#caine smut
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𝐶𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑠𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑠 ~𝑁𝑆𝐹𝑊 𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑆𝐼𝑂𝑁~
tw: fingering, use of a vibrator
he..kinda knew you've been a little anxious than usual lately so one day..
you were waiting for yet another adventure to end and once it did, you dashed to your room and look for your only outlet of stress..but it was gone. You were now silently panicking mumbling, "Oh no,no,no. What'd I do Caine? Was it because I didn't put all my effort into it? I promise I wi-"
"Looking for this my dear?"
You snapped your head around to the voice seeing no other than Caine holding your precious vibe, his fingers fidgeting with the ball-like tip. How the fuck did he get in your room? No, no time for questions, you wanted the relief now, the image of the set of dentures working his fingers inside of you actually sounds great too. After all, those hands did conjure up that toy..
"C-Caine, I need that, i've been really-" "overworked? I can see that. You usually would come and talk to me but im guessing it was for this contraption i conjured up for you." Caine explains still playing with the device. Not a surprise that he was this observant plus you thought that maybe he made it because he knew you liked him when you first entered the circus idk
caine's dual toned eyes scanned the room and since everyone has basically gone to their own quarters to do whatever, a discreet question popped into his head.
"Perhaps you would like me to be your stress reliever?" 👉👈 (he would do this as he asks the question) "Ah! Sh!t..yes." you winced as said question sent your face ablaze and an ache in your loins causing a sharp pain in between your legs. The ringleader approaches you as he puts the vibe down on your nightstand.
He scoops you up in his arms and in an instant pins you down to the mattress by your wrists as the ringleader gave you light literal love bites across your shoulders up to the nape of your neck, his hands slowly let go of your wrists as they languidly traveled down from your chest, shaping down your waist until they stop at the center of your thighs, rubbing your clit through your panties.
You couldn't lie though, Caine's hands are godly touching every crevice of your human form, and since he chose to be a tease, it's made you be a little more louder than usual. "Oh god Caine~please I-" you whine, your back arching from the stimulation. This was the perfect embellishment that Caine fantasized for a long time, it's like he's almost dreaming.
His free hand snaps as your vibrator appeared in his grasp as he replaces his hand with the vibe on the highest mode against your now sensitive nub, rubbing it in a circle, causing you to yelp at the sudden sensation. The pleasure was increasing by the minute and you were already praising his name for more but you couldn't make it out cause it felt so damn good.
"lovely sounds my dear~" the ringleader purrs, '' I've been hearing them ever since I gave you this..device..I would have stopped you but the name I heard you sing out one day--" "C-caine~..i'm gonna cum"
"Like that, yes. I must have made the right decision." his thumb turns off the vibe, you whine for the pleasure to come back until he discards your panties and quickly inserts two fingers into your wet,needy hole starting a fast thrusting pace. The intrusion was pure bliss as you threw your head back and rode out your orgasm on his hand, moaning your last string of curses.
Stress? Gone.
#caine smut#tadc#tadc x reader#yep its me the caine lover back at it again#caine x reader#tadc caine#the amazing digital circus#caine x you#caine fans rise up this is your first smut piece
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hi angels! my inbox is open at the moment so send me your requests (nsfw/sfw ones, fem reader) for Jax or Caine (or them both), id like to write some lil blurbs for these characters ♡
#tadc smut#jax smut#caine smut#tadc x you#tadc x reader#Caine x you#jax x reader smut#jax x reader#caine x reader
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before the bell rings (a loving family, an unpalatable desire spin-off)
ft. romatic yandere bruce wayne x gn reader x platonic yandere batfam.
tw: slight nsfw. bruce watches and kisses you while you sleep. in no way, shape or form do i condone this behavior irl.
ihave a raging headache but i don't care because i love making spin-offs of my original series'. and now i've been thinking of something related to a loving family, an unpalatable desire where just like again &. again being the opposite of like him, in this current universe i'm writing about;
you're much too loved by your husband, bruce wayne.
there are eyes everywhere when you two have been into the first stages of your marriage. he may have proposed to you for the sake and promises of protection both your families agreed upon from when martha and thomas and alive— your relationship must've been purely transactional during your childhood; but in the process of knowing you better during the planning for your wedding, in the process of grief and accepting his parents' deaths, a broken childhood and cold glances—
bruce came to love the comfort and warmth you offered him.
the entire time he was convinced that your marriage will be all but a distant relationship all throughout planning for possible venues, cake designs, guests and attires; a task he chose to uphold for the sake of your preference of a picture perfect wedding and his reputation to keep in public.
it was all that, mere promises to maintain cordiality.
there would be no affectionate touches, or the need for intimacy during both your honeymoon stages. he respects your boundaries, and you do with his privacy. after the entire wedding, everything will return to normal; with the added fact that you'd simply be living in his mansion with no qualms to bother him whatsoever.
those were unsaid agreements that you yourself knew to abide by. you were never close with the man you'd be married with during childhood, after all. for him, you must've been a checklist for him to fulfill his parents' will; there was no love before or after his grief, not even when you'd attend the funeral and expressed your apologies for the loss— his eyebrows furrowing at your shorter form, but never quite looking at you.
younger you knew it was the protection that will be granted, and never the love you wanted, but you still held on to that flicker of hope that somehow, someday you'll eventually form an amicable bond with your soon-to-be husband.
yet to you, he was the only ticket way out of your abusive home life, one filled with not only coldness, but sharp glares from a mother who never wanted you and painful beatings from a father who criticizes his own child's every mistake, each hit more painful than the last.
as much as you desire something more homely from your soon to be husband, you've long since accepted that your life will never be filled with visceral love that eats you up, love whose hands tangle upon your hair not out of sheer hatred but desire, love whose strong arms raise you up in the air rather than raises itself up to hit you.
and as you both prepare for your wedding, an air of awkwardness and discomfort was expected. backs turned, never facing each other, your eyes never quite looking at his, and unwanted brushes of each other's bodies bumping into each other translates itself to tension and mere desire to get over the plans just as quickly.
bruce tells himself, it will all be over soon. this is necessary to keep up facades and earn more connections. he hasn't been as close with childhood friends after his parents' death, hence why he was too ruffled to properly communicate with his partner after years of isolation from peers. he knows you know to understand that fact.
you tell yourself that as much as your heart aches at the impending doom that you wouldn't be able to spend time with your husband as much after the entire fiasco of dealing with wedding arrangements, with wayne enterprises and hundreds of other duties to fulfill— you've nothing to do but embrace that mere fact.
so it was all that.
bruce will never love you as much as you force yourself to love each and every flawed part of him. the first steps of planning your marriage already reflected what would soon be the damning years of a loveless courtship.
love is painful, loving bruce will be painful. your heart will never flutter at the meaningless bouquet of flowers he'd gift you, or jewelry that was never your preference, all because you both knew it was a necessary farce to make things prettier on the outside. bruce can never learn to love again after the heartbreak of losing two of his loved ones.
all that.
yet the longer you two spend time in the same room in stuffy outfit fittings and bakeries whose warmth both your loves you thought would never quite reach— the more bruce notices the slight quirk of your lips every time he guessed your favorite color or design, the gleam in your eyes glowing brighter at him choosing what he thought would be the perfect confectionaries for reception, and the tiny claps and soft tugs at the cuffs of his sleeve the more he chooses to accommodate each and every preference of yours.
he starts to fall, not out of hindsight. he was never an obvious man, no.
but he fell in love, either way.
with your habits, the way your hands gesture your excitement, and the shy grin you show his way whenever he pursues physical affection to you in both private and public; with you melting into his once stiff chest and ridged shoulders, hands wrapped around your waist, head slowly nuzzling into the crown of your hair. sometimes he'd be brave enough to caress your hips and run his fingers through the flesh between your neck and shoulders.
every damn time he takes a newer risk, every time, you'd be left shocked, yet never pushing away at his ministration.
a surprise that rewires your perception of him in your mind— not less pleasant nonetheless.
he falls in love whenever his heart beats faster— a feeling he thought he'd never come across after years of hardened training— at the way you buzz every time he proposes you two go out on dates, at your unheard gasps whenever he actually gives you bouquets of your favorite flowers as gifts, at your incoherent mumbles as you two walk through the farmer's market with his body shielding you from stalking paparazzi's and countless of admires; your mouth forming words, brows furrowed, oblivious at bruce's unwavering gaze and arms ready to rest upon your shoulders as if he never once hesitated to touch you.
and he soon realizes that he begins to yearn sleeping in the same room as you. you still stay at your home at the time being, only to be housed at his right after your marriage— but bruce loses sleep all the same. at thoughts of what you would feel like all pressed up against him, the warmth that emanates off your body every time your arms would explore his chest, and how he'd wake up to your wide, intoxicating smile, calling him, bruce wayne, your husband as you caress him and tell him breakfast is ready.
he could picture you sitting beside him, your arms unknowingly on his thighs because you crave physical affection, your attention on both your children, chattering with them as if you were always their parent. he sees you scolding damian for sneaking food under the table for his, telling jason and tim off for arguing yet again, whilst dick laughs at his brother's clumsy way of eating with barbara rebuking his statements. you'll always be the first person cass would talk to about her ballet recitals, the one duke chides for advice about which club to choose, and steph's first choice every time she stumbles upon drama.
the entire atmosphere would be spontaneous. there could be small fights, little debates and sometimes even tension, yet they listen to you nevertheless. at your pretty voice giving them an earful altogether whilst bruce would worship you with his hungry eyes, forgetting the breakfast on his plate just to hold himself back from the urge to pepper kisses on you in front of the family.
the perfect dream, like a gomez to his morticia who admires every side of them. their beauty, their sadness, anger and flaws. you complete him, he only realizes at such a late time.
just as quick as he imagines those fantasies, bruce would find himself stalking through the confines of your family home as batman; confirming to himself your breathing patterns, the flutter of your eyes, soft mumbles, and your tight hold on one of your pillows, wishing it was him instead. there, he takes in the state of your room: the decor, your wallpapers, each and every trinkets and hobbies you've collected all over the years; and most importantly, just how small and confined your room is, yet cozy at the same time.
the manor would be your castle soon enough, and he promises that it would feel as homely as your previous room. he promises that you wouldn't be sleeping alone eventually. you'll be so loved... so cared for. he'll learn to properly love you, how to touch you in all the ways he could imagine, to kiss parts left neglected, to satiate the hunger watching you every damn time.
every night, he gains newer information about you as you sleep oblivious to the presence looming above you. every night, he notes the texture of your bedsheet, the blankets that hug at your body tightly, the pillows you drool on and the softness of your mattress.
he'd ruffle your hair, and begin to trudge closer and closer to you, to the point his confidence would be at an all time high and he'd be breathing the same pattern as you, body nearly pressed atop yours as his hands tangle itself upon your messy hair. bruce watches your skin bathe in the moonlight's glow, he admires the slow rise and fall of your chest and the delicious peaks of skin from the fabric that threatens to fall.
his desire only grows stronger, his willpower grows weaker all the same.
and at a time of momentary weakness, at the passion that drips off his body merely watching you, at the unsated hunger and moments of restricting himself from touching you too much during your times together— he kisses you while still sleeping, deeply and unregretful at his choice. devouring your lips, wishing he could instead feel his tongue pressing against yours, and licking at the drool that escapes from his relentless kisses. his hands would be on either side of your head, but his thighs pin your waist, heavy and unrelenting on moving from its position.
when he lets go, he laps at his lips for any remaining taste of you, hardwiring the memory into the deepest, most sinful parts of his brain, and admires your beauty from up close. bruce watches just how angelic you look sprawled atop a bed that soon would be big enough to fit two, he sees the smile slowly forming on your face, and the giggles that erupt all while you still remain asleep.
you must've been dreaming something pleasant. he hopes that it is him, he hopes that it would be him lavishing you in his love.
and he'll be coming back home right after pecking your lips and cheeks one last time, before leaving your room, to sleep in his bed all alone after a night of a passionate endeavor. he'll be dreaming of a night with you, every night with you in fact. of your pleasured closed-eyed smile in bed and arms that reach to wrap around his body like you do your pillows. he'll cover you like a blanket with his warmth, too.
and you'll always be in his mind, even as he wakes up every morning after another day of sleepless patrol, without you by his side, without your body pressed tightly against his, without the feeling of your plush skin on his scarred one, or the melody of your snores and flutter of your eyes at the light that hits it; bruce would never be satisfied.
in fact, he begins to crave for more as he touches his lips, remembers how easily pinned you are, how fitting your body is wrapped around his. he realizes that mere fantasies would only serve as distractions, he realizes that he needs the real thing.
soon, he'll invite you to the manor, all in his own accord, without hesitation or implications that it was all for mere planning.
there you would be, shy and modestly greeting his children. bruce notices the way your finger shivers, and the barely concealed smile that makes it way to your face when you finally meet your soon-to-be family, your soon-to-be children.
unaware, oblivious to the night he took your first-kiss. he knows it is your first kiss, you've written it in a journal of yours that you're saving it for whoever is your future husband— it's only right that he prides himself in the fact that he is your fiance.
he notices how well you fit in the manor, how you're such a perfect match to the neverending energy of adrenaline to fight and to patrol, acting as a mediator, a peacemaker to the hustle and bustle of spontaneous fights and arguments that alfred used to deal with alone. and his children—?
god, his children love you.
after first impressions, after you spend time coddling beside your fiance, talking to each and every one of them with a fond smile; acting as if they're all already your children without any second thoughts, never forcing yourself into their lives or invading private topics or inside jokes like the other suitors interested in bruce who visited; after you leave the manor despite their insistence that you stay—
all of them took it in their hands to help you both prepare for the wedding arrangements; damian made a comment to push for the wedding date to be way earlier. dick says he'd be in charge of the music, steph butts in saying she knows how to play the piano, cass opens up about performing a ballet piece during the wedding, duke suggests alfred should be handling the food, barbara says she has connections with entertainment factions, tim states matterof fact that he will be organizing the entire schedule, even jason insists on attending, just simply disguised amongst the background.
it would've been a marriage where it's only your side of the family who attend, an agreement you both settled for in the earlier stages of planning, but...
if the family loves you so much at just a first impression then...
bruce wayne loves his spouse even more.
and you, being the hopeless romantic you ever are, craving intimacy at such a young age from the lack of it, took the bait and fell into his controlling hold when you've still had the chance to back out.
after all, what is love without sacrifices?
soon enough, what once were lingering, unsure touches would be bruce holding you tightly against his chest like you two were puzzle pieces fit perfectly together. he was never the type to compliment through words, but every time you wear your favorite shade or those that matches his suit colors every time you both go out for outings, his bright blue, yet dull eyes would glimmer in the sunlight, taking in your entire form. he'll kiss you for what feels longer than half a minute, and sometimes even pin you down against the mahogany door of the office if it meant he was that pleased.
you love the attention, you bask at just how easy it is to love his children. even if their personalities contrast, even through the fights they sometimes have in front of you; none ever lash out at you for breaking it up, even the youngest, damian, who would always be the most violent amongst the siblings.
hell, he'd always be the most possessive, the most demanding of your attention for whenever you stray too close to his other siblings. always glaring, always picking up fights and insulting everyone, but never directing anything at you, even threatening to bite those who dare touch any gifts you give him.
yet you love them, either way, and you've come to love bruce, too. at the most unexpected of times, even. you love it when his touches linger a bit longer, you buzz with joy every time he'd hide your face from paparazzi and hold you tighter, never once letting a hand stray far away from your body, always having you in his arms just like how your perfect fantasies would always play in your head.
and even if you're still unaware of bruce's identity of being batman, the same hero you used to fear, you still insist on kissing bruce's scars that he always comes home with every night after patrol. you let yourself become a treasure he worships, you allow him to kiss you, defile you, and never once let you out alone anymore— your occasional manor visits before your marriage turned into countless of nights spent under a roof with people you thought you'd never be... that closely intimate with.
it is only before the wedding bell rings that bruce falls in love with you, and it would soon be after that you realize just how trapped you truly are.
reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.
a/n: after this, i will return to hibernation. and if anybody asks, yes, superman wanting to smash you in this au is still canon. and yes, he will find a way to persuade you in smashing him.
taglist: @donnaaurelia, @prince-nikko, @neerathebrightstar (i hope u like this :))), @mr-celestial-writings, @glasscurrents, @sh4rk-k1d, @vellichor-and-hiraeth, @sammytheotakunerd.
#🌷... yael's works#series: loving family unpalatable desires#yandere dc#yandere batfam#yandere batman#yandere dc comics#yandere bruce wayne#yandere bruce wayne x reader#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere damian waybe#yandere barbara gordon#yandere cassandra cain#yandere stephanie brown#yandere duke thomas#platonic yandere#romantic yandere#yandere smut#yandere angst#soft yandere#yandere#yandere x male reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x gn reader#yandere x darling#male yandere
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | masterlist!
Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader
"God loves you but not enough to save you,"
summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.
warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.
𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡
❝ to my love, Joel.
,...found you just to tell you that I made it real far, i never blamed you for loving me the way that you did.
while you were torn apart, i would still wait with you there.
don't think about it too hard, honey. or you'll never sleep a wink at night again.
and don't worry about me and these green eyes,
baby, just know that i love you. and i'll see you when you get here.
i love you forever, Joel... ❞
THE PLAYLIST! (on spotify)👰🏼♀️
the preacher's daughter ▪️ dbf! joel miller
MASTERLIST!🐇
Chapter 1: "But I always knew in the end, no one was coming to save me,"
Chapter 2: "Because that's how my daddy raised me,"
Chapter 3: "I watched him show his love through shades of black and blue"
Chapter 4: "He looks like he works with his hands, and smells like Marlboro reds,"
Chapter 5: "Because for the first time since I was a child, I could see a man who wasn't angry,"
Chapter 6: "Let him make a woman out of me,"
Chapter 7: "You wanna fuck me right now?"
Chapter 8: "The fates already fucked me sideways,"
Chapter 9: "Christ, forgive these bones I'm hiding,"
Chapter 10: "and that's why I could never go back home,"
Chapter 11: "I don't care where as long as you're with me,"
Chapter 12: "If it's meant to be, then it will be."
Chapter 13: "Beautiful people, beautiful problems."
Chapter 14: "You put your hands into your head, and then smile cover your hearts."
Chapter 15: "Something's bad is 'bout to happen to me,"
Chapter 16: "Tag, you're it."
Chapter 17: "If he's a serial killer then what's the worst that could happen to a girl who's already hurt?"
Chapter 18: "He's cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed"
Chapter 19: "Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise,"
Chapter 20: "You poor thing, sweet, mourning lamb. There's nothing you can do."
Chapter 21: "If we die tonight, I'd died yours."
Chapter 22: "I'm always going to be right here, no one's going anywhere"
-THE END-
read it on wattpad!
the preacher's daughter by babyvenoms
ENJOY! and if you guys have any like visuals to this, or art that you made for this I would love to put it here, just let me know! thank you!! 🩵
#dbf!joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal#joel miller#the last of us#pedro pascal smut#joel miller smut#the last of us hbo#dark!joel miller x reader#dbf!joel miller#joel miller the last of us#ethel cain#lana del rey#southern gothic#joel miller age gap#tommy miller#joel tlou#ellie williams#tlou#tlou hbo#joel miller x you#pedro pascal x you#preacher's daughter
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“so i left my man in the middle of the highway, won’t be seen with him cause that’s embarrassing- he can be such a bitch and it makes me sick…”
#my dream life with this man#he’s so southern gothic to me#this is only gonna make sense to some people i’m sorry it’s niche#i love him so bad please live with me in perry flordia logan#mondays#ethel cain#logan howlett#hugh jackman#wolverine#deadpool 3#hugh jackman smut#logan howlett x you#logan howlett x reader#logan howlett imagine#wolverine x you#wolverine fic#SoundCloud
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show me who you are ─
the mark of cain weighs heavily on dean's shoulders, affecting all of you. when the bloodlust becomes too much, you know you have to help him. in the only way you can think of.
cw ─ slight angst, mark of cain!dean, very slight mention of sa/non-con (not from dean), blood, gore, canon-typical violence, smut!, fem! reader, praise kink, dirty talk, rough sex, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected p in v, sorry if i miss anything else!
☆ 💿PORNSTAR - nessa barrett
i wanna hear you talking dirty,
i wanna see it on your face.
