#average men are so hot

[tswwwit]

Bless that trophy wife anon because they’re right. There’s no way mindscape citizens see whatever dipper does in the real world as a real career and he has no job in bill’s realm either, whether he likes it or not he’s entwined with bill’s world and his people and he can’t blame them for thinking his job is being bill’s husband.

That’s what pisses him off, the fact that they’re right.

No matter how Dipper protests that yes, he DOES have a job, the beings in the Fearamid don't believe it's 'real', or worse - humor him, then give Knowing Looks to the other demons in the room.

Meanwhile, Bill knows it's real - but sometimes he plays along like it isn't just to piss Dipper off.

[penisbutterjellytime]

Do you understand

[neerons]

Yet another example of some of the most beautiful words you could ever get 😭

Squirrel on Memory Lane Challenge (VIP Revenge & Challenge event)

[maulfucker]

Yeah yeah jedi Maul au we've all seen him. But what about senator Maul au. Representing Dathomir, a neutral world like Mandalore that is still somewhat hostile to outsiders. Wearing fancy clothes that show a bit too much skin for the cold climate of Coruscant. Falling in hate at first sight with Padmé, the only other senator who brings a gun to the senate floor "just in case". The two of them having a weird rivalry because Maul doesn't trust the Jedi and is neutral in a lot of subjects that Padmé is a vocal defender of.

[spidey-bie]

Why can't I be normal about men?

^person who thought about calling Hobie cute for too long and is now in shambles.

[jademint2581]

lmao i wanted to edit gashu to have shiny eyes and a smile but it's barely noticeable

what the heeelllll i love this gorgeous old man

[margindoodles2407]

hi Margin! idk if you're still doing those 3-sentence fics, but in case you are, here's a prompt suggestion: "dawn"

bonus points if it's HW zelink? <3

Ohohohohohohohoho YES >:)

(full disclosure this was sitting in my inbox for weeks because i couldn't figure out what to write but i did it today in math class so here you go)

He was stern, and cold, and dispassionate; a statue, they called him, beautiful and unfeeling and as pristinely white as marble, resistant to the colors of love and laughter- or at least, that's what they said.

She was beautiful too, but not in his opaque, colorless way- if he was a marble statue, she was a stained-glass window, full of light and warmth and color, and her soul was the dawn that shone through and cast her illuminating hues on the grey congregation of the soldiers around her.

And when he was with her- when the dawn of her smile graced the Captain, not grey and battered like his men but pristinely alabaster- he absorbed her color; the white and colorless turned brilliant shades of gold and green and blue, and the few blessed to witness this transfiguration swore that, for a moment, she could make their Captain look almost human.

[perilegs]

i pass pretty much all the time but hm. ive heard interesting stuff from drunk ppl i know who dont know im trans

[marklikely]

i always think its so telling when those misogyny influencer dudes say that women have life easier than men & the reasoning is always bc they can get dates and likes on instagram or whatever. bc it reveals that they never even for a second think about women who arent conventionally attractive...

[daisyachain]

This is generalization but it does make me feel like I’m losing my mind. Anglo-American romance novels aimed at women—‘what if you, a normal person, were forced into proximity with the smuggest most self-satisfied person who physically invades your space, insults you, acts like an attention whore at best, borderline sexually assaults you, isn’t that great’ and then you go to romance manga aimed at young women—‘what if you, a normal person, we’re forced into proximity with a two faced bitch who tries to control your every move and also refuses to speak or engage with you unless it’s to isolate you from your peers or get mad at you for talking to another living person’

[maaarine]

Why are British teenage girls so unhappy? Here’s the answer (Caitlin Moran, The Times, Sep 13 2024)

"The report, by the Children’s Society, found that British 15-year-old girls are the most unhappy in Europe.

British girls aged 10-15 are “significantly less happy” with their life, appearance, family and school than the average boy — and their happiness is still declining.

Boys’ life satisfaction, meanwhile, remains broadly stable. (…)

But I still didn’t have an “aha!” moment about why this so disproportionately affects girls until… I talked to some teenage girls.

It was at a party, and I went to vape with them on the patio. Because I take my nicotine like children do.

“Duh — it’s the boys,” one said when I brought it up, as all the others agreed.

“The boys?” I asked.

My last book, What About Men?, had been all about how much boys struggle these days: their loneliness; their suicide rates. I’d spent the past year feeling very sympathetic towards boys.

“Yeah, well, who do you think they’re taking out their unhappiness on? It’s us,” another girl said.

“One boy at school used to draw a picture every day of how ugly I was,” a third girl said. “Every day for two years.”

“They’ve all got ‘Rate The Girls’ polls on their WhatsApps,” the first said. “They mark you down for weight gain, haircuts, what you say.”

