#and that counts for everything on its own

[bluemerakis]

─────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ this one’s on me ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ s4!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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[nkplanet]

SHE’S ELECTRIC

dean x fem!reader cw suggestive making out, nicknames (sweetheart, his girl, darlin’), swearing, minor spoilers for s3/4? (hell) wc 746 cross posted on ao3

summary to dean, you’ve never looked better than when you’re covered in blood and sweat after a hunt notes this is 100% self indulgent. i need this man like i need oxygen

dean knew, deep down, that you could handle yourself. you were a big girl with an even bigger gun - anything in its right mind would fear you.

still, that didn’t stop him pacing anxiously while he and sam waited for you to finish the hunt. it was one of the more simple hunts they’d had in a while; a witch was luring men to a house deep in the woods where they’d be put under a spell the second they stepped foot inside.

dean would honestly rather have been completely pliant under the witches thumb than let you go in alone, but you and sam were adamant.

waiting for you felt like a lifetime, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d heard sam tell him to “just sit down” but he couldn’t, not while his girl was in there alone. even sam was beginning to get a little antsy before you finally emerged.

you were panting, covered in blood splatters (dean hoped none of it was yours) and sweat.

to dean, you’d never looked hotter.

he was so entranced by you that he almost missed you recapping your fight to sam, instead watching you effortlessly clean off your blade and gun and feeling his jeans get a little tighter.

“dean,” you said, clicking in front of his face, “you good?”

he smirked. “yeah, sweetheart. i’m good.”

“you’re disgusting,” sam mumbled almost immediately, heading off to the impala.

dean looked you up and down and you raised an eyebrow. “what about me looking this gross turns you on? i’m covered in some random witches blood, my own blood, and dirt and god knows what else-” you started, but dean took a few steps towards you and your words died in your throat.

“sweetheart,” he drawled, the southern twang in his voice heavy, “you always - always - look hotter than hell. and trust me, i’ve been there.”

he moved closer, one hand hovering at your waist. “may i?” he asked, his voice low and thick.

“please,” you all but whined in return, not trusting yourself to speak more.

dean’s hand landed on your waist, and your body lit on fire. he moved impossibly closer, your lips meeting his in the middle as electricity exploded between you.

kissing dean was like nothing you’d ever felt before. his lips were soft, softer than you’d thought (and you’d definitely thought about them before). he was gentle at first, but as you deepened the kiss, slipping your tongue into his mouth, he grew more passionate, rougher, almost like he couldn’t control himself, fighting you for dominance.

he pushed you against the side of the house, body flush against yours. one of his hands was still stuck to your waist while the other roamed your body, mapping out your hips, your ass, your waist in his mind.

you moaned as he tried desperately to get closer to you, deepening the kiss even more. you could feel everything - his chest, his abs, the bulge in his jeans (that made you smile into the kiss - you knew the effect you had on him, but feeling it was something else). you ran your hands up his stomach, feeling up his chest before they eventually settled at the nape of his neck. you tugged at his hair a little, eliciting a groan from the man in front of you.

“fuck, y’can’t do that to me, darlin’,” he said, breaking the kiss.

to him, you looked stunning. your pupils were blown out, lips swollen, and face flushed.

from your point of view, things didn’t look much different. dean looked positively angelic, eyes half lidded and focused only on you, hair a mess, panting hard.

you were about to lean in again, chasing more of the passion, the electricity that flowed between the two of you, when dean’s phone rang. he groaned, checking the id.

“sam,” he supplied, briefly flashing you his phone screen.

“we should head back,” you said, still breathless.

“let’s continue this later then, sweetheart.”

you made your way to the impala where sam was waiting, an impatient yet knowing look on his face. you climbed into baby, not saying a word.

sam didn’t see you on the ride back, adjusting your jeans and sitting with your legs crossed the whole time.

dean, however, did. his thoughts were already drifting to getting a second motel room before, but now it was first on his to-do list when you got back.

[eternalguk]

Pink Hearts & Black Clouds || jjk. — 01

Love me at my lowest, I’ll love you when you’re barely holding on

↠ Pairing : Jungkook x Reader

↠ Summary : Jeon Jungkook is the epitome of a brooding grunge. Moody, distant, and always a little too sarcastic. A grumpy, tattooed college student who barely tolerates anyone… except you. Somehow, the girl who’s a whirlwind of pink hearts and strawberry lipgloss is the one who keeps dear Jungkook on his toes.

But you must admit… behind that gruff exterior, there’s a side of him only you get to see—gentle, caring, and ready to spoil you in his own way. Everyone else may see him as the tough guy with a permanent scowl, but you know better. Jungkook’s heart? It’s all yours.

↠ Genre : established relationship au, college au, grunge!bf x bimbo!gf, angst, fluff & smut

↠ Word count : 3.8K

↠ Warnings : swearing, making out, teasing, exhibitionism (sex in a lecture theatre), unprotected sex, penetrative sex, rough sex, slight dumbification, dirty talk, begging, oral sex (m. receiving), ass smacking, scratching, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, use of pet names, sex on a desk (he hits it from the back at one point), a very moody but flirtatious Jungkook paired with bimbo!oc deserves its own warning :) - I think that’s about it?

↠ A/n : Hi there ; here it is! Chapter 01 of my first series, ‘pink hearts and black clouds’ which I am so excited to share. This story means a lot to me as it explores two completely different personalities finding their way together. With bimbo, sunshine!reader and grunge, grumpy!jk, I hope you enjoy exploring this world as much as I loved creating it. It’s messy, it’s fun, it’s emotional, it’s steamy (at times 👀) and it’s absolutely everything I could ask for! I’d love to hear what you think - your reactions, favourite part, or even anything you’d like to see from them in the future! Feedback / comments are always appreciated. Thank you for giving my story a chance & happy reading 🦢.

↠ Song : ‘Closer’ by Jungkook / ‘Good for you’ by Selena G

❧ Chapter 01 : Lipgloss & Leather

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A stream of light filters through the wooden, venetian blinds of the lecture theatre windows, slicing through the warm, cinnamon-scented air.

God bless Ms. Choi for her diffusers.

The ambience of the empty theatre is a sharp contrast to the wintry chill that is dancing around outside. The time of season where it bites at your cheeks and refuses to let go. Inside though, the warmth feels like a holiday cocoon, the kind that makes you shed layers and forget the frost clinging to the world beyond your surrounding.

Unfortunately, despite the serene atmosphere, you don’t feel any less distracted.

You are perched in a chair at the back of the theatre, mindlessly playing with your pink glitter gel pen while Jungkook sits on the desk in front of you, legs spread arrogantly, one boot perched on the seat beside yours. The light catches on the silver chain hanging from his neck, a stark contrast to his black t-shirt and ripped dry-denim jeans.

You should be focusing on taking notes for the upcoming midterm, like he told you to do, but instead, your eyes keep wandering back to the powerful man in front of you.

Powerful because he consumes your entire being.

You pout as you swirl a strand of your hair around your finger, oblivious to the smirk curling on Jungkook’s lips as he catches onto your little daydream.

“Not taking notes, princess?” he asks, tone dripping with mockery.

“Erm…” you blink at him, momentarily caught off guard. “I was… thinking?”

Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Thinking. Right. About the syllabus or about how good I look right now?”

Your cheeks flame as he leans forward, chin propped lazily on his tattooed hand. His dark hair falls messily over his face, making him look even more impossibly cocky.

“Both?” you meekly offer, putting down the glitter pen and propping your chin onto your soft hands.

His grin stretches wider. “You’re cute when you lie.”

You smile at the compliment as Jungkook reaches out and grabs the gel pen from the desk, inspecting it like it was the most interesting thing in the world. The sight of his tattooed fingers gripping the sparkly pink plastic makes your heart race.

“Why do you even need this?” he teases, holding the pen just out of reach when you try to grab it back. “It’s ugly, you definitely don’t use it to write anything down and it’s pink.”

Jungkook grimaces, observing the pen as though it’s a foreign object.

You huff and pout harder, crossing your arms. “You said you’d help me study, but all you’re doing is being mean!”

“Mean?” Jungkook cackles, the sound low and gravelly. “Doll, I’m just keeping it real. Someone has to be with you.”

“Ugh, you’re the worst!” you whine, trying again to snatch the pen, but Jungkook is faster. He swiftly moves it behind his back, staring you down with his usual, conceited smirk.

“And yet, here you are. With me.”

“Because you don’t let me leave,” you shoot back, a small huff escaping as you try your best to appear annoyed.

But you aren’t. Not even a little bit.

Especially when Jungkook leans in even closer, his dark eyes scanning your face like he is trying to memorise every detail.

“C’mere,” he says softly, contrasting his suddenly serious expression.

You blink up at him, your heart fluttering. “Why?”

“Just come here, doll. Trust me.”

You hesitate for half a second before leaning forward, and that is all the invitation Jungkook needs to grab your chair and yank you forward, placing you between his legs. Your breath hitches as he cups your face in his hands, the rough pads of his thumbs stroking your cheeks.

“You’re too fucking pretty, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice so low and intimate that it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Jungkook…” You trail off, feeling utterly flustered and ridiculously warm under his intense gaze.

“What?” he questions, cocking his head playfully. “You don’t like compliments? Want me to call you dumb instead? You like that, huh?”

“N-no!” you stutter, and the way he leans in closer makes your head spin.

“That’s what I thought,” he says with a smirk, brushing his nose against yours. “My good girl likes being told she’s pretty.”

Your heart thumps loudly in your chest as his lips find yours, the kiss starting soft but quickly turning hungrier. Jungkook kicks your chair back before tugging you impossibly closer, his hands sliding down to your waist.

“Fuck, you taste sweet,” he mumbles against your lips.

“Strawberry lip gloss,” you utter, still fairly dazed.

He hums appreciatively, a smile now evident on his face. “My favourite.”

Jungkook’s hands slides lower, squeezing your hips as he deepens the kiss. You moan softly when he nips at your bottom lip, his pierced tongue sweeping over it a second later.

The sound of the theatre door creaking open in the distance makes you freeze.

The wind.

“Jungkook!” you hiss, pulling back slightly. “What if someone comes in?”

Jungkook grins, completely unbothered. “Free show?”

“You’re impossible!”

“You love it,” he teases, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His hands tug at the hem of your short pink skirt, hiking it up higher as his fingers toy with the edge of your lace underwear.

“Ahh, is this the pair I got you the other day?”

“Jungkook…” you mewl, voice barely above a whisper. You manage a quick nod, before falling to rest your head on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“My doll is always so needy,” he grumbles, his dark eyes locking with yours. “But I don’t mind.”

Jungkook continues to fiddle with your underwear, his hand slipping inside to cup your now soaked sex in his rough hands. “Nice and wet.”

You squirm in his grasp, your cheeks burning as he presses another kiss to your neck, nipping the sensitive skin until you gasp.

“Relax, baby,” he whispers. “I’ve got you, I promise.”

And with that, you give in - like you always do with your lover boy.

“Get on the desk.”

Your heart races as you turn toward the heavy, wooden desk behind you. It feels cold beneath your palms as you hoist yourself up, the sound of your skirt rustling loud in the quiet space. Jungkook watches you intently, his eyes darkening as you settle onto the surface, your legs dangling over the edge.

He steps closer, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your skirt higher.

“Look at you,” Jungkook whispers, his voice dripping with approval. “So pretty. So perfect for me.”

You shiver, your hands gripping the edge of the desk as his fingers trace patterns on your skin. Jungkook’s touch feels electric, sending sparks shooting through your veins.

“J-Jungkook—” you stutter, your voice shaky.

“Shh,” he interrupts, his voice firm but gentle. “Just relax. Let me take care of you.”

Your boyfriend's words send a wave of warmth washing over you, and you let your body sink into the desk as he leans in, his breath hot against your neck. You feel the stubble on his jaw brushing against your skin, the faint scent of his woody cologne filling your senses.

“The way you give in,” he begins, his lips grazing your ear, “is fucking beautiful.”

A soft whimper escapes your glossy lips as his hands move higher, pushing your skirt up to your waist. His fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, and you gasp as he tugs them down, leaving you exposed.

Jungkook is quick to toss them onto his discarded leather jacket draped over the chair beside him. The delicate blush of your pink panties against the rugged, worn leather is a stark contrast that sends your mind spiraling.

“Stunning,” he utters to himself, eyes roaming over your body with a hunger that quickens your pulse.

Why the fuck is this man so hot?

You squirm, cheeks burning with embarrassment, but Jungkook doesn’t give you time to think. Not that there was much going on up there anyway.

His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the desk. He wraps your delicate legs around him, engulfing you in his embrace.

“As beautiful as you look like this,” Jungkook mutters, caressing your cheek, “I need you on your knees.”

You’re quick to comply, gently shoving Jungkook away. He cackles at your eagerness, but deep inside his brooding heart, he feels at awe.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, quick to change personas, voice rough with desire.

Again, you obey without hesitation, your lips parting as he unzips his jeans. His cock springs free, already hard and straining, and your eyes widen as he steps closer, the tip brushing against your lips.

“Suck,” he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for only a second before leaning forward, taking him into your mouth. His taste is salty and masculine, making you moan softly as you begin to move your tongue, your lips wrapping tightly around his girthy member.

Jungkook groans, his hand tangling in your hair as he guides your head up and down. “That’s it, doll,” he encourages, his voice thick with pleasure. “Take all of me.”

You sink deeper, gagging slightly as he hits the back of your throat. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you don’t stop, determined to please him.

“Such a good girl,” Jungkook effortlessly praises, his grip tightening in your hair. “You were fucking made for this.”

The words send a jolt of heat straight to your core, and you moan around him, the vibrations making him shudder.

“Fuck,” he curses, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. “I’ll be painting your face with cum if you keep that up.”

You pull back slightly, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Isn’t that what you like?”

Jungkook chuckles darkly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips. “Not yet, baby. I have other plans for you first.”

Before you can even think of a response, Jungkook pulls you off the floor, spinning you around so your back is pressed against his chest. His hands roam over your body, cupping your breasts through your satin blouse as he nips at your earlobe.

“You’re turn, princess,” he whispers, voice sending shivers down your spine for the umpteenth time this afternoon.

You gasp as his cold fingers find their way between your legs, exploring your already soaked folds. He teases you mercilessly, touch light yet maddening enough that it has you writhing in his bulky arms.

“Please,” you beg, voice trembling with need.

You try to grind against him, but Jungkook’s firm grip stops you from doing so.

“Please what?” he taunts, feigning confusion, breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck me,” you whimper, the words spilling out effortlessly.

Jungkook grins, his teeth flashing in the dim light. “What my pretty doll wants, my pretty doll gets.”

In one swift motion, he lifts you onto the desk, positioning himself between your legs. Jungkook’s cock presses against your entrance, and you yelp as he thrusts into you in one smooth, powerful movement.

”God, why are you so tight?” Jungkook groans, his hands gripping your hips as he begins to move. “I fucked you this morning.”

The sensation, along with the reminder of your earlier shenanigans, is overwhelming and both the stretch and burn send waves of pleasure through you.

You wrap your legs around Jungkook’s slim waist, urging him deeper as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Harder,” you whimper, your nails digging into his shoulders. “More.”

Jungkook obliges, slamming into you with a force that has the desk rocking against the floor. The sound echoes through the lecture theatre, mingling with your desperate moans and his guttural grunts.

“Could fuck this cunt all day,” Jungkook growls, his pace increasing as he mercilessly hammers his thick cock into you.

You cling to him, body trembling on the edge of release. But just as you’re about to let go, Jungkook pulls out, leaving you gasping and empty.

“No!” you cry, your eyes snapping open to meet his smug grin.

“Not yet,” he warns, voice firm. “You’re not cumming until I say so.”

You whimper, your body aching with need, but Jungkook isn’t done. He flips you over onto your stomach, hoisting your hips up so your ass is in the air.

“What are you doing?” you ask, your voice muffled by the desk.

“Giving you what you wanted,” he replies casually, his hands spreading your cheeks apart.

And then Jungkook is inside you again, filling you completely as he drives into you with a ferocity that leaves you utterly breathless.

Your sopping pussy lewdly squelches around Jungkook, completely soaking him. The sound turns the pair of you on further.

“Right there!” You mewl, pushing yourself back onto Jungkook, the pressure making you moan uncontrollably.

“Say it,” he demands, his voice rough with exertion. “Tell me who fucks you this good.”

“Y-you,” you stutter, your voice breaking as he hits your g-spot deep inside you. “This drenched pussy is yours.”

“And who do you belong to?” Your boyfriend growls, his hand coming down on your plump ass with a sharp smack.

“I’m yours!” you cry, the pain mixing with pleasure in the most delicious way. “Love the way you fuck me.”

Jungkook smirks, his pace slowing as he leans over you, lips brushing against your ear. “Good girl. Now come for me.”

As soon as the words leave his filthy mouth, your body convulses, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over you as you come undone. Jungkook isn’t far behind, his own release hitting him with a force that leaves him trembling.

The feeling of his cum oozing into you has you wanting to turn around and ride the fuck out of your lover boy.

Jungkook collapses on top of you, his breath hot against your skin as you both struggle to catch your breath.

“You okay, doll?” he asks, his voice softening as he turns you around and carefully seats you on the desk.

You nod, a small smile playing on your lips. “Yeah. I’m- wow.”

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re amazing.”

“And you, Bakugo,” you reply, your voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

Your lover boy grins, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your back. “Round two after lunch?”

The cafeteria hums with energy, alive with the noise of lively chatter and the sporadic clatter of trays hitting tables.

You’re perched on the bench beside Jungkook, a tray of half-eaten chips and an unopened can of Samjin Mango Soda sitting in front of you.

Across the table, Taehyung and Jimin are engaged in a heated debate about Haikyu, their hands waving dramatically as they try to outtalk each other about the anime the two of them are currently rewatching.

Well, truthfully speaking, all of you have been rewatching, but only the two of them are so deeply interested. Maybe Jungkook, but he’d never admit it.

Speaking of Jungkook, he is slouched against the table, one elbow propped up as his thumb scrolls lazily through your phone, staring at pictures you had taken of yourself today.

And he says he isn’t obsessed.

As usual, he hasn’t said much, just the occasional grunt when someone asks him a question. He looks effortlessly intimidating, his black hoodie (that you finally returned) pulled low over his forehead, his iconic silver chain around his neck catching the light and his usual scowl that is always imprinted on his beautiful face.

You, on the other hand, couldn’t be more of a contrast. You’re in your own world, a makeshift beauty station spread out in front of you, next to yours and Jungkook’s shared meal. Your compact mirror is propped against the soda can, brushes and glosses neatly scattered around it.

A soft pout forms on your lips as you reapply a coat of your signature lip gloss, the sticky sheen glistening in the light. You’re blissfully focused, tilting your head to inspect your work like an artist perfecting their masterpiece.

“You’re so wrong,” Jimin says, leaning forward with a look of betrayal. “There’s no way Seijoh vs. Karasuno is better than Shiratorizawa vs. Karasuno.”

“It’s about the emotional stakes, Jimin,” Taehyung replies, sipping his iced tea as though he is a certified anime critic. “Oikawa’s genius mind versus Kageyama’s raw talent? That’s art.”

“Art?” Jimin scoffs. “Bro, real art is Ushijima annihilating them with a spike.”

Taehyung shrugs. “Oikawa’s smugness had more impact than any spike ever could.”

“Who’s Kageyama again?” you pipe up, tilting your head.

Jungkook’s phone, well your phone, lowers an inch as he glances at you, his expression blank. “You can’t be serious. We literally watched an episode yesterday.”

You shrug, completely unbothered by the disbelief in his tone. “I don’t remember the boring ones.”

