#even if the last one bit me in the ass last time it was still fun to discuss w/ people

[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

[originalexcerpts]

“I think I am going to enjoy this more than the last of your kind I burned to the ground.” He combs his fingers through the dark brown curls atop his head before crouching down closer to me.

I can no longer feel my fingers as they press into inches of snow and ice. How did it come to this? A fleck of sleet caresses my cheek as I dare to look into his violet eyes.

“Now. What will it be?” My chest feels tight at his words. They come out so calm and direct. But I know this is the way it has to be. I cannot imagine going another day without Eric. He was my soulmate. My best friend. And two months ago, some drunk driver took him away forever. The worst part is that this is not the first time I have tried to find my way to him. This is just the only time someone has responded.

I look to the Ouiji board burning in the metal bin to our right. Some friends had told me it was great for making connections to the lost. Only, instead of finding Eric…

“Well?” The man before me straightens and fastens a button against his deep blue suit jacket.

I think about what he offered when he first appeared from thin air. I was setting fire to the last bit of hope I had, when poof. Tall, dark, and handsome came into view so quickly, I was knocked flat on my ass. He growled slightly then smiled before offering me certain death.

Well, actually… he asked if I was willing to submit to his will or be destroyed. For one, I will submit to no man. And two, this might be my chance to be together with Eric again.

I do not flinch as I simply shrug my shoulders and tilt my head down awaiting what comes next.

“Fuck.”

But death does not come. I startle at his curse and stare back at him. His brows furrow in what I would guess is frustration, maybe?

“You would rather I burn you in the same way you have burned my connection to this world, versus doing my bidding?”

I cannot help the chuckle I let out. I am so miserable. So miserable that… he is right. I would. I am ready to leave this world. There is nothing left in it for me.

“What? Like I am supposed to want to continue living? Much less living for you?”

The sun has set on the horizon, and the only light illuminating us now comes from flickers of the dying flame. I glance at the board again, and it is still there. I cannot even see any scorch marks against its sturdy wooden frame.

Who is he?

“This is so fucking sad.” I look back at him, but he is gone.

Within seconds his breath is warm against my ear. I quickly whirl my face to my right, only inches away from his lips. How is he so fast?

“How about this, Little Birdy.” I shuffle backwards to put space between us as a smile forms on his lips. “I won’t subject you to torture or damnation just yet. First,” he pulls a small card from his suit pocket and extends it out in front of me, “take this card. His name is Freid and he works wonders on the human and non-human mind.”

Out of curiosity, I take the card and read the bold red print:

              Nocturnal Psychology

              Dr. Freid Ryor and Associates

              111 Winston C. Boulevard

              Seattle, WA

Psychology?

“Next, I want you to come with me and stay at my place until your thoughts on death shift. It’s not some magical playground where all of your Earthly worries can be free from. You humans… I swear.”

I do not even try to hide the shock on my face as I slowly rise from the ground. The wind whips a few strands of my untamed golden hair across my forehead as I steady myself.

When the villain demanded that you submit or be destroyed you just apathetically shrugged and braced yourself for death. You were surprised when the villain did not kill you and instead offered you a nice, comfortable room and an appointment with their personal therapist.

[lavenderprose]

Imagine you're Johanna Hezenkoss and your one goal in life is to Be Right All The Time and you've got this sidekick named Emmrich. He can do the whole corpse whispering thing and he's an objectively pretty skilled necromancer but, of course, YOU are Johanna Hezenkoss. And you decide that you like Emmrich enough to drag him along with you to glory. So you spend a few decades doing that. Only Emmrich is six and a half feet of saccharine poetry and fanatical devotion to the core tenants of the Mourn Watch and YOU, Johanna Hezenkoss, are just counting the moments until you can go Beast Mode in this bitch and show everyone what TRUE NECROMANTIC POWER means. So Emmrich weighs you down a bit but you're a little obsessed with him only because he's like. Real? That's a real dude? Saying that shit? Wild. Totally insane. He's like an annoying chattering dog who keeps all your secrets and makes the biggest saddest eyes at you when you say stuff like, "The world could be exactly what we want it to be. Aren't you MAD. Aren't you ANGRY at what they've taken from you. Don't you want to MAKE THEM SUFFER LIKE YOU'VE SUFFERED--"

Yeah. Whatever.

And then Emmrich betrays you because you're scaring him. SCARING him? After everything you've done for him? You were going to reinvent the world--you were going to put him at the top of it all so NOBODY could step on either of you ever again and now he's all, Oh Johanna, you're scaring me, this isn't what we believe in, you're letting your fear control you, blah blah BLAH he never shuts UP

Fear? FEAR, Volkarin? How fucking rich.

Then some stuff happens. Half lich 125 foot skeleton someone named Elgar'nan, maybe a God, who cares. You get so close--SO CLOSE--and then fucking Emmrich rolls in and this time he takes it ALL. Your power and your mortal life and your last remaining shreds of fucking credibility in this fucking world. And then he doesn't even have the basic fucking decency to say I Told You So. He keeps you on his desk like a tchochke and listens to you scream and spit and even THEN he doesn't do anything.

All the while he has his own sidekick now. Some vapid little thing always batting their eyelashes and paying Volkarin the kind of lip service that always distracted him, made his eyes go soft and his chin quiver. He's still such a weak man. You tell him so. You tell him and tell him and tell him until--

The sidekick disappears. Emmrich's eyes go empty and haunted in a way that makes you wonder what he's done to himself in his heartache and grief.

"Whoever did this to you," you tell him on the worst day, "You can make them pay. You're powerful enough. You defeated me." You being, of course, Johanna Balls of Steel fucking Hezenkoss.

"I just want them back," Emmrich admits. Because he's weak WEAK he's a weak man mewling pitifully in a dark room for his piece of ass while the moon rises red in the fucking sky and a God walks the earth.

"You have the power," you tell him. "When the world takes from you, you take those things back. This is what I've been telling you all these years, Volkarin. For once in your miserable life, LISTEN TO ME."

Finally, finally, Emmrich reacts. He screams. He throws a few books. He kicks his desk. Punches something, probably, because his knuckles start bleeding at some point. You watch it all with barely-contained glee. Anger, yes, fucking finally. You've been waiting your whole goddamn life for this man to realize how fucking ANGRY he is.

"How do I break into the fucking Fade?" He screams. He's not even looking at you. His hair is seven different kinds of fucked. His shirt is unbuttoned to the navel, and he's missing a boot.

"You could start by asking someone who's done it," you say. Emmrich turns, startled for some reason to hear you. Again you say, "Listen to me."

"Oh, Johanna," he sighs. "I've rarely done anything else."

It's not the words 'Thank you' or 'You're right'. It's certainly not lichdom or godhood or a 125 foot tall skeleton. But it's one point for Johanna Hezenkoss.

You'll make up the deficit eventually. Volkarin has a kid, after all.

[wandering-pirate]

Mouthwashing Crew Headcanon

Game Night: Hot Seat

Summary: What if the chef (you) hosted the Hot Seat game with the crew?

Pairings: Tulpar Crew x Reader

Day 156

One slow-ass day aboard the Tulpar, someone (probably you, possibly not) decided to shake things up. Enter: “The Hot Seat.”

Daisuke’s brilliant chaos brain kicks in: “Alright, everyone’s asses to the lounge!”

And by everyone, he means EVERYONE. Even poor Swansea, who, you can tell, was plotting your murder silently after his naptime was unashamedly snatched from him

Anyway! You explain the rules, yada-yada:

Take turns sitting in “The Seat” (a janky old pilot chair Jimmy swears is still operational—it’s not. It’s begging for retirement or a dignified death).

Everyone gets to throw questions at the victim-- I mean, participant.

Answer honestly or take a shot of Daisuke’s “mystery juice” (an ungodly concoction of random spices and liquid in the kitchen he found while he was cleaning - punishment by Swansea). He claims it's edible but aside from the glowing toxic green color, something's moving in the juice. Even Anya’s armed with antibiotics, just in case

Round 1: The Captain

Curly starts the game with the intention to stay honest and transparent, the way a captain should (hiswordsnotmine.) He takes a seat with the click of his cowboy boots, "I’ve got nothing to hide. Ask away!"

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest decision you’ve made as our captain?"

Curly's grin falters a bit before answering, "Okay, fine. There was this one time I insisted on manually navigating the Tulpar to impress someone... in my defense, those maps were outdated! And the the che-- I mean that someone was impressed… I think?"

Maybe it was the lighting, but you swear his forehead's starting to get shiny

Question 2: "What’s the real reason you became a captain?"

Caught off guard, Curly clears his throat, his composure slipping. "To lead. To inspire."

Jimmy raises an eyebrow. "C’mon, that’s the PR answer!"

"And… maybe I thought the uniform looked cool. Okay? Next question!"

