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hunieday · 3 days ago

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Momo - 16PRODUCERS Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator and I'm only doing this to share the side materials to those who cannot access them, if you notice any mistakes please let me know nicely. Enjoy!

Yuki: Thanks for your hard work

Yuki: Anyone here?

Okazaki Rinto: You’re early, Yuki-kun!? I’m here!

Yuki: Okarin, you’re online. Yuki here

Okazaki Rinto: Yeah, I know. There’s still time before the interview though...

Yuki: That’s true, but today’s an important interview day and I finished composing, so I thought I’d camp here early.

Okazaki Rinto: How wonderful. Momo-kun will be thrilled when he reads this!

Yuki: Yeah, who’s the star of the show today after all? Are you at the recording booth with him?

Okazaki Rinto: Actually, the recording ran longer than scheduled so Momo-kun should be back to the dressing room right around the interview time!

Yuki: Is that so. So it’s just the two of us for now.

Yuki: So what should we talk about until he’s back. Shall we have a competition to list what we find the cutest about Momo?

Okazaki Rinto: There’s no way I’m winning that. Let’s talk about what we like about you instead!

Yuki: Are you doing a bit

Okazaki Rinto: Momo-kun himself actually suggested it. He said "There’s a chance I’m gonna be late, you two can just talk about how super handsome Yuki is!"

Yuki: We thought the same thing.

Okazaki Rinto: I’ll start with my opinion! You used to say you weren’t good with people, but now you’re so approachable it’s amazing!

Yuki: Thanks. Do I have to say something too?

Yuki: I can write music

Okazaki Rinto: Next! I also think you’re an incredible actor. I feel so proud seeing you soar even beyond the idol world!

Yuki: Thank you. More new rivals keep popping up, so I can’t slack off anymore.

Yuki: Now’s my turn

Yuki: Now I’m out

Okazaki Rinto: That’s it!?

Yuki: That’s it

Momo: You barely scratched the surface!?!?!?

Yuki: Here comes Momo

Momo: Here comes Momo-chan!! Sorry for making you two wait 🥺🥺 I couldn’t stop smiling reading all the rabbichat notifications 🥰

Momo: But really, just three or four points don’t even compare in the sea of Yuki’s charm!?!?!?!? Like, his beauty mark is beyond handsome, the way he looks at me with such intensity makes me fall in love all over again. He’s so beautiful from the tip of his fingers to every strand of his hair?!?!?!?

Momo: And the way he calls me his “precious partner” is just too handsome…!!!

Yuki: You type really fast, Momo.

Momo: Lightning fast!!!!!

Yuki: I appreciate you saying all that, but today is all about you, Momo.

Momo: That’s trueee~

Momo: You’re gonna share,,,, what feelings you poured into producing my project right,,,,,,,,

Momo: aaaaaaaaaghhh can my heart even handle this ‼ Yuki, Okarin, please take it easy on me ‼

Yuki: I’ll be gentle.

Okazaki Rinto: Let’s get started! As requested, we’re aiming for a casual, relaxed vibe for this interview, as if you’re not even working. So we decided to do it over rabbichat!

Okazaki Rinto: First off, Momo-kun! Please tell us how you felt when you found out Yuki-kun’s gonna produce your song!

Momo: Hmm...he usually composes for Re:vale as a whole, but he did it just for me this time. To think that he created not just the song but also the lyrics, costumes, and the whole concept...I feel so lucky it’s almost too much to believe.

Momo: The person I’ve admired for so long brings me so much happiness now. I want to take that a hundred, a thousand times and deliver it back to all my fans.

Momo: Wait a sec is this real? I’m not dreaming, right?

Okazaki Rinto: Don’t pinch your cheeks so hard, Momo-kun!

Yuki: It’s real, Momo.

Momo: It is...

Momo: This is so special to me that it always felt like a dream! I mean, just singing with Yuki already makes me so happy, but I didn’t know there was even a possibility to ascend to another level of happiness.

Yuki: I’m just as grateful for the opportunity to focus on a project entirely for you, Momo.

Momo: Yukiiiiii~

Momo: Wait a sec, how come my darling is the most handsome guy in the world !?!? 😭😭😭

Yuki: I know. So what did you think when you heard the song?

Momo: It was so cool... I thought it’d be more cutesy

Momo: But it was completely different! And it has this super stylish dance number, I could picture us dancing together the moment I listened to the airy melody.

Momo: Even though we sing in a high pitch, the deep bass was so powerful, I love it soooooooo much…

Yuki: I’m happy

Yuki: I wanted to capture all your different sides

Okazaki Rinto: Interesting…! I’d love to hear more about your creative process!

Yuki: You could say it’s about Momo’s “switches”, in a way. A switch for when he’s singing, when he’s performing.

Yuki: A switch for when he’s pressing close to my side, thinking about lyrics to write. Working earnestly and wholeheartedly.

Yuki: They’re all different switches within Momo. It all shifts. The gap between them all is intriguing.

Momo: My “switches” huh... So that’s how you see me.

Momo: You’re right though, I do change depending on the person or situation without even realizing. The gap between the melody and the high pitch reflect that.

Momo: And the electronic sounds are supposed to represent little switches, right? That’s just like you, it’s fascinating!!!!

Yuki: Thank you. It was challenging since I wasn’t allowed to compose the entire thing myself, but it was worth it.

Momo: And the lyrics moved me deeply. I could feel your message of wanting to face the future together, and to keep singing for an eternity and beyond.

Yuki: That’s right. This song is for you, who pulled me forward and shone your light upon me that day.

Momo: That’s because

Momo: Yuki’s music gave me the push I needed back then

Momo: So that’s why I

Yuki: Momo. You always say you’re thankful to me but

Yuki: "Beneath the countless stars, I can reach anywhere as long as I’m with you." Being with you lets me sing anywhere, Momo.

Yuki: Just like that day we sang together on the sandy beach of a deserted island, the place where you and I sing, the place where Re:vale is, will always be the best stage ever. (1)

Okazaki Rinto: Momo-kun’s crying.

Yuki: Don’t shed tears when I can’t be with you to wipe them.

Momo: Wh

Momo: Whoa stop stop stop stop hold up wasn’t that way too smooth?!?! That line was so hot my tears stopped on their own!?

Yuki: Hello, it’s me, the handsome Yuki.

Momo: Kyaaaa!! Please look my wayyy!! 🤩✨

Yuki: Yep. I’m looking straight at my phone.

Momo: lolololol thanks! I totally feel your eyes on me 🤩✨

Okazaki Rinto: Alright, I’m sorry but let’s get back on track. I’d love to hear about the concept behind your outfits and promo shoots!

Momo: I’m so excited to hear about it! I was hyped the moment I walked into the room for the photoshoot! It looked exactly like a gaming room 🎮

Yuki: The song doesn’t fit an outdoor setting. I felt like even indoors would still be too bright, so I went for a moody, neon-lit setup the moment I found out something like that existed.

Yuki: It was perfect for Momo since he loves gaming, but the gentle neon light reflecting in the dark felt especially very Momo-like to me

Momo: I’m so happy!!!! I really do love those kinds of lights toooo~~ I see how it is, hehe~~~~

Okazaki Rinto: Yuki-kun, your idea of what “feels Momo-like” is always very diverse.

Yuki: Is it? I think it’s normal

Momo: And don’t forget the outfits, I loved them so much >u< Yuki doesn’t usually wear clothes in that style so I snapped a ton of photos of him!

Yuki: I thought we might as well embrace the Momo vibe for this shoot too. We even took tons of pictures together.

Momo: Yup! We were dressed like Player 1 and Player 2! 🪄

Yuki: It's been fun trying a style I don’t normally wear

Momo: You looked amazing!! 😍 💚 Why don’t you start wearing clothes like that more often?!

Yuki: Then how about we try some different combinations next time? (2)

Momo: Huh?! W-w-ww-w-ww-we don’t have to go that far!!!!!!!!!???

Yuki: Why not? Matching outfits always have a wide variety

Momo: Huh!!!!!!!!!! Okarin !!!!!!!! What do I do !!!!!!!! Work is one thing, but a private setting is totally different?!?!?!?!?!

Okazaki Rinto: I find it funny that you’re typing what you’re muttering in real life, LOL.

Yuki: How nice. I wanna be there too

Momo: You have work after this right? so Momo-chan will wait for you to finish!!

Yuki: Yeah. Thank you

Okazaki Rinto: The request was to make this a more relaxed conversation, but you might be a bit too relaxed right now, or maybe you’re just acting like you always are….

Yuki: Is that a problem? It’s fine, right, Momo?

Momo: Right, Yuki! 🫶

Okazaki Rinto: That’s right! It’s totally fine! And finally, please share a message for the fans!

Yuki: This new direction may surprise some fans, but from where I stand, Momo is strong, gentle, and full of warmth. Just like a sunrise that blends the dark and light, he’s a mix of many wonderful qualities.

Yuki: That’s why the song plays tricks with a variety of rhythms, melodies and singing tones. They reflect Momo’s ever-changing expressions. I hope you enjoy “Get in the Groove.”

Momo: I always spend every day thinking about how happy I am ever since Yuki and I became Re:vale. Sometimes so much so that I wish time could stop.

Momo: But you know, listening to “Get in the Groove” made me feel even happier! I know this project was born all thanks to our fans’ unwavering support. Thank you so much!!! I feel like the happiest person alive right now!

Momo: And that’s why I want everyone who supports us to feel as happy as I do, always and forever! I hope that you never get your feelings hurt! And if sadness ever comes your way, I hope our songs will be able to heal you!

Momo: Re:vale will always be a warm light, shining on everyone like the sun that rises each morning. Now and forever, with Yuki by my side!

Momo: That’s all I got!

Okazaki Rinto: Thank you both! This was Re:vale in full force!

Momo: Yup! I feel Yuki’s love overflowing more than usual 🥹❤

Yuki: Really? I’m not really good with words

Momo: Well no, you’ve gotten dangerously much better at that recently!!??!!!

Okazaki Rinto: It’s hard to believe you once had to practice saying stuff like this.

Yuki: Yeah, that sure did happen.

Yuki: Momo, promise me you’ll keep smiling by my side now and forever

Momo: Yeah. I promise!!

For those who are confused, the sandy beach of a deserted island refers to a specific plot point in part 5 of the main story.

I. am frankly not entirely sure how to interpret this. Because judging by Momo’s reaction I believe Yuki was Most Definitely Not insinuating an actual change of color combinations but. A Different Kind of “combinations”.

#idolish7 #i7 #ainana #idolish7 translation #re:vale #orikasa yukito #sunohara momose #yuki re:vale #momo re:vale #okazaki rinto #16 producers #rabbit chat

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muniimyg · 2 days ago

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𐙚₊˚⊹ bbydaddy!jungkook (29)⋆𐙚₊˚⊹

series m.list // taglist

note: old taglist + taglist in reblog

“surpise!”

the burst of familiar voices around you fills the space as jungkook gently pulls his hands away from your eyes.

the world comes into focus, and you’re met with a room full of smiling faces, balloons, and twinkling lights decorating the penthouse.

your heart races as you take it all in—your parents and jungkook’s on the side with zion and zia in their arms, the guys with their playful grins, and even nam joon, who stands with a friendly nod.

“what’s all this?” you gasp, your voice a mix of disbelief and delight.

jungkook steps beside you, his eyes shining with excitement.

“happy birthday, honey!” he grabs your hands, squeezing them as he beams down at you. “i wanted to do something special. we’ve got food, games, and your favorite cake… well, zion’s.”

you can’t help but laugh, feeling overwhelmed by the love in the room.

“this… this is—wow—thank you, honey. i love it. i love you,” you say, cupping his face with your hands. you tiptoe and kiss him softly. as you pull away, you smile. “honey, i can’t believe you did all this! i thought we were just having a quiet dinner.”

“quiet is overrated,” he teases, guiding you further into the room. “besides, you deserve to be celebrated. you know what this date means to us… to me.”

you can’t help but look at him with a soft smile.

it’s the way he always knows just what to say to make you feel seen and cherished. his words and actions fill you with warmth. it’s moments like these where you’re reminded that you truly chose the right person to love.

jungkook’s sincerity is so raw and so real.

this day, this celebration—it’s not just about the party or the cake, but about the life you’ve built together.

it’s a celebration of the family you’ve become.

together.

as he catches your gaze, the quiet tenderness in his eyes speaks volumes, and in that moment, everything else fades.

“don’t—” he starts, “we can cry about this later together. right now, enjoy the party.”

you muster a smile and nod at him.

as you take a few steps forward, the sound of zia’s laughter catches your ear. you turn to see her in your mother’s arms, giggling with delight at the colorful decorations. you greet your parents warmly, receiving a kiss on your cheek from both of them.

“zion!” you call out, spotting your little boy running toward you, his face lighting up with joy. “you look so cute, my love! look at your little bow tie—”

zion rushes to you, wrapping his tiny arms around your legs.

“happy birthday, mommy! am i handsome like daddy?” he blushes, looking up at you with innocent pride.

you look at jungkook, eyes wide and filled with admiration. then, you look back at zion with the same expression. kneeling down, you fix zion’s bow tie before attacking him with kisses.

“yes, my love,” you tell zion. “so handsome. just like daddy.”

jungkook stands behind you, watching the scene with a fond smile.

“handsome like his daddy? maybe our father-son relationship has hope after all.”

you hit his stomach with the back of your hand as you get up. he chuckles and ruffles zion’s hair, urging him to go to his grandpa.

as you straighten up, you take a moment to gaze around the room, your heart swelling with gratitude.

the penthouse is filled with the soft scent of flowers. their vibrant colors scattered across the space—roses, peonies, and hydrangeas in sleek vases add life to every corner. not to mention the birthday decorations are thoughtfully placed: silver streamers drape across the ceiling, and a "happy birthday" banner hangs delicately over the living room. a champagne tower sits elegantly on one side, glistening glasses stacked high, ready to be poured.

a few catering staff move quietly through the space, offering appetizers on silver trays, their soft footsteps blending into the background. the open kitchen reveals the omakase chef, expertly preparing food with graceful precision. jimin, taehyung, and hobi are sitting patiently on the other side of the kitchen island for the chef to get started. yoongi and his girlfriend are on the sidelines, watching and whispering in each others ear. meanwhile, jin and nam joon are talking to one another.

everything is perfect.

the warm, inviting ambiance makes the penthouse feel like the perfect mix of cozy luxury—everything perfectly curated yet relaxed, just like the man behind it all.