Jimin nearly chokes on his drink, eyes wide in horror. “Boring?! He’s literally the King of the Court!”

“Don’t,” Jungkook says flatly, cutting off Jimin’s impending rant. “She’ll just start listing the hot ones.”

You grin, batting your lashes at him. “Is that a problem, Koo?”

Taehyung leans back in his seat, smirking. “You’ve got your hands full, don’t you, Koo?”

“I wouldn’t call it that,” Jungkook mutters, though his ears tinge pink. “And don’t fucking call me that.”

Taehyung catches it immediately, raising his brows. “Is that a blush I see, Jungkook? The same guy who nearly broke someone’s nose in basketball last week?”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook grumbles, sliding your phone over to you.

“Bro, you’re whipped,” Jimin adds, his laugh practically echoing across the room.

“No I’m not-”

“You are,” Taehyung interrupts, pointing a chip at him. “It’s so obvious. You’ve got that whole, ‘don’t fucking talk to me’ thing going on, but this one over here bats her fake lashes and you’re folding fast.”

“Hey! They’re real,” you protest, leaning forward and resting your chin in your palms.

You study Jungkook with a teasing smile. “Is that true? Am I your kryptonite?”

His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable, but there’s a flicker of something - amusement, maybe, or fond exasperation. Jungkook simply doesn’t answer, just grabbing a chip from the tray and popping it into his mouth.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you say, your smile widening.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, but it’s half-hearted. He leans back in his seat, stretching his long legs out under the table, and you notice the way his fingers tap rhythmically against his knee. He looks relaxed, but you know him well enough to recognise the effort it takes to hold back a snarky comment.

“He doesn’t even deny it,” Jimin continues, grinning like he’s won something. “You know what? I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you’re good for him.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sudden compliment. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Taehyung agrees, though his tone is far more mischievous. “You’re like the sunshine to his thundercloud.”

“Lipgloss to his cigarette,” Jimin chimes in.

“Or the idiot to his genius,” Jungkook finishes off, his voice dry as ever.

You gasp, smacking his muscular arm lightly. “I’ll have you know I’m very smart!”

“Name the capital of the United States,” he challenges, barely hiding the smirk tugging at his lips.

“Easy,” you say confidently, shrugging your shoulders. “Hollywood.”

Taehyung and Jimin dissolve into laughter, and even Jungkook can’t hold back the small shake of his shoulders.

“Christ,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “You’re unbelievable.”

You pout, confused why the boys are laughing. But, the sight of Jungkook joining in with them has you leaning into his side, grinning up at him. “You still like me, right?”

Jungkook doesn’t reply, but his hand moves to casually rest against the small of your back, his fingers caressing the exposed skin.

And that?

That’s the only answer you need.

You busy yourself with dabbing some extra Dior blush onto your cheeks, the sunlight streaming through the window catching the shimmer within it. Jimin plays with your Ilia mascara, shaking his head as he takes in the rest of your makeup that is scattered around.

Taehyung sees that you’re occupied and smirks, leaning closer to Jungkook. “You defo love it, you’re just too much of a moody shit to admit it.”

“Love what?” Jungkook asks, deadpan, though the tightening of his jaw gives him away.

“Having someone fuss over you,” his best friend teases, motioning his thumb towards you with a grin. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger.”

Jungkook exhales sharply, looking down at the now empty takeaway container in front of him like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world. “You have nothing better to talk about?”

Your eyes dart to him, catching the faintest hint of red creeping up his neck.

Smiling to yourself, you lean your chin on your palm. “It’s okay, Jungkookie,” you coo softly. “You don’t have to say it. I already know.”

He glares at you, but there’s no real bite to it. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” you ask, pouting in innocence. “You love it when I call you that.”

Taehyung and Jimin burst into laughter once again at your audacity.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at them before turning to you. For a split second, his fingers twitch on the table, like he’s about to pull you closer. His gaze softens as it lingers on you - like he’s on autopilot, already halfway to pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

But then he stops.

Clearing his throat, he leans back in his chair instead, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt over his head like armour. “You’re insufferable and annoying.”

You blink, caught between surprise and amusement. “You almost- you almost did it!”

“What?” he grunts, refusing to look at you.

“You were going to kiss my head.” Your voice is laced with a playful lilt, but there’s a flicker of something tender beneath it. “Don’t worry, Kookie. Next time, you’ll follow through.”

His tongue pokes against his cheek, a telltale sign of his rising frustration - or embarrassment, you can’t quite tell. “Shut up and eat,” he mutters, tugging his hood lower before he shoves a packet of crisps your way.

Jimin and Taehyung howl in laughter, and you can’t help but join them, even as Jungkook mumbles curses under his breath.

Somewhere beneath the gruffness, there’s the faintest quirk of his lips - a fleeting smile that only you seem to notice.

And in small moments like this you conclude that while Jungkook doesn’t give you flowers or grace you with love letters, he gives you something that is endless - pieces of himself: his time, his trust, his unwavering presence, and a love so consuming it feels like forever.

And there we have it! Please do let me know your thoughts ; the support I receive means the world to me 🫶🏻

↠ Taglist : @bangchanwantsmesobad @rklvez @doulcha @starlight-1010 @mimi1097 @khadeeeeej @jkslvsnella @royalguk @gaebestie @iamstilljk @myjungkookthighs @jungshaking @kookiesgiggles @minimoninini @lovejkmilitarywife @pplongoing @pokolunolino @dontcallmeelle @taeisbae13 @ronyiboniyy @nerdycheol @onlyforyoukook @ukandtwme @morosisxx @smwhrinthehaze @thebluegoddess @ramyun-h @remgeolli @minniejim @cherricherryy @avawants2havefun @fr0ggieth1nk @ahgasegotarmy116 @jeeykey @ficluvr613 @deeznutkooks @kookienooki (names in italics could not be tagged).

[justhereforsubsevika]

this is mainly smut not a lot of plot,

i will say for the room that sex work is not to be romanticised and is a degrading line of work that women should never be forced into (i know, what a bummer way to start a fic) but for a fantasy...TEEHEE

Okay i got a bit carried away describing sevikas pussy so its a little explicit, dom vers sevi, pussy eating, strap sex (minor), cum-sharing (girl this is so nasty), fingering, it's pretty short sorry :(

Sevika had been coming to you for months. She did frequent the brothel prior to your employment, but got addicted the minute she tasted you for the first time. Until now, you'd been on the receiving end of pleasure. She'd come to the brothel, request her special girl (which babette always rolled her eyes at), and cherish your body. She would spend at least 30 minutes kissing across all your skin, her dark brown lipstick littering your body, before fucking your brains out.

On this particular occasion, Sevika had been plowing into you for half her 3 hour duration with you. You had cum on her strap more times than you could count, your eyes crossed in the top of your head, your weak moans muffled by your mask. It drove her insane, not being able to see how your eyebrows quirked when she picked out her strap, not being able to see you bite down on your lip, not being able to see the tears that streaked down your face.

As you groaned and gripped the pillows behind you to brace yourself for another orgasm, Sevika grunted and twisted her lips to the side. "Fuck, princess, what I'd give to paint that pretty face in my cum." Filth being groaned out to you wasn't uncommon, but something about Sevika saying such dirty words made your mind snap. You came whining and using your feet to push at her hips. She pulled out slowly and gently, sitting beside you and tracing her fingers around your nipples. She would never dare push you past your limits, something that was, unfortunately, foreign in your line of work.

Maybe it was the way she fucked you. Maybe it was the fact that you had built up a little friendship since you'd seen her for months on end. Maybe it was just that, underneath her hard exterior, she was a sweet woman who cared about you above her own pleasure. Whatever the reason was, you trusted her.

"You can do that.. that thing you said... if you want.." you mumbled as she kissed gently against your neck. "I'm not riding your mask, I'll break it." You giggled and pinched the bottom of your mask, lifting it enough to kiss Sevika's neck. You straddled her and sat up, preparing yourself for what you were going to do. She looked at you wide-eyed, hand resting on your thigh and flexing with anticipation.

You removed it and she moaned, moaned at the sight of your face. Jesus, you didn't think you were that hot.

"Oh fuck, fuck get on your knees princess," she spluttered, fighting her way out of her strap and taking off her boy-shorts, legs spread on the leather sofa in one quick movement. Your eyes shimmered as you took in the sight of her pussy. It was.. well it was like the straps she always chose. It was big. Her pussy was just.. everything about it was almost obnoxious. Her outer lips puffy and chubby, shrouded in thick black hair that ran up to her belly button and along the inside of her thighs. Her inner lips were dripping, huge and protruding, daring you to suck on them. Her pussy was a deep shade of brown fading into a dark fucsia when you spread her open. Nothing about it was "neat" or "cute", it was womanly. It was natural. It was sexy as fuck.

Teasingly, you poked your tongue a little ways inside her, making her grunt and take you by the back of your head. She shoved your face into her sopping wet pussy, groaning when you whined at her taste. You wrapped your arms around her thighs and got to work, nose shoving against her, again, obnoxiously big clit. "Mmmph, so good for me princess, so good," she grunted out, using the grip she had on your hair to maneuver you how she liked. She grinded her hips against your face, quite literally painting your face in her moisture. You left soothing touches up her hips, gripping at her hip bones, tracing the indents of her abs.

You assumed she'd be sensitive due to the sheer size of her clit, and you were absolutely right. It didn't take long for creamy, white cum to force its way across your cheeks, drip down your chin, down your throat. You spluttered and coughed, your air having been deprived for the short duration in which you sucked on her pussy. She leant down to you and opened her mouth, inviting you to spit her cum back down her own throat.

You did so and she grinned, kissing you with an open mouth, her cum and your saliva dribbling down your cheeks. As you kissed , you snaked your fingers between her legs, slipping them inside her messy pussy. She moaned into your mouth and shoved her tongue down your throat, you sucking on it instinctively.

As you curled your fingers and pumped them into her, sevika guided you down to the floor. She gripped your hair for balance and bounced on your fingers, eyes shut tight, mouth hanging open. She grinded on you, finding a steady rhythm.

"More, princess," she whined out, and you added a third finger into her pussy, making her groan and grip your hair harder. You brought your other hand up to toy with her clit, thumbing her under the hood, making her throw her head back.

She creamed onto you again, her cum seeping its way down your wrist and painting your breasts as she rode out her orgasm. She slowed down and brazenly checked herself out, gripping a little at her ass before standing and scooping you up.

She placed you gently onto the couch and licked up her cum from your breasts, stopping to suck at your nipples, and of course giving you open mouthed kisses with her mess still on her tongue.

(asker wanted the post taken down but gave permission to reupload!!)

[pinkolve]

A Spencer Reid Fic- The One Where He Reads Her Diary

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Summary: Spencer Reid gets pressured into reading your diary. How will things end after you find out...

Genre: Fluff, and a little angst

CW: Autistic coded!Fem!Reader, use of Y/N, a bit of dramatic? reader, sad Spencer :(, steamy kisses, slight artist!reader.

Word Count: 2,227

A/N: I'm not the best at writing in a reader's perspective!! I always write my fics with myself in mind, so y/n is usually very similar to myself. I hope you still enjoy this anyways, and let me know if you have any tips for writing x reader fics!! Thank you! <33

Y/N’s always been an honest person, she always tells people exactly what she thinks. She’s blunt, but still kind. Y/N believes that everyone deserves to know the truth, especially when specifically asking for it. But, she also has millions of secrets piled up. Some of them, people know. The others…No one knows, except her diary. 

Y/N had just turned twenty-two a few months ago. Some would argue she’s much too old for a diary, while others would say how beneficial it is for the mind. Like Spencer Reid, for example. He himself had a journal, he just hadn’t used it nearly as much as she did.

He used his journal to talk about important events or changes in his life, while Y/N used it for everything. She wrote everything she ever thought, and drew whatever came to mind. 

The one mistake she had made from the start was keeping her diary in her work bag…That she always left on her desk when she left for the bathroom. 

***

“Reid, man, come on. You need to tell her eventually.” Morgan bantered, standing right next to Spencer’s desk. 

“I’d rather not look like an idiot, Morgan.” Spencer slightly rolled his eyes, still focused on his paperwork. 

“You already do?” Morgan said, confused. Spencer looked up with a scowl. “I’m just messin’ with you Pretty Boy! Just ask her out for coffee, nothing wrong with coffee.” He shrugged. Spencer simply shook his head, staring back down at his files. Morgan shook his own head in disapproval before walking back to his own desk, passing Y/N’s in the process. 

As he passed by, his hip bumped the half-open bag on her desk, knocking it to the floor. Morgan immediately turned around and swore. He set his mug down on the desk and bent down to grab her bag. He took notice of a surprisingly thick notebook. He picked it up and reveled at how heavy it was. Morgan looked at the cover to read ‘Diary.’ His eyes immediately widened. 

A smirk took over his face as he placed the bag back on her desk and carried the journal back over to Reid’s desk. Once he was close enough, he threw the journal on the desk with a particularly loud ‘thud.’ Lucky for the two of them, the office was mostly empty so they were able to pull more shenanigans than usual. 

Spencer looked over at the cover and looked up at his friend with furrowed brows. 

“What is this?” 

“Y/L/N’s diary. Fell out of her bag.” He gestured behind him. Spencer’s face went white, his jaw dropping, and eyes almost bursting out of his head. 

“You cannot be serious! Put this back!” He jumped up from his desk, journal in hand, ready to bring it back to its rightful home. 

“Woah there, Pretty Boy!” Morgan put his palms against Reid’s chest, pushing him back in his desk chair. “You have a major advantage here. You read that, and you’ll probably know everything Y/N’s ever thought about you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. Spencer’s face was angry. “Look Reid, if Y/N finds out I’ll take all the blame. I’ll tell her I read it to you and you didn’t want anything to do with it.” Spencer looked down at the book in his hands, contemplating. 

“I can’t believe I’m letting you convince me into doing this.” Spencer sighed, shaking his head to himself. He hated the idea of invading his best friend’s privacy but he was also still a man. A man with a terrible crush on said best friend. How could he hold her very diary in his own two hands and not read a single word? “One page, that’s it!” Spencer groaned while Morgan ‘woo-hooed.’

Spencer took notice of just how thick the journal was before opening to the newest page. He held the book open gently, praying he wouldn’t break it since it was falling apart already. He looked at the left page, two messy sketches were drawn there in pen. They both were of him, the specific view Y/N had of him from her own desk. These are actually pretty good…He thought to himself. 

“Holy shit, Reid. Is that you?” Morgan practically gasped. 

“Yeah.” He whispered, too entranced by the book. The right page had an entry. 

11/10/24 Sunday, 6:22 pm

Dear Diary, 

Today hasn’t been very eventful. I came into work to try and finish some of my paperwork. Morgan and Spencer apparently had the same idea. I’ve been feeling so weird around Spencer lately. I can’t quite put my finger on why. Usually I feel fine around him, he is my best friend after all. I think it may have something to do with the wet dream I had about him last night…I can’t quite shake it from-

“Okay! That’s enough!” Spencer shut the book harshly, his face beet red. Morgan looked at him with a wide grin. 

“Why wouldn’t you keep reading? It was just gettin’ good!” He chuckled. Spencer glared at him. “Well, now we know she likes you.” Morgan smirked. 

“This doesn’t prove anything! People have wet dreams about other people when they don’t even like them, all the time!” Spencer almost screamed. Just then, Y/N came in through the large glass doors, letting out a loud sigh and stretching. She took one look at her desk and groaned. 

“Derek Morgan, I told you to stop leaving your coffee on my desk!” She complained, grabbing it angrily. She looked over at the two, their faces covered in guilt. “What happened to you guys?” She questioned. 

“Nothing. Nothing at all!” Spencer yelled, awkwardly covering the journal with both his arms. Y/N walked towards them while chuckling. 

“Come on guys, you look totally guilty. What’d you do?” She smiles at Morgan then looks over at Spencer, taking notice of the large lump under his arms. “What’s that? Did you accidentally buy erotica again?” She shook her head. She reached over to pry his arms away from the object. “I told you to stop-” Y/N cut myself off, staring at her own journal. Her face drained of any color and every feature on her face practically melted. 

“Y/N/N, I’m so-” Spencer started.

“Shut up.” She spit out. She tore her journal from him and slammed Morgan’s coffee on his desk, causing it to spill everywmye. She practically ran back to her own desk and packed her things. 

“Y/L/N, it wasn’t his fault. I’m the one who-” Morgan tried to reason. 

“I said shut the fuck up!” She screeched, her face red with anger and embarrassment. “I never thought you would do something like this to me. I trusted you with everything I had and you broke it like it was nothing.” She was crying now, looking between the two men. But all of them knew she was only really talking to Spencer. 

“Y/N, please-” 

“Don’t ever talk to me again you fucking asshole!” She sobbed out before running to the elevator and making a fast exit. Morgan looked over at Spencer and his heart nearly broke. Spencer looked like a wounded puppy, his eyes were wide and filled with unshed tears. He looked frozen in place, he couldn’t move a single inch. He begged any and every deity he could think of to make Y/N come back so he could explain. They hadn’t listened to any of his pleas. 

***

Y/N lay in her living room on her large corner sofa. The TV was on, playing ‘Gilmore Girls’ very loudly. She hoped to drown out any thought she had with the noise. So far, it wasn’t working. 

She hadn’t been to work in nearly a week, it was currently Saturday and no one had heard from her. She only called Hotch to tell him she wouldn’t be in for a while, sick with the flu. She sure as hell couldn’t admit that the real reason was because her crush read her diary. It felt stupid enough in middle school, she wasn’t about to say it aloud to her own boss. 

Everyone on the team was very worried, getting barely any information and zero replies from Y/N. Penny, Emily, Morgan and J.J had all come to her apartment on different occasions, begging to see her. She never let them in. The only thing she cared about was seeing Spencer, but at the same time, she never wanted to see him again. Funnily enough, Spencer was the only one who hadn’t come over. Y/N was partially glad for this because she knew if he was at her door, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from opening it. 

Spencer had of course sent about fifty-three text messages and made twenty-four phone calls to her. Once again, all of them were ignored. Spencer was the kind of person who liked to talk in person, apologize in person. All his text messages were him begging to talk to Y/N, to let him explain. None of them actually contained any excuses or apologies. She was clearly clueless on any reasoning he had, or how much he had read, because he didn’t want to say any of it in a meaningless text. He had been waiting since Wednesday for the weekend to come rolling around. He planned to show up and explain everything, but he needed to make sure they had plenty of time to talk, hence the weekend. 

Everyone on the team knew of his plan so they all refrained from going over themselves. They just hoped the two would figure everything out. 

*** 

Y/N had just gotten out of the shower when she heard a knock on her door. She rolled her eyes to herself and sighed, looking at the time. 

“Which one of them has the brilliant idea to come over at eight in the morning?!” She yelled to herself. She softly and slowly walked against the hardwood floor, careful not to make a single noise and alert whoever was behind the door. She wouldn’t answer it but she at least wanted to know who it was this time. 

“Y/N…It’s me.” Spencer’s voice rang out and she froze. “I know you’re angry but I really need to talk to you. Please let me in.” His voice was pathetic and sad, cracking occasionally. Within seconds the door opened in front of him. There stood the girl he’s been dreaming of seeing all week. Her hair was soaking wet and so were her shoulders and arms. A towel was wrapped around her body tightly, showing off her figure. Spencer watched a single droplet of water pass down between the valley of her breasts. 

“H-Hey.” Spencer choked out. 

“Hi.” Y/N greeted shyly. 

“I need to talk to you.”

“So I heard.” She nodded a little. “What about?” 