Yeah no, his forehead was really reflecting light

Final Question: "Have you ever used your rank to get out of trouble?"

Curly’s face turns redder than a warning light, but he still holds his ground. "I… may have politely reminded a customs officer of my rank when they tried to confiscate my coffee stash. It wasn’t a bribe or anything!"

Curly is visibly flustered but still holding onto his Captain pride. "You’re all insufferable," he mutters, FINALLY wiping his sweaty forehead (it was dripping large drops atp). But when no one’s looking, you catch the smile tugging at his lips

Round 2: The Nurse

Anya walks in like she’s ready for surgery. Clipboard in hand, questions already prepped because no one’s catching her off guard

Question 1: "What’s the dumbest injury you’ve treated on this crew?"

Without missing a beat: “Someone tried to impress their crush, slipped on a banana peel, and sprained their wrist and their ego. I won't name names, they know who they are...”

Everyone looks at Jimmy

Question 2: "What’s the most non-standard thing in your med kit?"

“Glitter band-aids.”

"What!? But I never saw one of 'em on anyone."

"That's cause I secretly covered yours with normal bandaids, Swans."

Last Question: "Anya, what’s your guilty pleasure when you’re not in nurse mode? Something you’d never admit..."

In Anya's boyscout-ready clipboard of questions, that's one question that short-circuited her brain

"Uh, what do you mean by... guilty pleasure? I mean, I... definitely... DEFINITELY don’t spend my free time watching those... really bad reality shows, you know, like 90 Day Fiancé or The Kardashians... that’s just... so not me...heh..."

She pauses, realizing she’s digging herself deeper.

"And I definitely don’t have a secret stash of junk food next to me when I do... uh, when I watch those shows... because that would be... unhealthy... right?"

Her clipboard went straight at her face when you all snickered. The flustered nurse was something you weren't prepared to take in, but hey, you weren't complaining ;)

"It’s just for stress relief, okay?! It’s... it's not a habit or anything!"

Round 3: The Co-pilot

Jimmy struts up: attach all cocky gestures a man with an empire-rise-tall ego would do “Bring it. I’m unshakeable.”

First Question: "Do you have feelings for Y/N?"

Without missing a beat, Jimmy reaches for the juice… but instead of a shot, he downs the ENTIRE GLASS

Five minutes later: “I can feel it. IT’S REARRANGING MY PERSONALITY! That FUCKING JUICE is a CRIME to HUMANITY."

Ten minutes later: Trying his best to smile smugly despite the involuntary and random tremors that's hitting him every 5 seconds

Every time you look at him, he avoids eye contact

“It’s the juice, not me.”

Question 2: "If you had to kick someone off the crew, who’s it gonna be?"

“Oh, easy. Daisuke.”

Daisuke protests loudly, but Jimmy shrugs. “That juice deserves jail time.”

Jimmy spends the rest of the game poorly walking at a fine line between bravado and damage control, especially when anyone mentions you or the juice

Round 4: The Mechanic

Swansea reluctantly takes the seat, grumbling about how this whole game is a waste of time

"Just get this over with."

Question 1: "What do you think of Y/N’s cooking?"

He grunts. “Edible. Most of the time.”

“THAT’S THE NICEST THING YOU’VE EVER SAID ABOUT ME!”

“Y'right.”

Question 2: "Why do you always act like you don’t care?"

He scowls. "Because I don’t. Next question." But as the game goes on, his shoulders visibly relaxed, even had him smile when Daisuke roasted the co-pilot

When you teased him for enjoying the game, he went back at that grumpy (he thought it was intimidating, it wasn't) crossed-arms pose

"It's not the game. Yer all just idiots. Just like watching dogs catchin' their tails"

"Yeah and the Nile is a river."

Last Question: "Any sentimental moments with the crew?"

He clears his throat. "Sentimental, huh? Don’t think I’m the type to get all teary-eyed over people... but I’ll tell you, the day that Cap here, couldn’t even fix a damn lightbulb without asking me for help, well, that was... something. Made me feel like I still had some purpose 'round here."

He pauses for a second, almost looking like he was about to say more but after seeing all your expecting faces, the man just grunts and shakes his head

"That’s all yer gettin’ outta me. Don’t go thinkin’ I’m some softie."

All your mouths were collecting flies. That's the most emotional you could make Swansea be

Round 5: The Intern

Daisuke practically cartwheels to the chair... big mistake

Question 1: "Most immature thing you’ve done?"

“Immature? Me? NEVER.”

*Silence, t'was so silent that you could actually hear crickets despite free-floating in space*

“Okay, FINE. I might’ve accidentally stepped on the boss's face one night when I was aboutta pee. BUT I DIDN’T MEAN TO!”

"Oh, that explains the fishy smell. My bad Swans, thought it was your hair."

"Look who's talkin', as if I'm the one bathin' once a month."

Yeah, Jimmy's ego couldn't have been more trampled at this point

Question 2: "Most childish crew member?"

Rubs his hand like he's planning a complicated bank heist

"Easy... Jimmy. Why? Well, let me think… maybe it’s because the guy DRANK a juice just to dodge A QUESTION, might I add, that wasn’t even that BAD."

Daisuke crossed his arms and pouts like a disappointed girlfriend

"AND instead of owning up like a MAN, he KICKS ME outta the crew just for the heavenly potion I MADE. Yeah, Real mature, Jimmy."

Last Question: "Whose advice would you take: Swansea or Y/N?"

"Okay, this is seriously like one of those Resident Evil game choices, y’know? Like, who do you pick? Swansea’s all grumpy wisdom, and he’s got the whole... ‘I’ve seen it all’ vibe. I mean, boss is like the living manual for everything that can go wrong."

He glances over at you and grinned wider

"But then there’s Y/N, who’s always level-headed and knows when to just... chill and have fun. And your advice, like, it always has a twist of realness to it, right? You’re like... I don’t know, the sage with a spoon!... Or a butcher knife?"

Daisuke looks up at both of you, his expression is pure puppy-like distress.

"See? This is hard... I mean life and death situation hard."

"Well, the kid’s in trouble now. What’re you gonna do, Daisuke? Take the safe advice, or follow the one with sugar-coated truth?" Swansea bumps your side

"Ha! Mine's got pure truth and a sugary sweet with it, that's different, Swans."

Last Round: The Chef

Finally, you get forced into the seat (more like physically dragged by the men while screaming bloody murder) and everyone goes HARD on you

"What’s the weirdest thing you’ve fed us without telling us?"

"Weird is subjective, right? So if I thought the ingredient was normal, meh, does it still count as weird? Asking for a chef ;)"

"Are you the one who broke the coffee machine?"

"I mean, define ‘broke.’ If we’re being technical, it still turns on. It just, you know, sprays coffee sideways. That’s not broken, just... quirky."

"Do you actually like Curly's speeches, or are you just polite?"

You grinned

"Ah, well, they’re definitely… memorable. You know, it’s impressive how cap can make freighter maintenance sound like a call to arms. Like, one sec you’re zoning out, then next, you’re ready to fight a full Jedi council… for better fuel efficiency."

Who's the worst cook in all the Tulpar?

"Daisuke. Had the rare talent to almost burn the kitchen down, no, the whole Tulpar from just... boiling water. WATER!"

You succesfully dodged them all until you broke when Swansea narrows his eyes and growls:

"What happened to my tools last week?"

Visibly sweating but desperately clawing on the the little control you have left

"Swansea, listen… Those tools have been through a lot. They’ve seen things. I’ve seen things. The point is, they’ve served their purpose bravely. Now, about that wrench…"

At this point, You crumbled under Swansea’s intense dad stare and admit to using the wrench as a garlic crusher

The lounge area was filled with everyone laughing and whooping, and your reign of dodging questions comes to a dramatic (and pathetically hilarious end) after receiving a 20 push-up punishment from Swansea

a/n: second sem's been throwing me around like a ragdoll and it's been like two weeks... but yknow what, lemme make it a challenge. send some headcanon ideas cause all i can do is write at this point, not think :,)

[henry7931]

Head Swap Shorts

Borrowing My Son’s Body

Dan:

After I broke my leg, I wasn’t sure how I was going to make dinner for the family this year for big get together. Luckily, my son Sam had a great idea! Just borrow his body to get the job done.

So now I have Sam’s young body while he’s laying in my bed with mine on. The only thing that keeps throwing me off is how much I like having his body.

I feel weird to even think it but my son’s fit and it seems to get turned by the littlest of things. I really forgot what it’s like having a body this age I’ve had a boner all day long and I don’t really know what to do about it.

And now that I’m done cooking and the family shouldn’t be here for a couple more hours… I guess I can take care of it real quick?

So I went inside and went upstairs to check on Sam first. I carefully cracked the door to peak inside just in case he’s asleep— and to my surprise I see Sam literally jerking off and playing with my dick!!!

