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bluemerakis · 6 months ago

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────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ this one’s on me ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ s4 .ᐟ spoilers, cussing, dean’s really just suffering omg, and he’s also like, secretly smitten over reader; small age gap, a slow-burn build up to car sex, grinding, nip sucking, oral f receiving (he’s such a tentative munch pls), unprotected p in v, fluff. lmk if I forgot any :))

synopsis — dean’s physically free of hell, but he finds that his own demons have never really left him. having already made his fair share of bad decisions, he figures that it couldn’t hurt to make one more—the pursuit of you.

word count ~ 10.5k (i’m done apologising y’all know how carried away i get 🤟)

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Rowdy occupants teetered throughout the local bar, their cheers and protests slurred by this evening’s two-for-one special on all drinks. The bar was lively enough on most nights, but always in a manner sophisticated enough for Dean to enjoy a glass or two in comfort. Now, the space had become a raging fest of body against body, and the music was so loud that he could feel the ringing of his ears pressing all the way into the back of his eyes. The abrupt change in atmosphere felt personal, like it’d been specially planned to further tug at Dean’s gradual undoing.

His elbows were propped onto the bar top before him, fingers restlessly tapping at the sweaty, glass keep of his beer. All around him, barmaids wove frisky lines to tend to drunken groups seated along either side of him. Occasionally, one of the girls would attempt to cast their hook into him with an overzealous offer to top up his drink, and a candid nibble of their glossed lips, but he’d nicked their lines at the ready.

Any other night, he would’ve jumped at the opportunity to show those gorgeous barmaids a time to remember, but as of now, he had other company to entertain—the unwanted and persistent voices in his head. Sounded insane, huh? Quite frankly, he was starting to feel the part. It was making him a bit of a downer, and that wasn’t much his style with the ladies.

Dean’s head lolled between his hunched shoulders, where he glimpsed his lonely reflection in the bubbling amber of his drink. He realised he must’ve stood apart from the bar’s bustling and cheerful atmosphere like a sore thumb, sat in broody silence as he indulged his second beer with a hefty frown on his brows.

He could have scoffed at the idea of being alone. If only onlookers had the ability to peer into the depths of his tainted mind, then they’d know that he was anything but alone.

True silence was a luxury Dean had long since been robbed of. It was a concept that held hands with peace, but there was no peace to be found in a soul as wretched as his. He didn’t deserve it—not after everything he’s done.

Those years he’d spent wrapped up in hell had remade his psyche in all the worst ways. And even now, as he walked amongst the living once again, it felt as though a fraction of the underworld had carried through and engraved itself in his very DNA.

He felt tainted by its touch—heard the way it mocked him with the voices of all the strangers he’d tortured to spare himself the same turmoil. It looped in his mind like a sadistic ear worm. Every hour, every minute, every damn second of the day. And to top the icing on the screw you cake? He had no idea how to make them shut the hell up.

It hadn’t always been that way, though. The first time it happened had been a rough week or so after his return. He’d taken on a rather grim job with his brother—a chain of victims that had been tortured to the death by a rogue demon. Dean had let out a wry scoff when Sam had first told him the details. He had a hunch on what that was about.

The demons hadn’t had any say in Dean’s release from hell. If it were up to them, they’d have kept him in a glass display for all eternity. When Cas had pulled him from the fiery depths, the angel had just about pissed off every single demon down there. They knew they couldn’t lay hands on Dean and drag him right back down to his eternal misery, so they’d taken to doing what they did best—causing havoc. And they’d found just the way to make it personal.

Each victim the brothers had found had been tortured in a different way—methods that were all too familiar to Dean. Methods that he’d invented. He’d had years to become creative. Each sighting had mortified him, and he’d had to swallow several times to suppress the bile adamantly reaching up to strangle his airways. What hurt him the most, though, was having to put on a detached facade for Sammy. His brother had no idea what Dean had been through down there. . . what he’d done down there—and why should he? He’d be more than eager to offer up a steaming fest of pity and guilt if he knew the truth, but Dean didn’t deserve any of that. It was all his own doing. His choice.

Cas might’ve liberated him from his physical hell, but he’d never truly been liberated from anything. Most of the suffering had always come from within, anyways.

They’d never found the demon responsible for the murders. It almost made Dean believe that he’d reverted back to his primal nature and killed all of those people himself. He’s hurt people before, so what was stopping him now, right? Maybe he’d done it in his sleep. Maybe, as soon as he’d let his head hit the pillow and dull his battered mind into a much needed deep sleep, all the worst fragments of his subconscious would pull together into some twisted alter ego that came to kill at his unspoken will.

Had Cas freed an innocent that day, or had he just unleashed another, wretched demon into the world? Boy, if it was the latter, Lilith surely had nothin’ on him.

The voices had started ever since that disturbing case, and they were yet to leave him alone.

It’s almost as if that cheap, goddamn knockoff on the real events of his life had been last switch that needed flipping to tune his mind into hell’s channels. Now, he heard them all—the voices—at every frequency and at every volume. And it didn’t matter how hard he cranked up Baby’s radio, their agonising pleas would always pull through in a haunting backtrack. One time, while he and Sam had been on the road, the voices had grown so loud that it made his eardrums feel as though they’d implode. It had hurt like a bitch, pushing him to the brink so that he’d lose control of the wheel and swerve into oncoming traffic. Thankfully, dear ol’ Sammy had been quick enough to grab ahold of the wheel and steer them clear of the looming truck they were en route toward.

The truck’s bellowing hooter had set him straight again as it whipped past the rear, almost as though it were the stern chiding needed to pipe those asshole voices right back down. His brother, bless his soul, had offered to drive them for the rest of the day, quiet concern alight on his features. But Dean had declined almost instantly. Sam hadn’t pushed to know what had overcome his older brother in that very moment; he’d known enough to pin it onto the aftermath of hell.

For the rest of that day, the younger brother had said nothing about it, but he did cast a few, fleeting glances with those damned puppy eyes of his. Dean pretended not to notice. Furthermore, he’d chosen to forget that that instance had ever happened. Fake it til y’make it, right? He didn’t need to look worried—didn’t need to make Sammy worry.

How his brother had grown up unmarred by Dean’s personal shit was beyond him—but he was thankful for it. And he’d continue to withhold that burden from his brother for as long as he could. This hell business? It was his alone to bear. Sammy needed no part in his suffering, and Dean doubted his brother could do much about it, anyway.

Man, the younger Winchester could do no wrong. It almost sickened Dean to know that they shared the same blood. He supposed it created a balance in nature, like how a coin had two sides—one lucky, and the other anything but. It wasn’t hard to know which side was his. Wasn’t much fair, but which aspect of his life had ever been? No matter. For Sammy, he’d keep on flippin’ that damn weighted coin if it meant that he could keep his brother safe.

Dean shifted atop the uncomfortable bar seat and sniffed away his restless thoughts, bringing the thawed beer to his lips. His nose dipped into the glass as he downed an eager gulp, the lukewarm beverage engulfing his tongue with a warmth he would’ve rather claimed from a skimpy barmaid. But alas, he’d made himself the promise to keep any and all contestants from playing this whirlwind of a game that was anything remotely related to his life.

Was this how celibate priests felt? ‘Cause man, it sucked. Not that they’d know the feeling of that, either.

He lowered the partially emptied drink back onto the bar top with a bitter scoff, eyes downturned to where he twirled the glass base within the ring of moisture it had bled onto the wood.

“Something funny, or have you just finally gone insane? Called it, by the way.”

Now that was the last voice Dean had expected to hear tonight. And in a bar, of all places—somewhere your holier than thou self had once sworn to never set food in outside of hunts. Granted, you were probably just being dramatic, but the thought still amused him.

He needn’t turn much to witness your figure. You slunk into perfect view as you took up a seat beside him. “Fancy seein’ you here,” he greeted through a lazy half-smirk, lifting his glass in a one-sided cheer.

You shot his drink a pitiful glance before returning his curious stare with an amused smile. “And I’m sure the bar hates to see you coming,” you retorted lightly, averting your gaze as you lifted your hand to wave over the bartender. “Whiskey, neat, thank you,” you said sweetly once the man had approached.

Dean risked a quick sweep of your figure—adorned with a dress so simple and casual, it shouldn’t have beckoned for his attention the way that it did. But honestly, this was one of very few times he’d seen you in anything other than your hunting or roleplay attire. And to be a little more honest, it was a view he could get used to watching.

Your head swivelled to face him for a brief second, which was enough to pluck his eyes away from what could be considered leering, if he’d made a point to stare any longer. And he was oddly tempted. But you quickly turned to face the bartender once more, initiating friendly chatter while he poured your drink with an extra chirp to his tone. You tended to have that effect on people, making bonds both meaningful and meaningless wherever you trod. Shit, look at the way you’d so easily strolled into both Sammy and his life. He wasn’t one to let strangers linger around, but for you, he’d made some sort of exception.

Dean lowered his head to study his glass once more. It was a view he’d long since grown tired of, but it was for the best. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that, anyway. You were Sammy’s friend first, and with that connection came the unspoken obligation of keeping his destructive hands off of you.

Sam had met you all the way back college. You weren’t the brand of friendship Dean would’ve expected his former anti-hunting brother to delve into—being a hunter and all—but that fact had only been disclosed after an unfortunate day of you being caught in the crossfire of one of their cases. It was a day Dean had thought you done for, for sure, but then you’d gone and surprised the both of them with your hunter’s wit, immobilising the threat like it’d been nothing of a challenge.

Dean would never admit it to your face, but you were a whole lot more knowledgeable than himself and Sam combined—and that’s considering that his brother is a colossal nerd before anything else. Since then, you’d stuck around, always helping Sammy with the nit-picky bookworm bullshit that Dean had never had much desire to do. He’d thank God himself for the lucky find that was you, if the big man in the sky really existed to begin with. Even after having met the angels, who were by no means impressive (save the girth of their dick nature), he couldn’t be convinced that there was a God who’d sent them here.

His attention strayed back to you as you reached across the bar top with a cash tip in clutch, which the bartender drank in with slightly flustered eyes before refusing it politely. Dean found himself huffing softly at the sight of it—not long after he’d come in, he’d seen that same bartender lay a fit on one of the occupants who’d refused him a tip after wrapping up the bill. He could’ve guessed that the demanding air you brought to the place had something to do with it. You didn’t mean to do it—demand things your way—it was just a string of events that always managed to fall into place whenever you showed up.

It was a quiet allure you’d always had to you. Dean could call you a good-luck charm for it. It made him want to hold onto you, just a little tighter, but he’d be selfish to do it. And whatever found it’s way into his grasp always seemed to shatter.

You reached for your glass almost shyly, as though you felt some slither of guilt for not being able to compensate the bartender’s effort, before turning to face Dean more directly. You tilted your head in the slightest manner, free hand brought up to cradle your cheek in poise as you gazed at him. “What did you mean by that, anyway?”

He frowned lightly. “What did I mean by what?”

“Fancy seein’ you here,” you mocked in a tone far too deep. A shameless grin spread your lips before you lifted your glass to take a sip—your eyes holding a glint he couldn’t quite decipher. And he didn’t try to linger on your stare for long enough to find out. There was some pull to it—like a getting caught in the sea’s rip current, and it made him feel something he couldn’t quite place. Or wouldn’t place, for the sake of keeping things unattached.

He glanced off to the side with a simple shrug. “Nah, I mean, you’re always off chasin’ some fairytale with Sammy. Just figured the two o’ya woulda found a fresh tail to nip by now,” he said nonchalantly, glass brought to his lips as he took a tense swig that finally emptied his glass.

“Well, yeah, but it’s after hours now. And I need a break, just like you,” you laughed. “Besides, I think you of all people could take the biggest break from chasing anything for the time being—which I’m glad to see you doing, by the way.”

He offered a simple nod of acknowledgment before lowering his glass and swirling the beer around his tongue, racking his tired brain for the next thing to say. It irked him a bit. Part of his charm was that chatting it up with the ladies always came easy. Who the hell would be be without it? But something about tonight—about you—had him feeling like a gawking numb-nut with a desperate need for a wingman.

He swallowed his sip and cleared his throat somewhat self-consciously, finally mustering up the courage to face you again. You had your fingers wrapped around your glass now, your eyes narrowed in eager focus and the corners of your lips slightly upturned—all while you sat waiting for him in patient silence. A silence that had no reason to make him feel. . . anxious, but it did. Were you doing it on purpose? Did you even know what you were doing?

Get it together, man, you’re blowin’ it, he said silently. You always do. Where do you think this’ll go? Nowhere. It’ll all crash and burn. Burn. Burn, the voices taunted. They’d become far too comfortable in his head, and now they had no shame popping up during his any and every conversation. Whenever the hell they pleased.

Mouthy bastards.

He ignored their jeering and settled for poking at the past, hoping it would invite you to carry the conversation he was so clearly dropping. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember you sayin’ somethin’ ‘bout how bars are home to sad men and madly horny men. So, that begs my earlier surprise that the Judgemental Judy herself showed up at the weepin’ whorehouse,” he said with a light chuckle.

You seemed more than happy to perk up at his teasing, a sight that made him ease off the clutch on his glass. “Well, maybe—just maybe, I have the guilty pleasure of making fun of sad sobs like you afterhours. I mean, the job gets so dull sometimes, you’ll forgive a girl for having a stupidly fun hobby.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly. “You callin’ me a loser?” He asked through a grin.

Your shoulders lifted in the most dramatised shrug you could’ve possibly mustered. “Dunno, Dean,” you sighed. “Are you?”

He shook his head through a weak grin—not as a response to your question, but at the way you always found it in yourself to tease him with thinly veiled insults. He could’ve gotten mad over it, but it had become something like a tradition between the two of you—the very soul of your friendship. Now, he’d let you compare him to every depicted loser in the literature of insults if it could have you both sharing a hearty laugh by the end of it. If it would buy him a second longer of your presence.

You can’t have her. Not yours. She’ll break if you touch her, the voices pressed on. He never could place any of them—not to a face, not even to a name. But he must’ve known them, must’ve met them face to face when they’d been strung up for a beating by a weapon of his choice. The voices were right, too. Dean could tell himself he was a blacksmith, that he’d have the power to handle you in a way that would only make you malleable without breaking. But at the end of the day, he always managed a slip up. He knew he’d swing a little too hard, or bend you a little too far, perhaps even just hold you with a little too much force.

He’d break you the way he’d broken everything else. The way he’d broken himself.

“Are you okay?” Your slightly concerned voice broke into the chasm of his torment, causing him to raise his brows with a growing awareness.

“Yeah, no, I’m all right,” he attempted to say casually, coaxing forward a smile to reinforce his statement. But you didn’t look convinced—and why would you be? You knew him better than that. If anything, you might’ve been the one person who knew him better than Sammy. Not because he’d necessarily allowed it, but because you were scarily observant. He didn’t like how vulnerable that made him feel, but he couldn’t deny the facts, either. And he’d rather be faced with the hard truths than entertain myths forged for his own comfort.

“Come on,” you sighed all-knowingly before your leg crossed over the other, your whiskey pushed aside as you leaned yourself in a little closer to him. “What’s wrong, Dean?” He held his breath at the sudden closeness, but he wasn’t fast enough to miss the sweet caress of your perfume. It wafted beneath his nose like a taunt, and it fuelled the voices in his head even further.

Run away now, Dean. Save her. You’re doomed. Don’t doom her to the same fate. Don’t be selfish. Those words bit at his chest. Shut the hell up, he seethed silently, but they’d never listened before, and they wouldn’t listen now. You can’t shut out the truth, one sniped back.

He turned his head to the side. “Nothin’s wrong. Been a long day, that’s all. Sammy’s been wearin’ me down with all the hell crap. I just need a damn break.”

“I think that’s what you call brotherly concern,” you said, inching forward in your seat so that you nudged at the corner of his vision. “Is it so bad having somebody check up on you from time to time? Can’t do everything on your own, Dean, even if you like to think so.”