⭒
it was getting worse, you could all see it. you, sam, cas - hell, even crowley could see it. the mark was slowly killing dean, and it was only getting worse.
it wasn't as obvious at first, just small outbursts here and there, but surely enough, it became more obvious. he was more snappy than usual, spent more time alone, and he would zone out more, hands either clenched into fists or one was clasped tightly over the mark on his forearm.
you didn't bring it up to him, that was the silent agreement that you, sam and cas had come up with, and you obliged to it. so you didn't tell dean how the far away look in his eyes made your brow furrow and your stomach churn with worry, or how your heart broke every night when you could hear him wake himself up from his nightmares. you didn't tell him how seeing him struggle, and refuse help, was slowly but surely breaking you down, and you definitely didn't tell dean that you missed him.
sure, he was right there, just down the hall from you, close enough that you could hear him in the ungodly hours of the night, restlessly rummaging around his room, but he still wasn't there. not the real him, not the dean that you knew. the dean you knew was being held captive by that horrid mark that not only haunted his dreams, but yours now too. you missed your dean, the one who told stupid jokes that made you choke on your beer. the dean who grinned proudly whenever you correctly named a song on the radio and who would sing a long loudly to his favorite led zeppelin songs, glancing at you as he drove.
drives are mostly silent now, save for the hum of the impala, or the quiet background noise of the radio, but still never those homemade tapes that he loved so much. he doesn't drink with you anymore, though he still does it an unhealthy amount. he drinks alone in his room, or late at night by himself in the kitchen, a glass of whiskey in his hand, his eyes staring somewhere far off. the only reason you even know this is because one night, when you couldn't sleep, you went to the kitchen for a glass of water and found him there, only to have him get up and leave with only a nod of acknowledgement to you.
it was killing him, and if you didn't do something about it, it was going to kill you too.
the hunt was supposed to be a cakewalk. it was just a nest of vampires not too far from the bunker, and dean insisted that he was fine, that the mark's screaming wasn't too much for him to bear and he was feeling good enough to go with you guys on the hunt.
after sharing a look with sam, you reluctantly relented, agreeing to let him come along under the condition that if he felt the bloodlust creeping in, he would back off and stay behind in the impala.
that leads to now, where you were currently kicking yourself for not doing recon before going in. the nest was bigger than you and sam had originally thought, there were probably double the amount of vamps than you had previously thought, and when you, him and dean had crept into the nest, one of the freshly turned ones - a child, no less - had spotted you and screamed, awaking the whole nest. and so here you were, wrestling with one of the female bloodsuckers on the grimy floor of the abandoned barn.
her dirt-caked nails raked down the sides of your neck, making you hiss in pain as you brought your knee up hard, hitting her in the stomach, effectively pushing her off of you. as soon as she was on her back next to you, you scrambled up, quickly grabbing your machete that the bitch had knocked out of your hands and turning back to her. without even giving her a chance to bare her fangs, you raise your bloodied machete over your head, bringing it down with a cry, cutting her head right off.
taking a second to breathe, you stand up, panting heavily as you brush some hair out of your face, turning your head to the side to spit out some blood, running your tongue over your teeth to get rid of the taste. your moment of rests is cut short though, when you hear a loud thud and the sounds of a struggle from the room next to you.
gripping your machete tighter and taking a deep breath, you rush out of the room you had been in, leaving behind the bodies of the three vamps you had killed. you sprint out the door, crashing through the room next door, your heart racing as you see sam in a struggle with two bloodsuckers.
you rush over, cutting the head off one before he even has the chance to fully turn around. the other one drops sam in surprise, turning to you and snarling, his disgusting rows of fangs glinting in the low light. using the vampire's moment of distraction, sam grabs his own machete and raises it, slicing the vamp's head clean off.
"you okay?" you ask, chest heaving as adrenaline courses through your veins.
sam nods, raising a hand to brush his hair back from his face, his own erratic breathing evidence of the fight. "yeah. yeah, i'm good. are you?"
"one of 'em got me good with her nails, but nothing fatal," you answer, tilting your head to show him the marks. he winces in sympathy, eyes raking over the angry red marks before he bends down to pick up a vial of dead man's blood. "where's dean?"
"not sure, i lost him once they jumped on us," sam says, brows furrowing as he pockets the dead man's blood, adjusting his grip on his machete. "maybe we should-"
whatever sam was going to say is cut off as a scream comes from the floor below. you and sam share a look, fear spiking in your chest before you both turn, racing out the door. you sprint through the hallway and down the stairs, sam right on your heels as you skip steps, landing shakily at the bottom. your eyes scan the landing, and you turn to call out to sam, but before you can get a word out, a hand grabs your arm, throwing you across the room.
you hear sam call your name behind you, but he gets cut off, and you assume that he has a vamp of his own to deal with. you push yourself up with a groan, but as your sitting up, a hand grabs your arm again, hauling you up and slamming you against the wall.
"well, would ya look at this," the vamp spits, his yellow stained teeth shown in a grin as he leans in, his putrid breath in your face making you want to vomit. "the winchester's brought their little girl toy. how nice of them to bring us a gift."
"go to hell," you spit, the words strained as his hand fists in the collar of your shirt, pressing against your neck as he raises you higher against the wall.
the vamp only grins wider, running his tongue over his small, cracked lips. his dark, greasy hair falls in front of his eyes, and his bloodshot blue eyes make him look crazed. he's bleeding from a fresh cut on his forehead, and you wonder if one of the boys had already got into it with him.
"ooh, and she's feisty," he snarls, smirking cruelly. he raises his other hand to brush his grime-covered fingertips over your forehead, running them through your hair.
you turn away from his touch, struggling in his vice-like grip as bile builds in your throat, but his smirk only grins, a low, dark chuckle leaving his crusted lips.
"that's just fine," he whispers, his hot breath fanning over your skin as he leans in to nose at your neck, inhaling deeply, ignoring your struggle in his grip. "i like it when they fight back."
his words make your heart pound, your chest tightening with panic, eyes wide with fear as you struggle in his tight grasp, arms flinging and nails scratching at anywhere you can reach, but he doesn't even flinch, his grip not loosening at all. you open your mouth to scream, hoping to get the attention of one of the boys, or anyone that will help you at this point, but the hand that was in your hair slaps over your mouth just as you part your lips, your scream muffled into his palm.
"ah-ah, be a good girl and stay quiet," he tuts, pulling back to bare his fangs to you. you just stare at him, eyes wide with fear as you continue to struggle in his hold. you squeeze your eyes shut as he leans in again, a tear slipping down your cheek.
"let her go."
your eyes snap wide open at the familiar voice of dean, gaze landing on him over the vamp's shoulder, relief filling you at the sight of him. he was standing there, blood splattered all over his clothes, face and hair, his grip white-knuckled on his machete. sam stands behind him, his own eyes wide with fear as they flick between dean and you in the monster's grip. you try to call out to them, but the sound comes out as a muffled whimper against the vamp's hand.
the bloodsucker turns his head to look behind him, his smirk faltering at the sight of dean. his fangs retract, but his grip on you stays vice-like.
"well if it isn't dean winchester," the vamp snarls, his hand over your mouth tightening slightly, making you wince. "come to save your little doll?"
dean's jaw clenches, his expression darkening even further as he stares at you and the vamp, taking a menacing step forward.
"i said - let her go," he growls, something dark flashing in his emerald eyes.
the vamp's eyes widen in fear at the look on dean's face, and his grip on you loosens slightly. that's the opening you need, and with all the strength you can muster, you bite down hard on his hand, simultaneously kicking your leg as hard as you can into his crotch.
the monster cries out in pain, his hands dropping you as they fly to where you kicked him. you fall to the floor with a small thud, catching yourself before you hit your head. you quickly stand up while the bloodsucker is distracted, and sam immediately rushes over to you, grabbing you and pulling you into his arms, backing you away from dean and the vamp.
"sam, wait, dean-"
"the mark's got him right now," sam cuts you off, his voice thick with worry as he holds you to him, soothing your trembling form. "we just gotta stay out of the way, there's nothing we can do."
his words sink in, and it's then you realize that the barn is quiet. your eyes widen in realization, and you turn your head to look up at sam, heart pounding in your chest.
"he killed them all?" you ask, your voice just barely above a whisper. sam's grim nod is enough to make you feel sick.
your attention is torn from that information as you hear the vamp cry out in pain, and when you look up, you see dean's got him on the floor, the vamp's head twisted at an odd angle as dean steps on his back, machete raised over his head.
"this is less than you deserve for touching her, you disgusting son of a bitch," dean spits, and you watch in horror as he raises his machete over his head, bringing it down in one smooth stroke, blood splattering across his face as he cuts the vamp's head clean off.
the barn is silent, save for dean's heavy breath and the pounding of your heart. dean's sleeve is torn, and you can see the mark pulsing an angry red, burning into his skin, the sight making your chest tighten even more.
dean doesn't move, he just stands there, chest heaving and eyes blazing as he stares at the dead body of the vamp, his knuckles white as he grips the machete, blood dripping from the blade onto the old wooden floor.
your heart aches in your chest, and you pull yourself from sam's arms, giving him a reassuring look when he tries to stop you. taking a deep breath, you take a small step towards where dean stands, your body still shaking slightly from adrenaline.
"dean?" you call softly, your voice gentle, trying not to startle him. you don't flinch when his eyes snap up to you, and though his body is still tense, you can see something soften slightly in his gaze when it lands on you. "can you put the machete down, please?"
to your surprise, he does as you ask, the blade falling to the floor with a clatter that echoes through the empty barn. you take that as an invitation to step closer, your eyes never leaving dean's as they follow your movements, his lips parted slightly as he breathes.
when you reach him, you tentatively reach your arm up, placing your hand on his arm, but he jerks back, sucking in a breath as he seemingly snaps out of whatever haze he was in. he takes a step back from you, eyes flickering between you and the severed body of the vampire on the floor.
"let's just go," he says, his voice hoarse and cold. with one last flickering glance up to you, he bends down to grab his machete before turning on his heel and walking to the entrance of the barn.
⭒
the drive back to the bunker had been silent and filled with a suffocating tension that made it hard for you to breathe. once you were back inside the bunker, it wasn't any better, dean not saying a word as he storms ahead, rushing off to his room and closing the door abruptly behind him.
you and sam don't say much as he checks over you for any serious injuries, and you for him. he just hugs you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before heading to his own room. you follow suit, shedding your bloodied clothing in your room before grabbing a change of clothes and heading to the bathroom attached to your bedroom, which the boys had agreed to give you as one of the few that had it's own bathroom.
in the shower, you turn the heat all the way up, scrubbing the blood from your stained skin, washing off the hands of the vamp who had grasped you. you rub until your skin is raw, and even though you did the other day, you shave, just to feel that sense of normalcy instead of the sickly unease that crawls in your nerves. you wash your hair twice, ridding yourself of the blood and dirt you had collected in the barn, sighing as the steam melted against your skin.
as you stood there under the burning stream, you thought about dean, about the look in his eyes, the empty way he had walked away from you, and all of the pain he had been going through since he had taken the god-forsaken mark. you knew that the guilt from succumbing to the blood lust weighed heavily on his shoulders, and you just wished that there was some way you could focus that anger, that need on something else. and that's when the idea came to you.
immediately, you shut off the water, grabbing a towel and wrapping your hair in it, grabbing another one to wrap around your body, rushing back into your room and grabbing a different pair of clothes than you had previously chosen. you trade out the old sweatpants for a pair of sleep shorts, large sweatshirt for an old t-shirt that you stole from dean months ago, and tossing your plain panties, instead grabbing one of your nicer pairs, a dark red lace number that hugged you perfectly, foregoing a bra.
you tried not to think about how ridiculous this was as you slip on the clothes, taking your now semi-damp hair out of the towel and running your hands through it gently, getting out the leftover tangles. you splash water on your face, drying it off with a towel as you look in the mirror, chewing on your lip as you decide whether to put a bit of makeup on or not. you decide yes, just throwing on the slightest bit of mascara and eyeliner, adding just a bit of blush, and swiping over your lips with your cherry lip balm, pursing your lips to properly coat them.
you lean back and study yourself in the mirror, cringing at the bright red scratch marks on your neck before taking a deep breath as you consider what you're about to do. fuck it, you think, go big or go home, right?
with those words of wisdom to yourself and one last deep breath, you turn and walk of out the bathroom, and then out of the door to your room, heading into the hallway, your bare feet pad on the concrete floor as you make the short walk just a few doors down to dean's room. you stop in front of his door, taking a shaky breath before raising your hand, hesitating for a moment before knocking softly.
you hear shuffling, as if he's getting out of bed, and then the door opens and he's suddenly in front of you, arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the doorway.
your breath hitches at the sight of him, your stomach flipping as you look up at him. his hair is spiked and damp, reflecting the shower he probably just took, his stubble highlighting his jaw. his plaid pajama pants are slung low on his hips, just enough to show a sliver of skin between the waistband and the hem of his black t-shirt that hugs his shoulders tightly, stretching over his chest.
dean says your name in a low voice, tilting his head as he looks down at you. you snap out of your trance, flushing slightly as you realize you were caught staring. "what're you doing here?" he asks, and doubt pools in your chest.
"i...i have a proposal," you say, nervously biting your lip as you look up at him.
dean's eyes track the movement, his jaw clenching as he flicks his gaze back up to your eyes, brows raising in question. "a proposal?"
you nod, shifting anxiously on your feet. you take a breath, forcing yourself to calm down as you smile nervously up at him. "can i come in?"
he doesn't say anything, just continues to stare at you, pushing off the doorway and stepping back, allowing you to walk by him. you step into the threshold of his room, forcing yourself to push away the nerves as you stand in front of the bed. your eyes follow him as he closes the door behind you, walking over to stand in front of you, arms still crossed over his chest as he looks down at you.
"so, what's this proposal of yours?" dean asks, the rough timbre of his voice sending a shiver up your spine. you snap out of it, meeting his gaze head on as you speak.
"okay, i was thinking about the mark, and the blood lust." you can see his jaw clench at the mention of the mark and your stomach flips, but you continue. "so i thought, what if...what if there was another way to channel that?"
something flickers in his eyes at your words, and he raises his eyebrows in curiosity. "what d'you mean?"
you swallow nervously, biting your lip as you consider what you're about to say. "before i say it, i just want you to know that if this makes you uncomfortable then i can just go and we'll pretend that this never happened and-"
dean cuts you off with a grunt of your name, tilting his head as he narrows his eyes at you. "just spit it out-"
"i want you to fuck me." the words come out of your mouth before you can stop them, both yours and dean's eyes widening at the bluntness of them.
"you want me to-"
"fuck me," you restate, deciding to just go with your forwardness. "i was thinking about what the mark makes you feel, and how it makes you turn that into blood lust, but then i thought about what if you could channel it into something else. give you some other way to let go."
dean doesn't say anything, just stands there, nostrils flaring and jaw clenched so tight your worried he's going to break something as he stares at you, eyes raking over your features as if something in them is going to tell him that you're joking.
you look away as you flush under his stare, regret and embarrassment seeping into your chest. when he still doesn't say anything, you shake your head, biting your lip as you turn to head back towards his door. "i knew this was stupid, i'm sorry-"
dean doesn't even give you the chance to finish your apology as he grabs your arm and spins you back into his chest, pulling a gasp from your lips.
"stop doing that," he growls, and when you look up into his eyes, they're so dark it makes your breath hitch. his hand that's not gripping your arm comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip, tugging it lightly. "drivin' me fucking crazy."
you're too dazed by his sudden proximity to respond, the woody, leather filled scent that's so purely dean invading your senses and making you dizzy.
"let me get this straight," dean says, his voice low and slightly strained as he thumbs at your bottom lip, his eyes glued to the action. "you want me to fuck you, to get rid of the blood lust?"
you nod, lips parting automatically as he tugs at your bottom one, eyes wide as you stare up at him. "yea-yeah. it would still be letting that energy out, just in a different way," you tell him, your voice slightly breathless.
"and you want that?" he asks, eyes lingering on the way your lips brush his thumb as you speak before slipping back up to meet yours. "you want me to let go with you, sweetheart?"
you nod again, swallowing thickly as your mouth goes dry at the nickname. even though you'd heard it from his lips a thousand times before, this time it felt different, heavier, and you felt it weigh on your heart. "of course, if it'll help you-"
"no," dean cuts you off, growling your name and gripping your jaw tighter. "i'm asking you if you want this. not if you want to help me, i'm asking if you want me to fuck you, because if i won't touch you if you don't want this."
"i want this," you answer without hesitation, your voice breathy and your eyes wide, pupils blown with lust as you look up at him. "i wouldn't do this if i didn't want it."
dean groans, eyes clenching shut as if it's physically paining him to hold back, and his hand on your arm slides around your waist, tugging you flush against his chest. when he opens his eyes again, the sapphire green that wormed it's way into your heart is almost entirely swallowed by lust-blown black, the sight making your heart stutter.
"if we do this," he starts, his voice dangerously low. his hand caresses your waist before moving to your hip, gripping the flesh tightly through your clothes. "i'm not so sure 'm gonna be able to control myself. i don't wanna hurt you."
you shake your head, eyes determined as you hold his gaze, your hands coming up to his chest, fisting in his shirt and pulling him impossibly closer. "you're not gonna hurt me, dean," you whisper, pushing up on your tip-toes so that your lips are a breath away from his. "i want this, i want you to let go with me. i want you to use me."
dean just stares at you for a moment, his hand on your jaw moving to cup your cheek as his eyes bore into yours, jaw clenched and nostrils flared. as soon as his eyes flick back up to yours, something snaps in him and he surges forward, crashing his lips to yours.
you moan at the intensity of the kiss, your hands moving from his shirt to wind up into his hair, fingers tangling tightly in the still damp strands. his hands are suddenly everywhere, moving from your cheek to grip your hair, the hand on your hip slipping under your shirt to caress your bare skin, groaning against your lips when he finds that you're not wearing a bra.
your lips part instantly as you feel his tongue run along your bottom lip, moaning into his mouth as he tilts his head, running his tongue over your teeth before sucking your bottom lip into his mouth. your head is spinning as your teeth clash, your hands in his hair holding him tightly to you, arching your body into his.
when you both finally remember you need air, you pull back with a pop, a string of saliva connecting your now swollen lips. dean rests his forehead against yours, his hands finding a place at your hips, gripping them tightly as he catches his breath.
"last chance to back out," he breathes, looking at you with hooded eyes that make your knees weak.
"not a chance, winchester," you whisper back, your voice equally strained as you pant softly, trying to force air into your lungs.
dean groans at your words, and without hesitation, he slams his lips back to yours, one hand fisting in your hair as the other creeps up your back, pulling your shirt up with it until he has to pull away to tug it off you, throwing it somewhere. his pupils grow impossibly larger as he takes in your bare chest, your nipples pebbling as they're exposed to the cool air. his tongue darts out to wet his lips before he's on you, surging forward and capturing one of the hardened buds in his mouth.
you yelp softly at the sudden action, the sound melting into a moan as you arch into him, hands grasping at his hair to hold him to you.
"fuck, dean─" you gasp, head falling back as his tongue swirls around your sensitive skin, his hand coming up to cup your breast that his mouth isn't currently ravishing. after he's satisfied with the job he's done, he switches, bringing his mouth to your other breast, his hand moving to cup and grope the one his mouth had just been working at, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
when you whimper his name as he bites at your bud, he pulls himself away from your chest with a pop, lips slick and eyes blown as he looks down at you. you stare up at him, eyes wide and lips parted as you pant, just taking in the sight of him, so worked up over you.
"fuck," he groans, jaw clenching as his eyes greedily rake over your flushed features, his spit-slick bottom lip caught between his teeth. your hooded eyes follow the movement, your faces close enough that you can feel his breath on your heated skin, which sends a shiver up your spine.
you've seen dean shirtless many times─patching him up, or when motel rooms got too hot, but this was different. now, his toned chest was heaving with heavy breaths, his tan skin flushed with desire just for you.
you're staring, lips parted as you pant heavily, your eyes greedily raking over every inch of skin he's offering to you. your hands twitch to reach out, to feel every ridge, dip and curve of his body, and you're too far gone to deny yourself.
you rush forward, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and attaching your mouth to his neck. your lips trail up his neck, sucking at a spot under his jaw that has him groaning your name in a way that makes your knees weak. you're sure you would've collapsed by now if dean's arms weren't wrapped so tightly around your waist you could feel his biceps flex against your skin as your mouth ravished his neck and up to his jaw.
you're craning your neck to reach his skin, and you're body feels so hot you're worried that it's going to burst into flames if you don't do something about it. the chorus of more, more, more chants in your head, fueling your trembling legs as the walk forward, walking dean backwards until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed.
he falls to sit on the bed with a grunt, his grip never loosening around you as you follow him, crawling into his lap eagerly, moaning into his neck when his bare chest presses against yours. you arch against him as you bite and suck on his neck, lips trailing down to nip at his collarbone, leaving a path of spit behind you.
"shit─need t'feel you, baby," dean rasps, his hands moving to grip your hips tightly, grinding you down onto him. you whimper in agreement, reluctantly pulling away from his salty skin, licking your lips to savor the taste of him.
you sit yourself up on your knees in his lap, cupping his face in your hands as you tilt his head back to look up at you, your thumb tugging at his bottom lip just as he did to you before. just the sight of him sends a wave of aching desire between your legs, your panties growing wetter by the second.
dean looks absolutely wrecked. his plush lips are parted and spit-slick, swollen from your bruising kisses, the white of his teeth peeking through the brightened pink as he pants heavily. his hooded eyes are so dark, the mossy green almost completely gone as he stares up at you with such reverence it makes your pounding heart stutter in your chest.
his rough hand squeezing your hips brings your attention back to the moment as he turns his head into your touch, lips ghosting your palm, his eyes staying locked on yours.
"c'mon, sweetheart," dean groans, his voice almost breathless as he squeezes your hip again, the action almost pleading. "can't take this anymore, just need you, need t'feel that pretty pussy 'round me."
his words make you moan softly, but they snap you into action. you scramble off his lap, stepping back from the cage of his legs as you hook your fingers in the waistband of your sleep shorts, bending over towards him as you tug them down, shimmying them over your hips and thighs until they fall to the floor.
dean's eyes hungrily watch your every movement, jaw clenching tightly and a low groan escaping his lips as the delicate red lace of your panties is exposed to him.
"son of a bitch," he mutters, his voice a breathless whisper so quiet you almost miss it.
feeling spurred on by his words, you step out of your shorts, leaving them on the floor as you stand between his legs again and start to sink down, your mouth watering at the thought of tasting him. but his arm shoots out to grab yours, stopping you from dropping to your knees with a grip so tight you think it might leave bruises. your pussy clenches at the thought, the idea of looking in the mirror and seeing the mark of him on your skin, as a reminder of this chance you may never have again, nearly making your eyes roll back.
"no, no," dean practically snarls, straightening you up as his hands go to the waistband of your panties, ripping them from your body with a ferocity that makes you gasp. "next time baby, i promise, i'll let you use your fuckin' gorgeous mouth on me, but right now i need to fuck that pretty pussy until you can't even think anything but my name."
a breath leaves your lungs in a shaky gasp, the filthiness of his words making your head spin.