“You know what about…” 

“Okay, fine. What specific part of that interaction would you like to discuss? What, did you just come over to make fun of me? To ridicule me for the way I feel? Did you come over here just to humiliate me even more?!” Y/N’s voice raised the more she spoke. 

“No!” Spencer yelled, cutting her off. “I don’t want to do any of that!” He sighed to himself. “I…I never should have read your diary. Morgan convinced me, and I know I should have reacted better, and not listened to him. He just kept telling me how…Convinient it would be. I’ve been scared to tell you how I really feel for the last two years. He told me that reading your diary would be the perfect way to see how you feel about me before I confessed and made an idiot of myself. I just…I had a weak moment and I hate that I hurt you in the process.” A couple tears fell from the corners of his eyes. “I’m so…So sorry, Y/N/N.” 

She looked up at him with an expressionless face. Spencer looked back into her eyes with the saddest look on his face. He was about to ask her what she was thinking when she told him instead. 

“Do you like me? Romantically?” She asked, voice monotone. 

“Of course I do. I genuinely thought it was obvious, I can never stop how flustered I get around you. All I’ve dreamed about since we became friends is spending my life with you. Whether we spend it as best friends or more, I couldn’t care less. I just want you with me every step of the way” Spencer spoke honestly. 

“Kiss me.” Y/N blurted out. Spencer’s eyes went wide. 

“W-What?” He stuttered. 

“Please.” She breathed out. “Kiss me.” Her eyes were heavy and clouded. Spencer was quick to reach down and grab the sides of her face in his hands, pushing their lips together roughly. Y/N whimpered the minute his lips touched her own. Just as fast as the kiss happened it turned sloppy. Spencer’s hands travelled down to her waist, gripping tightly. She had wrapped her arms around his neck, her breasts pushing up against his chest. Their tongues collided and twirled against each other. 

“I love you, Spencer.” She whispered against his lips. 

“I love you more, Y/N.” He sighed.

[bowsnstrings]

30 For 30!

Onyankopon x Black Coded Character ✌️🏾

Summary: After meeting once again in the club, Milana allows Ony to come to her home in one surprising effort to explore her feelings. However, will she be able to get out of her own head enough to really let him in?

Warning MDNI!: Mentions of dealing, Mentions of bullying, Original character with original descriptions.

Masterlist: 🍃

Word Count: 5.2k

Milana never felt like she had it easy, not in school, life, or relationships. Always the odd one out, always picked on, heavily, from elementary through college. Too short, too fat, too dark, too weird, told to her on repeat her entire life. It wasn’t even until this year that she could tell herself she was “pretty”, and even then she didn’t believe it herself. Just going through life keeping her head down in her journal, expressing herself through words, until she found herself stuck in the lap of her antithesis.

Ever since then, it’s like she’s seeing him everywhere. Haunting her with that name and his smile like his smug, arrogant, handsome, behind knew a joke that she didn’t. Driving her home with that roguish glint to his eye, and his sultry mouth casually calling her, “Mama”. Forcing her into thinking crazy immature thoughts, asking herself over and over if he’d want her, if he’d call her, did he really even give her his real phone number?

It all went quiet went she saw him in the club, not expecting to see him in a million years. So skittish, barely even speaking while with him, too scared she’d say the wrong thing, but when he pulled in front of her door everything felt so electric. How polite he was, much less teasing than when in public, such a perfect gentleman. He even walked her to her door, didn’t ask to come inside, but told her to have a good night in the warmest voice she’d ever heard.

Watching him begin to walk away was hard, but she truly believed whatever he thought was going to happen would never go anywhere. They were just too different. He was sociable, well liked, popular, and she was well… introverted. Deep within her own shell to the point where it was hard to even get out of bed some days.

“Wait!”

Yes, she was shy and reserved, but tired of being lonely. Standing in her doorway with her face down towards her feet, seeing him turn on his heel and observe her silently, his eyes hopeful as they strained to see her. The light from her home poured in behind her, giving her an almost angel-like glow. “You shouldn’t drive at this hour. It’s-that isn’t safe.”

Was she offering what he thought she was? His lips curving further upwards, a hand coming to rub at his jaw as he thought it through for a moment, not expecting her to cave in so quickly like this. “Just for the night.” Her voice was the prettiest thing he’d ever heard, and he knew that he’d do whatever she asked.

“Alright.” Trying his hardest not to go running back to her front door, he sauntered his way over to where she was standing, looking down at how she bit her lip in the most sultry tantalizing way imaginable. His hands itched to reach out and touch her again, but he didn’t want to spook her away after getting this far. “Lead the way, Mama.”

With all the blankets from her spare closet, and extra pillows she could find, Milana made a palette for him to sleep on the couch with. Ony eyeing her from across the room as she almost fluttered around her home, chatting to herself and Oreo as she got everything ready for him. Her spoiled cat sitting in its bed, purring when she stopped to pet him, and meowing for attention as soon as she left.

Her sofa smelled just like her, enveloping him in her scent as soon as he sat down, getting the worst urge to turn and bury his face in her pillows. Ony had slept on a lot of couches before, moving home to home throughout his childhood, a ward of the state since before the age of ten. He’s even had to sleep on some floors in his lifetime, but this had to be the only time sleeping on a sofa brought a smile to his face.

He had almost fallen asleep too fast, staying up to wish her a good night as she retreated into her room to change and get to bed. Ony laying down in a white tee and his black sweats, his hoodie, chain, and shoes laying in a neat pile by his feet. He threw his beanie in the same heap, showing off his waves and low taper fade as he put his head into the satin pillow she provided for him. His eyes fluttering shut embarrassingly quick as he sighed in contentment.

It’s been a long time since he’d gotten some good sleep, feeling so warm and cozy, he almost forgot who’s home he was in. Getting comfortable, his mind wandered, thinking of ways to pay her back for this. Her gentleness and surprising hospitality with no strings attached made him feel human. Something you definitely don’t feel a lot when you deal.

Milana on the other hand had a hard time going to sleep, jumping out of bed every five minutes to check on Ony and make sure he didn’t need anything. To be honest, for her first time having a guy over, she panicked a lot more silently than she thought she would. Clutching Oreo to herself as she tried to lay back and relax, imagining it was just her at home with no one to worry about. God, why did she do this?

She didn’t even know why she found him so.. intimidating. It’s like he wore his emotions so clearly and yet, she still couldn’t decipher what he wanted out of her. To play some game? Get her hopes up just to drop her down slowly? What kind of cruel prank was he playing to where he seemed even slightly interested in her? There wasn’t any clue she could come up with, instead falling asleep, racking her brain for the answer.

The morning sun was the first thing to touch her, well, the sun and Oreo’s paw as he tried to make biscuits on her face. Nice try, little devil. She couldn’t stay mad at him for long though, cuddling him close and smoothing her hands down his shiny fur, getting up with a long stretch and dopey smile.

Going out was fun, but waking up in bed after a night out was much better, her mind clearer and ready for some rest and relaxation. Sliding on her glasses, she slowly moved about getting up for the day, glowing under the bright bathroom lights as she brushed her teeth and washed her face. Taking out her wrap, she let her hair fall down in waves, taking her time to part it correctly down the middle and brush down any fly aways with her hard bristle brush.

As her mind played catch up, she didn’t even realize Ony was supposed to be there. Instead, she was trying to remember to feed her cat, find her keys, and think about what to wear today all at once, coming face to face with an empty sofa. Oh, that was… surprising? Disappointing too, but what could she really say? She was upset that a man she hardly knew wasn’t still in her home the morning after going out? Her body sagging with a heavy feeling, feeling stupid, he probably acted like this for every girl to get a free place to sleep.

There wasn’t much time to dwell on it, Oreo practically nipping at her ankles to be fed already. Eyes scanning the room as she poured some dry salmon mix into his bowl, noticing the way Ony had to have folded all her blankets nice and neat, placing the pillows on top. At least he was kind enough to do that, even if it’s a little rude to just rush out in the morning. Who knows, he might’ve had to leave to go do some drops, earn his living she supposed.

The sound of her door opening had her reacting more than preparing for a possible intruder, dropping the bag of food and clutching her pajama top in a panic. Oreo was happy as ever, jumping head first into the forgotten bag to get some extra food as Ony stepped through the door, ducking through with his hood up and head down. A huge sigh of relief leaving her as soon as their eyes met and realization eased her frightened state away.

He looked amused already, laughing at the way Oreo’s tail swished out the opening, knocking a few pieces to the floor before he was picked up and placed on the ground in front of his bowl. His cheeks were filled with food, not even able to meow as she scolded him gently, looking at Ony out the corner of her eye as he made his way over.

He was still in his clothes from last night, but his chain and grillz inside his car, his beanie too, not so flashy or dressed up anymore. “Hey.” He said all drowsy like he wanted to get back in bed, which is all he secretly wished to do. Sofa or not, that was some good sleep, and he’d be damned if that was the last time he’d be up in here catching some “Z’s”. Already looking through the crack in her door to assess how big her bed was, and how they’d both fit.

“Hey,” Milana stood up fast, shooting up to put some distance between them and rush to the kitchen. “Did you sleep well? I know a couch isn’t super comfortable, but I can get some breakfast started to make up for it? What do you like, toast, eggs, bacon-” As soon as she opened her fridge, the emptiness of it shocked her right out of her rambling, standing in front of it feeling like an idiot for forgetting to buy groceries. “Uhh…”

“How did you sleep?” He cut in, making his way behind her to see what she was looking at. Hmm, that wasn’t going to fly around here, how long had she been without food in her fridge?

“Good. I slept, okay. How about you?” Closing the door, Milana turned on her heels to give him a sincere smile. She really thought he was gone, that whatever she had been feeling, whatever was happening between them was over. He only smiled back at her when he saw how genuinely happy she looked, and he felt…something. If this how she’d react every time he came back to her, then he could definitely get used to the feeling.

“Best sleep of my life. Hands down. I gotta pay you back for that, take you out for breakfast.” He asserted, trying to convey as much feeling as he could behind his words. He truly meant every single one, he wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t, but now Ony needed her to need him back. Give her something to appreciate after she had done so much for him in such little time.

“Okay, sure.” Did she really believe he’d want to be seen in public with her? No, but it was the thought that counts, and the fact that he was nice enough to offer made her blindly agree.

“Right now.”

Now? What was this boy talking about? All she did was put down some blankets so he didn’t have to drive at nearly three in the morning, and offer a breakfast that she didn’t have. Still, it was more than Ony had gotten in a while, and he was determined to stay around her for as long as he could. “Right- But- I’m not dressed, and-” Trying to think of an excuse wouldn’t work here, especially with the way he was shutting down her overworking mind.

“You can get dressed, I’ll wait. I know this great spot downtown, and I’m not taking no for an answer.” He was serious too. Arms crowding her until all she could focus on was the way he looked, how his rich brown eyes told more of a story than his words ever did, pleading silently. His lips pressed in a tight line, looking at her expectantly as she just stood there, not knowing what to do. That’s alright, from now on, he’d be helping out around here until she understood what happens when you take in a stray.

“I’ll just… be a second.” That was all she could settle on, turning around to help get Ony set up in her bathroom as he followed her silently, trailing a few paces just like Oreo was. She found him a spare red toothbrush she had in her cabinet in case friends spent the night. The thing would’ve been collecting dust if he hadn’t used it anyway, along with a loofah she found buried in her towel closet. She left out some coconut and shea butter body wash she found as well, the scent as androgynous as possible since she didn’t think he’d be fond of smelling like sugar or cake.

He left his clothes with her to wash so he didn’t have to go all the way home, throwing them in for a quick cycle while she went off to leave him be. Using the hot water to ground him in his thoughts, trying not to pry too much in her private home, but needing to at least quell his curiosity. He smelled her perfumes in there, finding the one that made his mouth water and stomach flip, taking a picture of the bottle to remember the name in the future. Pink towels hanging loosely off his body as he basked in the softness. Damn she got him good, if Connie or Eren saw him they’d call him whipped for weeks.

Makeup wasn’t so easy today, hands shaking from nervousness, and having to wipe off some foundation after putting just a smidge too much. Her mind reeling from the daunting awareness that this could seriously go left if she doesn’t at least try to act a bit normal. Feeling crippled under the label of being the weird girl that’s always criminally alone, not having the social skills necessary to even order her own food sometimes, let alone do it across the table from a boy. Nothing about this screamed that it’d go well, but it wasn’t like she had much choice.

He felt the same pressure as well, shrugging his clothes back on after finding them folded on top of in the laundry room where he got dressed. His sweats were fresh from the dryer by the time he came in there, smelling better than his own detergent, and it was a hard pill to swallow knowing that this could all go away. It couldn’t happen, not so soon at least, not after giving him a taste of what could be his, but she was so skittish and scared that Ony had to tread lightly when handling her.

All was forgotten as soon as he looked at her though, lips shiny and pink, skin glistening from her lotion and bits of glitter within it, long curly lash extensions framing her face. Her hair swished down her back, bracelet and earrings simple, leaving a show of skin as she smoothed out any wrinkles she could see. Rushing around to fill her little purse with everything under the sun, her lip gloss, phone, crystals for good luck (and a little love), all of her essentials really.

Milana didn’t even know what she was doing to him, going from the longest shirt he’d ever seen to a black satin dress that he almost mistook for lingerie if it weren’t for its modesty. Lace edges falling over her body like it wanted to jump off of her, lose and still clinging to all the curves that made her look like a tease. Maybe, he was a bit too eager, but seeing her so gorgeous and act so good made it hard for him to resist. Damn, it’s been a long time since he felt this way, it threw him for a loop in the best way possible.

Ony was putting her in the same predicament whether he knew it or not. His smile, so boyish and charming today, on that handsome face with his sharp jaw and kind eyes. It was unfair. Totally swoon worthy, and oh so beautiful with all that ink on display. His moisturized skin showing off intricate images and words under his tee, throwing his hoodie over it to cover up his bulging arms that looked like they could rip through the fabric of his clothes. It was wonder how he could look so rough, so intimidating, and be such a gentle giant.

Neither said a word as they walked to his car, Ony graciously opening the door for Milana to climb inside and inspect his environment in the daylight. His car was nice, seemed fresh off the lot and it appeared like he had put a lot of work into it, his seats a nice leather with a matte black trim on every surface. It smelled good in there too, just like his cologne from yesterday, she tucked herself in the corner of her seat as she tried not to openly sniff the air like a psycho.

“Can I ask you a question?” Ony asked as he sat down, rubbing his hands up his legs as he looked at her, probably not even realizing how good he looked right now. Her stomach filled with butterflies, but she gulped back the feeling to nod slowly.

“Can I ask you one after?” He chuckled at her response, but nodded his head nonetheless. If they were going to have breakfast, they could at least get to know each other a bit better. Wetting his lips before sitting up to ask.

“Why d’you play dress up like this, but act all shy?” His hand leaning over to make sure she saw how all he could see was her, keeping his gaze light and playful like his tone. She only shrugged, shy at first after falling into the weight of his question, her face blank and unreadable until she saw how his eyes were subtly putting pressure on her.

“I don’t know, makes me feel better?” Milana put out her words without thinking, taking a second to clean it up without noticing the way he seemed to appreciate her gift of gab. “I know it’s silly, but it’s always how I expressed myself even if I look crazy-”

“You don’t look crazy.” He said, final and direct. It had her pausing in her tracks, no one had ever spoken to her like that before. Her own grandparents who raised her had never been so assertive, always scolding then soothing after, but not as no-nonsense as Ony.

“Thank you?” Her face felt too warm while trying to get her words out, turning to his side mirror to see her face and make sure she didn’t look stupid right now.

“You look beautiful, matches your personality.” The car started just as he spoke, forcing Milana to swallow her urge to hide away, instead giving him a reserved thanks, face lighting up at the thought that he might not be lying to her. She told herself to breathe and enjoy the view, eyeing the beach as they drove more inland, away from home.

Everything downtown was expensive, lined with rows of boutiques, name brand stores, and pricey restaurants. Milana usually only came around to go clubbing, but to be here in the daylight was different, somehow more exciting. Ony walked like he was untouchable, people moving aside to let him pass, treating him like he was the king of the city. Some nodding their heads in respect, or stopping to dap him up, thanking him for those “deliveries” he made.

“It’s all good, Bro.” It was strange how his whole face could change as soon as it left hers. He’d be walking with her, just a step behind to where she could see him over her shoulder, and when people would come up he’d look… bored. Ony’s smile had no effort, and he’d only glance in their direction before turning back, sometimes giving her a wink when their eyes met.

Milana turned forward, hiding her hint of a smile as they approached a hostess booth for the restaurant. “What’s up, Sarah. Let me get a table for two, please.” Ony standing behind her still as he spoke, shaping his waves with a spare brush he found in his car. He slid his chain back on before they stepped out as well, definitely making him out of dress code if the hoodie wasn’t enough. This place screamed fancy, upper class, and bougie, all things that made her feel a bit out of place.

The woman didn’t even bat an eye at her or Ony though, simply grabbing some menus and leading the way for them to sit at a gorgeous table, large enough to seat four. The hostess taking two extra chairs away, lighting their candle provide warmth in the afternoon breeze, and to obviously set a mood. He snickered watching the realization wash over her face, looking at him then trying not to trip over her own sandals.

“Hope you enjoy!” She said before making her way back to her booth, leaving just Milana and Ony by themselves again. He slid out her chair for her, and it was all becoming a bit too much, all this chivalry would get to her head.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to!” Her whisper only made him nod his head back towards the chair he was still holding.

“Take a seat, Mama.” For some reason it didn’t feel like he was asking, just being polite to soften the demand. A shiver ran up Milana’s back as her face flushed, pressing her lips together to hide a pout as she did what she was told, pushing her closer to the table before dropping into his own chair.

The setting was too intimate for what they were. Not rowdy like the club, or awkward like in her home. Just calm, peaceful, Ony sitting there like nothing in life could go wrong, cool as could be. Couples sitting all around, enjoying the day amongst each other, Milana looking down to escape the burning feeling of envy for them.

She averted her attention to study how he looked over her menu as she skimmed over it, wondering if he found this as bizarre as she did. A month ago he just popped up out of nowhere, seemingly falling out of the sky to help contribute to her little vice. Now, she was sitting across from him at a table, experiencing something that felt strangely like a date.

“What are you looking at?”

“What?” His words shocking Milana out of her head, making her think that she had been caught staring until he gestured to the menu.

“I don’t usually eat this shit, so I’m trying to find something simple.” Ony hummed, tossing his aside to free his hands, pressing them into his pockets as the breeze came again.

“Oh,” Her eyes made contact with the words to try and find something quickly. “French toast sounds so good right now, but I’m going swimming soon once it heats up…” She replied with wishful thinking, focused on finding something else when their waiter quickly approached, setting down glasses and water as they exchanged formalities, giving a rundown on the specials.

“I think I'll get the French toast. Steak too, medium well, and fried eggs. You want anything else?”

Milana didn’t even try to fight him this time, knowing he wouldn’t take any excuse she gave anyways. Instead, she was sighing out in relief that she didn’t have to do that herself. The waiter took down their orders and sped off to another table while she thought about the sweet gesture, feeling herself ease into loosening up.

Her hands resting on the white table cloth, admiring the view of the city from this perspective. “Can I ask my question?” She couldn’t stop herself from trying to pry into his mind a little, wanting to answer some things for herself. His quick nod giving her the reliance she needed to continue. “Why do you deal?”

Ony never faltered, almost like he expected the question, probably so after doing it so many years. “Good money. Pays my rent and fills up my tank.” He replied, unfazed and a little uninterested in talking about his job.