“honey, you’ve outdone yourself,” you say to jungkook, feeling giddy with appreciation. “the place is stunning. this is all so amazing. did you hire a party planner?”

he shakes his head and winces at you.

“have you no faith in your visual director in advertisement husband?” jungkook scolds you. “god, it’s like i have to teach you a lesson or something—oh. hey, nam joon.”

just then, nam joon approaches, a slight smile on his face.

“hey,” he acknowledges jungkook.

“thanks for coming,” jungkook offers him a lazy smile.

“wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“you could though,” jungkook tightens his lips. “party would’ve been fine with or without you.”

you hiss at him.

nam joon laughs, taking jungkook’s tone lightly. soon, jungkook breaks character and laughs along. he then kisses your cheek and excuses himself so you and nam joon could talk. as jungkook joins the crowd, you open your arms and give nam joon a friendly hug.

“thanks for coming! i know the firm can get busy this time of year—”

“would be much more manageable if you signed for partner,” he remarks casually, causing your expression to shift slightly.

“timing was off,” you breathe. “you know that.”

“i know it,” he nods. “are you thinking of starting your own firm?”

you shake your head, followed by a small smile. “no... jungkook has been talking about starting his own company and i feel like that will be a better focus for us... don't get me wrong; i love being a lawyer... but things got intense and mentally so draining so fast. it took a lot from me… from my family. truth be told, i miss it… all of it. court, the cases, the people—but i’m also a little afraid. i don’t want to drown in my work life like that again. so… i guess i’m mustering up the courage… and zia is almost one! i can’t… not be here for these kinds of things.”

nam joon understands you.

he looks at you softly, respecting everything you said. out of everyone, he probably knows you the best when it comes to your career. you have worked extremely hard to be where you are now… he doesn’t want to see it go to waste.

which is why he makes a pitch.

“would you ever be interested in teaching law?”

you blink.

“i have connections to most of the law schools around here… i heard there were a few openings too. i can refer you. if you hate it or if you ever decide you’re ready to come back… come back and accept the partner position. our firm will wait for you… i will wait for you. in return, don’t stop doing what you love but don’t let it kill you either. you have fought enough and earned your place, ___. you're a good lawyer too. it wouldn't be right for me to stand here and you go.”

“oh my god. y-yes. nam joon—”

“alright. consider this a birthday gift.” he smiles, before patting you on the back. then, he takes out his phone and begins to type. “i’ll email a few of my connections right now just so it’s like a real present. happy birthday, ___.”

before you can even thank him, he turns and gets on call with someone.

you sigh.

but you smile.

you're thankful.

with the party in full swing, you weave through the crowd, hugging friends and family, sharing laughter and stories. you take everything in, feeling the warmth of their love. this is where you belong. this is where you are loved.

as the room fills with a soft hum of conversation and laughter, jungkook's arms slip around you, holding you close as you both sway together, grounding you in the comfort of his presence.

"ready to cut the cake?" he murmurs, his voice gentle, but that familiar spark in his eyes still present.

you nod eagerly, feeling a rush of joy from the gathering, from the laughter of your closest friends and family. jungkook then raises his voice to call everyone over. soon, the room fills with smiling faces, and zion giggles as he darts toward you, small arms outstretched. you bend down to scoop him up, his little hands curling around your neck as he snuggles close.

jungkook joins you at your side, holding zia in his embrace, her tiny hands reaching for you as she giggles.

just as everyone is about to sing happy birthday, jungkook clears his throat, drawing everyone's attention.

“before we sing and cut the cake,” he begins, his eyes never leaving yours, “i just wanted to say a few words.”

a hush falls over the crowd, and jungkook smiles, taking a deep breath, his gaze filled with something that makes your heart race.

“thank you all for coming. i know keeping this a secret from ___ wasn’t easy since she’s nosy—”

“hey!” you frown, playfully smacking his arm.

“but we love her,” jungkook pauses, glancing at you with a teasing smile.

the crowd laughs with you.

“... and with that being said, honey, i’m so glad i have the privilege of being your husband. from the life we’ve built together, our children, our home—to our friends and families—you have made every aspect of my life happier, brighter, and fuller. even in our most difficult moments, i have never doubted that you are the one for me. i have chosen you every day, and will spend the rest of my life doing so… and you know? i used to be afraid of time. not having enough of it to spend with you and our children… but not so much anymore. every day, you hold my hand, make me laugh, and kiss me—giving meaning to our forever. so, here… right now, i want to say this to you: our time is forever. ___, if it takes bending every rule, making new ones, or breaking every piece of time itself—for me to be the one you love in every lifetime—then i’d do it.”

his voice is strong, clear, yet filled with a gentleness that brings a lump to your throat. “i have seen the way you love and i have felt it every day in every possible way. i feel it in our success and in our losses. god, am i ever so blessed to feel it. ___, i love you, always. you are my divine. my everlasting love. my heart in every lifetime... and i—truly, madly, deeply—i am yours forever.”

the world falls away, leaving only jungkook’s words hanging in the air.

they’re rich with love and promise. you feel zion’s small weight in your arms, his head resting against your shoulder, a gentle reminder of everything you and jungkook have created together.

your eyes blur as the room and faces around you seem to melt into a soft haze. there’s only jungkook’s gaze—kind, loving, forever.

a shaky breath escapes your lips as you look at him, your heart swelling with a love so deep it feels almost impossible to contain.

zion shifts in your arms, sensing the emotion in the room. his little fingers reach up to pat your cheek, grounding you. you press a kiss to the top of his head, gathering yourself, your voice catching as you try to find the words to answer jungkook’s confession.

you give a small, breathless laugh, holding zion closer as you look at the man who is both your beginning and your forever.

“jungkook,” you manage, your voice thick, barely more than a whisper. “how do i even… how do i follow that?”

the room chuckles softly, a few sniffles heard from the crowd, but you barely notice as you take a step closer to jungkook. his gaze pulls you in, that warmth surrounding you.

“i’ll start off by saying… everyone knows jungkook’s guilty pleasure is twilight, right?”

a few gasps are heard, and jungkook’s eyes widen in mock horror.

“honey—”

“so i’ll say this: for every second, every memory, every joy, and every heartache… i choose you too… because, honey, no measure of time with you will ever be long enough, but we’ll start with forever.”

jungkook chuckles, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks. it’s a mix of embarrassment and unmistakable affection lighting up his face. even though he’s trying to fight it, you can see that your words have touched him, and it makes you smile.

your voice wavers, and you pause, catching his gaze one last time. “and i believe in that forever of ours—more than i ever believed in anything.”

as the last words leave your lips, you see the pink flush deepen across jungkook’s cheeks. the surprise in his eyes melts into that soft, adoring smile—the one reserved just for you. the room is silent for a beat, as if everyone is letting the moment settle in, before they break into applause, a few playful whistles cutting through the warm atmosphere.

then hobi calls out, “light your candles and blow them out! zion’s drooling already!”

laughter erupts, and you find yourself laughing too, the joy of the moment infectious.

holding zion close, you turn to the cake, the soft glow of the candles flickering across your face. jungkook lights them for you, and for a brief second, you close your eyes, making a wish. the room hums as everyone sings you happy birthday.

with a gentle breath, you blow out the candles, and the room erupts into cheers and applause. voices ring with love and laughter. zion giggles in your arms, clapping his small hands in excitement, his face beaming with pride as he looks up at you. you kiss his cheek, smiling through your own laughter.

jungkook leans over, slipping his arm around your waist, and presses a tender kiss to your temple.

“what’d you wish for, mama?” he asks softly, his voice low and full of warmth.

“oh… you know,” you sigh, leaning into his embrace. “forever.”

#bts smau #bts fanfic #jk dilf au #jungkook fic #jungkook scenario #jungkook x yn #bts married au #jungkook wife

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 3 days ago

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@zepskies

Oh goodness I am so excited to finally being able to read part two!

Alright it is devastating right off the bat and I know, I know I should be worried about her and I am. I am SO worried, but my mind completely went somewhere else when Dean PICKED HER UP. The man is so strong and I am just...

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says. Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?” Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you. “Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls.

I was prepared for this coming but dang... "I hope you've learned your damn lesson" is a line that breaks my heart more than I should. It cuts to the quick for me, because to me it's worse than just saying "I told you not to do something." It's not heartless, but it's enough of a rendition of it that it just makes you go "oh wow."

And oh my word the two lines from Dean when she got mad KILLED ME. The:

"What's this, some kind of Latina temper?" he asks snidely.

AND

"Oh, I'm sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?" he snarks.

I was literally screaming. It's like he wants her to kill him. I know that Dean loves her so much but oh my goodness it's about to get so real for him. Man is about to be torn to shreds.

You wear it over some long pajama pants instead of your usual shorts, or better yet, nothing at all. But he can see what kind of mood you’re in. Things are unsettled as you both get ready for bed in silence. He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room. So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space. He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

Oh sweetie pie, Dean you're an idiot, but we love our little idiot even when he loses his temper because he cares so much. This part really got to me, because at first I was like "oh why would she stay with him in his room," but I get it. Even though she's upset, Dean is still her best friend and the man she loves and even though he's the one that made her feel this way, she still wants to be comforted by his presence. I always think that, this particular thing is so bittersweet to read about in relationships.

Or at least that's how I took this bit 😅.

Side note: I am happy that the reader didn't have to tell the woman about her son. That would have broken me to read that especially after the reader promised that they would find her son in part one.

It startles a shriek of surprise out of you as you whirl around. Dean’s smile hikes up into a grin, but it soon fades when he remembers the way your scream rang through his ears last night. The way his heart dropped into his stomach, and his head swiveled at the sound. And he saw you go down hard. Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself.

Oh my word. I love you friend, but WHY!? Dang it, this pricked at my heart. It's so good, so heart wrenching. I feel so bad for him, but it really just reinforces why he "lost it" with the reader earlier. Goodness the trope of the reader getting yelled at by someone who loves them about putting themselves in danger really is just such a good one for Dean and you do it so well.

His apology is really just pricking at my heart. It's so good, so forthcoming so honest. And the thought that he was "better off alone" is so on brand for him. I know that we've talked about that before, but it really does fit him, and I love how you weave it into this fic.

You realize then what Dean’s really saying. He’s afraid…afraid to lose you. You see it in his furrowed brows, the downturn of his lips, and whatever pain he’s trying to hide in the depths of his eyes. And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms. “You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing. “Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.”

She's crying... I'm crying. It's really just tears all around and such a good moment. Also the him saying "You don't have to cry for that"... YES SHE DOES.

This is just overall a really wonderful vulnerable moment that you've captured that feels real for both the reader and Dean. Especially when she talks about "working with my heart, not my head." I think that if it were me, I would also be "working with my heart." I don't think that I'd be able to take myself emotionally out of the situation that they're in all the time because they're hunters.

The problem is, you didn’t just see your own mother in Rachel. She hadn’t been much older than you. And when you imagine a life beyond hunting, more than anything (no matter how much you shove down the idea), you really do want a family of your own someday.

Hoping for some FORESHADOWING 🙏🏻👀

Also the salsa lesson is just so cute. And the way you took a really emotional moment to a cute salsa dance to a steamy session to a giggly awkward moment is great. The transitions make it seamless.

And the song choices were perfect! When the reader was describing what the song meant I was like, "oh yeah, that's him right there. There's the man officer." lmao 🤣

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss. He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds. A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck. “I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

I was again so emotional reading this, because oh my word, poor Dean just reliving the moments where the reader almost died.

And also the final scene 👀🌶️ I should have known from the gif at the beginning tbh lol.

ESPECIALLY THIS LINE:

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

I don't know why that wiped me out after everything tbh.

Not to mention that the sex was also giggly towards the end and I really just love that. And the love confessions KNOCKED ME OUT.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand.

Oh I'm riding a train of emotions, and all of this was so good. Especially Sam walking in on them. I was laughing so hard at Dean's reaction:

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

It's all wonderful my friend! And I can't wait to read another fic from this universe! 😊

Devour Me - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for. (18+)

AN: Here's Part 2! **Read Devour Me: Part 1

Song Inspo: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique. But really it’s “Ven Devórame Otra Ves” by Lalo Rodriguez. (You’ll see why.) 🤭

Word Count: 5,400

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Blood, character death and violence, smutty smut, angst, Dominican slang, and tons of sexy fluff.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: "Telenovela Style"

Your resulting scream of agony is as unforgiving as the ground when your knees buckle, hitting the hard cement.

Andy grips you with the strength of a monster.

Then he holds you down as he drinks your blood.

No matter how you struggle and whimper, you can’t push him off, and you’re getting weaker by the second.

Until Andy is ripped away from your neck, and is taken care of the way all vampires must be. He doesn’t even feel the blade coming.

When you’re able to look up, Dean stands above you with thinly veiled fury. He doesn’t have time to consider what he’s just done.

He bends to gather you up into his arms, all the while trying to stamp down the panic clenching his heart. He calls your name, but you can only make weak sounds as your bleary eyes meet his.

“Dean,” you manage. The ragged wound in your neck is bleeding profusely down your chest and shoulder, seeping into your shirt. He takes your hand and clamps it hard against your neck, even though it makes you whimper.

“Gotta stop the bleeding,” he says, apologetic but firm. “Keep pressing.”

In your stupor of pain, you don’t realize that your screech woke the entire nest. Dean has to lock up his worry; he looks up and finds his brother and Cas already fighting a hoard of angry vampires.

Dean carries you over to them and lays you down against the wall with the other humans. He keeps a protective line in front of you, but he decapitates a vampire before she can sink her fangs into Sam next.