Dean released his glass and pushed it away from him, wringing his fingers out before he began to play with his ring. How could he tell you—tell anybody that this was something he could only do on his own? There wasn’t a single thing you or Sammy could do. It wasn’t the sort of thing that the books you skimmed through for hunts had an answer to. Traumatised man struggles to confront his tainted past. Now that’s a book that might’ve come in handy. But he wasn’t about to take a stroll through the local library’s self-help section, and reading it would only feel slightly validating if it’d been assigned by somebody with the degree to back the premise.

Besides, even if he’d been willing to talk to somebody who could help him, he’d surely be given a one-way ticket to the looney bin after the first session. Which wacko got to spew tales about the voices in their head without waking up between four padded walls the next day?

Dean cleared his throat dismissively. “Hey, uh, how’d you get here, anyway? Sammy drop you off?” He asked, eyes still glued to his fiddling fingers before he lifted his head to try and scout out the bartender. He could use another drink to drown the nerves he felt lingering within, and hopefully also drown out the voices while he was at it. You know, kill two birds with one stone and all that.

“Took a cab,” you answered hastily—a clear indication that you had no intention of entertaining his bullshit small talk. “I notice things, you know?” You added more earnestly, something that told him he wasn’t getting out of this one so easily.

Oh, trust me, I know, he remarked silently. He could’ve said the same about himself, especially when it came to you.

For instance, he noticed the way you’d never been a big drinker—how you’d only order something whenever he did. Obligatory pressure? Maybe, but he also noticed the way you always ordered the same whiskey. It was a whiskey he’d chosen for you the first time you’d gone to a bar together, and it was the same one you currently nurtured so gently between your fingers.

He noticed that you tended to care from a distance that didn’t feel suffocating, like making him that piping hot cup of coffee in the mornings he’d be too tired to pluck himself from the sheets, or all the times he’d gone days without eating and then woke up to a breakfast you’d prepped and plated at his bedside table. Hell, even all the times he’d left the motel in a scramble and forgotten essential equipment or some personal belonging, and you’d been right by his side, calm as a cucumber while you procured the items from your backpack.

Even now, you’d come all the way out here to keep him the company he’d never asked for, but that you must’ve known he needed. It was slightly more transparent than the rest of your previous acts of care, but he didn’t mind it, especially because you never tended to hassle him about his problems the way Sammy did. Up until now, at least. It was the little things like that that defined you in his eyes, things he’d come to admire about you.

Honestly, when it came to you, Dean couldn’t do anything but notice. You gave him the sort of impression that there was nothing you couldn’t try and fix. But she can’t fix you, a voice barked at him. You can’t be fixed.

Oh, piss off, you ass-probing sons o’ bitches, he spat internally. I’m not tryna get fixed. He wasn’t naive.

He shifted slightly in his seat as he grew more desperate for a numbing release, his eyes searching the bar frantically. But the bartender seemed to have disappeared entirely, and he gave a barely audible huff at tonight’s rigged luck. There goes the fuckin’ rescue. If he had to endure whatever mushy heart-to-heart was about to come next, he’d rather have done with some more alcohol to cull the consequences.

Almost as though you’d read his mind, the glass you’d been savouring was pushed in his direction. He glanced at you with slightly widened eyes, then gave a tiny dip of his chin.

“Thanks, but I prefer mine on the rocks,” he said thickly. Nothin’ like an icy gulp to remind me where the hell I am. That’s right, Hell. You’ll be back there in no time.

“Oh, I know, but if we’re gonna have this conversation—and we both know we will, you’re gonna need something stronger.” You nudged your glass another inch in his direction, modelling a clear-cut expression that told him not to argue any further. “Take it. This one’s on me,” you added with a cheeky smile. It was on you, only, it hadn’t cost you a dime.

Dean watched you for a few seconds longer, his tongue poking through to drag along his lower lip in silent debate. She’s not going to stop. She’s going to find out who you are. She’ll leave you. Just like everybody else. You’ll be alone. All alone. Alone. Again.

Neither of you moved to claim the drink—you out of protest, and him out of something far darker. All you did was cross your arms onto the countertop as you shared his silence, watching him through those calculating eyes of yours that made him feel a little too seen. Just what was going on inside of your head?

“All right,” he relented, slowly reaching across to clutch the glass. He brought it toward himself before lifting it to you in good gesture. “Cheers,” he said, then with a pause, his head tilted in silent consideration. “Again,” he added wryly.

You gave a tiny smile of victory, and the sight made his heart skip a beat. He immediately dropped his attention to the drink, where he brought it in for an eager drain. But his hand hesitated midway when he spotted the evidence of where your lips had settled for its first sip—the coloured print of your kiss overlapping the rim he’d planned to taste just seconds before.

“What, a little lipstick scare you?” He glanced up in time to see your eyes lifting from the same print on the glass rim, only to fix him with a slightly daring grin.

“Nah,” he answered almost too eagerly. He could’ve cursed himself for acting like a rattled school boy. He lifted the glass to his lips and took a long, hearty gulp of the whiskey. It seared every inch of his insides for the entire trip down to his stomach, but the burn was something different and oddly welcoming. With a smack of his lips and a sigh of relief, he set the remainder of the drink down and flashed you a content smile.

Suddenly, you were leaning toward him, your hand reaching for his face. The sight made his heart race, and all he could do was lean back an inch in his seat, as though you had a case of cooties he was trying to avoid. “Hey, uh—woah,” he laughed nervously, and then he didn’t make any sound at all. Your thumb was pressed against his lips, but it didn’t hover for long before it did a brisk swipe and your arm retreated back to your side.

“Lipstick smudge,” you told him innocently, but he caught that delighted look on your face, and he knew then that you were perfectly aware of the effect you seemed to have over him.

Dean’s head buckled to conceal the heat in his cheeks—hoping that it hadn’t reached your attention the way everything you did reached his. “Yeah, well, at least buy a guy a drink first,” he chuckled hoarsely.

“Technically, I already did.”

He gave a series of minuscule nods that depicted his defeat. “Touché.” Technically, you hadn’t bought anything—you’d gotten a freebie. But he supposed it was the sentiment that counted.

“Anyways, as I was saying,” you continued your earlier agenda. “I notice things, Dean.”

She’s going to find out exactly who you are.

“Oh, yeah?” He muttered half-heartedly, the heat in his cheeks vanishing only to be replaced by a feeling of dread. His chin perked up when he caught sight of the bartender creeping into the corner of his eye. There you are, ya prick. He lifted his hand to wave the man over, before he finally turned to face you. “Like what?”

He knew exactly what, and so did you. Where to begin was the real question.

Luckily, the bartender appeared just in time to offer a preparatory interlude, which he gratefully seized at the throat. Turning to the man, he leaned onto the counter. “Hey, man, could you fix the gal over here with a. . .” He trailed off with a questioning glance in your direction.

“I’m good, thanks,” you refused politely, but Dean could make out a hint of impatience peering through.

He cocked his head slightly. “Suit y’self,” he murmured, then faced the bartender again to order himself another round to down after he finished the whiskey—drown your sorrows, or whatever it is they say. But your hand reached into his space with far more sense than him, silencing his impulse before his lips could even split to give the order.

“He’s good, too,” you told the drinks master, and the man glanced between the both of you before settling on you with a knowing smile and taking his leave.

Dean turned to you with a slight pout and a ruffled frown. “Man, seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously,” you retorted bluntly, hand retracting back into your own vicinity. “I’m not carrying your drunk ass out of here. And neither is Sam,” you added when Dean attempted to argue his brother onto his case.

“Yeah, fine, whatever,” he mumbled, reaching for the singular, remaining drink he was apparently being limited to for the rest of tonight. But he didn’t take another sip just yet. Instead, he used the glass as more of a coping device, his fingers wrung tightly around its fragile body. And he couldn’t look at you while he waited for you to say whatever it is you had to say; he wasn’t strong enough to confront that particular Pandora’s box head on.

“You haven’t been okay for a while now,” you began. His teeth reached to bite the already-raw skin of his cheek. “And I know that it’s because of. . . you know—” he did, “—the things you’ve been through during your time in Hell. I mean, I can’t imag—”

Dean already knew the ending of that sentence before you finished it, and all the spite he’d garnered within drove him to face you with unintentional hostility. “No, you can’t,” he snapped gruffly, but he came to regret it shortly after seeing the hurt creep into your expression. With a sigh, he turned away from your crippling stare, his head shaking lightly in defeat. “This is why I don’t wanna talk about it. . . you and Sammy, you can’t understand what I’ve been through down there—what I had to do down there.” Go on, tell her. Tell her about the monsters in hell. Tell her about the biggest monster of them all.

“You still need to talk about it, Dean,” you urged gently. He noted how soft your tone was, almost as though you were afraid to push him too hard, whether it be with your choice of words, or with a single, harsh pitch in your voice. “If not to me, then to Sam, at least. I mean, he’s your brother, I’m sure he understands most things that other people wouldn’t.”

“Nah. . .” Dean murmured, his voice trailing off as he picked at his battered brain. He brought the whiskey to his lips and took a sip, savouring the burn in his chest. He hovered the glass in the air. “Sammy. . . he can’t help me with this. He shouldn’t have to, anyway. I’m the big bro, I gotta keep my head on for ‘im, y’know?” He glanced at you finally, and he didn’t realise how shattered he must’ve looked until he saw heartbreak soften your eyes.

His attention flickered down to where your crossed arms faltered, your hand briefly reaching forward as though you’d wanted to offer some slither of physical reassurance, but something else had kept you from engaging. He wished it hadn’t.

“Well,” you murmured, that same hand rubbing tender patterns along your forearm. “You don’t have to keep your head on for me.” Dean glanced up at you in surprise. “You’d be stupid to try, anyway. You’re not fooling me, Dean.” You gave a light laugh of defeat. “You’re not even fooling Sam. But the difference is that you don’t have to share that burden with him if you don’t want to. . . but you can share it with me.”

Could he, really? He couldn’t help but feel as though once he did open up to you, you’d realise the true magnitude of his shit. Only then, you wouldn’t be able to back out. You were too kind for that sort of rejection. But you’d both become miserable, and he didn’t think he could do that to you of all people.

With a slight jerk of his chin, he said, “‘fraid I can’t,” and gulped down the last of his drink to flush away the guilt of the mere sound. He hissed through gritted teeth as he placed the glass down with a bang, something that caused a few loiterers to glance his way, but he ignored them as surely as he’d been doing this entire night. “We should get back to the Motel. Bet Sammy’s startin’ to wonder if he should give me a call and chew me out over missin’ your curfew.”

“Dean—” you started, but he stopped listening.

He reached into his jacket pocket and plucked out his wallet, fingers prying the worn leather to slip out a hefty note. He folded and plopped it onto the countertop, his chin dipping in a brief thanks to the bartender who’d begun to saunter over and claim the bill. “Thanks, man,” he murmured, rising from his seat as he buried his wallet once more.

When he did finally make eye contact with you again, you had this sullen look to your features, but he tried not to show the way it made him feel. Feeling guilty? Like a douche? A prick undeserving of her time? After she came out all this way to speak to you. Tsk, the voices sneered.

Piss right off to hell. You first.

“Come on.” Dean jerked his chin at you, averting his gaze almost immediately when he saw your eyes narrow. He half expected you to start arguing, or to continue sitting there in a determined protest, but much to his relief, you rose up before him in a nerve-wrecking silence.

He glanced back at you, noting the light shake of your head before you let slip a hopeless scoff. Before he had a chance to prompt you further, you pivoted on your heels and whipped off into the busy bodies suffocating the bar. Behind you, your perfume lingered like a tantalising trail of candy, one that he knew he’d have no return from if he followed. But he did, anyway—the same way Hansel did Gretel because something about you had always felt like the home he’d never had. Even if he might burn it all down eventually.

He kept you in his sight all the way until the bar’s entrance, where you both eventually slipped out into the cool, unwelcoming air of the night. Dean drew up beside your hovering figure, his hand brought up to cradle your back and guide you to where he’d parked the Impala. He tried to catch your eye to ask whether you’d like his jacket because he felt your faint trembling beneath his hand, but you seemed to stop noticing he existed. Maybe that was for the best.

When you reached the passenger’s side of the car, Dean released you to reach for the handle. It clicked open, and he widened the door with an usher for you to climb inside. But all you did was stand there, tussles of your hair carried in hypnotising whisks by the night’s nipping breeze. He caught the scent of your shampoo, the same one he often found himself breathing in too deeply whenever he’d man the shower after you. And he could still remember it’s name—some limited edition crap he’d forced himself to memorise so that he could find another bottle like it and gift it to you on your next birthday. You’d been complaining for a good month that your current one was running dry.

He didn’t much like the idea of gift-giving, it wasn’t exactly his forte. But he knew the way you and Sammy both lit up at the mere thought of it. Besides, he’d be rude not to return the favour after having received gifts for his birthday from the both of you. Who are you fooling, boy? The best gift you could give her is to get out of her life. Don’t bother playing pretend with anything else.

You finally turned to face him, which instantly halted any and all thoughts he’d slowly been drowning in. There was some new resolve furnishing your features—brows furrowed, lips slightly parted and nostrils flaring with the weight of your own thoughts. But before Dean could ask the first thing about it, your hands came to wrap around his jaw, your lips pressing against his in a firm kiss.

Your lips were so warm against his, so soft that he could’ve fallen deeper into their padding. And he wanted to, so desperate for their welcome that he had to bring his hands up in a gentle bracket of your neck to keep himself from falling prey to his deepest desires. He pulled his lips from yours almost regretfully, keenly aware of your lingering warmth. There was so much emotion brimming in your eyes as you gazed up at him, but he saw uncertainty glare the loudest. He wished he could’ve said something—done something to displace it, but he had to remember where his priorities lay. In keeping you safe. Away from everything that was him.

“We can’t,” he murmured softly.

“Why not, Dean?” You answered with equal volume. He felt your thumb stroke across his stubble.

His lower lip fell loose with a heavy sigh, his head buckling in your hold. “We just can’t,” he repeated.

He waited for a reply, for any sound that echoed your frustrated with him, but you said nothing as your hands fell away from his jaw. He was forced to release his hold on you when you backed away from him and ducked into the salvation of the car’s privacy, his hands collapsing to his side in regret. He lifted his head to the sky with a brief breath of strength before he reached to shut the Impala’s door and tensely made his way around the fore. When he slipped into the driver’s seat, you’d already taken to the view of your window, hand cupping your cheek as you stared at anything that wasn’t Dean.

Fair enough.

He got Baby up and running, carefully picking his way out of the bar’s crowded lot before they hit the road winding toward their motel. The drive’s scenery was quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier atmosphere, and it made the air between yourself and Dean a whole lot tenser. There weren’t many cars, or people, found wandering by at any point of the trip, so it truly felt like the two of you had been locked alone in a room to confront the unspoken elephant. But he wasn’t so eager to pick at that fresh scab. Besides, what else more did he have to say that wouldn’t end up hurting you?

It felt like a lifetime had passed when he pulled up at the motel, the lot desolate save another car somewhere down the line. You finally shifted from your position of gazing out the window, but it wasn’t to look at him. It wasn’t even to reach for the handle that’d free you from this suffocating place beside him. Instead, your head was turned forward as you gazed through the windscreen.

“You’re one stubborn shit, you know that?” You said suddenly.

Dean followed your lead and decided to focus on the bug stain streaking the windshield just above the view of his wheel. “Yeah,” he scoffed knowingly, his fingers restlessly tapping the wheel’s rim.

“You’re just so determined to let yourself suffer alone—as if it makes you righteous in sparing us the hurt. But in reality, we’re already suffering. I mean, we’ve all got our own shit going on, right? The only thing making it worse is that somebody we care about is going through something unimaginable, but we don’t know how the hell to help him because he just won’t talk about it. Because he’s scared about—I don’t know—making us accomplices to his problems, I guess.”

Dean’s head buckled to the view of his lap as he listened to you talk, gripping the wheel’s rim a little tighter as he strangled the emotion threatening to take ahold of him. He heard you shift in your seat, noting as your knees turned toward him for a more direct confrontation. He didn’t think he could endure your frustration for any longer without finally cracking, and that scared him.