“That’s it? You don’t like being able to socialize?” She expected him to talk grand stories about the adrenaline, the danger that just whisked him away better than anything else had, planting that seed in him to conquer hundreds of people’s supply and demand.

“Hell nah,” He scrunched his nose up at that, like the thought was enough to make him cringe. “I don’t even like most of the people I talk to. I do it so I can get paid. Eren’s the one who likes the game that comes with it.” His hands waved dismissively, trying to think of something else, but Milana wasn’t letting it go quite yet.

“You don’t like a lot of people? What about the people in your section? Like the girls and stuff..” So that’s why she wanted to know. That was interesting to Ony, used to hearing the whole spiel about how much of a terrible person he was, although she on the other hand had never treated him with anything but grace. It was starting to become apparent just how much she cared.

“I’m cool off them. That shit you saw in the club was just miserable Ol’ Deedra.” He grit out his second sentence under his breath, like he was annoyed just thinking about her. There must’ve been something that happened, the feeling too bitter to ignore.

“Why don’t you like her?” She asked incredulously, Ony’s eyes flicking to hers with a look of confusion. The way she asked, so astounded, like she couldn’t believe that he wasn’t interested in some girl in the club had him feeling some type of way. Why was she even asking about her, when all he wanted to talk about was sitting right there next to him.

“She’s not my type.” He said simply put, shrugging it off casually like he didn’t even have to think about it. His head leaning back to inspect her face, tongue running across his lower lip, just wondering what hers would feel like. “I like good girls that don’t know how to drive.”

“Stop playing.” Milana was quick to say that, wanting to shut down his teasing little attempts to flirt. He laughed at her dissmisal, not taking it to heart at all. All he could do anyways was find her even more attractive, the challenge making him want to try harder.

“Who said I was?” Oh, so he was serious? There was no way to mistake what he said as anything else but completely earnest. Still, that hint of doubt was present, wondering what happened last night to make him so interested. She didn’t have the confidence to think she could make his head turn, and still he was sitting there like she was more than enough. “I don’t play around like that, with people’s feelings.”

“I think you’re just trying to be nice.” Milana’s voice didn’t have anymore fight in her tone, just a sad little edge that made Ony furrow his brows. He pushed himself away from the table, leaning back to think for a second, actually thinking about what he could say.

Stubborn, so blind she can’t even see what he was doing here. Shit, everyone could, but she just didn’t believe him yet, he needed to find a way to convince her, show her he was serious as can be. “What do I got to do to show you I’m not playing?”

He looked so hopeful, urging her to actually tell him something, anything. He’d give her whatever she wanted, whatever she needed to make her see him, too entranced by the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen to not do anything about it.

“I don’t… I don’t know, Ony.” Milana really didn’t, she couldn’t tell him what it’d take to break down her walls and let him in. The fact that he got this far in the first place was already astonishing, to go any further would just be too scary.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.” Ony didn’t offer up any other explanation, just swiftly stood and went around to her seat, soothing her confusion that was written all over her face. “Don’t worry. I’m just going to get something.” With that, he sped towards the entrance, a bit of energy to his purposeful steps, and he was gone in just seconds flat. Sitting at their table, seeing him go, she couldn’t help but wonder if what she said was the reason he left so quickly, hoping her big mouth didn’t just cost her.

Time seemed to move slower than molasses waiting for Ony. Their food even came after waiting fifteen minutes longer, the piping hot plates just getting cold as Milana tried not to actually lose it in public. Her shoulders slumped in, eyes trying not to shed fat crystallized tears of embarrassment and disappointment. God, just when it was all going so well, now she was left to sit here and trust that he’d come back? He didn’t even tell her where he was going, just rushing off to leave her stranded and hiding her face behind her napkin so no one could see her shame.

Just a second before she was about to stand up and leave, she saw a familiar looking mass of muscle, making his way to their table. Her head jumped up to see if it was really him, relief flooding all of her senses as he came back just like he said he would, noticing he didn’t come empty handed either. Hands full of a beautiful bouquet of Lilies, long white petals and long green stems that were bound together by a simple white string of satin. Where did he even get such a beautiful bunch, and why was he heading right to her with them?

“I didn’t know which ones you’d like, so I just got what looked nice I guess.” He dropped down in front of her, crouching next to his chair breathless and nervous as he passed them into her hands. He jogged three blocks to get them, finding the closest flower shop in walking distance and picking out what caught his eye. His nerves were strumming, not exactly knowledgeable about picking out flowers, he could only hope that he had accomplished what he set out to do.

“Wow… they-” They were so soft and smelled lovely, her eyes filling with tears all over again at the sweetest gesture she’d ever received. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

That was all he needed to feel like he accomplished his greatest feat yet, chest swelling with pride, as he smiled the widest he had all day. She giggled softly at that, trying to hide her watery gaze, but he wouldn’t let her, hands gently holding onto hers over the flowers, rubbing soothing circled into her skin. “I promise I’m serious, Milana.”

Neither of them could stop the desire coursing through the air, leaving them to silently convey what they were feeling. Trying not to openly stare at each other, longing burning through their bodies as they both leaned closer. Ony closing the gap between them, their eyes falling shut as he pressed the softest kiss over her lips. Milana finally giving herself permission to let go of all her worry, every thought that he might not want her escaping from her mind, leaving them in bliss.

Chat! Thank you to everyone who is following the series so far! I appreciate it so much. I just absolutely love SZA's album, and I hope people are loving it just as much as I do. Keep following along and see where Milana and Ony end up next! - Baby Bow 🎀

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@kxllanxtdoor

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[planet-hwa]

can i request pervy roommate seonghwa who loves taking upskirt pictures of you and steals your panties. he got caught snooping in your room and you decide to punish him.

a subby seonghwa would be great. reader doesnt have to be dom but hwa loves it when shes mean to him.

thank you for your time! 🫶🏻

୨୧  corrupted thoughts – 성화

୨୧  summary     although you were no more than roommates, seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence. along with the pure admiration he had towards you, it also came with the immoral perverted thoughts that filled his mind every time he caught your scent…

pairing     roommate!seonghwa x reader genre     university/college au [only the reader, seonghwa is a few years older], a lot of perverted smut… my apologies word count    3.7k

 

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warnings     MDNI !!  obsessedperv!seonghwa, reader is in a fwb situation, petnames/nicknames, swearing, underwear fetish, panty sniffing, masturbation [masc], voyeurism i think, ruined orgasm, vibrators, pillow humping [reader], caught masturbating, name-calling/degrading, punishment, handjobs, blowjobs, overstimulation, orgasm denial, bondage [masc], dirty talk, crying from overstimulation [masc], cunnilingus, face sitting, face riding, hands-free orgasm, aftercare ♡

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she lives in daydreams with me, she’s the first one that i see now playing   she ; harry styles ⇄  ◁  II  ��  ↺

⋮≡  in queue     ◦  candy ; doja cat     ◦  fetish ; selena gomez     ◦  high ; sivik     ◦  killshot ; magdalena bay     ◦  obsessed ; zandros

Although you were no more than roommates, Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere exsistence. He couldn’t go a day without thinking about you, haunted by the lingering scents of your sweet perfume after you had left for your classes. Everything you owned and collected through your life was placed decoratively around the house, along with his own collections.

There was no escaping you.

He tried his hardest to control himself, but perverted tendencies drove him in other directions, all of this starting one day by just doing the laundry. While you were at one of your exams, one you had been stressing about all week, Seonghwa decided he wanted to help remove some sort of chores in your life and washed your dirty laundry. 

Little did he know: this would be the worst thing to do.

Sorting through the blacks and whites, he would occasionally come across your underwear, which he had no problem with of course. That was until one pair of your panties, a navy blue pair with small white flowers and a white lace trim, ended up in his grip. This happened to be the pair you had worn last night, laced with your pre-arousal from your very teasing casual hookup, the smell was pungent. The aroma filled the small room and travelled its way into Seonghwa’s nose. He stared at the pair with wide eyes, his thumb tracing over the darkened, now dried, patch of the previous night's intimate moments.

It was as if his mind had lost control of his body, his hands slowly pulling the panties to his face and breathing them in deeply. The fragrance was intoxicating, his mind instantly becoming fogged and heat swiftly rushing through his body, targeting the area between his legs. He had never become harder quicker, his dick twitching desperately in his sweats and leaked with pre-cum — all from one whiff. In desperation, he ran to his bedroom and stripped himself of his pants. Your panties in one hand and his throbbing erection in the other, creating the beginning cycle of perversion.

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Seonghwa tried his hardest to respect your privacy, attempting to block out the sounds of your sexual actions in the next room with his headphones, hands originally distracted by his animal crossing game. But how could he not be distracted, with the beautiful melody of your moans that cracked through the walls. Even knowing they were fake, they were still music to his ears.

You were currently in a friends-with-benefits situation with a guy at your college. He was cute, a good kisser and good at turning you on, but he could never finish the job. Seonghwa didn’t understand why you would still invite him over time and time again, especially with the knowledge that the moment he would leave, your vibrator would be in between your legs to pull you through the unfinished orgasms. That’s how he knew the difference in your moans, fake vs real, he heard both without even touching you.

“Fuuck, right there.” You moaned loudly, the familiar knot building in your stomach as the man pumped sloppily into you. Unbeknownst to you, Seonghwa sat in his room listening to your whimpers, secretly praying he was the one driving you with pleasure. His erection tented in his pajama pants, desperately twitching for friction. Fingers grazed over the bulge, fluttering at the light touch before they turned into a palming movement. Lifting the waistband of his pants, he watched as pre-cum dribbled out of the reddened tip. He dragged his thumb over it, wincing at the feeling before he started slowly pumping himself. The sounds of your moans echoed through the hall and into Seonghwa’s room, mixing with a lewd symphony of his own silent whines and desperation to cum. His hand pumped with the rhythm of your sounds, growing faster every time you did. A tension grew in his stomach, a combination of pleasure and guilt. He knew this was a disgusting thing to do, but he physically couldn’t stop, no matter how hard he tried.

Just as he was about to fall over the edge, the sounds of sex stopped and footsteps fell through the apartment, the front door opening and closing quickly. Seonghwa curiously got up out of bed, taking a peak through the crack in his bedroom door. He watched as you locked the front door and wandered back to your bedroom, wearing nothing but a cropped band tee and black lace panties — corruption bled into his brain as he stared at the panties clenching around your ass, knowing they would be his next victim of fetishising. The sound of vibrations pricked at his ears, whimpers quietly following. 

Tip-toeing through the hallway, he glanced through the open crevice into your bedroom, eyes widening at the sight before him. The bunny vibrator pressing into your clit deliciously as you grind your dripping cunt on a pillow that usually sat on the chair in the corner of the room. Seonghwa watched as you humped the pillow desperately chasing your unfinished business, his hardened erection reminding him of his own. His hands moved down his abdomen and under his waistband, his slender fingers wrapping around the base of his cock and pumping hopelessly — his eyes remained on the view between the cracked open door. Your moans heightened in pitch as you rutted against the pillow, vibrator still tightly held to your puffy clit, you pressed the button to the fastest setting causing your legs to begin to shake uncontrollably. The sight was hypnotic to Seonghwa, his hand pumping to the rhythm of your hip movements. With parted lips, a small whimper escaped them causing him to slap his free hand to his mouth in an attempt to not blow his cover. Thankfully for him, you were too invested in making yourself finish to notice that just two metres from you was your roommate pursuing the same feeling. 

Your belly tightened as your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking hopelessly as you fell backwards, the vibrator rubbing your arousal around your entire core. Your breathing was heavy as you slowed down from your high. Behind your bedroom door, Seonghwa had the same feeling wash over him like a tidal wave. His hand pumped around his bulge with desperation as hot ropes of cum filled his pajama pants, a sticky wet patch now coating the inside of them. He leant back against the wall accidentally causing a creak to rustle through the house. Without hesitation, he sharply ran back to his room and closed the door quickly but quietly, praying that his perverted self wasn’t caught.

The noise of creaking and silent footsteps entertained your eyes, thinking that your roommate had just heard you masturbating, but in your post-orgasm bliss — you didn’t seem to care and ended changing into pajamas and drifting off to sleep.

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Seonghwa searched destructively through your laundry basket, looking for that hypnotic black lacy pair of panties that were clad to your ass last night. Currently alone in the house, with you at your morning classes, he knew you’d be gone long enough for him to relieve himself of his depravity — or so he thought…

Finally, the lace of the panties tickled his finger tips, quickly snatching them up and bolting to his room. The second he entered, his pants and boxers were discarded somewhere on the floor, the loose shirt being his only coverage. He sat up against the headboard staring at the object in hand, observing the previous patch of wet arousal on them. He felt like he could cum right then and there just by the sight, both lips and tip drooling in anticipation. His hand wrapped around his twitching cock, finger grazing over the sensitive red tip and down the underside vein of his length, dragging his pre-cum over it and beginning to stroke.

His grip tightened on the panties as he moved his hand rhythmically, the other slowly bringing the fabric to his face and dipping his nose into it — he inhaled the scent letting it reroute his brain. He whined desperately into the fabric as his hand pumped around his raging erection faster. He couldn’t hold himself back any longer, hips bucking hopelessly into his hand and moaning incoherent mumbles of your name — he had never been this turned on by someone, a person who wasn’t even there. Seonghwa was so caught up in euphoria that he didn’t hear the clicks of the front door, or the footsteps that grew closer to his room.

Classes finished early today, which meant you got to go home and relax after having such a stressful school week. The front door unlocked swiftly and you entered with a huff, throwing your shoes off into the corner and placing your coat over the arm of the couch. Muffled groans filled the apartment, all coming from Seonghwa’s room. You cocked an eyebrow at the thought of him having someone over — you couldn’t judge of course but you had never known him to be one for hookups. Curiosity got the best of you and you tip-toed towards his room, the door left slightly open but not enough to see. You lightly pushed it open, eyes widening in shock at the sight of the man on the bed. His hand wrapped securely around his very hard, very large, dick, moving in a fast rhythmic pattern and glistening with pre-cum. You watched as his eyebrows furrowed and eyes rolled backwards, his other hand covering the majority of his face. As his face contorted with pleasure, you felt a warmth move to your core, something you never thought you’d feel for your roommate of all people.

Paying unnecessary close attention to his facial expressions, you noticed he held something compressed against his nose; quick enough to realise what it was. Slipping on your feet slightly, the door opened wider and revealed your presence, Seonghwa too intoxicated to notice until the sound of your voice penetrated his ears.

“W-what the fuck?” You stuttered, frozen in shock at the sight. “Seonghwa, what are you doing?”

“Oh, oh my god! I’m so sorry!” He jumped, spitting apologies whilst trying to cover himself. You walked up to his bed and snatched your panties out of his hands, putting the pieces together as to why they kept going missing for a few days but showing up suddenly after mentioning it.

“Why do you have these?” You shouted, the stickiness of pre-cum latching onto your fingers, caused by his speediness to cover himself up with his hands. You watched his body tense up, his face was flushed down to his neck, big boba eyes looking at you with fear and guilt.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I thought you were going to be out all morning-”

“I don’t care! Why are you taking my underwear, you perv!” Ignoring the more perverted fact that you were so turned on by the thought of his getting off to you. A silence followed as you both collected your thoughts.

“I’m truly so sorry,” His voice hushed, eyes glossing with guilty tears. “Y/N, please forgive me. I’ll do anything, just please forgive me.”

You brows furrowed in thought, staring at the desperation in his expression; coated with so many guilty and lustful emotions. Although you were no more than roommates and never had been, you could see that Seonghwa was obsessed with you — completely infatuated by your mere existence.

‘Anything’, he said it himself. 

You had complete control right now.

Quietly sitting down next to him, he shifted in his spot as you grew closer, hand grazing his bare thigh. The soft touch sent chills up his spine, his hands still cupping his erection in coverage.

“I just want to know,” Your gaze moved to his face. “Why?”

“W-why?”

“Why do you get off to my panties,” Your fingertips trailed up and down his thigh, growing closer to his hard-on with every line. “When you could just have me?”

His eyes widened as the question lingered in the air, your hand now centimetres away from where he wanted it most. Lips parted and unable to get words out, he watched as your face moved closer to him, your breath grazing against his lips before connecting them with yours. Instantly falling into the kiss, he memorised how soft and delicate your lips were, his hand removing his cover and cupping your face to keep you close. The kiss quickly fell into a passionate mixture of moans and groans, tongues dancing in tangent and twirling around each other. 

Both of his hands now cupping your face, you took this as the opportunity to wrap your fingers around his length. He whined into the kiss as you slowly stroked him, collecting sticky pre-cum from his tip and dragging it up and down his throbbing erection. The kiss was unbreakable, hopeless moans falling in from Seonghwa, his brain unable to process what was truly happening. The tension already began to build in his stomach due to his previous orgasm being ruined. You broke the kiss to look at him, watching as he tried to follow you for more. His eyes were hooded and eyebrows scrunching in different shapes as his orgasm grew closer.

“You know – fuuck – I’ve always dreamt of being with you.” He swore, legs starting to tremble beneath him.

“Are you close, Hwa?” You asked with a sultry voice, melting into his ears.

“Y-yes.” He mumbled, scrambling for words but ultimately losing to the continuous symphony of whimpers that flowed like a river. His hips began to buck into your hand for more friction, understanding and swiftly speeding your movements. You watched as his orgasm sat on the edge; stomach tensed, eyes rolled back, hands clutching at the sheets — a complete moaning mess.

“Y/N, ‘m gonna cum-” Mere seconds before his release, you removed your hand from his leaking tip and listened to him whine in agony.

“You didn’t really think that I would let you cum that easy, did you?” You laughed, his pain serving as a comedy show for you. “You’ve been such a naughty boy, stealing my panties and using them to get off. Don’t you think you deserve some punishment?”

A pout grew on his face, puppy eyes staring at you in despair.

“Unless you don’t want me to touch you at all-”

“No!” He snapped, a usual tone of anger turned into a beg. “Please…”

You smirked at the perverted man, watching as he poured his heart into begging for your touch, smiling once you gave in.

After multiple denied orgasms, Seonghwa’s body was shaking all over, arousal leaking into his bloodstream. His lips were swollen from your kisses, face coloured in a crimson red and sweat beading down his skin. His hands were now tied tightly to the bed posts, a penalty caused by his inability to keep his hands away from his cock every time you repudiated his orgasm — which happened to be four or five of them by now. The tip of his length was a matching shade of red to his face, swollen and oozing out clear liquid that probably couldn’t even be called pre-cum from the amount of times it had happened. Every touch from you caused his skin to burn, a good and bad sensation.

“Pleease Y/N,” He cried, tears welling up in his eyes and piercing the corners as they rolled down his cheeks. “It’s too much now, please let me cum.”

“But I thought this was what you wanted?” You looked up at him with innocent eyes and purred, running your tongue along his slit and wrapping your lips softly around the tip, slowly pushing your head down until his length hit the back of your throat. A guttural groan trembled between Seonghwa’s lips, tears now streaming like niagara falls down his flushed and puffy cheeks as you sucked him in. “Weren’t you the one who said you dreamt of being with me?”

“This isn’t – aahhh – exactly what I had in mind… shit…” His voice vibrated through the room, it was unstable as his sloppy upwards thrusts into your hands.

“Well, I did say you needed to be punished, but…” You removed your hand once more and brought it to cup his warm cheek, his glossy boba eyes staring into yours. He looked so vulnerable right now, you almost felt bad. “I think you’ve had enough, baby. What do you want me to do?”

“Sit on my face.”

The response was instant, almost as if a switch snapped him back on. The words were audible compared to his previous mumbled groans and curses, leaving you surprised. You had been so focused on giving him tortuous pleasure that you were completely ignoring the wet patch that soaked your panties the moment you entered the room, his statement made your body realise that you had silently been torturing yourself as well.