"okay─" is all you can manage, your voice shaking as he tugs you back into his lap, groaning when he feels your bare, hot core against his still clothed and straining cock. he doesn't hold the position long though, because in a blink of an eye, he has you flat on your back, breasts heaving as you stare up at him, your eyes wide and needy.
you part your lips to comment something about how he still has pants on, but the words catch in your throat as a moan when his fingers suddenly swipe through your weeping heat. you arch your back against the mattress, trying to push yourself up against his fingers as they circle your throbbing clit, sending sparks of pleasure behind your eyes.
"that's it, that's my girl─ fuck, you're so fuckin' pretty," dean praises, leaning over you to suck one of your peaked nipples into heated mouth.
his words make you whimper, and your hips buck up desperately into his hand, chasing the burning pleasure he's making you feel. "shit, dean, please, please─"
your whines are cut off into a moan when he plunges the same fingers that had been working your aching bud into your sopping cunt, your walls instantly tightening around his digits.
"i know, pretty girl, i know," he croons, his raspy voice muffled against the heated skin of your chest. his plush lips trailing up to your neck, his stubble scratching at your sensitive skin as he noses under your ear, teeth tugging gently at your earlobe. "jus' give me one before i fuck you, yeah? wanna feel you come around my fingers before i fuck you stupid on my cock."
you whimper in response, tossing your head back against the mattress with a moan as he drives his fingers into your heat again and again, curling them just right to hit that gummy spot deep within you that makes your toes curl.
"oh god, oh god─" you babble, eyes squeezing shut as you feel the band in your stomach tightening, pulling you closer and closer to the edge. "dean, close, m'so close─"
your words only encourage him, his teeth tugging at your ear once more before he trails them up to your jaw, resting his forehead against your cheek. he presses his lips to the burning skin there as his thumb moves to circle your clit, making you cry out under him, your hands flaying to his shoulders, nails digging into the taut skin as you buck against his hand.
"yeah? y'gonna cum, baby? gonna soak my fingers like the good girl you are?" dean coos, lips moving against your cheek, letting his teeth graze your skin. "c'mon, pretty girl, cum on my fingers so this perfect fucking pussy can take me like she needs to."
you fly over the edge with a cry of his name, eyes rolling back and spine arching as your orgasm crashes over you, stealing the air from your lungs. your legs tremble around him, and you can feel his smug smirk against your cheek, your mind too fuzzy to comprehend the words he mumbles against your skin.
his fingers don't stop, working your soaked pussy until your whining, squirming away from his touch as your eyes flutter open, mouth slack as you gasp for breath. your eyes flick up to dean as he moves his face to hover over yours, and his hand has moved but he's not saying anything, and he's just staring at you, and the reverence in his eyes makes you want to shrink, but there's nowhere for you to go.
"dean," you whisper, your voice still shaking and barely audible as your eyes search his, trying to read his expression. he still doesn't say anything, just watching you with his devastatingly beautiful eyes and making you feel like he's worshipping you with his gaze. "what's wrong? do-do you want to stop─"
"do you know," dean mumbles your name, cutting you off effectively. "how fucking beautiful you are?"
the unexpected compliment makes your breath hitch, your heart pounding so loudly in your chest you're sure he can hear it. all you can do is stare up at him, and he's so close you can count every freckle on his impossibly perfect face, the moment so intimate it makes your heart clench in your chest.
"you drive me goddamn crazy," he continues, pushing himself up to stand between your legs that hang off the edge of the bed. his hands drift down to the waistband of his pants, pushing them and his boxers down in one swift movement, his eyes never leaving yours as he kicks them away. "you make me forget everything, y'know that? you make me forget about this damn mark on my arm, you're in my head and then suddenly, all the mark wants is you."
your eyes drift down to between his legs, your mouth watering as you see his cock, hard and heavy in front of you, already red and leaking precum. when you continue to stare, dean leans over you again, grasping your chin in his hand, forcing you to meet his eyes.
"i mean, fuck, just look at you, sweetheart," he breathes, his gaze raking over you, lingering on your heaving breasts before flicking back up to meet your eyes. "look so fucking gorgeous...all fucked out 'n stupid just from my fingers."
you only whimper in response, the sound breathless and soft as your spinning head tries to process his words. "please, dean," you rasp, your pleading eyes searching his, lifting your hips up to try and feel hi until he groans softly, eyes fluttering. "need you, please, fuck me.."
he stares at you for another moment, his jaw ticking and you can feel his cock twitch against your inner thigh. he finally moves again, reaching out and grabbing a pillow, lifting your hips and placing it under you. when he decides you're properly situated, he settles between your spread thighs, grasping one tightly in one hand while the other pumps himself slowly. he leans over you, guiding himself to your weeping entrance as your hands fly to his shoulders, grasping at the hard muscles.
he suddenly stops just before his leaking head brushed your folds, the hand on your thigh tightening as his eyes flick up to yours. "condom?" he asks, his voice strained as he forces himself to hold back.
you shake your head, biting your lip as you watch the way his pupils dilate, the sight making your aching core clench around nothing. "wanna feel you, all of you."
"fuck," he groans, his eyes slipping shut as he pumps himself faster, lining up with your aching pussy again. "baby, you're gonna be the death 'f me."
you just hum in response, your eyes glued to where he rubs his red, swollen tip through your puffy folds. with one more squeeze of your thigh, he pushes in, punching harmonic moans out of both of you. your back arches, eyes rolling back as your tight walls stretch around him, the pleasurable burn making your nails dig into his skin.
dean watches you, eyes wide and blown so dark with desire he looks almost crazed, staying still as he lets you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "that's it, look at you, takin' me so well," he praises, rolling his hips gently to see your reaction.
"ohh shit," you moan, a gasping whimper catching in your throat when he rolls his hips again. he grasps your hips with both hands as leans over you, his bare chest pressing against yours. he stays like that, keeping still longer than he did before, and it doesn't take long until your squirming under him, whimpering softly as you grasp at his shoulders. "move, dean, please─"
as soon as the plea leaves your swollen lips, his hips snap harshly against yours, making you cry out, your eyes flying open to meet his. your mouth goes slack, lips parted in a silent scream and your brow furrowing as he pistons his hips into you, changing angles slightly until he hits that gummy spot deep in you that makes you cry out his name.
"yeah, yeah, i know, pretty girl, that's it right there, huh?" dean's voice is strained, the words a groan against your lips as he licks into your slack mouth, making you mewl under him, the sound only encouraging him to go faster. "squeezin' me so tight, shit, perfect fucking pussy was made for me, fuck─"
he pounds into you mercilessly, your tight walls tightening around his cock, sucking him in as his tip hits your cervix, making stars flash in your eyes. you swear you can feel him everywhere. his hot breath against your parted lips, calloused hands gripping your thighs and sliding up to your chest to pinch and tweak at your hardened buds, his cock making you so full you swear you can feel him in your throat.
you can feel your release creeping up on you, your hands slipping down to grip his biceps, moaning when the muscles flex under your touch. dean seems to sense that you're getting close, and he moves one hand from your chest, trailing his fingers down your torso until he reaches your clit, rubbing tight circles on the aching bud.
the sudden overwhelming pleasure makes you cry out, eyes rolling back as you claw at his skin, broken mewls and gasps leaving your lips. "dean-!"
"yeah, fuck, beautiful, say my name," he groans, dropping his head to your neck, his hips never faltering their bruising pace. "want you scream it when you cum around my cock."
"oh shit," you gasp, hands flying to his back, nails dragging down his skin as you feel yourself getting dangerously close to the edge. "close, shit, m'close dean─"
"yeah, i know, baby, can feel you squeezing me." his fingers speed up on your throbbing clit, and with just the smallest bit of added pressure, the band in you snaps. hard.
you think you scream, but your brain shuts off as your orgasm crashes through you, the pleasure mind-numbing and paralyzing. dean continues to fuck you through it, his hips faltering as he feels your walls clamp down on him with your release.
"fuck, that's it. good girl, good fucking girl," he grunts your name into your neck, his voice strained as you feel him twitch in you, his thrusts just extending your orgasm and melting into another one. "you don't know how fucking long 've wanted this. your perfect fucking pussy gripping me so tight, fuck─ you were made for me, fucking made for my cock, never gonna let you go after this, ngh, you're mine now, sweetheart. all fucking mine."
he continues to babble as his hips falter, lifting his head from your neck to crash his lips to yours, devouring your mouth with his teeth and tongue.
"gonna cum in your tight fuckin' pussy, gonna fill you up, make you feel me for days." you whimper into his mouth, the two of you more so just panting into each other's mouths rather than kissing.
"please, dean, need it, need you so bad," you moan, feeling that band tighten once more. "wanna feel you, please, please─"
"oh fuck, gonna cum," he gasps your name into your mouth, his grip on your hips tightening, and somewhere in the back of your fucked out brain you register that there are definitely going to be bruises there tomorrow. "fuck, m'gonna cum─"
he thrusts once, twice, burying his face in your neck and then his hips still, pressing his cock as deep into you as he can get as he twitches, groaning loudly as he spills into you, his release hot and heavenly in your tight walls. the feelings sends you over the edge again, a weak, broken cry leaving you as your vision practically goes white with pleasure.
you stay like that, trembling and panting softly under him, your eyes hooded and hazy, your shaking hands slipping from his shoulders and falling to his biceps weakly. for a long moment, dean doesn't move, just breathing heavily into the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your sensitive skin with every breath.
eventually, he shifts his hips, moving to pull out, and the movement makes you whimper from the oversensitivity. instantly, dean pulls back from your neck, his brow furrowed as he looks down at you, his gaze filled with concern.
"shit, did i hurt you?" he asks, and you can hear the panic creeping into his tone. "i'm so sorry sweetheart, i didn't mean to─"
you cut him off with a shake of your head, forcing your eyes to focus as you look up at him, a weak, fucked-out smile forming on your lips. "you didn't hurt me, dean," you assure him, your voice raspy. "i'm fine, just sensitive."
"oh okay," he says, nodding and lets out a breath as if he'd been holding it.
he takes another moment, eyes raking over your face again, and he looks like hes't going to say something, but he bites his lip, pushing down whatever it is. slowly, he lifts himself on his arms, pushing up so he's almost sitting, squeezing your thigh comfortingly as he pulls out. you wince slightly at the movement, shivering when you feel his release dripping from your spent cunt.
he pulls away from you completely, standing up and walking over to the corner of his room and your stomach sinks as you watch him rifle through his stuff. you knew this was coming, the part where he awkwardly mumbled a thank you and you take his rejection without a word, making the walk of shame back to your own room, and you never speak of this again.
you can feel the familiar burn of tears forming behind your eyelids as you push yourself up, placing your feet on the ground. you don't look up at him as you lean over, grabbing your discarded shirt from the floor. you bite your lip anxiously as you stand up from the bed, intending to put your shirt on only to stumble and sway as your weak legs shake under you.
"woah, woah─" dean's arm comes around your waist, catching you before you can fall and you lean against him without really meaning to sighing at the warmth of his chest. "where do you think you're goin'?"
he turns you in his arms so your chest to chest with him, and you keep your eyes glued to his anti-posession tattoo, not quite ready to look him in the eyes and see the rejection. "i'll just get dressed and go back to my room─"
"hey, what? no," he interrupts, confusion lacing his words. his hand moves to cup your chin, tilting your head up until you have no choice but to look into his eyes. his brow is furrowed, and you have the sudden need to reach up and smooth the crease with your fingers. "why would you do that?"
your lips part to speak, but no words come out as the intense emotions in his eyes steal your breath.
dean says your name in a low voice, his gaze roaming over your face as his thumb stroked your cheek gently. "did you think i was gonna kick you out?"
"i...i didn't think you'd want me to stay," you admit in a breathless voice, eyes wide as you stare up at him.
he doesn't say anything for a moment, just gazing down at you as his hand raises to brush some of your hair away from your face, and if hekeeps looking at you like that you think you might catch on fire. "i meant what i said."
the words are so simple, so blunt that you don't know what he's referring to. "what are you talking about?" you ask, slightly breathless as your brow furrows in confusion.
"what i said, earlier, i meant it," dean repeats, the hand that's not cupping your chin raising to your forehead, his thumb stroking at the crease between your brows, the tenderness making your breath hitch. "i've wanted you, wanted this for so long, sweetheart."
his words stop your heart, and you look up at him with wide, shocked eyes. you can feel your pulse pounding in your chest, your shirt in your hand falling to the floor as your lips part in shock. "you have?"
"yeah," he mutters your name, both of his hands moving to cup your face now, and you subconsciously lean into his touch, making him smile softly. "i have. i'm honestly surprised you didn't notice before. even cas said i was bein' obvious."
your head reels from his confession, the words processing in your still slightly hazy mind. "you...what?" you ask, still staring up at him with wide eyes.
"i mean, hell, how could i not want you?" dean chuckles, almost to himself as he gazes down at you. "you're smart, 'nd funny, and you could kick my ass any day of the week. not to mention you're so fucking beautiful it makes me weak."
"you...you really mean that?" you ask, brow furrowing in doubt. "you're not fucking with me?"
he shakes his head, smiling down at you as his thumbs continue to caress your cheeks affectionately. "you, this...it's all ive wanted for a long time."
"i..." you start, unsure of what to say as you search his expression for any hint of him lying. when you find none, a smile matching his spreads across your lips, and you lean into his touch, bringing a hand up to rest over his. "ive wanted this too. for a while, actually."
dean grins at you─a real, wide, boyish grin that lights up his ethereal features, making your heart stutter in your chest. "i guess we're both idiots then."
"i guess we are..." you agree, pushing up on your tip toes to ghost your lips over his. you hover there, just breathing him in, eyes flicking between his before you close the gap, pressing your lips softly to his.
its nothing like the kisses you shared before. in fact, it's really just the gentle press of your lips to his, savoring the way his smile feels against you, and you suddenly don't know how you've lived your whole life without kissing dean winchester like this. you certainly don't think you can live without it now that you've experienced it.
after a few savored moments, you pull away, smile staying on your lips as your eyes flutter open. your hand slides along his arm, and you feel him tense when your fingers brush over the mark.
"i trust you, dean," you whisper, curling your fingers over the raised skin, squeezing his forearm lightly. "i know you would never hurt me, and i need you to know that im not going to leave."
"but-" he starts, but you cut him off by raising your free hand to press a finger to his lips.
"no buts," you counter, shifting your hand to cup his cheek, smiling lovingly at him. "just because you think you're dammed doesn't mean you actually are. because you aren't. no matter what you think of yourself, it will never change the fact that you, dean winchester, are the good man. the best man ive ever known, and ill be damned if i let you think any less than that."
"sweetheart..."
"stop. don't fight me on this─"
"i wasn't gonna fight you─"
"yes you were, i could see it─"
he says your name, low and serious, but there's still a soft smile on his face. "you're too damn good for me."
"what did i just say─"
"just let me say this, will you?" he says, giving you a look that makes you shut your mouth, eyes locked on his. he sighs, just staring at you for a moment before he speaks again, his voice softer than you've ever heard it. "youre too good for me, i know that. you're too smart, too kind, just too damn good. but damnit, i want to be selfish so bad and keep you for myself."
you just smile at him, eyes slipping shut as you lean up again to kiss him a little deeper than the one before, but still soft nonetheless. "you have me, dean," you whisper against his lips, your eyes still closed. "you've always had me."
"i don't want to hurt you," he mumbles, and you can feel his furrowed brow as he leans his forehead against yours.
"you won't hurt me."
"you don't know that─"
"yes, i do." your tone is sharp, and it makes his eyes snap open to meet yours again. at this proximity, you can see the specks of gold that flicker in the deep emerald that makes your heart skip a beat. "we'll figure this out, dean. we'll get through this and get that damn mark off you. we'll figure this out, together."
dean smiles at that, a soft, relieved curve of his lips that makes the corners of his eyes crease. he looks at you with so much emotion and affection that you want to just crumble into him and never let him go, hide him away from the world so that it can't hurt him more than it has. "together," he repeats, his voice a hushed whisper.
you can tell that he believes you, and the thought makes pride swell in your chest. you may not know much about your fucked up lives at the moment, but the one thing you know for sure is that you were never going to let dean go through it alone. ever.
a/n, this ended up being way longer than i intended, but oh well. anyways, i can't get moc!dean out of my head, so here we are... and happy late new years!
ps, the end was written at 3 in the morning (again) so i sincerely apologize if the ending is rushed
#dean winchester x you#dean winchester smut#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester drabble#jensen ackles#supernatural#dean winchester angst#dean winchester x reader angst#mark of cain#dean winchester#moc!dean#spn#demon!dean
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I wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's Mercury | Chip Taylor
Summary: I wanna uh him in the back of his mom's Mercury; Chip and fem!reader have car sex (in her mother's car). that's it.
Category: Smut (MDNI),
Warnings: Fingering, P in V unprotected sex, pulling out, oral sex (male receiving), mentions of the reader's mom's death
a/n: This idea buried itself in my brain and wouldn't stop pestering me until I wrote it, so... here it is lol this is largely unedited. Crush by Ethel Cain has been in the top 5 of my spotify wrapped for two years in a row, and every time I listen to it, I imagine Chip Taylor. Might make this into a series inspired by different lyrics of the song? If enough people want it idk. Not normally a smut writer, please take it easy on me! comments and reblogs would be appreciated <3
If there was a rule about fucking your boyfriend in the back of your dead mother's car, then consider it broken. Perhaps it was blasphemous but you were never that religious to begin with; at the very least, it was kind of disrespectful, debauching the car which you inherited when your mother passed away.
Any and all reconsiderations flew out the window as Chip curled his fingers inside you, hitting a spot that made your hips buck in response. Straddled over his lap in the back of your mom's Mercury, you thought how could something that felt this good be ever considered profane?
Without shame, you rode his hand, trying to get him to repeat the action.
A whine left his lips as your ass hit his erection, and suddenly he was thrusting up against you. The friction made you shudder, made you say, "More, please, more." into his neck where your face was buried.
You sank your teeth upon his flesh when he added a third finger and you felt the ache of the stretch, bit down hard enough to return some of the pain to him because what was love without a little ache?
Chip whined again, pushing his fingers in and out of you continuously. His pace never faltered despite the sting of your bite and you licked at the skin as though you were apologizing for being so rough. His skin tasted like salt as your tongue flattened over the spot, soothing the bite, knowing that for all his strength, all his hard angles and rough edges, Chip was fucking soft. He was soft and he bruised like a peach and you loved every little bit of him because of it.
He was soft, and he deserved softness in return. You were willing to give it to him, willing to assuage the indelicacy of your actions because you loved him. The fact that he made such pretty noises when he's nearly delirious with pleasure was just a bonus.
"Need you," you gasped, lifting yourself to your knees. Your fingers worked at the buttons of his jeans deftly, tugging the fabrics down just enough to free his cock.
"Baby," his voice was scratchy, strained, "I don't - we used up the last of the condoms."
As if you cared. You've already gotten this far, nothing was going to stop you now. "We'll be careful," You promised, pulling his wrist away. At the loss of his fingers, you hissed, already feeling empty.
"You - you sure?" he asked, eyes liquid gold in the dim light and you thought it was so unfair that a man could simultaneously be this pretty and this sweet. And then you remembered that he was yours, that he was hard and aching because of you and it felt like everything in the world was all right.
"I'm sure, baby, trust me." You leaned in and met his lips with yours as you sank down on his hard length, moaning into the kiss as you took him to the hilt. Nails dug into your thighs, before pulling away quickly to reposition around your waist.
Chip, ever sweet and soft, did not want to sully your skin with the crescent moon indents of his nails, because that would hurt and he did not want to hurt you, ever. You giggled against his lips.
"What?" Chip whined, lips trailing from your mouth to lay kisses along your jaw, down your neck.
"Nothing," You replied, slowly beginning to rock against him, "Absolutely nothing."
He hummed into your skin, hands tightening around your waist as you set the pace. "Feel so good," he mumbled, his words slurred as though he was drunk.
You wanted to bottle the sound and keep it forever.
"Yeah?" You quickened your pace, clenching your walls around his cock every time you sank down, "You like that?"
He hummed again, leaning back into the backrest and pulling you along with him.
"I love it," he answered, his hips thrusting up to meet yours. A gasp escaped your mouth as it hits the spot his fingers had previously been toying with. "I love you." he added, before sucking at the spot just beneath your jaw and you almost laughed at how tender he sounded, a stark contrast to the obscenity happening at the moment.
"You're sweet," you replied, withholding the words because you knew it would elicit another sound from those full, pink lips.
"Mhm..." as you predicted, he whined and pulled away from your neck to stare at you. His pupils were blown wide, brows scrunched together to look up at you pleadingly. This time, your laughter bubbled out, unwilling to be contained.
Chip pouted, and you knew you were a goner for him.
"I love you too."
As soon as the words left your mouth, he thrusted up into you harder. You bit your lip, legs shaking from how full you feel.
"Let me hear you," he begged, holding your waist to guide your movements, "Please."
You can't deny him anything. A string of curses fell from your lips as he fucks into you, fingers finding purchase on his hair. You gripped the soft, sweaty locks tightly, eyes squeezing shut everytime you feel his cock drag out and slam back in. Your other hand went to the backrest, bracing yourself as you impaled yourself on his dick, over and over again.
An easy rhythm developed, the car rocking to your movements as you met him thrust for thrust, bouncing on his cock like you were made for it.
"Fuck, Chip, yes!" you gasped, your pace faltering slightly as the pleasure coiled low in your stomach. He felt this, he knew you like the back of his hand at this point, and he reached one hand down upon your center, seeking out your clit.
"Come for me, baby, please." he groaned, rubbing fast circles on the sensitive nub. You liked to think you were the more dominant one in this relationship, but one plea from Chip and you're suddenly cumming.
"F-fuck!" your pussy clenched around him, and you sank down once, twice, and suddenly the world seemed to explode into a white hot crash. He held you close, stopping you from moving and accidentally triggering his orgasm, but his fingers continued to rub your slick folds, helping you along.