“When will you stop being so selfless, Dean?”

He allowed that question to linger in the air. Him, selfless? He wasn’t sure he’d call it that. To tell the truth, though, keeping his mouth shut had slowly been wearing him down. And it was almost as though walling off both you and Sammy had allowed the voices in his head to get as bad as they did. He knew all of this, but still he couldn’t find it in himself to open up. He’d never been good with rationalising his emotions, or with asking for help to do so. After all, growing up, he’d had nobody to ask. So he’d done the only thing he knew how to—suck it up and act the steadfast parent so that he could take care of Sammy. And ever since, he’d never quite learnt how to step out of that role, or how to take care of himself.

“I guess I’m just not ready to talk about it, yet,” Dean admitted in an unsteady murmur. His lower lip began to quiver, and he hated the way no amount of clenching his jaw seemed to quell it.

The hand he’d hovered on the wheel moved hastily to wipe the moisture he felt brimming on the cusp of his eyes, and he swallowed hard to fight his urge to flee the car. There was a loud silence from your side that made his ears ring; he wished you would say something—anything—before his voices did.

“I get that,” you said eventually. It made him release a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Your hand came fourth to rest on his shoulder, which made him drew a sharp, shuddering breath, despite your warmth seeping through his layers in a way that should’ve soothed him entirely.

“I just need you to know that you don’t have to do everything on your own,” you continued. “It gets exhausting. Trust me, I’ve been on my own for practically my entire life before I met you and Sam.” You paused when Dean turned to face you. “You wanna know something? Humans weren’t made to be alone—to do things alone. We’ve never been strong enough. That comes back to bite some people in the ass, but I’d say for people like us, it’s a blessing. So count them, Dean.”

And finally, as Dean sat stewing in his vulnerability, held hostage under your intense stare, he understood what glint had been in your eye all along. He couldn’t look away from it anymore. As if you seemed to witness his change in demeanour, the hand on his shoulder began to trail down the sleeve of his jacket in a suggestive caress. It set a fire to his chest, one that made him breath a little deeper for the air you seemed to be stealing from his lungs.

“Listen. . . you’re Sammy’s friend,” he pushed out weakly, an attempt to reason against his pressing urges. He hoped that by saying it aloud, he’d be able to silence the part of him that craved the pursuit of you. But for once, amongst the many voices in his head, he could hear his own—loud and clear in it’s true hopes that you’d be braver than he felt and make nothing of his poor argument. That you’d be brave enough to give him the permission he’d been withholding from himself.

You gave him this subtle squint—he caught it briefly in the thinning of your lashes. And then there was the slight hitch in the corner of your lips. The sight made his heart flutter up an inch. For all the voices in his head, he wished he could hear yours right now. Did you want this as much as he did?

Eventually, he caught you leaning closer to his yearning self. “So?” You murmured, the challenge accentuated by the purse in your lips. “I’m my own person before I’m Sam’s friend. I think I’m pretty capable of making my own decisions and dealing with the consequences that come after.”

Dean’s lower lip sank open at that, his brows quirking on anticipation. “I can’t promise you that. . . this, whatever it is, will be an easy ride,” he said. That I’ll be easy to love, he added silently.

You fixed him a long stare, your lips pressed into a thoughtful line. “I told you, Dean, this one’s on me,” you murmured.

This time, he knew that you weren’t alluding to the drink.

You’ll regret this, the voices barked. That’s my own damn decision.

Slowly, he began to lean in toward you, holding your stare and feeling further encouraged by the eager glint that seemed to grow in their breath-taking depths. The voices in his head blared a united jest. She doesn’t want you, she only pities you. You’re going to ruin her, just like you ruin everything else. You think Sammy’s going to forgive you when you break his closest friend? Traitor. Some big bro you are. You’ve always been selfish. He pushed back a mental answer. Shut. It. They didn’t listen.

He felt his heart begin to thud a little harder at his chest, but he gave a hefty swallow to dampen the feeling, and before it had a chance to return reinforced, he pushed his lips to yours.

Silence.

For the first time in what felt like ages, there was silence. Blissful, unequivocal silence. As if your touch was the antidote he’d needed all along to quench the fire hell had set alight to his brain. As if you’d been the missing incantation he’d needed to chant to keep all his demons at bay. And it made him greedy—this taste of peace you seemed to offer him. So he claimed more of it, the kiss deepening as he brought up his hands to cradle both delicate curves of your jaw. In turn, your hands flew up to bracket his neck, before drawing sensual lines all the way to his nape. Your touch was as gentle as he’d imagined, and as kind as he knew you to be, and he craved more of it. More of you. All of you.

Goddammit, he shouldn’t, but he did. He was only human, after all—even if he was all the worst parts of one.

He pulled away briefly to take the view of you in, lips parted in a slight pant. You mirrored him well, the gentle glare of the lamppost light reflected across your slicked lips. The sight made him burn with a more feral desire. He just had to have you. He was far beyond fending off his selfish desires now.

“Dean?” You called softly, an unsure twinge to your tone. You must’ve thought that he’d begun having doubts about pursuing this because there was a sudden, anxious furrow to your brows. But your hands didn’t falter from his neck, and he sure as hell wasn’t letting you go, either.

“C’mere,” he breathed softly, releasing your jaw only to slide his hands down your waist and to your hips, where he settled a firm grip to encourage you onto his lap. You followed his flow so naturally, hands sliding along the toned slope of his shoulders to grip there for support. You manoeuvred across the conjoined seat and reached the first leg over his lap, which Dean cupped at the thigh to steady you onto him. “Yeah, there ya go, you got it,” he murmured encouragingly, and your other leg followed shortly after until you comfortably straddled him.

You tilted your head up to drink in the impala’s ceiling, which could manage a graze of your nose if you lifted yourself any further. “Bit of a tight fit, isn’t it?” You giggled, glancing back down at Dean. He wanted to bottle the sound.

“Hey, she’ll do plenty fine,” he chuckled huskily, his hands comfortably settled at the meat of your hips. His thumbs rubbed tentative circles across your clothed skin, and he watched the way your lower lip drew into a subtle bite. It drove him nuts. He found himself leaning up to reach for your lips once more, but you held him back with an index finger to his chin.

“And just so we’re clear, I don’t have a curfew,” you said pointedly. Dean knew you were alluding to what he’d said back at the bar.

His lips split with a thankful grin. “Hallelujah to that,” he drawled huskily before lowering his lips to deliver a playful nibble to your finger. You let slip a giggle the most bubbly he’d ever heard before plucking your finger away and replacing it with your hungry lips.

His hands found their way below the hem of your dress, where he rubbed a firm line up your thighs. The touch coaxed a moan from your lips, poured into his mouth like the drizzle of honey—he couldn’t help but lap it up. Your hands wandered messy lines up and down the expanse of his neck, even going so far as to tousle his hair. The stimulation drove him crazy and sent a jolt down to his core. The longer your lips spent entangled, the more he felt his jean begin to strain beyond his control—but he didn’t have much adoration left to conceal. If anything, he wanted you to know exactly how you consumed every part of him.

He pulled away from the kiss, chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ this,” he husked. “Wantin’ you.”

He could see the way the kiss had left you breathless, too, and strands of hair had fallen from the keep of your ears to messily frame your face. God, you looked beautiful. “Your damn fault for taking this long to pursue it. I’ve given all the signs, Dean Winchester, but you are as naive as boys come.”

He reached up to tuck the hair behind your ears, making a point to trail his fingers along the contour of your jaw as a knowing smirk felt out his lips. “Nah, just a good ol’ case of self-restraint,” he murmured.

“Oh because you know what’s so good for you?” You teased. Even under the dim lamplight, he could make out the rosy tint to your cheeks.

“I damn well do now.”

“Then show me.”

Dean grinned at your blatant challenge, hands moving to grab at your hips. He slowly began grounding you against his erection, which plucked from your lips a series of noises that began to grow more and more lewd with each passing second. He felt your nails digging into his shoulders, the padding of his jacket cushioning the sensation into gentle kneading. He couldn’t help but grunt with each blissful stroke against him—god, he could do this all night. It wasn’t long before you’d taken over the job entirely, your hips stirring back and fourth across his lap to a slow, tantalising rhythm that made his head loll back against the seat.

“Fuck,” he grunted, his teeth grit as he endured the waves of pleasure riding its way through every nerve of his body. His fought the urge to flutter his eyes closed, to drown in the darkness of his euphoria because there was no way in hell he was missing a single detail about you—lower lip nibbled, fluttering lashes, heaving chest, a show all for him.

“You like that?” You asked thinly, your eyes fluttering closed as you threw your head back with a single, harsh push of your hips.

“Like it? You’re killin’ me over here,” he pushed out—a gruff, strained sound as he battled the heat accumulating in his groin. The demons, the angels, every asshole out to get him could go stuff it. At the end of the day, it was you that was going to be the sure death of him.

You let out an impish giggle, your hands releasing his shoulders to plough through your hair in the most seductive manner you could manage. It made him clench his jaw, made his grip on your hips a little firmer than before.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he praised breathlessly, eyes fluttering through his lashes as he gazed up at you. You were mesmerising, in everything that you did. You didn’t ever have to be doing much for him to want to stare. Existing was enough. Doing more than existing was a bonus.

He saw the way you lit up at that compliment, and it made him want to shower you with many more like it. Hunting had its kicks, but fuck, this—you—he could find himself addicted. That should’ve made you dangerous, especially when you were all he needed to take to stifle the voices. But he couldn’t pull away from you now. He wouldn’t. In fact, it only made him want to hold onto you more fiercely.

Your hands reached back for the steering wheel as you sought out just the angle to intensify your movements, and that’s when you accidentally struck the hooter. The both of you jolted with the noise, which made your hands fly up to cup your mouth in both horror and amusement, your hips stilling against his lap.

Instinctively, both Dean and yourself turned to glance through the windscreen, zoning in on the door that lead up to the three bed motel you’d been renting for a good month or so. A few tense seconds passed, but the door never opened to reveal an inquisitive Sam, and you both let out with a breath of relief. You collapsed onto the crown of Dean’s head with a fit of laughter, practically hugging his head. He burrowed into your chest with his own chuckle as his hands dragged up your body to wrap around your waist in a hug.

“I’m thinkin’ maybe we should move this party to the backseat,” he murmured against you.

You pulled back to face him, hands entangling at the nape of his neck. “I think that’s for the best,” you giggled, leaning down to place a tender kiss on his lips. He loved how gentle your touch felt, like he was being admired more than desired—something to savour and not to lap up like a greedy, guilty cheat meal. It made him feel valued, and he’d take every damn second of this night to return the favour.

He received your kiss eagerly, eyes falling shut as he basked in your soothing warmth. He found himself breathing a little deeper, your scent streaming in to envelop him further in your essence—as if he craved to be remade in your image. Then, much to his disappointment, you pulled away and left his lips bare as you began to shift from his lap. He watched as you reached past his torso to bend yourself over the seat, and then with a few noises of effort here and there, you heaved yourself over—your flailing foot nearly striking his eye in the process.

“You good?” He called back, twisting in his spot to catch you sprawled on your back along the seat. Oh, you were comfortable, all right.

“Just get over here, Lover Boy,” you giggled, hands grabbing the empty air.

Dean chuckled and shifted onto his knees with a grunt, carefully reaching over the seats to place his hands on either side of your torso. He got the last of himself over so that he towered over your waiting figure, the necklace permanently wrung around his neck slipping his top to dangle toward you. Your eyes latched onto it curiously before you reached up to hold it between cautious fingers. He half expected you to ask about it, but instead, you released it and wrapped your hands around his neck, as if nothing other than him mattered in that moment.

Before he knew it, he was pulled down into a kiss, and he leaned down even further to get lost in the taste of you. His hands lowered along your body to find the hem of your dress, where they fastened around the material and began dragging it up and over the curves of your legs. When he’d gotten to your torso, he broke off the kiss to lift himself a fraction, your hands coming up to aid the removal of your dress. He slipped it over your head and tossed it onto the floor before moving to shed his own jacket and layered shirts. The clutter of your shoes falling to the floor sounded some ways behind him, and he took a moment to do the same, shrugging off his boots into the oblivion below.

He took a moment to glance you over, almost naked save the pretty set of lace underwear. He’d pictured this moment far too many times than he’d like to admit, and now he drank in your every curve, scar and blemish, and marvelled at the soft sheen of your skin to the point where he hoped he’d come to memorise you. Somewhere in the mix, he picked up the sweet tang of your lotion.

“God,” he pushed out absentmindedly, his hands moving to rub soft lines down your waist.

“A believer now, are we?” You poked, your back arching an inch off the seat as you bathed in his endearing touch.

Dean jerked his chin. “I mean, come on,” he grinned, doing another sweep of your body before he leaned down to litter soft kisses along your neck. Your head caved further into the seat, broadening the horizon for his appreciative lips to explore as they pleased—and they did.

He drew passionate lines all over the curve of your neck, even managing a sneaky trail up to your ears, where he nibbled lovingly at the lobe. You giggled, the sound pure music and bliss to his ears. He wandered all the way down to your collarbones, experimenting with light nibbles along the tender anatomy before he soothed it with a slow kiss. You let out a passionate moan that spurred him on, the strain in his jeans becoming far tighter than he could bear, but he couldn’t stop himself from exploring every inch of you just yet. He intended on pressing all of your buttons—desperate to know just how many sounds he could coax from you.

He dipped down to place a kiss on your breast, so perfectly hoisted by the bra he sought to slip from your body. He pulled back in a light pant, his hands coming up to fulfil his wishes. Thankfully, it was one of those that unhooked in the front. It sure as hell would save the extra effort. While he reached for the clip, your hands wandered up his muscled forearms, thumbs tracing over the veins of your choice. He stole a glance from you, noting how you seemed as enticed by him as he felt by you, before he turned his focus back to your bra with a sheepish grin on his lips.

“What’s got you more flustered than a frat boy with a serious crush?” You asked, your hands straying from his arms to trail down his toned abdomen.

Your touch stopped just shy of his navel, but the heat carried all the way to his groin. “Don’t you play games with me,” he warned through a smirk, the bra’s clip coming undone. Slowly, he parted the cupping, his breath usurped by the view of your spreading breasts. “Y’know what, play as many games as you’d like—but keep the damn view, will ya?” He chuckled, aiding your efforts to shimmy the bra straps from your shoulders.

Your hands hovered half-way over the hem of his pants, framing his gently carved v-lines in admiration. And then you began to undo the button of his jean, the zipper splitting downward in a slow and steady whir that hoisted his primal urges. You made a point to simultaneously tug at the hem of his underwear as you pulled down his jean, which he shifted to help aid the removal of. He felt mildly embarrassed at the way his manhood bowed with eager anticipation, but you drank in the view with flustered eyes, lips thinning with an exhilarated grin that told him you were marvelling in the spell you’d cast over him.

When you met his gaze again, there was this almost pleading look to your eyes. He answered your silent prayers by bowing down to place tender, thorough kisses all around the curves of your breasts, even taking a moment to adorn your hardened buds with a hot swirl of his tongue and a gentle toying of his teeth. This action alone seemed to tug at your last thread until you’d unravelled into a mewling mess, slurring his name in a manner that made him never want to stop. His hands came up to squeeze your breasts a little harsher than he’d intended to, but you let out an approving groan that left his grip steadfast as he continued his toying.

The hands you’d settled into his hair was the last straw he needed to finally drag his attention lower, where he instilled sloppy, hasty kisses all along your stomach. He reached the hem of your delicate lace, hands gliding over the meat of your hips to hook his fingers under the waistband and yank it down your legs. You discarded the undies eagerly, and with his newfound access to your womanhood, he gave you a content smile before dipping between your thighs to drag his tongue through your slicked folds. He curled his arms around your propped thighs, his nose burying against your clit as he lapped up your core at slow and steady pace. He deliberately took his time to draw all manner of patterns along the tender skin, keenly listening for any hitch in your moans that indicated he’d found a sweet spot. The sound of your undoing? Now that was a voice he’d gladly allow to plague his mind—all day, all night.