The two of them work together, and with Castiel’s smiting power behind them, the angel and the two men are able to clear the rest of the nest.

By the end, only you and two of the women being held captive are still alive. The third girl’s heart just finally gave out. Sam takes the survivors to the nearest hospital.

Meanwhile, Castiel approaches where you sit up against the inside of the barn, barely awake, while Dean kneels with you, holding you to his chest. He meet’s Cas’s blue-eyed request with a nod. So Cas stretches out a hand and touches two fingers to your forehead.

You’re healed in an instant. Dean marvels, like he always does when Cas displays his power. Dean is able to breathe a little easier, the vice grip on his heart easing as he touches your neck.

The tan skin is once again smooth, if still stained with blood. You blink back into wakeful consciousness.

He shifts so he can see your face. “You okay?”

You meet his eyes but can only nod. His jaw is still tight and tense, and you can’t blame him.

You know you’ve messed up. Big time. You nearly got everyone killed, including yourself…and now, you have to tell a mother that her son is dead.

Dean helps you up, holding you by your arms and waist until you’re steady on your feet. You have a hard time meeting his eyes, but when open your mouth to apologize, he beats you to it.

“I hope you’ve learned your damn lesson,” he says.

Your gaze snaps up to his. “Excuse me?”

Dean’s hands go to his hips as his brows raise at you.

“Next time, when I tell you to hang back, I mean that shit. Hang the hell back,” he all but growls.

You tilt your head at him as your irritation begins to spark. Meanwhile, Castiel is the one who backs up as he glances between you and Dean uncertainly.

“I made a mistake, but that doesn’t give you the right to tell me what to do,” you shoot back. “I was a hunter long before I met you.”

“Yeah, well, color me surprised that you’ve made it this long,” he snaps.

Your temper flares hotter. “You know, you’re not so goddamn perfect either.”

“Never said I was,” Dean says. “But when my gut tells me something ain’t right, I need you to fucking listen. Otherwise, we get a day like today.”

His words are edged with grit by the end of his little rant, and you don’t appreciate it. Your lips purse in anger.

“I don’t care what that legendary gut tells you,” you sass back. “I’m not a little girl, and you’re not my damn father!”

Dean raises incredulous brows at the way you’re shouting at him. He crosses his arms.

“What’s this, some kind of Latina temper?” he asks snidely.

You truly become incensed at that.

“Oh, you want to take it there?” you ask, as your eyes narrow. “Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Dean won’t admit it, but in that moment, he’s a bit intimidated by the quiet threat in your voice. Still, his fuse is lit, and he’s way beyond curbing his internal filter.

“Oh, I’m sorry, does this telenovela-style tongue lashing come with subtitles?” he snarks.

You let out an incredulous breath. Your eyes begin to sting.

“You’re such an asshole!” you shout back. There, understand that?

You turn away from him before your frustrated tears can fall, but you stop short once you notice Castiel dragging out the bodies of the dead…including Andy. Your throat constricts, and you begin to stalk out of the barn.

Dean calls your name in frustration.

“What?” you hiss.

The only thing that makes him hesitate is seeing the state of you when you turn back around. His anger crumbles, and maybe something in him breaks when he sees your tears. They’ve welled up in your eyes, and a few of them carve a path down your cheeks.

You’re still covered in your own blood, and he hates it. He hates it more than anything.

Later, you see the state of yourself when Sam returns with the Impala. In the reflection on the backseat window, you see the blood dried down your neck, staining nearly half of your shirt.

You see the black rings of your mascara and eyeliner around your eyes. You look a mess, and you try to wipe underneath your eyes. It’s a fruitless effort.

After you all finish burning the bodies, Dean starts the long drive home. You insist on stopping to tell Rachel Campbell about her son, but Sam says he already took care of it when he drove into town.

You frown, but you no longer have the energy to be angry. You further withdraw into yourself, and your lower lip trembles as you look out the window. Through the rearview mirror, Dean sees more tears slipping down your face.

What Sam told him (but he won’t tell you), is what one of the survivors said. One of the mated pairs had taken Andy…to “adopt” a son of their own.

That night is quiet and tense in Dean’s room. You have to wash your hair all over again, and scrub the blood and grime from your body until only your skin remains. But you don’t have the energy to do more than braid your wet hair afterwards and pull on your lucky Journey shirt, which is still full of holes.

Dean knows that it’s bad when you need the “dreamcatcher,” as he’s called it in his head. You’ve never had a nightmare while wearing that shirt, or so you claimed a while back.

He notes the way you turn to face the other side in bed, maybe to avoid him. Though if you really wanted to do that, you could’ve gone to your old room.

So in more ways than one, Dean takes some solace in the fact that you’re still next to him. And he decides to give you some time and space.

He goes to bed and tries in vain to sleep.

In the morning, Dean’s woken by the familiar smell of coffee…and the less familiar sound of loud salsa music.

What the fuck?

After he brushes his teeth, he puts on his robe and slippers and heads down to the kitchen, where he finds you in a seemingly better mood. You’re mopping the floor, of all things. You’re out of your pajamas, instead wearing a loose shirt that falls off your shoulder and some spandex shorts.

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo,” you sing softly along with the music as you dance from the kitchen to the living room. Your phone is connected to a Bluetooth speaker on the coffee table.

Dean starts to smile, crossing his arms as he leans against the doorway to watch you.

At an instrumental break with a run of conga drums and trumpets, you pause in your mopping to do a little twirl as you dance, with a soulful roll of hips and a flair of salsa steps. It makes Dean’s smile kick up into a smirk.

He walks in on purposefully light feet until he’s sidled up behind you in the living room.

“Nice moves, Shakira,” he quips.

Then the rest of it tumbles through his mind—what he had to do afterwards in order to save you. How he’d did it without really thinking, his panic and determination blocking out almost everything else when he’d grabbed the kid. The monster, he forcibly reminds himself.

“You trying to give me a heart attack?” you ask with a hand on your heart.

Dean forces himself to smile a little. “Sorry. But might I remind you, not everyone here’s an early bird.”

You give him a wry look.

“You’re the only one around here who sleeps past 10 a.m. Cas dipped out a while ago, and Sam’s on a run.”

But you graciously grab your phone to lower the music to a more bearable level. Dean doesn’t yet know this about you, but this—listening to music, dancing, cleaning—it’s all your way of coping…and releasing as much of your pain, terror, and regret from yesterday as possible.

You then look up at him more guarded. The two of you exchanged a lot of unsavory words last night. In fact, it may just be the worst fight you two have ever had in almost three years of knowing one another.

Dean senses the shift in you, and his amusement fades. He just can't let things stay like this. He won't.

He hazards drawing closer and touching your arm.

“Look…I’m sorry for snapping at you yesterday. I know I was being a dick,” he says. “You’ve just gotta understand something.”

You wait for him to continue with furrowed brows, sensing that whatever he’s about to say is hard for him.

“There’s a reason I don’t do this. The uh, relationship thing,” Dean continues, clearing his throat. His thumb swipes along your arm. “It’s not just this job. It’s my fucked up life. I tried to warn you before—”

“Dean,” you say with a sigh, but he raises his hand.

“Please, just…let me say it,” he says. “You know the spiel. But things can change on a dime. Even on a damn milk run, like a dusty nest of vamps.”

You know that. You know you could’ve died yesterday, and he doesn’t need to remind you of that fact. Before you can start to get petulant again though, Dean continues. His jaw is working, like this next part is more difficult for him to admit.

“Trust me when I say, us being together is dangerous, for both of us,” he says. “For a while I, uh…I started to think Sam and I were better off alone.”

That casts you into dismay. Because you know Dean isn’t lying. He’s really contemplated spending the rest of his life devoid of love, so he won’t have to lose it.

Dangerous, for both of us.

And just like that, the water works start. You can’t quite keep your tears at bay as you hold onto his shirt. He lets out a resigned sigh as he holds you by your arms.

“You don’t have to cry for that,” he says, a bit teasing.

“Have you met me?” you sniff. But you manage to look up at him with your glassy eyes. “I’m sorry too. God, I’m so sorry, Dean.”

Your fist clenches in his shirt when you remember Andy, latched onto your neck, and how Dean had to save you. You know he’s remembering it too when his brows furrow, and his gaze falls away. You reach a hand for his cheek.

“I know I fucked up,” you admit. “I was working with my heart, not my head. I just…”

You wanted so badly to help that kid and his mother. You also know that Dean understands; you see it in his eyes. He holds your hand to his cheek and brushes his thumb across the back of your hand.

“I know,” he says. “I really am sorry, baby.”

It’s just…days like yesterday remind you why that could be a very bad idea.

More of your tears bubble over, and you head willingly into Dean’s arms. “Me too…”

He holds you tighter than ever. His hands rub down your back, tangle in your hair, and he drops his lips onto your hair. You sniffle, wiping your face dry in his shirt. And for a while, the two of you have peace in the relative quiet.

Music still plays from the speaker though. And when another salsa song starts to play on your playlist, you start swaying. A smile works its way onto Dean’s face.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” he teases.

You smile into his chest. “We should go dancing sometime.”

Dean just laughs. “Oooh, no.”

“Oh, yes,” you reply, batting your lashes up at him. You slip a hand on his shoulder and into one of his hands. He’s forced to hold you as if the two of you were about to start Fred Astair-ing across the living room.

“Have you ever danced before?” you ask. “Like real dancing.”

“Not salsa, I’ll tell you that,” he quips.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you,” you reply with a coquettish smile. “It’s just a few simple moves.”

Dean gives you a wan look. “You made it look anything but simple.”

You blush at that, but you meet him with a pout of disappointment. You don’t let up, even when Dean frowns. He huffs at you in resistance.

“No,” he insists. You just brush a gentle thumb along his neck, biting your lip in askance.

But the longer he stares at your beautiful, hopeful eyes, the more cracks form in his resolve.

Eventually, Dean breaks with a sigh, and a shake of his head.

“You’re too much, you know that?” he mutters.

It’s then that you know you’ve won.

So with a happy squeal of excitement, you clap your hands and move to stand next to him so you can show him the basic steps of salsa dancing.

You make him take off his robe and slippers, leaving in his shirt and plaid pajama pants. Then you instruct him for a few minutes, correcting his footing and getting him to move on a beat. You’re pleasantly surprised that he has some rhythm.

Dean sighs once again. How the hell did we get here? Heat crawls up the back of his neck as embarrassment starts to set in.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” he grumbles.

“You’re doing good,” you encourage, with a growing smile. “Now come on, feel the beat in threes. One, two, three. One, two, three…”

Once he sort of has the basic steps and turns down, you move to stand in front of him. There you show him how to hold you, how he’ll move forward, and you’ll move back. It takes a little while, but you slowly move through the combinations, then do a little twirl underneath his hand.

When he pulls you back in without faltering, you give him a beaming smile. “Very good!”

A subtle grin raises his lips at your enthusiasm. He also feels his face heating up at the praise.

But you pause when a certain song filters through the speakers. It’s an old one (and it never fails to make you blush), but you love it.

“Ooh, yes,” you exclaim with delight, and you turn up the volume.

“What’s this one?” Dean asks.

“Ven Devórame Otra Ves,” you inform him. Not that he knows what that means. You sing along a bit with the first couple of verses while you encourage Dean to lead you in the dance.

This song is just slow enough for him to attempt it, and the funny thing is, he doesn’t feel all that uncomfortable with the steps now. He’s starting to get a feel for how to move, both with his feet, and with his hands as he guides you by your waist, holding your hand close to his chest. Still, Dean’s also curious about the lyrics you’re singing.

“What does it mean?” he asks.

You huff in amusement. “You sure you want to know?”

Dean raises a brow. “Well, now I gotta know.”

You giggle at that, though you correct his steps when he leads with the wrong foot.

“Okay. It’s about a guy who’s pretty much a player,” you say with a smirk. “His bed has been a revolving door of hot ass, but he keeps thinking about this one woman who used to have him turned inside out…”

Dean’s lips curve at the familiar image you’re conjuring. He manages to turn you under his hand, then pull you back to him in one smooth motion. He looks down at you with a deeper gleam in his eyes. You bite your lip, soothing your hand from his shoulder and down his arm.

As the song’s verses come, you translate for him. And for Dean, your voice in itself is a spell.

“Even in my dreams, he says, I thought I had you devouring me. And I dampened my white sheets remembering you,” you begin. Your words are smooth like black velvet. “In my bed, no one is like you, who draws my body on every corner, without a piece of skin left over.”

Dean is getting hot under the collar as you push away, dragging your fingertips along his back as you turn around him. When you come back into his line of vision, his attention is attracted to the sway of your hips, clad just in those little spandex shorts. He has to clear his throat a bit.

You eventually return to him with a warm hand against his chest.

“Ven, devórame otra ves. It means, come devour me again,” you continue, looking up at him from under your lashes, “Come punish me more with your desire. Because I kept my love for you…because my mouth has the taste of your body.”

You smile at the laser focus of his green-eyed gaze. “Come devour me again.”

You push off with another little spin. When you reach for his hand, Dean yanks you back into him, eliciting a gasp. The move disorients you for a moment, but you giggle and hold onto his arms. Your hands glide up to rest on his shoulders.

He’s holding you flush against him, and as you shift a thigh between his legs, you unintentionally graze against his hardening length. You look up at him with a smirk.

“You’re a little…stiff,” you say, both flirtatious and teasing. “Let’s loosen you up.”

You shake his shoulders out and try to get him to relax. Dean raises a wry brow, because you know damn well whose fault it is that his body is coiled tight. But you place his hands on your hips as you move back into the dance.

“Feel what I’m doing there?” you ask. He looks down on you with growing heat.

“If I could do that, we wouldn’t be together,” he rumbles.

You try to stifle a laugh as he pulls you in close again, just swaying for a bit. Soon enough, you grin knowingly when his hands start to slide lower on your ass. His head bows to yours, ready to meet you with a kiss.

You stop him with your finger on his lips.

“Question: do you consider yourself more of a tits or ass man?” you ask him. You’re half teasing, but still curious. Dean snorts at the question.

“More of a connoisseur,” he replies, smirking.