Swiftly discarding your clothes, you straddled his chest, thighs sitting comfortably next to his face and letting your dripping core hover above his mouth. He looked up at you from underneath checking for any uncertainty, both sending each other silent confirmations. He licked his plush lips before sticking his tongue out, waiting as you lowered your weight onto him.

He slid his tongue through your folds in a slow motion, earning a moan from you — music to his ears. As worn out and tired as he was, his energy regained instantly at the small taste of you. He quickly began lapping at your soaking folds, lewdly drinking up your wetness and following the pleasured sounds falling from your lips. Breathing in your scent was intoxicating to him, and finally it was from the source and not a patch of lacy fabric.

One hand grasped tightly at the headboard whilst the other ruffled itself into Seonghwa’s long locks, body jolting at the tip of his tongue suddenly hitting your clit. It swirled and flicked over it at a speed nobody has ever done, already feeling the knot grow in your lower abdomen.

“Fuuck Hwa, feels so good.” You cried, knuckles beginning to turn white from the pressure on your grip. He hummed in response as he continued to drink you up like a starved animal.

Hands still tied to the bedposts, he had no option of burying his slender fingers deep inside of you so instead he began pulsating his tongue in and out of your tight hole, feeling you clench around it which was driving him insane. You instinctively began grinding against his face, his nose tapping your clit with every roll of your hips.

The blend of lewd slurping and desperate moans filled the atmosphere, loud enough for neighbours to hear but neither of you cared. As you bucked your hips against his face, dragging your essence over his nose and chin, his moans shuddered beneath you sending new shockwaves of pleasure through your body. You felt your high building and your thighs began tightening, squeezing around Seonghwa’s face, almost cutting off the circulation. But he didn’t care. Infact, it turned him on even more to know the effect he was having on you. From listening to you hook up with your classmates and hearing you masturbate afterwards, he knew that these moans were real and you were truly enjoying yourself.

“Hwa, m’ gonna cu– ahhh!” In desperation to be washed over by your arousal, he began rubbing his face against your pussy, long tongue still roughly pumping in and out of you and nose thrashing your bud with every move. Both hands held securely onto the headboard as you rode his face hopelessly before your orgasm crashed over you, body shaking harsher than ever before as you layered Seonghwa’s face in your squirted essence.

He whined at the sensations of your juices guzzling down his throat, making sure to drink up every drop. The feeling of your body trembling above him caused his own orgasm to rush through his body. Warm ropes of cum spurted out of his throbbing cock and onto his abs, painting the scene with white cream continuously as his body rid him of all the build up pressure. He moaned into your soaked core and sent a melody of sensations through your body, causing a small aftershock of overstimulation.

Both breathing heavily, you climbed off of him and quickly untied his wrists from restraint, his arms instantly dropping to his sides. His chest fell and rose harshly, still trying to regain his composure back. You hopped off the bed and grabbed a towel from his washing basket, presumably an already dirty one, wiping his tummy clean and throwing the towel away. You stood up once more before a soft grip to your wrist stopped you.

“Where are you going?” Seonghwa sobbed, tear stains very prominent on his cheeks making you realise how far you pushed him.

“I’ll be back in just a second, I promise.” You whisper before wandering to the kitchen and returning with two glasses of water. “Drink this, baby.”

Seonghwa took the glass and gulped it down, watching as you moved around his room collecting items of clothes for him before stealing a shirt of his to wear yourself. Helping him sit up, you gently pulled a shirt over his head and gave him a pair of boxers to put on before he lay back down. You sat on the edge of the bed, guilt fading into you at the sight of him.

“Don’t feel bad,” As if he read your mind, he smiled softly at your concern. “This was everything I wanted and more.”

You returned him with a small smile of your own before leaning in and placing a delicate kiss on his swollen lips. The kiss, so soft and gentle compared to the previous scene, was sending an emotion through you that you hadn’t felt before after sex. A mutual understanding of the need to be around each other, especially following such a tormented situation. You pulled away and watched his facial expressions, not an ounce of regret or disheartment was in his eyes, only love and adoration.

“Do you have any more classes today?”

“I don’t, why?”

“Can you stay with me?”

A question that no guy had ever asked you or expected of you after sleeping with them. You finally understood why Seonghwa was always so caring towards you, despite his perverted tendencies, he was still so gentle with your emotions — he was deeply in love with you.

author's note i hope i did this anon request justice, i didn't add a few things because they weren't working out as well as i wanted them to so i'm sorry for that ;-; i hope that the anon who requested this sees it and enjoys it either way ♡

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) and the Female Gothic Genre, Paganism and the Occult

The Gothic novel genre is deeply connected with female authors like Ann Radcliffe, Mary Shelley, Brontë sisters, Mary Robinson, and Charlotte Dacre, because it allowed them to explore themes that were “off limits” to women at the time (19th century) especially sexuality and women’s place in a patriarchal society. Hence the “Gothic female” genre was created, as a way for female authors and readers to digest their mixed feelings about these topics. This is the world Robert Eggers transports his audience in “Nosferatu” (2024).

This film checks every box of the Gothic genre: claustrophobic atmosphere, environment of fear, the threat of the supernatural, ruined buildings (usually from the Medieval ages), dreamlike states, nocturnal landscapes, demonic possession, blend of “high culture” and “low culture” (folklore), superstitious rituals, melancolia, melodrama, decay, fate, the macabre, the intrusion of the past into the present, stories of persecution, imprisonment and murder as metaphors for social conflict.

Indeed, the audience can’t analyze this story through contemporary lenses or bias, because it’s suppose to be an immersive experience into the Gothic genre and the Victorian era. The terms “gothic” and “romantic” exist in their historical context; “gothic” as in the literature genre (gothic novel), and “romantic” as in the 19th century artist movement (Romanticism).

No, this is not a story about grooming nor abuse... it can be, but not in the way many are interpreting it. Folks also need to let go of previous adaptations and their meanings, because this is Robert Eggers take on this story. And, it’s everything a remake (or retelling) should be, because its not a rehash, it’s a new interpretation of a old story, “Dracula”.

Robert Eggers tells us that the themes of sex and death are at the core of his story, it’s a “demon lover story”, and it’s Count Orlok and Ellen psychosexual connection that makes his adaptation different from the rest.

Ellen is our female gothic protagonist, and, like similar characters of the genre, she’s a persecuted heroine fleeing some a villainous outside force, personified by Count Orlok, the archetypal Death. Metaphorically, she’s a young woman haunted by her own mortality, by Death itself. She also has a sense of Doom looming over her, the heavy hand of Fate; can we outrun our destiny? “Providence!” Herr Knock screams throughout the film; as in a supernatural force, commonly God, guiding humanity destiny.

Ellen is no typical young woman, though. As she tells Von Franz, she had occult powers since childhood, being able to perceive glimpses of the future and suffering premonitions (knowing the contents of her Christmas gifts and when her mother would die). Her father called her “his little changeling girl”, as in the European folklore of human children kidnapped by supernatural creatures (fairies, demons, etc.) and a substitute being left in their place. Herr Knock also compares Ellen with a “sylph”, when he informs Thomas he’s to travel to Transylvania. “Sylphs” are air spirits from 16th century Germanic folklore and alchemy, a sort of nymph connected to air element in hermetic literature; throughout the centuries they have been culturally associated with fairies, too. We have two characters in the story connecting Ellen with a fairy-like creature. Interestingly enough we, the audience, see her floating in the opening scene.

“You are not for the living. You are not for human kind”, Orlok tells her, and calls her “enchantress”. Von Franz also said Ellen could have been a priestess of Isis had she been born in pagan times. Isis is one of the major Egyptian deities, considered the goddess of magic and healing. She was also connected with the Dead and funeral rites, since she was the sister-wife of Osiris, ruler of the Underworld. Pagan priestesses also entered trancelike states as Ellen “hysterical seizures” or “epilepsies” when communicating with the spiritual world, which is what Von Franz, the occult and alchemist student, recognizes in her. Ellen is a supernatural force, too.

Eggers Orlok was a sorcerer in life, a practitioner of Black Magic. He was one of the Solomonari, wizards from Romanian folklore, believed to be students of the Devil, who learned to ride dragons, and control beasts and the weather. In Eastern European tradition, the Solomonari were believed to be recruited among common folk and disguise themselves as beggars, Orlok is a Romanian nobleman who sought to achieve immortality, to conquer Death. As the abbess tells Thomas, the Devil preserved Orlok’s soul that his corpse may walk again in blasphemy, as a vampire feeding off the blood of the living and spreading plague.

However: who was it who awoke Orlok in “Nosferatu”? The Devil or Ellen?

At the prologue, we see Ellen crying and begging for companionship. She prays for a guardian angel, a spirit of comfort, a spirit of any celestial sphere, anything, to hear her call and come to her. She’s summoning some occult force and inviting it into her life. Orlok answers her call. And why is she doing this? She feels lonely, isolated and misunderstood by those around her. As she tells Von Franz, she’s no longer her father’s “little girl” and he recoils from her touch, because she’s no longer a child. As she grows older and enters womanhood, she starts to feel ostracized and put aside by 19th century society who has rigid gender expectations of her.

According to Orlok, it was Ellen who awoke him: “O’er centuries, a loathsome beast I lay within the darkest pit… ‘til you did wake me, enchantress, and stirred me from my grave. You are my affliction.” Which Ellen later confirms to Thomas: “I have brought this evil upon us” because she sought companionship and tenderness. This is a belief Von Franz also shares: it’s Ellen who “wills it”, and she’s the one who unleashed this plague upon the world.

This is very fitting with the Gothic female novel, where the supernatural connects with female societal status of this time period, generally women’s discontent with patriarchal society, difficult and unsatisfying maternal position (in “Nosferatu” we see this with Anne’s character, where she equals being pregnant with being drained of her life force) and their role within society (fear of entrapment in the domestic sphere, their bodies, marriage, childbirth, etc.).

Eggers’ Orlok is a combination of several Romanian folklore creatures, associated with vampirism: strigoi, moroi (these two are the “classic” vampires) and zburător (a ghost-like creature, usually handsome, and only visible to young women, attacks at night, usually newly-wed ladies and does “indecent” things with them). The influence of this legend in Ellen and Orlok story is evident.

Ellen tries to summon a spiritual companion in her teenage years, most likely when she reached puberty and her sexuality was starting to awake. A demon who’s a personification of appetite, devourance, sex and death is the one who answers her calling. They end up in a sexual spiritual connection, as Ellen experiences her sexual awakening with him, as shown in the prologue and later confirmed how Orlok took her as his lover. She also reveals to Thomas it was “sweet” and she “had never known such bliss” at first, until it turned into torture (seizures and nightmares), when her father found her laying unclothed and called her a sinner and it’s implied she might have been institutionalized, as she tells Von Franz. This episode might be a metaphor for masturbation and the historical shame associated with it. Hence her connection with Orlok being her “melancholy” (depression) and her “shame”, symbolic for the sexual urges 19th century society forced women to repress.

Count Orlok is the archetypal Death; which culminates with the “Death and the Maiden” motif at the end. This was a very popular Art History archetype around the so-called “Plague years” (14th to 16th century) in Europe, and it’s often connected with other motifs like “Danse Macabre” and “Memento Mori”. It has several meanings depending on the author intent, usually a reminder of our mortality, but also a meditation on sex and death, as in the French “la petite mort” (“little death”), the post-orgasm sensation, sexual release potentially causing temporary loss of consciousness (fainting) or dizziness. In the Medieval Ages, physicians believed orgasms could lead to death because they drained the “life force” from the body. This was when the term “petite mort” was created, and this belief persisted into the Renaissance and beyond. In “Nosferatu” this probably translates in the sexual pleasure that Orlok imprints on his victims as he drains their life force.

Ellen’s “hysterical seizures” miraculously stop once she meets and marries Thomas Hutter, our tragic romantic hero. This can also be a nod to Gothic Bildungsroman (“coming of age”) genre; where the female protagonists grow from adolescence to adulthood in the face of the impossibility of the supernatural, and come to the conclusion there’s a rational explanation. In Ellen’s case, it’s medical, as she’s diagnosed as a melancholic somnambulist hysteric (in another words, a depressive hyper-sexual sleepwalker).

At the beginning of the story, Ellen and Thomas are newly-weds fresh out of their honeymoon, which means sex (historically necessary to consummate marriages). With Thomas, Ellen is “free of her shame”, as she says so herself. Because, her sexuality is safely contained within marriage, as it’s socially acceptable. But Thomas dismisses her concerns about his well-being, and doesn’t believe her until he experiences the supernatural first-hand, having an homoerotic encounter with Orlok himself, which also causes him great shame. This is probably a Easter egg for Bram Stoker possible closet homosexuality and “Dracula” being a metaphor for that.

Thomas’ main concern, throughout the story, is to fit into the patriarchal ideal of his genre, as a provider for his wife, and he aspires to be like his long-time friend, Friedrich Harding, the “perfect patriarch” with the perfect religious and dutiful wife, Anna, and their precious children. The Hardings are the perfect Victorian family; they are everything society expects them to be. Friedrich even chastises Ellen for her nature, and it’s clear he resents her for what she represents: “otherness” and “deviance” to societal norms.

However, soon enough, Ellen’s seizures return, symbolizing Thomas cannot sexually satisfy her. She’s “too ardent” as Harding calls her. “More! More!” She begs Thomas when they have sex to scorn Orlok. Not only her sexuality is too strong, but Thomas also shares with Friedrich his desire to wait to have children with Ellen because he wants to gain financial stability first. This in a time period when contraceptives weren’t widely spread, meaning abstinence.

Symbolically, Ellen’s seizures can also be connected with her fear of childbirth. Her “epilepsies” return while she’s staying in the Harding household, where they are children and Anna is pregnant. Children is what is expected of Ellen next, after all. But it’s sexual pleasure that Ellen seeks, and this causes her great shame and torment, because 19th century women weren’t suppose to known “such things”. “Sin! Sin! Sin!” as Ellen’s father screamed at her when he found her naked.

Fear of entrapment represented as Ellen tries to rip off her corset and “free herself”: this happens during one of her Orlok induced seizures.

As Robert Eggers tells us, Orlok both disgusts and attracts Ellen, she loves and hates him at the same time. He’s repulsive, rotten, animalistic and lustful, both literally and metaphorically. His character design is meant to invoke contradictory feelings in the audience: overall he’s foul and monstrous, but he appears almost handsome in some shots. This is intentional. Not only he’s a personification of Death, but of Ellen’s repressed sexuality by 19th century society. He represents the monstrous and dangerous female sexuality the Victorian era sought to contain. He’s the transgression and taboo theme in this Gothic story, as well: necrophilia. Which is probably Eggers “gotcha” moment to “vampire lovers” everywhere, as he forces his audience to confront their own bias.

Ellen herself is a medicalized character, as we see her being institutionalized, drugged, bound to her bed, forced to wear a corset to bed, and used as a scientific experiment by physicians. She’s not in control of her own body, and has little agency over it, overall. We see her being contained, literally and metaphorically, too. This is probably meant to symbolize women as a whole in 19th century Western European societies. The “disability of being female” is one major theme in Gothic female novels, after all.

And if Ellen unleashed Orlok unto the world and he’s connected with her what does this mean for this story? The obvious interpretation of the ending it’s Ellen sacrificing herself to save Wisburg from Nosferatu’s curse, like every other adaptation. But this appears to be somewhat disconnected from the overall themes of this particular retelling. Here, it’s Ellen who unleashed the curse, and only her can put an end to it.

We see Ellen summoning Orlok in two occasions: at the beginning and at the end of this tale. At first, she did it unconsciously, she dabbled with the occult and wasn’t aware of what she was inviting into her life. However, does this indicate Ellen has some degree of control over him? Orlok himself says she’s “his affliction”, and they are bound to one another. She’s not only a seer, she’s compared with a priestess of a Goddess associated with funeral rites and with the ability of resurrection and looking after the Dead (Isis). We can almost interpret her as a necromancer.

Here, we can have a different interpretation of Orlok unleashing a plague upon the society who ostracizes Ellen for her nature. Symbolically, he’s her reckoning, her vengeance upon society norms and expectations of gender. He’s the “plague carrier” and brings a “blood plague” transmitted by rats (symbolic of the Black Plague; the medieval ages terrorizing the modern world of science and rationality) upon Wisburg, and the “good Christians” who contain and shame “Pagan” Ellen.

Orlok’s most notorious victims are the Hardings, the perfect patriarchal Christian family model Ellen can never fit into; the patriarch Friedrich, the pregnant Anna and the two children. This also fits the Gothic female genre of the supernatural menace as a metaphor for women’s status in 19th century society. Ellen doesn’t want to be married to a patriarch like Friedrich, she doesn’t express any desire to become pregnant nor have children of her own. Consequently, we see Orlok killing all of these archetypes in the narrative.

Interestingly enough he spares Thomas and saves him for last when he should be his first victim once he arrives at Wisburg, because he’s the husband. However, Thomas is a character Ellen loves and cherishes, as he somewhat accepts her nature and represents her chance at a “normal life”. He’s also determined to save her from Death/Orlok, but is unable to. Symbolically, Ellen chooses death over conforming to gender norms and expectations.

However, we can’t forget Ellen’s supernatural nature, nor her connection with Orlok. She weds Death at the end, she’s no longer terrified of him, and she fulfills their covenant, and her dream premonition of marrying Death: “standing before me, all in black… was… Death. But I was so happy, so very happy. We exchanged vows, we embraced, and when we turned round, everyone was dead. Father… and… everyone. The stench of their bodies was horrible. And - But I never been so happy as that moment… as I held hands with Death.”

A “covenant” is a pact, both a religious and a occultist practice. This is a “blood covenant”, as their flesh becomes one and he drinks from her. “Blood is the life” is a quotation from the Bible, where “blood covenants” are also mentioned, because a “blood covenant” has the power to either destroy or redeem. For instance, Christ’s sacrifice redeemed humanity according to Christians. “Redemption” as Von Franz says, because only Ellen, like Christ, can redeem the habitants of Wisburg. He uses the expression “with Jove’s holy light” before dawn redemption will come to them: “Jove” is Jupiter, the “King of the skies”, and its energy neutralizes Saturn’s, connected with “melancholy” (depression).

However, that’s not what’s happening here, because Orlok is a servant of the Devil, and a literally un-dead “warlock”. So, what is Ellen pledging herself to here, exactly? Her covenant with Orlok has nothing to do with God or Jupiter, for these are forces of good, when Orlok is a force of evil and darkness.

Ellen also fulfills her role as “priestess of Isis” at the end, as she guides the un-dead Orlok to his physical death; like Isis, she resurrected him, and is now taking him into the Underworld with her. Because, like Orlok also told her, she’s “not for the living”, that’s her fate, the destiny she accepts at the end; she’s meant for Death, as Isis for Osiris.

“Our covenant is fulfilled. Your oath re-pledged.” Orlok tells her. But what was Ellen’s oath? We have to look into the prologue scene “You shall be one with me ever-eternally. Do you swear it?” And in the ending “As our spirits are one, so shall be our flesh. You are mine.” They fulfill their pact both in the physical and the spiritual worlds, and both make the ultimate blood sacrifice, by physically dying for “self-renunciation” is essential for blood covenants.

And a deity is always summoned to bless such a pact… but who was blessing this one? Ellen and Orlok indeed, died in the physical world, but are joined in the spiritual world forever, as decreed by their covenant, so where did their spirits go?