He could tell by the progressive loudness of your moans and the more frantic jerking of your lower half that were close to your limits, so he intensified every flick and whisk of his tongue to help carry you to that point.

“Dean—stop,” you breathed out suddenly. Immediately, he withdrew from your proximity with a concerned glance in your direction.

“You all right?” He asked, releasing his grip on your thighs to rub calming circles along your sensitive skin. “If I pushed too far, I’m sor—” he attempted to apologise, but you were eager to cut him short.

“No, it’s not that!” You said quickly, propping yourself onto your elbows to take the view of him in better. “You’re doing amazing—you’re amazing,” you said through a soft smile, your cheeks blown red by a combination of your stimulation and your almost undoing. “But I don’t want to finish just yet. I want to feel you—all of you,” you explained.

Dean caught on quickly, his heart lurching a short distance. “Yeah—yeah, of course,” he murmured, inching his way back up toward you, where he leaned in to brush his nose against yours tenderly before he dipped to place his yearning kiss onto your lips.

“I want you so bad, Dean,” you murmured between kisses—a sweet, breathless sound that cooed into his ear.

“You have no fuckin’ idea how mutual the feeling is,” He breathed, answering your plea by reaching down to grab ahold of his manhood. He delivered a quick, preparatory pump along the length before he pressed it to your slicked folds and dragged it down to your entrance. You let out a sharp moan at that, the kiss temporarily seizing.

Slowly, he began to insert himself into your warmth. You drank him in so eagerly that he couldn’t stop a strained moan from slipping his lips.

“Oh, man,” he mumbled huskily, head collapsing just past yours as he drove himself into the first pump—so controlled and calculated as though he were afraid to hurt you. You seemed appreciative of his pace, your hands coming up to wrap around the toned contours of his back. “You still good?” He checked in as his hips retracted for the second stroke, angling himself to achieve just the right curve that would boldly reach your sweet spot.

You mumbled a feeble mhm, your fingers burrowing little divots into the muscle of his back. That confirmation cemented him, and he took on a steady pace within you, one hand reaching down to grip your thigh in support. It wasn’t long before the impala began to sway under his growing pace, each powered thrust of his hips against yours providing all the momentum needed to rock the steadfast steel. The mingled tune of your moans and grunts filled the isolated air of the car, the windows tinted with a secretive sweat bled from your combined body heat. It carried on for a while, and he could only hope that nobody was around to witness it.

His high came on strong—and embarrassingly, a lot more quicker than yours. He’d blame it on his infatuation with you. That, and the fact that he’d practically cleansed his brain of the mere thought of you. It’d all been necessary to spare himself the torment of fawning over every aspect of your existence, but now that he was finally afforded the opportunity to truly taste you, could he have blamed himself for being greedy? Still, he throttled the urge to scatter his pleasure, straining and waiting as you reached your own breaking point. He knew you were near when he felt the twinge of your nails against his back, and he brought both arms up to straddle your head as he pressed a desperate kiss to your lips.

With a single, deep thrust of his hips, you both spluttered a weepy breath. The knot in his core dissipated into an elated, white haze that consumed his every sense. For a moment, all he could do was hover himself over you, his lips splayed against yours as he grunted into you. Your lips tangled in breathless bouts of air, occasionally snagging in a weak kiss.

“You’re amazing,” he breathed against your cheek, placing a kiss onto the flushed skin.

Your hands came up to cradle his face and push him just far enough to drink him in. “I adore you, Dean Winchester,” you whispered lovingly. “I always have.”

The way you gazed at him was enough to throb his debilitated heart, and suddenly he felt rejuvenated within—as though you were all the motivation he needed to keep on powering his way through this cruel experience he’d come to call surviving. You made him want to do more than survive. You made him want to live—if not for himself, then for you. You were the type of person he’d have fought himself free of hell to return back to. And now that he was back, one thing was for certain—he’d keep on fighting to ensure his place on this earth. To remain beside you.

Dean had never been too good with words out loud, so he gave you a soft smile that he hoped could convey a fraction of what he felt for you. He removed your hands from his jaw, crowning each with a kiss before he shifted your bodies into a comfortable spooning session. Your back curved into his chest, your lower half perfectly conforming to his as he held you against him like you’d slip away if he relented for even a second. And you laid like that until a gentle, shallow rhythm of breathing overtook you, sleep coming to claim you with a haste he envied. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slipped into dreamland as quickly as that—and when he did, his nightmares would turn up like an eager workaholic reporting for dawn duty.

Now, with you nestled between the arms that had come to memorise the shape of loneliness, he didn’t mind laying there in wake. He listened to the gentle whisper of your flaring nostrils, taking in a fraction of the peace etched across your partially concealed face. He was glad that somebody else could draw peace from him and claim it in the way that he’d never been able to claim for himself. He was glad that somebody was you.

It had always been you.

He’d been the biggest fool trying to convince himself otherwise.

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a/n: trying out a new format here bc the old one is exactly that. old. n e ways. first Dean fic—be kind to me!! :’) this was so daunting to write, but boy did I have my fun with it. i hope y’all enjoy this piece, i haven’t been able to get this sad sad man out of my mind. i just want to hold him close at all times. also i’m not responsible for any typos i’ve missed bc it’s currently 2 am and i’m scrambling to get this out. the drafts are sick of it.

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated! ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀིྀི

tags — @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind

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dannyriccsystem · 2 months ago

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HII HELLO UM CONGRATS ON 1K!!! could i get 41, 46 & 47 with charles leclerc? thanks twin love ur work🤟🤟

HOW MANY SECRETS CAN YOU KEEP?

1K SPECIAL - CL16

Panty stealing + Overstimulation + Femdom

SUMMARY: You catch Charles snooping through your things, and you decide to teach him a proper lesson…

WORD COUNT: 1.2K

WARNINGS: Handjob, overstimulation, Submissive Pervert!Charles, panty sniffing, smut, this was filthy omfg

FEATURING: Charles Leclerc x Reader

NOTE: First Charles fic? I actually can’t believe it. I love Charles :(

IT STARTED AS A ONE TIME THING. That’s how most bad habits begin—little accidents that turn into a sort of addiction. Charles didn’t mean to, but when he was gathering your clothes to take down to the laundry room, he pocketed a pair of underwear that fell out. It was unintentional, and he meant to put them in with the rest of the clothes, but it totally slipped his mind.

Later, when he was missing you bad, he just happened to stumble across them again. He pulled them out innocently, but the smell hit his nose as something feral churned within him. He brought them to his nose, desperately inhaling the scent that lingered: Your delicious pussy.

He didn’t mean to, he swears, but he found himself stroking his own cock, your panties wrapped tight around his shaft. He threw them in the wash after coating them in his sticky cum, promising to never commit such a filthy act again.

But he did anyway.

The next few times just… Happened, you know? You guys finished up, and when he went to gather a towel to clean you up, he just kept scooping the panties up and stuffing them into the pockets of his sweatpants, using them once again—long after you had fallen asleep, full and satisfied. Charles couldn’t believe how oblivious you were. You’d ask him if he knew where your underwear disappeared to, he’d deny it, and then a day later they’d appear in your drawers like nothing happened. You didn’t have a clue.

Or, at least he thought that.

You were fully aware of what he was doing. You knew because one day you happened to wake up after he had essentially fucked you to sleep, your ears immediately met with his stifled groans and whimpers as he jacked off into your lacy undergarments. You found it amusing, so you let him carry on, wondering how far he’d take it.

A lot further than you expected, that’s for sure.

It was nice having Charles play the dominant role, but eventually it got to be tiring always being the one out of control. So, you decided to confront him about his little… Thievery.

You opened your bedroom door, poking your head inside. There he was, shuffling through your underwear drawer like he was looking for a specific pair. You leaned against the frame, your arms crossed over your chest. He had yet to notice you until you cleared your throat.

The racer froze.

“Whatcha doin?” You smirked. Charles slowly spun around, staring at you with wide, unblinking eyes. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to spawn in some excuse.

“I, uh…” He cleared his own throat and scratched the back of his neck. “I was just putting your clothes away.”

“What clothes?”

“The ones I washed…”

You blinked, shaking your head. “I did the laundry, Charlie,” You purred, swaying your hips as you walked towards him. “I know what you’ve been doing, I’m not stupid.”

“What… What do you mean, mon ange?” His breath was light. Charles looked down at you, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. He was slowly beginning to crack.

“You know what I mean.” You grabbed him by the collar, pushing him back against the bed. He fell back to sit on the edge, tilting his head back to look up at you. “You’ve been stealing my panties,” You began as you climbed onto his lap, trailing your fingers up his chest. “Jerking off with them.”

He swallowed thickly, scooting back further with your guidance. Charles had his back against the headboard, his legs sprawled out in front of him. He wanted to say something—come up with a witty remark and turn things around—but he couldn’t. Not when you were climbing over the bed like an animal in heat, kissing his neck so sensually.

“I think you deserve to be punished.” You nipped at his earlobe. Your delicate hands pawed at his pants, palming his erection and drawing out a whine from his pillowy lips, wet from his own saliva after he darted his tongue out nervously.

“Please-” He shuddered, eyes squeezed shut.

“Please what?”

You watched as his head tilted forward, eyes opening just to stare at his growing erection with heavy eyelids. “Please punish me.”

You giggled, tugging on his hair. You forced his head back, making him lock eyes with you. “Good boy.”

You freed his aching cock so mercifully, your soft palms dragging up and down the underside of his pretty cock. The tip was leaking pre-cum, painted a soft rosy red from the strain against his clothing. He groaned, gripping the sheets and trying to restrain himself from fucking his dick against your hand. Be cool, Charles.

“Yeah, you like that?” You hummed in a sweet honeyed tone that nearly made him bust prematurely.

“Yes,” He whimpered, his mouth slightly agape and his eyebrows knitted together. You giggled at the sight, pressing a kiss to his forehead as a form of appraisal. He shuddered upon contact.

You wrapped your hands around him now, applying just slight pressure on the base. You ran the thumb of your other finger across the tip, and Charles let out the most delicious little cry. His hips jerked upwards, desperate for friction.

“You’re so pretty, Charles.” You tilted his chin up. “Look at me, pretty boy.”

You started to stroke him, and every muscle in his body twitched. His moans were beautiful, making your own arousal grow. You then applied your other hand to the equation, which only made Charles get louder. He was close. You could tell—his breath got caught in his throat, and his loud cries turned into breathy little whines.

And then he came. His cum shot out from the tip, coating your hands in the sticky white substance, as well as his own stomach, which was now visible as his shirt rode up. You hummed, tutting with disappointment.

“You’re supposed to tell me when you’re gonna come, Char.” You sat up on your knees, shimmying out of your pajama pants. He eyed your pajamas, eyelids heavy as he came down from his previous orgasm. “Let’s try again.”

You slid your panties off, and brought them to his nose. He greedily inhaled your scent, a shaky hand grabbing the garment to further press it against his nose. You let go, and he continued to hold on for dear life.

You started to stroke him again, nails raking the sensitive skin. His sounds were muffled this time, teeth gripping the skimpy fabric. He rutted into your hands, desperate to come again. You smirked, whispering praises of encouragement.

“You gonna come, Charles? Use your words, baby.” You sped up, and so did his noisy cries.

“I’m coming, mon ange-! Please, let me come!”

“Good boy. Come for me, yes,” And with your approval, he released yet another spurt of his seed. He slumped back against the headboard, eyes shut. His consciousness was slowly slipping away. Charles gasped and panted for breath.

“Please, no more…”

“You did so good, Charles.” You wiped your hands on his thighs, kissing his cheeks and nose gently. You peppered him with loving kisses. “I hope you learned your lesson.”

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sergeantbarnessdoll · 7 months ago

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I’m imagining Bucky having a hard time vocalizing “I love you,” to anyone, no matter how much he wants to.

While learning some basic ASL in order to better communicate with Clint, Bucky learns to say “I love you,” (🤟) to the reader.

I Love You » Bucky Barnes/Winter Soldier

Pairings: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky has a hard time vocalizing “I love you” so he asks Clint for him to help him say it to you by using ASL.

Warnings: Fluff, language, tiny mention of HYDRA, kissing, pet names

A/N: Thank you for the request, nonnie🩵

Written on my phone. My apologies for any mistakes.

Header made by @buckys-wintersoldier

GIF IS NOT MINE! Gif credit goes to the creator.

Ever since Bucky met you, he knew that he’s in love with you. You and him have been on a few dates. He wants to take the next step in yours and in relationship by asking you to by his girlfriend and say “I love you” to you.

If Bucky is being honest, he’s been having a hard time trying to vocally say “I love you” to you. Ever since HYDRA and his days as the Winter Soldier, he didn’t think he’d find love. That was until he met you. He didn’t have trouble with finding love when he was younger. It’s like HYDRA stripped him of that.

Bucky wants to say “I love you” to you, but he needs some help with that. So he decided to ask Clint for help on it.

“Hey, Clint. Can I ask you something?” Bucky asks as he approaches Clint.

“Yea. What’s up, man?” Clint asks, putting his bow and arrow on the ground.

“You’ve been married for a while, right?” He asks.

“Yea. Why?” He asks.

“Well, you know that me and Y/N have been seeing each other, but we haven’t made it official yet.” He begins. “I was wondering if you could help me out with saying “I love you” without saying it.” He says.

“You’re in luck.” Clint put a comforting hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “You came to the right person. Me and Natasha used sign language to communicate sometimes when we were on missions and had to be quiet.” He said.

“I don’t know any sign language.” Bucky says.

“It’s easy, especially if you’re doing the sign for “I love you”.” He said. “Hold your hand up.” He says.

Bucky held up his right hand and then looked at Clint, waiting for more instructions.

“Now put down your middle and ring fingers.” Clint tells him.

Bucky did just that, leaving his index finger, pinky, and thumb up.

“That’s sign language for “I love you”.” He tells him.

“Woah, that’s easy.” Bucky says, looking at his hand.

“I told you it would be, man.” Clint smiles. “Let me know how it goes.” He says, giving Bucky a pat on his back.

Bucky looks at his hand again and smiles before looking for you. He found you in the lounge room.

“I was wondering where you were, Bucky.” You kissed his cheek. “I was thinking about our date tonight.” You say, smiling up at him and playing with the collar of his jacket.

“Me too.” Bucky smiles back. “But I have something to tell you.” He says nervously.

“What is it?” You asked curiously.

Bucky took a deep breath. He hasn’t felt this nervous about anything in years. He looked down at his right hand before lifting it up and holding up his index finger, pinky, and thumb. You looked at his hand and smiled widely.

“Are you trying to tell me that you love me?” You asked.

“Y-Yes.” Bucky answers with a stutter.

You stood on your tippy toes and kissed his lips sweetly. You felt Bucky smiles before against your lips.

“I love you too, Buck.” You say softly, looking in his blue eyes.

“Does this mean you’ll be my best girl?” He asks.

“Of course I will!” You answered.

The smiles never left your faces. Bucky’s hands gently caressed your cheeks and he kissed you passionately.

“How about we change our date to now?” Bucky suggests. “I can’t wait any longer to take you out.” He says.

“That sounds great to me.” You smile up at him.

You then held your hand up, signing “I love you” to him. Bucky smiles and signed “I love you” back.

Hopefully Bucky will be able to say “I love you” to you. He hopes that’s sometime soon.

🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

-Bucky’s Doll

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hollyoongs · 2 days ago

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Heeseung and pregnancy sex bc i’m currently pregnant with his kid(s)

⏜ㅤㅤ𝗔𝗔𝗔       ㅤ࣮ㅤㅤ+330 words | pregnancy sex, mention of oral (fem receiving), slight dirty talk, petnames (angel, baby, good girl) ’ㅤㅤ𔗌

Everything happened so fast; you didn't realize how Heeseung passed from being kneeling next to you on the bed with his lips trailing your six-month-old swollen belly that was carrying his first child to give you head, slurping all your arousal like a starved man.

"Baby, I need you," you moaned, sounding way too desperate to have him even after your last two orgasms, one by his tongue and the other from his fingers that knew the way inside you.