“Ah.” You nod sagely, and you point between him and yourself. “So this is like a ‘sample the menu’ situation.”

Dean’s smirk deepens. “Sweetheart, you’re a goddamn buffet.”

You splutter laughing…and that’s when he finally pounces. He claims your lips with greedy passion. His hand winds into your hair, gripping tight and ruining what’s left of your loose ponytail. The strands coil around his hand in messy curls while he also gets a healthy grip of your ass through your thin shorts.

You smile into his lips, even as you acquiesce to him guiding your head to the side, so he can slip his tongue against yours. You grip his arms more for stability while he manhandles you, kneading soft flesh and making pleasant tingles run up your spine.

After a little while, his mouth burns a hot path away from yours. He noses down your neck, skimming his lips across your skin. It sets your nerve endings on fire and gets you breathing more shallowly in his ear. You cling to the back of his shirt, holding him close.

Often he’s one to leave love bites of varying degrees, wherever he sees fit. But for a moment he stops at the crook of your neck, just pressing a lingering kiss.

He lets out a deep breath, and you realize he’s probably thinking about where you were bitten. The wound is gone, but it doesn’t change what’s imprinted in both of your minds.

A softer smile grows on your face. You trail your fingers up into his hair, massaging the back of his neck.

“I’m okay,” you remind him. Dean hums deep in agreement. You know, however, that he’s still thinking far too much.

So you slide your hands down, slow between the dips and planes of muscle in his back, and rest at his hips. Your thumbs delve under the hem of his shirt and tease the skin there.

And you start slow, pressing wet, nipping kisses of your own to his neck while you inch his shirt up. You feel his smile on your neck. His grip on your hip flares to life. Still, he lets you tug his shirt up and over his head. Your loose shirt comes next, revealing the same black satin and lace bra you wore the first time he ever got you topless in his arms.

A fan favorite. Dean grins. He reaches around to go for the clasp, but your firm push on his chest takes him by surprise.

He falls back onto the couch with a grunt, looking up at you then with raised brows. You’ve got a mischievous little smirk on your face that heats his blood and makes his cock twitch.

You take out the rest of your falling ponytail, shaking your hair out wild. Then you let your hands drift down your neck, over your clothed breasts, and finally to your little shorts.

Dean rubs his palms down his thighs and watches. A smirk forms across his lips as you slide the fabric down the curve of your hips. It leaves you in a red thong, familiar to him by the little tear it has on the front. (Again, his fault.)

You climb aboard his strong thighs to straddle his lap, using his shoulders as leverage as you sink down. You make sure to rub yourself teasingly against his clothed erection. He groans in appreciation. His hands fly to your soft, thick thighs and squeeze.

“Aw, I like this,” Dean says, half on another moan as you grind down a bit harder on him.

“Yeah?” you tease. You take his face in your hands and capture his lips with your own. Your tongue invades his mouth, and he welcomes you with a deep hum. It’s slow and hot at first, but Dean feels the loss of you when you break from his lips.

Instead, you treat him with the same trail of kisses he gave you, along the curve of his jaw and down his neck. But you don’t stop there.

Your hands move over his chest with purpose, tweaking over each hard nipple while your mouth burns a wet line down and down his sternum. Dean groans at your ministrations, but lets you leave his lap to slide down to the ground, between his thighs.

“What’re you up to, baby?” he asks, despite having a very good idea of it. He catches the playful, yet determined gleam in your eye.

You pause, briefly leaning back up to give him a heated kiss. You part from him with a grin.

“Isn’t it obvious?” you ask. “I’m gonna devour you.”

Dean stares hard at you as goosebumps break out across his forearms.

Oh, fuck yeah.

A giggle bubbles in your throat at the expression on his face. But you continue, taking his pants down his legs first, before his boxer briefs.

Dean’s body tenses in anticipation. You’ve gone down on him before, but somehow it’s different this time. He feels like every single one of his nerve endings stands at attention along with his dick. And you’re taking your sweet time working him up.

Even when his cock is finally free, you sooth your hands down his legs first, maybe teasing him a bit as you drag your nails down his inner thighs. Dean makes a strained sound, though he tries to hide it by clearing his throat.

Your gaze flicks up to his with a little smile. He’s holding the back of the couch; his fingers are digging into the old cushion in effort to keep still for you. But his eyes stare into yours like a man starving. You know what you’re in for after you have your way with him, but for now, he’s quite literally under your control.

So you take him in your hands first. Dean groans as you tease him with light touches, soft movements, your thumb slowly circling over the sensitive, weeping head of his cock. It's torturous enough to make him drop his head back against the couch, closing his eyes tight.

And suddenly, he blinks them open again.

“Shit,” he utters, when you finally take him into your mouth. Your tongue is soft and wet, your lips move over him steadily, and your hands caress whatever your mouth can’t take, even teasing his balls.

You work him over relentlessly, until he can’t help but spill everything he has to give into your waiting mouth. When you suck off and swallow whatever remains, Dean’s heart stutters like syncopated conga drums.

He shudders and struggles for breath afterwards, watching your every movement—from wiping your mouth to shooting him that satisfied little smirk.

You press one last kiss to the inside of his thigh before you raise from where you’ve been kneeling on the hard ground.

Dean manages to lean forward and helps you up by your elbows. But then he pulls you back into his lap and kisses you deeply. He doesn’t let up until you’re panting with him.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart,” he manages to say. His voice is deep and laced with grit.

He’s still panting heavily. You giggle and press your warming face into his neck.

“What, now you’re shy?” he remarks. And he has to laugh. “Come back here.”

He brings your face back to him with a hand on your cheek. For a second, he just looks at you. His thumb strokes across your full, thoroughly kissed bottom lip.

“Say it,” you encourage softly. “Whatever you’re thinking. Right now.”

A smile tugs at his lips. He can’t help but oblige you.

“You’re too damn much,” he says again, both gruff and fond. Despite how you drive him up the fucking wall sometimes, he doesn't think it'll ever be enough for him, what he has with you.

Because this is something he'd almost given up on. Didn't think he'd get to have it. And it almost scares him, how much he wants you. How much he...

“I love you,” he says. His thumb traces along the familiar curve of your cheek.

It hasn’t been all that long, but he knows. You weaseled your way in without even trying. The least he can do for you is be honest.

Your fingers curl around his wrist, holding his hand in place. You tilt your head at him.

“Oh, yeah?” you ask.

Dean hesitates, but he nods. “Yeah.”

A smile grows across your face. “Eh, I’m still on the fence.”

At his flat look, you laugh and lean in for a kiss. He allows it, a little petulantly. But you make up for it with sweet affection. Your gentle hands stroke down the column of his neck, down his chest. You then lean back so he can see your face.

“Yo te amo,” you whisper. “Te amo y te quiero, más que tú puedes creer y entender.”

Dean smiles. He doesn’t understand all of it, but he gets the important bits. He hears it in the tone of your voice. He sees it in your eyes. They shine with emotion, but mainly with love.

Dean kisses your hand. He lets go, just so he can slip his hands around you to finally unhook your bra. He tosses it across the room without bothering to see where it lands.

You do though, and you meet him with a slightly narrowed gaze.

“Are you making a mess of my clean bunker?” you tease.

His lips curve as he kisses you again, while his hands each get a generous handful of your breasts.

“Ah, hello, ladies." He grins. "Miss me?”

You can’t help but laugh. He’s such a dork sometimes.

But you hum when his thumbs brush over hardened nipples, then drag deliberate circles over them, and pinch just hard enough to make you whimper in pleasure. The sensation zips through you, enhancing the flood between your legs.

“I fucking love that sound,” Dean mutters, and licks a hot path in the valley between your breasts. His lips move against your dewy skin when he says, “Do that for me again.”

When he takes a nipple in his mouth and nips a bit hard, you have to oblige him. Your voice rising high is music to his ears.

So he goes for your panties next. You help him get them off and return to his lap. With a breathy moan, you revel at the feeling of his fingers probing into your wet heat.

However, you and Dean have been too engrossed in one another to notice the door of the bunker unlocking, and heavy steps down the spiral staircase.

It’s Sam who’s back from his run. Unfortunately, he soon has to shield his eyes upon reaching the living room.

“Damn it, Dean!”

You yelp in surprise, but Dean laughs and holds you close to shield you from view. As a bonus, it presses your breasts against his chest.

“All right, Sammy. Go to your room,” he chides playfully (but he means it). “The adults are havin’ a moment.”

Sam scoffs. “You’re having a moment on the goddamn couch!”

“Sorry,” you say, though it’s muffled in Dean’s neck. Your face is red hot with embarrassment.

Sam rolls his eyes heavenward and tries not to see anything else on his way to his room.

But Dean’s chuckle reverberates through your chest as his hand goes to your cheek. He encourages you to pull back, so he can see your face again.

When he does, he smirks at the scarlet blush dusting your cheeks and neck. You bite your lower lip, but despite your embarrassment, you’re happy.

Your own words replay in your mind when you lean in for another kiss.

I love you, you’d said. I love you and I love you, more than you can believe and understand.

AN: Yay! I hope you enjoyed Part 2 of the “Midnight Espresso”-verse! I loved writing this one so much. I know we're just doing fanfic here, but I genuinely put my heart and soul into this one. ❤️

Also, here are a couple of Spanish translations:

(Note: other Spanish-speaking countries may interpret certain words differently.)

[During their fight]:

“Que sin vergüenza tú eres. Sigue jodiendo conmigo, coño. Entonces tú vas a ver quien soy yo.”

Translation:

“You’re shameless. Keep messing with me, damn it. Then you’re going to see who I am (<- This is Dominican slang. It essentially means fuck around and find out what I'm made of.).”

[Song lyrics: “Yo No Se Mañana” by Luis Enrique]:

“Yo no se mañana…yo no se mañana. Si estaremos juntos, si se acaba el mundo.”

Translation:

“I don’t know tomorrow. I don’t know tomorrow. If we’ll be together, if the world will end.”

Keep Reading:

Next in this series is "Chico Malo" ("Bad Boy"):

Summary: You catch Dean red-handed—with one of his favorite episodes of Casa Erotica.

▶️ Next Story: Bad Boy (Chico Malo)

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

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Series Tag List:

@hobby27 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesdeanvessel @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @ades106 @emily-winchester @deans-baby-momma @melancholictearz @luvs4dria @nic-kolas @katherineann83

@sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @tipthejar @ajjustice @thewritersaddictions @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @adoringanakin @deanwinchesterswitch @freewastelandstrawberry

@theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @mrshalverson2021 @iprobablyshipit91 @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @mimaria420

@candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @beskarfilms @skyesthebomb @deans-spinster-witch @tmb510 @iamsapphine @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @chernayawidow @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #guysireadsomething

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kurthummeldeservesbetter · 15 hours ago

Text

other ideas for what happens after Viktor wakes up:

He and Jayce make out passionately and get the hell out of piltover and then they go spend the rest of their days as a small mechanics/toy shop owners.

Jayce says lmao nah bro you clearly aren’t in the right headspace right now at least rest for a day before leaving and Viktor is like whelp can’t argue against that logic

Viktor is like you want to be the John the Baptist to my Jesus and Jayce is like I don’t know what the fuck that is but sure

Jayce gives him a fluffy robe instead of that magic sheet cloak and Viktor realizes he can’t be a cult leader looking like that so he just pouts in the lab for the rest of time

Viktor amnesia AU????? Oh the possibilities. He’s like hi I just got here and I’m purple. why am I naked and also who are you. Who am I. Do I have a name, a last name too perhaps? oooooo and jayce is like well we’re partners. And Viktor is like married? And Jayce is like whelp fuck it yeah. Married! (That way he can also solve the problem of Viktor not having a last name)

OOOOO Viktor’s magic/hexcore cult also affects Jayce? Feels compelled to follow him no matter what? And Viktor is now Came Back Different and is like well don’t know what to do about that!

Viktor gets out of the hexcore 3d painting whatever the fuck he was in and he’s just. Back to normal. Regular healthy man. Viktor is like well my terminal illness and chronic pain is gone but now how do I style myself without my cane?? he leaves to go figure it out lmao

Viktor gets out and everything is the same except he’s got a Jersey accent. Like a deep one. He doesn’t know it’s changed. Jayce is like well fuck. *contemplates pushing him back in to try and reverse it*

Viktor gets out and he’s like well I’m pissed you didn’t destroy it and also made more weapons but I’d likely use it to save you too (debatable for some but work with me here) let’s just start fresh and also I need real clothes before we stop this war. (He and Jayce also make out in this one too.)

Viktor gets out and he’s a cat. Jayce is happy. (He’s allergic to dogs).

#arcane #jayce talis #viktor arcane #jayce x viktor #arcane spoilers #jayvik

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icallhimjoey · 2 days ago

Text

Almost, Always

♥ ♥ Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Happy endings aren't for everyone, so it seems, but that doesn't mean that you can't stop trying for one. Question is, are you actually star-crossed lovers that can figure something out, or just absolutely blind to reality and really fucking stupid?

CW / disclaimer: rpf, fem!reader, language, adult themes, smut, cheating

Author’s note: it's monday! and fake joe's here for you! he's... not exactly the best, for which i apologise, but, he's all for you, so please, enjoy him fictionally and respect him privately (too much to ask? i hope not?) ok great talk everyone, love you <33 xo

Wordcount: 6.3K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

Four days of silence.

Four days of not looking each other in the eye. Of no physical touch. Of not saying a single fucking word.

You moved around each other in a shared space until you had the thought that you were probably better off avoiding each other completely for a little while.

Joe was convinced he had every right to wait for an apology before he’d speak to you again. You, however, obviously heavily disagreed.

You had just been honest.

Joe had asked for you to be honest and so, you had been, but apparently, you’d done it wrong.

It started with an evening of not speaking after an outburst. A silent night routine where you completely avoided one another. Acted like the other person wasn’t even there. You’d thought then that you’d speak in the morning. That you’d talk things out after getting some sleep, because maybe that was the problem.

You slept with your backs facing each other and dreamed of better moods in the morning.