"Good?" he asked. He hadn't finished, not wanting to be irresponsible about this, and he loved bringing you pleasure anyway. If he could, he'd do it every hour of every day. But you had plans for him, so he just had to be patient.
"Perfect." Panting for breath, you looked at him, took in his agape mouth and sweaty forehead, and smiled. "You're so pretty," you cooed, running a hand down his jaw. His skin was damp with sweat and overheated.
You gave him one more peck on the lips before pulling away from him. His cock slides out from your pussy, slick with your cum and practically throbbing with need. With shaky legs, you somehow squeezed yourself on the floor, on your knees.
"Y-you don't have-"
You shushed him by licking the underside of his shaft, the combined taste of your cum and his skin making you moan. "Let me help you out baby." You say, before wrapping your lips around his cock and hollowing out your cheeks.
His hand flew to yur head, fingers tightening at your hair for a brief moment before unclenching. Instead, he gathered your hair back, and held it at the base of your neck to get it out of the way. Your heart ached at gentleness of his touch, and it only made you want to make him feel even better.
Looking up through your lashes, you started to slowly bob your head up and down his length, making sure to suck every time your pulled away, just as he liked. You moaned around him, and his hips bucked as the vibrations went up his body, pushing his cock further down your throat.
"Shit, sorry I-"
You took it like a champ, never once breaking eye contact as you sucked him off. Chip moaned, his head lolling back, but his eyes remained on you and you alone. It made you shiver, the way he was staring at you with those honey colored irises as he blew his load down your throat.
You swallowed it all, giving the tip a soft kiss for good measure, before clambering back onto his lap. Strong arms automatically wound around your waist, and tucked you against him chest.
"That was incredible." he murmured, pressing kisses along your temple.
"Mhm, yeah." You hummed in response, nodding. The two of you cuddled and caught your breath, in this small piece of heaven carved out of the backseat of your mother's car.
#chip taylor#chip taylor x reader#chip taylor smut#68 kill#matthew gray gubler#mgg smut#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#dr spencer reid#spencer reid x reader#dr spencer reid fan fic#spencer reid smut#dr Spencer Reid smut#ethel cain#idk if this is what ethel cain intended but it is what im doing#smut#criminal minds
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I KEEP GETTING ACCUSED THAT THE IDEA I WANT TO DO IS SMUT SO HERE
HAVE A PREVIEW OF WHAT I'M ACTUALLY WORKING ON
#Get y'alls heads out of the damn gutters!!!!!!! /j /lh /nm#anyways I told Mushy I'll also do a smut anim too so. that one's coming up next#tadc#tadc au#harlequin au#tadc harlequin au#the amazing digital circus#pomni#caine#caine x pomni#pomni x caine#showtime#showtime shipping#showtime ship#tadc showtime#2d animation#current wip
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bones and all au // rafe cameron x reader
summary : “ you're so handsome when I'm all over your mouth. ” strangers by ethel cain.
warnings : if you were not comfortable with the movie by luca guadagnino, don't read this !! mature plot. a lot lot lot of blood. sick and gore attitude. cannibalism used as a form of love. strangers/ode to eaters by ethel cain muse. smut. pomegranate used as a metaphor of cannibalism. jealousy. mentions of organs and anatomy. some b&a refs but you can read it without watching the movie. violence. minors DNI. +18.
author's note : crdits to @starfxkrreloaded for this au. you can reach for her ode to eaters au which is very insane ! please, i know this is very twisted but don't send hate or be mean in the comments. if you dont want to read something like that, it's your right and i respect it, just scroll. to the rest, hope you will enjoy. it's my first time writing something like that so i'm kinda nervous. and by the way, the movie is very beautiful, taylor russell was incredible in this. i highly recommend you.
you lived in an old house in the midwest, the southern gothic type with an empty fridge, broken stairs, carcasses of eaten animals in the garden, a tv too old to be turned on, a radio player too damaged to be listened to , a completely dirty kitchen with dishes full of dishes in the sink, and nasty dirts on the floor. there was also that damn lamp that flickered and came on every other time, that icy water that froze your bones, that cold tiles that creaked under your feets. the windows were rarely open but when they were, the shutters slammed against the wind, your underwear hung over the radiator. but you really liked this place, in fact, it was the only place you could call home without wanting to collapse in tears.
you had your headphones on in that empty quiet space, and a probably dead singer in your ears living through your swaying body. you found this pomegranate on the table while searching. it was intact, still shiny and full of good things.
you didn't need a knife when you had a hungry beast inside you to cut the fruit with your teeths. you had dug your molars inside the seeds, directly into the fresh and virgin skin, opened the eviscerate flesh, tearing away everything you can with your mouth, the still delicious juice ready to feed your thirst and starved your hunger.
you smelled the fruity and juicy scent through your nose, splitted open the pomegranate, discovering the clean and clear inner bones, a pretty red color, even more oozing and sublime than your blood, a perfect complexion reminiscent of the sanguinary meat of your anatomy. your tongue and teeth were sunk in, completely buried in the dripping morsel. your face and cheeks were full of it, shining onto your dirty and sticky fingers. the juice burst, squeezed in your hands as you devoured this fruit, the liquid of which flowed, dripping down your neck and chest, slipping toward your tummy like an unstoppable river.
you were bad as a demon, but nothing stopped you. you bit and bit like a mad dog into the flesh of the fruit like a piece of meat, extracting with your molars everything that you could recover and stuck in your throat.
the more you ate, the more the fruit bled. but you heard nothing, no lamentations. nothing could stop you from eating, from the rage beating. it was sickly, obscene and depraved.
you looked like such an innocent thing, but inside you, there was nothing like that. and you couldn't fool anyone with your tears and your regrets, because you didn't have any.
you had dropped the pomegranate on the ground, there was nothing left except a broken corpse. you had consumed everything from the flesh to the bones, from the skin to every part.
your dress was stained. you stank of pomegranate as much as sin. there was nothing good in you, and above all, there were too many people in you.
rafe had come home in the night while you were waiting in the armchair in the living room, with this juice stuck to your body. you hadn't moved. for some reason you were faithful to your partner. maybe because he scared you, or because you understood that without him you couldn't survive.
he had thrown the key in the table and came before you.
he came toward you in the same state you had seen him for the first time, covered in blood and with glowing blue dilated eyes. you knew that he had eaten, that he had devoured someone because he was not like you. rafe was worse. he understood that nature was to kill but beyond that, it was something he was trying to teach you as your mentor. that we should not regret giving in to impulses, that if we did not listen to them, they would end up killing us.
that we were originally monsters, and that we had to deal with it. you didn't know if he was telling the truth, if he was right. but he was taller than you. you found a maturity in him that fascinated you, that forced you to listen to him.
he had taken off his shirt, and you looked up at his face. he smelled of blood, that strong, metallic smell that you could sniff from several meters away but especially his because you knew him by heart.
“jesus, don’t look at me like that. you wanted to stay at home, i didn't force you to. ”
“it was a girl. what was she like? did you like it ? ”
you didn't know if it was jealousy, or curiosity. you just knew you didn't like knowing he was with some girls even if it wasn't going to last.
with a smirk but at the same time terribly cold face, he answered you. "if you're that jealous, use that energy and mouth to taste it. maybe, you will have some answers. ”
you got up from the chair to join him. you didn't want to share him, even though you knew there was only you in his life. you knew it because since you knew him, he had never talked about his family, nor contacted relatives in the payphone. then, he rarely spoke about his private life. he often made fun of you, because it was more your type of thing to open up about personal moments. you never knew if he was really listening to you but he stayed until the end of your speech.
eagerly, you kissed him, that girl’s blood sliding against your lips, your mouth capturing rafe’s in a kiss, as your cheeks crushed against his bloody face. “ mine, mine.” you whispered, pushing your tongue against his. “ clean that blood, babe. i can't be yours if she's still here. ” he had slipped his hands under your skirt, pressing the flesh of your ass. he had a ring on, the cold metal playing against your skin. you could smell it, just like what he had eaten before coming home.
he sat on the probably moldy and torn couch in your living room, you were almost his height now that you were sitting on top of him. you were hungry, as much for him as for sex. he made you feel so many things, or it was this jealousy, this thirst within you that made you so hungry. you weren’t really sure.
you took one of his fingers still covered in blood, the recent taste of raw flesh now in your cavity. he had pushed his thumb deeper in your mouth, making you suck the pulp properly. the liquid bleeding against your tongue, as his flesh quickly brushed your cavity, your drooling lips curved around him. he pushed it in until he felt your throat.
he was playing with fire, he was playing with you, because he knew you could bite him at any moment but he had also conditioned you not to.
“so, how is it? ”
“nothing tastes better than you.” you simply replied. “ right ? nothing can be as good as me. ” he said in a mocking tone.
he had undone the strap of your dress, revealing one of your tits which he had taken in his palm before taking it in his mouth. your nipple was pressed between his teeth, your skin trapped in his hand as he sucked on your piece of flesh, pinching it only ever so gently in his mouth. he still had remnants of blood, slipping between your body and his tongue.
there was something sensual between this slow sucking, fast suction of the tongue around your throbbing nipple, your spiraling stomach against the void, the movement of his adam's apple in his throat while he tasted every beads of your boobs. rafe was good at it.
he pressed your tits, grabbed them tightly and firmly against his palm, nibbling the tip, caressing the pulp, kissing the flesh. and maybe if he had bitten into it, you would have cum instantly.
his hand was on you, covering your body in blood and sweat, tracing your figure with his soiled and bloody fingers like a canva, letting them run over your skin like a paintbrush.
he was hidden by your sucked breasts. and you wanted him full. you had started to grind against him, even with your underwear separating you from him and his piece of jeans, you managed to be completely soaked on him. your hips moved in motion, lifting delicately like a porcelain doll too afraid of getting hurt.
you were no worse than him, and he was no worse than you. you were both terrible people. there was no hierarchy among people like you.
but the first time you saw him, in that shirt full of blood, with that mouth so red and that oozing dripping neck.
it was dark, but you knew very clearly what he had done, and perfectly well who he had eaten. you had observed it and you had not seen a monster. you weren't afraid.
he wasn't mean and monstruous, just indifferent.
"if you want to eat, that man is still over there." he said simply, not trying to hide or deny what you were seeing.
and you liked it. you instantly liked it.
“ you're the one who interests me.”
“you know the drill, we don’t eat each other.”
“i mean, will you let me come with you?”
"listen to me carefully, i don't have the face of a babysitter, nor the skills to do so. get by, you may be a minor but if you're old enough to do what you do when mom and dad have their backs turned, i swear, you can get through this on your own. ”
“i’m an adult.” you cut him off.
“your age was a nice excuse for me to tell you that i’m not interested. i bet you're an adult. ”
you had followed him when he approached his pickup. "i wouldn't bother you. but i need help. i mean, this is new to me. i don't do this often while you seem to be experienced. i want.. .i want to be like you, not to be afraid of that.”
“what makes you think i’m the right person for this?”
“you may not necessarily be the right person, but you’re the one I want.”
“you know, i already have a lot of problems, i don’t need a burden on all of them.”
“please. i won’t be one. you have my word.”
"you really don't give me a choice. come up crybaby, but if you bother me, i won't hesitate to abandon you, no matter where."
you nodded. it was going back, but in the meantime, you had traveled to many states of america, and probably left a pile of corpses on your way. even though it hadn’t been easy, he had taught you how to drive.
one cold summer night, in the darkness of a tent in the middle of nowhere, you hadn't managed to sleep. but when you opened your eyes, rafe wasn't sleeping either.
“you should sleep, you’re the one driving tomorrow. ”
“you want to know who my first victim was? "
"i guess even if i don't care, you're going to tell me. so go ahead. knock me out, tell me something your little lips haven't told me yet. and don’t say victim, you're much an innocent thing than a killer. but don’t worry, i'm about to raise you very well. ”
his hands had gripped your hips to position you above him. “but for now, tell me about your boring story, maybe it will help me sleep.”
you had told him a lot of your past. the first time you had eaten someone, the babysitter your father had hired who had ended up torn apart on the floor and another part in your mouth. oh it really wasn't beautiful. and this time, in the summer camp where a boy had mysteriously disappeared because you had devoured him in the woods. and that friend at school whose finger you swallowed. it was stronger than you. you needed to eat.
and rafe was the only one to understand it.
the most intimate moments in a relationship should be sex, but for the two of you it was different. it was when you ate together, when you both had blood around your mouth, that you could taste his, and he could taste yours. when there was this connection between you.
he was a different eater from you, he was bestial and cold, sinking his teeth straight into the flesh, tearing off the parts of the body one by one. his bites were mean and cruel. the way, his teeths pulled the organs, the ribcage. you watched him, his hungry raging mouth embracing the darkness of his needs, ripping all the raw meat out roughly. oh the blood, it leaked into every corner of his pretty and bloody lips that you wanted to kiss so badly, to feel the liquid and flesh filling and consuming the space of your throat and your tongue as your body swallowed everything he gave you. oh how much, rafe loved to feed you directly in the mouth, letting you suck the flowing red wet all around his jaw, and down his neck to the cool grass. he was beautiful. insanely handsome. but also, so scary.
his skin was covered in a red, metallic coat. his eyes were consumed with pleasure, while devouring the body of your victim.
he was very different from you, who was more delicate in your movements, or rather clumsy. your bites were messy, your touches lighter, even with the blood all over you.
but it was in those moments that the sex was the best afterwards. when his tongue, still red and famished with blood, circulated over the skin of your stomach, leaving a reddish river against your flesh.
and it went even further than that, when he found himself lost between your legs, his warmth muscle completely buried inside you, lapping your soaked folds, licking you like a starving man, his mouth pressed around your sloppy wet cunt. your juices dripping against his open wided mouth and jaw, the throbbing of your clit against his nose, the way your beating pussy smeared the blood across his lips and cheeks every time he entered and devoured your delicious slick.
since you didn't eat each other, it was your only way to feed him, to make him taste you. you didn't know if he loved your taste but in any case his tongue always came back to find you, to fuck that cunt, lodging itself between your soggy walls.
he forced you to keep your thighs apart, one hand resting on your bruised tummy which contracted every time you felt him on your core.
your legs shaking around his shoulders, the way his bloody mouth nibbled on your clit. you moaned in the middle of this abandoned place. you could shout as loud as you wanted, no one would come, no one would hear you.
you loved feeling his large hands on your bruised skin, especially after eating, because they were dirty and sloppy. you let your tongue clean the blood stuck to his fingers, the drops falling into your mouth.
it was strange how love can be perceived for everyone. ever since you were a child, you have been unable to show affection without hurting people. when you loved someone, it was tragic because you had this need to devour and consume them, to make them a part of you, to make them live within you.
but for rafe, it was different.
you were total opposites. and even though you lived together, you wondered if he felt things for you. if he had ever been in love.
because you liked to think that the way he kept you around, the way he let you stay with him at night, the way he always came home, and was open to doing all these things with you, that was his way to show you that you mattered to him. you even wondered if he came back every night because he couldn't let go of you. yet, at the beginning of your relationship, he wouldn't have hesitated.
here, in this rickety house, you didn't pay rent. it belonged to one of your victims. you always did that, you killed people, and robbed them of their belongings. you took their money, clothes and possessions. you were stealing the lives of these people. at first you felt guilty but now you feel nothing. it was life.
“i love you. ” you told him, as you straddled him on your shared bed, your fists curled in the pieces of sheets. “i really love you, rafe.” you were moaning and feverish, every inch of his thick cock buried in your core, hitting your spot.
while you were bouncing on him, your ass slapped against his muscular thighs. he grabbed your breasts moving over his face, as his dick was ruining you, each of his thrusts destroying your canal. you were as tight as the first time he fucked you in the back of the pickup. he gripped your ass, pinching the flesh.
he wrapped his hand around your throat before losing his face in your neck, his mouth kissing that immaculate part of your body. he placed kisses, before lightly sinking his teeths into your skin, nibbling and sucking on this skin offered to him, while you continued to take him just below him. “yea, you love me. ” with a hard stroke further into you. “still fucking tied to me. ”
and he wasn't wrong, you were so glued to him, completely submissive. he was inside you, filling you completely, every part of his length stuck to your walls, parting your pussy lips, your moans muffled above his head as your arms wrapped around his back. you were desperate and whimpering, the wet sounds of your repeated moans echoing around the room.
you could feel the twitch of his stomach against your skin, the perfect harmony of your two bodies in sync, he speared you violently with his fat cock, let you hear his grunts and heavy breathing against your neck, coming straight from his throat.
you were sweaty and noisy, like one of his victims, but most of all, you were his, his hands all over your body like a prize. every touch was possessive, your head tilted back, and his mouth melted onto your jaw. he fucked you roughly, making you bounce on him and cry.
his blue eyes shone in the darkness of the room. they were on you, in a perfect focus.
“do you love me? " you asked him, your body going through trembling spasms, your skin covering his. you were desperate and suffocating. your breaths were rapid and frantic.
he moved your head with his hand on your throat, his gaze flickering above your collarbones. you felt like you were pretty with the importance his pupils gave you.
you wondered if he had ever wanted to eat you alive, because after all, even if you were an eater, you were still easy prey.
and maybe even sometimes you fantasized about what he could do, because you wouldn't have minded seeing him dug his teeth into your flesh like meat, seeing him consume you one by one, your bones getting sucked, your blood spurting against his tooth.
you would have loved to sacrifice your body to feed him, to be that pomegranate to him, to see him smile through your organs, to see his belly swell because you were in a thousand pieces inside.
you would have loved for him to eat you alive, because you knew rafe would have done it out of love.
“ don't leave me or i will eat you. ” you said to him, his hands brushing your hair like a lover. “ every part of you. like you taught me. ”
“ bones and all ? ”
“ bones and all, my love. ”
and he smiled, fucking smiled all over your kisses, his lips covered yours.
“ then, what are you waiting for ? sunk those teeths in me. scared for what, babe ? nothing that you have not tasted before.”
#i swear i'm not on drugs#rafe x reader#rafe cameron concepts#rafe cameron prompt#cannibalism as a metaphor for love#bones and all#strangers ethel cain#rafe cameron x female reader#rafe cameron smut#ethel cain#rafe cameron fanfiction#obx fanfic#obx smut#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x y/n#tw blood#cannibalism as a form of love#luca guadagnino#cannibalistic#x reader#fanfiction#rafe cameron au#obx au#tw violence#southern goth aesthetic#ode to eaters
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𝗌𝗐𝖾𝖾𝗍, 𝗆𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗅𝖺𝗆𝖻
𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝘾𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 (2𝙆) (𝙏𝙒; 𝙎𝙢𝙪𝙩, 𝙎𝙚𝙡𝙛 𝙁𝙡𝙖𝙜𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣)
‼️18+ 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐃𝐍𝐈‼️
-
The story of how the priest fell in love was a single thread that, for better or for worse, tied Eve to her fate.
The Singh family had immigrated from Kolkata to Omaha in search of America’s land of opportunity.
As Eve joined her family in their pew, a handsome young man with brunette hair took to the pulpit; a heavy black cassock hung from his broad shoulders, a crucifix laid over his chest. “Good morning.”
It was a different sight than usual this Sunday morning.
Father Mayhew gave the masses on Sundays and Holy Days of Obligation but was priming his son to take his place on the altar and be the humble shepherd to the sheep of the town.
Charlie Mayhew.
The town’s golden boy, opening doors for the elderly, volunteering at the transient shelter, and babysitting the children of the parishioners.
The perfect picture of what a priest’s son should be.
Charlie didn’t hold any prejudice toward his congregation’s newest additions; he and his father welcomed them with open arms and introduced them to the community as if they were already one of their own.
Even when the townspeople were hesitant or unwilling to accept their newest residents.
“Miss Singh.”
Eve turned at the sound of her last name, looking over her shoulder with wide brown eyes as Father Mayhew’s son approached her with an easygoing grin, smiling and greeting other parishioners as he made his way to her.
“Good Morning,” Eve’s accent was heavy, and her English was still being learned.
The townspeople gave her family odd looks when they did not take the time to understand Eve’s family and friends properly. “The sermon you gave was lovely.”
“Thank you.” Ever humble, Charlie bowed his head meekly. “I have to admit, it’s distracting up there when you’re beneath me.”
Eve blinked in surprise, and Charlie quickly reassured her with a charming grin. “I couldn’t help noticing you’re...missing something.”
“What am I missing?” Eve looked down at herself, holding her missal and rosary in her hands.
Charlie only laughed softly and shook his head dismissively.
“Come back at golden hour. Seven P.M.”
Charlie gestured to the interior of the church. “The light comes through the stained glass just right, and this place becomes...” His dark eyes lingered on Eve for a moment too long, and both young adults could somehow see their lives playing out before them. “Transcendent.”
-
The gold light reminded Eve of her tree swing in the woods of her childhood home as she entered the chapel at seven p.m. on the dot. “Hello?” Her voice echoed in the chapel as she searched for Charlie, who made his presence known from the choir loft behind her.
“Oh!” Eve felt small with Charlie looking down on her from on high; she had felt that way since her family had arrived in Omaha with only the clothes on their backs and their hearts in their hands. “I’m sorry, I did not know you were there.”
Charlie only grinned as if he knew something she didn’t. “Come up here; it’s a better view.”
Eve joined Charlie in the choir loft, and he was right.
The view from up above was better.
“I hope this isn’t too forward.” Eve followed Charlie to the sacristy, gasping in surprise when he began to unbutton his black dress shirt and remove his belt. “I’m going to clean up before I give you what you came for.”
“Wait here.” The gentle demand in Charlie’s voice stirred something inside Eve; she just wasn’t sure what that alien feeling was yet.
Eve turned her head away to stare at the crosses hanging from the wall as Charlie stripped in front of her to his underwear as if he were putting on a show.
Dark eyes stole glances at the size of Charlie straining through the nearly see-through delicate material. “Okay.” She exhaled shakily when Charlie’s half-naked figure disappeared into the bathroom.