"Are you sure?" He murmured, his thumb brushing the curve of your belly. Instead of words, you slid down his sweatpants, not surprised at how he had no underwear and his cock was standing tall and proud.

The pregnancy made everything more sensitive and intense. And the moment you felt the delicious stretch you had been craving for a while, it made you gasp as you threw your head back.

"Shit," his grip on the headboard got tighter, diving deeper into you. "Still so—fuck—so tight."

He started at a slow pace, aiming in a way that his pelvis brushed your swollen clit, and with every thrust, the slick sounds of your wet cunt and the incoherent words coming from your mouth filled the room.

"Faster, Hee. I need it, please," you moaned. He didn't disappoint you, angling deeper after you finished speaking. His moan landed on your lips when he felt you clench around him, your gummy walls milking him dry.

"Let me give it to you, angel." One of his hands slipped between your bodies, circling it with the perfect amount of pressure. Your legs wrapped his hips, trembling, and you felt your third orgasm coming embarrassingly fast.

"Oh, fuck!" You cursed out loud, your nails scratching his back as you were seeing white dots on your vision.

His lips left your bruised neck to bite your ear. "Come for me, mama."

You broke with a cry in response, body clenching hard around him. Heeseung cursed, losing rhythm as he spilled into you, kissing you through the aftershocks. "Such a good girl for me."

♡; 11:30 pm and i'm ready to hit the bed, doing this one and I will try to continue tomorrow with the anons. ilysm anon for this, let me eat you out (respectfuly) 🤟

#𝗵𝗼𝗹𝗹𝑦𝑜𝑜𝑛𝑔𝑠! ৎ ˚⋅#૮ 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗒'𝗌 𝑎𝑛𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ྀིა⁩#enhypen smut #heeseung smut #enhypen drabbles #lee heeseung smut #enhypen heeseung smut

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ratatoastwrites · 22 days ago

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Habits and Distractions

Spencer Reid x wife!reader

nsfw, 18+ MDNI

Synopsis: Your oral fixation has been getting out of hand, and your husband is concerned enough to take matters into his own hands

cw: professor Reid (but it’s like only briefly referenced), also he teaches at harvard (even more briefly referenced, like barely at all), reader has an oral fixation, chewing on lips, mentions of viruses and bacteria, pet names (angel, sweetheart, etc), some terms of degradation (slut, whore) BUT it isn’t meant in a degrading way, use of ‘Sir’ (once), like maybe one religious imagery ?, oral (m receiving), oral cockwarming, shoe humping, coming in underwear, face fucking, softdom!Spence

a/n: ughhhh this is so self-indulgent lmao 🥸 also, my reqs are open, so check out my masterlist for guidelines if you’re interested 🤟

wc: 2.8k

The grandfather clock ticks quietly in the corner of your shared home-office with Spencer, the room illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun. You’re both already home, sharing space in the quiet study, content with being in the same room, even without any conversation.

You don’t have any paperwork left to finish, so you’re curled up on the loveseat, drawing the outlines of a future painting on a canvas. Spencer is sitting at the big mahogany desk, glasses low on the bridge of his nose, as he grades some essays from his students, his lips moving quietly as he reads, mouthing the words on the paper. There’s something you’ve always found endearing about it, and you once told him that it was like he needed to taste the words, to fully take them in.

You don’t realise that you’re staring, at least until his lips stop moving, and when you glance up into his eyes, you find warm hazel irises looking right back at you.

“You’re doing it again,” he says softly, making your nose scrunch up a little.

“Sorry. I can’t help it, y’know. Try having such a pretty husband and not staring at him all the time.”

His lips curl into a soft smile, a fond huff leaving his nose as he shakes his head.

“I already have a gorgeous wife, so I understand the struggle.” His words are sweet, but you can tell that there’s a lingering ‘but’ in there somewhere. “That’s not what I was talking about, though.”

And there it is.

“What do you mean?” You ask, teeth sinking into your plush lower lip, which prompts a pointed look from your husband. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” His words aren’t mocking by any means, his tone is soft and indulgent. Still, your eyebrows pinch together, your lips twisting into a small grimace.

“You’ve been doing it a lot more lately,” Spencer points out, his gaze gentle, but observant, as he looks at you. “You did it approximately ten times just in the last hour. And that is not accounting for the nearly twenty times you chewed on the end of your pencil.”

You sigh softly in frustration, raking a hand through your hair as you glare down at the pencil in your lap, like the piece of wood is the real villain here. Spencer’s quick to cut off your negative thoughts before they can even form, completely attuned to your micro expressions.

“I’m not saying this to embarrass you, sweetheart. I’m just worried. For one, chewing on random things like pencils and pen caps can damage your teeth and cause several infections transmitted by bacteria. Did you know that, for example, a cold virus can survive on a pen cap for over a week, with bacterial strains surviving for up to a month?”

“I guess not.”

“Yeah. And that’s not even mentioning your lips.”

You reach up a hand to run your fingers along your lips, hissing softly at the sting. You habitually chew on your lower lip, but these days your top lip hasn’t been safe anymore, either. You have all sorts of chapsticks and lip balms lining your vanity, laying in your purse, decorating the bathroom counter. Still, it’s never enough, not when you aren’t giving your lips the chance to recover.

“You know I’m not judging you, angel. And I know this isn’t a new development. But you’ve been doing it more frequently, and I want to know if I can help you somehow.”

He sounds so genuine that it makes your heart squeeze in your chest. It also, coincidentally, makes a familiar heat flicker in your lower abdomen.

You stand up from the loveseat, smoothing down your skirt and the Harvard sweater that you stole borrowed from his closet, before sauntering over to where he’s sitting behind the desk.

“I don’t know,” you reply with a heavy sigh, leaning your lower back against the mahogany. “I guess I’ve just been more stressed about work lately. I know that I should try to redirect my frustrations, but I don’t know how. Lollipops aren’t my thing, and they aren’t good for my teeth either. Chewing gum only works for a while, and if I have too much, my stomach starts rioting. I’m all out of options here.”

You know that you’re being very transparent about your faux dilemma —which isn’t completely fake, actually, but you’re definitely playing it up. He catches on immediately, of course, raising one of his eyebrows as his lips twitch into an amused smirk. Being the indulgent, sweet husband he is, though, he doesn’t point it out. Instead, he pushes his chair away from the desk, making space for you as he spreads his legs.

“I think I know just the thing you need.” His tone is still mellow, but there’s a darker edge to it now, something that you know to recognise as desire. “Kneel down for me, sweetheart.”

You’re on your knees before he even finishes his sentence, making him chuckle fondly while you blink up at him. You reach out a hand to touch the bulge that’s formed in his slacks, and while you know that it never takes much from you to turn him on, you have a sneaking suspicion that watching you chew on your pencil and bite your lips for the past hour may have been what got him so worked up in the first place.

You retract your hand when you see his raised eyebrow, understanding the warning without him having to tell you. He smiles at you in approval, and it does nothing to quell the growing need in you.

“Please, Sir,” you plead in a whiny tone, making him let out a sigh of exasperation. You know it’s just for show, and he confirms your theory with his next words.

“Only because I appreciate your manners, princess.”

Spencer finally unzips his slacks, pushing down his briefs just enough for his heavy cock to spring free. Just the sight of his length has you salivating, looking at the flushed tip and prominent veins like you are seeing the second coming of Christ himself.

“Look at you, drooling over yourself just from seeing my cock,” Spencer murmurs softly, carding a hand through your hair gently. “You want it that badly, huh? You dirty little slut.”

All you can do is nod enthusiastically in response, biting down on your lip. Noticing this, Spencer cups your jaw gently, his thumb swiping over your abused skin, freeing it from your teeth.

“None of that, sweetheart. Come here.”

He guides you closer to his erection, your thighs rubbing together from anticipation. Your lips are so close that you can taste him in the air, but you don’t do anything yet. Not until he gives you the word.

“Such a good girl. So patient for me.” Spencer’s tone is close to reverent as he praises you, watching with something akin to fascination as your gaze briefly leaves his cock, in favour of looking up into his eyes.

“Go on, baby. Take what’s yours.”

You’re on him as soon as he gives you the permission, moaning whorishly at his taste. You lick a fat stripe along the underside of his length, before swirling your tongue around his tip. You repeat the sequence a few times, feeling rewarded by the sounds leaving Spencer’s lips, and you can already feel your panties sticking to your dripping cunt, even though he hasn’t even touched you yet.

When you finally wrap your lips around his flushed, leaking tip, Spencer and you moan at the same time. You swirl your tongue and suck like he’s your personal lollipop, whining obscenely, like you are the one getting head.

His hand moves to the back of your head, his fingers twisting into your hair, but he doesn’t push, doesn’t make you take him deeper. He just lets you enjoy yourself on his cock, hissing out a curse when you finally take more of him into your warm mouth.

“You’re doing so good, angel. You look so beautiful like this, fuck. You needed this, huh? Needed that pretty mouth stuffed full of my cock.”

You moan around him pornographicaly, your eyes glazing over as you look up at him, your throat bobbing around him as you nod, making him let out a delicious sound in return.

You take more of him, as much as you can, your tongue continuing to run along his shaft, as you bob your head slowly up and down his length.

“Jesus Christ, baby, you’re an absolute vision,” he whimpers out the praise, his fingers tightening in your hair to ground himself, head tipping back against his chair. “Go on, sweetheart, just like that.”

You would love to do as you’re told, but you know that if you continue on like this, it won’t take long before he cums, and this ends. And you simply never want it to end, never want his beautiful length to leave the confines of your throat.

You humm around him apologetically as you still your movements and lay your head down on his thigh, with his cock still inside your mouth. Spencer looks down at you with a quizzical expression, to which you only respond with innocent puppy dog eyes, that are hazy with lust, and your cheeks hollowing around him for a second, before relaxing your mouth around him.

Spencer huffs in amusement and fondness, his free hand moving to caress your face gently, his thumb brushing over the bulge in your cheek, from having him in your mouth.

“Aw, you just need me in your mouth for as long as possible, right sweetheart? Warming my cock, while you hump my foot like a bitch in heat. My perfect little cock drunk whore.”

You don’t even realise what you’re doing until he calls you out on it, making you whimper around him needily. And true enough, somewhere along the line, your thighs parted around his leg, your hips grinding your wet pussy against his dress shoe, making the material shiny with your slick. You can’t bring yourself to feel bad about it though, matter of fact, your hips only pick up the pace, once you are aware of what you’re doing.

“That’s it, baby. Make yourself feel good.” Spencer’s soft encouragement has you whining around him as you grind your throbbing pussy against his shoe, your moans and whimpers vibrating around his shaft. “Mmh, so good for me. You gonna cum like this, angel? Is my perfect slut going to cum on my shoe, with my cock in her mouth, like the dirty little whore she is?”

You can’t answer him properly, but the need in your eyes definitely does. He continues stroking your hair tenderly as you get yourself off on his foot, and it isn’t long until you’re squeezing his ankle between your thighs, your whole body shuddering as your orgasm wracks through your body. Your throat relaxes around him, until your nose is buried in his neatly trimmed pubic hair, his moan loud enough to cover up your quiet gagging.

“Good girl. Did so well for me. You’re so beautiful, just for me.” He continues murmuring soft praises as you come down from your high, before he pulls you off his cock, just enough so that you aren’t deep throating him anymore, letting you catch your breath, as much as you can.

“You did so good, my love. Do you need me to take over for you? Want me to fuck your throat, sweetheart?”

The idea nearly makes you shiver in anticipation, managing a small nod in response. He gives you a soft smile, before standing up from his chair, tapping your cheek twice to make you open your mouth. You do so obediently, sticking out your tongue, that earns you a reverent “good girl”.

“You know what to do if it’s too much,” he says, his fingers tightening around your hair, and you barely have the time to nod, before his hips snap forward harshly.

Spencer doesn’t fuck your throat often, he likes watching you take his cock at your own pace and volition, and ultimately, he prefers going down on you anyways. But when he does, there is nothing hesitant about it. He fucks your mouth like he fucks your cunt, with deep, precise thrusts, holding you still, so you can’t squirm away. Your eyes fill up with tears from gagging around him, which he seems to enjoy, his eyes dark and heated as they take in your appearance.

That’s not to say that he has no compassion. Though he isn’t particularly gentle, after every deep thrust, he pulls back just enough to let you breathe, and he even reminds you to relax your throat from time to time.

“Mhm, there you go, sweetheart. Just breathe for me, yes, good girl. You’re so perfect, baby, you were made to take my cock.”

His praises come in the form of sharp gasps and whimpers between pants, looking absolutely gone as you look up at him. His eyebrows are pinched, his lips parted, and his nose scrunches up every time he has to remind himself to open his eyes, not wanting to miss the sight of you on your knees, with a mouthful of his cock.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum like this, twitching harshly in your mouth, making you dizzy with the taste of precum he’s leaking on your tongue. Your only warning is a choked “fuck, baby, gonna—“ and then his hips buck against your face, his tip spurting warm cum down your throat, as he trips over the edge with a moan of your name. You attempt to swallow as best as you can, your tongue tracing his shaft to clean him off, before you finally pull off, letting out a few shaky coughs as you try to catch your breath.

He is on his knees in front of you in a second, large hands cradling your face, like you are the most precious thing on the planet. Even through the fog in your brain, you have enough brainpower to think ‘holy fuck, I’m married to the most beautiful person in the world’. His face is flushed, his hazel irises looking almost black with how wide his pupils are from the lingering effects of his high. His brows are furrowed in slight concern, and his glasses sit a little crooked on the slope of his nose. His lips are red from the way he was biting them —ironic, huh?— and they’re also moving, making you realise that he’s talking to you.

“…you listening?”

You barely catch the end of his question, blinking a few times as the haze finally clears from your brain, shaking your head to snap yourself back into reality.

“Sorry, what?”

Your voice is a little hoarse, which makes his eyebrows furrow even more, despite the small twitch of his lips.

“I asked if you’re alright, sweetheart,” he says, with a tone so tender that you can’t help leaning forward to kiss him gently. He kisses you back just as softly, one of his hands sliding down from your face to your neck, caressing your throat with his thumb, like he’s trying to soothe it from the outside.

“I’m okay. I was just a little… out of it,” you murmur finally as you pull back, tilting your forehead against his.

“Mhm, I know. Your voice is a little rough, baby. Does it hurt?”

You just shrug, leaning in for another kiss, and he indulges you, just like he does about everything. He pulls back before the kiss could deepen, swiping a thumb across your bottom lip when it juts out into a pout.

“Please don’t shrug this off. I want to take care of you, angel girl.” His voice is still so achingly careful, like you’re made of fine china, and you’d crumble from so much as a harsh word. You’re putty in his hands now, unable to say no to him when he asks so sweetly.

“Okay. I’d like that.” The smile he gives you after your mellow reply is radiant in the gentlest way, his adoration lighting up the room like the pinkish orange hues of the sunset.

“Can you stand up for me, darling?”

He helps you up to your feet gently, pressing careful, soothing kisses to your red knees, his hands massaging your thighs. He makes you drink some water from the glass on his desk, and then reaches into one of his drawers to give you a honey flavoured throat candy, ignoring your raspy claims of being just fine.

And then he pulls you into his lap, turning on the desk light to continue grading the essays, even after the sun has set, letting you curl up against him, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead with every paper he finishes reading. You fall asleep to the sound of his pen gliding on the paper, the grandfather clock’s rhythmic ticking, and the soft voice of your husband, telling you that he loves you more than anything.

#spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #18+ mdni #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #spencer reid #cm spencer reid

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deadghosy · 1 year ago

Note

Ive just been reading your Lucifer big sister headcanons, and thier so so so so good, i love how you wrote it🥰. What about Lucifer with a little sister? Any thoughts? How different would he treat her? Maybe she fell at the same time as him and Lucifer blames himself for leading his sister down the same path as him. I can seen him being a protective older brother because come on their in hell surrounded by sinners its got to be stressful even tho she isnt weak what so ever but Lucifer can help but baby his sweet little sister.