They are also surrounded by lilacs, their signature flower throughout the narrative, which symbolizes first love, yes, but also renewal and rebirth. Orlok conquered Death and immortality once before, because the Devil kept his soul. Now that Ellen is joined with him in spirit, what does this mean for her, and for them both?

[lovesick-desires]

VALETUDINARIANISM

YANDERE!VIKTOR X IMMUNOCOMPROMISED!READER — CHAPTER TWO

‎‎‎‎PREVIOUS CHAPTER ⇠ ✩ ⇢ NEXT CHAPTER (coming soon)

ABSTRACT: After escaping Viktor's clutches, you hide away in your humble abode in Zaun. Unbeknownst to you, that is not where the story ends. Oh, it is only the beginning. AUTHOR'S NOTE: Sorry for not finishing this chapter yesterday, I was in the emergency room for appendix pain (turns out I have norovirus D:). CONTENT WARNINGS: gender neutral reader, season two spoilers, yandere behavior, manipulation, cult behavior, no mentions of "y/n", no descriptors for reader/"y/n", coercion. stalking, abuse of power, weapons (knife), foul language, reader has panic attack, breaking and entering, use of Google Translate for Czech, attempted forced brainwashing, sensual touching, hints of savior complex, semi-rushed ending (sorry) (N)SFW?: mildly NSFW WORD COUNT: 2.0k VIKTOR'S YANDERE ARCHETYPE: delusional, protective

All you could think about was getting home and forgetting this all happened. Your legs carried you as fast as they could, the fire of fear burning at them as if to keep you moving. To keep you from stopping. You could feel your lungs burn and ache from the overexertion, but you had to keep moving as you eventually got back to the heart of the Undercity.

Once you reached a secluded alleyway, you stopped to catch your breath, making sure no one else was around. Once you realized you are in your own solitude, you couldn't help but lean into the wall behind you and slide down it to sit on the cold, hard ground. The adrenaline wore off as a coughing fit erupted from your throat. Fuck, you overworked your body and now you were faced with the consequences of your condition.

Reaching into your pocket, you felt your fingers around until they were wrapped around a plastic bottle. With haste, you retrieved the pill bottle and inspected its contents.

Seven pills left.

You needed to get more, but that would have to wait.

Scooping a pill from the bottle to leave the remaining six, you placed it under your tongue and let it dissolve as you sat there on the ragged floor. As your body and mind calmed down, you began to realize your position in a Zaun alleyway at sunset. It was best to get moving.

With the realization, you shakily rose from the ground, knees buckling. You had to keep moving, no matter how much your body hurt. Walking out of the alleyway, you draw your hood up to blend in among the crowd of Zaunites as you wondered home.

A week had passed since you escaped the commune. You still hear whispers of the Machine Herald in passing when you strolled the Undercity streets. You knew better than to expect miracles now, everything comes with a price: inadvertently or not. However, whenever you went out, you felt eyes on you constantly. You figured it was your paranoia from after the whole freaky cult incident, yet you couldn't quite erase the feeling.

It was a dreary eve in the Undercity as you sat in your bed, all cozy as you were reading a book. As your eyes scanned the lines of dialogue, you felt your eyelids get droopy. Realizing this was your cue to halt your reading for the night, you slid your weathered bookmark onto the page you were on. As you closed the book as the pages fluttered together into their former stack, a soft sigh elicited from your tired lips. Reading was a nice distraction to you from all the other fuckery in your life such as your illnesses and anxieties. You placed the book on your nightstand as you laid back. Reaching up to your lamp's knob, you turned it until it clicked, letting the light flicker off. In the wake of the lamp's golden light, the blue moonlight seeped in through a crack in your curtains, basking a small sliver of the room in its ethereal light. As you stared up at the ceiling of your dingy apartment, you felt sleep slowly smother you...

creeeeak...

What was that?

You opened your weary eyes to gaze at where the sound came from: your window. Behind the beige curtains stood the silhouette of a slender individual, making your blood run cold.

creeeak...

You rouse yourself from your sleepy state to reach down to the floor, putting your hand into your boot to retrieve your knife. As your vision focuses, you freeze when you see the man reach down to the base of your window and pull it up. You forgot to lock the window. Fuck.

When you see the hand come to view through the curtains, it was that painfully familiar gray tone. You immediately knew who it was. Realizing you didn't know what to do, you froze, shutting your eyes to feign a peaceful slumber.

creeeak...

You could hear the Machine Herald step foot into your bedroom, causing you to grip your knife tighter under the sheets. You tried to stay calm but you could feel your heart rate accelerate exponentially. Your mind was getting fuzzy and your limbs were trying their best to stay still. Why you were faking it? You didn't know, but something told you to... in the back of your mind...

creeeak...

The healer was now looking down at you at the side of your bed. You could feel his overwhelming presence in the vicinity. Your knuckles paled from how tightly you gripped the knife, praying to whatever god out there that he would just leave or something.

"Promiňte..." was the only word that escaped from the Machine Herald's pasty lips. You felt something get closer... and closer... Your eyes reluctantly fluttered open to see his hand was right in your face, electric purple filtering out of its cracks and cavities. Your gaze quickly moved up to see his eyes were a glowing pale lavender, no irises or pupils in sight. You had to move...

Move...

Move...

MOVE, DAMMIT, MOVE!

Your head flinched away right before he could caress it, causing a chain reaction of adrenaline course through your veins and joints. In a flash, you pulled yourself away from the healer, pointing your knife at his sternum. This induced a subtle gasp from Viktor, the light from his hand and eyes slowly diminishing out of shock.

"Don't... touch me..." You rasped, your voice crackling from lack of use in the past few hours. Your hand trembled as the raw, unfiltered anxiety coursed through your vessel. To this, Viktor looked slightly hurt from your outlash and a little... entertained? You couldn't quite read the glimmer in his eye, but you knew damn well it was bad news.

As if on cue, you felt your lungs start to give out, making a cough erupt from your sore throat. Viktor immediately took notice to this.

"Please, miláček, let me help—"

"Why are you in my apartment? How did you find me?" You interjected, your gaze narrowed with confusion and contempt as you kept your knife pointed at him. You pursed your lips to try and hold back another cough but it burst through your lips, making your grasp on your weapon weaker.

"Please, just relax. I am not here to hurt you—"

"Answer my questions." You barked out in a cough, holding back the pressure building in your throat to avoid showing any more weakness to the man before you. To this, Viktor's gaze hardened as his brows furrowed. His slowly retracted his hand from you and now stood before you.

"The way I found you is... irrelevant. But why I am here, is not. Now, please, put down the knife and i will explain everything." The healer elaborated, putting his spindly hands up in mock surrender. You sniffled as a painful coughing fit burst from your throat, inadvertently causing your grip on the knife to falter. The blade clattered to the hardwood floor as your aching body fell back to the mattress it sat upon, provoking a cough to escape your lips again.

Of course, this was the week you had to get a respiratory flare up.

"Pills..." was the only word you could get out between coughs. To this, Viktor was alerted and began to glanced around the room only to spot the bottle of pills on your dresser. The healer rose with urgency and grabbed the bottle, encompassing it with his spindly fingers.

"Is... this what you need?" Viktor questioned as he shook the bottle gently, rattling its contents. In your weakened state, trying to suppress your coughing and wheezing, you nodded. You went to reach for the bottle from his hand, only for him to retract his hand.

"No, it's okay, let me help you... Please..." The Machine Herald uttered in a tone that sounded like an desperate prayer to an omnipotent deity. Coughs erupted from your shaking lips as the healer sat besides you on the bed, undoing the lid from the pill bottle. With a quick glance at the directions on the bottle, he committed them to memory as he scooped a pill out from the bottle, leaving the remaining five. With a firm yet gentle hand, he grabbed your jaw to hold you in place.

"Trust in me. Open your mouth for me, miláček" He rasped, holding the pill in between his thumb and pointer finger. With no other options, you reluctantly opened your mouth, raising the tip of your tongue to the roof of your mouth. You barely suppressed the urge to cough as you took wheezing breaths, the itch in the back of your throat driving you mad. A soft smirk spread across the healer's fair lips as he lowered the white tablet into your mouth with a gentle touch, depositing the pill under your tongue. He held his fingers in your mouth, hooked slightly on your lower jaw, before slowly retracting them. As his fingers vacated your mouth, his thumb briefly dragged across your bottom lip, making you instinctively shut your mouth.

"Good, very good," The Machine Herald murmured, his eyes intensely locked with yours. You slowly felt the ache in your lungs and the itch in your throat dissipate from the dissolving pill under your tongue. With a shaky sigh, you look up at the man sitting beside you. Slowly, the cult leader retracted his hand, his touch lingering for a moment.

"Why... did you try to... heal me when I was asleep?" You questioned, sitting up straight. You felt weary of the man who just broke into your abode, of course, yet you felt a sense of calm when near him. Like an allure of a raging flame to a mere moth.

"I just want to help you, miláček. You are suffering a great illness and you can not free yourself of that burden. Getting sick over and over again takes a toll on the body. I, myself, would know that from personal experiences," The healer explained, looking out your now open window as the beige curtains fluttering in a soft zephyr. "My body... was once weak and crippled, bound to utilize a cane just to something as small as taking a mere step. Now, I am free... and you can be free too if you trust me." He added, glancing over at you. Then, that familiar feeling of overwhelming dread pooled in your stomach. You knew you couldn't, but where could you run? You couldn't let him 'heal' you...

"I... I can't trust you... I-I don't know all what this... healing... entails—"

"You are scared of the unknown. You are scared of what could happen. The possibility of being without something you have had your whole life, despite it being malicious to your body, it scares you with what could be. You are so used to things going poorly for you to the point that you are just mentally preparing for the next blow. You do not know how to cope with the possibility that you struggled for all these years for naught." Viktor interjected, gazing at you as he rose from the bed, now illuminated in the blue moonlight. He now stood before you his eyes gazing over your form.

As the healer starred down at you, his soft lips spread into a barely visible smile, the blue moonlight basking him from behind.

"Come with me to the commune. Just for three days. See how the people live, how you could live. If you stay the three days and haven't changed your mind, you can leave and never look back. Just.. give it a chance, please, for your own sake." The Machine Herald proclaimed, a tinge of hope in his pleading voice.

For that moment, the pool in your stomach dissipated. You felt willing to give it a chance as you rose from your bed.

"Okay, but only three days."

What's the worst that could happen?

SONG OF THE FIC: DISEASE - LADY GAGA

VALETUDINARIANISM Taglist: @clownery-atits-finest, @unmotivatedbug Want to join the tag list? Click here to learn more!

[fangdokja]

In a world where love is a curse, who will you trust to keep you alive?

❤︎ Synopsis. Trapped in a cursed realm where love is a weapon and desire a prison, you must navigate the twisted affections of deathly suitors—each offering salvation at a price too horrifying to pay. In Eclipse Paradiso, every choice inches you closer to either devotion or madness.

♡ Book. Forbidden Fruits: Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires.

♡ Pairing. Yandere! Jujutsu Kaisen Males (Gojo, Sukuna, Geto, Naoya, Megumi, Yuji, Inumaki, Kenjaku, Shiu Kong) x Fem. Reader

♡ Headcanon. Eclipse Paradiso - Part 1

♡ Word Count. 1,698

♡ TW. dom + top + older yandere, non con, psychological torture, manipulation and conditioning, suggestive themes, fear play, emotional manipulation and abuse, hints at rough play and sex, psychological and emotional trauma, isolation, monitoring, lack of boundaries, non con kissing and/or touching, forced relationship, threats, BDSM

♡ Note. Due to Tumblr policy, all characters are all of age.

♡ A/N. Or simply put, if JJK became an Otome Isekai.

ISEKAI INTRODUCTION: “A Realm Where Blood Stains Roses”

You awaken in a world where the sun hangs low in an amber-streaked sky, its light casting shadows that writhe like living beings. This is no ordinary world but a fragmented reflection of your own—a world born from curses, stitched together by the threads of vengeance, despair, and obsession. You don’t know how you got here. You only know that this world is alive, pulsing, breathing, and watching you.

A disembodied voice greets you—a saccharine tone with an undercurrent of malice.

"Welcome to Eclipse Paradiso, the world where love is carved into the flesh and truth is buried under mountains of bones. Several suitors await you, each with desires too twisted for the mortal realm. Your choices will decide whether you succumb to the beauty of madness or tear it apart with your own hands. Will you survive, or will you love?"

The voice fades, and the ground beneath your feet becomes unstable. You plummet into the arms of a man cloaked in light so blinding it feels like staring into the sun. His grin is far too wide, his touch far too gentle for someone who could destroy entire realities.

────────────

SUITORS AND THEIR INTRODUCTIONS:

———

Satoru Gojo: “The Hollow Savior”

The world cracks like glass under his footsteps. His gaze, impossibly bright, dissects you with clinical precision. He is beautiful, perfect—a god among men—but there is something inherently wrong in how his voice lingers too long, how his smile never quite reaches his eyes.

"You shouldn’t be here, you know," he says, a note of mirth tainting his words. His fingers brush against your cheek, and it’s as though he’s tracing the outline of your skull beneath your skin. "You’re fragile... It’d be so easy to break you, but where’s the fun in that? You’ll stay with me, won’t you? I’ll protect you. From everyone. From everything. Even yourself."

In the game, Gojo is the untouchable savior—the route that seems safest, yet the one most steeped in manipulation. His protective nature spirals into obsession, and his light becomes a cage. The more you resist, the more he tightens his grip, his Infinite Void becoming your eternal prison.

———

Ryomen Sukuna: “The Demon King’s Throne”

His laughter echoes in the air, jagged and cruel, as if the world itself trembles at his mirth. He watches you as a predator does its prey, his four eyes drinking in every tremor of your body. The aura surrounding him reeks of blood and burnt flesh.

"What’s this?" he purrs, his voice a low rumble that makes your bones ache. His clawed hand grips your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. "A new plaything? You’re trembling. Is it fear? Excitement? I’ll enjoy ripping you apart to find out."

Sukuna’s route is pure madness incarnate, a descent into hell where love is synonymous with submission. He demands everything—your body, your mind, your soul—and yet, there are moments of softness so fleeting they feel like hallucinations. Choosing him means becoming his queen, whether in power or in ruin.

———

Suguru Geto: “The Prophet’s Shadow”

He approaches you under the cover of night, his smile a deceptive veil of warmth. There’s a kindness in his gaze, but it’s drowned in something darker—something ancient and unrelenting. He speaks to you like a savior, but his words feel like bindings.

"Do you feel it?" he murmurs, his voice a silken whisper. "The weight of this cursed world pressing down on you? Don’t worry. I’ll save you. I’ll cleanse this place, and you’ll stand beside me as the harbinger of a new era."

Geto’s route is the cult leader's labyrinth, where he draws you into his ideology, convincing you that his love is salvation. The deeper you fall, the harder it becomes to distinguish his lies from the truth. He offers you the world, but only if you become a part of his twisted vision.

———

Naoya Zen'in: “The Silver-Tongued Tyrant”

His arrogance is suffocating, his presence like a storm that leaves destruction in its wake. He looks at you like you’re a possession, something to be conquered and claimed.

"You’ve caught my eye," he sneers, his lips curling into a smirk. "I don’t care who you were before you came here. You’re mine now. Fight it if you want. It’ll only make breaking you more satisfying."

Naoya’s route is domination veiled as affection. He thrives on control, pushing you to your limits just to see how much you can endure. And yet, in those rare moments of vulnerability, he almost seems human—almost.

———

Megumi Fushiguro: “The Cursed Protector”

He stands in the shadows, his eyes sharp and calculating. There’s a quiet intensity to him, a sense of restraint that feels like it could snap at any moment.

"You shouldn’t trust anyone here," he says, his voice low and urgent. "Especially not me."

Megumi’s route is the slow-burn tragedy, where his desire to protect you twists into something he can’t control. His love is a double-edged sword—both your shield and your shackles.

———

Yuji Itadori: “The Unyielding Flame”

His smile is disarming, his warmth a stark contrast to the darkness of this world. But there’s something lurking beneath his kindness—a desperation that borders on obsession.

"I’ll keep you safe," he promises, his hands trembling as they grip yours. "No matter what it takes. Even if it means losing myself."

Yuji’s route is the hero turned monster, where his love for you consumes him, driving him to make choices that stain his hands red. He is a man torn between light and darkness, and you are the catalyst for his fall.

———

Toge Inumaki: “The Silent Enigma”

He doesn’t speak, but his eyes say everything. There’s a hunger in his gaze, a need that words could never capture.

"Don’t leave," he writes on a piece of paper, his hand shaking. When you try to pull away, his grip tightens, bruising.

Toge’s route is the silent descent into madness, where his inability to express himself leads to actions far darker than words ever could. His love is suffocating, silent, and inescapable.

———

Kenjaku: “The Eternal Weaver”

His presence is suffocating, a constant reminder of the strings being pulled behind the scenes. His smile is maddeningly serene, his words a symphony of deceit.

"You’re more fascinating than I anticipated," he says, his fingers brushing against your temple. "Let’s see how far I can push you before you break."

Kenjaku’s route is the puppet master’s game, where you are a pawn in his grand design. He orchestrates every moment, every choice, making you question whether your feelings are your own or part of his plan.

———

Shiu Kong: "The Merchant of Blood"

The first thing you notice about him is the scent of smoke—faint and lingering, like the remnants of a fire long extinguished. He stands casually against the edge of a broken lamppost, flicking a lighter open and closed with steady, mechanical precision. His expression is unreadable, his grin faint, restrained, as if he’s already measured every possible outcome of this interaction.

"Well, what do we have here?" he says, his tone even and unhurried, each word deliberate. His gaze sweeps over you—not predatory, but analytical, as if assessing your worth with a detached curiosity. His eyes pause briefly at the line of your throat, but there’s no lingering malice, only quiet calculation. "You look out of place. Lost, maybe. Convenient. I deal in lost things, you know. For a price, naturally."

He steps closer with the measured confidence of someone who’s never had to second-guess himself. When his hand brushes yours, the motion is deliberate, his grip firm yet impersonal, like a man shaking hands to seal a business deal.

"Let me guess," he says, his voice calm, free of any inflection that could betray emotion. "You’re searching for something—an escape, maybe. It doesn’t matter. Everyone here is. But here’s the reality: nothing comes free. You stick with me, and I’ll keep you from falling apart in this place. Of course, there’s a cost. And I always make sure I get what’s owed."

There’s no malice in his words, no overt threat. It’s simply a statement of fact, delivered as smoothly as a well-rehearsed pitch. His gaze is steady, cool, like he’s already factored in every decision you could make. To him, this isn’t personal. It’s just business.

———

GAME MECHANICS

Each route begins as a romantic comedy, lulling you into a false sense of security. But the deeper you go, the more the world unravels, revealing the grotesque truths behind their love. The visuals shift from pastel dreamscapes to blood-soaked nightmares, and the once-charming dialogue becomes riddled with veiled threats and sinister undertones.

Every choice matters, and the wrong ones lead to endings so horrifying they feel like a fate worse than death. Can you survive their love, or will you be consumed by it?

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Forbidden Fruits”: @uniquecutie-puffs , @ikevampharem , @tnsophiaonly , @mokingbrd78k , @cooldeermagazine , @mimitk , @xileonaaaa , @acacia-koi , @purple-obsidian , @waterfal-ling , @jjune-07 , @jsprien213 , @crimson-kisses

[omgahgase]

Charthur short

Charles breaks his bow and Arthur gets him a new very special one 🥰

hello there! sorry this lil ask took too long, and sorry that it's not short haha. i love the idea of arthur doing anything for charles bc He's In Love, so here's my take of their relationship before getting together. i hope you enjoy!