But then the next morning, Joe had gotten up and only made one coffee.

One singular cup of coffee.

He drank it at the kitchen table, looked at you all bitterly like a disappointed parent would look at their child who was ruining their potential, and then left the empty cup there for you to grow even more annoyed at. More than you already were.

That one evening of silence had slowly turned into four days.

You bit your tongue, though. Kept quiet, because Joe did too. Stored the annoyance away. Swept it under the rug, and even though this metaphoric rug was starting to look really lumpy, you pretended you could walk over it fine still.

You then also ignored that this is precisely what the fight had been about. About you shutting up about all the little things that annoyed you. All the small things that didn’t feel worth the effort to say anything about in the moment, because you didn’t want to be a nag.

Things built with you.

Being bothersome was your worst nightmare, so you wouldn’t say anything for ages until then suddenly, on a random afternoon, a teeny tiny drop made the bucket overflow and you’d fall apart at something so stupidly insignificant which would take everyone by surprise.

Would take Joe by surprise.

And it made sense that Joe’s first reaction to your fire would be to light his own. You’d snap and shout, so Joe’d snap and shout right back.

“Babe, you never fucking communicate! It’s always– I’m always guessing with you! Just tell me when something upsets you!”

“I am!”

“Yea now you are! But you’re telling me about shit I said three months ago! What do you want me to change about something I did three months ago?!”

“I don’t want you to change anything– my God! You asked me what’s wrong, so I’m telling you what’s wrong!”

It was always the same fight. And usually, you’d end up saying something so stupid to your own ears it would break the tension and make you laugh. It’d be easy to apologise in those moments, because you knew this was on you, and the warmth coming off of Joe as he’d turn soft at your laughter would always sort of fix things.

“Stop being so silly,” he’d say as he’d hug you. As he’d kiss you on the cheek until your embarrassed grimace, aimed fully at yourself, disappeared.

“Got some moaning left in there?” he’d ask, tapping the side of your head with a finger, making you giggle despite yourself. “Want to go shout into the air from the balcony? Since you’re here now, this is the time to get all of it out.”

That was how it usually went.

And he was right; you could definitely communicate better. Express feelings in the moment rather than hold on to all the negative shit for ages.

Easier said than done, but at least you were aware that you had to stop saving things for another day.

This time the fight had been different though. There was no eventual humour slipping through any cracks. No secret smiles hidden from each other until you stopped being able to conceal them. No apologies. Zero kind words. Just… anger. And silence.

Joe was waiting for you to break first. For your wrath to turn into something a little softer that he could mould into something more to his liking.

And you were waiting because Joe was waiting. Simple as that.

It didn’t feel fair that every time you’d share negative feelings, Joe would end up calling you silly.

It didn’t feel fair that Joe never apologised for anything.

It didn’t feel fair that, just because you were quiet for a moment as you collected your thoughts, Joe spat, “Silent treatment? All right.” at you.

Four days.

Four days of Joe making a morning coffee just for himself, actively choosing to ignore, and therefore, hurt you.

Four days of his lone empty coffee cup left on the table, which you then didn’t clean, because why the fuck would you, but the sight of it was eating you alive.

You spent four days witnessing petty, childish behaviour from the man who you started believing you needed some space from. A little breathing room. Just until he’d miss you enough to reach out and say sorry, you know?

You wondered if he was thinking the same.

If the silence was also letting his mind wander into those same dark corners yours was exploring.

But then, Joe broke it.

A glass of wine on that fourth night broke it.

It wasn’t exactly an apology, but… it felt like one. You decided it was an apology.

You were sitting on the sofa, tapping away on your phone, talking to Emily about your stupid boyfriend, and she was a good friend, made fun of him effortlessly which really did a good job of making you feel better.

Then, Joe placed a glass of wine down on the coffee table in front of you.

It didn’t fully register at first.

You saw the glass, but assumed it was Joe’s wine that he poured for just himself, and if you were going to want some, you’d have to go and fetch you own.

Mid-typing out a message to Emily about it, you felt Joe sit down next to you, and when you chanced a quick glance, you saw that he was holding a glass of wine himself as he got comfortable and turned on the TV.

Slowly, your phone lowered into your lap, and you stared at that glass of red wine on the table for a moment.

Without warning, your eyes welled up.

He poured that for you.

In the effort to not let Joe notice how this gesture hit you right in the gut, you held your breath until you were shaking, and then a heaving sob burst out of you.

Shit.

You shattered.

Split right down the middle, and burst into pieces with such vigour, you surprised yourself, but surprised Joe more.

He had expected you to pick up the glass and empty it in the sink, or whatever.

Four days was much longer than he thought you’d let this go on for.

His girlfriend was stubborn – he knew that. But four days? Four days was a really fucking long time. And, apparently, four days was long enough for a simple glass of red supermarket wine to make you cry.

The astonishment rendered Joe useless for a moment.

He just looked at you for a moment as you sat with your phone in your lap, head dropped down, and your face covered by both your hands.

This was really fucking embarrassing.

Your legs felt the want to escape the situation before your mind got the chance to catch up. You were up on your feet and wanted to bolt it to the bedroom when you heard Joe put his glass of wine down.

You hadn’t even taken two steps before you got taken hold of by an arm. Pulled into a chest. Held firmly into place.

Going from four days of moving around each other like you didn’t exist to one another, to the very sudden tightest hug you’d received in ages was a lot.

And then Joe placed a hand on the back of your neck and squeezed you gently, making you fucking bawl.

No one apologised.

No one said a word, actually.

But you took whatever that glass of wine was as enough of an olive branch to let yourself be hugged.

Be shushed quietly.

Be gently kissed and softly touched.

It shouldn’t have counted as an apology, but you’d taken it as one, and Joe had conveniently let you.

Saturday night.

You’re out.

Alone.

You know Emily would have come if you had asked her to, but you hadn’t, because she would’ve likely asked a bunch of questions you didn’t want to answer.

“Where are we going?” “That’s not where we usually go...” “Why are we going there?”

Couldn’t tell her. She’d try her best to talk sense into you. Would try to convince you that this behaviour wasn’t serving anyone in the long term.

And she’d be right.

But you currently don’t really care about the long term.

Short term is where it’s at.

Where all the fun and the excitement lives.

So you’re out. Having drinks at a bar by yourself, and you do your very best fending off any trickle of doubt at your life choices until you see him walk in.

Jackpot.

You fucking knew it.

You pretend you haven’t seen him at all, of course. Continue your chat with the girl behind the bar, until suddenly–

“You know you’ve got the worst timing?”

Joe sneaks up on you.

His voice is low in your ear, and you do your very best to sound as surprised as you possibly can when you gasp a small breath, all innocent. You turn your head to see him over your shoulder, both his hands on your sides as he looks down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here.” You say it like you truly didn’t expect to run into him.

Oscar worthy.

Well. It would have been, had you not both been very aware that you’re exactly where you are for this exact reason. Wearing what you are wearing, drinking what you are drinking. It’s more than a lucky guess that he’d be here tonight.

Joe’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

“I’m here with a whole group.” Joe’s making excuses he already knows aren’t going to stop either one of you.

“Do I know them?”

“No.” Joe answers as he scans your face from the side. God, you look all… glossy.

“Good.” Would’ve been a bit awkward otherwise.

“You better hang around for a bit.” Joe gives you a face, sort of stern, and it’s so comfortable to frown at him. To act all offended. Like it’s not exactly what you want to hear.

“Excuse you, I’m–” you start all aghast, and want to add, I’m seeing someone, which is a lie, but you get cut off by a strong squeeze into your waist from both his hands.

“I’m not joking. Give me… maybe, like, an hour and I’ll come get you.”

You scrunch your nose at him and he gives a small nod, his grin spreading wide, before he turns around and finds the people he came in with.

You’re alone. Single, and having drinks in a bar by yourself, which has every opportunity to feel a little sad, but instead you feel giddy. You predicted you’d run into him, and then you did.

Perfect.

You’re a genius.

After last time, you kind of want Joe to think that you are seeing someone. Just to make you feel like you’ve got the upper hand. Not that it matters. You’ve both made the same wrong choice in similar situations before. But, still. You just don’t want him to win.

Joe joins his friends, and he throws a quick glance back to see you smile into your drink as you take a sip.

Yea. Glossy is the right word, he thinks. He could stare at you all evening.

Fuck.

A whack to his shoulder by one of his friends pulls him into a conversation and momentarily, he shifts into the evening he had planned to have.

He forgets about you for a minute, but never entirely.

It’s like there’s a constant little buzz in the back of his head, and he keeps wanting to look over. See what you’re doing. Who you’re talking to. Who’s talking to you.

Joe’s in trouble.

You do things to him that he can’t entirely comprehend, and that no one before or after you has ever really managed. He doesn’t know what to make of that most of the time, except that the feelings he’s got for you are sort of… big. And scary.

You’re still devastatingly gorgeous to him, he can objectively look at you and think, yea she’s fucking hot, but you also manage to make him laugh. Manage to him feel heard and cared for. Manage to make him forget about all current worries life has on offer for him.

And Joe is generally, just, doomed.

Whatever he had with you had worked for a while and then suddenly it hadn’t anymore. You’d suddenly wanted out, but now… it feels a little like you both want to start over. Like you both want to forget about that chapter of bullshit. Pretend it never happened.

And what’s the problem with that?

Is whatever you are doing now a problem? If it works?

If it doesn’t hurt people, Joe thinks there’s no issue.

But he knows it actually does hurt people. It’s another truth he ignores. Tries to, at least.

There’s no denying the gravitation pulling the two of you closer and closer together until eventually you end up a tangled mess. Like a pair of forgotten earphones left in a coat pocket, too annoying to untie, so instead someone will pull at both ends until the earpieces reach both ears, leaving the wire tangled up even tighter as it sits under their chin.

Even though Joe appreciates the poetic beauty he can find in all of that, he knows he’s got to fucking stop hurting people all the time.

He can’t help his feelings.

But he can help how he treats others.

If he is going to choose to let the general ache of a bad week be soothed by the balm of your presence, he can at least have the decency to not let others presume they’re dating him. Because generally, that’s always been his problem. Joe’s vague and avoidant and all about surface level fun – he never defines anything if he can help it, and he lets others think what they please.

It’s easier that way.

For him, at least.

It’s both a shame and a godsend that this is a part of him that you know through and through. That you see. He doesn’t have to try to hide it, because he knows that it’s of no use with you.

And apparently, it’s fine, because here you fucking are, aren’t you?

He remembers when he thought you were just the same, and remembers how he felt so lucky at first.

A perfect match.

He’d learnt over time, you’re actually very much not the same. But! You had at least some of the same tendencies, and you showing up in this particular bar tonight was enough proof of it.

Joe’s in his group of friends, and they’re all chatting and laughing, and this was meant to be a fun night out, but he might as well just leave right now. His mind is with the girl at the other end of the bar, sat on her own, smiling and chatting to whoever had the courage to strike up a conversation.

Yea.

He’s got more problems.

Forget not wanting to define anything with anyone.

Joe also has to stop banking his entire future on the idea that you want him too.

There’s… there’s a lot of things to ignore.

It should foreshadow that the path he’s going down isn’t good. Isn’t the right one. But... it’s so fun and exciting, he kind of has to know where it leads.

He sighs loudly, a frustrated grumble originating from sheer defeat, and he gives the glass he’s holding a glance. He’ll finish this, and then he’ll fetch you and leave.

About fifteen minutes later, he’s got you under his arm and is leading you outside. Asks, “Yours or mine?” because there’s no need to act coy with you.

You answer, “Yours.” a little too quickly for Joe not to raise an eyebrow at.

You’re walking together, and you’re still fixing your scarf, but your steps are too determined. Too rushed for your quick answer not to hide at least some secrets.

“What, you got anything to hide from me?”

“No–”

“Let’s go over to yours. It’s closer.” he challenges without the intent to actually do so, footsteps still carrying him in the direction of his own flat.

“No, I–”

“Or has Jasper left all of his things strewn about?” Joe couldn’t finish the question before having to twist his mouth in a bid to hide his smile.

You stop walking for just a second, and give him a dead pan stare that transitions into an eye-roll before you flatly say, “All right, good night.” and pretend to turn around to leave.

It makes Joe throw his head back in a laugh, both his arms grabbing at you and pulling you close.

“Mine, okay. Mine.”

And you fall back into step, smiling into your scarf at how you just made Joe’s laugh echo down the street.

Feels good to make Joe laugh.

It’s quiet for a bit, just a short few seconds. Just footsteps on the ground amongst the noises of the city. Somehow, it feels like it drags on, like every second lasts a whole minute, and you can’t help filling it with awkward chat. “No,” you start. “Jasper’s put all of his things where they’re supposed to go.” And you give Joe a pointed look after.

He bites immediately.

“Wha– I always put my things where they’re supposed to go!”

He doesn’t.

You know he doesn’t.

He knows you know he doesn’t.

It’s impossible to forget all of the little things that made the rug look all lumpy. You’d always keep things under there for ages, which gave you a lot of time to quietly lift up corners to examine all the mess.

So you snort, and he stutters through beginnings of words he never finishes to find excuses that don’t exist until you’re both laughing.

Then he says, “Here. I’ll put this thing where it’s meant to go.” And you think it’s just about the cheesiest innuendo ever, but then he takes your wrist in his hand and lets his fingers intertwine with yours.

You look up at him with a pursed smile, but Joe’s already looking right ahead, making sure you don’t bump into anything.

You’re lucky it’s cold enough to blame the flush of your cheeks on the cold wind.

You hold hands all the way to Joe’s flat.

It’s nice.

You also talk about Jasper all the way to Joe’s flat.

That’s less nice.

Joe asks what else Jasper does that he allegedly doesn’t. If he lets you keep your heating on. If he lets you sleep closest to the door. Every question comes out with disdain, like this loser doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing.

And you answer every question with lies. Paint a very pretty picture.

Jasper doesn’t even fucking exist, but you like that Joe thinks you’re taken. That you’re off the market, and that he shouldn’t be taking you home, but still chooses to. You think maybe he wouldn’t have held your hand if he thought you weren’t already spoken for.