(Obviously no pressure to write this)

Have a nice day 😁👋

As a younger sibling, I was gonna make this as I made the elder sister! So I’m glad you asked this as I can’t help but love to make this version. 🦆 sorry if it’s long, I just had fun making this🔥

YOUNGER SISTER! READER X PLATONIC HAZBIN HOTEL

Prompt: you are the younger sister of Lucifer Morningstar who fell along her older brother.

Dead ass you fell on top of Lucifer when you both fell from heaven.

“Groannsss….GET OFF!” Lucifer yells pushing you off him. You huffed getting off him as you dust yourself.

I headcannon reader to have a slight rebellious attitude sometimes like Adam but she’s not as terrible.

Like reader has a shirt that says “kiss my ass” with a kiss mark on the shirt as she puts up a rock gesture 🤟

Lucifer found your shirt and burned it, he can’t have his baby sister have such an inappropriate shirt!

“LU-LU! NOOO MY SHIRTTT” “THIS SHIRT IS NASTY LITTLE SIS!-”

He put his hand to your face to keep you away as he burned it. It was a funny sight as you huffed kicking him in his nuts as he groaned falling face first to the ground.

I also headcannon that reader is the reason why Charlie had a emo phase as reader kinda has a different aesthetic than Lucifer.

But on a serious note, Lucifer was kinda scared when you fell with him as he puts his hand through his hair watching you sleep. He couldn’t believe he brought his baby sister with him on his down fall. He knew he influenced you as you looked up to him more than the other angels. It was like if you were his child, his baby.

But he tucks you in bed as you were sprawled out in your bed snoring loudly. He chuckles kissing your head and leaving your room as he closes your door with a slight sad look.

Back to the funny sibling things, you are definitely the one who sneaks in the kitchen to take his leftovers for payback. After Lucifer walks out of his workshop tired and hungry.

You basically told him to take care of himself more. He walked in the kitchen to find his leftovers gone. So you could tell what happened next.

“Y/NNNNN!” You heard a fierce yell as you had shoved the food down your mouth and ran as you heard a loud flapping of wings behind you. “WHEN I CATCH YOU, YOU BETTER PRAY!”

It’s was so cartoony at how Lucifer chases you while you ran for you life. You have wings but he flys better than you so it’s no use.

He caught you, making you cook dinner for a month as you groan while he smirks patting a duck like a mafia man. “And you better wash the dishes too-” “NOW YOU ASKIN' TOOO MUCHHH!”

But soon the sinners came and made the freedom Lucifer gave them, turn into pure hell as you watch worried at the stress your older brother had. Lucifer tries to smile to show you it’s not affecting him, but it is.

He soon makes you stay all time in the palace, scared for your safety as you stay in your room worried at how isolated he soon becomes. Charlie would walk around babbling about you as she kept your company. You smile at your cute niece giving her boops to her nose.

I also headcannon you and Lucifer are like secret twins as you both hyper fixate about a lot of things like [favorite thing] as he hyper fixates on ducks and gives you his ducks to show off how cool he is as your older brother.

But also I can see reader being shorter than Lucifer, like to his shoulder as Lucifer blinks like a frog as you smile with an evil gremlin ready to stab someone.

But now for some overprotective brother headcannons.

You know how Lucifer when to see Charlie at her hotel, you joined wearing basically a female version of Lucifer’s outfit. But you wore shades to off your ✨coolness✨

Alastor was irritated at your louder personality but you also had a charming aura around you like how Lucifer has his prideful smile. Alastor smirks down at you as you are shorter than Lucifer, he kisses your hand with made you just stand there with a dotted blank expression.

Immediately Lucifer picks you up like a doll as he growls at Alastor like a dog ready to chump his hand off. He knew the radio demon just wanted to piss him off, so the whole time you were in the hotel with him. He always has you close and behind him from the radio demon.

Now if it was a sinner trying to court you, they better hope you don’t snitch like the young sibling you are. Cause ohhhh boy! Lucifer is teleporting to their house to give them nightmares. Maybe even killing them if they made you uncomfortable.

Heaven and hell agrees you are a cutie, demon or angel. Cause in heaven there were angels trying to court you but your brother was always behind you looking stern as he puff his chest trying to see if they suit you best.

Like literally he scares people off as you stand there minding your business.

“I feel a disturbance in the air…” Lucifer says as he was reading a book but pulls the curtains to see an angel trying to court you with their wings.

Immediately you’re being teleported to your room confused as a duck poofs in your hand.

“What the fuckkkk….” You say confused

#lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #fluff #hazbin hotel fluff #platonic Lucifer Morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #younger sister #young sibling activities #sister reader #young readers #hazbin lucifer #hazbin hotel x platonic!reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel headcanons #hazbin hotel x you

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lavylu · 3 months ago

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a request where you catch Steve masturbating to your underwear and when he notice you, you help him cum while talking dirty to him 🤟

Lacy

Your heart nearly stops in your chest when you walk by his room.

Steve was supposed to be sleeping. Hell, you were supposed to be sleeping. But you woke up needing water and your water bottle was completely empty.

That is why you stood out in the hallway clutching your water bottle to your chest as you listened to Steve.

His moans.

His grunts.

Your name falling from those pretty lips.

A warm feeling rises in your chest spreading throughout your body as realization hits.

He was masturbating, to you.

Your heart begins to pound, nervous but also excited. How many times had he done this? Before you can think straight your water bottle slips from your grasp, crashing to the floor.

Shit.

Steve’s moans stop. Your breath hitches in your throat hoping he’ll believe he just imagined the sound, but you were wrong.

The door of his room swings open almost colliding with your frame. Steve’s eyes widen in shock when he sees you. He instinctively looks away from you, embarrassed. And that’s when you see it.

A lacy pair of underwear, your underwear, balled in his fist.

Steve notices your gaze and his cheeks immediately flush red.

“It’s not what it looks like.” His voice is pleading, hoping you’ll believe him.

A smile crosses your lips much to his surprise. You giggle, “looks like I’m not the only one who’s embarrassed.”

Steve raises an eyebrow, “why would you be embarrassed?”

When you don’t answer be smirks slightly. “Were you spying on me?”

Your lack of an answer answers for him, causing his smirk to only grow. A hearty laugh escapes him causing his chest to puff out. And making you realize he was still shirtless.

His tone is playful “what’s the matter princess?”

Your cheeks only blush, causing his smile to grow.

He leans against the doorframe crossing his arms. “So do you want to come in, princess? I can tell you want me as—”

Before he can finish his statement your lips are on his.

He chuckles in surprise but welcomes the kiss, pulling you closer by the waist. His big strong hands splaying across your back.

Your balled up wad of panties still in his hand.

Steve pushes you back against the doorframe, kissing you roughly. His smell overwhelming your senses. His tongue dashes across your lips.

He sucks on your bottom lip before pulling back with a smile. “Why don’t you help me finish the job lacy.”

Feeling a sudden burst of confidence you push him back towards his bed, before straddling his waist. Steve only smiles as he watches you.

Before you can register the feeling of him beneath you, his hand is on your ass. He inhales sharply as he runs a hand over your skin under your oversized shirt.

“No shorts, princess. How naughty.”

He chuckles and pulls your shirt up allowing for him to get a glimpse of the purple lace clinging to your body. You can feel him harden underneath you.

It only fuels your bravery.

“Looks like someone likes the lace.”

Your hand trails down his chest to play with his waistband. He inhales expectantly, only relaxing once he feels your hand go in his pants.

His head leans back against the bed frame as you wrap a hand around his member. His breath hitches in his throat as you begin to stroke him.

Steve’s hands uncurl from his sides going to his hair, which he disheveled profusely. But now that meant your stolen panties rested right by his thigh.

You giggle as you grab them. “You’re such a pervert”

At your teasing you feel his cock pulse in your hand.

You smirk, “you like that huh? Well how about I give you what you want?”

You pull down his waist hand allowing his cock to spring free. The tip is swollen, already releasing precum. Your hand goes to swipe it, but you stop yourself. Instead grabbing your panties.

You wrap the lace around his cock, making Steve moan. The delicate lace rubbing against his dick as you begin to stroke him.

His breathing is more labored as you work his girthy cock. Steve looks at you with lust filled eyes, practically begging for release.

You giggle and continue to stroke him. “How’s what feel baby? Such a dirty boy”

His cock twitches in your hands.

Your pace only quickens. “I bet you do this all the time, stealing panties. Such a little slut for lace”

Steve groans, only adding fuel to the fire.

“I bet you dream about this all the time. I bet you imagine lacy underwear as you stroke yourself”

His cock twitches once more making you smirk. “Oh look at that barely any attention and already to busy, well go ahead baby boy.”

At your words Steve moans, spurting cum into the lace wrapped around his cock. You remove your hand admiring the way the lace now sticks to him.

“Such a good boy,” you giggle, “you can keep the panties.”

#marvel smut #smut #marvel x reader #steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader smut #steve rogers x smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers smut

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achromatophoric · 2 months ago

Text

One night upon a balcony.

Yoko: Stick to the plan, Addams.

Wednesdays You are certain that this will work?

Yoko: Look, do you want to help Enid shift again or not?

Wednesday: How dare you question my undying devotion to—

Yoko: Here she comes!

Wednesday: *looks over the balcony railing and spots Enid approaching from below*

Yoko: Bitch, get your ass in gear already!

Wednesday: *sighs, reluctantly climbs atop the railing, and finally calls out* Enid!

Enid: *stops and looks up* Wends? What are you doing up there?

Wednesday: *turns her back to Enid and glares daggers at Yoko*

Yoko: 😎👍

Enid: Babe? Is something wr—

Wednesday: *drops her pants and bares her shiny pale—*

Enid: 🤨

Wednesday: 🌕🌕

Enid: 😳

Wednesday:

Wednesday: *hisses* Is it working? I feel like a fool.

Yoko: 🤟😎

Yoko: ✌️😎

Yoko: ☝️😎

Wednesday: And? I don’t hear anything. I swear, Tanaka, if this doesn’t work, I’ll have your—

Enid: Oh my god!

Wednesday: 😐❓

Enid: Oh my god, oh-my-god, ohmygod! It’s happening! I think I’m wolfing out— Again!

Wednesday: 😦‼️

Yoko: Ahem?

Wednesday/Yoko: 😒 🫲😎

Wednesday/Yoko: 😑🫳💰😎

Werewolf Enid: AwooooOOooOoOoooo!

#wednesday addams #yoko tanaka #enid sinclair #wednesday netflix #incorrect wenclair #wenclair #incorrect wednesday addams #incorrect wednesday quotes #incorrect quotes #wwwregch

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muffinsin · 3 months ago

Text

Hey there, hon :)! I’m not comfortable writing them in that context. I have written 1 foursome before in which they tend to the reader, a pet of theirs, though, if you wanna check it out instead :)!👀

Instead, I’ve decided to mix up a different snippet, though, in which they are also in a relationship with reader, sharing them among the three of them as I occasionally described in some HCs XP this scene is just some fluff, a bit of jealousy, and a whole lot of reader being kissed🤟

Masterlists

You smile lazily against Daniela’s soft lips, her breath warm and weight comfortable on top of your lap. In return, she smiles against you, tipping her forehead against yours and brushing the tip of her button nose against yours. She’s always like this, sweet and loving, clingy and- selfish, it seems.

“Must you hog them all the time?”, Cassandra groans, rolling her eyes at your display. You feel her nails slightly digging into your skin, your right hand held in hers, your left held in the blonde woman’s sitting by your left.

“It’s my turn!”, Daniela only counters, not even bothering to turn her head away from you. You feel her hands cup your cheeks gently, feel her fingertips trail down, down…

She gasps in surprise, her flies buzzing angrily when Bela grabs her wrist and tugs it away from your throat just before her fingers can make contact with the mark sitting there- a mark created by the eldest of the three only days prior.

“Dani…”, she growls out, dropping her wrist and rolling her eyes in annoyance when she only giggles. It isn’t new by any means- Daniela constantly tries to cheat the rules you’ve set up, constantly tries to persuade you into spending more time with her when her time with you is almost up, and often scratches at the bites left by her sisters, frowning and whining possessively, constantly complaining about having to share you.

Still, she drops it for now, only setting her hands on your shoulders as she kisses you again with a gentle smile.

You feel Bela squeeze your hand, silently asking for attention, but when you turn your head to her the auburn-ginger haired woman easily tilts it back again, whining something about not wanting to share the spotlight and how she should get just a little more time with you.

You don’t have it in your heart to say no to her when she pouts at you, squeezes your shoulders and kisses you again.

“You get them all the time!”, Cassandra whines again, and this time you gasp as you feel her tug at your arm impatiently, though your eyes slip shut as you feel Daniela’s soft tongue drag against your lips again.

You hear her snarl for attention, hear Bela’s impatient groan, and just a moment after you hear Daniela’s loud shriek when Cassandra’s hand shoots out and her fingers grab her by the back of her hood harshly. She squeals as she’s pulled back roughly, swarming automatically as she’s tugged off your lap and Cassandra climbs on top of you instead.

“So mean! You’re so unfair!”, Daniela whines somewhere behind her, likely with a pout and her arms crossed, but the brunette only rolls her eyes. You let your eyes slip shut when she wipes at your lips with her sleeve, grumbling about this and that angrily, before she at last seems satisfied and leans in to kiss you, too.

And while you smiled at Daniela’s soft, gentle kisses, you groan and wrap an arm around Cassandra at hers. She’s rougher, impatient, bold. She takes what she wants from you, her lips hard against yours, her hand sliding to your throat. You’re sure, her nails and her sharp teeth draw blood from you, but you can’t find it in yourself to care.

“You’re hurting them!”, Daniela whines again, and you shiver as you feel Bela’s cool hands against your throat, pressing just where Cassandra unintentionally- or perhaps intentionally; you can never know with this sister- cut at you.

A moment after you feel Bela lean in, her hot breath on your throat and lips gently brushing against your bloodied throat. You lift your head a little higher, giving her more room as you hum and whimper into Cassandra’s mouth. But the moment you feel her lips at your throat, her sharp teeth dragging against you, you clutch the brunette in your lap a little tighter. Daniela coos at you from the side, though she sits with her arms crossed and glaring daggers at her sisters, clearly unhappy about feeling left out by you.

Reaching out blindly, you cup what you’re sure is her bloodied chin and drag her closer, guiding her on her knees and allowing her to raise your top and bite and lazily at your hips, now.

You gasp at every little bite, whimper and whine hotly against Cassandra’s lips when Bela automatically bites a little harder at you, as though competing for your attention again. Cassandra bites at your lips next, humming and tugging them with her, growling and humming softly.

You wrap your other arm around Bela, humming softly as she nuzzles into you and holds onto you, only to continue biting at your throat. Your body aches from them already, but you can’t bring yourself to move, can’t bring yourself to stop them.

You know, your body will be covered in bites and lipstick in no time.

You grin against hungry lips at the thought.

#🐢 anon #cassandra dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #cassandra dimitrescu x reader #daniela dimitrescu x reader #bela dimitrescu x reader

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zuzu-tries-to-write · 3 months ago

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uhm.....hey girlie😘 I RLLY LOVE UR WORK LIKE UR SO TALENTED 😘🙈

so I was thinkin abt this fic abt husband bakugou and wife y/n whereby the have like twins who are teenager (a girl and a boy). and maybe other kids idk but the twins are most essential

so like this is where bakugo basically had to stand up for his wife after their sons disrespect towards her (the reason could be anything)

the other siblings are just there for the plot lol 🦥 and with a happy ending 😛

hope this reaches you😭✋😘

LOVE U LOTS 😘🤟

helloooo OMGG THIS MEANS A LOT YOURE so sweetttt. I love you more and hope you like it my love @kinara359

⸻

“You don’t talk to your mother like that.”

(Husband Bakugou x Wife!Reader | Protective Dad Mode | Teen Twins | DILF ALERT | Fluff Ending)

Dinner was awkward.

You were halfway through a quiet reminder to your teen son—just a simple “Hey, could you help out with the dishes more?”—when it happened.

He snapped. Not loudly. Not even yelling.