It’s a well-known fact in camp and by his friends and by just about anyone that’s asked Arthur for any help making anything outside his expertise of shitty knives:

Arthur ain’t no craftsman.

Yeah, he can chip away at a rock and wrap it around a stick then call it an arrow, and he can weave a basket—nothing else, though, that’s about as far as he can get without Jack or one of the girls aiding his helpless fingers—and, sure, he can tie up a piece of line to any broken branch and head on down to the lake with the world’s most God awful fishing pole, but the truth still stands.

If Arthur had to choose between crafting someone an item and not having it fall apart after its first use, or getting shot in the mouth…Well, then, Arthur’s making sure that bullet goes straight through his throat and out the back of his head.

So why, in God’s green Earth, is Arthur making a new bow for Charles after he broke his old one?

‘Because you love him,’ Arthur thinks, gentle in the same way his cheeks redden at the mere thought of Charles, in correction to Eagle Flies’ snarky, “I don’t know, you asked me for help,” that lights up a spark of irritation in Arthur’s gut, makes Arthur want to shove him off the log he’s perched on.

“This may be the most foolish thing I’ve ever done,” Arthur says, twirling the knife in his hand that’s speckled in his own blood.

He stares at the piece of chokecherry wood in front of him, the branch now thinner than when Arthur chopped it off and whittled it down to a poor, uneven shape that hardly resembles a stick let alone a bow. It took a little over a month to get the wood and then season it, this process he wanted to do himself because it’s special, Eagle Flies said, to put your emotions into a piece of Earth and ask the land if it’s okay to take a piece of its tree for his own desires—for Charles, his mind keeps saying. So he can’t screw it up unless he wants to start all over again. Arthur can’t afford mistakes, but his project laughs at him, it seems, and Arthur, finding himself comfortable in his frustration, wants to burn it.

“A fool in love is stronger than any beast or man he encounters,” Eagle Flies says, crafting improved arrows to Arthur’s right. He holds one up to his eye and stares down the line of it. “Your affection for Charles is deep, therefore, your actions are foolish.” He shrugs, and motions for Arthur to keep whittling. “Keep going. You're nearly there.”

“I almost lost a finger.”

“Your lover will thank you.”

Arthur feels his cheeks go from warm to uncomfortably hot. He tips his hat down over his eyes to hide the deep blush spreading over his face. “Charles ain’t my lover,” he mumbles, a correction to a hopeful assumption.

Eagle Flies only hums as he places his arrow in his pile and Arthur kinda wants to fire all of them into the distance just so his friend can feel an inkling of his annoyance. Arthur does understand that Charles will be grateful, however, no matter how shitty his new bow may turn out. Sadie gave Arthur the suggestion, said that it’ll take Charles months to construct a new bow while Arthur can figure something out and get a new one in his hands in less than that, and Arthur—with his squirrel brain that as of five months, two weeks, and six days ago (but, really, who’s counting?) hasn’t been able to keep Charles Smith out of his head—ran with it. He overestimated his abilities in the fine art of craftsmanship (and thinking with any logical parts of his brain when it comes to Charles) and damn near killed himself gathering everything he needed to make a bow.

Arthur sought out Eagle Flies not too long after Sadie planted the seedling of the thought in his head, asking him what it’d take to trade so he could get his hands on any materials ready for bow crafting. Eagle Flies, with a light in his eyes and a kick in his step, rattled off a list of items his tribe needed. Fresh berries from the West Grizzlies, wolf and cougar pelts, big game from The Heartlands, eagle feathers from the highest cliffs of Donner Falls. He even had to wipe out a few rowdy stragglers who were camped up too close to the tribe, something Eagle Flies said about his father not wanting to wander into outlaw affairs so Arthur best get the job done because it won’t be too suspicious if a Van der Linde boy does it.

After choosing his tree and setting it out to dry, Arthur spent the better half of the week hunting and gathering, putting his neck out on the line for anything that can make Charles a bow as good as the one he made himself, and by the time he had everything he needed in his possession, he was more bruised and bloody than a shitty bull rider at the state fair.

Arthur knows it’ll be worth it, though. If it means he can do something for Charles—and maybe crack a smile outta him, Arthur’s a greedy bastard down to his core and he needs to be on the receiving end of just one of Charles’ rare grins—then Arthur will gladly do it all over again.

He huffs, loudly, and gathers up the remaining incentive to keep going. Eagle Flies said he's almost done whittling, then all that's left is to string the sinew, and add little decorative designs along the shape of it because every bow is different, none is ever exactly the same. That’s what Eagle Flies told him when Arthur first started this journey.

‘Every bow is unique in its own way. Make it your own.’

‘But it’s not for me,’ Arthur had said. ‘I’m makin’ it for Charles.’

Eagle Flies only looked at him, wearing the same face Sadie wore when she gave him the idea. ‘Make it for him, then, but give a piece of yourself into every step. Put your emotions into your craft, and make it yours. Both of yours.’

‘Make it ours,’ Arthur reminds himself as he gets back to work.

---------------------------------

One month, twenty-six days, and seven hours. That’s how long it took him to make a bow.

Arthur has more scars on his hands now than he ever did before he set out to make this gift, which granted him the full understanding of the saying ‘putting in the blood, sweat, and tears’ into something you love. Arthur loves Charles more than he thinks is capable of a man like him, so why wouldn’t he put in all his effort?

He’d do just about anything for Charles, that’s been established a long time, maybe even back then in Colter when Charles suffered from a burnt hand and Arthur did everything in his power to make sure he didn’t injure it any further. That was the start of it all, Arthur believes, and now in the present time, Arthur isn’t tending to his wounds anymore, instead, he’s tending to the ache in his chest telling him to do grand displays of affection. Like crafting an entirely new bow when Arthur is the shittiest craftsman from here to Blackwater.

Arthur sucks in a deep breath to steel the jitters in his hands, his fingers clutching at the leather wrapping of the bow like a lifeline, and walks a little way down to the lake’s shoreline. Flat Iron Lake ain’t that much to look at it in the daytime, the heat of Lemoyne making the sand feel like hot rocks and the water like a warm bath, but in the evenings, when the sun’s setting just right, a blaze sparks across the horizon, makes the bright blue of the water’s surface turn a flower petal pink, then a dusky orange.

It’s pretty, hell, Arthur would even say it’s beautiful, but he won’t. Nah, the most beautiful thing about the lake is when Charles stands at the water’s edge, his features painted in the ever-changing color of the sky, his hair long and wavy down his back, the outline of his frame strong, sturdy like a mountain, and just as gorgeous. He just stares out into the water, soaking it in, eyes soft in the setting sun, and Arthur can’t think of anything prettier.

Arthur swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, then, “‘Scuse me, Mr. Smith,” he calls.

Charles turns, his fair falling in front of his eyes when he sees Arthur, and, suddenly, it’s only them. Call it Arthur’s tunnel vision—hell, even call him crazy if it fits—but at the moment Charles fully faces him, the barest hint of a smile on his face (is he surprised? Arthur hopes so), the lake, camp, everything around them falls away.

“Hello, Arthur,” Charles greets, meeting him halfway along the shore’s edge. He stops just shy of a foot away, and Arthur has to resist the urge to pull him closer. “Aren’t you supposed to be working on that stagecoach job with John?”

“Nah, Martson can handle it.” Arthur clears his throat, then, before his brain can tell him to high tail it back to his tent, he thrusts out the leather wrapping. “I got somethin’ for you.”

Charles’ eyebrows knit together quizzically before he looks down as if just realizing it was there, his lips going all pouty in that way he does when he doesn’t understand something. “What’s the occasion?” He asks, gingerly taking the wrappings and undoing the ties.

“No occasion, Mr. Smith. It’s just—well, I thought that um—” Before Arthur can stop himself, his mind going from overly polite to ‘Don’t say anythin’ stupid,’ his mouth kicks into overdrive and rambles a string of words in a single breath.

“I know you broke your bow last time you went huntin’, and it’s hard tryin’ to find somethin’ like that in any ‘ol store, so I made you a new one—it ain’t as pretty as your last one—shoot, it probably don’t work much better neither, but I made it—for you—so I hope it gets the job done.”

Arthur’s head swims woozy by the time his words fall free, and his gut churns with anticipation as Charles looks upon the bow, his expression hidden by the shadow of the descending sun. Arthur’s feet are leaden to the ground, his hands trembling a shake so violent he hides them behind his back, and after a few seconds of agonizing silence, of Charles tracing the curved line of his new weapon with a delicate finger and tweaking the sinew strings, he lifts his head. Arthur’s heart jumps into his throat.

“You made this?” He asks, marveled, eyes the softest shade of brown Arthur’s ever seen on him.

Arthur clears his throat, manages a croaked, “Yeah.”

Charles just continues to feel it, grips over the leather wrapping of the middle part, and then, as if in a trance, his eyes land on the engravings just above. His thumb runs over it, gently, as if the bison might disappear if he’s not careful.

“You did this too?” His voice is so deep, so soft as if he’s speaking to Arthur in a dream that Arthur almost misses his question.

“Yeah. Eagle Flies helped, a ‘lil. Actually, he’s the one who taught me how to make it. I didn’t—I wanted to do it right.” The ‘for you’ threatens to barrel roll from his lips but Arthur swallows it down, forcing it to the back of his throat. “Bison are important to your family. So,” he shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant when his body’s buzzing like a hummingbird.

Charles’ eyes land on the second engraving, a buck that sits just below the leather, and something in the way he spoke, like a gentle rustle in the grass, shook Arthur to his core. “Is this you?”

Arthur nods, steps a little closer so he can brush his fingers over the buck too, just shy of Charles’ own. “The lines took the longest. Almost lost a finger while doin’ it.” Charles chuckles, endeared, and he’s smiling, a small barely there upturn of his lips that Arthur wants to sketch and keep in his pocket forever. “Eagle Flies said to make it special, to, y’know, make it my own. It’s yours, though, but I still wanted to have a ‘lil bit of myself there. So it’s—it’s kinda like ours—in a way, I guess.”

Arthur bites his tongue, stopping himself from saying anything else that will make his face redder than a fire ant’s ass. He hopes the flaming rays of the sun can cover his blush, but even his luck can’t make miracles.

“It’s beautiful,” Charles says, so earnestly that Arthur’s heart drops from his throat and does a can-can number in his chest. “It’s like you’ll be with me wherever I go.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Charles,” Arthur counters, baffled by the thought that he wouldn’t follow Charles to the end of the Earth. If he asked or not, Arthur’s with him.

Charles stares at him, then, equally as mystified. “You will?”

As if Arthur would be anywhere else. “Always.”

It’s Charles’ turn to surprise him, then, by lunging into Arthur’s person with the force of a bolder. He hugs him tight, squeezes around Arthur’s shoulders, and tucks his face close to his ear. He doesn’t say anything, not until Arthur’s body catches up to his brain and he wraps his arms around Charles’ middle, holding on just as close.

“Thank you, Arthur. No one’s ever given me something like this, or ever treated me this nice before.”

“I will,” Arthur says, his voice muffled by the fabric of Charles’ shirt, but still holding so much weight to it that Charles steps in until the entirety of their bodies are pressed together. “You’re my friend, Charles. I would do anyin’ for you.”

Charles sucks in a sharp breath. “Thank you.”

They separate far too quickly for Arthur’s liking, the sun nearly gone behind the mountains and the moon already high in the sky. Charles continues to stare at his gift as if he can’t believe it’s actually his like he can’t imagine someone going out of their way to give him something as heartfelt.

(In the back of his mind, Arthur vows to break that train of thought, to make Charles believe he’s not just put on this Earth to hurt, but to live, and, hopefully, to love.)

But still, even if Charles likes it, Arthur still has to say, “Sorry if it ain’t as good as your old one.”

“Don’t be a fool,” Charles scolds, his eyebrows knitting together. “It’s perfect.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You and I both know my craftsmanship is shit. You don’t even know how it shoots.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Arthur. You’re more of a wonder than you think you are.” He smiles, then, closed mouth and so sweet that his cheeks bunch up under his eyes, and Arthur officially goes dumb. “Come. Practice with me while we still have light.”

He brushes past Arthur, up the little hill towards the small clearing near camp. When Arthur doesn’t move because he’s too busy reeling at granted something so small and special, something no one else in camp gets to see, Charles calls out to him.

“You coming with me, cowboy?”

Immediately, Arthur is next to him, standing so close their knuckles brush and a spark shoots out somewhere in the distance.

“Always.”

[luckyartdrawer]

(Bitter) Sweet! Art & Drabble

For @divinit3a Café Lunch Rush prompt list! There's still plenty of time before the first prompt is due (Jan 12th), and there's 2 other prompts as well for the month! Definitely check it out lovelies! <3

Drabble name: Instability Of The Heart Contents: Sun x reader, Heavy Pinning, Bitter Sweetness Chosen Words: Clouds, Opals, Celebration, Star-crossed, Letting Go, Hope, Candle Word Count: 1,625

(Close Ups are also at the bottom <3)

It’s been a whole year…

Unsure how to approach the festivities now, Sun decided to find a quiet spot instead, spending all morning setting things up to participate in his own way. He couldn't not join in, but it just wouldn't be right to go back into the thick of it either.

The not-too-far-off town square, only a mile below his expanse of cloud, is alive in the lieu of celebration. The live orchestra plays the same casual songs, their passion dying the expanse of clouds they rest upon pink with their infectious energy, and the music drifts up clear as day to his ears despite the distance. The community brightens at each strum of a chord, chatter so lively that they create lyrics to their own song. They all are so alight that even once the sun sets, not even a single candle will be necessary to keep the festival bathed in a warm glow.

Sun sighed as he looked towards his namesake, feeling both relief and dread seeing it only moved a little since he last checked, located slightly past the center of the sky above him. Any moment now the square should clear its center and engage in its Hearthwarming Dance.

A spark crackles in his chest, sending longing pangs to his heart and head. It swirls through the burning magma and dips through every ligament, the tips of his fingers and toes buzzing with the itch to do something.

He turns to his partner, waiting for the first note of the new song to swell before grabbing their soft hand and whispering,

“May I have this dance?”

Without his usual banter, Sun embraces them and sways to the familiar beat without hesitation.

Upon closing his eyes, he is suddenly not dancing on a patchy field of clouds, but rather upon a lively opal plaza shimmering in the warm sunlight; the polished stone reflecting all those lovely pink clouds to create a mosaic, speckled with a rainbow of beautiful color.

Yet, the way you shined changed everything. It had completely ruined his view of beauty.

Your smile glistened through the sheer cloud of stardust that orbits around your form. Your eyes were as hypnotic as the ring of light you absorb, blindingly white before turning into a pitch black that's impossible for him to comprehend. He could barely even remember what you wore that day, too busy memorizing your face.

You were a star that had gone supernova, a rarity unseen for the last 3 centuries, let alone for a star of your kind.

Even the thought of your imagery causes him to inhale sharply. He clutches at his partner tightly, mindless of the give as he steps around in a traditional dance.

You were so scared when the change happened all those months ago...

Sun had found you holed up in your dark room, begging him to not look at you. He had initially come over to barge down your door for being an hour late to meet him, only to find your home was unlocked. It wasn't too unusual, so he welcomed himself inside, used to doing so after years of friendship.

His bitterness over how you kept him waiting for so long evaporated at finding your tearful state, almost unrecognizable if it weren't for your usual wear and voice.

He's still ashamed to say that he was enraptured by you despite the state you were in.

You were a glimmering dwarf star before, enchanting enough as is, and yet somehow you turned into something even more bewitching, compounding his years of desire into something even stronger. It felt right. Not to see you sad, but to see you in that form. Everything about it felt like you. The pull was indescribable in every step he took, the very essence of you invading his senses.

As soon as he recounts reassuring you, drying your tears, and pulling you into a hug; he snaps back to having you in his arms in the light of day, grasping his right hand and prancing with ease across the square, expertly avoiding other participants.

The magnetic pull is intense, the need to somehow get closer and closer was nearly impossible to ignore. He wanted to run away from such a force, yet he only clutched your hand tighter as he spun you, pulling your back into his chest and locking you there for a beat too long.

He was so afraid that you could read his every move, regardless of knowing your sheer obliviousness to his desires.

You always playfully indulged his yearly insistence of being your dance partner, yet nothing had come of it from either side. But this time, his gaze was constantly locked with yours, unable to break contact. His possessive grip had ensnared you, barely leaving even an inch between you. He couldn't help but pause, disregarding the mass of bodies moving around him, wanting to hold you forever.

How could it not be obvious?

Regardless, he knew it was inevitable he'd spill out his soul to you soon, barely able to restrain his lips from colliding into yours at that very moment.

He hoped, he prayed, he begged like a mantra to the celestial mother that you'd feel the same. That this magnetism isn't so one sided. That restraint would one day be unnecessary and he'd finally be able to drink in the flavor of your kiss.

Only mere seconds had passed when he released you from his hold, continuing the dance as if nothing happened. Perhaps to you, nothing did happen.

Would that explain what had happened?

He spent that whole day with you, following you to vendors with traditional carbon foods and indulging in your proximity as you'd graze hands and bump shoulders on occasion, finally left comfortably alone as the town's people were accustomed to your new appearance by then.

He was more than happy to scoop you up the moment you said you were getting tired and overwhelmed. You insisted that you didn't want the fun to end, but he could tell by the sound of your voice that you at least needed a change of pace.

The sun was setting when he leapt up stray puffs of clouds to the field above the plaza. He pranced in circles, leaping gaps to the dying beats of music, and teasing about dropping you through them when you didn't believe he could cross. Your rivers of laughter only fueled his audacity, as he never wanted to hear them end. Inevitably, his foot barely slipped off the edge of one of his more daring jumps, causing the two of you to fall forward and collide with the cloud beneath you.

Despite the grunt the two of you made at the impact, you were quick to laugh at Sun’s failure, teasing him about his cockiness biting him in the behind.

But Sun couldn't ignore the press of his body on top of yours, the echoing melody of your voice ensnaring his throat, refusing to allow him to even draw breath, let alone words. His mind fogged over, the only reprieve to his pinning troubles all pointed towards you, and he desperately needed that relief.

Your lips were more delicious than he could have ever dreamed of, your endearing expression was wide eyed and glowing.

Glowing so much that he actually had to close his eyes for a moment to recuperate, despite how much he wanted to savor your appearance.

And then with a fluttering blink, he's back in the present, kneeling down in the same position over some sad facimally of you. The cloud he molded this morning was mangled already from his delusions, but due to his fall it had melded into the cloud below it, its pink color feeling more taunting than sweet.

Sun looked down at his hand to find a tiny piece of said cloud still in it, a tear welling up in his eye.

It was too fitting.

In that original moment, it was as if you dissolved right in his arms after that kiss, but he refuses to believe anything bad happened. He searched your home, your favorite places, and even contacted your friends and family. No one knew where you were.

Some believed you to be dead after he finally admitted what happened between the two of you.

He vehemently denied that possibility, despite the plausibility. You were barely older than he was, still spry with centuries of life ahead of you. You couldn't just die from a kiss…

The only spark of hope he was given was when he questioned one of the elder Neutron stars, one of whom recalled personally knowing a singular supernova; one who had been taken suddenly to a world beyond the sky to contain their unstable make up. They had returned only once to explain their departure, before saying goodbye for their next one shortly after.

Sun brought the small puff of cloud to his lips – it should have been your hand.

He couldn't repress the tear that escaped him.

It's been a year since your disappearance. He still hasn't given up on his star-crossed lover, if he may even call you that. Your sudden departure left him wanting, stagnant, unsure of so many things.

If you reciprocated, wouldn't you have come back to him by now..?