I almost said something but hey! I might as well do the same with his body.

So I headed to his room and stripped off all of his clothes. I looked down at my son’s perky junk and without any hesitation I started playing with it.

I start stroking his junk faster and faster. But in a matter of minutes, cum squirts out!

I clean off his body and walk to my room. This time I just walked right in.

Sam must of just finished up because he still had my dick out and was covered in my cum.

“Shit! Dad!!”

“Hey bud! Having fun in here?,” I say winking at him.

“Umm… yeah, sorry! This is isn’t what it looks like!”

“Listen son, it’s okay! I just finished up doing the same thing. Although, yours didn’t last that long. I wanted to see if we can stay like this until tomorrow.”

“Wow! Are you sure?”

“Yeah! I’m enjoying your body and it seems like you’re enjoying mine.”

I look down at my older dick and grinned at it.

Sam began to laugh and said, “yeah I like your body a lot. We can stay like this as long as you want dad.”

“Thanks son!”

Teddy

Christian:

Oh shit! I don’t know what to do. Here stands my uncle Cameron’s body withy freaking childhood teddy bear attached it. I was playing around with a couple of spells when he walked in and then this happened …

The weird part is his head isn’t communicating at all and yet it seems like the teddy bear is in control of his body.

I watched as the teddy bear feels up and down his new hairy arms down his new chest all the way to his legs thighs… he gets to my uncle’s junk and generally pats at it.

I watch as he tries to navigate his shorts he had on and gently peels them back. He put one of my uncle’s hands into his pants and begins peeing around.

“ hey can you hear me?” I asked the bear.

He stops for a second almost like he was looking up at me.

“So you can hear me,” I say to him.

He walks towards me and I feel a little nervous. I wasn’t sure what he was gonna do, but then he embraces me into a giant hug.

Not gonna lie it feels kinda good having my uncle’s big strong lawn wrapped around me. My uncle and I are very different. He’s a very stereotypical straight man, but one thing I would never actually admit is my attraction to his body.

I feel the teddy bear began to explore my body like he just did my uncles.

He gets to my bulge and begins to fondle out a bit. I taken my surroundings and realize it is just us in the room.

So I begin to fondle his junk as well.

We both eventually pull off our shorts. Standing close together, slowly, jerking each other off.

I begin to play with his nipples. I even put one in my mouth which is causes him to squirm a bit. I pull his body in for a tight hug. A rock hard dicks are rubbing up against each others. I squeeze his hairy ass.

He even does the same to me and then he does something that surprises me. I feel him insert one of my uncle’s fingers into my hole.

He does it so carefully, and if I didn’t know any better I think he’s done this before.

I say to him, “ let’s go to the room.”

I lead him to my uncle‘s bedroom and we both hop into bed.

I climb on top of him and make my way down to his dick. It’s a beautiful dick, thick and long complemented by a big hairy bush and big hairy balls.

I run my tongue from the head of it down to his ball sack. I get his dick, nice and wet before I get directly on top of it.

He helps me ease it into my hole. It’s just so tight getting in. But once we get going, he begins to start thrusting back-and-forth on me.

Moaning loudly and he’s using his hands to gently play with my cock.

I’m nearly screaming and our bodies are sweaty, and we can’t stop touching each other all over.

I turned my head around and I look at my uncle’s big hairy, stinky feet. I wanna suck on his toes so bad but I don’t wanna stop this moment.

 I watch his toes wiggle from excitement and it sends me over the edge. He’s thrusting in me faster and faster. He’s even going harder. I can’t take anymore, but somehow in the same time I cum and I feel his dick pour loads into my hole.

I looked down at my uncle‘s cum cover chest and I pull his dick out of me. His dick is still leaking and I even get a taste of it.

I turn around and lay back to my face or directly next to his feet. They take a big with his feet smell like a dirty gym. He just got back from a run earlier when he first walked in, and I realized he wasn’t even wearing socks.

I run my tongue up and down his soul. I realize it’s tickling the teddy bear a little bit.

A kiss each of his toes before I crawl my way back up. I feel him wrap his arm around me and I lean into my uncles chest.

I look up at the teddy bear and I say, “ do you want to stay this way forever?”

He gives me a thumbs up.

“Okay but we will have to work on your head. It’s cute but it will freak people out,” I say to him.

He pulls me in tighter and I can feel his fingers running up and down my back. Soon I fell asleep in his arms.

Two weeks later, Ted, which is what I like to call him now and I have gotten really close. He’s very smart and all they can’t speak. He does write to me.

I wanna show him so much, but I need to figure out how to change his head. I may be getting close in my spell book, but I want to be 100% sure.

So for now, me and Ted will just stay in the house. Honestly, it’s fine by me because the sex is amazing.

Coconut Head

Kent:

On vacation and something very strange happened to my older cousin. He was walking out back from the beach when all of a sudden a coconut fell off of a tree. It was so powerful that it knocked off his head and landed right on its shoulders.

I tried to help him pull it off, but it won’t move. We even took him to the hospital and they said just be patient. The coconut is on his neck so tight, but it will eventually loosen up. They said it could take weeks or even over a month.

So now I’m having to spend a lot of time taking care of my cousin’s body and his head.

Although it’s nice is if he does get a little sassy or bossy with me can always just leave his head in another room.

But what’s been really fun is while his head is away I get to explore his sexy body. My cousin is super hot and super ripped. I don’t even mind the coconut me and them because it lets me do whatever I want.

I’ll leave his head in another bedroom at night, which just leaves me in his body alone together. I’ll stay up all night, smelling and licking his pit and feet. Sucking off his cock licking his hole. I’ve even taught his body how to jerk me off and how to give a good foot job.

I’m not gonna lie I kind of hope the coconut gets stuck forever. He’s really talented with my cousin’s toes and he’s a great cuddler at night.

[eternal-love]

I’m having a really bad day today, gimmie some Benny smut I know you’ve got something in that brain of yours 🤍

LEAVE

Pairing: Benny Cross x reader

Summary: You try to leave Benny, but he has other plans.

Warning: smut, toxic relationship, Benny being a pathetic ass, reader has a child, Benny gets physically violent.

Note: Couldn’t deny Miss Cross herself y’know? 😏I know I’m not as good writing smut but I do my best for you. Hope you get better and this makes you feel better! 🫶💗

Also, this is heavily inspired by a combo @aust-een and I had about how Jeff held back a lot from what the real Benny could have been. I just know Benny wasn’t this quiet nonchalant thing. He was jealous, possessive and violent.

Your life was monotonous, you woke up, got ready, had breakfast, went to your job, put your with annoying customers, came back home, slept. Repeat. That was up until you met Benny.

Your life did a 180, in your routine and emotionally too. Benny was an interesting character, he was a mistery to a lot of people. And to you too, your friend warned you to not even look in his direction, he was always cruising for a bruising. Him and his bike were in for any sort of trouble. That’s what drew you to him.

Your last boyfriend was too plain, too vanilla. You often sought out a way to create any sort of tension. With Benny, that wasn’t necessary. He was the problem himself. With you having to bail him out of jail more times that you liked to admit it. A part of you knew this wasn’t healthy. Specially not for your son, he saw everything.

Benny lived in your house, so, obviously you were the head of the house, you worked and brought in the money. But Benny didn’t care, he flouted in and out the house as he pleased. Anxiety ruled over you, not knowing if he would come back or not. You could stay awake all night just waiting for him.

At some point, you knew it had to be over, it wasn’t healthy anymore and you spent days more stressed than happy. So you waited for him to come back. You had put your son to bed upstairs. Your leg bouncing as you drank a beer, you heard the front door open and you saw Benny come in, black boots stomping on the wooden floor.

“What are you doin’ awake still?” Benny spoke up as he saw you in the couch, his eyes a bit tired as well as his voice.

“Waitin’ for you.” You said, putting out the cigarette on the ashtray.

“You ain’t gotta do that.” Benny scoffed, he took his pack of Marlboro Reds out his pocket and lit up just one, he walked towards the kitchen and grabbed a beer. He looked around, no food. “No food tonight, I see. That’s how you care for your man?”

“It’s too late at night, only cooked for Robbie and I.” You said, you stared at him as he walked around. He just smirked in disbelief at what you said.

“What’s with the face?” He asked you as he came back to the living room, taking another hit from the cigarette.

“I want to talk to you about something.” You said, taking in a deep breath.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Benny rolled his eyes.

He had been off and weird lately, you had believed you were crazy but no, you started to accept that he was in fact different.

“I can’t live like this no more, Benny.” You confessed as you stood up, your hands on your hips. “This ain’t right. Not for me or my Robbie. I want you to leave.”

You said, it took everything in you to get the words out of you. Because you didn’t know how he would react.