Just enough of an attitude, just enough of that sharp, disrespectful tone to sting.

The kind that made your heart sink.

Your daughter looked up immediately, eyes darting to her twin. The younger kids went still, sensing something was off. And Bakugou—

Bakugou didn’t say a word. Not yet.

He sat at the head of the table, arms crossed over his chest, jaw ticking.

His hair was still messy as ever, though the blond had deepened into a slightly darker, almost golden shade. A few strands fell over his forehead, the same forehead that now had a slight crease from years of parenting (and yelling). His sharp red eyes stayed trained on your son, expression unreadable. His stubble had turned into something between rugged and intentional—a look he totally didn’t care about (but you definitely did).

And the man aged like sin.

Broad shoulders, arms still built like a pro hero, veins peeking from the forearms that rested on the table. His black shirt clung to his chest like it was grateful for the view. Years hadn’t dulled him—they made him even hotter. Grown-man hot. The kind that made even other moms do a double take at school pick-up.

He looked at your son. Then pushed his chair back.

“Katsuki—” you said gently, knowing that look. “It’s fine. He’s just stressed, he didn’t mean—”

Bakugou stood slowly. His voice calm, but firm. Dangerous in the way that made your stomach flip.

“No.”

He was already halfway down the hall. The house went completely quiet, everyone pretending not to listen.

You heard the door open, and then his voice—deep and low, but not yelling.

“You listen to me. I don’t give a damn how old you are, or how much you think you know. You do not talk to your mother like that.”

Silence.

“She’s the reason you even have a damn roof over your head. She’s been here since day one. While I was off fighting villains, she was raising all of you. You show her some damn respect.”

Another pause.

“…She’s my wife. And if I ever hear you use that tone again, we’re gonna have a real problem.”

You didn’t hear what your son mumbled in response, but a moment later, Bakugou came back. Calm. Collected. And stupidly attractive.

He sat down like nothing happened, brushing his hand against your leg under the table—gentle, reassuring.

Then came the sound of soft footsteps.

Your son returned to the table, head low.

“I’m sorry, Mom,” he mumbled. “That was out of line.”

You gave him a small smile, heart aching with love. “Thank you, sweetheart. Come eat before it gets cold.”

His sister kicked him lightly under the table and whispered, “Told you he was gonna go full dad-mode.”

The younger kids giggled. The tension lifted.

And Bakugou?

He just leaned over to you with that signature half-smirk and whispered against your ear:

“Still got it.”

You tried not to melt. “That protective husband thing you just did?”

His smirk widened. “Yeah?”

“Hot. Really hot.”

He gave your thigh a quick squeeze. “Remind me later. I’ll show you just how hot.”

And that night?

He did.

⸻

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hp-hcs · 1 year ago

Text

carnations — mlm! disaster! simp! enzo berkshire x male! mlm! muggleborn! gryffindor! reader

hooooo boy, alrighty, a few things:

i am in fact alive, hello! i just got really bad imposter syndrome about my writing and didn’t post any fics for like three months <3

i did actual RESEARCH for this fic. using an actual physical BOOK.

one of my lovely little darlings suggested an enzo + male reader + picnic date drabble, and it spiraled into 1.4k words of gay

you will get secondhand embarrassment from enzo in this. just warning you. but it’s in like a cute way so yk

ty all for not getting mad about me not posting i literally adore y’all sm 🤟

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Y/n,” Ron loudly whispered, elbowing you in the side. “Do you have a spare quill I can borrow?”

“Can you last one day without breaking something, Weasley?” You rolled your eyes fondly, giving him the quill in your hand and reaching down to grab another from your bag. Instead, your hand brushed against something else.

You retrieved the mystery object from your bag with furrowed eyebrows. It was a small rectangular object, no bigger than your palm, wrapped in brown paper and tied up with a pretty lavender ribbon—with a single green carnation in the center of the bow.

You set aside the carnation, unwrapping the tiny gift and being met with the sight of a small book, bound in leather, which bore the gilded name: FLORIOGRAPHY: A Guide to the Victorian Language of Flowers.

~~~

The first flower you found was pressed between the pages of your Runes textbook. A combination of a rich purple and vibrant yellow color, with a striking dark center that spread out onto three of its five petals.

You carefully tucked the flower back away in between the pages of your textbook, vowing to look it up after class.

You couldn’t focus for the rest of the lesson.

~~~

It took a while to flip through every entry of the two-hundred page book, squinting at the tiny illustrations, but you eventually found a match to the mystery flower.

————— PANSY Viola tricolor var. hortensis

Meaning: You occupy my thoughts —————

~~~

“Parkinson!”

Pansy stopped in her tracks, looking back over her shoulder with a look of distaste. “Yes, lion?”

“Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“We’re talking right now,” she drawled, but grabbed your sleeve and pulled you into a nearby empty classroom. “What is it?”

You root through your bag, drawing out the Runes textbook.

“Homework?” she scoffed. “I’m not a tutor, little lion.”

“No, not the book.” You rolled your eyes, carefully opening it. “I found this in between the pages this morning.”

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the pressed flower you cradled in your hand. “It’s you?” She looked baffled. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed. Anyways, congratulations on solving the first clue.”

~~~

An odd hot-pink flower, with little shoots sprouting from the center and reminding you a bit of those light-up fiber optic lamps from the Muggle world, sat in the palm of your hand. A second green carnation was tied to the stem of the mystery flower with another lavender ribbon.

Pansy had abandoned you as soon as the flower was in your possession, saying that she hadn’t been paid enough to stick around.

(You knew she was just as invested in this as you were.)

Finally, after flipping through the little leather-bound book for what felt like the hundredth time, you found the strange flower.

————— MYRTLE Myrtus

Meaning: Love —————

Huh. Well. Okay then. A little on the nose, but alright.

~~~

“Um, excuse me? Miss…Myrtle Warren?”

“A boy!” the unsettling ghost girl shrieked. “Twice! In one day!”

“There was another boy in here?” you asked hopefully. “Who was he?”

“Get out! This is the ladies’ room!”

“I’m real sorry, Miss Myrtle,” you said placatingly. “I’m just on a…scavenger hunt of sorts, and I thought a clue led to you. My apologies for bothering you.”

“A scavenger hunt?” Myrtle questioned, suddenly interested. She uncrossed her arms and floated down from the ceiling. “What are you looking for?”

“A flower of some sort? The last one I got was from a myrtle tree.” You held the offensively pink flower up for her to see. “It’s why I thought you might be the next clue.”

She looked flattered. “Well…the other boy who came in here earlier did have something with him. A package.”

“Did he leave it in here?”

“Yes.” Myrtle points to the dusty windowsill on the far wall. “Why is he leaving things for you?”

“I don’t know,” you said vaguely, hoping to bypass the conversation. As much as you’d love to discuss the intricacies of queer relationships with an annoying ghost girl who died in the forties, you’d rather do literally anything else.

So you merely picked up the brown paper-wrapped item, familiarly decorated with a lavender bow and a green carnation, and tucked it safely in your bag to be opened later.

“Thank you for your help, Miss Myrtle.”

The ghost giggled and her cheeks turned a silvery-white; probably the phantasmic equivalent of a blush.

You quickly hurried out of the girls’ bathroom.

~~~

————— CLEMATIS Clematis

Meaning: Cleverness —————

“I’m at a dead end,” you groaned, resting your head on your arms.

Ron patted your shoulder from beside you, only half paying attention to your queer plight. “You’ll figure it out,” he mumbled around a mouthful of pie, spewing crumbs all over the table.

Hermione made a face. “Charming, Ronald.” At his weak protests, she just rolled her eyes and turned back to you. “How do you even know it’s a boy anyways?”

“Carnations,” you mumbled. “Green carnations. Oscar Wilde’s secret symbol of homosexuality in the late nineteenth century.”

“Okay, so your secret admirer is a dork, is what you’re saying,” Ron drawled.

You looked up with a scowl, ready to throw back a witty remark, when you were interrupted by Lightning Boy-howdy-how-has-he-not-died-yet.

“What’s with the whole bouquet you’ve got going on, L/n?” he asked, raising an eyebrow at the half-dozen flowers spread out across the table.

“Trying to decode some fuckin’ Victorian bullshit.” You smacked the book down on the table, frustrated.

Harry picked up the large dark purple flower you’d unceremoniously tossed in front of you.

“Oh, this is a clematis flower,” he said offhandedly. “My aunt and uncle have this exact shrub in their garden. The blooms never get this big though.”

You perked up in surprise. “You’re familiar with it?”

Harry nodded. “Yep. Tricky little bugger. Lord Neville’s a pretty aggressive feeder and needs lots of fertilizer, although that’s true of all clematis plants, I suppose. They’re also—”

“What did you just say?” you interrupted.

“It’s an aggressive feeder…?”

“No, no, the other part. Lord Neville?”

Harry quirks an eyebrow. “Yeah? It’s just the name of the subspecies, Y/n. No big deal.”

“Oh my Godric— I have to go!”

You shove everything into your bag, almost tripping over the table’s bench in your haste to get up.

“What about lunch?” Ron called after you, affronted.