The sound of shower water hitting the floor and steam filled the tiny room. It got humid quickly. Eve undid the first few buttons of her dress, sighing and fanning herself as she waited for Charlie to finish.
‘If you’re listening, God. Don’t let Mummy and Daddy catch me.’ Eve silently prayed to the various crosses and religious imagery decorating the church back room.
An unmarried woman still at home with her parents, alone in the handsome, young priest’s chambers?
Eve second-guessed the consequences of this visit as she redid the buttons of her dress, shooting to her feet when Charlie exited the bathroom in a cloud of steam.
Droplets of water dripped down Charlie’s bare and glistening chest; his brunette hair was shiny copper in the low light of the room. “Is something wrong, Eve?” He looked down at himself, laughing as if he now realized he was naked.
Save the white towel hanging from his hips.
Eve followed the trail of hair on Charlie’s abdomen that disappeared underneath the towel. “I... do not want to get us in trouble.” She nervously twisted a lock of hair around her index finger, turning it purple. “What would people say?”
Charlie’s expression changed to one of mock hurt. ‘Me?’ He mouthed, putting a hand over his heart. “Miss Singh. I’m wounded.” He boldly walked up to Eve, caging her against the dresser she backed up against and retrieving a velvety, black box that sat inside.
“I cannot accept-” Charlie gently shushed Eve when she began protesting, putting his smooth, cool hands over Eve’s to guide her fingers to open the box.
Gasping softly, Eve was in silent awe as she lifted a golden crucifix, hanging from a delicate gold chain that dangled from Eve’s long, brown fingers. “It’s beautiful.” She whispered, her dark brows knit together in confusion. “What is it?”
“This shows who you belong to.” Charlie watched the gold light reflect on Eve’s features as she admired the necklace.
Eve allowed Charlie to take the necklace from her fingers, his words running through her head. ‘Who I belong to?’ She wondered. ‘Who do I belong to?’
“Turn around.”
Eve obeyed as if Charlie’s commands were almost second nature, closing her eyes when Charlie gathered her long, black locks in his hands and combed his fingers through it once, twice, before pulling her hair back to fall between her shoulder blades.
The necklace chain was cold as it graced Eve’s throat, shuddering when she felt Charlie ever-so-slightly run his index finger along her collarbone. “Blessed be you.”
Eve nodded and bid Charlie goodbye, confused of the events that had transpired as she walked home.
The tutoring lessons Eve began with Charlie to learn English, and church study became frequent. Charlie would stop short of giving Eve her release, cleaning, redressing, and sending Eve home before someone grew suspicious of the young adults’ mutual absence.
-
“I am hiding from something I cannot stop.”
Eve stood in the church sacristy with Charlie, her dress bunched in her fists from how tight she clenched her hands at her sides. “It feels like a fever in me.”
The dreams of Charlie’s body on Eve’s, learning to touch herself the way Charlie had instructed her, secret glances and touches in the chapel—it was all becoming too much for Eve to bear.
“Please,” Eve begged, getting on her knees and clasping her hands, looking up at Charlie with desperate brown eyes. “Help me.”
“Oh, Lamb…” Charlie sighed long and low. He guided Eve onto all fours on his mattress, pushing her dark hair off her shoulders and pressing his nose into the crook of her neck, inhaling deeply until Eve filled his senses. “You'd do well to say yes to me.”
Feeling Charlie’s cold, smooth hands slide up her waist, undoing every button before sliding the dress up over her head. “Do as I say.” His tone was low and dark; it reverberated through Eve’s body as he dragged his mouth down her spine.
Neatly folding Eve’s dress, Charlie placed it on the bedside table.
“I’m on fire,” Eve exhaled shakily, bunching the fabric of the comforter in her hands when she clenched them into fists underneath her, feeling Charlie’s heavy, dark presence behind her.
“I’m on fire, I’m on fire, I’m on fire...” Eve chanted like a prayer as Charlie teased her with featherlight touches that transformed into a hungry seizing of Eve’s flesh, digging his strong fingers into her soft, brown skin and marking her as his for the taking.
“You poor thing...” Charlie rolled his neck, muscles flexing as he pulled the towel from around his waist, freeing his erection as he approached the end of the bed. “Sweet, mourning lamb.”
Eve closed her eyes when Charlie ran his index finger down her spine, gripping her hip in his hand as he teased the throbbing head of his erection against her soft cunt. “There's nothing you can do.” His jawline flexed, muscles straining, and his face flushed as he bent over Eve’s trembling frame. “It's already been done.”
‘What fear a woman like you brings upon a man like me.’ Charlie thought darkly as he wrapped Eve’s ebony locks around his fingers and closed his hand into a fist. “Show me your face.” He demanded, giving Eve’s hair a sharp tug to force her back to arch, making her look up at him with desperate brown eyes.
“Heard you,” Charlie was a man possessed, massaging Eve’s breasts, squeezing and pinching her nipples until they hardened under the pads of his fingers.
Eve turned her face into the pillow and screamed when Charlie stretched and rubbed her most intimate part, “Saw you.” His dark eyes never strayed from Eve as she writhed like a snake underneath the weight of him.
“Felt you,” Each prayer was punctuated by a thrust from the priest; his headboard scratched the sacristy wall. “Gave you.” Charlie dropped his head to his chest when Eve clenched around him, grunting in time with their movements.
“Need you,” Eve continued the prayer when Charlie went non-verbal, his dark eyes blown out as he frantically began to fuck her into the mattress. “Love you.” She felt Charlie’s hands slide underneath her legs and pushed her knees to her chest.
Glancing at his reflection in his dresser mirror, Charlie grinned at his flushed and sweaty face, his chest and neck marked with love bites and scratches from Eve.
Flexing a toned arm, Charlie admired how Eve’s long legs shook atop his broad shoulders, bending over to give Eve a sweet kiss on her sweaty lips.
“Charlie-!” Tears streamed down Eve’s face; it hurt how big Charlie was inside her, stretching her open and thrusting relentlessly.
“Am I hurting you, Lamb?” Bending over Eve, Charlie took the gold chain of her crucifix necklace between his teeth; he was slower now but still grunting loudly with every thrust.
“Here…” Charlie’s hand traveled down Eve’s heaving chest to her abdomen, swollen with the fill of him. Finding the hard nub at the top of her cunt, Charlie began to massage Eve’s clit.
Eve’s lips began to tremble, more and more tears streaming down her sweet face as she felt herself clamp down on Charlie.
Eyes wide and lips parted in a silent scream, Eve stiffened, her palms flat against Charlie’s biceps as he finished alongside her.
Charlie pulled out and frantically pumped his arm, locking desperate eyes with Eve as he moaned long and low. A white, warm, and sticky fluid coated Eve’s tummy when Charlie came with stuttering breath and blown-out eyes.
Panting softly on her side, Eve felt Charlie retreat from the bed, listening to the sound of a drawer opening and closing and water being poured.
Kneeling bedside, Charlie placed a wooden handle with multiple ropes hanging from it on the bed, splaying the ropes out wide as he gripped the base of the handle and braced himself.
The sound of wind whistling through the air and the crack of rope on skin made Eve sit straight up, drawing her knees to her chest and covering her face with her arms in horror as she watched bloody stripes bloom onto Charlie’s back.
A single tear slipped down Charlie’s flushed face as he began to line up the blood-stained rope once more.
“Stop-!” Eve threw herself over Charlie, crying out when the rope scarred her wrist. “Why-?” She felt hot tears begin to slip down her cheeks, dripping into Charlie’s wounds. “Why do you do this to yourself?”
“It’s repenting for our sin.” Charlie moved robotically, trying to line up the rope once more, but Eve stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “I have to do it.” He insisted as Eve took his face in her hands, burying her nose in his brunette locks.
“Please,” Eve hugged Charlie’s neck, kissing his temple and gently rubbing his bruised and bloody back. “If someone has to be punished,” She sniffled and pushed her black curtain of hair out of her eyes, her face slick with tears. “This is my fault. I…..tempted you.”
Charlie looked at Eve with tear-filled eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment, making him look boyish and innocent. “I came to you today.” Eve insisted, taking Charlie’s hands and kissing his wrists and fingers. “Punish me.” She begged, clinging to him in desperation.
Slowly nodding, Charlie guided Eve to kneel beside him, exposing her naked back. “Oh, Lamb…” He sighed, gently dragging the ropes down Eve’s spine. “Sweet, mourning, lamb.”
Eve screamed and buried her face in her arms when she felt the sting of the rope against her flesh.
Charlie was quick to envelop Eve in his arms, shushing and comforting her before someone outside was alerted to the illicit goings on in the sacristy.
“Do you think you can take two more?” Charlie opened his bedside drawer and retrieved a salve for Eve’s aftercare. “Three will be enough to please the Holy Trinity.”
Drained of tears, Eve nodded and assumed her previous position, feeling Charlie rubbing the front of his clothed erection into her back as he raised the handle once more.
Two.
Three.
Eve combed her fingers through Charlie’s hair as he cleaned her with a warm washcloth. “Let me.” Charlie took Eve’s delicates when her hands trembled; he slid to his knees and wrapped a hand around Eve’s ankle, lifting it to slide her underwear up her still shaking legs. “It’ll be better if I do these things for you from now on.”
Redoing the buttons of her dress and putting Eve’s black hair over her shoulders, Charlie hooked a finger underneath the gold chain of her necklace, tugging the crucifix upright and forcing Eve to strain her neck to look up at him. “Who do you belong to?” He asked in an even and measured tone.
“You. I belong to you.” Eve sighed in reply, the priest gently laid the necklace across her collarbone, guiding her on his arm out of the sacristy and into the chapel, standing at the church doors as Charlie bid Eve goodbye.
“After Sunday Mass. I want you waiting on all fours in my bed.” Charlie sweetly kissed Eve’s swollen lips goodbye, but she could see in his eyes it was a demand, not a request, from her priest.
“Yes, Father.”
#nicholas alexander chavez#nicholas chavez#father charlie mayhew#father charlie#grotesquerie#charlie mayhew#grotesquerie hulu#charlie grotesquerie#father charlie grotesquerie#neelam kaur gill#neelam gill#oc#eve singh#ethel cain inspired fic#writing#mine#writing on tumblr#my writing#charlie mayhew smut#father charlie smut#for a specific reason this is set in like post- WWII times
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Thoroughfare
DEAN WINCHESTER X DOE!READER
WARNINGS: sexual content (MDNI), fingering, hair pulling, finger sucking. first smut, pls i know it’s bad🫣
SUMMARY: with a light whisper of ‘do you wanna see the west with me?’ dean had you right where he wanted; by his side and sitting pretty in the front seat of his car.
WC: 3.3k
the humid air of the western skies lingered on your skin, bringing a humid and sticky sheen to your arms and shoulders. dean had all the windows rolled down, a testament to the light breeze that broke through the stickiness of montana.
your cotton tank top stuck to your skin, slick sweat making you feel like it had melded with your body. the cutoff’s you wore weren’t any better, adhering to your thighs like glue. the stubborn weather of a mid july afternoon didn’t allow for any cold; no chill wracking you through the bone, only a sickly, immobilizing heat that crashed through your senses and made it’s way into your dna.
though some part of you didn’t seem to mind. the rolled down windows allowed you to stick your head out the open space, wind blowing in your hair as you took in the blurred and rolling sights of crooked leafless trees and dried up fields.
dean wasn’t any better. one of his hands rested on the steering wheel, long nimble fingers clutched tightly so he could steer you to wherever the road leads you two. his other hand — firm in it’s grip, rested on your thigh. his fingers travelled into the inside of your leg, fingers delicately dancing across the seem of your shorts as his eyes stared at you from his peripheral vision.
you were ethereal, an angel sent from God just for him. your hair, unruly in how the wind tossed it about, was flowing behind you like a fairy with her wings. the side profile of your face was directed towards dean, your back facing the passenger side door as you stuck your head out in the placid and dry air.
the fullness of your cheeks was properly on display to dean’s eager eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to run his lips across the skin, brushing delicate kisses onto your cheeks and face until you were covered in his love. he could faintly see the plump pout of your own lips, eyes shimmering with admiration and desire as he pictured running his tongue across them; your soft lips pressed timidly against his as he pulled you into his body, almost swallowing you whole.
he loved you, so incandescently. you were the face of beauty, a true goddess in the eyes of the eldest winchester. it wasn’t just your delicate features that pulled dean in, it was the way you carried yourself, a graceful mist following you wherever you went.
softness rolled off of you in tidal waves, and dean loved how your gentle nature contrasted and grounded his frequent pessimistic and grumpy behaviour. the human embodiment of a doe; a creature full of love and life, who walked through flower gardens erupted by spring like it was her calling.
it didn’t help that your eyes resembled one of the animal; big and round, always so soft and caring. he loved you so much, it physically made his soul ache.
you were always there for him, never wavering even when times got tough. you didn’t love his job, believing that hunting was dangerous and the stem of all of his childhood and lasting trauma. but dean always waved you off, saying that this was his life, and he would never do anything that would jeopardize a life and future with you.
but he could still see the emotional tole it was taking on you, weighing on your heart like a heavy burden that you shouldn’t be carrying. he ached for you to feel secure in this life that he was giving you, but dean also knew that everyone needed breaks. so, he decided to give you one.
a couple nights ago, the two of you found yourselves tangled in the sheets of a nebraskan motel, limbs intertwined as dean embraced you in his arms, your fingers drawing small hearts on his chest.
“let’s go to california.” the random outburst from dean had you pulling away from him slightly, lifting up on your elbows so you could get a better look at the man who’s eyes glimmered with hope and mischief. “what are you talking about, dean?”
“what i’m trying to say is,” dean sat up as he spoke, resting against the headboard and grabbing your hips so he could pull you into his lap. “let’s go to california. you are always begging me to go to malibu, and you deserve a vacation every now and then.”
the smile on your lips was beaming, a shine that could light up a thousand skies. dean wanted to bottle it up, put it in a jar, and never let it leave his side. he felt your hands move to his shoulders, those big, beautiful eyes staring at him with unbridled excitement. “you’re being serious right now? this isn’t just some sick joke?”
“no jokes baby,” he drawled, hand brushing your soft hair away from your face. pulling his face closer to yours so he could brush his lips against your ear, dean whispered so softly you believed you were imagining it. “do you wanna go see the west with me, pretty girl?”
you were elated the whole car ride, excitedly babbling about all the things you two would do in the golden state. as the nights rolled into days, the air started to get more and more humid, which led to the very moment that dean was in now. he shook his head from the memory of how he got here, watching your smile take up your whole face as you giggled at something unbeknownst to him. he didn’t really think about the why, he was too busy getting drunk on the sound of your laugh.
lightly patting your thigh, dean grinned over at your windswept and sticky frame as your giggles danced alongside the flow of the wind. “c’mon crazy girl, get back in here. can’t have you falling out.” his words held a joking lilt, yet you could see the concern in dean’s eyes. with a joking huff, you retreated back into the car, legs immediately sticking to the leather as the hot air melded your skin like sticky glue.
“oh c’mon dean, it’s so hot.” you groaned out, another giggle rippling through your lips as you saw dean playfully role his eyes in your peripheral. “i can basically feel my skin melting off.”
“you’re so dramatic,” his teasing was palpable, you could feel it in the way his smile reached his eyes and how his fingers clutched a little tighter onto your thigh. “what do you think cali’s going to be like, baby? think it’s going to be an ice box?”
letting out a grunt as you smacked his arm, dean watched with love struck eyes as your grin got impossibly even more wide. “you’re such a jerk, dean winchester!” dean swore he has never smiled harder in his life than when he was with you. that sweet, playful nature always brought out the best in him, and he didn’t even dare think about a life without your brightened presence.
crossing your arms over your chest, those pretty pink lips dean loved so much puffed out in a pretty pout. dean’s hand itched on your thigh, wanting to reach up and pull down your bottom lip. “i’m prepared for the weather in california, dean.” your voice broke him from his revere, making dean slightly cough as he intently listened to your ramble
“we won’t be spending all the time in the car. we’ll be at the beach, santa monica pier — oh i’m so excited for all the rides!” the vibrant glimmer of your excitement shined through the car, hitting dean straight in his heart, spreading until it was pumping through his veins.
“yeah, no rides, doe.” the previous excitement in your eyes dwindled, a shocked expression breaking through. “what? we have to go on the rides dean! it’s almost like a birthright.” he just loved how you expressed yourself, loving how when you defended the things you loved, your eyes got wild and your cheeks tinted. it was such a pretty sight, though dean was starting to believe everything about you was pretty.
dean’s words came through his lips in a chuckle, a grin etched onto his face as he looked at your pretty features. “i don’t do rides. never have, never will. sorry, sweets.”
shaking your head in disdain, a sad pout decorated your face, turning towards dean as he continued to drive down the desolate, montana road. “you’re such a buzz kill, do you even know what fun is?”
your question was a joke, your voice light and airy as it always was, but this time with a twinkle of comedy. but dean was already so wound up from the image of how pretty you looked with the wind blowing in your hair, illuminating you like a framed painting, that an idea slid into the depths of his mind.
a smirk adorned his lips as he shifted the wheel, pulling the impala off to the side of the road. your face twisted up in confusion as dean pulled the gear shift into park, cutting the ignition and turning his body to face you. your lips parted in question, about to voice your thoughts before dean’s hands grabbed at your calves.
with a squeak from your lips, dean hauled your legs onto the front seat, moving your body so your back was leaned against the door. he then tracked his fingers down the smooth expanse of your skin, grabbing at your ankles and pulling you down until you laid flat on your back.
the space was cramped, but dean somehow found a way to make it work; bending your legs at the knees and spreading them open so he could fit in between them. words were lodged in your throat, a sputter of air leaving your lips as dean situated himself. he had that shit eating grin on his face, and you could already tell that he had something wild up his sleeve.
“dean!” you exclaimed, hands going to rest against his chest as a laugh erupted from your lips. “what are you doing?”
he just smirked, trailing his hands from your ankles up your thighs, one hand gripping your waist as the other worked to pop the button of your shorts. “just showing my girl how fun i can really be.”
the words that fell from his lips were amplified with the sound of your zipper undoing, and your eyes widened suddenly at the realization of what dean had in mind.
“we can’t do this now, dean.” you exasperated, hands pushing at his chest as his fingers worked to take off your pants. “someone could drive by, they could see us for christ’s sake!”
dean just leaned down to leave a lingering kiss on your forehead, shimmying the waistband of your shorts a little ways down your waist before his hand on your hip shifted to go under your ass. “no one’s been on the road for miles, sweet thing. we’re alone, everything is going to be okay.” his words were followed by the softening of his eyes, the hand that had been undoing your zipper went up to stroke your cheek. “do you trust me?”
sliding your hands up from his chest to around his shoulders, a soft, serene smile graced your lips. you brought your face upward, brushing your mouth against his as the shallow breath’s leaving dean’s lips hit your own. “of course, i always do.”
you felt him smile against your lips, placing a delicate kiss on your nose before he pulled back slightly. “good,” he breathed, hands going back to your waistband. “now, lift your hips f’me, baby.”
a dusty blush adorned your cheeks as you obliged, hips lifting slightly as dean slid your jean shorts from your legs. when they got to your ankles, dean helped you kick them off, picking them up and throwing them somewhere in the backseat with a grin.
“that’s much better.” words wrapped around a grin as his fingers dipped into the waistband of your panties. the giggle that left your lips at his comment turned into a shallow whimper as one of his fingers dipped into your folds, his fingers slipping through your already wet cunt.
a breath left dean’s lips, eyes blowing wide as he watched your face twist in pleasure from the finger he had down your pants. “jesus, sweets, you’re already fucking soaked. did i do this to you? was it my words and my finger that got you this wet?”
a high pitched ‘mhm’ left your lips as you nodded your head, eye’s half lidded as you watched dean stare down at his finger teasing your folds. moving the finger that was teasing your entrance towards your clit, lightly pressing down and eliciting a sharp moan from deep in your gut. “there’s my girl,” dean cooed, his fingers moving in tight circles on your sensitive bud. “you’re doing so good for me baby, such a good fucking girl.”
the sensation was overwhelming, a shot of bliss the curled in your gut and wound into your soul. your half-lidded eyes caught sight of dean, his head down as he watched the way his finger played with your clit. the mid-day sun was washing over his figure, bathing him in such a light that made him look almost angelic.
as dean pulled his finger away, you felt a sense of emptiness unfurl in your stomach. a deep whine left your lips, hips lifting upwards to try and chase the high that dean was providing you. “more dean. please, give me more.”
“patience, pretty girl.” his voice was soft, but there was an air of demand and dominance that hid behind the cracks of his voice. “i’m just getting started. didn’t know you were so needy for me.”
another whine tore from the depths of your throat, whimpering as dean slid the side of your underwear out of the way, exposing your cunt to his eyes and the cold air that was whirling through the car’s vents. a groan rumbled in his throat, your eyes half lidded as you watched him put the finger covered in your slick in his mouth.
“jesus christ, you taste like a fucking dream.” his words sound slurred, and they were heightened as two of his fingers went back to your leaking pussy, prodding at your entrance as tiny whimpers left your throat. “i can’t wait to see how you look stuffed with my fingers, gushing all over my hand like the good girl i know you are.”
the whine that would’ve left your lips at his words turned into a deep moan, dean’s middle and pointer finger entering your tight walls, his own ragged breaths mixing with yours as he felt you clenching around him.
he watched as your breathing grew ragged, chest heaving up and down as you gripped onto his shoulders for dear life. he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, so dean waited until you gave him the green light, his other hand smoothing down the hair the fell in your face.
after a couple of moments, he felt your hips rut into his hand, eyes screwing shut in pure pleasure. that was all he needed to thrust his fingers into your tight walls.
high pitched whimpers left your lips as dean’s fingers prodded at your cervix, a guttural moan leaving your lips as he brushed against your g-spot.