Benny pressed his lips together as he took a deep drag from the cigarette, shaking his head. “That ain’t happening. I ain’t leavin’.”

Benny was hard headed and he did not follow nobody. If he was told to do something, he did the opposite, but you were tired. Of everything.

“It’s not a question, Benny. I can’t keep carrying on like this. It’s eating me alive.” You said, trying to appear firm as you stood up.

“You can’t keep carrying on like this?” He repeated your words, you could easily tell he was mocking you. “What else did you think this would be?”

You stared at Benny in disbelief, a part of you thought you could have changed him. Make him more responsible, more emotionally present, more anything, but no. He was still the same troublemaker you met. It hurt you to kick him out but there wasn’t any other choice.

“I just want you to leave. Get your things and leave.” You said, the words getting stuck in your throat.

“So you can bring in another man? Who you gonna bring next? Cal or that son of a bitch with the camera?” Benny accused you, he was very jealous and possessive. He didn’t like bringing you to meeting too much, specially not when Danny or Cal talked to you. There was a reason he didn’t let you meet up with Danny to do his interviews.

“What are you even talking about, Benny? This is about us. You and I!” You snapped, he always tried to blame others for everything, because in his own words ‘he never asked anyone for anything’.

“Don’t even yell at me. Watch it.” He said, his voice monotone.

“I’m tired of you leaving without saying anything. And expecting me to take you back. I can’t keep waitin’ on ya. I just can’t. So please, leave. Because I can’t handle you being a son of a bitch anymore.”

Oh, that set him on fire. You, calling him a son of a bitch. He didn’t like that. There was a silence in which he clenched his jaw, put out the cigarette into the decorative table by his side.

“Right?” Benny said calmly before he snapped. And he threw the decorative table to the floor, making the flower vase break down to little pieces.

You flinched, Benny had his violent outburst, you hadn’t quite gotten used to them yet. Throwing beer bottles or anything on his reach. His nonchalant demeanor was something that was only a façade to either give you the cold shoulder or appear more brave with the club.

As soon as he walked towards you, you backed off, only for Benny to grab you by the neck.

“Who do you think you are?” Benny growled, his voice always held that nonchalant tone to it. Which you hated. You never knew if he did this because he cared and wanted to stay or just for the fun of it. “I ain’t asking anything from you, so you can’t come here askin’ anything from me.”

Benny was so close to your face, his hand wasn’t really gripping your neck tightly but he was holding you hard enough to scare you.

“I ain’t gonna let you go around like one of them loose women. You’re mine. Mine. You get it?” Benny whispered in your ear.

But you wanted this to end. For your son.

“I ain’t doing this because I don’t love you. I do it for my son.”

“I really don’t give a shit about your son. Never did and never will, doll.” Benny scoffed. “I should listen to what you’ve told me, give you a baby so you can finally shut up. So that I’ll never be able to fully leave you.”

Benny placed his knee in between your legs, pressing it against your core. Making you shiver, most of the time, Benny having you by the neck turned you on immediately, and it was working right now.

“You don’t want me to leave, do you?” Benny purred in your ear. “No words now? Did the cat get your tongue?”

Benny leaned in and kissed your lips, the friction of his knee with your core sent shivers across your body. You wanted to rip off his clothes, and so he did. He ripped open your shirt, those cheap buttons didn’t stand a chance.

“How many times have I told you I hate these clothes? Mhm?” Benny whispered. It was a two piece set, the sleeveless button shirt and the matching shorts. It was a look that was in right now, you had wanted to fit in. Albeit, Benny didn’t enjoy it. “You want everyone to look, don’t ya? Everyone. There’s a reason why I got you that jacket.”

Benny pulled you to the couch, throwing you into it. The jacket was the one that had ‘Property of Benny’ in the back, made you wear it every time there was a meeting.

Benny got rid of his colors, his jacket and vest on the floor as well as his worn out white tshirt, he got on top of you. His lips finding their way to yours, you tasted the whisky on his lips, made you hum. You were enjoying how aggressive he got at times.

His hand traveled from your hair to your breast, squeezing it through your bra, you moaned on his lips, your back trying to arch but his body blocked you from doing so. Then his hand traveled all the way to inside your shorts, his touch feather-like as he caressed you over your underwear, your toes curled up at the feeling, you shivered once again.

“My doll is so desperate. I thought she wanted me to leave.” He kept rubbing you over your underwear. You let out breathy moans.

You wanted to deny it. But you couldn’t even speak properly. He wasn’t even doing anything extreme and you were already losing it.

He worked with his hands, he was so masculine. The smell of Marlboro Red filled your nostrils. It made you so— ugh. You couldn’t get enough of it, or him. Even if part of you hated it, there was something about him that you couldn’t reject.

“I’m gonna make sure— everyone in the fuckin’ street knows who you belong to. Alright?” Benny grunted as he undid his pants, he was as hard as he ever was when he’s with you.

And to be fair, your ex-in laws lived next door. You were in for a ride as soon as he pulled down your shorts and underwear. His boxers came down as well.

“Don’t be quiet.” Benny said, as he filled you up with his cock in one swift thrust.

“Motherfucker!” You moaned out loudly, loud enough to blush afterwards. You saw his smirk.

He liked how he got to you. How much you were willing to put up from him. His thrusts were anything but gentle, the sound of skin slapping, moaning and grunting filled the living room.

“You like it? Hmm?” Benny asked as he relentlessly fucked you in the couch, but this want his favorite position, not at all. He found it boring to say the least.

Your eyes were rolling back, your mouth open and filthy noises escaped your lips, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Move.” He said as he pulled out of you, you whimpered when you stopped feeling his cock. Damn, that’s how much you needed him.

Eventually he manhandled you, he threw you around until you were in all fours. He was behind you and without any sort of mercy, he pounded into you from behind, his cock filling you up, giving you pleasure like no other.

“Benny… p-please” You whined, it was too much, he was too much. All of him.

“What? I’m sorry, can’t hear you.” Benny said, as his hand reached to grab your throat, squeezing the air you had.

It was the adrenaline of having no air combined with the pleasure of it. It gave you too much ecstasy. You didn’t even remember the last time he fucked you like this.

“I’ll leave whenever I want.” Benny whispered in your ear as he kept choking you, you tried to grasp on whatever air was possible. But it was in vain, and after a while, he withdrew his hand from your throat and slowly made its way down to your clit.

That was your breaking point and you couldn’t hold back your moans anymore. Every moan that came out of you came from the deepest of your soul.

His hand worked wonders on your clit, making you feel overstimulated, waiting for that usual feeling for being close to the edge.

“Keep… g-going” you managed to mutter through the moans. As his cock kept filling you up, you knew no guy could ever compare to him.

Not even one. And you didn’t even dare to think of it. Afraid that he could read your mind and get mad.

“We’re gonna have a baby. So you won’t ever kick me out again. So that your brat of a son— knows his place.” Benny kept going even faster and harder, it seemed like he was on the edge. “And so that photographer son of a bitch knows that you’re taken.”

“Benny!” You yelled as Benny hit that sweet spot of yours, pleasure erupted as you finished, your muscles relaxing immediately.

He kept fucking you, for at least a minute more before you heard his voice falter, his breath ragged. “Oh, f-fuck…”

Benny filled you up, made sure to not waste a single drop of his cum. After all, he wanted you heavy with his baby in a few months. He couldn’t wait to see your son’s face. That little brat. Knowing his mommy wouldn’t get rid of him.

“So good for me…” Benny leaned over you, whispering in your ear. “If you tell me to do anything ever again, I’ll do the opposite. Okay?”

[229zmi]

LOST IN THE MAIL

Kuroo Tetsurō/Reader | 4.3k words, bad pick-up lines (of course), wingman yaku, more silly than romantic

The problem with assigned seating arrangements is an obvious one.

So blatant, like the slightly smudged pen markings on your desk that resemble two initials inside the ugliest shaped heart you’ve ever seen. You see this as the modern-day version of carving your lover’s name in the bark of some random ass tree, in the same way you view folded pieces of notebook paper passed between two of your new deskmates as the contemporary equivalent of letters exchanged overseas by lovers.

You suppose that makes you the unfortunate mail carrier, then, when you’re the one sitting right in the middle of it all, in between Kuroo Tetsurō and another classmate you don’t remember the name of.

Having worked with him for a few group projects in the past, you’d say you’re somewhat familiar with Kuroo. He’s nice, you remember from your conversations. Smart. Funny. His charm, aside from his physics-defying hairstyle, is the dimple on his left cheek when he smiles.

Maybe that’s why the first time he asks a favour of you, you don’t mind it too much.

