not do take away but dropping his name had helped) that he would pick up on his way.

He had ordered flowers (red peonies for you, daisies for Emily) that were already waiting downstairs with his doorman if the notification on his phone was correct.

All he had to do now was get dressed and be on his way.

„Fuck yes I’m nervous. It’s not everyday that you get to have dinner with the woman you fell in love with on an island, only to not see her for three years, and when you do you find out she had your baby and all without you knowing,“ he said, gripping the bridge of his nose.

He heard his sister sigh on the other end of the line.

„Just put some jeans and a sweater on and be on your way,“ she said and Harry rolled his eyes.

„Very helpful, thank you,“ he grumbled and Sarah laughed.

„That’s what I am. Helpful. But in all seriousness. Just use tonight to talk. I know you’re halfway on your way to buy a ring for her, but keep in mind that there is a little girl that probably has no idea who you are. Even if she’s as smitten with you as you are with her, it’ll take time,“ she reminded him gently while he put his sweater on.

„I know,“ he said with a sigh. He reached for his watch, slipping it over his wrist.

„Just… relax. Have a dinner. Get reacquainted with each other and… use protection,“ she added and he shook his head with a laugh.

„Remind me to be just as helpful as you are right now when you meet someone,“ he picked his phone up, taking one last look at himself in the mirror, before he walked out towards the elevator that would take him down to his car.

„I would, but I will never date anyone ever again, so I’m good,“ she teased back.

„Yeah, Yeah,“ he shook his head, putting his coat on.

„Good luck big brother,“ she said softly and he found himself smiling as the elevator opened and he stepped in.

„Thank you. I’ll see you tomorrow,“ and with that he ended the call.

Driving through New York City would never be one of his favourite things, but he didn’t want anyone to know about you yet, so he chose to drive himself instead of calling his driver. With the Flowers and the food he had picked up from the restaurant he drove through the traffic of this city, before his navigation finally told him that he reached his destination.

After finding a parking space he got out of the car, looking up at the old building.

Not the best neighbourhood, but also not the worst. He got the food and the flowers out of the car and made his way towards the house. Texting you when he was at the door he only had to wait for a minute before he was buzzed in.

He took note of the very secure front door, as he made his way inside, taking the stairs up to the second floor where your apartment was.

You were there, just behind the door.

You, who knew a side of him he hadn’t shown anyone in a long time.

You, who fed him all the green M&M’s because he insisted they were his favourite.

You, who made a small noise every time he kissed you that he was still dreaming about.

When he finally was in front of your door he took a deep breath before he raised his hand to knock, a big smile sneaking to his face when you opened.

The flower arrangement he brought was so big it almost didn’t fit on your coffee table.

Beautiful big red carnations sat on your table, and a smaller arrangement of daisies just for Emily that she would get tomorrow. That he even thought of getting her flowers too…

He insisted on serving the dinner he brought, so he asked you where everything was and made you sit at the kitchen island, where you were currently watching him, his back towards you as he plated the food he brought. Your head was resting on your hand was you watched him, your brain still processing that he was really here.

In your apartment.

„I remember you liked pasta, so I hope this is okay,“ he said, looking at you over his shoulder. You just nodded. He turned around and reached for the bottle of wine he had brought, opening it with expert hands. You didn’t have wine glasses yet, so he winked at you when he filled your mismatched mugs with red wine.

„More than okay,“ you said and he smiled before handing you first a mug of wine, and then sat down a beautiful plated portion of pasta in front of you.

He rounded the small island and sat down next to you with his own plate.

„Thank you, for this,“ you said and he angled his body towards you so he could look at you.

He was so close, and for the fist time in three years you smelled it, his scent. The aftershave you had forgotten the name of familiar to you.

His eyes were lingering on your lips before he looked up into your eyes again.

„We should eat,“ he whispered and for a moment you were disappointed, wondering if he wanted to say something different instead. So you smiled.

„It smells delicious,“ you said as you picked up your fork.

You talked throughout dinner.

About everything and nothing and it was as if no time had passed at all. It was just like you were back in those four walls of your hotel room. The awkwardness was gone as you updated each other about what had happened in your life in the last couple of years.

The bottle of wine was almost empty when you made your way to the couch, wanting to be more comfortable.

„I think,“ he said after you sat down, „that if you had kept my number after you left, we would have made it work.“

„You think?“ You whispered and he nodded.

„You would have moved to the middle of nowhere if I had asked you?“ You asked him and he nodded.

„I would have. I only wanted to be with you. I have… I have never felt so… intensely for someone that I did, I do, for you,“ he confessed and you lips parted as you took a breath.

„But the version of me you fell in love with… I don’t know if she was real,“ you said and he frowned.

„What do you mean?“

„I mean… The confident woman that just took what she wanted, that didn’t think about tomorrow, that’s not me. I am an over thinker, I am a perfectionist and a control freak. I am so much more complicated than the version you met…“ you shook your head.

Harry just kept looking at you before he took your hand.

„The woman I met and fell in love with, is the woman who talked in her sleep. It’s the woman who made sure that the room was tidied up so housekeeping didn’t have to much to do. It’s the woman who made sure to ask if their was garlic in every single meal we had because I told her that I was allergic. We spent days together. I know you. And I love you,“ he said and you just looked at him, speechless.

And before you could talk yourself out of it you crossed the distance between the two of you and kissed him. Your arms wrapping around his neck and he wasted no time, pulling you towards him, onto his lap as he deepened the kiss, one of his hands on the back of your neck.

You sighed against his lips and he groaned, lips moving against yours, his tongue slipping against your lips until you parted them for him. Your hands were in his hair, your eyes closed as you allowed yourself to let go. To melt against this man you had spent three years secretly yearning for.

Slowly, his hand ran down your back, pulling you even closer and you moaned when you felt him beneath you, his cock getting hard.

„Oh fuck," you gasped, parting from his lips and he wasted no time kissing himself down your throat as you crossed your arms behind his neck.

„Fuck, that smell. I missed that smell,“ his nose ran over your throat as he took a deep breath. You pulled his head back up, kissing him again, unintentionally moving on top of him and he groaned against your lips.

„Shit. We gotta.. Fuck I can’t believe I’m saying this, we gotta stop,“ he said and you parted form his lips. You both looked at each other, lips kiss swollen, his hair a mess from the way you had been running your hands though it.

He never looked better.

„You’re… you’re right. This… We can’t. I’m so…“ you mumbled, suddenly embarrassed but he kissed you again, stopping you.

„We need to stop because I don’t wanna fuck you like this. I wanna take my time. And I want to know where we stand. Cause I don’t think I’ll be able to let go of you ever again if we continue this,“ he said and your shoulders fell.

He wrapped both of his arms around you and let himself slowly lean against the couch, taking you with him, your head resting on his chest.

You just laid there like this, enjoying the silence that was never uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat after a while.

„Tell me about her,“ he whispered and you smiled before you began to tell him about his daughter.

#my fic #Harry Castillo #Harry Castillo x fem. reader #Pedro Pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #pedro pascal characters

135 notes · View notes