“But then, if you’re hot, it’s just as bad, in a different way, because they’ll be talking about how they want to f*** you.”

The girls discussed coping techniques. Bad news: none of them worked.

“The only way you can stop them is if you become ‘one of the boys’ and hang out with them. But then,” the second girl said with a sigh, “all the other girls call you a slut. Because you’ve gone over to the boys’ side.”

“Surely it’s not all the boys?” I said. “There must be some nice boys?”

“Oh, yeah,” one girl said. “But they keep their heads down. Because… well, look.”

She showed me the Instagram account of her friend. Under every picture she posted of herself — smiling in a new dress; with her dog — dozens of anonymous accounts had replied with the most rank abuse.

“Fat.” “Slut.” “You gonna try and kill yourself again, for attention?”

“They’re all boys from her school,” she said. “And look, this one boy tried to defend her.”

I saw a series of messages from a brave teenage boy, posting things like, “You’re all big men, leaving these replies under anonymous accounts.”

As I could see, this boy immediately became a target too. Mainly accusations that he was “white knighting” this girl: “You wanna f*** her, bro?”

“So,” I asked, “you don’t think it’s social media pressure to be beautiful, or the economy, that’s making girls so sad?”

“Well, yeah, them too,” the first girl said. “But, Monday-Friday, 9-3, I’m not on social media. I’m not… in the economy. I’m just with these boys. And no one talks about how horrible they are.”

I thought about another recent report, showing a 30 per cent ideological gap between Gen Z men, who are increasingly conservative, and Gen Z women, who are increasingly progressive.

I thought about Andrew Tate, who has nine million mostly young male followers — and faces human trafficking charges, which he denies.

And I thought: maybe these girls are on to something. Maybe more people need to vape with teenage girls and ask them for the school gossip."

[proximacentaurib]

WHY ARE FOUR OUT OF THE FIVE PEOPLE WHO MADE IT THROUGH TO THE FINAL "BEST DRESSED" POLL JUST CONVENTIONALLY ATTRACTIVE POPULAR STRAIGHT MEN WHO DRESS SLIGHTLY ABOVE AVERAGE IN THE SENSE THAT THEY SHOWER REGULARLY AND WEAR TRENDY BAGGY T-SHIRTS. I SWEAR TO GOD THIS WHOLE AWARD CEREMONY IS RIGGED. AND ALL OF THE COUPLES NOMINATED FOR "BEST COUPLE" ARE M/F?????????? THEY HATE QUEER PEOPLE FOR REAL

[eileennatural]

people hate on devin grayson non-stop do they even realize she is the only nightwing writer who ever would have given you canon bisexual dick grayson

[rottiens]

BAD DECISIONS┊RYOMEN SUKUNA

wc. ౨ৎ⋆˚ 1.9K

tags. ౨ৎ⋆˚ 18+, modern au, all characters are adults (21+), marking and hickeys, enemies to ?, bully sukuna, none of your friends like him but he is around because he is yuuji's older brother, fem reader, dirty talk, praising (atta girl), fingering.

In late September, a few weeks away from embracing autumn, anyone would think that the weather is starting to cool down, that the unbearable sun is lowering its intensity for the poor mortals who walk under it like ants fleeing from a child with a magnifying glass, but in Yuuji's apartment it's much worse. The air conditioner died months ago and none of the brothers have bothered to fix it, making it a challenge every time the group of friends gathers at the Itadori's apartment not to die from a heat wave.

At least for you, who have been accused of being more sensitive to heat than any other average person.

Too hot to be outside on the balcony (exposed to the hot air, to Maki's cigarette smoke), too hot to be all inside the apartment (piled up like sardines on the couch).

So all your friends are very unevenly distributed. About five are inside the apartment watching the soccer game while the rest are outside trying to cool off every time the warm air blows.

You are uneasy, this is the third time Nobara has commented on it. An hour ago she stopped your foot tapping against the ground with a gentle kick from the sole of her shoe and now she comes back and does it a second time.

"Stop it," she says with a frown, a few shades more annoyed due to the heat. Then she laughs softly downplaying her apparent anger. "What's wrong?" she asks softly, examining you.

Nothing, you lie the first time she asks. And you lie to her again now. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

You hide half your face in the glass to take a long drink of the now warm soda that is beginning to taste salty. Raising your head, you can't escape in time this time, Sukuna's eyes look you up and down from across the floor. He wears the same look as a wild animal, his hair disheveled from the heat, gray pants and compressed black t-shirt tell you he's barely home from the gym. You take another quick drink that hurts your dry throat.