It starts with a whisper of your name and then a shoe gently prodding against the bottom of your chair after your initial attempt at ignoring the disturbance. You whirl around in your seat to face him, and with a smile, Kuroo silently motions for you to hold your hand out before dropping a neatly folded piece of notebook paper onto your palm. As your gaze moves down to the object, the force of the atmosphere overpowers whatever effort he must’ve put into folding the paper one last time, so you end up catching a glimpse of the graphite embedded on it— something that looks like a heart and the start of a really shitty pick-up line.

Hey! Did it hurt when you fell from…

Before you can read further, he hovers a large hand over yours and the note, prompting you to glance up just in time to see him flash a smile, albeit a bit strained. He clears his throat awkwardly, even though you’re certain that there is no need to in the first place. “Sorry. Could you please pass this on to Yaku?”

You frown in confusion. It’s such a shame you’re so bad with names and faces because then maybe you could muster up a more intelligent response other than, “Who?”

Kuroo grins at your owlish response. His hand moves up, with his index finger extending just centimetres past your ear. Following it, your gaze lands on the brunet sitting in front of you.

“That guy, Yaku Morisuke. Just throw it over his head, he’ll know it’s from me. Thanks.”

Ah, you think, embarrassed as you hunch over your desk to politely hand the piece of paper to its intended recipient. He has a thing for the shortie sitting up front.

You’ve seen them bickering with each other like a married couple so often around school grounds that this makes perfect sense.

The rest of class goes like this: Kuroo writes a note and passes it to you. You pass it to Yaku. Yaku reads the note, writes something on the paper, and gives it to you. You hand it back to Kuroo. Repeat.

And then over the next couple of days, it becomes routine.

Of course, it’s not like you actually wanted to become an unpaid mail carrier. But who were you to disrupt your classmates’ high school romance? …Even if said romance was happening in the form of bad pick up lines and crumpled sheets of notebook paper with the occasional highlighter-yellow sticky note at eight in the morning.

Still, you do find it a bit strange, the way Yaku’s face scrunches up every time after reading Kuroo’s note. Maybe it’s disgust, or maybe it’s confusion. And Kuroo, in return, always looks mildly disgruntled at his response.

From this, you can only conclude that they must already be going through a rough patch in the early stages of their relationship. How unfortunate.

“Please tell Roosterhead to stop harassing me with these godawful pick up lines.”

Silence sweeps in between the two of you, interrupted only by the teacher’s voice as they drone on about thermodynamics. When all you have to offer is a blank expression in response to his sudden interjection after yet another note from Kuroo, Yaku explains awkwardly, “I’m talking about Kuroo. His hair— it kinda makes him look like a rooster, y’know?”

Out of sheer curiosity, you turn around to see if the comparison is true. You’re surprised, however, when Kuroo’s face is only inches away from yours, supported by the palm of his hand as his elbow rests near the edge of his desk.

“Hey.”

His mouth slants into a grin across his face. Forcing yourself to not search for the slight indent by his cheek, you instead focus on the asymmetrical bangs that fall just above his well-defined cheekbone and the tufts of hair that stick out from the top of his head.

“Yeah,” you breathe out.

Kuroo raises an eyebrow, cocking his head to the side. “Yeah, what?”

“You do look like a rooster.”

(Behind you, Yaku stifles a laugh.)

Ruddiness blossoms from the apples of his cheeks to the tips of his ears. “Don’t listen to that weirdo freak. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he says, right as Yaku makes a noise of indignation at the epithet.

“Okay, ‘weirdo freak’? That’s funny, coming from the guy who unironically says stuff like ‘cutie-patootie’ and—“ the offended brunet stops to unfold the paper, frantically skimming over the contents of it before reading it out loud “—‘Do you like science? Because I’ve got my ion you.’”

The rouge across Kuroo’s skin only deepens as he suddenly reaches for the note in Yaku’s grasp. However, at an impressive speed, Yaku’s hand moves out of his range just in time, leaving Kuroo’s arm sprawled pathetically over half of your desk, like a large fish dried up against the shore.

(Great, you think. You’re literally caught in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel, which had started over what?

…Bad flirting?)

It’s a pitiful attempt at hiding the evidence of his embarrassment when he passes a hand through his hair and it lingers near the ends of the sable tresses against his forehead, concealing half of his face for a few seconds longer than usual before he finally defends himself.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds, I swear. You’re just saying it wrong because you’re so loser-ish and uncharismatic.” Kuroo pauses, then adds for good measure, “Unlike me.”

Yaku glowers at him, looking like a Minecraft creeper about to explode, though he manages to keep his voice as level as possible when he tries to defend himself, “I said it exactly like how it’s written on this paper. It’s a stupid line no matter how anyone says it. Listen—“

Then, as if remembering you’re here too, he turns to you. It reminds you of when the characters in a show look directly at the camera, and the realisation occurs to you all of a sudden that your nosy self has been staring at the two of them this whole time and very clearly listening in on their conversation, instead of the more informative yet less interesting lecture happening at the front of the classroom. Whoops.

“—how do you feel about this?”

You freeze for a moment.

“About— about the pick up line?”

“Yeah. It’s okay if you think it sucks,” he says. “Be brutally honest.”

Before you can respond, Kuroo butts in with a look of disapproval directed toward Yaku, though from your proximity to him, you can see that the ends of his mouth are clearly fighting against curling into a shit-eating grin. “How pushy of you, Yakkun, dragging our classmate into this just to prove your point. You should be ashamed.”

“It’s called gathering testimony,” Yaku argues before facing you again, this time with a sheepish expression. You half-expect him to start twiddling his fingers as well, but he doesn’t. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

“It’s okay,” you say, taking pity on him. “I guess if someone said that line to me, I’d think it was funny. Like, I wouldn’t be super impressed or anything, but it’s just so bad that it’s good?”

Yaku moves his hands up to the top of his head, as though he’s about to pull out his hair, and stares at you like the end of the world is happening and it’s all your fault.

Meanwhile, Kuroo turns towards him with a wry smile, opening his mouth wide, and the sound that comes out is oozing with triumph: “Ha.”

Yaku scowls. Then, after tossing the crumpled up note at Kuroo’s face in a fit of glorious rage, he whips around to the front of the classroom. For the rest of the period, he doesn’t look back, even when Kuroo pleads you to pass the note to him minutes later.

You wonder why it had to be you of all people to become such an unwilling witness to the turmoil of their relationship.

“Are you an exam paper? Because I forget everything when I look at you.”

For some reason, Kuroo Tetsurō is bad at eye contact.

Like, really bad, you think, because isn’t he supposed to be looking at Yaku when he says this sort of lovey-dovey crap? And it’s not as though doing so is impossible or difficult for him; the brunet is right there, standing off to the side behind him. So if Kuroo could just turn around in the correct direction, everything would be perfectly normal and you wouldn’t be sitting here at your desk fifteen minutes before class, puzzled as to why he’s looking at you right now.

Yaku rolls his eyes and slaps a hand against his forehead, looking visibly upset, and you think he’s about to scold him, accuse him of infidelity, break up with him right then and there. You think it’ll happen just like in all those dramas you’ve been watching lately. However, much to your surprise and maybe to your disappointment, he’s a lot calmer than you would expect for someone in this kind of situation.

“I told you not to use that line,” he chides, almost like a teacher scolding a student. “I said that one was bad.”

“No,” Kuroo says, frowning. “You said it was cute.”

“Hell no, I did not say that.”

“You did.” Silence lingers uncomfortably between the two of them as they stare at each other for a couple seconds, before Kuroo eventually declares in an accusatory tone, “You’re sabotaging me. I get it.”

“I’m not, wh—“ Yaku stops and sighs, moving down to rummage through his backpack on the floor until he finally pulls out a crumpled ball of paper. After smoothing it out across his palm, he then holds it up for Kuroo to see.

You try to crane your neck to look as well, but apparently there’s only so much you’re allowed to know about their relationship, evident in the quick side-eye Yaku gives you as he promptly holds his hand up to shield you from reading the note.

Okay, wow. Cosplaying disinterest, you pretend to examine the wrinkles in your palm while Yaku taps the paper with his pointer finger multiple times.

“Look. It literally says right here, ‘the first one sucks,’” he reads out loud passionately. “And then I said the second one was sweet.”

Kuroo’s eyebrows tug together. Then, they smooth out in realisation after he finishes reading the note, but before Yaku can utter something along the lines of “I told you so!,” he turns to you again with the same fond look in his eyes as he had a minute ago.

“You remind me of a dictionary, the way you add meaning to everything,” he tells you, and you swear your heart skips a beat at how earnestly he says it. The problem is, though, you’re not a homewrecker, and you don’t ever plan on being one, so you glance to Yaku for help, even going as far as to blink SOS in morse code in hopes that he understands that this is so, so out of your control. However, he just looks back at you like he’s waiting on your reply as well.