Overtime, many have caught onto his depressed demeanor and advised him that it's best to learn to let go.

Preaching that waiting is fruitless.

Denouncing the Neutron’s tall tale of some magical plain snatching you away.

Scolding Sun for ruining his life over some runaway star.

However, he cannot help it; you own all the hope he has left. As he is unfortunately, completely, woefully in love with you.

Close Ups!

[istharaix]

@99tech99 I LOVE THIS QUESTION

Yes it was mostly based on vibes and aesthetic, YET there are some of these bird's quirks that do fit the characters in my opinion. Sorry for the yapping ahead:

Darth Maul as a bearded vulture: Bearded vultures have red-orange coloration on their feathers, but it isn’t natural (they achieve this by rubbing themselves in iron-rich soil or mud). This behavior is believed to serve as a status symbol and so it made me think about the tattoos Maul has, given by Mother Talzin. They are also lonely vultures, and only associate with one companion or mate so, if we ignore the romance part, i was thinking about the sith rule of "there can only be two: master and apprentice", and so Sidious and Maul, and Savage and Maul. These birds aren't talkative, they communicate through whistles and such, which doesn't fit TCW Maul, but fits TPM Maul.

Asajj Ventress as a harpy eagle: these eagles are BIG, and they are able to capture preys their size or bigger (like monkeys), for me that's a Ventress trait, as she fights people twice her size like Savage. These eagles are great at stealth, as silent as owls, even. They are also extremely territorial (im thinking of the witches of Dathomir here) and mate for life (ehem, quinlan vos). They're named after the Greek harpies, half-women known for their ferocity.

Darth Sidious as a california condor: not only does it absolutely look like him (same profile and everything), condors are long-lived, living up to 60 years. Longevity itself is a word i associate with Sidious (the Darth Plagueis stuff, and his own life). But also i found out that while vultures and alike are popularly linked with death in multiple ways, this specific condor has two symbolic interpretations for native americans: one as who carries the sun in the sky each day, and the other associated with death and rebirth. This two different views of the condor made me think of the duality of Palpatine-Sidious during the Clone Wars, knowing also that this condor is know for its intelligence. And if we talk about sequel's lore, him cloning his body could be considered the "rebirth". Also they are bald to prevent the blood from sticking and staining them, aka, Sidious holding no responsability over his crimes during the clone wars, tho i might be stretching it here.

Savage Opress as a white-rumped vulture: so, unlike the bearded vulture, this one is social, seeking companionship in pairs and especially in big groups, and Savage, despite being pretty eager to kill the people he doesn't like, is seen establishing multiple conexions: his brother Feral (he was so protective of him before he got turned to the dark side), him and Ventress for a while, i could even say him and Dooku, him seeking comfort and help from Mother Talzin, and him searching for and teaming up with Maul.

Count Dooku as a cape vulture: this one is mainly bc of the looks, but, these vultures live on high grounds, on colonies located on cliffs, and Dooku's palace on Serenno is set on a cliff. They are also hierarchical. Overall, the traits of vultures (death, scanvenging... etc) fit the Sith quite well in my vision.

Sith as Birds

This is created with hours of research and autism

Darth Maul as a bearded vulture:

Asajj Ventress as a harpy eagle:

Palpatine/Darth Sidious as a california condor:

Savage Opress as a white-rumped vulture:

Count Dooku/Darth Tyranus as a cape vulture:

[imtryingbuck]

You’re Perfect.

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Steve Rogers

Summary: Bucky feels down about his scars so Y/n and Steve cheer him up.

Word count: 642

Warnings:  sad Bucky (major warning!!) fluff. insecurities. violence to someone who deserves it. super short.

Masterlist

You both knew something was wrong the moment Bucky stepped into the apartment, at first you both thought it was because he had been on a mission but normally he would be sweeping you up in his arms the moment he laid eyes on you, taking you over to Steve to share a kiss with your boyfriend, but today he came in quietly and headed straight to the bedroom and locked the door behind him. Steve gave you a questioning look which had you shaking your head, heart aching at not knowing what was wrong with your boyfriend.

“Buck? Baby what’s wrong?” you asked leaning against the bedroom door.

“N-Nothing, I’m fine doll”

“No you’re not, Buck can you let us in please?”

“I-Is Stevie with you?”

“Of course I’m here” your boyfriend says from next to you, holding your hand.

You and Steve stood patiently waiting for Bucky to make his mind up, not long after the door locks clicked. Waiting until you heard the brunet sit back on your shared bed before opening the door. There he sat at the edge of the bed looking smaller then you had ever seen him, slowly bouncing his leg up and down, gazing down at his hand in such disgust.

Sitting on either side of him once again waiting patiently for him to talk first, knowing that it was better for him and that way he wouldn’t shut down completely and act like everything was fine. “Do-do you two think its disgusting?”

“What are you talking about Buck?” Steve asks.

“My arm an-and the scars?”

“Absolutely not! Who said that about you?” you replied instantly, not once in the three years you three finally stopped tip toeing around the bush and confessed your feelings did you think that about him. Well even way before that, you always admired his arm, always thought his scars were beautiful.

“It doesn’t matter”

“Yes it does, whoever has said something Buck we need to know” the blond says before you could reply.

“Julie… you know the agent?”

“Bucky, your arm is incredible and yours scars are beautiful, no one and I mean no one is as strong as you to have gone through all that you have and still see the beauty that life has to offer.”

“B-but she said I was a monster and she’s right”

“Stop that, don’t ever think that about yourself. You’re not a monster Bucky. You’re a beautiful person, inside and out, you’ve made amends with those who were affected by him, and you’re an amazing boyfriend and friend.”

“You have the most infectious laugh out of everyone I know, you’re kind and thoughtful, you put everyone else’s needs before your own. You give and give and never asked for anything in return, Bucky Barnes you are not a monster.” You take over from Steve. Bucky sits there and nods.

“’m not a monster”

“Say it again”

“I’m not a monster”

“Now say Y/n is the best”

“Doll… don’t make him lie”

“Wow, rude.”

Bucky chuckles at your pout, pressing his lips to your forehead, looking you in the eyes as he repeats. “Y/n is the best”

“Now, here’s the plan Buck you’re going to go and shower whilst Steve cleans up and I’m going to go and get us some food from the takeaway down the street, and then we’re all going to watch movies in bed, yeah?”

“Sounds like a plan doll”

Before you went to get the food, you made a quick detour. Getting in home Bucky and Steve were cuddled up together in bed, a film already loaded up on the TV.

“I love you both so much” Bucky mumbled as his eyes started to flutter close.

Two days later Bucky saw Julie sporting a huge black eye and a busted lip. Curtsey of his loving girlfriend.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[infamous-light]

Fragments of Us Ch. 4

Wanda Maximoff x F! Reader

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3

AO3: Fragments of Us

Summary: A collection of snippets featuring Wanda and you, set in various situations ranging from lighthearted and intimate moments to intense ones.

Requests for snippets/drabbles about Wanda are welcome!

Word Count: 524

Warnings: Smut, enchanted strap on (R wearing), riding

“Are you sure this will work?” You asked, your voice tinged with doubt as Wanda hovered over you, her thighs pressing against your hips.

A mischievous smile spread across her lips, her eyes glowing faintly with that scarlet hue you've learned to both fear and desire.

“Of course it will,” Wanda purred. “I know what I’m doing.”

Her fingers traced the length of the red dildo nestled securely in the harness, its solid presence resting against your pelvis. Though it was just an object, a shiver ran through you, as if her touch was real but you supposed it was about to be in a second. Wanda murmured something under her breath – a string of words you didn’t understand but recognized as Sokovian. The language flowed from her lips like honey, smooth and mesmerizing. The toy shimmered beneath her touch, the surface catching the light and radiating with a faint crimson glow.

“There,” she said, her voice thick with satisfaction. “Now it’s a part of you. Do you feel that?”

And you did. It’s a sensation that took you by surprise – every inch of it pulsed through you as if it was intertwined with your very flesh. Your breath suddenly got caught in your throat as Wanda’s fingers began to glide up and down your enchanted cock, each touch sending an electrifying thrill straight through you.

“Y-Yeah, I do.” You gasped as your fingers tightened desperately into the bed sheets.

“Good,” Wanda whispered, leaning in close, her lips brushing against your earlobe. “Now, you’ll feel everything. Every thrust, every ache… until you can’t take it anymore.”

Her words sent a jolt through you, a mix of anticipation and arousal that left you reeling.

Without wasting another second, Wanda moved, her gaze never leaving yours as she guided the tip of your cock to her slick, eager entrance. The hunger in her eyes mirrored the burning need coursing through your own veins. For a heartbeat, the world held its breath, and then, with deliberate slowness, she lowered herself onto you.

The sensation was indescribable. It wasn’t just the physical pressure, the way her warmth enveloped you – it was the way you felt her.

“Fuck…” Wanda moaned, her head tilting back, exposing the delicate, inviting curve of her neck.

Her thighs quivered as she began to ride your cock, each movement sending sparks of pleasure through both of you. You gripped Wanda’s hips tightly, guiding her with steady hands as her body moved with increasing urgency, her breaths quick and shallow. With each thrust, you watched, entranced, as your cock disappeared deeper into her cunt, slipping in and out with rhythmic ease.

Wanda’s inner walls clenched around you, and you could feel her teetering on the edge, just as you were.

“Come with me.” Wanda demanded, her nails digging into your shoulders painfully.

You couldn’t hold back any longer. With a cry, you gave in, your bodies convulsing in unison as waves of ecstasy crashed over you. The world around you faded into a blur, but in that moment, all you could focus on was Wanda – her warmth, her cunt, and her heart hammering against yours.

[grandpeachpersona]

It's A Man's World

Chapter 9 ☆Butterflies☆

Warnings: Flirting (but not much), Mention of the death of a family member, New character 😏, LGBTQIA mention (Nothing derogatory! If it offends you, I do deeply apologize; she just had a church granny) Word Count: 2,014 Enjoy ;)

Waking up this morning felt like an entire series on its own, but I managed to get through it. I guess the Bengals' celebration wasn't enough of a lesson. Mom always said I was hardheaded. 

Speaking of Mom, she's flying into Atlanta this afternoon. She's been there for me and supported me since day one; she's the strongest person I know. Growing up, I didn't have the best things—after all, my mom was a single mother. It was just the two of us.

Now it's time for me to return the favor. She knows she's coming down to Atlanta for the World Series, but she doesn't realize that the house she's been trying to pay off for years will be paid in full by the time she gets back home to St. Louis.

In the meantime, I found myself in the pantry looking for something to munch on. After clicking my tongue a few times, I finally decided on cool ranch Doritos—don't judge me.

Just as I got comfortable on the couch with the bag of chips and my blanket, my phone started ringing. Reaching over, I grabbed it.

Incoming FaceTime from JoeBurr 🧡

I quickly prepared myself, hiding my face a little as I hit the answer button. As Joe's face illuminated the screen, a rush of warmth washed over me. “Heyyy,” I said, my voice slightly slurred, a tinge of embarrassment creeping in from last night’s escapades. 

“Hey, you okay?” Joe's voice softened as if he sensed the vulnerability in the moment. In the background, I could see the unmistakable surroundings of a locker room, a hint of camaraderie in the air.

I nodded, even though he couldn't see me very well, “Yeah, I'm good, just—” My voice trailed off, weighted by the embarrassment of the previous night’s blunders. 

“Is it about last night?” Joe interjected, picking up on my hesitation with uncanny intuition.

Taking a deep breath, I mustered the courage to show my face to the camera, pressing my lips together in a thin line as I reluctantly replied, “Mmm huh.” As I studied Joe’s expression, a small grin crept across his face, and he shook his head, amusement sparkling in his eyes. 

“Ri, it’s fine honestly,” he shrugged, his tone reassuring. I could hardly believe his nonchalance, raising my brow in skepticism. “Fine? Joe, it's far from fine! I should have just waited until I sobered up and then texted you,” I explained, my heart racing at the recollection of my awkward messages.

“Baby, it was just one word,” he chuckled lightly, his laughter a balm to my frayed nerves.

“It's not even the fa—” but then, a realization hit me like a ton of bricks. *Insert TikTok sound.* Wait, wa-wa wait wait.

“Still there?” Joe's voice broke through my haze, a small chuckle escaping him as I took a moment to collect my thoughts.

I managed to nod, though my mind was still trying to wrap around what had just transpired. My stomach churned with excited butterflies, a whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. This man. This man, who was somehow both a friend and a source of this fluttering feeling!

Desperate to redirect my thoughts, I blurted out, “How was practice?” The words spilled from my mouth without thinking.

Joe tilted his head, a mixture of confusion and amusement dancing in his eyes. “I don’t have practice for another 15 minutes,” he responded, his voice tinged with laughter.

Oh girl, you really are making this worse for yourself...

“But seriously,” Joe continued, his eyes softening with concern, “how are you feeling?” 

I paused, allowing the question to sink in. “Honestly, I feel like I’m floating. Like one minute, I’m winning the state championship, then I'm graduating, and the next, I'm heading to the World Series,” I replied, my voice dreamy, revealing just how surreal everything felt.

Glancing back at the screen, I noticed Joe was already watching me with a gentle smile, a subtle warmth radiating from his expression. “What?” I asked, intrigued by his gaze.

He shook his head, an affectionate grin still plastered on his face. “Nothing, just so proud of you.”

A wave of warmth surged through me at his words, a mixture of gratitude and inspiration flooding my heart. 

“Proud of you too,” I replied softly, hope bubbling within me, feeling the sincerity of our connection.

Joe and I lingered in conversation for a little while longer, but soon he had to prepare for his game, and I needed to head to the airport to pick up my mom. 

“So, how's everyone back home?” I asked, watching her as she settled at the counter, carefully unpacking the fragrant takeout we had picked up on our way home. 

“They're all good! Everyone sends their love. They really missed you at the family reunion,” she replied, handing me a steaming box of food, the familiar scents wrapping around me like a warm hug.

A bittersweet smile crossed my face as I glanced down at the container. “I miss them too... I really wish I could have been there,” I said softly, my heart aching with the weight of absence.

Not being able to attend this family reunion hit hard, especially since it was the first one without my grandmother. She and I had shared an unbreakable bond, a connection that felt like we were thick as thieves. She embodied strength and grace, a truly phenomenal woman. 

I could vividly recall the day I left for LSU. As I prepared to embark on that new chapter, she pulled me close and whispered, “Sierra, promise me three things: first, you won't ever give up; second, you won’t turn gay—(no shade to the LGBTQIA+ community, of course); and third, you’ll keep God in your life.” Her words echoed in my mind, laced with love and wisdom that I would carry with me always.

And to this day, I have honored those promises, every single one of them.

My mom, sensing the shift in my mood as I sat quietly, quickly diverted the conversation. “Do you still keep in touch with your old teammates?” she asked with an encouraging smile.

I nodded, taking a bite of my food, the flavors swirling in my mouth. “Yeah, I still talk to them,” I replied, my voice slightly muffled as I popped another piece of chicken in. “Most of them ended up joining the women’s softball league down in New Orleans.”

Her smile broadened a twinkle of nostalgia in her eyes. “That’s great! What about that one... Ja’marr? And what was his other friend’s name?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity lacing her tone.

“Joe and Justin, yeah, I still keep in touch with them,” I said, taken aback by her sharp memory. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“How could I forget? Every time I called you, if you weren’t at practice, you were right next to one of them,” she chuckled, her laughter dancing around the kitchen. “They’re in the NFL now, right?”

Nodding again, I replied with a hint of pride, “Yep, Joe and Ja’marr play for the Bengals, and Justin plays for the Vikings.”

A knowing smile crept onto her face. “You and Joe used to date, didn’t you?”

In a moment of shock, I nearly choked on my food, my hand instinctively rising to cover my mouth. Wow, Mom did not hold back. “No!” I exclaimed, even though I was secretly counting down to a date with him in a couple of weeks—a detail I wasn’t quite ready to share.

“Damn, you didn’t have to say it like that,” she retorted, unfazed. “Personally, I always thought you two would look good together,” she shrugged, a playful smirk gracing her lips.

Yeah, I thought the same thing too.

Shaking my head, I pushed my plate away slightly. “Joe had a girlfriend in college, but nobody liked her,” I said, placing my fork in the sink. It was true—she had an attitude that rubbed everyone the wrong way.

“Well, what about now?” Mom pressed, rising from her seat and echoing the motion of dropping her fork into the sink. This topic was one I wished to avoid.

“What do you mean, ‘what about now’?” I asked, genuinely curious about where she was headed with this line of questioning.

“You and Joe,” she replied, her tone steady, probing.

Now I was caught between two difficult choices: to tell her the truth about our upcoming date or to fabricate a lie. I chose the latter, hoping my words would be convincing enough.

“Ma, with baseball taking over my entire summer, I barely have time to think about a relationship,” I said, trying to sound as persuasive as possible.

When our eyes met, I could see faint doubt flickering in hers, but thankfully, it was just enough to convince her to drop the subject—at least for the moment…

Mom and I lingered in the cozy living room, exchanging thoughts and laughter well into the night. The warmth of our conversation wrapped around us like a familiar blanket until she finally declared it was time for bed. I, however, wasn’t ready to call it a night just yet. I settled back onto the couch, my iPad resting comfortably on my lap, as the flickering images of the Bengals game illuminated the dim room.

Just as I glanced up from my notes, I caught a snapshot of the action on the screen—Joe had just released a perfect spiral, connecting with Ja’Marr for a touchdown. I couldn’t help but let out a silent cheer, my heart swelling with pride, before I redirected my focus back to my film study.

Yet, the words of our earlier conversation lingered in my mind, a gentle echo that tugged at my thoughts. 

“Ma, with baseball taking over my entire summer, I barely have time to think about a relationship.” 

Reflecting on that moment now stirred a mixture of hope and doubt within me. Could Joe and I really make something work, despite my whirlwind schedule? I had roughly 90 days of freedom—if I was lucky. That didn’t factor in spring training, and with the season flying by, it wouldn’t be long before Opening Day arrived, leaving me smothered in responsibilities once again.

Ninety days didn’t seem like enough time to truly build a relationship, or did it? 

As I returned my gaze to the screen, I noticed Joe on the sidelines, keenly watching the defensive formations as they prepared to sack Denver’s quarterback. It struck me just how captivating he was, even in moments when he wasn’t actively playing. His sharp jawline was accentuated by the stadium lights, lending an almost chiseled appearance. Those brilliant blue eyes seemed to hold entire galaxies, capable of drawing me in for eternity. And that stubborn curl, always slipping loose despite his attempts to tame it, only added to his charm.

But beyond mere looks, Joe was the kind of person I had always dreamed of being with. He would genuinely listen to my rants about everything from the latest baseball trade rumors to my frustrations about life, never once dismissing my feelings. After each tough loss, his comforting messages would buzz in, encouraging me to keep my spirits high. We shared a unique bond—one that thrived on exchanges of SpongeBob memes that could always elicit a laugh.

In simple terms, Joe was my ideal guy. 

And right now? He was undeniably giving me butterflies.

As the halftime whistle blew, an idea sparked in my mind—a spark that I wasn't entirely sure would ignite into anything meaningful. With a mix of excitement and apprehension, I reached for my phone, my fingers hovering over the screen as I pulled up my messages and selected Joe’s name.

Me: Playing good, baby. Keep the pressure on them.

After sending the message, I set my phone down, fully aware that he was likely immersed in his own game mindset, focusing on the second half.

Ding.

Joe Burr 🧡: Thanks, baby. 

My heart fluttered at his response, a small victory in our playful back-and-forth that felt charged with promise.

@hoodharlow @enretrogue