Sukuna shakes his head to the side indicating for you to follow him, then hides down the hallway to continue his route.

Your fingers squeeze the glass full of water droplets that slip through your hands from time to time. You feel Nobara's gaze piercing your temples, so you decide to look at her.

Your mouth opens, but nothing comes out of it. So you try again.

"I'm going to use the bathroom. It's too hot," you lie (again) with wrinkles in your forehead, then take an unsure step forward to move away from the balcony but her fingers squeeze your forearm gently stopping you from your escape.

"Is it Sukuna again? Is he bothering you?"

Fuck. Guilt shot through your chest, your teeth were sinking into your lip.

"I- no. I told him not to bother me, I'm not interested in the same annoying games from when we were six."

You sound convincing, enough for Nobara to let you go shaking her head in approval, along with a look that assures she's willing to fight anyone for you.

You slip out of her hand and behind the couch where the group of men are talking and yelling and chewing nachos too loud for any normal chewer.

Your heart beats fast, guilt, adrenaline and excitement is a dangerous cocktail that pushes you to search for Sukuna through the narrow corridor, lurking in the corners of the half-open doors. You were going through the bathroom when an unexpected force pulls your body inside, the force, now materialized as Sukuna, smashes you against the door without gentleness.

"Fuck you," you complain at the impact, wrinkling your nose.

"I might," Sukuna retorts, dark eyes set on your lips.

You clear your throat and fix your back, dry your hands on the denim of your shorts and force yourself to look him in the eye.

"This has to stop."

"What?" Sukuna asks, dangerously close to your mouth. His hands are around your head over the door preventing any escape and his cologne mixed with sweat numbs your senses.

"This," you point a finger at each other's bodies, between the little space between you two. "This! You, flirting with me..."

"Brat."

"Stop."

"We've done more than flirt."

He is smiling again, that smile that signals danger. That smile that shows his sharp fangs that could cut through the darkness. You clear your thoughts with a breath of air from his scent.

"It was just a kiss," you defend yourself with a hint of indignation, flashes of the scene of you on the stairs of Megumi's house detonating in your head.

"You gave me a handjob."

"Jesus."

Unfortunately, you did. You squeeze your eyes shut pushing out the memories of that bad decision along with a throbbing headache that threatens in your temples.

"Sukuna..."

He pulls your chin with two fingers, the action makes you snap your eyes open focused on his gaze and long lashes, your skin burning under his touch. He keeps looking at your mouth.

"I like it when you say my name," he confesses.

"Sukuna..." you can't help but call him back.

"Yeah, just like that."

Sukuna traces the line of your jaw with his soft lips, the shadow of a beard tickles your skin, his nose stumbles against your flesh as he creeps up to your ear painfully slow.

"I thought I'd return the favor," he murmurs, patting your pussy covered by the thick fabric of your shorts and you wonder if even through all the fabric he can feel the heat emanating from your core.

"You don't have to..." you stutter.

"You just keep calling my name."

Expert fingers remove the button and undo the zipper without wasting time, then push your panties aside and what he stumbles over makes him laugh unfunnily at the line of your throat.

"All this for me?" You try to stop him, have an excuse with which to defend yourself when you tell your version of events to your friend and push his hand away while at the same time moving your hips towards him. "This pussy is so wet just for me, for your bully? That's what you call me, isn't it?" he laughs again, the vibrations tangling in the back of your ear and in the wet strands of your hair. You swallow and think about Nobara, what she will say, how guilty you feel and the pain in your temples that is starting to become more noticeable.

Sukuna carefully slides a long finger between your folds making a mess of your pussy juices. He flicks your clit a little in tight circles, you spread your legs wider to give him permission.

Your head hits the door with a soft sound exposing your throat to him, the heat of Sukuna's body drowns you, increases the heat of the room in the form of steam and you feel you can't breathe as he keeps kissing, biting your neck, the piercing ball on his tongue is cold and slippery. One finger pushes inside your slippery pussy easily and a second follows.

"No marking," you remind him, gasping as he adjusts his wrist to go deeper and increase the pace.

Sukuna's kisses on your neck distract you, his tousled hair tickles you. His open mouth leaves kisses on the salty skin of your throat and he sucks and licks and bites at it in a way that makes you wish he made his mouth be somewhere else on your body.

You gasp weakly, his fingers moving in a different way inside you, the squelch of him fucking you hard against the bathroom door bouncing between the tiles and into your skull, all you can hear is his chuckle and how wet you are. Your body slips through the door but a hand on your waist forces you to stand closer to his body and it is only then that you realize how hard he is against your thigh.

Your gazes connect and he gives you that lopsided smirk. "There you go, attagirl."