Shit, you think to yourself. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Err,” you start intelligently, mustering up the courage to look Kuroo in the eyes. You still don’t know what the fuck these people want from you, but you try to sound as objective as possible. “The pick-up line is… good?”

A smile paints Kuroo’s expression despite your totally pathetic response. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome…?” You nod weakly.

Nevertheless, when the teacher enters the room, indicating the start of class, Yaku has one last thing to add to this heinously stressful conversation as you and Kuroo take your seats. And again, he defies your expectations because surprisingly it isn’t an insult to Kuroo’s behaviour nor a mental breakdown over what he just witnessed. Rather, it’s quite simple.

“Let’s all go to the library after school today,” he suggests. “The three of us.”

You mull over it for several seconds. Well, you do have an exam for this class next week. And seeing how Yaku doesn’t seem to have it out for your blood just yet, you suppose a study session with two of your classmates can’t hurt— so, you agree.

(Amidst your thoughts, you miss the way Kuroo sends an overenthusiastic thumbs-up to Yaku from behind you, and Yaku roleplays humbleness with a roll of his eyes, too quick for you to notice.)

Ever since the semester started, you’ve created a list of things you want to curse the universe for bringing into your life to inconvenience you.

1) Assigned seating arrangements

2) Your teacher’s strict phone policy

3) Yaku Morisuke

Although maybe you should’ve added it way earlier, that last one is only a new addition as of today, after Kuroo announces to you that Yaku just texted him. Watching him as he reaches down to pick up his backpack and plop it onto the chair next to him, where Yaku should be sitting but isn’t, you can kind of get the gist of what’s happened. You’re already starting to plot against him in your head, manifesting him a failing score on his next test. And— the next time he asks you to pass a note back to Kuroo, you’ve decided that you’re going to say no. Yeah, that’ll really teach him a lesson or something.

Nonetheless, to be completely sure, you stare at Kuroo expectantly until he actually reads the message off his phone out loud for you, albeit in a very poorly done impression of the messenger’s voice that you can’t help but snicker at.

“‘Hi. I can’t make it to the library today because something urgent just came up. Sorry!’” Kuroo shakes his head, like he’s completely in disbelief. “How horrible of him, leaving us to suffer in academics all by ourselves after he was the one who invited us in the first place.”

You sigh at that piece of information, and the verbal reaction you provide is a lot more lukewarm than the epic revenge you’re thinking in your head right now. You can only hope that your facial expression doesn’t give it away. “Guess we’ll just have to study without him.”

For the next few hours, it’s peaceful while the two of you begin to work diligently. Occasionally, he’ll nudge your chair with his foot to ask you a question about the class, which, more often than not, ends up spiralling into a tangential conversation about something totally unrelated. It’s not that you intend for that to happen, but Kuroo is a man of many words or whatever, and talking to him is much more interesting than subject you’re studying for anyway. That is, until the feeling of impending doom returns like a bad stomach ache, reminding the both of you to focus.

This study session, it reminds you of all the other times you’ve hung out with Kuroo for group projects in the past. And looking back, you feel so fond of those memories that as much as you hate group projects and you often wish your teacher would stop assigning them, you suppose they aren’t so bad when they’re with Kuroo.

(Okay, then, maybe Yaku ditching the two of you wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. He’s still on your list of inconveniences, though.)

The sun is setting by the time you exit the school building. With the ache settling deep in your bones and your temples, you really think you might disintegrate into dust after this next exam. As you reach the edge of the school grounds, Kuroo offers to walk you home, but you decline because your home isn’t that far anyways. Still, before you both bid your farewells and part ways, you have something on your mind that you can’t help but let curiosity drive you to ask him about.

“Kuroo,” you say, and he turns to you, a tuft of black hair falling gracefully in front of his eyes like he #JustWokeUpLikeThis. The sunset illuminating the side of his face at this moment makes him look really majestic, too, but you try not to think such immoral thoughts about a taken man. Instead, you focus on being nosy because that’s just the kind of person you are, and you feel like you’ve missed some episodes lately.

“Yeah?” Kuroo prompts.

“Are you really… close with Yaku? Like actually?” you ask in a tentative manner, choosing your words carefully. After all, you don’t want to offend him by making it seem as though you can’t tell that they’re dating because of their supposed relationship problems, but recently, it’s been getting harder and harder to believe it. “He kind of looks like he’s planning your assassination every time I pass your notes to him.”

Kuroo lets out the loudest cackle you’ve ever heard, moving his hand as if to ward off your concern.

“Yeah, that’s just how he is. He’s been my number one hater since day one. But,” he smiles, and it speaks confidence for the most part, yet the pink dusting his cheeks shows otherwise, “if you’re so worried, why don’t you balance it out by being my number one lover?”

Oh!

What?!

You attempt to cover up your shock with a nervous laugh, eyes darting around as if there’s a hidden camera somewhere in your surroundings.

“Wow, that— that line’s so good? I’m sure Yaku will love it.” You aren’t sure of the source behind the heat crawling up your neck, but you tell yourself that it must be from how embarrassing you sound right now because it absolutely cannot be from what Kuroo just said. “See you tomorrow!”

Kuroo can only watch in amusement, tilting his head slightly as you scurry away, a bloom of smoke trailing the back of your shoes.

(…Wait a minute.

He frowns. Who will love what?)

“Yaku, you deserve better.”

Upon hearing your words, one of Yaku’s eyebrows jumps toward his hairline while the other remains anchored to his eyelid. He whips around, catching your arm just as you’re about to walk away from him in the middle of the crowded hallway. Gesturing with his head for you to follow him, he leads you to a separate hallway, where the area isn’t as busy and he can hear you talk more clearly.

He crosses his arms. “What do you mean by that?”

You purse your lips, sighing because you’re about to break some bad news to him, and unfortunately, you don’t have any tissues on hand. You suppose offering him your shoulder to cry on could suffice, but the idea is rather unappealing.

Nonetheless, you tell him the truth, “The other day, Kuroo told me he wants me to be his number one lover.”

He nods slowly, not understanding why you’re telling him this. “Okay… and?”

“During gym class today, he said to me, ‘Stop, drop, and roll! Because baby, you’re so hot, you’re on fire’ after I kicked a ball out of bounds.”

Now, Yaku looks scandalised. “Ew. He really said that? To you?”

“Mhm,” you confirm solemnly, and Yaku heaves a grave sigh, as though the weight of all this is too much. You really feel sorry for him, so much that you even move your hand to pat his shoulder as a way to comfort him.

However, for whatever reason unbeknownst to you, Yaku does the same.

The two of you freeze, hand on each other’s opposite shoulders like you’re both trying to console each other.

“Um.”

Eventually, you awkwardly let your hand drop to your side, and Yaku mirrors that action as well.

“Well,” he says, after another beat of painful silence. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go yell at him later.”

You come to class several minutes earlier than usual during lunch period just to talk to Yaku before Kuroo gets here.

“Hey,” you say, knuckles knocking against the top of his desk to get his attention. “Let’s make things easier for you and Kuroo and switch seats.”

Wide-eyed, Yaku shakes his head. He glances to the door as if a hideous monster (Kuroo) will storm in at any moment before uttering passionately, almost urgently, in a hushed voice, “We can’t.”

You hold back the urge to roll your eyes. Why do these two have to be so damn difficult? It’s already bad enough having to deal with Kuroo and his inability to make eye contact with the right person when he says pick-up lines out of the blue, as well as his tendency to flirt with you sometimes. However, you had hoped that Yaku would at least be somewhat normal, even if he won’t stand up for himself against Kuroo’s disloyal behaviour.

“Why not? The teacher probably won’t notice since we sit kind of far from the front.”

“It’s not that, but I… can’t say.”

“What do you mean you can’t say?” You narrow your eyes at him, glaring at him suspiciously. He’s making, like, zero sense right now. “Are you really that emotionally attached to this desk? It’s just a piece of wood.”

“I’m not,” he says, sounding affronted at the fact that you would even think that. “It’s just, it isn’t really my business to tell you. If I were you, I’d ask Kuroo about it. Okay?”

You blink at him. “Kuroo?”

“Yes.” He throws his hands up in exasperation, looking like a wonky-shaped fork for a split second. “He’ll tell you everything. Just please, leave me alone. Kuroo’s the one that actually likes… talking to you. No offence.”

Okay, a bit rude, but whatever. Leaving the classroom, you set out on a new mission:

Find Kuroo.

“We live in the age of technology. Can’t you just…? You know.” You gesture with your hands to appear as though you’re texting on an imaginary phone. Kuroo raises an eyebrow at this, finding some entertainment in your actions. You would be phenomenal at a game of charades. “Exchanging handwritten letters is sweet and all, but man, it sucks being in the middle of everything.”

A sly grin eases its way onto his face. “Are you jealous?”