However, it doesn’t feel so nice to remember all the things that ruined your relationship with Joe. He just keeps listing a bunch of shit you’d once yelled at him for, and you don’t think he fully understands how it’s bringing the mood down.

Presumably, you’re meant to think it’s funny, so you smile, but all of it sits wrong in your gut. It leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth that uncomfortably sticks to your tongue and sours your mood a little.

The short-term fun with Joe is meant to be just that. Fun. You don’t want to be reminded of all the reasons why you shouldn’t be going home with him right now. If you did, you’d have taken Emily with you tonight.

You refrain from saying anything, though.

You’re still you, after all.

You just smile and tell Joe that Jasper actually does do all the things that Joe never did, and hope it sparks enough jealousy in him to maybe do something about it.

“Hmm,” Joe says when you turn the corner and his building comes into view. “Jasper sounds... he sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t he?”

He does.

You’ve created the image of a perfect boyfriend. One who you know you’d never actually gel with; you need someone who pushes back a little.

Problem is... Joe knows that too.

Just when the thought crosses your mind that maybe Joe knows you’re making everything up, that you’ve been lying this whole time you’ve been holding hands, Joe confirms your fears.

“Almost too um... almost too good to be true, wouldn’t you say?” he narrows his eyes in suspicion, a smile still playing on his lips.

“Yea, well. Some people are.” you shrug, but know Joe is reading your unsteady body language just fine.

“Sure, sure. Yea. I guess so.” Joe says, and then falls silent.

He knows you’re lying.

Well, fuck.

And then, he lets the silence linger.

Joe doesn’t say anything as he fishes his keys from a pocket and lets you into his building. Doesn’t say anything as he pushes the lift button. Just gives you a little smile, like he’s trying to hold in a chuckle, thinking secret thoughts.

It gets in your hair.

“What?”

“Nothing, it’s... no, it’s nothing.”

Joe lets his small smile turn into a fat smirk and it’s starting to get on your nerves. The lift doors open, and you assertively step inside before Joe can give you a small ladies-first gesture.

Joe watches you press the button to his floor before he shakes his head a little and follows you in.

“What?” you ask again, and to that, Joe finally lets a barking laugh out.

“What?” he mimics, feeding off of the brooding bit of bite he can sense growing underneath your skin.

“If you’re trying to piss me off, it’s fucking working.”

“I’m not trying to do anything.” Joe patronises, joy very much still visible in the lines on his cheeks.

He knows you’re single.

He knows there’s no Jasper.

“Hmm.” It’s your turn to narrow eyes at him. “Yea, no. Of course not. You don’t have to try to piss me off, you’re right. You’ve got the skills to auto-pilot your way–”

In a lightning-speed quick move, Joe shuts you up by suddenly getting close enough for you to stumble back against the mirrored panel or the lift. He’s got two hands touching your sides over your coat, firm enough for you to feel them through the thick layers of fabric.

It startles you into silence, and makes you audibly swallow.

You can see from up close how Joe smugly pushes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, eyes roving over you slowly, and, fuck.

Yea.

Yea. Okay.

It shifts.

All of it is shifting.

The annoyance and slight anger transfers into something else.

Into something a little more raunchy.

You feel a sudden rush down your body from the way Joe’s eyes blaze with intention.

Joe knows you. Bit rash of you to forget.

Just before the lift stills and the doors open behind him, Joe lets his body sway forward a bit to press himself up against you entirely. It makes your breath hitch and stutter. Makes you want to grab hold of the large collar of his coat to pull him down enough so you can kiss him.

But then, in a blink of an eye, he’s gone. Pushes himself off, quickly moves away, walks out of the lift, and leaves you there to catch your breath for a second.

Fucking hell.

Oh, tonight is going to be interesting.

You don’t leave the lift until the doors start closing and you have to quickly launch yourself across to get an arm in front of the sensor. Down the hall you see him disappear into his flat, leaving his door open, and you take rushing steps to follow him inside.

You don’t want to waste any more time.

You want to undress right there on his doormat, despite the bitterly cold temperature you’ve just stepped into.

You want find Joe, who you can hear is already opening and closing cupboards in his kitchen, and just... you don’t know. Jump him, you guess.

That lift moment has made you want to devour him. Made you want to be devoured by him.

But then you close his door and step into his kitchen, and find him at the counter. He’s got his back turned, and is super calmly pouring two glasses of wine.

No urgency.

Zero haste.

He knows what he’s just done to you. Knows the effect that likely must have had. He’s toying with you. Fucking playing.

You drop your coat where you’re standing, right onto the floor. Toe your shoes off to make a pile. You cross your arms and grab hold of the bottom of your top, ready to pull that over your head next, but you pause to watch Joe’s shoulders move under his shirt as he carefully twists and pushes the cork back onto the bottle to seal it.

When he turns around, he leans against the counter, one hand on the edge of it, and in the other he’s holding a nice fat glass of red.

Glass.

One glass.

For a moment you just assume that there’s another hiding behind his back, though it doesn’t even fully register.

You make eye-contact as he takes a slow sip of his drink, and then you slowly pull your top off. It reveals a lacy bra you’re convinced Joe likes the look of.

And you’re right.

Joe halts, and openly stares. Mouth in his wine. Hypnotised. Frozen on the spot. Mind slowly turning to mush.

He’s predictable like that.

Men in general are easy like that.

You take a deep breath, inflating your whole chest, and Joe groans at the sight. The glass of wine gets put back down behind him, and you don’t even think he has taken real sip. Then he takes a few steps to pull a chair from his table.

He holds a hand up that means, one second, and pulls at the fabric of his trousers to give himself a bit more space before he sits down. He shifts a little, settles in, and then leans back with his legs spread wide, both hands behind his head, fingers folded and elbows sticking out.

He takes a deep breath before he gives a small nod that says, carry on.

You bite your teeth into your bottom lip as you smile, because Joe is an idiot, and you let your hands find the button to your trousers to take off next.

Then, suddenly, it lands.

There’s one single glass of wine on the counter.

One.

You stop your movements as you look at it and watch the red liquid inside softly swirl from when Joe put it down.

It takes a second for Joe to follow your gaze, and for him to understand what you’re looking at.

He frowns in confusion a little, looks back at you to see that you’re still staring, and then looks back again, and–

“Oh...”

Your expression has gone cold.

And Joe thinks that maybe he gets it. He isn’t entirely sure, but he’s smart enough to know that the show he had just settled in for is probably going to get cancelled if he doesn’t do anything.

“Did you...”

But he’s not sure what to say. Doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. When you start moving, he thinks maybe he doesn’t have to.

It’s crazy how this feels like it used to feel, before.

But, it’s a little different now, because… there’s nothing at stake. There’s no you to protect. No you two as a couple to preserve.

That stupid single glass of red wine.

You fucking hate it.

And you know it’s sick, you know that you’re not meant to enjoy this, but the feeling of rage bubbling up within you honestly feels kind of good. It’s been a while since you’ve gotten to experience full-body resentment, and have the immediate source of it right there to take it out on.

You want to feel this dark, sticky displeasure.

Feels fucking good.

Joe’s been reminding you of what a shit boyfriend he was to you, which was meant to be ha-ha funny. Joe thought enough time had passed. You had gone from no-contact to two people that bickered for a bit, and then would end up in bed together. It had happened twice already, and you had all the right ingredients to keep this going. The recipe had proven itself delicious, and Joe thought he could just... serve the same meal again.

It’s self-destructive, you know it is, but… you are hungry for it too.

You take a few slow steps and walk over to look at this glass of wine more closely. Joe watches you from his seat, entirely unsure of what to do, and then, without warning, you slowly push the whole thing into the sink.

Red splashes everywhere, and the glass clatters loudly, but it doesn’t break.

Next, you take the bottle into your hands. Look at the label for a moment. Pretend to read it. It’s still pretty full.

Too bad, you think. Such a waste.

You remove the cork, turn around to look Joe directly in the eye, and then tip that over as well. The whole sink colours blood read as you drain the whole thing, and all Joe can do is watch on from his seat.

He doesn’t stop you.

Doesn’t say anything.

Just watches you and feels the energy of the room build.

He’d forgotten how things always build with you.

You’re quite the sight, face reading thunder, standing in his kitchen in your bra, breath deepening with every second that passes.

Joe hates what it does to him inside of his trousers.

When the bottle empties, wine clattering in the sink, Joe sees your face change. Something more… calm seemingly overcomes you. You look... pleased.

“Does that feel justified?” Joe asks, eyes blinking at you.

“Fuck you. Yes it does.”

“Do you have any idea how expensive that was?”

You don’t give a shit how expensive that was, but just because you know Joe does, you want to know.

“Tell me.”

Joe scans your body all the way down and then all the way back up.

“Come here.” Joe holds an arm out and reaches for you.

“Shut up. Tell me.” You’re already making your way over.

“That’s a class A premier grand cru...”

You take Joe’s hand and let him pull you to sit on his lap. To straddle him, thighs spread wide, one leg over each one of his.

“That was a class A premier grand cru.” the words mean nothing to you, you know fuck all about wine, but there’s something glorious about correcting Joe.

“Hmm.” Joe hums as his nose nudges yours, and he lets both hands slide up your thighs until he finds the bits he likes holding most. He uses his grip to pull you in closer and continues, “A blend of merlot, and cabernet franc...” Joe’s French accent is awful. “An award-winning Château Angélus from... from 2016, I think...”

That’s fairly recent, you think. Can’t be that expens–

“Cost me over 500 quid.”

Your eyes darken.

Good.

You wouldn’t pay much more than a tenner for a bottle of the same size.

“Should’ve poured me a glass.”

And it’s only then that the penny drops. That he gets it. You can see it in his eyes. The flush of memories suddenly making it to the forefront of his brain.

The silent treatment.

The coffees he didn’t make you.

The wine he eventually did pour for you.

That one glass of red that temporarily had fixed everything.

Shit.

Joe grimaces. Groans. Squeezes his eyes shut. Feels like an idiot.

“Should’ve poured you a–”

You kiss Joe.

Hard.

Breathe him in, and move in enough for it to almost make the chair tip backwards. You’ve got both your arms around his neck, hips moving over Joe’s lap in a desperate grind, all needy and in search of feeling something.

Fire.

You want to feel the fire.

Momentarily, you think it’s working. That something is catching aflame. You can feel how Joe spreads his legs even wider, bucking his hips upward as he presses himself into you.

Joe is straining in his trousers, and he groans as you figure out the right rhythm to make it feel good with every hip roll, with every back and forth.

You break the kiss to let a moan escape you, head dropping back, and Joe’s mouth finds the skin of your neck to taste. His teeth graze before he kisses as you fiercely move against each other. Louder noises escape you when Joe lets a hand curl around and grab you by the back of your neck.

“Yea? That feel nice?” he pants, and all you can do is bob your head in a barely there nod as you keep moving.

It does feel nice.

Feels really nice.

Not exactly fire, though. You’re both in trousers, fabric rubbing together furiously, dry humping each other like a pair of horny teenagers who haven’t passed third base yet.

So, not fire, but nice none the less.

In contrast, there’s a lot of things Joe’s feeling, and he kind of wants you to know about all of them. Needs to speak them into the air in order to fully process what’s happening inside of his brain.

“Did you know I um… I broke everything off, the next day?” Joe starts, and stops to curse under his breath. “Fuck. Yea, keep going. Shit. Ah... A-after you left, I mean, remember? I had a lot of m-missed calls, so I called her back, and I–”

You shut Joe up with a kiss.

Try to at least.

“We could–” Joe starts again after turning his head and pushing you aside with his nose, both hands spread wide over your thighs as he helps you move over his lap. “Remember, how we really were something?”

You squeeze your eyes shut. Try to focus on the feelings inside of your body instead of on the words you don’t want to hear.

“We could be something still.”

“N-no.”

You refuse to acknowledge what Joe’s trying to tell you, but don’t stop your movements. You can’t stop, head dropping back. This all feels too good.

It’s still not fire, though.

There’s no stakes.

You’re both single, and every decision you have made this evening turns out to have been inconsequential.

It’s... it’s almost boring.

But it’s good enough.

You just need a couple more seconds, you can feel it building already.

“We c-couldn’t be somethinhgh...” you choke on your words, unable to finish the sentence.

“Yes,” Joe insists, voice low and breathy, your bodies still moving in tandem. He then uses one hand takes hold of your face by your cheeks, tilting your head down so he can make eye-contact with you for a second.

“Yes we could.” He sounds hopeful as his eyes search yours. “Don’t you get it?”

But your eyes are glassy. They flutter and want to roll back.

Joe knows this look.

Know what this means.

And it’s not like Joe thinks his kind words will really fix anything, but, maybe they will, you know? Maybe. He’s glad he has said them anyway, even though you look like you haven’t even properly heard him.

“You close, baby?”

He switches gears.

“Yea? Come on.” He helps you move with strong arms that press you down a little more, and your arms scramble behind his back in your want to hold onto him tightly.

“There you go.” he coos into your ear, and, it’s not fire, but you come anyway.

Joe should have poured you a glass of wine.

Shouldn’t have brought up bad memories, shouldn’t have tried to be funny about it, and absolutely should have simply gone and poured you a glass.

You pretend that a glass of wine would’ve made a difference tonight.

The difference that you had hoped to find.

That would’ve lit the fire.

Deep down you know that’s not it, but still. The empty bottle is right there, watching you come down from your high, Joe still hard beneath you, and it’s easy to use that as the excuse.

You decide on the spot that Joe’s going to have to deal with what resides inside of his underwear by himself.

You’re done.

Sitting up, you look him in the eye for a short moment and softly but definitively say, “Should’ve poured me a glass.” and press a small kiss to his cheek which Joe gladly accepts.

Because he knows you’re right.

“Should’ve poured you a glass.”