You squeeze around his fingers, your arousal spilling out around them. You're panting like a dog, your mouth open and Sukuna has to force himself not to bend over and suck your tongue.

Suddenly someone tries to open the door, jiggling the doorknob and knocking desperately. "Hey!" Nobara. Your eyes widen, you try to stop Sukuna but his fingers keep abusing your poor pussy, maltiling a spot inside you.

"You're going to cum," Sukuna murmurs into your temples. "Bite me if you have to."

No! you move your lips without getting the word out, alarmed.

"You will. You are going to cum so hard on my fingers while you fantasize that it's my cock making you feel good," he whispers in your ear, biting it, the ball on his tongue rolling all over the lobe of your ear.

"Hey, baby? Are you there?" Nobara insists.

You can't. You want to run away from there, you want to resist it.

"What do you want, brat?" Sukuna raises his tone of voice.

Sukuna's body embraces you, he is everywhere, the girth of his cock presses against you and you can't help but remember that day. How wet he was from his precum, from your spit, you don't want to think about how big it was, how thick and how good it would feel stretching you.

"Open the door, Sukuna. If you have her there with you..."

You think you might cum with just the tip throbbing inside you, you've seen it before: it's thick and turns red just before he cum. Your fangs sink into his skin marking him, cumming silently as you think about how it would feel to finally have him sinking into you.

"I'm taking a fucking shower, if you want to see my dick just say so."

"You're disgusting." And you are more so. This can't happen again.

As soon as Nobara moves away from the door you push him off your body to go wash your face, the water cools your cheeks and neck but does nothing for your clouded thoughts.

"You..." You look at him, but he's licking his fingers, his pierced tongue licks them up and down and your eyes without permission go to his hard cock where there are now little wet spots. "I hate you."

You are ready to leave but Sukuna wraps his hand around your wrist and pulls you close to his body.

"You can hate me all you want but that pussy of yours….” he smiles.

"Shut up."

You don't know how much more you could take of his dirty mouth without your face exploding with heat, you pull your arm and manage to escape his grip. Looking at him one last time before you open the door.

"Not even a kiss goodbye?"

"Ugh!"

You slam the door shut, trotting into the kitchen where you open the fridge and take out a bottle of water, which you immediately bring to your dry mouth. As you close the door, as if it were a ghost Nobara is waiting for you on the other side with arms crossed, making you choke on the water and immediately cough.

"Where were you?" She asks with a judging look examining you up and down.

"I was... looking for a charger."

"You've got to be fucking with me."

"What?"

"The hickey on your neck, smartass." Fuck! "You could at least pretend. Your fucking zipper is open, really, Sukuna?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

[zepskies]

Maybe More Than Enough

Pairing: Dean Winchester x F. Reader

Summary: You’ve been a friend and ally to the Winchester brothers for years, but you and Dean break new ground while on a stakeout to catch a witch.

AN: Here’s another entry for @jacklesversebingo! It’s also based on a request from one of my lovely Patreon members: @lacilou. 💜

Prompt: Window—Letter Opener—Binoculars

Request: I'd love to read about Dean and the reader who's his age or even a little older.

Song Inspo: “Over the Hills and Far Away” by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 2.9K

Tags/Warnings: A bit of angst, bit of hurt/comfort, bit of spice.~

💜 Jacklesverse Bingo Masterlist

Discreetly from the passenger side of the car, you peered through the binoculars again. Your target was in view through the unusual circular window: an average looking white man in his fifties, peeling a tangerine from the comfort of his kitchen.

According to his driver’s license, his name was Martin Reynolds. Sam was investigating the sudden death of his wife, Laura, and the wives of two other men in the small town of Whitebury, Mississippi. Laura was the first victim, so you and Dean were watching Martin for any suspicious activity.

Your companion shifted in his seat. You could hear the give of the well-worn leather against denim. The Impala wasn’t exactly inconspicuous for a stakeout, but he refused to be trapped in your “tiny-ass” Toyota Camry all afternoon. You preferred the term compact.

“What’s our he-witch up to?” Dean asked.

Your lips twitched at a smile.

“We don’t know if he’s a witch,” you said, but you passed him the binoculars.

Dean’s mouth quirked to one side before he took a look. “Well, he probably isn’t a shifter.”

“What makes you say that?”

He gestured back at the window and gave you back the binoculars. You peered over and saw that Martin had half the tangerine in his mouth while he opened his mail with a letter opener. It flashed like silver in the afternoon light.

“If that is silver, it would rule out a lot of things,” you agreed, “but it still wouldn’t tell us why he killed his wife.”

Dean looked over as a white Porsche pulled into Martin’s driveway.