“No time!”

~~~

You hesitantly opened the door to Greenhouse No. 5, peeking inside the warm shed.

“Neville?” you called out cautiously, giving one plant actively trying to wriggle out of its pot nearby a wary look.

You fully stepped inside the greenhouse, your attention immediately caught by the neat trail of green fan-shaped petals on the ground.

You followed the trail through the front room of the greenhouse, crossing through the threshold to the second room and looking up, only to see—

“Berkshire?”

Enzo rocked back and forth on his feet nervously, chewing his bottom lip and fiddling with the cuffs of his uniform shirt. “Surprise?”

You didn’t know the boy too well. You’d been his assigned partner on a few school projects here and there, and he’d always been friendly when you passed him in the halls, but he’d always seemed a bit reserved and shy around you.

You took a moment to draw your gaze away from him to look around the greenhouse. A silver and green Slytherin blanket was spread out neatly across the ground by Enzo’s feet. A proper wicker picnic basket, two crystal glasses, and a bottle of wine sat on the edge of the blanket, waiting.

Enzo himself had a green carnation pinned to the pocket of his shirt, tied with a lavender ribbon. You grinned.

“You did all this?”

He must’ve misinterpreted your tone of surprise, because he immediately panicked. “U-um, yes. Yeah. Yep. Sorry. I should’ve asked before trying to court you, right? Oh— rats, I didn’t I ask— I just thought you were so handsome, and nice, and— and I didn’t really know how to ask you out—” he rambled nervously.

“Thank you,” you interrupted, for his sake. “This is adorable.”

Enzo’s face was bright red, and you couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“Why flowers?”

“Oh! Uh. Big part of pureblood culture. Flowers. Daphne, Astoria, Pansy…all flowers.”

You nodded, still grinning.

Enzo cleared his throat awkwardly and motioned to the blanket. “Please, sit.”

You settled down on the soft blanket across from him, sitting cross legged. At your perpetual grin, he seemed to relax a bit.

“Y’know,” you started, as he uncorked the wine and started pouring the glasses, “I think this is the perfect place for a first date.”

His hands trembled as you said that and he looked up at you hopefully. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you grinned. “Perfect place for romance to bloom.”

“That’s a terrible pun.”

“I know. Can you be-leaf it?”

“That’s worse.”

“Be nice. I’m a budding comedian.”

“Shut up.”

“Why don’t you use your tulips to make me?”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[please comment if you enjoyed this! this author needs constant positive reinforcement, like a literal toddler!]

#harry potter #fuck jkr #hp #hp x male reader #x male reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire x male reader #i love him #male reader #slytherin boys #x reader

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aliceintheworld · 8 months ago

Text

PURE ATTRACTION | JJK | TATTOO ARTIST

Pairing: TattooArtistJungkook X NaiveReader

summary: "I shouldn’t be watching a man undressing, specially not from the house next door."

Warning: angst 😭 (I know, but I promise it will pass soon) kiss, crying, Jungkook being an idiot, but regretting later (he will suffer a bit more in the next chapters, I promise) alcoholic drink, confession 😍

A/N: I know, I promised I would post this yesterday, but my internet stopped working and there was nothing I could do 🤷‍♀️ anyway, here it is: finally things are aligning a little bit. Spoiler alert: the OC's mother will soon find out what’s going on, and things will get ugly 😬. Speaking of which, PURE ATTRACTION is coming to an end, and I'm already thinking about new projects. I hope you can join me on this journey 🤟

Previous Chapter

CAPITULO 11

The fright pulls me away from Y/N instantly. When I look back, it's Bora calling me. She stops walking and stares at us for a few seconds. Then she smiles in a mischievous way, almost as if we were doing something more than a near kiss. I can't ignore the bad feeling that overwhelms me when I can't achieve my goal. I know I'm confused and should avoid playing with someone else's feelings, but being apart from her these past few days, has been my greatest martyrdom.

“Sorry to interrupt.” She giggles, biting her lower lip.

“You didn’t interrupt anything.” Y/N quickly shakes her head, embarrassed. “I need to see Hayun. Is she around?”

“Yes.” Bora nods in agreement. “Jungkook, Namjoon was looking for you. Please go see him. No one can stand him anymore, seriously. It feels like a funeral over there.”

“I’ll be right there.” I sigh, feeling I have no choice. I didn't want to go, but I know I need to. I glance at Y/N one last time before heading inside Yoongi's house. I try to maintain a calm expression, but I can’t. I’m so dazed by everything happening that I can barely think straight.

Namjoon came to Busan out of the blue, and even though I have some regard for him, I didn’t want him to do it. I shouldn’t have mentioned the party to him, but I'm so used to having him in my life, I didn’t expect him to travel, just to see me. I didn’t want to do this to Y/N; she must be thinking horrible things about me—part of which are true—but before heading to Seoul, I wanted to talk to her and clear things up, not this mess that just happened. When she left my apartment that day, I spent hours in my room, echoing her words in my head.

I’m a proud person. I don’t like being wrong, and when I am, it’s hard for me to stop, breathe, and ask for forgiveness. However, that same day, I knew I needed to do it. I knew I needed to talk to Y/N and resolve everything before it was too late. Contrary to what she says, I really do like her. She makes me feel good, makes me happy... whenever I’m with her, I don’t think about anything else. My world, filled with problems and worries, becomes a world that is only hers. I wanted to say this to her, but I'm so confused about Namjoon that I'm afraid to make the situation worse and regret it even more.

As I approach the house, I see him among my friends, leaning against the wall. He seems unfazed by the grim situation, but I know he is bothered. I’ve known him for years, and I know he liked everyone before all the shit hit the fan, throwing our dreams and what we built together, in the trash. He smiles at me when he sees me, and I can’t reciprocate in the same way. The pride I once felt being with him, no longer exist.

“Is everything okay?” I ask when I reach Namjoon. He shrugs and shows me a red cup with a clear drink. It looks like water, but I'm pretty sure it isn’t.

“I’ve been better.” He explains in a slurred voice, watching Taehyung and Yoori kissing in the corner. It used to be the two of us, the lovey-dovey couple. “Is everything okay? You were with that girl for a good while.”

“I needed to talk to her.” I say honestly, feeling anxious; it’s like I’m doing something wrong when I know I’m not.

“She seems important... the way you looked at her...” He suggests, but it doesn’t seem serious. It’s as if he’s saying all this, but knows there’s no possibility of any involvement. Y/N isn’t the type of person I would have approached with interest, in the past, and Namjoon knows that.

“She is important.” I confirm, trying to stay relaxed. Namjoon bites his lip and looks at me with an expression I can't decipher.

“You’re joking, right?” He asks; his jaw tightens, waiting for a response.

“I’m not.” I shake my head; my heart pounding almost as loud as the music. “We had a connection, and she’s important to me, that's why we talked.”

“Wow.” Namjoon scoffs, drinking more of his drink. He rolls his eyes ironically, and then sighs. “You really bounce back quickly.”

“What did you expect me to do? Wait for you?”

“No, just that you’d wait until everything could align.”

“You didn’t wait, Namjoon.” My throat burns with my growl. How can he be so hypocritical? “You ended everything. You slept with that guy from your work when we were about to move in together.”

“I made a mistake. You needed one mistake to end everything.” He replies.

“I needed one mistake to realize you weren’t the right person for me.” I say, clarifying the fact for both him and me. “Love doesn’t hurt, doesn’t deceive. What you did... you just ruined everything. What are you really doing here?”

“I thought I was welcome in your life.” He argues, and it’s the first time I see pain and regret in his eyes. He steps closer to me, his short breaths hitting my face. Him being taller than me never bothered me, but now it feels like he’s a tower over me. A mountain. “I thought you still loved me.”

“I loved the person I thought you were.” I say, closing my eyes. My throat tightens and my chest feels heavy. All the good moments we had together flash in my mind. The first time I saw him, the first time we made love. The first time I said I loved him, scared that he wouldn’t feel the same, and Namjoon reciprocated, exceeding all my expectations. All of that no longer exists. The Jungkook who was crazy about him, who admired him, is just a shadow of who I am now. I loved him so much that I almost overlooked his betrayal for us to be together. I no longer see a future for us, I see nothing but emptiness.

“I made a mistake once, Jungkook. Just once.” He says with a slurred tongue. He looks drunk and sad. A bad combination.

“Namjoon, that’s enough. This is serious now. I want this to end. Go back to Seoul. Stay in your apartment. You need to forget me and move on. We’re not good for each other.”

“We can fix all this. We can move on together.”

“We can’t, because I’ve already made my decision. You no longer fit in my life.” I’ve never been so decisive as I am now. I remember, in the back of my mind, the way I feel every time I see Y/N; none of this feels right.What he did is unforgivable, and I could never trust him again. It just seems wrong. His dark eyes fill with tears, and he takes another step closer to me. His scent mixed with alcohol is still good, but doesn't draw me like three months ago.

“I can show you that you still want me. That I still have you.” He whispers, and even though I don’t want to, I close my eyes to welcome him. For the last time. Just this once, and then everything will be over.

His mouth crashes against mine with ferocity. He seems to show through his actions that he’s regretful, and I can feel it, but it’s not enough. In the midst of the kiss, I take everything from him. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull him against me. Namjoon is mine, for the last time. All these years together, I thought it would be forever, but we can’t be anymore. His tongue meets mine in a wildness I recognize. I grunt between his lips as I feel his hand on my back, so forcefully that it’s as if he wants to merge with me. The kiss is sexual, but devoid of feeling. Y/N echoes in my head once again, from when we kissed in your room while her mom was knocking on the door. When our lips met, I felt so much more than just physical contact or her touch. It’s then that I realize it’s not worth it. All the suffering has passed, and I don’t need this anymore. I abruptly pull away from him. Our heavy, quick breaths mix as I stare into his eyes. He tries to get closer again, but I don't allow it. I push him away with my hands, trembling, anxious and sad.

“It’s over.” I whisper. His face contorts as if I’ve punched him. I feel sorry for him, but I can’t deceive us anymore. “It’s over. That was the last time we kissed. The last time you touched me. I didn’t end our relationship. You did.” I conclude; my voice comes out hoarse and in a grunt from deep in my throat. There’s no anger, no resentment towards him. Namjoon doesn’t respond, completely silent, and how could he?

I cover my face with my hands, and let out a sigh mixed with relief and anguish, escaping my soul. When I turn around, my eyes unconsciously go to the woman who, since I met her, changed something within me. Her eyes, however, are filled with tears; her cheeks flushed as if she’s holding back an impending cry. Only then do I realize that Y/N must have seen the kiss with Namjoon, and I can’t imagine what she must be thinking. Before I can react, she turns her back and walks away from the crowded room.

“Y/N!” I shout through the people, but my voice sounds low amidst the music. I move instinctively and hurry after her. Her body almost disappears down the hallway, but I run faster, pushing past two guys who look like they want to kill me, and a girl, who yells at me for bumping into her. None of this stops me until I manage to catch her by the arm. “Y/N, stop!”

“Let me go!” She twists her wrist, shaking her body so I’ll release her. I loosen my grip on her skin, afraid of hurting her, and she pulls away again, faster this time. She heads for the main door of the house and flings it open.

“I’m not letting you go!” I yell at her, walking faster as the facade of the house gets further away from us. “Y/N, listen to me!”

“Stop following me!” She screams at me; her usually sweet and soft voice sounds angry and hurt. I run faster until I can stand in front of her. I don’t touch her, but I don’t let her pass, using my body like a wall to block her path. “Let me through, Jungkook.”

“No.” I shake my head. Her face twists. Her nose crinkles, and her forehead furrows. I’m sure if she could hit me right now, she would.

“Let me through.” She pleads again, taking short steps that I once again block.

“No, not until you listen to me.” I say with such force that she flinches. Her angry, hardened face transforms into an ironic laugh, which fades as more tears fill her eyes. Her white, smooth neck is filled with veins, as if she’s about to burst with rage. Her breath comes fast, as if she doesn’t have enough air.

“You’re a fucking bastard, a total son of bitch. I don't want to listen anything.” She growls at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen her curse; it’s so strange that it feels like those words don’t belong to her. “How can you do this to me? Yo-You are... I don’t even have words to describe you!”

“I know! I know! I’m a fucking mess, do you think I don’t know that?”

“You’re a son of bitch!” She screams again at me, pushing against my chest. “I want to punch you right now! I want to hit you until you turn into someone Irrecognizable.” She pushes me again, but I hardly budge. Although she’s angry and furious with me, I’m much bigger and stronger than her. I remain silent, watching as the trapped tears begin to flow down her face. The face that so often had been lit up with joy when she was with me, now looks defeated.

“I know... Y/N, I know.” I respond in a whisper. I stop her from pushing me again, holding onto her fist. I imagined she would use her strength against me and pull away one more time, but she doesn’t. Her silent crying takes over her body, and her shoulders shake. The pain I feel seeing her this way, knowing that I caused it leaves me frozen, but my arms move before I can think, and I hug her.

Her face aligns against my neck, and her sobs grow deeper. I open my mouth to say something, to apologize for everything I’ve caused her, but the words stick in my throat, and a voice in my head tells me that even if I tell her how sorry I am, nothing changes what I did. I hurt her, regardless. Apologies, unfortunately, don’t help much in this case.

“I’m sorry.” I say, contradicting all my thoughts. Even knowing that words don’t help at all, I say again: “I’m really sorry. Forgive me, Y/N.” I plead, closing my eyes. I feel her arms wrap around my body, bringing me a pleasure I can't even describe. How long has it been since I felt that excitement from just a hug?

“Stop apologizing.” She asks, pulling away from me. In the place of her warm body, only coldness remains in mine, with her distance. “Why did you kiss him? Why did you say all those things to me and then kissed him?”

“Because I needed to.” I clarify. Y/N opens her mouth to say something, perhaps to curse me again, but I’m quicker. “It’s over. We are nothing more than strangers now."

“How come?”

“That was the last time we were together, after almost five years. After everything, I needed this ending. I realized he no longer fits me.” I say, and not feeling the sadness I felt before, just imagining such a situation, brings me hope. Hope that I won’t have to suffer for Namjoon anymore. That I won’t have to feel anguish and pain over him.

“I don’t... I don’t know what to say.” Y/N shrugs, wiping her wet, swollen face. “But I don’t take back what I said. You really are a bastard.”

“I know.” I agree, unable to deny any of her statements. “And I also know that I hurt you, but I want to fix what I did. I want to fix all the shit I made you go through.”

“I don’t want anything from you.” She presses her lips together; those red lips I love so much, that for a second, I get lost in thought. I miss kissing her. Talking to her. Observing the little wrinkle at the corner of her right eye, every time she laughs. Not when she smiles, but when she giggles heartily. I never thought this could happen so quickly, even after Namjoon, but my heart leaps just thinking about her. Thinking about our kisses.

“Y/N, I can finally fix what I did wrong. That day I was so confused. I told you I didn't want something serious, but I did. I was scared; I just didn't want to get hurt again.” I confess to her, recalling the memories of that morning, when I turned my back on her because I couldn't bear to look into her eyes, as she left my apartment.

“Do you really think I'm going to believe all of this? After everything you've done to me? You're being a damn liar, a manipulative jerk." she grunts; I can see the anger in her eyes, the disbelief radiating from her.

“Y/N, I needed that. To finally know what I wanted.”

“You needed a kiss? You're a joke. Seriously.”

“Believe me.” I plead, my voice a whisper. I lean closer to her, holding her face in my hands. Her cheeks are flushed from crying, from the turmoil of emotions. “I want you.”

“I won’t be your consolation prize.” She whispers back, furrowing her brows. Y/N seems so determined and strong, that it's like all my words means nothing to her.

“You’re not.”

“I won’t be your second option.” She repeats, grunting at me.

“You’re none of that.” I repeat, irritated that she even thinks that way. She tucks her hair behind her ear and looks away, as if she could be saved by someone amid the darkness of the neighborhood. When she finds no one else, she sighs, biting her lips hard.

"I wish you had said all of this earlier. How can I believe anything you say now?" she asks, and unfortunately, I have no answer for that question.

"I'm sorry again," I beg, defeated. "Y/N, can I take you home? Can we talk about this somewhere else?" I ask, a bit hesitant. I want her to understand that even though I made many mistakes, I'm willing to do anything to show her how important she is to me. Y/N shakes her head, however, breaking all my hopes.

"I can't be near you. Every time I'm close, I end up losing control." She says, and I completely understand what she means. Whenever we're alone, I feel an energy between us that draws us together like an invisible magnet. I smile, agreeing with her.

"I can't control myself when I'm with you, either," I respond earnestly, and her previously sad face lights up with embarrassment.

"Jungkook, stop," she pleads, almost through clenched teeth. Her cheeks are flushed now, thanks to my words.

"I'm telling the truth. Deal with it."

"I really need to go," she changes the subject, shaking her head. Then she sighs, looking at her fingers. "I... I’ll call a taxi." She turns her back to me, before I can react.

"What? What do you mean?" I follow her again, as she walks back to Yoongi's house. Y/N looks at me, as if mentally questioning what I'm doing so close to her, but I don't care.

"Jungkook, go back to your party," she commands, walking faster.

"I'm not letting you take a taxi home at this hour. Forget it." I shrug, annoyed. She may not want to listen to me or look at my face, but nothing will convince me to let her go with a stranger in the middle of the night.

"What does it have to do with you?" she questions without looking at me, and I have to walk faster to get in front of her again. Her irritated, mocking, and sarcastic expression fades, when I look her in the eyes.

"Stop talking like that. Do you really think I don't care about you?"

"You are a—"

"I’m a jerk. I know. I just asked if you really think I don't care about you. Do you really think I don’t want what’s best for you?"

"I don’t know," she replies, shrugging. "After tonight, I can't think about anything else," she argues, furrowing her brows. I step closer to her, taking a short step forward. Her perfume, different from Namjoon's, completely captivates me. It's as if everything about her is designed to drive me crazy.

"Y/N, let me take you. My car is over there, across the street," I whisper, locking my gaze with hers, noticing how her pupils dilate when she accidentally glances at my mouth.

"I don’t know," she repeats, as if she’s fighting something internally.

"I'll take you. We don’t have to say a word to each other. You get in the car and then get out when we reach your place," I conclude, hopeful. She pauses for a moment and sighs, looking at her fingers again. It seems she's contemplating my offer for a few seconds, still uncertain.

"Okay," she says softly, as if afraid of her own decision. Her voice, once filled with anger, now sounds neutral. If I could choose any superpower right now, it would definitely be the ability to read her mind.

I clear my throat, nodding, and slowly step back from her, wary that any sudden movement might make her change her mind. My car isn’t too far away, so we walk in silence for just a minute. Yoongi's house still seems lively, with people coming and going through the main gate. I take one last look at the place, mentally thanking myself for leaving the car key in my pocket, as I glance at Y/N without saying a word. She remains silent the whole time, while I quickly open her door and then mine. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice how she pulls on her seatbelt and looks at me for a moment, as if she’s examining me.

Even under her gaze, I don’t utter a single word. My whole body feels tense, alive, electric. I dare to contemplate her, the same way she does with me, taking in her from head to toe, from her Converse sneakers to her dress that’s much larger than her body, with a small slit opening on her left leg that, for God’s sake, reveals her smooth, soft skin –the same skin I had touched and taken everything from, just days ago. I clear my throat and start the car, reluctant to leave my spot.

A sudden rain starts to wet the windshield, and I thank the universe for, even if not intentionally, give me more time with this. The entire drive is a torture and, at the same time, a source of pleasure. I keep thinking to myself that if I can’t convince her, this might be one of the last times I ever see her before I go to Seoul. I savor everything about her: her scent, her presence, her calmness amidst so many storms, trying to imprint all these details in my mind. How did I get to this point? How could I be so confused about Namjoon when I’m clearly in love with her? Obsessed with everything she does?

When her house comes into view, I swallow hard, feeling my mouth dry. I want to say so many things, yet no words seem right. I look at her face, and almost immediately, she looks at me too. We both sit in silence, listening the rain and lost in thought. Then she smiles shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Thank you for bringing me," she says, looking down. "And I’m sorry... I shouldn’t have cursed at you. I shouldn’t have said all those things. I... Jungkook, I wanted to see you hurt, just like I felt, but I had no right. I was wrong for that. I want you to be happy. I want you to be loved, no matter who you’re with." She confess, and her eyes crinkle the way only hers do, calm and serene. I open my mouth to say something, to affirm she had every right over me, but she gets out of the car before I can tell her everything. "Goodbye." She whispers with a weak smile, giving me her back and entering before the rain makes her wetter.

I stay there for a moment, frozen, breathing heavily. I look at the door of her house, and then at my mother’s, thinking that, unlike my father, I’ve always considered myself brave. I’ve always seen myself as a confident person. With everything that has happened in my life, I have never taken a step back, and I have never let fear paralyze me or hold me back from anything. I get out my car hesitantly, but I don’t stop. I walk quickly to the short steps, and ring the doorbell, freezing with cold and the water. Y/N opens the door a second later, almost as if she was waiting for me on the other side. Her face illuminated by the yellow streetlight.

"Y/N, I don’t want you to leave my life," I declare breathlessly; my heart pounding so hard it feels like it’s about to jump out of my chest. "I have no right to say this and I don’t even deserve you to listen to me, but I want you to know that since the first time I saw you, at your bedroom window, everything about you caught my attention. The way you speak, the way you look at me, how you listen to everyone as if they all deserve your attention, how empathetic you are, and how simply good you are... I can’t stop thinking about you. I talk about you to my friends, to my mother. I miss you even when we haven’t seen each other for a short time... I don’t want this to end. Us. I don't want us to end." I laugh desperately, not even knowing what I am doing, filled with hope and moments of us together in my mind. I can literally feel my blood rushing through my body, pulsing strong like never before.

"Jungkook, you—" She tries to say, but I stop her by placing my hands on her cheeks. I lean in so close I can feel her breath on my face.

"I know I’m an idiot, but I’m so damn in love with you that I deserve a second chance, just to show you that I’m worthy of you, that I can make every day, from now on, the best day of your life." I whisper, gazing into her eyes. They widen in shock and surprise. Tears form in them, and one falls onto my thumb, on the apple of her cheek.

"I’m in love with you too," she confesses in a whisper, and I have to lean in closer to assure myself that I’m not dreaming. She smiles, as if she senses my confusion. "I’m in love with you too," she confirms, just for my ears.

And I can’t hold back any longer. I can’t anymore. It's when I kiss her, so intensely and suddenly, that it takes her a few seconds to respond. Her soft lips form a sweet smile against mine, and I can't help but chuckle too, happy, content, all at once. She places her hands on my face, tenderly, and then winks at me. Her eyelashes brushing against the tops of her cheeks because of the rain.

"Come in, I don't want you to get sick from the cold," she invites me, pulling me in. Then she kisses me one more time.

Thank God for this fucking rain.

Ask for a TAGLIST in the comments

@ane102 @joonwater @ttipa @kookienooki @missbangtangirl @kelsyx33 @minimoninini @myjungkookthighs @elivision

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