“there it is,” he breathed, hollow breaths leaving his own lips as he watched his fingers go in and out of you. “that’s the spot, isn’t it baby? you like it when my fingers make you feel good?”
all you could let out was a guttural moan, hands clawing at dean’s clothed chest for any sign of resolve. too caught up in your own pleasure, you didn’t realize that dean had forgotten to roll up the windows, your loud moans and whines flowing through the wind and alerting anyone who drove by about what was going on inside of the impala.
but in the moment, you didn’t seem to care. dean started to move his fingers faster, your hips rutting up to meet the frenzied pace of his hand. the coil in your stomach was starting to tighten more and more, and you couldn’t help but scrunch your eyes closed and slightly turn your head as the euphoric feelings started to intensify.
though that didn’t last for long, because without a warning, the hand that dean had previously used to smooth down your hair tangled in it’s strands, gripping tightly as he pulled your head upwards so you were face to face with him.
“open those pretty eyes for me, sweetheart.” his voice held that same softness with a lilt of dominance, fingers quickening as he felt your orgasm approach. “i wanna see you when you cum. see how good i make you feel when i fuck you with my fingers.”
your eye’s shot open, lips parted and heavy pants and whines leaving your throat as dean kept going with the relenting pace. “i can’t- fuck, dean! i’m gonna cum!”
the pace at which dean’s fingers were moving inside of you was relentless. each thrust of his fingers hitting your g-spot as his piercing green eyes stared into yours. at your words, he moved a little faster, lips brushing yours as his voice travelled from his lips to yours. “c‘mon, my sweet girl, come for me.”
you could feel it, the bliss that started in your core and creeped it’s way into your entire body. the coil in your stomach tightening and tightening until, like a crashing wave, it gave way.
you came with a loud cry, back arched and head leaning into dean’s hand embedded into your hair. you watched as dean kept moving his fingers inside of you even as you gushed around his fingers. he was transfixed, completely enchanted by the bliss that took over your face.
“there you go,” he cooed, the hand in your hair lessening as his fingers started to slow down. “pretty girl, all messed up, coming on my fingers. you look fucking unreal.”
his words were mixed in with the small whimpers that left your lips, mouth parted and cheeks flushed with bliss. there was drool running down the corners of your mouth, and you felt as dean took his hand out of your hair and wiped it away with his thumb.
you whined as he pulled his fingers out, feeling empty without his fingers deep inside of you. looking down, you watched as your juices spilled out of your entrance, dean immediately dipping his two already wet fingers in the mess and putting them in front of your mouth.
“open up for me, doe. want you to taste yourself on my fingers.” with wide, wet eyes, you parted your lips for dean to place his two fingers on your tongue. when you closed your mouth, sucking on the two digits, you felt as the pads of middle and pointer finger prodded at the back of your throat.
“that’s my girl.” dean breathed out, watching in awe as he stared at your pretty face sucking your juices off of his fingers. he swore you weren’t real in that moment, too good to be true. yet as you swirled your tongue around his fingers, he realized that you were his, and he was yours, and he wouldn’t trade that for the world.
as you came down from your high, dean cleaned you up with a napkin that he found in his centre console. when he was done, he helped you sit up, moving your underwear back into place and allowing you to take a breather.
realizing your shorts were in the backseat, you leaned over the seat to try and find them, jumping as you felt dean land a smack on your ass.
“jesus dean,” you laughed, grabbing your shorts and sitting back down. “can’t get enough can you?”
“when it comes to you?” he grinned, turning the car back on and starting to pull back onto the street. “i can never have enough,”
TAGS: @haunteres @starzify @floralscented @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @honeyryewhiskey @foolinthera1n @vaiieydoii @bluemerakis
NAT BABBLES: i’ve been so wrapped up with my angel series, that i wanted to reset and write a little dean story. also, this is my first time writing smut, so i know it’s probably ass, but just bare with me😭
#supernatural#dean winchester#imagine#supernatural x reader#fluff#ultravi0lence14#dean winchester imagine#dean winchester x reader#dean x reader#dean winchester one shot#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x doe!reader#ethel cain#southern gothic#dean winchester smut
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Chapter 1 - I Saw You In The Water
Mini-Series Masterlist
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Sam Winchester/Reader (platonic), angst, very light fluff, mutual pining, Dean's got the Mark of Cain, uh oh.
Summary/Warnings: You and Sam try something new to help Dean with the Mark of Cain. Usual Warnings.
Author's Note: I'm trying to distract myself from life, so here. Have a miniseries!
Title from Cringe by Matt Maeson
Word Count: 3.7k
Read on A03!
“This looks kind of stupid,” you mutter to Sam, and he makes a small nod of agreement, neither of you looking away from the scene before you. Rowena reciting a bunch of words that don’t sound real, and Dean sitting in a kiddie pool, scowling with his eyes screwed tight.
“It’s not just stupid,” Dean snaps your name, and you flush. He wasn’t supposed to hear that. “It’s pointless, and I am not getting adult baptized. You know what? screw this-“
He starts to stand, but Rowena pushes on his chest and sends him back into the water on his ass.
“No moving, or you’ll make me have to start over. And none of us,” Rowena looks Dean over with a dramatic shudder. “Want that.”
“Does it, um, does it have to be an inflatable pool, Rowena? Can’t we just put him in the shower?“
Rowena scoffs, dismissing Sam with a wave of her hand. “That is not how magic works, Samuel. We’re already making a gamble by hoping the spell counts this as a communal bath filled by the clean of soul, and a motel shower would be far worse.”
“Clean of soul-“
“That wee little bellhop.” Rowena gives you a sweet smile, a glint in her eyes that makes your stomach turn slightly. “Only dirty thoughts in his head were about you and your lovely breasts.”
“What.” Dean’s head shoots up, his scowl somehow more violent. “What do you mean, her breasts-“
“I mean her tits, you dimwitted boy.” Rowena gives you a disbelieving eye roll. “Men.”
“Who the fuck was looking at her tits-“
“The bellhop, Dearie, keep up-”
“Can you just do the spell, Rowena?” You cross your arms over your chest, half folding into yourself in a play to get the conversation off of your boobs. “Now?”
Rowena rolls her eyes, but nods and goes back to all her incoherent mumbo jumbo as Dean begins to look violent.
You bump Sam’s shoulder, standing slightly on your toes to whisper, “What if this doesn’t work?”
“It will.” Sam shakes his head, and his hair hits you slightly in the face. “Rowena’s the best in the game, and we’re only stretching a few of the ingredients. It’ll be fine.”
Neither of you believe that, but you’re also running out of options. You’ve lost all your leads on the Book of the Damned, and Dean can’t keep killing people. It’s killing him, and Sam, and you, and also the people. And this is, in a roundabout way, a solution. And Rowena says it will work, and you’re not stupid enough to trust her, but you’re also desperate enough to make a deal with her. She’ll do a spell to make Dean’s bloodlust refocus—make it more about things that make him happy, and less about murder—and you and Sam will stop trying to kill her for three whole months.
If it works, it’s a win for everyone. Rowena doesn’t get shot, you and Sam get Dean back, and Dean can maybe, hopefully, be happy again.
Rowena draws back up from Dean and walks over to you and Sam, extending her hand. “Hair.”
“What-“
“Hair, lass. The spell needs your hair.”
“Sam’s hair?” You frown. “Or my hair?”
“Preferably, both.”
You and Sam exchange a look of what the fuck, and Sam keeps his voice low—inaudible to Dean—as he mutters, “Why our hair?" Why not the, uh, the bellhop guy-“
“The bellhop is of no significance to Dean’s life. You two are the people he loves most in the world, so unless you want him to remain under the Mark’s corruption,” Rowena flexes her hand, her voice becoming stern. “Hair.”
Sam pulls out his hair quickly, but you’re a little slower. You’re not someone Dean loves. You’re someone Dean cares about, but you’re not Sam. You don’t belong on the spell’s weird ingredient list, you barely belong in this room. Watching Dean in such a strongly vulnerable position, making decisions about his life for him. He’d resisted this, you’d said please, and he’d caved almost immediately, but you mostly think he just didn’t want to argue. You've all been arguing a lot lately—Sam and Dean arguing about most everything, you and Sam arguing about next moves, and you and Dean arguing about you sticking around, near him, through this—and it’s getting exhausting.
But Rowena gives you an impatient look, and you pass your hair into her hand. If it doesn’t work, you can just start over and only use Sam’s hair. He has a lot of it to spare, he’ll be fine.
When the spell finishes, Sam and Rowena go outside to talk and you sit on the bed, watching Dean in silence. He’d insisted on wearing his clothing in the pool—jeans, boots, flannel and all—he’s cross-legged in the water, and he still hasn’t opened his eyes.
He still looks good. There’s an expression made of deep lines and tense frustration on his too-handsome face, and you want to touch him. You want to touch Deanwherever he’ll let you. Run soothing hands over his frown, find out of his grown-out scruff is soft or prickly, kiss his full, pink lips until he smiles, and drift down his body. Over his chest, his stomach, lower and lower until you’re wrapping your mouth around him, and he knows that you care. You really, really care about Dean, and he’s not a burden, and if this doesn’t work, you’re going to stay right at his side until you find something that does, because you like to think you’d look up at him under your lashes and he’d see that you love him, and throw his head back and groan, and maybe his hands—big and rough and so carefully skilled—would touch you-
“Be honest with me, Sweetheart.”
His low, deep voice pulls you out of your fantasy, and you blink at him with a flush that you pray he won’t notice. “What?”
“Be honest,” he repeats, and his eyes open right onto yours. He doesn’t look to be in pain anymore, he mostly looks tired, so you nod.
“Yeah, okay. What-“
“This is dumb.”
You huff a soft, dry laugh. “It’s a little ridiculous. But it will work, Dean.”
“No spell that I know of calls for an inflatable kiddie pool.”
“Well, you’re not a witch.” You shrug. “And think of it this way, we bought that forever. We bring it back to the bunker, that’s fun.”
“Bought my ass.”Dean drawls your name, giving you a pointed look that makes you squeeze your legs together a little. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you and Sam stole this thing.”
“It was like, $40.” You mumble, staring at the floral patterns of the motel carpet. “I am not paying that much for some plastic.”
“Even for a spell to save my damned soul?” Dean’s teasing, but there’s something in his voice you hate. Something that make you look up at him with a frown, unable to hide the slight desperation in your voice.
“You’re not damned, Dean.”
He just shrugs, refusing to meet your eyes, and before you can push it Sam returns, tossing Dean the keys and announcing that it’s time to figure out what the Mark wants.
So now, in an old, dusty bar, Dean’s smiling. He hasn’t really, really smiled in a few months, and it’s incredible to see.
It aches a little that he’s smiling away from you. Across the bar with his I can show you the world, sweetheart stance and expression. The one where he’s leaning the counter with one arm, and his eyes have a promise of fun while his every word is charming and drawling and teasing. You think he learned it from movies—he’s told you he likes the charisma of old western heroes, and there is something about his whole show that says cowboy—but there’s a pretty strong chance it’s just Dean. It’s how he is. Who he is. All he does is be handsome and stupid and annoying in a way that makes you want to punch him and then immediately kiss him after.
He’s hasn’t been Dean like that in a while, though. It’s been mostly frowns that turn in on his face, and a refusal to look in the mirror that he tries to hide, but you’ve still noticed. But right now, this is your Dean. The Dean who follows you into countless dreams with his pretty lips and eyes and strong hands and body, the Dean who’s managed to haunt you while you're awake and plant an ache in your heart when he’s in pain, and the Dean who you might know a little better than you know yourself. It’s why you ordered a cheeseburger when he went to sulk at the bar, and why you’re facing the door in the booth—Dean always faces the door—and why it hurts something deep and hopeless inside you that the grace of Dean’s smile is all focused on a pretty girl that isn’t you.
“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
Your attention turns to Sam—who’s looking at you with a sympathy that is not welcome—and you give him a flat glare. “What am I supposedto say to that.”
“Um, the truth? I think?” Sam turns in his seat to look over at Dean, and you kick him. “Hey!” He yelps your name, whipping back around with an almost pout. “That hurt-“
“Don’t look at him.” You hiss, jerking your head to Dean. “He needs this.”
“Yeah, but-“
“No but, Sam. The spell is supposed to make him crave things he likes, he likes sex, let him have sex.”
“I don’t…” Sam sighs, shaking his head. “It’s weird. I read the spell-“
“Of course you read the spell-“
“Shut up, I always read the spells, it’s safer. And this one,” Sam looks you over with a frown and tight-lipped, grimacing expression. “This one’s odd.”
“Oh no,” your voice is sarcastic and cold, and it makes Sam flinch a little. “An odd thing. If only we knew some people who knew how to handle odd things.”
“This is why I wish you would just talk to him.” Sam mutters, giving the waitress a kind smile as she hands out the food. “You get mean when things like this happen. And I don’t think it would be as horrible as you’ve decided it would be.”
You pull the cheeseburger to your own side of the table in a blatant Dean-trap. “That is very easy for you to say, Sammy. Worst case for you, you become a child of divorce.”
He shrugs, poking at his salad with a fork. “I think that’s the worst case for Dean. You’d win custody.”
“Fair.” You look back to the cheeseburger, small smile threatening to pull at your lips. “I do have a higher rate of income.”
“No, you don’t,” Sam frowns. “You make exactly what he does. Nothing.”
“Wrong. I’m a better pool hustler than he is, so my return rate is higher.”
Sam laughs, shaking his head. “Don’t let him hear you say that, we’ll be stuck here until he beats you in a game.” He makes a mock face of disgust. “We’ll die here.”
You let yourself fully smile, even as you mutter, “kiss ass.”
Sam just shrugs, grinning himself as he takes a long drink. You really miss smiling. You really miss easy jokes, and you really miss making fun of each other without being consumed by too much grief or pain to do so.
You really miss Dean. He’s just across the room, but you still really miss him. And you want him—your Dean, the one that’s a little ridiculous and overly charming and the strongest, best man you’ve ever known—back. Over here, smiling at you, teasing you, or saying something shockingly genuine that makes your heart his even more than it already has been.
You look back to him in the bar—you can’t really help it, you think Dean and you always start to look for him in any crowd—and for a second you could’ve sworn he was looking at you. His smile has faded a little, and there are lines on his forehead, so if he was looking at you it wasn’t because you’re something good to him. He probably just saw his food, and then saw you, and now he’s antsy. His foot is tapping on the floor, and he’s fidgeting with the cuff of his flannel, so either Rowena’s terrible at her job, or the Mark is eating at him again.
You’ll fix it. Whatever Dean needs you to do for this, for him, you’ll do it silently and without asking for anything in return. No matter how many lectures Sam gives you about being selectively observant and kind of an idiot, you’ll just help Dean, and he won’t have to think twice about it. Helping Dean is what you do, it’s what you’ve done. Your whole life, in some way, has become how can I help Dean. How can I do something for this person who does everything for everyone else, and maybe he’ll turn his attention to me, and maybe he won’t, but no matter what I’ll have helped Dean.
It’s not like he doesn’t help you. Dean opens doors and saves your life and patches your wounds, and he never asks for anything back. But that’s why you want to help.
And this is helping Dean. It might be killing you a little, but it’s helping Dean, so you’ll still fix it, and then drown your sorrows with ice cream, strong drinks, and small moments of his joy when he’s better.
——————
Dean is really, really conflicted. It’s ripping him in half, because he knows he’s supposed to be polite to chicks—like the one in front of him, with the sweet smile and sweeter words he doesn’t deserve to hear—but her voice sounds like nails on chalkboard. She doesn’t feel right, she doesn’t feel good, and the bloodlust inside him doesn’t want her.
Bloodlust is the wrong word. It was the right word, but over the past few hours it didn’t feel like it anymore. Dean’s not great with words—he’s great with guns, and cars, and sometimes drawing, but not words—and even he gets that bloodlust really isn’t the correct word for wanting something in a way that’s clean. Pure and raw, but not innocent. It’s still a craving, it’s still insatiable, but it doesn’t feel tainted. It’s driving Dean to things he couldn’t really hate being dependent on. It had started softer and abstract, right after the spell, with drinks and food, so he’d driven to a bar. Then it had asked for care and love, and Dean didn’t have either of those things readily at his disposal, so he looked where he usually found something close to it. In a pretty girl, with a big rack and unburdened smile.
Then his attention had wandered for half a second, and now it couldn’t come back. The not-bloodlust—that wasn’t a good term for it either, he’d need to come up with a better, catchier one later—had tugged his gaze over to Her and Sam, and suddenly everything had been sharper and a lot more specific. Dean should go back to the booth. The booth had beer, and a cheeseburger, and Her and Sam. Mostly Her, but Sam was cool too. Dean was allowed to love two people.
And that’s where the conflict came in. Dean needed to be over there. His stomach was turning, and his skin was growing itchy and hot the longer he wasn’t there. But if he went over there, not only would he not only be leaving this very sweet girl, who seemed fine, but he might be in real danger of telling Her things he was not supposed to tell her. Things Sam kept telling Dean to tell Her, and things Dean kept having to remind Sam weren’t any of his business. He would not lose another good thing because he couldn’t keep himself in check. He would not poison something that didn’t deserve it, no matter how much the bloodlust kept telling him to. Kept telling him that She was caring and lovely, so Dean should drag her down to his level and kiss her in the grime and guts.
The not-bloodlust wanted Her too. The not-bloodlust really liked the idea of just being closer to Her, because she usually helped things. She helped everyone—Dean wasn’t special—but the not-bloodlust seemed to think that simply breathing air that had been inside her more recently would fix a lot of things that were boiling and cracking and hissing in Dean’s body.
That’s what won the conflict. He wouldn’t have to say things for this to be better, they just would be. So Dean gave the pretty girl an apologetic goodbye—she’d be fine, there were other men who were better than Dean and weren’t overtly craving their best friends in the bar—and almost ran back to Her and Sam.
She looks up at Dean as he scoots into the booth, her brows furrowed and mouth tugging down. “You’re back.”
“Well done, sweetheart, I am back.” Dean grins at Her, and that only makes her frown more.
“Did you, um,” She looks over to Sam, who shrugs. “Did you strike out?”
“Nah, just hungry.” It wasn’t a lie. Dean had been hungry. Dean had been starving, but he felt better now. He’d still eat the cheeseburger, but the hunger had dulled from a mind-numbing desperation and withdrawal to just a growl near his throat of cheeseburger. Cheeseburgers are good.
“Well, how are you feeling?” Sam’s voice is insistent, and Dean rolls his eyes, because he knows where this is going. “Do you want to kill someone? Rowena said the spell might take a few hours to work-“
“Workin’ now. I feel good.” Dean takes a large bite of his cheeseburger, and She and Sam exchange looks.
“Good?”
Dean nods, shooting Her a wink. “Real good,” he says Her name through his mouthful—crumbs falling out of his mouth—and she sighs. Her hand twitches on the table, and Dean wants to hold it. He can’t hold it. He’s not even supposed to be talking right now—that was the deal he’d made with himself—so holding hands if defiantly off the table. It would probably freak her out, too, and that’s the last thing Dean wants to do. He’s freaked Her out enough for a whole lot of lifetimes, so she should be smiling instead.
Dean’s usually really good at making Her smile. He’s proud of that, because She worries more than Sam and has more nightmares than Dean, but he can always make her smile.
She’s not smiling now. She’s tense, and she keeps looking between Dean and the girl at the bar.
“You’re good.” She repeats his words slowly, but it doesn’t sound like she believes them. “And you think the spell worked.”
“Did work.” Dean swallows, and immediately takes another bite. Cheeseburgers are good, the not-bloodlust had decided, so Dean should eat more cheeseburgers. “Don’t think it did, I know it did.”
“How do you know?” Sam asks, pulling the cheeseburger across the table, away from Dean.
“Hey!” Dean reaches for his plate, and Sam moves it away faster. “What the fuck, Sammy, do not touch my burger-”
“It’s distracting you, Dean, and this is serious. We really need to know if the spell worked-“
“It did work. I don’t want to gank anything, I just want my cheeseburger and-“ He has to cut himself off, because that is exactly why he wasn’t supposed to talk. “Look, man, it worked. Trust me, I feel good. No bloodlust, just, uh, not-bloodlust.”
Sam glances at the cheeseburger, then at Her, then at Dean. Dean gives him a very winning grin—all teeth and bright eyes, and give me back my burger, I’m not going to kill anyone—but Sam’s attention just moves back to Her. She mostly looks confused and tired—Dean still needs to make her smile—but she nods, making a loose gesture of surrender, and Sam, finally, slides the food back to Dean.
“If he’s really good,” Sam’s pretty clearly talking to Her, but Dean listens anyways. They’re a team, he’s allowed to hear this stuff. “We should get back to Kansas tonight. It’s not smart to linger in a town after a hunt finishes-“
“I know,” She glances back to Dean, and he offers her his widest, most reassuring smile. She doesn’t smile back, but her face relaxes a little, so Dean counts it as a victory. “Do you want to finish that, or-“
“Gimme three-“
“Chew, Dean.”
He does, holding up three fingers in a silent signal, and inhales the rest of his cheeseburger.
“Holy crap, dude.“ Sam blinks between Dean and the empty plate. “That was really fast, even for you.”
Dean shrugs, standing out of the booth. “Don’t blame me, blame the not-bloodlust. Cheeseburgers or murder, Sammy, gotta be one.”
Sam rolls his eyes, starting to the door, and Dean lingers until She’s on her feet and they can follow Sam together.
“Not-bloodlust is a bad name,” She mutters, staring at the floor as she walks. “What about, uh, what’s the opposite of blood?”
“Dunno.” Dean watches Her carefully, raking his brain for a good answer. “Water? Waterlust?”
That gets him a small, huffed laugh. “That doesn’t make sense, Dean.”
“Doesn’t have to. It’s my lust.”