“Hmm, well, I’d say motive is comin’ in hot. Literally,” he said, watching intently when a young woman stepped out of the car. Her dress was as tight as the ponytail tied high on her head, a coil of blonde bouncing down her back.

You sighed, with a roll of your eyes. “Typical.”

You noticed the way Dean’s smirk wiped the boredom away from his eyes. It was annoyingly handsome, along with the neatly trimmed stubble across his cheeks, framing a strong jaw and the enticing bow of his lips. You had to resolve to ignore all of it, heaving a small sigh.

You wedged the binoculars between you both and toyed with the silver rings on your fingers—both a fashion statement and a safety precaution.

“Could be a demon deal,” you said. “Three men sporting Touch of Gray, three wives over 40.”

“Damn. That’s cold,” Dean shook his head, crossing his arms from the driver’s seat. Always from the driver’s seat. “That’d be pretty cut and dry though. Downright stereotypical.”

You gave him a smile. “Since when do you like it complicated?”

“Like it?” he scoffed. “What I like and what I get are on two different fucking hemispheres.”

You sensed bitterness there, underneath the dry remark. You looked away from the scene in the kitchen where Martin was pouring Barbie, his presumed girlfriend, a glass of white wine. Just like you thought, Dean’s brief good humor faded, falling into his resting state. It was a harder look than you were used to seeing on him over the years. His lighter, devil-may-care attitude in his younger days seemed to gain a little bit of edge every time you saw him next.

A few decades of bullshit, blood, and loss will do that to you.

But every time he called, you answered.

“You okay?” you asked. You tried to hide the depths of your concern, but maybe you just weren’t good enough. Dean glanced at you and forced his crunched brows to relax, as if he’d caught himself opening the hatch a little too much. Letting his true depths come to light a little too long.   

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good,” he replied.

Sure. Always good.

You met him with a long look, your head rolling onto your shoulder.

“Hey. You can be honest with me, you know,” you reminded him. “What, you think I’m gonna tell Sam all your secrets?”

Dean smiled a little, but he shook his head, remaining stubborn.

“Look, I’m fine. Just the usual bullshit,” he said. “Nothing you gotta be dragged into.”

You frowned. “What, aside from this hunt? Aside from the last ten years of bailing your ass out?”

That last part was more joking. The truth was, Sam and Dean had helped you just as often as you’d tried to help them.

Now, Dean just shook his head. The fact that he didn’t levy back a smartass response further let you know that something was off with him. 

You bumped his arm lightly over his jacket.

“Come on, tell me all about your man feelings,” you teased. It had its intended effect, bringing a reluctant smile to Dean’s lips. He shot you a look, and you couldn’t help but admire how the dimming sun caught in his eyes, that pale green.

“Whatever. Like I said, I’m good,” he said, deflecting further by turning up his music. Yet another Led Zeppelin song was playing, but at least this one was more mellow. The guitar riff filled the car at a moderate volume. You guys were still on a stakeout, after all.

You shook your head, despite your smile. “You sound like a grumpy old man.”

His brows popped up. “Old?”

You shrugged impishly.

“‘Cause if I’m not mistaken, you’ve got a bit more mileage than I do,” he retorted.

You laughed, shoving his shoulder.   

“Well, that’s just rude,” you said. “You’re not even a year behind me. Matter of fact, you’re just a few steps shy of Touch of Gray in there. I can even help you find your shade. I’m thinking, what, medium brown with a hint of silver fox? Could be very George Clooney.”     

The disgruntled look on Dean’s face had you dying.

“Now that’s just uncalled for,” he said, even though his lips were curving upward at the sound of your laughter. Without you knowing, he took in the infectious sound, and the way you pressed the back of your hand against his arm while you tried to get ahold of yourself. It was everything he’d ever liked about you.

Easy. That was what it was, being with you.

The hard part always came afterward, watching you leave.

Letting you leave.

“It’s just…I don’t know,” you said, biting into your lower lip. You smudged your lipstick there, a dark, juicy red. It was distracting enough that Dean almost missed what you said next.

“You seem weighed down.” Your eyes were more serious then, beautiful and warm in their honesty. “Every time I see you, it’s like you’ve got fifty more pounds on your shoulders.”

Dean didn’t have an answer for you, even as he held your gaze.

His cell phone ringing cut through the guitar melody slowly fading into the next song. Dean fished it out of his pocket and answered Sam’s call.

“Hey, what’cha got?”

Your hunch proved correct. Sam tracked down the demon that made soul-claiming deals with a handful of men from the same golf club. All of them bored of their wives, and all of them with too much money on their hands—enough that they refused to lose any of it in a messy divorce.

It was like the opposite of the First Wives Club, and you were sickened.