---

The Taglisted

@alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @cowboymcflurry

@demonsanddemogorgons, @djoseph-quinn, @dolcevitalifestyle, @eddies-puppet, @emma-munson

@emotionaldreamer, @everythinghasafacee, @ferfan14, @figmentofquinn, @ghost-proofbaby

@gri959, @hanahkatexo, @hazelenys, @jewellethief, @joesquinns

@keikoraven, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @loves0phelia, @mandyjo8719

@mexicanfolklore, @munsonluvrr, @munsonssweets, @nadixq

@niallersfreckles, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @prettiestboyreid

@readergf, @royale1803, @skulliecadaver-blog, @sherrylyn0628, @shizlac

@solzi1420, @songforeddiemunson, @sweetberry47, @take-everything-you-can, @thebellenouvelle

@tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @witchwolflea, @xxladymjxx, @yunirgo

add yourself

#joe quinn #joseph quinn #joe quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x y/n #joe quinn fanfiction #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn x you #joe quinn x reader #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn x reader #rpf #almost always

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dadbodbuck · 2 days ago

Note

WE'RE BREAKING UP

WHY WOULD YOU SAY THIS TO ME.

WHY WOULD YOU TYPE THIS WORDS WITH YOUR FINGERS AND THEN PRESS POST.

GET AWAY FROM ME

hi jack unfortunately we got married when you weren't looking so you have to pay for an attorney :/

anyway

Buck texts him I need to talk to you and Christopher knows it’s going to be a bad day. He was actually thinking about coming home over Thanksgiving break—it’s not as clean as going back over Christmas, but he misses Denny (who’s been telling him a lot about his cool new sister during their nightly meme exchange), and he misses his school friends (even if they’re exhausting to be around sometimes), and worst of all he misses his family. He misses his dad, he misses Buck. He even misses Tommy—despite only having met him a few times, he knows he’s been good for Buck and for his dad.

He liked seeing his dad smiling so much when he first started hanging out with Tommy, before her. He liked the way Tommy talked to him like an adult with his own thoughts and opinions. He liked the way Tommy talked about Buck, even though it was kind of gross seeing a grown man swoon that much.

But then. I need to talk to you. And it all comes crumbling down around him. Buck even has the nerve to follow it up with Can I call you? like some sort of therapist or school administrator. Chris opts for a video call, because he’s not eighty years old, and when Buck picks up, his eyes are bloodshot, his face is pale, and he’s nestled in his bed like a stereotypical teenager girl after she gets dumped.

Oh. Oh no. “What,” Chris says, and he kind of regrets the video call now, because Buck flinches back like he’s been physically hit.

“Uh, hey!” Buck says, trying to recover and failing miserably. The smile he plasters on his face looks so forced it’s painful, “How’s Texas in November treating you?”

Chris looks at Buck and decides to play nice. Just a little. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but you sounded like you had something important to talk about.”

“You’re right,” Buck sighs, “I’m procrastinating. I just wanted to let you know that Tommy and I have decided not to see each other anymore.”

And, yeah, Chris is pretty sure he knew this was coming, but it still makes him want to cry, or bite something, or throw his phone into the lake. “What happened?”

“Well—uh—Chris, I don’t—the details really aren’t important,” Buck says, with a wince, “What is important is that I love you, and your dad loves you, and just because Tommy won’t be around doesn’t mean you won’t have our support. I’m really sorry, bud. I know you liked him.”

It blindsides Chris, and he doesn’t know why. He should’ve seen this coming a mile away. He shouldn’t have gotten attached. He never should have sat down to watch The Batman with his dad and Tommy and stolen Tommy’s popcorn and talked shit on Buck’s taste in Star Wars Prequels.

“What did you do?” Chris asks, feeling a startling rage building in his throat. It’s familiar, now. He doesn’t know how he knows, but he knows this is Buck’s fault. Buck looks like a dog that pissed on the carpet and is waiting for you to step on the wet spot.

Buck clears his throat, and visibly weighs truth and comfort in his mind. “I asked him to move in with me. It was—it was too fast—”

“You asked him to move in with you?” Chris balks, “He has a house!”

“I wasn’t thinking!” Buck hisses, “Listen, I know I fu—messed up. I’m sorry. You have no idea how sorry I am, Chris. But it—it was the best decision for both of us.”

“You’re lying,” Chris seethes, because he knows so, so intimately the look of an adult lying to protect his innocence. “He made you happy. He made dad happy.”

Buck looks away, chin trembling, and Chris feels bad for all of three seconds before the rage consumes every other feeling in his chest. “Call me back when you find someone who wants to stay. Otherwise, keep your love life away from me. And maybe you stay away from me too.”

Chris ends the call, and two seconds later Buck is ringing him again. Chris doesn’t pick up, just sets his phone on his desk and buries his face in his arms. He doesn’t want to cry. He did too much of that after he got to El Paso the first time. But he’s going to miss Tommy. He’s going to miss seeing his dad smile like that. He’s going to miss the dopey lovesick way Buck moved through the world.

When Chris finally composes himself, he sees two more missed video calls from Buck, and a string of texts:

Love you, buddy. Sorry you’re upset. Call later to talk? Or call your therapist?

I really am sorry. I thought Tommy was going to stay too.

Text me pls? So I know you’re ok

Chris texts back: im fine. we’ll be fine. i need some time and gets a response almost immediately.

OK. Take the time you need. Your dad says if you decide to come back and you’re still mad you won’t have to see me if you don’t want to

Chris, always being left behind, feels a sick surge of satisfaction at the prospect. He could be the one who leaves. He can cut his losses before they’re fatal, he can amputate the limb before it goes septic. He texts Buck a single k back and does not examine the way something in the back of his head tells him, quite viciously, that this isn’t the first time that Buck’s been left this week.

#this is actually asher's fault #asks #userautumn

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 days ago

Text

Professional Indiscretion

Inspired by this post

Warnings: non/dubcon, degradation, demeaning behaviour, cheating, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Loki Laufeyson

Summary: a colleague returns from a recent vacation but is less than relaxed.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You’ve honed the skill of indifference long ago. The voices that carry from down the hall meld together in a dull buzz as you push them to the back of your mind. You’re less concerned with the latest water cooler gossip as your deadline bears down on you.

You hate when a project comes down to the line. It couldn’t be helped. What should have been a two-person assignment was dropped solely in your lap. It isn’t the first time and won’t be the last. Your colleagues are less than reliable.

As their voices glaze over each other, you shrug of your resent. They all have their obligations; golf rounds or the windfall of courtside tickets. You’ve never been afforded the luxury of a half-day to go play. You are the dependable one; as far as your coworkers are concerned, you have nothing going on besides picking up their slack.

Work is work. You don’t linger on it; you just get it done. A peel of laughter jars you from your focus. You should close your door but that’s just an invitation. The last time, they simply moved in front of your door and spoke even louder. It’s like a game to them.

Caroline’s bubbly laughter trills down the hall. She’s joined the rabble. One of the young temps the men love to flirt with. ‘Oh it makes me feel young again.’ Ugh, you couldn’t imagine turning the clock back twenty years. You’re happy that era of your life is over.

You squint at the monitor and review your work. There’s a subtle tap on your doorframe. Your flicks up and back down. Loki.

“Yes, how can I help you?” You ask as your fingers flutter over the keyboard.

“Good afternoon to you too,” he drawls as he breaks the threshold.

“Afternoon,” you continue to type. You try not to think of how this was meant to be his project.

“I’m only doing my rounds. As you know, I was recently abroad and I brought back some sweets,” he crosses your office and sets a blurry object down in your peripheral.

“That’s generous, I don’t have much of a sweet tooth.” You say.

“You’re welcome,” he overrides your protest.

You sniff, “thanks.”

He’s quiet as he stands across from you. His gaze hangs over you like a dark cloud. You check the auto-save and retract your hands. You push your shoulders back and look at him.

“You were the only who didn’t come out to congratulate me,” he muses.

You sit straight. You are not unkind or inconsiderate. You just don’t come to work to socialize. You signed the card they sent with the flowers.

“Congratulations on your wedding. It seems it was a success,” you say.

He doesn’t react right away. He just stares at you. His green eyes are sharp and his lips a thin line. It isn’t the ego stroking he was looking for. You’re not quite sure what more to say. You’re not very familiar.

He scoffs, “I see.”

You blink, confused by the derision in his tone. You look at him past your monitor as he slowly pivots on his heel. It scuffs loudly and he marches to the door. He stops right before it then delicate grabs the handle and draws it shut.

You tilt your head curiously, “I’m just finishing up a project, so I don’t have very much time--”

“You’ve always been a dry old spinster, haven’t you?” He slithers as he faces you again.

“Pardon?” You’re genuinely stunned by his accusation. It’s not the first time you’ve met with that sort of spite. There is a contempt reserved only for older women.

“Yes, you strut around here as if you are a queen. Above us all, and I come to you with a token of good will, a souvenir from my honeymoon, and it only reminds you of how utterly pathetically alone you truly are,” he sneers. “So you offer me that trite look and your empty tiding.”

You scrunch your lips in surprise and cup your hand in confusion, “nothing of the like. I’m sorry, I am rather busy with my work--”

“Oh but this isn’t just today. It’s how it’s always been. You cannot be happy for anyone for your own misery,” he tuts.

“If that’s what you think,” you sit back calmly. “I think you should go.”

He lingers on the other side of your desk, “it’s because she’s young, I know it.”

“What?”

“My new wife. I see how it makes you bristle to know a man of your peerage couldn’t be bothered with you. You see, women age differently. They become bitter.” He snarls.

“I hardly see how this is appropriate. I am asking you to go--”

He sets his stance and lowers himself into the chair across from you. He smirks and pushes back his dark curls. Your spine locks up. That look in his eye, you’ve seen that in men before.

“I know what the matter is,” he pushes his feet wide and grips his thighs. He postures so his shoulders are wide and high. “How long has it been?”

You refuse to acknowledge his jeer. You shift to your monitor and go back to your editing. He clucks.

“Months, years?” He suggests.

“I’m busy,” you insist, keeping your eyes averted.

“What the wife doesn’t know...” he growls.

You flinch, appalled by his suggestion.

“Leave,” you say.

He snickers. “Are you so resigned to your feeble existence? Those lonely nights? In your condo, drinking your chardonnay, reclining on your chaise and reading the latest lascivious rag written for pruny old divorcees?”

You freeze then slowly look at him. It could be a cruel assumption, though it isn’t untrue. In fact, it is far too accurate to be a coincidence. Down to the chaise and the chardonnay.

“And that toy you keep in your jewelry box,” he curls a finger to mimic the curved shape. “Do you even feel it anymore?”

“Get out,” you hiss.

He smirks and arches a brow, “come.”

He beckons with two fingers. You clutch the armrests of your chair and your nose flairs. You glare back at him, horrified. A newly married man and he’s here propositioning you. What’s more, he’s been watching you.

“You’re disgusting--”

“Get up,” he rubs his thigh. “And come here.”

“HR--”

“Oh, I know Bradon well. I will be happy enough to explain how you’ve grown so jealous of my young wife. You’re overworked so of course you couldn’t control yourself--”

“He wouldn’t believe you--”

“Wouldn’t he? We play squash on Sundays. He knows my character well. An upstanding member of the country club--”

“Why are you doing this? What do you want me to say? Hm? Congratulations on your pretty young wife. Now, you should go home to her,” you snip.

“I don’t want you to say anything,” he taunts as his eyes narrow snakishly. “I want you to come sit in my lap so I can show you how useless that toy truly is.”

“You are--”

“I am your villain,” he undercuts you. “And you have two choices. You can finish that project and submit it and have it tossed out for your indiscretions or you can do what I tell you and still have a job to support you wined-up erotica sessions.”

You curl your lip, repulsed. There’s no point in asking why. Men do not operate on logic.

“What’s it going to be?”

You grit your teeth and take a deep breath. You push yourself to your feet and steady yourself. You move stiffly around the desk, eyes on the wall as you near him. As you get close, he grabs your hip and turn you. He forces you down so roughly that your ankles bend.

You catch yourself on him, grabbing his hands as he grips you tight, and you writhe against his obvious arousal. A man like him can only get off on his own ego. You shudder and grasp his wrists.

He pulls you back against his and rests his chin on your shoulder. You squirm as he untangles his arm from your hold. He hooks his arm around your stomach as his other tugs at your skirt. You huff and claw at his sleeves.

“Alright, that’s enough, you’ve made your point--”

He shoves his hand against your panties, pushing the satin between your folds. You gasp and twitch. You push your thighs together and crush his fingers. It only adds pressure.

“You remember the day I started,” he turns to nuzzle your neck as he speaks, “and you had to make it known that you weren’t an assistant advisor, you were a senior.” He moves his fingers between the clutch of your tensed thighs. “That you were above me?”

“No, I--” you gulp slap at his wrist.

“Oh, and look at you now. Still above me, eh? Right there... on top of me,” he buries his hand against you and nips at your neck meanly. “You will be on your knees soon enough,” he flicks his fingers harshly and you spasm. “Right where you belong.”

#loki #dark loki #dark!loki #loki x reader #one shot #drabble #au #marvel #mcu #thor #avengers

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mamaclownhunter · 3 days ago

Text

I read a few but I am kinda soft for the idea of System!SY but like a player in a Video game.

Specifically I am thinking of the game Off! Where the player is their own entity the character it kinda aware of.

So SY dies and wakes up when Binghe lands in the abyss. He is given the objective to help Binghe out of the Abyss and steer him towards the best ending!!!

SY is excited because he!!! Gets to help Binghe!!

Binghe is pissed his seal came off and now he is being ordered around by some green spirit. His powers are still sealed and slowly being released by said kinda annoying ghost.

The worst part other then the Ghost being overly excited to be in Hell and seemed to be too elated about one of the worst fucking moments of his life-

The Ghost is actually fucking helpful. ‘Shen Yuan’ (what a fucking joke to give him a ‘Shen’ as a guide) knows more about monsters and their weaknesses, has an idea on what is edible what isn’t, he knows what plants to avoid, what areas are safe- and he also seems to genuinely want to keep him safe.