“It is.” She meets Dean’s eyes, and her attention is soft, but it feels strange. Like she’s trying to find something on Dean’s face he doesn’t know how to get for her. “And if you really want, we can call it waterlust, but I like betterlust.”
“Betterlust?“
“Starts with B,” Her attention turns back to the floor, and Dean feels something sour twist around his heart and forearm. “Fun to say. Makes sense, too, you’re lusting after better stuff.”
Dean was lusting after better stuff. It was a good name—better than not-bloodlust—and he was willing to concede waterlust to Her. It was, overwhelmingly so, the least he could do.
“Betterlust it is, Sweetheart.” He tried his most charming, cocky, look at me, I’m a cowboy and I can be yours if you offer me just a few kind words because I’m a pathetic, worthless wet dog that barks and bites, but man am I good at sex, smile on Her, and this time, he got a real smile back.
End Note: Wow what's this something I write that's actually going to be short? We'll see!
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Taglist
@artemys-ackles @brtodd @panicking-outside-the-disco @megara0224
#angst#x reader#reader insert#romance#canon typical violence#jensen ackles#jensen ackles characters#godmadeaterribleerror#dean winchester x you#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#supernatural#supernatural fanfiction#sam winchester#dean x reader#dean x you#dean fanfiction#Willing to Break (Supernatural)#rowena macleod#mark of cain#eventual smut#eventual fluff#eventual romance#pining#friends to lovers
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But I can‘t fix him
can‘t make him better
#he doesn‘t need fixing bc a true wife accepts her husband the way he is#need to edit him again#rust cohle#edit#moodboard#current mood#true detective#rust cohle x reader#my edit#rust cohle x reader smut#rustin cohle#rustin cohle x reader#true detective x reader#true detective s1#ethel cain#ethel cain core#southern gothic#southern goth aesthetic#aesthetic#marty hart#true detective edit#dilfism#girl blogger#girl blog aesthetic#southern aesthetic#western aesthetic#matthew mcconaughey
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(01/05/25) — a loving family, an unpalatable desire masterlist
ft. romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic yan! batfam x gn! spouse reader x romantic! yan clark kent w/ platonic yan! superfam
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✮ MAIN MASTERLIST ✮
— TRIGGER WARNINGS !
- lowercase writing, nsfw themes, emotional neglect, adultery/cheating, eventual voyeurism, mentions of divorce, other warnings would be added soon.
— SYNOPSIS !
bruce wayne, he's a special man with a special reputation. day in, the crowd sees him as a billionaire, a charitable philanthropist, a playboy, and a father to multiple kids, adopted or not. day out, he's the city's guarded vigilante who spends his night fighting crime for the sake of its protection.
in all his roles, he was damn good at it.
but never at being a husband.
always absent, always busy, never turning his back on his poor spouse, you, whilst his children take it in themselves to never appreciate the effort you've exhausted caring for them.
it shouldn't have been such a surprise that you fell into the arms of a different man after the years of constantly vying for an actual family that loves you.
one day, you're saved by your very own personal hero from the crummy claws of the paparazzi, clark kent, a widowed reporter who have taken it upon himself to shield you from their invasive questions.
from there on out, you became his. and his little family became yours, too.
but not for long, because suddenly, the family you left behind wants you back in their grasp once more. this time, their hold on you won't be so loose anymore.
— CHAPTERS ! ; 00k+ words
00. — new beginnings.
— DRABBLES ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire
before the bell rings (romantic! yan bruce wayne w/ platonic! yan batfam x gn! reader spinoff)
tell your baby, that i'm your baby (platonic! yandere damian wayne x gn! reader x yandere superfam)
planned fanfics
more planned fics
— ASKS ! ; #series: loving family, unpalatable desire
is it an infidelity situation?
how does damian react to jon showing the picture?
— INCORRECT QUOTES !
unorganized fake tweets pt. 1
— FANART !
jon showing damian a photo of reader
a picture of the reader in clark's wallet
before the bell rings fanar ft. feral bruce
— TAGLIST ! ; taglist is under construction!
none so far.
#🩷... yael's masterlist#series: loving family unpalatable desires#lf ud: masterlist#yandere dc#yandere dc comics#yandere dc smut#yandere batman#yandere superman#yandere superfam#yandere batfam#yandere clark kent#yandere jon kent#yandere dick grayson#yandere jason todd#yandere tim drake#yandere damian wayne#yandere conner kent#platonic yandere#romantic yandere#yandere smut#male yandere#yandere#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere x y/n#yandere x gn reader#yandere duke thomas#yandere cassandra cain#yandere stephanie brown#yandere barbara gordon
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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | series
Dbf! Joel Miller x female reader
"𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘐 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘬𝘯𝘦𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥, 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘮𝘦."
summary: In the small town near Austin, Texas, you are trapped in a life of rigid expectations and silent suffering. As the preacher's daughter, you endure the mental and physical abuse of your father while your mother, bound by obedience, offers quiet love. Your longing for a father's warmth finds an unexpected solace in Joel Miller, your father's best friend and neighbor. In Joel's presence, you discover a forbidden sanctuary, where your yearning heart is met with a gentle strength you've never known.
warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, ped0ph!l1a, cann1bal!sm, human traff1ck1ng, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.
CHAPTER 1
masterlist of the series!
next | chapter 2
The Texas sun had a way of casting long, dramatic shadows across the sprawling landscape, painting the world in hues of gold and amber. In small town near Austin, the heat clung to everything, wrapping the town in a sweltering embrace that seemed to slow time itself. You, a preacher's daughter on the cusp of graduation, trapped in the rigid confines of a life dictated by faith and fear.
Your father, Reverend Gibson, was a towering figure in the community, his voice booming from the pulpit every Sunday, filling the church with sermons about sin and salvation. To the congregation, he was a man of God, a beacon of righteousness. But within the walls of your home, he was a tyrant. His heavy hand and harsh words left marks not just on your skin, but deep within your soul. Your mother, ever the obedient wife, offered what little comfort she could, but her love was a quiet, subdued thing, overshadowed by her fear of defying your father.
The Millers lived just a few houses down, their home a testament to both prosperity and tragedy. Joel Miller was your father’s best friend from high school, a bond forged in the fires of youth but strained by the paths they had chosen. While your father found his calling in the church, Joel built a successful construction business with his younger brother, Tommy.
Joel and Tommy not live far from each other, while your house is just one house away from Joel, Tommy is a few houses down from Joel's.
The Miller brothers were well-known and respected in the community, their work evident in the many buildings that dotted the town.
Joel’s life had been forever altered by a single, devastating moment. He had lost his wife and daughter in a car accident, an accident where he had been behind the wheel. The guilt of their deaths weighed heavily on him, a burden he carried in the lines of his face and the shadows in his eyes.
Since that tragic day, he had distanced himself from the church, finding solace instead in his work and in raising his adopted daughter, Ellie. Joel has adopted Ellie when she was only 10 years old with the help of Tommy.
At 16, Ellie was a spirited girl, one of your juniors at school. She attended church every Sunday with her uncle Tommy, her presence a reminder of the Millers’ lingering faith.
Tommy, married to Maria, had recently welcomed a baby boy into their family. The joy of new life was a stark contrast to the sorrow that had marked Joel’s existence. The Millers were a close-knit family, their bonds of loyalty and love a stark contrast to the fractured and tense environment of your own home.
You had known the Millers your entire life, their presence a constant thread in the fabric of your existence. Yet, as you stood on the brink of adulthood, your interactions with them took on a new significance. Your father’s sermons about the dangers of straying from the path of righteousness echoed in your mind, but so did your longing for something more, something real and tangible.
It was just another Sunday, and you were helping your dad with the after-service fellowship. The congregation mingled in the church hall, sharing coffee and pastries, their voices a low hum of conversation and laughter. You moved through the crowd with a tray of refreshments, offering smiles and polite nods, your mind elsewhere.
The Sunday service had been like any other, filled with hymns, prayers, and your father’s booming voice delivering his sermon. Today, he had spoken about temptation and the perils of straying from God’s path, his words heavy with the weight of his own fervent belief. As always, you felt the eyes of the congregation on you, the preacher’s daughter, the living example of his teachings.
You couldn’t help but glance towards the back of the room, where Tommy and Ellie stood, their presence a rare but welcome sight. Joel, as expected, was absent, his appearances in church growing increasingly sporadic since the accident.
Your thoughts kept drifting to Joel Miller. It had been years since the tragedy that had claimed his wife and daughter, leaving an indelible mark on him, transforming a once regular churchgoer into a haunted, reclusive figure.
You didn't really know or remember Joel's wife and daughter. Sarah Miller had been much older than you, and she passed away when you were only five. The memories you had of them were hazy at best, a blur of faces and voices that you couldn’t quite place.
Ellie caught your eye and waved, her smile bright and genuine. You waved back, feeling a pang of longing for the carefree spirit she embodied. She was one of the few people in your life who treated you like a normal person, not just the preacher’s daughter.
After the service, as the crowd began to thin, you found yourself gravitating towards Tommy and Ellie. Tommy, ever the warm and approachable figure, greeted you with a smile. “Hey, kiddo. How’ve you been?”
You returned his smile, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly. “I’m good, Tommy. How’s Maria and the baby?”
Tommy’s face lit up with pride. “They’re great. Little Luke’s growing like a weed. Maria’s over the moon, of course.”
Ellie nudged you playfully. “You should come over and meet him sometime. He’s the cutest.”
You laughed softly. “I’d love that.”
Tommy’s expression grew more serious as he glanced around the room. “How’s your dad doing with all the church activities? Keeping busy?”
You nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, he’s always got something going on. Keeps him out of trouble, I guess.”
Tommy chuckled. “Good to hear. Your family always looks so put together. It’s impressive, really.”
You shrugged, trying to brush off the compliment. “We just try to do our best.”
As you continued chatting, the weight on your shoulders seemed to lighten, if only for a moment. Ellie shared stories about school, her infectious laughter bringing a smile to your face.
“So, any plans after graduation?” Ellie asked, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.
You hesitated, the uncertainty of your future looming large. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve been thinking about college, but it’s complicated.”
Tommy’s expression grew serious again. “You should follow your dreams, kid. Don’t let anything hold you back.”
You nodded, grateful for their support. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Tommy.”
As you chatted with Tommy and Ellie, you couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Glancing around, you caught your father’s stern gaze from across the room. His eyes were a silent warning, a reminder of your place and the expectations that came with it.
Excusing yourself, you slipped out of the church hall, needing a moment of solitude. Your dad won't notice you are gone a little, your job has been taken by your mom.
The Texas heat hit you as soon as you stepped outside, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot. You decided to walk, the streets feeling empty because everyone was still in church. As you walked aimlessly, your mind whirled with conflicting thoughts and emotions.
You found yourself drawn towards the lake behind the church and the town, a place far enough to avoid everyone. The lake and the surrounding forest were comforting, a sanctuary from the oppressive atmosphere of your home.
Looking around to ensure you were alone, you carefully pulled out your cigarettes and lit one, taking a long drag. Your parents never knew you were quite a smoker, especially your father. If he ever found out, the repercussions would be severe, his wrath swift and unrelenting. The thought of his anger made you shudder.
You decided to sit by the old fallen tree near the lake. It was very quiet, the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of water against the shore. You loved to come here every chance you got, a hidden escape from the prying eyes and harsh judgments of your daily life. As you exhaled a cloud of smoke, you heard a rustling sound in the underbrush.
Startled, you quickly put out your cigarette and looked up. Emerging from the trees was Joel, a hunting rifle slung over his shoulder. Your heart pounded in your chest as you met his gaze. "Joel?" you stammered, hoping he hadn’t noticed the cigarette.
He looked at you, then at the still-smoking cigarette butt near your feet. His expression was unreadable, but you felt a wave of fear. What if he told your father?
Joel approached, his steps slow and deliberate. "Didn’t expect to see you out here," he said, his voice as gruff as ever.
You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. "I… I just needed some air."
Joel’s eyes flicked to the cigarette again. "That why you’re hiding out here? To smoke?"
You bit your lip, the truth hanging heavily between you. "Please don’t tell my dad," you whispered, the desperation clear in your voice.
Joel sighed, his expression softening slightly. "Your secret’s safe with me," he said finally, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Relief flooded through you, and you nodded gratefully. "Thank you,"
As you stood up, brushing off the dirt and bits of wood that had stained your dress, you noticed Joel's gaze lingering on the rifle in his hand and the heavy boots caked with mud.
"You didn’t come to church today," you said, your curiosity overcoming your apprehension. You had noticed his absence with the frequency that had become almost routine over the years.
He glanced at you, the stern lines of his face softening slightly. “Yeah, I’ve been... busy,” he replied, his tone clipped and noncommittal.
You took in the sight of him, his rugged appearance a stark contrast to the tidy, polished look of the other churchgoers. The rifle and the muddy boots seemed to tell a story of their own, a story that was far removed from the neat rows of pews and the polished wooden floors of the church.
“You know, Father always says that you used to come every Sunday,” you said, trying to sound casual. “He misses you at church. Everyone does.”
Joel’s expression hardened again, the hint of vulnerability disappearing behind his usual reserve. “Yeah, well, things change,” he said tersely, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “People change.”
You wanted to press further, to understand what had driven him away, but you knew better than to push too hard. Joel was a man of few words, his emotional landscape a guarded territory. You had seen it in the way he interacted with Ellie, the way he kept his distance, the way he seemed to be perpetually battling some invisible storm.
"Are you okay?" you asked quietly, your concern slipping through despite your efforts to remain detached.
Joel’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flicker of something raw and unspoken. He shook his head, as if to clear the thoughts from his mind. "Just trying to get by, same as anyone," he said gruffly. “Out here, it’s a little easier to do that.”
You nodded, accepting his answer even if it left many questions unanswered. The silence between you stretched, filled only with the distant chirping of birds and the gentle rustling of leaves.
Joel shifted, breaking the silence. “What are you doing out here anyway? It’s quite a trek from town. This place isn’t exactly safe, you know.” His tone was a mixture of concern and curiosity, revealing a sliver of his protective nature.
You sighed, glancing around the lake and forest. “I needed a break. Just... needed to be away from everything for a bit. It’s peaceful here." You looked at Joel, your eyes subtly asking if it was okay to continue smoking.
Joel noticed your look but chose not to comment immediately. Instead, he took a few steps closer, his boots crunching softly on the gravel. You took that as an invitation and sat down under a large tree near the lake, patting the grass beside you.
“Feel free to join me if you want,” you offered, your voice light despite the heaviness of the situation.
Joel hesitated for a moment before sitting down next to you. His presence was a grounding force, even if he wasn’t the most expressive. He glanced at the cigarette pack you had placed on the grass between you.
“Want one?” you offered, extending the pack towards him.
Joel shook his head with a faint, rueful smile. “Nah, I’m good. I’m not sure it’s right to be smoking in front of you.”
You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I thought you of all people wouldn’t judge me for it.”
Joel chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Yeah, well, I guess I’m a bit of a hypocrite when it comes to that. I’ve had my share of bad habits.”
You nodded, accepting his refusal. “How are you, Joel? I don’t see you much,” you said, your curiosity evident. It was true; Joel had been increasingly distant from the people in your town, retreating into a shell of his own making.
He met your gaze briefly, a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place crossing his features. “Just... getting by. Working hard, dealing with stuff. Not much else to it.”
There was a weariness in his voice that spoke of battles fought silently and wounds healed only with time. It was clear that the years had not been kind to Joel, even if he tried to mask it behind a facade of rugged determination.
You sensed that pushing further wouldn’t get you anywhere. Joel was not one to open up easily, and you could see that the topic of his feelings was closed off. You decided to shift the conversation, sensing that it was best to focus on something lighter.
"How’s school?” he asked, his tone shifting to something slightly more personal but still restrained. “Almost done, right?”
You nodded, a smile touching your lips despite the lingering tension. “Yeah, I’m just a few months away from graduating. It’s been a whirlwind, but I’m looking forward to it.”
“That’s good to hear,” Joel replied, giving a slight nod. “High school’s a big deal. A lot changes after that.”
You shifted slightly, tucking your legs beneath you as you sat on the grass. “It is. It feels like the end of one chapter and the start of another.” You took a deep drag from your cigarette, the smoke curling around you in the still air. Exhaling slowly, you continued, “I just want to get out of here.”
Joel’s gaze, always direct, fixed on you. He didn’t speak immediately, allowing the weight of your words to settle between you. He shifted his weight, leaning slightly on the rifle, his hands still coated in the grime of the day’s work. “Yeah?” he finally said, his tone soft but edged with curiosity. “Where do you want to go?”
You looked out over the lake, its calm surface reflecting the last rays of the sun. “Anywhere but here,” you said with a sigh. “I want to leave this town, start fresh somewhere new. I’ve been dreaming about it for a long time.”
Joel watched you silently for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Sometimes getting out can seem like the only way to find something better,” he said slowly. “But it ain’t always as simple as it sounds.”
You took another drag from your cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as you exhaled. “I know it’s not that simple,” you said quietly. “But it feels like I’m suffocating here. I just need... something different. Something real.”
Joel’s eyes narrowed slightly, his gaze not unkind but keenly observant. There was a protective instinct in him that had always been there, even when you were much younger. He sensed there was more to your words than just a desire to leave town. The carefully constructed façade of normalcy that your family projected wasn’t lost on him, though he had never delved into the specifics of your home life.
“You know,” Joel began, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone, “sometimes people want to leave for reasons that go beyond what they’re willing to say. It’s one thing to want a new place, but it’s another to be running from something.”
You stiffened slightly, the cigarette now nothing more than a stub between your fingers. You were careful not to let your emotions betray you. “It’s not just about running away,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s about finding a place where I can breathe.”
Joel nodded, his gaze steady. “And you think you’ll find that out there?”
“I hope so,” you said. “I just need to get out and find out for myself. It’s been hard to see beyond this place.”
Joel shifted his weight, leaning on his rifle. His rugged face, often set in lines of stoicism, now bore a hint of concern. “You know, I’ve seen a lot of folks runnin’ away from what they don’t want to face. Sometimes they find what they’re lookin’ for, sometimes they don’t. But it’s dangerous out there for someone who’s not ready.”
You looked at him, sensing the genuine concern behind his words. “I’m ready,” you said softly. “I’ve been ready for a long time.”
Joel studied you for a moment longer, his fatherly instincts kicking in. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the quiet strength that belied your troubled soul. He had been a father before, and he knew what it was like to want to protect someone from the harsh realities of the world.
But then, with a shift in his demeanor, Joel decided it wasn’t his business to involve himself further. He cared for you, that much was clear, but he also knew his boundaries. His expression hardened slightly, a testament to his tendency to keep people at a distance.
“Look,” he said gruffly, his Southern accent thickening his words, “it’s not my place to get too involved in this. You’re gonna have to handle things your way.” His tone was direct, carrying the weight of a man who had learned to let his actions speak louder than his words.
Despite the coldness in his voice, there was a flicker of tenderness in his eyes, a brief glimpse of the protective instincts that lingered beneath his guarded exterior. Joel operated in a morally gray area, making decisions that were often difficult and controversial, and he understood the complexities of navigating a world where right and wrong were not always clear.
He wanted to help, but his experience had taught him that sometimes the best way to show care was to step back and allow others to find their own way.
“You know,” Joel said, shifting the topic slightly, “Ellie talks about you sometimes. Says you’re smart, and she admires you for stickin’ it out. She’s got a good head on her shoulders, but she looks up to you. So, if there’s ever a time you need someone to talk to, or if you just need a friend, don’t hesitate to reach out. I may not be the best at this whole ‘talkin’’ thing, but I’m here if you need me.”
You appreciated his attempt to offer support, even if it came in a roundabout way. “Thanks, Joel. It’s nice to know that someone cares,” you said, smiling as you put out the cigarette.
Joel watched you with a mixture of concern and curiosity, as if weighing whether to press further. You could see that he was struggling with how much to say, his usual reserve at odds with the genuine warmth he was trying to convey.
“Well,” you said, glancing at the fading light, “I should head back to the church before Dad notices I’m gone.”
Joel shifted his stance, a hint of hesitation in his eyes. “You sure you don’t want a ride back? It’s a long walk, and it’s gettin’ dark.”
You shook your head, feeling a pang of guilt for declining his offer. “I appreciate it, Joel, but I don’t want to trouble you. I can manage the walk.”
Joel’s brow furrowed, and he gave a firm nod. “It ain’t no trouble. It’s just a ride. Besides, I’d rather make sure you get back safely.”
His insistence made you feel slightly uncomfortable, but you also recognized his sincerity. Raised to be polite and considerate, you found it difficult to refuse when someone was being genuinely helpful.
“Alright,” you said reluctantly, “if you insist. Thank you.”
Joel nodded, his face softening a bit as he walked over to his truck. The vehicle was old but reliable, with a rugged appearance that matched Joel’s own. He opened the passenger side door for you, gesturing for you to get in.
As you climbed into the truck, Joel got into the driver’s seat and started the engine. The interior was a mix of practical and worn, with a faint smell of leather and earth. Joel drove with a steady, practiced hand, the truck rumbling over the uneven terrain as he navigated the path back to town.
The silence in the truck was comfortable, with only the sound of the engine and the occasional rustle of the trees breaking it. You stared out the window, the fading sunlight casting a warm glow over the landscape. You could feel the weight of the day’s conversations settling in, and the quiet offered a moment of reflection.
After a few minutes, the truck rolled into town, the familiar sights coming into view. Joel slowed as he approached the church, where you could see the remaining congregants beginning to disperse.
Joel pulled up to the curb and stopped the truck. "We're here."
"Thank you once again, Joel. It’s good catching up with you," you said, giving him a grateful smile. Just as you were about to step out of the truck, you spotted your father from a distance. A sinking feeling washed over you as you realized he had seen you.
“Oh no,” you muttered, catching Joel’s eye. He turned to see your father walking towards the truck, a determined look on his face.