“Literally how did you get to that conclusion?” You scowl. “Of course not. But it’s so weird. I asked your boyfriend if we could switch seats to make things easier for all three of us, and he said no, though he wouldn’t tell me why. Instead, he told me to ask you.”

Kuroo seems a bit surprised by that, for some reason. Actually, not just a bit— he’s very surprised, voice even cracking as he asks, “My what?”

“Your—“ You hesitate, unsure. Doesn’t he know who you’re talking about? “You know, Yaku?”

Kuroo stares at you as silence hangs in the air. Like, really stares at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing you say right now.

Then, he hunches over in the middle of the empty hallway, shoulders shuddering with laughter as he tries to stabilise himself with his hands on his knees.

You can only watch, confused.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally straightens his posture. Placing a hand over your shoulder and looking you directly in the eyes, he deadpans, “Yaku is not my boyfriend.”

Just like that, everything you’ve ever known about these two against your will comes crashing down, collapsing, and all other synonyms.

“What the hell?” you splutter, and Kuroo bursts into another fit of laughter. “Stop laughing— what do you mean he isn’t your boyfriend? All those notes you wrote to each other, that pick-up line I saw in your first note to him. You’re saying none of it was romantic?”

After several moments, Kuroo manages to catch his breath just enough to explain, “It was romantic, but not for Yaku. Every time, I was asking him for feedback on a pick-up line so I could use them with— with you.”

You furrow your eyebrows, pursing your lips. “So you’re not dating Yaku?”

Vehemently, he shakes his head. “Absolutely not. Not even in my worst nightmares.”

“…And you really don’t have the hots for him?”

“No,” he confirms, moving his hand from your shoulder to gently graze the side of your face. “It’s always been you.”

Damn it. You were so invested.

Still, his hand is warm and soft against your cheek, and there’s that familiar dimple near the left side of his mouth that you always find your gaze gravitating towards whenever he smiles, so maybe you’re okay with this turn of events, as unexpected as it was.

[BONUS: some of the notes exchanged between Kuroo and Yaku]

author’s note: like 80% of fhis was wirtten at 3am and i havent written anything in a whileso i hope this was at least Coherent :) and Totally Not All Over The Place :)

[megumiluvv]

❥ includes: geto x fem!reader, initial dry humping turned to backshots, unprotected sex, teasing, and praise.

“Come on, you can do better than that.” Suguru’s smirk is evident in his voice as you drag your hips across his own. “Don’t tell me you’re exhausted already?”

“Shut it, I’m not tired yet,” you mutter, gasping when his tip rubs against your clit just right through your clothing.

The ravenette takes another drag from the blunt between his lithe fingers and lets the smoke fester in his throat before blowing it out into the room. His lazy smirk cracks a little as you rub just right once again, causing a sharp inhale to come from him. Suguru’s free hand grips your hips and pushes you a bit more against his own.

“Now you’ve got it, just roll with it-- fuck --like that,” he groans, the high he’s on only adding to his pleasure.

“Feels good? You look like-- shit --like you’re on cloud nine over there…”

“Yeah? You’re looking hot and bothered yourself, maybe we should get to the main point.” He drawls and traces his hand along your ass.

Your breath hitches as Suguru drags down your pants and undergarments in a slow, almost teasing slide. He lets his eyes look along your body with a possessive gaze you can feel from behind. His hands roam your body and he mutters quiet praise as his hungry gaze swallows you whole.

“So fuckin’ beautiful, baby. Absolutely stunning.” his quiet murmurs reach your ears.

You hear the rattle of his belt buckle as Suguru frees himself of his jeans. Your head turns to watch him strip out of his pants and boxers, penis standing at attention. His hand tugs at the erection as he pulls your hips closer, thumb spreading your folds for him to admire.

Your body gets pulled even closer as he lines himself up with your weeping cunt. You hear him suck in a sharp breath as he buries himself to the hilt inside you. You gasp yourself as he does, holding onto the small table in front of you.

“Fuck, so tight, babe…”

“Well if you didn't force yourself in with one thrust, I wouldn't be…”

“Mmmm no, you still would.” he challenges.

Suguru grabs your sides, the cold metal of his rings pressing into your warm skin. He hisses as he pulls himself almost fully out, just to slam back in. He repeats the motion a few times before pushing your back into a mean arch and setting a fast and brutal pace.

His hips hit yours at a steady but rough pace, pushing your body down even more with each slap of skin against skin. If your own moans weren't filling your ears, you'd be able to hear the quiet groans coming from Suguru. Your whines fill the air as your ass ripples with each thrust he sends into you. The ravenette keeps you arched and angles himself to hit that spot that drives you crazy with pleasure.

“God, squeezin’ me so tight, baby, not gonna last with your grip,” he groans and trails his hands to your breasts.

“You’re-- ah --so deep…” you moan as a breathless chuckle escapes him.

“Can’t speak, princess?”

“Sh-shut up, you’ll-- ah --get sloppy…”

“‘M gettin' sloppy because I'm close, not ‘cause I'm talking, pretty girl.”

He bends over you and traces a hand from your breast to your clit, rubbing his name in slow smooth circles to add to your stimulation. You see stars as your orgasm crashes over you like a wave tipping a boat overboard. Your legs shake and your poor stretched hole spasms around Suguru as he continues his now-wavering consistency against your hips.

“Good girl, just like that, gimme a few-- fuck --a few more seconds and-- goddd just like that…”

He cums with a moan of your name, burying himself as deep as he can as if he wants you pregnant and full of him. You stay like this for a few minutes before he carefully extracts himself from your cunt, rubbing your ass and thighs gently to soothe the ache that has come in. You sit up and Suguru pulls you into his lap, carrying you to the bath to get cleaned.

“Did so good f’me, just like always, pretty girl. Can't wait for next time.” He grins with a kiss to your forehead.

Masterlist

Tags: @kensqueent

[zeppeli-reelstallbun]

The Exception

<- previous • Chapter 2 • next part tbd ->

<-<- click here to read from the beginning

[PAIRING] Bucciarati x Reader (afab-she/her)

[SUMMARY] After standing you up, Bucciarati attempts to make it up to you. Read previous chapters if you haven’t :)

[WC] 4.1k

[!!!] language, concept is inspired by goodfellas, so a lot of dialogue and narration has been picked straight from that. not cannon accurate, google translated Italian, pulling things out of my ass in terms of locations and such, lmk if I missed anything,

[A/N] HEY it’s been a bit, school started back up for me and this semester is intense!!! That being said, this is the part of the story I’ve been most excited to write, as the goodfellas scene was the reason I thought of this fic concept in the first place. The second part of this fic is pretty much a 1:1 of the film, and I will be linking the scene at the end because it is a WONDERFUL tracking shot.

Bucciarati was annoyingly punctual, his car pulling to a halt outside your house at eight on the dot. For the past fifteen minutes you had been preparing for another let down, but low and behold there he was, closing the drivers side door of his car with an absurdly gentle force.

Pulling the curtains shut, you instinctively scrambled to ‘act natural.’ Fine, he probably couldn’t see through walls, but it was at least good preparation for when you had to speak to the man in a moment.

If you even decided to speak to him, that is.

Sure, you had given him one more opportunity, but that didn't mean you weren't upset; he had stood you up, no matter how you chose to look at the situation. On top of that, there was the intoxicating way he had looked at you as you confronted him that evening, as if he had finally been presented with a challenge worthy of his time... as if you weren't worthy of it to begin with.

Last Friday had probably been one of the most embarrassing nights of your life, sitting frustrated and rejected on full display, all because of him. He just had to go and make it a more difficult situation by, what? Looking at you the right way?

You had to hold yourself to a higher standard. You had to hold him to a higher standard.

Did you even want to go on this date, really?

Three heavy knocks reverberated through the room before you could answer your own question.

Taking a deep breath, you took your time walking to the door; you didn't need to jump eagerly to him, after all. That was reserved for boys who respected you. Bringing your gaze to the peephole, you opted to indulge in an additional moment to really look at the man standing outside. He had made you wait for nearly an hour, surely he could handle a few minutes without an answer.

Besides, you hadn’t exactly decided to go with him yet, and the man in front of you would have to be ‘divine being’ levels of beautiful if he thought just showing up would be enough. You’d only seen Bucciarati on two occasions: the awkward first date at the restaurant, and when you were screaming at him on the street. Suffice to say, his attractiveness wasn’t your sole focus at the time.

Well, he might not have been a god, but he sure as hell was a sight to take in. Even obscured by the dusty glass covering the lens, you could recognize this objective fact.

Bucciarati’s face was defined, yet still maintained a sense of softness, despite the sharp features you’d noticed. His clothing, however interesting it might be, left little to the imagination in terms of his build, the cutout showing off a toned chest underneath what appeared to be… lace?