When you and Dean questioned Martin, he felt just guilty enough to spill his guts.

Sam managed to gank the demon on his own, which left you and Dean with a conundrum: what to do with the marked men who sold their souls. No matter how much justice you thought they deserved, their souls were still damned to Hell either way. As Dean pointed out, that would be price enough to pay.

You were sour about it, but you let Martin and the rest of his scheming bastard friends go…after leaving him with a well-placed knee to the nads. At the very least, he wouldn’t be making any more scheming bastards anytime soon.

Dean was still smirking when you two piled into the Impala. Sam was waiting to be picked up at the bar across town, where he’d found the demon.

“Shut up already,” you laughed.

Dean shook his head, still grinning as he put the car in Drive.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Your smile remained, but not for long as you stared out the window. You liked the evening time, where there was still light enough to see, but the world was winding down in shades of orange-gold and violet. The streetlamps were slowly coming on, lighting the way along the road.

The car pulled to a stop at the red light, there at a busy intersection.

“Hey.”

Dean’s voice, deep and a little tired, caught your attention.

“You okay over there?” he asked. He was side-eying you again, this time in concern. You could see it behind the usual gruffness.

“Yeah, I’m good,” you said. “Just makes me glad I never got married. Else I might’ve gotten shivved just so he could get out of paying alimony.”

Dean sucked his teeth. “Apparently it’s a bitch.”

You gave him a dry, withering look. He chuckled and briefly reached over to squeeze your arm.

“Hey, come on. That shit’s not happening to you,” he said. “He’d have to be dumb, deaf, and blind.”

You tilted your head at him, a small smile lighting up your face again. You couldn’t help the way your face warmed in a blush, especially with the way he was looking at you, all smirky and charming and unequivocally Dean. ��

“Green light,” you reminded him.

He returned his attention to the road. His right hand was molded onto the steering wheel casually. His left rested on his thigh, while his fingers bounced to the beat of a song off his second favorite Zeppelin album. And you knew that, because he’d been playing it on repeat all day.

Many have I loved, and many times been bitten. Many times I've gazed along the open road…

You watched his profile, for a moment spellbound. The sky dimmed over his shoulder, casting him in both light and shadow, gold and dark.

“Have you ever…” You didn’t even know where you were going with this, but you’d already opened your mouth, and Dean was already glancing your way, with half his gaze on the road ahead.

“You ever gotten close to having something real? Someone who's not gonna shiv you when you’re fifty,” you said.

A laugh caught in his throat. “Hell, I never thought I’d see my forties, but here we are. Apparently I’m old.”

He shot you a wry look. You smiled.

“That’s one hell of a way to avoid the question,” you said.

Dean shook his head, this time with a sigh under his breath. For a second, you didn’t think he would answer you. You almost didn’t blame him.

The music filled the silence in between.

Mellow is the man who knows what he's been missing. Many, many men can't see the open road…

“Once,” Dean admitted. “I thought I had it, but uh…didn’t take.”

“Was she a hunter?” you asked.

Dean shook his head, his eyes staying on what lied ahead.

“Just wasn’t my life,” he said. “Couldn’t keep dragging her into mine.”

There was a lot there, buried deep. You couldn’t even begin to find a shovel, so you let it be. Though you should’ve predicted the way he turned it back on you.

“And you?” he said, brows raised. “Never had a douchebag in a sport coat, playing Caddyshack at the club every weekend?” 

You shook your head as you laughed. If nothing else, Dean could paint a picture.

“Definitely fucking not.” You rested your chin in your palm, your elbow finding purchase above the door handle. “You know me. I’m either too much or not enough.”

You didn’t notice it then, but Dean looked over at you with a frown tugging at his lips. He didn’t like the melancholy in your voice, or the way you turned to look out the window, like you were trying to hide from him.

Instead of putting voice to any of the thoughts rolling through his head, he kept driving.

The Impala rumbled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the bar. You were ready to meet Sam for a couple of beers inside. You grabbed your bag resting on the floor between your feet, but Dean’s stayed your hand, his own wrapping warmly around your arm.

You looked over at him with blinking, expectant eyes. He met you with sincerity.

“Anybody who says you ain’t enough, doesn’t know you,” he said. And then, his smile was back, quirking up at the corner. “At least, not like I do.”

Slowly, you smiled back. Your blush fairly radiated down your neck as well as your face, but you crossed your arms.

“So I’m too much. Is that what you’re saying?” you said.

He chuckled. “I plead the Fifth on that one.”

You fell into a fit of laughter along with him, and you both climbed out of the car feeling a little bit lighter. The blaring red neon sign above the bar blinded you for a moment. You turned to see Dean fiddling with his keys, trying to pick out the right one to lock up the car.