SY has a the video game advantage of either knowing when attacks are coming or knowing how heavy an attack will be. He also knows what Binghe can do at anytime/is controlling the attacks to some extent- either pokemon style or like the game OFF! Where is auto attacks or manual where Binghe can’t attack unless SY! Chooses.

For the first little bit Binghe resists or does the opposite where SY directs him only to- shockingly- get hit.

So I feel like for the longest time they were just at odds and bickering before SY puts it on auto and just plays it like a turn based game. Like for him sometimes time is slower except for Binghe, so he has faster reactions and honestly is more in canon with the “protagonist halo”. Where he can spend points and has his own little influence if things are dire otherwise he is more or less following his favorite protagonist through the story.

And Being such a big Binghe fan he is more than happy to just Let Binghe have the power only taking control when things look dire. He is the biggest hype man, offering information and support, offering insight or knowledge only him as a strange green figment that only Binghe can see.

He vanishes when Binghe flirts with women though. He goes off and explores or watches monsters, he hated this aspect of the book and if Binghe wants then he should- he only gets protective and sticks around if he feels like Binghe is getting taken advantage of- (though the first few times Binghe snapped at him and told him to scram- so he did in his own pissy fit) they go right back to Bickering but fuck SY still cares and he kinda likes how he can see this part of Binghe’s story.

They can’t go far from each other (I am thinking about as far as camera can scroll out) but SY can turn off audio and stuff on his side.

Though eventually Binghe just starts to trust SY. If SY says right he is moving right, if SY says between the eyes his sword is inbetween their eyes, if SY says run and hide he vanishes from the field. Because for all the bitching, raging and ranting- Binghe does notice a lot is on his sake.

And you know…. In the Abyss he isn’t alone. He isn’t figuring this shit out by himself he has someone who floats next to him asking what he wants to improve. Attack? Speed? Health? He has someone that he can mentally connect with and they just both viciously attack low IQ villian and plots where only they can hear.

The angst that the only person to interact with SY is Binghe. Who he can’t hold when Binghe has nightmares, who he can only heal if he has the resources and to produce medicine/fast heal, but is also the only person who sees and hears SY. So if he is ignoring SY- SY is alone- and I think deep down he is a social person. Binghe is subjected to a flood of questions SY wants to ask.

And Binghe has one person who cares about him and is always at his side (even forced SY never implies he feels forced in fact he seems always excited to be next to Binghe)- and Binghe can’t touch him, can’t feed him (‘I would love to try your food- but I can’t.’), can’t cherish him.

SY who is nice, who is considerate, compassionate, he cursed like he lives in a brothel and rages like a demon- but he also scolds Binghe for ignoring people, he snaps when Binghe doesn’t actually help- just takes what he wants and leaves, he believes Binghe is so much better for the world if he only got over himself and stopped thinking with his rage and anger. He thinks Binghe is smart, he thinks Binghe is strong, he thinks even half demon- Binghe is meant to be good.

What a kick in the stomach.

They can’t touch but Shen Yuan is trying his fucking best to get Binghe through hell. He apologizes for bad calls, he gets better himself, he takes his hands off the reigns but I think there are times he can’t help it. They fight, they talk, they are together.

Shen Yuan always loves Binghe and maybe he still ends up a little blackened but Binghe is quietly determined to make SY corporal. Pull him from that control panel and somewhere Binghe can hold him close. Maybe tuck him away in a nice little cottage where there is a little farm and greenhouse with all the plants SY can tend to, bookshelves filled to the brim with books and stories, in a place where SY can see all sorts of creatures to his hearts content.

The “Video Game” character being protective of their “player”

SY being a rage gamer also is so funny to me, Binghe is the only one he hears the absolute filth and insults SY throws at their enemies and frankly he either repeats it or relents that he isn’t as creative.

Binghe maybe not aware of his protagonist halo but aware of the little green ghost who can just barely manipulate the world if Binghe is in enough trouble. Shen Yuan being the only one who gets quests and updates of things Binghe needs to do and being limited on what he can tell Binghe.

The soft apologies when SY can’t control where they go or what happens can only help Binghe respond.

This is long and I am still pulling thoughts but I am slowly getting brain rot

#svsss #shen quingqiu #luo binghe #bingqui #binggeyuan #Binghe is still a fuck boy he just has to deal with a pouty 21st century nerd #he does no wrong in SY’s eyes but SY still calls him out when he is being an asshole #he is the only one not scared of Binghe #Binghe can be the biggest asshole and SY is just as big of an asshole back #Binghe can’t touch him and he is kinda the source of Binghe’s power #idk I am cooking

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ayrtonswnna · 10 hours ago

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hello there!

Can I request a Franco x reader? But where Ayrton Senna is alive in this universe and the reader is Senna? If not, then fine. It's up to you. Thanks in advance 😊😊

ʚɞ a/n: that is my moment!!!!!!!! i often imagine how would it be to have ayrton in contemporary scenarios it's unhealthy lol. i really think he'd be full of jokes and a fun guy just like he was off track. thanks for the request, it was a real nice one to write! (and if anyone has any senna request, i'll be more tham happy to take it! (i'm even willing to write stuff with senna himself))

ʚïɞ "you got me good" FC43

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀↳ masterlist ↳ drop a request! ↳ more franco fluff!

✧₊⁺ franco colapinto x cecília senna (senna!female oc)

✧₊⁺ word count: 1,6k⠀⠀⠀⠀✧₊⁺, gender: crack, fluff.

✧₊⁺ summary: franco and cecília kept a secret relationship and when they decide to come clean, her father was ahead of it and he's a total menace.

✧₊⁺ warnings: alternative universe where that may 1th 1994 didn't happen and ayrton grew old like he deserved to, my hyper focus on that man shown in references, a bit of portuguese properly translated, kinda short and poorly contextualized, curse words, franco is a baby, just soft and light content for the win.

"What do you mean he doesn't know about it?"

Franco took a deep breath, massaging his own scalp as his friend and co-worker continued talking, a mix of excitement and judgment in his words.

"You are not making this any better," he mouthed.

"You are dating his daughter! You are da-ting. The man's daughter. Like... The man's daughter. The hell haven't you met her family!?"

"I am scared, okay!? If I get rejected by her family... It's not just my girlfriend's family. It's simply Senna himself! Should I what!? Drop the job? Hide in a cave?"

Alex laughed, the words and the tone easing the tension. The guy was worried to death and things might be simpler than he thought. Everyone knew Senna was a fun person.

Dating Cecília Senna felt almost like marrying into royalty. It's a good feeling, though. Bagging Cecília Senna could easily be added to one of Franco's big achievements — and he's a former F2 driver called in last minute to fill a Formula One seat — and he's doing great.

But still, it's Cecília Senna, the only child of a legend, someone he looked up to growing up, someone he saw in the paddock many times before ending up in his daughter's sheets.

"Hello, everyone!"

God, his heart might have dropped to the floor just now. The retired driver walked into the garage happily, with his daughter attached to his arm and waving familiarly.

Everyone gathered around them immediately, though Cecília's eyes instantly met Franco's. She knew he was scared and had made fun of him until she couldn't anymore, teasing him in every way she could.

"I've heard the news on the Argentinian! You guys are lucky you got away easily!"

Alright, it's time to pray. What news? That he's fucking his daughter? That they meet every week? That she wanted a Williams' box pass so badly just because of him? Or... That they hid it from everyone just to gain a bit more time?

"We got quality, mate! That's it." Vowels took his cue to fill in the blank, the people dispersing and going back to their work. "Found the kid sparring and made him a beast."

"Yeah, of course," the Brazilian laughed. "What's up, buddy! Feeling the pressure?"

Franco mentally cursed Cecília for raising her eyebrows and doubling the meaning of the question, but he managed to stand up and dry his sweaty hands on his pants.

"I try not to, honestly. Not... think about it a lot," he said, feeling he could have worded the sentence a bit better as they shook hands.

"That's the spirit! I heard a lot about you, little man. Do you know my daughter? Cecília?"

Tricky question. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tricky question.

If he had heard about it, then he knew about them. Franco could say "yes" and end up with a lecture, or say "no" and be caught in a lie.

"You guys think you are smart, huh? Fooling around, hiding from cameras..."

Oh, it's over. It's over for him. The "drop the job and hide in a cave" plan was almost running in his veins right now. Maybe he should Sebastian Vettel his way around, retire early, and move to a countryside home in Switzerland. Yes, that's a good plan.

"Pai... Para com isso." Cecília shoved her dad's side, rolling her eyes. (Dad... Stop that.)

"What? You guys thought you got away with it?"

"Pai! Ele tá ficando sem graça!" she insisted. (Dad! He's getting uncomfortable!)

Franco thought of speaking up, but the nerves were all up and maybe he should let it be.

"Yeah! He should!" Ayrton still had a serious look on his face, making Franco shiver.

"Pai, sério." (Dad, I'm serious.)

"Sir, I know it—"

"Come on, Franquinho! I'm fooling around, take that scared look off your face!" In a matter of seconds, Ayrton's grin turned into a playful smile, and his arm was hooked over Franco's shoulder, messing up his hair and leaving him even more confused. "Did I scare you? You should have seen your eyes!"

Franco laughed, still a bit dulled. That was a big one.

"You're a bastard," Cecília rolled her eyes once again, aware of the father she had.

The man was a natural jokester, full of little jokes and loved making uncomfortable scenarios in the name of fun. He was a handful.

"And you guys should have told me about this before! You lost it all, Franquinho. Angra, the travels... You need to be introduced to the family!"

He had heard about Angra; the beach house Cecília went to every now and then, how much she and her father loved the place. He even saw an old interview where Ayrton said that his retirement plans included being "Angra's nature inspector."

"Yeah- Yeah, sim." Franco risked some Portuguese, patting Ayrton on the back before they both stepped apart. "Sorry for... for taking too long to meet you, I was- Damn, you got me good."

"I could see!" Senna didn't waste a single laugh. "Don't worry, little boy. You're a good investment. And Cecília is pretty happy, so... you got my support."

"I'm even happier to hear it." Franco chuckled. "Thank you, very much. Your daughter also makes me really happy."

"Of course! Her bad jokes make everyone laugh." Ayrton kept the teasing going. "Now you better show me some racing! I've been in your place and to keep the daughter you need to be as good as dad!"

"You should have seen your face, baby!"

Franco glanced at his girlfriend as he turned his head, their first alone time since the morning's humiliation session.

"I don't wanna talk about it," he mouthed, shirt off and focus switching. "That was traumatizing."

"I told you he's a clown." Her shoulders went up a bit. "But he wasn't lying at the end! He likes you!"

"I got that part. Now I know where you got that dark humor from." The blue-eyed boy stood in the middle of his room, hands on his waist as he let his girlfriend use her eyes.

"What can I say? I am my father's daughter." She smiled mischievously. "He wants you to spend some time, though. Before Vegas, maybe?"

"I could've Max Verstappen my way around and have stayed for the week... But we waited until your dad could scare me to death in the middle of the box so... Yeah, it can be next week." He started simple, voice steady.

But then Cecília approached and her hands liked to touch. All over his torso while she traced a good way for his hair.

"You ain't seen nothing yet." The smile was still on her face, lips coming closer and closer to his. "But I am really happy, you know? Now we can just be and enjoy some time... I can take you to Angra, and I don't need to hide in your driver's room. I was done with pretending I was investing in Williams just so I had a reason to watch the races here."

"Told you about it... You could afford my seat."

Another joke. Ever since he got into F1 as an emergency call, she did say she only had to call her dad and his 2025 seat would be secured.

"You're gonna get it because you deserve it, I am not affording that." She flashed her eyelashes, rimming a single syllable as his hands also started to travel.

Inside her expensive shirt, up and down her back in good pressure before they found room at her waist.

"You know what else I deserve?"

"You freak! Go shower and I'll be waiting for you outside. My dad is around!"

It took them no time. Within weeks, Ayrton and Franco became partners in crime, and suddenly, Cecília was having a taste of her own medicine.

"Turn it off! Now!" Ayrton whispered in a screaming tone, the last signal Franco needed before turning off the power for the whole house.

Cecília had just come back from the beach and Franco finally knew the Angra house. It was dark, and the prank was not very well planned.

"Porra." (Shit.) they heard the Brazilian swearing. "Que inferno, de novo? PAAAAI?" (What the hell, again? DAAAAD?)

He knew some words in Portuguese and it only made it funnier. Him and his father-in-law were hiding in the small laundry room as Cecília searched for them.

"Ready, kid?"

"No, but I'll do it anyways."

"Good kid. You're a great one." The old man, as a new custom, messed with the Argentinian's hair, before opening the door and waiting for him to leave.

"Eu juro, se vocês estiverem armando pra cima de mim eu— Ah— FRANCO! NO!" (I swear, if you guys are planning something against me I—)

He's fast even with his limited knowledge about the furniture in the house, walking in the dark before he could lift her and throw her over his shoulder.

It's the fourth time she's thrown in the pool and she just knows it's her father opening the glass door for the exterior area before she's sinking in cold water.

"I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU ALL!" Cecília screamed. "I JUST WASHED MY HAIR! OH MY GOD! PUTTING YOU TWO TOGETHER WAS THE WORST THING I EVER DID!"

"Não reclama, princesinha..." (Don't you complain, little princess...) her father played, now standing besides her boyfriend. "Bate aqui, you passed the test. Welcome to the family." (High five,)

"I hate you guys. Eu odeio vocês, los odio. Whatever. Don't ever talk to me again." Cecília stomped her way out of the pool, walking straight past them.

"Don't get mad, baby... It's just a joke!"

"Well, boy... It's your girlfriend. Go ease her nerves. You're called Colapinto for a reason."

ʚïɞ ayrtonswnna, 2024. check my masterlist or drop a request (: reblogs and feedback are always welcome (:

#lele writes ʚɞ #formula 1 #f1 #f1 imagine #formula one imagine #formula one #imagine #formula one fluff #formula one fluff imagine #franco colapinto fluff #franco colapinto imagine #franco colapinto #franco colapinto x oc #franco colapinto x reader #senna!oc #franco colapinto x senna!daughter #senna!reader #ayrton senna #williams racing

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