Joel, ever the gentleman, exited the truck as well. You followed suit, feeling a knot tighten in your stomach. Your father, who had been conversing with some church members, excused himself and made his way towards you and Joel.
“Evening, Reverend,” Joel greeted, extending a hand.
“Evening, Joel,” your father said with his usual charming demeanor, shaking Joel’s hand firmly. “It’s been a while. I hope you’ve been well.”
Joel’s expression was polite but reserved. “Can’t complain. Been keeping busy.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” your father replied smoothly. “You know, we’ve missed you at church. It would be good to see you back.”
Joel gave a noncommittal nod, his discomfort barely masked. “Maybe sometime.”
As your father turned his attention to you, his smile faltered slightly. “And where have you been, young lady? You were supposed to help with the service.”
You flinched at the stern tone, feeling his grip tighten around your arm as he spoke. “I was just taking a walk, Dad. Joel gave me a ride back.”
Your father’s grip was rough and unyielding, his fingers digging into your arm with a strength that was both painful and controlling. Joel noticed, his gaze briefly flicking to your father’s hand before returning to his face.
“Is that right?” your father said, his voice carrying a hint of disapproval. “Well, I hope you weren’t gone too long. We have responsibilities.”
"Yes, I'm sorry, father." You said smile a little to hide the pain he's causing you.
Joel cleared his throat, attempting to steer the conversation away from the tension. “I’m just making sure she gets back safe."
“Of course,” your father said, releasing your arm but maintaining a veneer of politeness. “We have a dinner invitation from Tommy and Maria next Saturday. I trust you’ll be joining us?”
Joel looked momentarily surprised. “Well, I'm supposed I am,"
Your father’s smile widened, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. “Yes, they extended the invitation to our family. It will be good to catch up.”
Joel nodded, his expression neutral. “I’ll have to check with Ellie, but I’m sure we’ll make it.”
“Excellent,” your father said, still maintaining his charming facade. “It’ll be good for everyone to reconnect.”
As the conversation continued, Joel’s discomfort grew. He noticed the strain in your father’s demeanor and the way he seemed to be masking a more sinister undertone behind his polite words. Joel had been out of the social loop for a while, but he was perceptive enough to sense when something was off, even if he chose not to probe further.
“Well,” Joel said, his tone shifting to one of finality, “I better be on my way. Got some things to take care of. It was good seeing you again, Reverend. And you too,” he added, offering you a brief, reassuring smile.
You gave him a grateful nod, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. “Thank you, Joel."
Joel, giving one last nod before turning to leave. As he walked away, you could feel the weight of the evening’s encounters settling heavily on your shoulders. The brief respite you’d found in Joel’s company had been overshadowed by the return of your father’s control and the unsettling realization that your escape from this small town and its complexities might be more challenging than you had hoped.
After the Sunday service, you returned home with a heavy heart. The warmth of the day had turned cold, and the familiar feeling of dread settled over you as you approached the house. Inside, the tension was palpable, and the moment you walked through the door, you knew there would be consequences for your absence during the service.
Your father’s voice was stern and unforgiving as he called you into the living room. “You’ve abandoned your duties. Do you have any idea what that means?”
You tried to explain, but his anger cut you off. “I was just trying to get some fresh air, Dad. I didn’t mean—”
Before you could finish, he was on you, grabbing your arm with a grip that left no room for argument. He dragged you to the center of the room, his face a mask of fury. “You’ve abandoned your duty. It’s about respect and responsibility. You know how important this is.”
“No, please, Dad, don’t. I’m so sorry. I will not do it again,” you pleaded, your voice trembling.
The fear in your voice only seemed to fuel his anger. He disappeared into the hallway, returning with his belt in hand. The leather looked menacing, and your heart raced as you saw it.
“Please, Dad, I’m sorry,” you continued to beg. “I didn’t mean to disobey. I’ll make it right. Just please—”
Your father’s face was a mask of cold determination. “Take off your dress and face the wall,” he ordered, his voice steely. “You needs to be taught a lesson.”
You could barely keep your composure as you undressed, your body shaking with fear and dread. The scars on your back from a previous punishment throbbed with anticipation. When you were finally positioned with your back to him, every nerve in your body was on edge.
The first crack of the belt was sharp and painfully immediate. The sound echoed through the room, followed by a searing pain that made you flinch. You cried out, tears streaming down your face. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” you sobbed, your voice breaking with each cry of pain.
You could feel the belt cutting into your already tender skin, the sensation of bleeding mixing with the agony of the blows. Each strike felt like a betrayal of your trust, a reminder of the harsh world you were trapped in.
Your mother stood in the doorway of the kitchen, her face pale and tear-streaked. She wanted to intervene, but fear held her back. She could only watch helplessly as you were punished, her own sobs mingling with your cries of pain.
In a desperate attempt to mask the sounds of the abuse from the neighbors, she turned the gospel music up loud, hoping the noise would cover your screams and your father’s harsh words.
The music blared in the background, a twisted contrast to the suffering in the room. It felt like a cruel mockery, the joyous hymns clashing with the reality of your punishment. Your mother’s tears fell silently as she stood by, unable to offer more than the muted comfort of her presence.
As the beating continued, your strength waned. The pain was overwhelming, a relentless reminder of the control your father exerted over every aspect of your life. You could only endure, hoping for it to end soon, each moment stretching out painfully as you clung to the hope that this would be the last of such torment.
When he finally stopped, you were left huddled on the floor, your body aching and your spirit broken. Your father’s anger subsided, leaving him with a cold, resolute expression. “I hope you’ve learned your lesson,” he said gruffly, his voice devoid of empathy. “Disobedience won’t be tolerated.”
Your mother rushed to your side as soon as your father left the room, her hands trembling, “I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears, her voice filled with sorrow and helplessness.
You looked at her through blurred vision, your own tears mingling with hers. “I—It's okay, mama." you said weakly, your voice strained and shaky. “It’s my fault."
She helped you put your dress back on, her fingers brushing gently over the raw marks on your skin, causing you to wince. Each movement was a reminder of the pain you were enduring.
As you slowly gathered your strength, your mother helped you to a nearby chair, her hands still shaking. She sat beside you, her presence a small but comforting anchor in the storm of your emotions. The music from the kitchen blared on, a cruel backdrop to the quiet moments of shared sorrow between mother and daughter.
In the midst of the pain and turmoil, there was a flicker of hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way out of the darkness. For now, though, you could only cling to the small comforts and the hope that things might one day be different.
#dbf!joel miller x reader#pedro pascal x reader#joel miller x reader#pedro pascal smut#joel miller smut#pedro pascal#dbf!joel#dbf!joel miller#the last of us#the last of us hbo#tlou#tlou hbo#joel miller the last of us#joel miller#joel miller tlou#ethel cain#southern americana#southern gothic#southern aesthetic#preachers daughter#lizzy grant#lana del rey#tommy miller#ellie williams
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hard times
in which harry is grumpy and mean and has a scary job
word count: 3,315 warnings: angst, semi-mafia!harry, a single mention of drugs, semi-gun violence, harassment. do not read if opposed to any of the topics mentioned. authors note: i haven’t written in years so this may be bad. inspired by "western nights" by ethel cain.
Harry met Niall at a small diner called The Vinyl booth at 9:37pm, an oddly specific time Niall gave to him, Harry thought. Niall had been interested in forming a connection with Harry, seeing as he’s the biggest drug supplier in all of northern California. Niall loved The Vinyl Booth; he loved taking his girls there every other Sunday after church. It was a warm, cozy diner, with checkered flooring and a jukebox that only worked if you kicked it in the right spot.
“Harry!” Niall exclaimed, excited to finally be meeting with him after hearing about him for so long. Harry gave him a curt nod as Niall put his hand out for him. Harry took his and grunted as Niall brought him in for a weird semi hug that men do. “Good to finally meet ya,” Niall smiled and held the door open for him, a little bell attached to the handle sounded. Harry walked in first as Niall followed behind and stood while they waited for someone to seat them.
“Niall? What are you doing here so late?” A girl approached the two men, smiling at Niall before grabbing two menus.
“Y/n!” Niall exclaimed, returning an even bigger smile than she had initially sent him, “just needed a little late night treat.”
“Of course you did, come on,” she led the two to a corner booth, “I’ll be back with some coffee.” She smiled at the two and Harry noticed she hadn’t greeted him or even made eye contact with him once, which infuriated him; he was used to everyone showing him the respect he swears he deserves.
She walked back with two small gray ceramic mugs in her hands before turning again to get the coffee pot (Harry assumed they hadn’t brewed a fresh batch in some hours, disgusting him even more than he already was with the sticky menu he was holding). She went to pour some into Nialls mug before Harry decided to speak up.
“When was that brewed?” Y/n looked up as she stopped pouring the coffee.
“Um,” she paused, trying to remember when she last even touched the pot, “maybe around 5,” she shrugged, phrasing it more as a question than a statement.
Harry scoffed, “and you expect us to be okay with drinking that?” he practically shouted at the girl; she was taken aback, furrowing her brows and cocking her head to the side. “Get him a new mug and brew a fresh batch, we’re not drinking coffee that’s been sitting out for nearly five hours.” he spat. Niall went to speak up and Harry shot him the deadliest glare the man had ever seen, effectively shutting Niall up.
“I’ll get on it,” she murmured as she bowed her head, picked up Nialls mug and spun on her heel, heading towards the sink to dump out the hour's old coffee.
“You didn’t have to shout at her, Harry,” Niall scolded the man like he was a four year old. Harry just looked at him and shook his head, going to speak up before deciding against it.
The bell on the door rang. It was one of his security guards; he had told both (one of them planning on coming in three before 10pm, the time they closed) to observe the interaction between the two men; one to scope out Niall, and two to make sure Harry made it out alive. With what Harry did, not making it out of the diner was an option. The burly man sat down in a booth facing Harry directly.
Y/n was at the coffee pot, pouring in new coffee grinds and pressing at the brewing options, though there couldn’t have been more than one option with how old the machine was. She looked up as the man sat down, a puzzled look taking over her features; Harry couldn’t stop staring.
Y/n approached him, “Hi,” she smiled at him, “I’m y/n I’ll be taking care of you today, can I start you off with some coffee? I’m brewing some right now so it’ll be the freshest coffee of your life,” she joked with him, purposefully being loud enough for Harry to hear; he just narrowed his eyes at her and, instead of gazing at her, he began glaring. The man just nodded. She gave a half smile before walking back to where the two men were sat, pulling out a small notepad and pen from her apron. “Oki doki, Niall I know what you want already,” she smiled at him, a dimple forming in her cheek. She looked at Harry, “how about you? Have enough time to look the menu over?” He hadn’t even opened it.
“No,” he said simply. Her smile faded, a puzzled look taking over her features.
“Oh, well, do you have any questions?” She tucked her pen and notepad into a small pocket on the black apron that was folded and tied around her waist.
“No,” he replied, a bitter tone, “I would like some fresh coffee though, if you’re capable,” he tried his hardest to contain his smirk.
If y/n didn’t care about her job, she’d bark at him. If y/n didn’t care about the owners and how close she had gotten to them, she would’ve taken her pen from her apron and jammed it in his hand with all her might. And if y/n had the guts to either of those, she would. She cares, though, far too much to do either of those; so instead, she smiled and prayed that her eye wouldn’t start twitching.
“Of course, sir,” she turned and rolled her eyes, mimicking him under her breath. Harry heard her, but didn’t say anything. She grabbed another mug and the coffee pot, almost burning her knuckles in the process. She placed Nialls mug before him and poured into his new one, making sure to leave room for creamer. “Room for cream?” She made eye contact with Harry. He shook his head, humming a ‘no’. She tried her best to fill it to where it would spill on him if he picked it up too quickly, and made her way to the only other patron in the small diner. The bell on the door rang again, but it wasn’t who Harry was expecting.
Y/n looked up at the character who walked into and watched as he walked past her and sat at the counter. Nobody ever came in this late, three of them looked scary and they were all men. She felt her heart skip some beats in the worst way. Thankfully, two of the cooks were here, but they were already upset with her for seating guests twenty something minutes before closing.
She walked behind the counter, setting the pot down on the heater, and walked to the man at the counter. She noticed his red ringed, dark brown eyes. “Hi, I’m y/n,” she started her script, “I’ll be taking care of you tonight, what can I get ya started with?” She grabbed her notepad and pen, again, hoping he knew what he wanted to eat so she’d have an excuse to go into the back, wanting to be with the men she’d known for some time, rather than three suspicious men and Niall (who, according to her, was far too gentle to hurt a fly).
He smiled at her; it made her stomach curl. “Orange juice, please, and a mixed cheese omelette.” She scribbled in her notepad, muttering a ‘got it’ before scrambling to the back to put the order in.
“So,” Niall began, causing Harry to finally look away from the door the girl had basically run through. “I know you didn’t agree to meeting me here for the chorizo and eggs plate,” he joked at Harry. He gave a curt nod. Niall cleared his throat. “I know you have a busy schedule, so I’ll get right to it,” the bell on the door sounded again. Three minutes before closing, right on time. His other bodyguard walked past the two and sat at another end of the counter. Y/n peaked her head through the swinging door, looking around before setting her eyes on the last patron to walk in. She sighed before walking out and giving him her whole spiel.
“Coffee, please,” the man smiled at her. She was grateful for someone, other than Niall, to show her some kindness in a non creepy way. She turned to grab another mug and the pot of coffee and made her way back to him.
“Long night?” she asked him while pouring into his mug. He nodded and smiled at her, offering her a thank you. Harry felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest.
Niall continued to speak to him, though Harry tuned him out, granting him responses in the form of grunts. He watched the girl bring out the orange juice for the boy at the counter before going into the back and returning with a bowl of prepackaged creamers. “Sorry, Niall, the creamers completely slipped my mind.”
“Not a big deal, y/n, I knew you’d get around to it,” he reached into the bowl, grabbing a package and ripping it open to pour into his coffee. He did that four more times, turning the near black brown to a light, almost white shade.
She looked at Harry, his eyes already on her, “finally decided?” he shook his head. She just stared, no emotion on her face.
“Just get him the same thing as me, please” Niall awkwardly cut in. Y/n’s gaze softened, looking at him and smiled, before nodding and walking off. Harry, still, couldn’t stop staring; watching how she walked and moved and how she reacted to every word said to her. He also noticed how the boy at the counter did the same. Niall continued to talk at him about a deal he was wishing to make. Something about expanding Harry’s territory and getting a small cut. From what Harry heard, it wasn’t a bad proposal.
+++
“Thanks, again, for meeting with me, Harry” Niall shook his hand, a beaming smile plastered on his face. Harry offered him a pursed smile in return. “Get home safe.” Harry nodded, watching as Niall turned to walk to his car.
Harry turned to his, getting in the backseat, greeted by his bodyguard, Daniel, who’d entered the restaurant earlier. They sat in silence as they waited for the final of the two men, Jax, to return to the car. Harry had sent him a message halfway through their meal, asking (more like demanding) him to stay in the diner until the skeptical character had left; he left a bitter taste in Harry’s mouth and he just wanted to ensure the safety of the girl he was fascinated by.
He waited. And waited. Bit at his nails, ran his hands through his hair, groaned many times and waited even more.
Time seemed to go by so slowly. He stared into the window, watching the three of them closely. His left leg was bouncing up and down, an unfamiliar sense of anxiety coursing through him. Huffing through his nose, he ran his hand through his hair. He hated how he was feeling, and judging by her body language, she was feeling similarly.
Y/n stood with the coffee pot, having had to make another batch as the group of men continued to order more and more cups throughout the night, waiting for the two men to leave so she could crawl into bed. She had been here close to eleven hours now, and was growing anxious being practically trapped in a room with two strange men she had never seen, especially since the two cooks had left for the night (she was too scared to ask them to stay, not wanting to be a bother but she desperately regrets that now).
The bigger man of the two sat glaring at the smaller one, watching his every move. Y/n could tell he was growing uncomfortable with harsh eyes on him at all times; it made her feel safer, though.
The small one offered her a small smile, asking for the check silently. She felt a wave of relief to soon have him out of her hair. She couldn’t wait to leave; she had already wiped down all the tables, swept, asked the two men if they’d be paying cash or card, and when they both replied with card, she closed out the cash drawer on the register. She was eager, practically vibrating. Nothing planned for the night, she just couldn’t wait to step outside into the fresh air, feeling suffocated in the small space of the diner.
She handed the small receipt to him and he immediately offered her his card, making sure to graze her hand with his. She noted how cold and pale it was. A small ‘thank you’ before a pursed smile graced her features. She ran his card through the machine, printed a receipt and handed the two over. He smiled at her, leaving a ten on the counter before walking out.
Outside, Harry noted the movement inside the diner, watching the weird man walk out of the restaurant and around the corner to where, he assumed, was a back alley. Jax walked out shortly after, y/n walking to the door behind him to lock it before heading to the back, but he hesitated to leave, still. The lights shut off shortly after. He couldn’t make out much more.
The door opened and, though he could barely see her silhouette, he could tell she was locking the door behind her. She stood in front of the diner, typing away at her phone. He groaned at how oblivious she was to her surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a head peeking around a corner. He unlocked his door, prepared to jump to her defense at any given moment. The man who peeked around the corner fully emerged and walked up behind y/n, his hands in the pockets of his oversized jacket. He said something to her, Harry couldn’t hear what, and she practically jumped out of her skin. She turned around with wide eyes and slipped her phone in her back pocket.
“Oh,” she gasped, “hey, did you leave anything inside?”
He grinned at her, “no, actually was just wondering what you were up to after this.” she gulped.
“Um,” she tried to think of something, anything, to lie about, but blanked. “I’m just, uh, gonna hang out with my friends,” she rushed out. His grin turned into a smirk.
“You sure?” She nodded. His smirk vanished. “You’re lying.” she shook her head, a small ‘I’m not’ escaping her lips. “Yes, you are,” he stepped closer to her, “I hate liars.”
“I’m not lying,” she backed up, her breathing picking up. He stepped even closer.
“Now you’re lying again,” he glared down at her, “must I teach you what happens to liars?” Her eyes began to well with tears. A car door slammed. A gun pressed against the boy's temple. His eyes widened.
“Touch her and I’ll blow your fucking head off,” Harry snarled, pressing the gun even harder against him.
“I-I wasn’t, I swear, I swear,” he barely made out. Tears began pouring out of y/n’s eyes.
“Okay, so then tell me what you were gonna do, hm,” with his free hand, Harry grabbed y/n, pulling her behind him. She hid her face in his back and gripped his shirt in both hands, trying to focus on controlling her breathing.
“Nothing! Nothing, I swear,” he cried out.
“You swear, hm?” he let out a breathy laugh, “Why’d you wait for her, hm? Why’d you hide back there?” The boy’s mouth just opened and closed; Harry held back a laugh. “Say something, don’t be shy. You weren’t a minute ago.”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I’ll leave right now if you let me, I swear, I promise!” He began to sob.
Harry just pressed harder, “that’s not what I asked, though, is it?” The boy shook his head as best as he could, “then answer my questions.”
“I just, I wanted to see her.”
Harry laughed, “so you wanted to see her, and you couldn't have done it in a normal manner? Couldn’t have asked to hang out rather than hiding in a fucking alley waiting for her when you knew she’d be most vulnerable, fucking scum,” he spat out, inching his face closer to his.
He sobbed, “I’m so sorry.”
Harry moved the gun from his temple, but not before he pressed a little bit harder. “Get in the car,” he muttered, keeping the gun pointed at him and ushering y/n with his back towards the backseat of a black Range Rover. She opened the door and jumped in before Harry did the same. He put the gun in his holster, secured under his jacket. He looked to y/n, who was shaking in the middle seat. “You okay?” She nodded, her face down, staring at her fingers picking at a loose thread on her jeans. “I’m sorry,” Harry apologized to her, anger surged through his veins and he wished he could get out and have the opportunity to pull the trigger pointed to the back of the boy's head. The car started and pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ll take you home, I’ll send someone to stay in the general area for your safety,” she looked up at him with watery eyes.
“Okay.”
“Can you give me an address, please,” he handed the phone to her, with trembling hands she took it and typed out her address. It was a six minute walk. “How were you planning to get home?” she handed back the phone.
“I walk.”
“For every shift?” she nodded. “I don’t like that,” he admitted.
“It’s only, like, five minutes,” she shrugged, still not making eye contact.
“Still don’t like it,” he ran his hands through his hair, sighing. She picked at her nails, chewing on her bottom lip.
The drive was short, two right turns and they arrived at her apartment complex. Harry opened the door and helped her out, following her up the stairs, standing close behind her as she unlocked the door.
“It’s a little messy, sorry,” she opened the door and led him in. He stood in the entryway, taking in the details of the decorations that filled the small space (it was a small studio apartment, big enough for Y/n, but far too small for Harry). Her bed wasn’t made, with halloween sheets and decorative pillows on the floor next to the bed, and the only chair in the apartment was covered in laundry.
“It’s not bad,” he looked down at her while she gazed at him. Harry loved the way she looked at him and hated that he loved it.
“Thank you for taking me home and ya know,” she smiled at him. He nodded.
“I’ll send someone to take you to work and bring you home for the next few days, need to make sure you’re safe,” he took a deep breath in, stepping closer to her, his hand reaching up to graze her cheek, resting it as he caressed the soft skin with the pad of his thumb. He looked down at her, a glint in his eyes she couldn’t make out. His gaze shifted to her lips, his hand stilled and she tilted her head up in the slightest.
His expression changed, he removed his hand, and he stepped back. “You’ll know when they’re here. Goodnight,” and with that, he turned and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Her cheek felt cold.
She missed his touch.
And that would be all she thought about for the rest of the night.
troubles always gonna find you baby, but so will i.
#harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles blurb#harry styles fics#harry styles smut#harry smut#harry styles fanfic#harry one shot#harry styles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles imagine#harry styles writing#harry#harry styles fiction#Ethel cain
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