Some deep-seated feeling compelled you to go to him. You made your way around the hood and stopped just behind him. You called his name softly.

Dean turned to look at you over his shoulder. He was surprised to find you there so close. It led him to turn around all the way.

You didn’t give him, or even yourself time to think.

You grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled yourself up to press your lips to his. It was more or less a gentle kiss. Just a sweet, slow meeting of lips. You pulled away just as slowly, the heels of your boots lowering back down to the ground.

Dean blinked his eyes open. When he came back to himself, he looked down at you in surprise and with a hint of a smile. He had the imprint of your lipstick smudged across his plush mouth.

“What was that for?” he asked.

You smoothed your hands over his jacket. It was a bit too hard to meet his eyes, so yours landed somewhere around his chest. It was also too hard to say what you really wanted to say, so you settled on half of the truth.

“A thank you, I guess,” you said. “And maybe the next time I see you, you’ll have a little less weight on your shoulders.”

His calloused hand cupped your cheek, and he earned your gaze, blinking up at him through your lashes. You couldn’t name everything you saw in his eyes, but it was more than just surprise or lust. In fact, he seemed to be debating with himself, fighting something deep inside.

You saw the exact moment he made his decision.

“Maybe we should make it count then,” he said, his thumb brushing over your lower lip.

You didn’t even trust your voice, but your gaze drifted down from his eyes, to his mouth. Your shallow nod in agreement was like releasing him from his chains.

Dean framed your face with both hands and drew you into his kiss, like he was breathing life into you. You certainly felt alive.

You clung to the back of his shirt, to his arms, while he gathered you flush against his chest. His strong hands glided their way down the small of your back, eliciting tingles down your spine. All the while, he drew you in deeper and deeper with each new sensuous glide of his lips against yours.

You yelped in surprise when he turned with you in his arms, just to press you into the side of his car. Dean pulled open the door to the backseat, and you climbed in willingly. He followed after you, at the same time you dragged him over by the front of his shirt. Soon his jacket was wrenched off his shoulders along with yours, both tossed somewhere in the front seats along with his shirt.

While you explored the new expanse of tanned skin, roaming your hands over his strong, broad shoulders and dipping down his back, his lips had fastened to your neck, teasing and grazing with his teeth along your pulse point.

You were already moaning and panting in his ear, your body arching to meet his as you slung a leg across his lap. He grabbed onto your thigh and squeezed, pulling you even tighter against him.

Still, you couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

“Aren’t we a little old to be making out in the backseat?” you said.

“You can be a little old for a lotta things, sweetheart,” said Dean, his voice gravel and deep as sin. “But this ain’t one of ‘em.” 

AN: Some spicy flangst there for ya! It was honestly refreshing to write some Dean after working on so much Soldier Boy. I love that guy, but he gives me stress sometimes. 😂 Trying to cure Dean's angst is a fun break! 💜

Read the Sequel:

Bonus shot! Resless Nights:

Summary: After a tryst you instigated in the backseat of his Baby, you and Dean have started something new. He’s just not sure that you’re as “all in” as you claimed to be.

▶️ Keep Reading: Restless Nights

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[hannieehaee]

BED CHEM (teaser)

18+ / mdi

summary: when chan's friends decided to start a betting pool on how long it'd take him to lose his virginity at the start of college, none of them expected him to remain a virgin all the way to senior year. desperate to prove them wrong, chan goes to his best friend in hopes you'll take him out of his misery (and maybe fall for him in the process) OR when chan uses a stupid bet as an excuse to get his pretty bestie in his bed.

content: virgin!chan, f2l!chan, sub!chan, mutual pining, college au, chan is characterized as a fucking loser but what else is new, some will they wont they, the rest of svt bully chan, afab reader, smut, dry humping, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, etc.

(^ no actual content warnings in the teaser)

wc: 1.1k (teaser); 11k (full fic)

RELEASE DATE: november 18th

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a/n: yet another loser!svt fic on the way. sorry<3

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"How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not a virgin!"

— lied Chan for the nth time.

"It's been years and it's still not believable. Plus, Vernon told us you were whining about it at Soonie's party last Friday," responded Jeonghan nonchalantly.

"Vernon!", Chan turned to him, betrayal in his eyes.

His whines were only met with chuckles from all the other men surrounding him, most of which were nursing some different variant of an alcoholic beverage as they lounged around uselessly.

Most weekends were spent like this.

Chan had the misfortune of being the youngest in his large thirteen member friend group, one which was also well known throughout school due to a few of his friends' reputations. Chan, however, did not live up to that idea.

Unlike all his other friends, — well known to be either heartthrobs, or at least, you know, not virgins — Chan found himself as an outlier.

On the outside, he may have easily emulated that same popular and charismatic persona all his friends held and lived by, but he truly had no idea what he was doing. Sure, he knew himself to be likable and attractive (at least he liked to think so), but his sexual prowess was still very much below average (is anything lower than zero?).

Luckily for him, this was not known by anyone outside of his friend group. To everyone else, Chan was as pursued as his older friends such as Mingyu and Wonwoo, except it was all a lie.

Hell, even you, being his best friend since middle school, were blissfully unaware of his virginal state. And to be quite honest, this was something he wanted to keep that way.

You see, Chan had hopes of airing out his not-so-discreet crush on you one day ('maybe not today, but someday!', he'd tell himself). And the knowledge of him being a loser virgin would probably not help matters when that day came.

His virginity was such a hot topic among his friends that a running bet had tormented him since his first weekend at university. With all his friends being merely one year older, he was the victim of constant teasing as they watched him crash and burn any time a girl showed interest in him, only for him to psyche himself out of actually getting down to anything.

His constant failures only prompted more teasing throughout the years, especially in the form of Jeonghan and Seungkwan berating him about losing his virginity and confessing his pathetic crush on you. Sometimes Dokyeom and Mingyu would join in, insisting he could kill two birds with one stone if he'd only play his cards right.

The mere thought never failed to make Chan blush. To think of you in that context always had a physical effect on him. His palms would become clammy, his face would redden, and sadly, his hardness would make an appearance.

But he'd be lying if he hadn't wanted to will the thought into existence.

The two of you never really spoke about such things, but he was still painfully aware of how opposite of him you were in that aspect. It was no secret to him that your virginity was long gone. To his knowledge, you'd spent your freshman and sophomore years basking in all the attention you received, landing in a few beds in the process. You had this charisma that Chan envied (and was simultaneously extremely attracted to). In your junior year, however, you'd calmed down a bit, spending your Fridays nights cuddled up with Chan in the corner of one of his friends' frat parties rather than out on your own.

"Okay, so are you giving up? You're losing the bet?," Jeonghan piled on, calling Chan's attention away from his internal monologue.

"Giving up on what! I never participated on that bet. You guys came up with it to bully me!," he responded, exasperated.

Joshua rounded the couch to take a seat on the arm of it, patting Chan's shoulder condescendingly as he sipped at his beer with a chuckle.

"We could set you up with someone, you know?", he suggested, knowing Chan would deny his suggestion but trying anyways.

"N-no. I don't want someone to fuck me out of pity," Chan grumbled.

"And that'd be cheating. We're not supposed to help him," added Vernon.

"You guys made up rules?!"

"Shh. The adults are talking," tsk'd Seungkwan.

"You're still a junior. You have time to lose it before graduating still," aided Wonwoo from his side of the room.

"We decided against that. It has to be before we graduate or else it doesn't count," said one of the many seniors in the room.

"Okay, maybe queue me in on the rules if I'm going to be the main character of this bet, guys," grumbled Chan, giving up.

"That's still four months til graduation, Channie. C'mon, it'll be good for you. Maybe you can find a girlfriend and then you won't be all alone after we graduate."

"Yeah, man. Why do you have no friends your own age?" poked Mingyu, chuckling along with the rest of the seniors currently picking at a defeated Chan.

"It looks like I have no friends at all."

Vernon laughed, getting up to sit next to a slumped-back Chan, completely defeated on the couch. He patted his back, though unlike Joshua, he seemed to do it in solidarity.

"Listen, man. Just ask Y/N out. She likes you. We all see it. Just be a man and ask her out. We've told you before — two birds, one stone," encouraged Vernon.

Chan sat back up at the mention of your name, now having you back in his mind.

Should he?

Should he throw all caution to the wind and go on a limb? He'd sensed some more-than-friends vibes from you before, but he'd never been sure enough to actually try and go after you.

Annoyed and confused, Chan stood up with a huff, heading for the door before turning around to grumble at his friends.

"You all suck!," he began his tipsy rant, "I'm going to go out there and prove you all wrong. I'm going to lose my virginity ten times harder than any of you ever did," he declared, his intoxicated brain not realizing he wasn't making much sense, "And then you'll all owe me that stupid betting pool. You'll see," he went to point at Jeonghan, "Specially you!"

Jeonghan gaped at him in amusement, which only provoked further laughter from all the drunk men who had already been laughing at a pent-up Chan. Chan made his exit with this last statement, annoyed enough to disavow his friends for the rest of the night.

Still tipsy and with frustration charging through his veins, Chan made his decision. He knew his next destination for the night and marched there decisively.

...

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