Before you could come to any further conclusions, however, he looked directly at you—no, at the peephole—making you take a step back in shock. He couldn’t actually know you were staring, could he?

No, he couldn’t. He just inferred that you had to be there.

Before he had the opportunity to knock again, your hand found the metal doorknob, methodically turning it as you took a deep breath to swing the door open. You had already decided to let him make a fool of himself before saying a word, eager to hear how he planned on initiating this conversation.

One thing was certain: If he didn’t nail these next two minutes, you would be enjoying a nice bottle of wine and the company of your favorite film. He was more likely to mess up if you neglected to set a tone, you realized, and you weren't exactly opposed to setting him up for failure.

It felt like you had been trying to brainstorm the countless ways he could misspeak for days now, ready to scold him for the way he might ramble outside your door. While you knew you couldn’t predict exactly what he’d say, you had realized there were only a few ways this situation could go.

One: He says something along the lines of, ‘Are you ready to go?’ In which case, you remind him that he had to convince you first. And then you would close the door and drink your wine.

Two: He asks you to go to dinner, in which case you inform him that he hasn’t apologized… and then you would close the door and drink your wine.

Three: He apologizes profusely, asks you to go to dinner, and you give him a chance to talk you into it. If he says something wrong… well, you know.

Perhaps your curiosity had gotten the better of you, as you had been truly pondering which one he would choose. Maybe that's the reason you agreed to give him another chance in the first place: you were curious to see how he could possibly make it up to you; you wanted another chance to make him feel small for what he’d done.

As you opened the door, his deep blue eyes met yours, snapping you out of the thought. And then, after taking a moment to compose himself, he deviated from the script entirely. Choosing not to begin with any of the predetermined options, Bucciarati simply pulled what appeared to be two tickets out of his pocket.

“I was thinking we could do something more formal after dinner.” He said smoothly, handing them over to you.

Not what you had anticipated. Not what you had anticipated at all.

You felt your heart skip a beat as you realized what he had given you, eyes widening unintentionally as you read the intricate graphic on the heading. Whatever you had done to detach yourself prior to this moment, it was all worthless now. Additionally, your first instinct was to look down at your outfit as opposed to questioning him, your dark jeans and going-out top now feeling underwhelming for the proposition.

“I think I’d need to change into something nicer- how did you even get these?” You asked, realizing that you had inadvertently accepted the offer. After looking back up, you noticed a hint of smugness in his smile as he held his hand out, gesturing for the tickets back.

As you returned them, he replied nonchalantly, “You have time. And, I bought them.”

Note to self, Bruno Bucciarati had money. You’d only been to the San Carlo once for a tour, and even then, the cost wasn’t cheap. You didn't want to think about how much your date had spent on these, let alone what the upcharge would have been for a last minute purchase.

His attire was considerably proper, you realized after another glance, casual enough for dinner but still adequate for the evening to follow. After taking a brief moment to contemplate how unexpected this was, you simply scoffed and shook your head, opening the door to let him into the entryway.

“I'll be quick then, sit wherever you’d like,” you said, turning to go to your room. You halted soon after, though, remembering the venue you’d visited with Mista and Lucia. “Won’t I stick out at dinner in a dress?”

“Not where I’m taking you, you won't.” He started, the authority in his voice calming you as he took a seat on your couch. “And you don’t need to worry about bringing anything.”

After a quick nod, you turned on your heels and hurried to get changed. While searching idly through your closet, however, you found yourself questioning the implication of his words; where exactly was he planning on taking you?

You had initially assumed Bruno planned on making it up to you in the most literal sense, repaying the one date he owed you at Mistas location of choice. But now, as you searched for a specific dress, you were piecing together how inaccurate that judgement had been. Within minutes, he’d subverted your expectations. Twice.

He was unattended in your living room right now, for fucks sake.

Maybe Bucciarati just had a natural talent in skipping past the hard parts of life, it would explain his dismissal of you a week ago if that were the case. Perhaps he was just the kind of guy others felt naturally drawn to… instinctively ready to trust him at a moment's notice. You certainly had felt that way.

The fabric you’d chosen flattered your figure, despite being a last minute change of attire. On top of that, the simple—and more importantly, rapid—hairdo you’d managed to scrape together would suffice. Jewelry was simple, shoes were comfortable, shawl was… atrocious.

Yeah, you ditched the shawl, it had been itchy anyways.

Taking one final look in the mirror, you deemed the outfit appropriate as you twisted your torso to examine it at every angle. For any other dinner, you might not have gone to this extent. But, if Bucciarati was taking you to the theatre of all places afterward, you weren't willing to risk looking foolish.

As you opened your bedroom door, the man stood up to greet you. Though you couldn’t exactly put your finger on it, the entire situation felt a bit uncomfortable at first, as if you were on display once more.

His gaze certainly didn't help, even blindfolded you probably would have been able to feel its weight prickling upon you. Despite how… attentive he was, it didn't feel disrespectful. It didn't feel like he was staring.

You honestly didn’t know how to feel about the entire thing, but you weren't about to let him know that. Besides, tonight was about having fun. It was not about the man paying for said fun. That much was assumed and—you hoped—mutual.

Crossing the room to close the distance, you even gave him the beginnings of a smile.

“What do you think? Will they turn me away at the door in this?” You joked, patting the skirt as if wiping dust off your lap.

You managed to muster enough courage to make eye contact with him in the moment, a sliver of connection you still considered uncomfortable, only to be taken aback by the way his gaze contained something unfamiliar entirely… something you couldn’t quite name. His head was slightly cocked to one side as he let the silence sit in the air, examining you for what felt like hours too long.

Finally, he replied in a lighthearted tone, “Only if I told them to.”

You rolled your eyes at his answer, laughing him off as you started towards the door, “Are you ready to go then?”

He nodded, following you through the threshold while allowing his hand to return to the small of your back, wordlessly guiding you to the car.

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

The drive itself was surprisingly short, considering how far away the last two venues had been. In fact, you hadn’t fully comprehended that you’d reached the destination before Bruno was putting the car in park, having pulled up to the curb of a crowded street without announcing its significance. Before you knew it however, he was opening your door, hand extended to escort you from your seat. Naturally, you accepted.

A quick glance at your surroundings left you slightly confused, despite how beautiful the sight might have been. The restaurant entrance was just across the street, a line of people extending for what appeared to be miles, waiting to get in. Aside from his own, only a handful of other cars lined the curb, each likely there for a pick up or drop off.

It’s like he was trying to get robbed, you thought to yourself.

Turning around, you noticed that he wasn’t just on any curb. The well lit awning above you revealed that he'd parked in the valet spot of a bustling hotel, and strangely, he seemed to be shaking the bellhop's hand.

Without drawing much attention to it, your date handed over his keys as well, before turning to escort you across the street

“What are you doing, you’re leaving your car?” You asked politely, trying to make sense of the encounter you’d witnessed. Bruno was already leading you away from the vehicle, hand hovering above your waist once more.

“He watches it for me, it's easier than leaving it at a garage and waiting,” he responded casually, guiding you out of the way of a small pothole in the ground. “You know what I mean? A lot quicker that way.”

Sure, you supposed, but regular people tend to put up with such inconveniences. Regardless, there wasn’t much else you could say to that. To a certain degree, it seemed as if the exchange had been orchestrated ahead of time in an effort to impress you. Even if he did frequent this restaurant, surely he didn't do this every visit.

As if this obscurity wasn’t enough, you also realized that your date wasn’t turning to take you to the back of the line, but he also didn’t appear to be cutting to the front, either—which you now wouldn’t have put past him. Instead, he led you about a third of the way from the entrance where there appeared to be a small alcove tucked into the wall, hidden partially by the line of people.

He said nothing, nodding his head down in a respectful, silent ‘thank you,’ as the strangers standing in line parted instinctively to let the two of you through. They moved with purpose, you noticed, as if they knew who Bruno was and what he was doing there. Did he really exude that much confidence? Were these strangers really about to let him cut in line without so much as a comment?

But your date wasn’t aiming for a spot in the queue, you registered as he kept walking. No, Bruno continued forward, now guiding you down the alcove’s unassuming staircase—towards what you assumed to be a service entrance.

“I like going this way, it’s better than waiting in line.” He explained as if anyone could do this, never wavering from his gentle authoritative tone as he walked you down the stairs and towards the door. The second he reached for the handle, however, a man in hosting attire opened it from the inside, as if he had been waiting eagerly for Bruno's arrival.

“How are you doing?” The stranger greeted with familiarity while your date reached into his pocket, his momentum unwavering as he continued to move you into the hallway.

“Good, good,” He smiled, nudging you further before handing the doorman… something… under the guise of a friendly handshake. “Here you go.”

New theory: Bucciarati had taken you to the restaurant where he worked, explaining this ability to cut corners as a way to impress you. After one of his shifts, he likely asked a bellhop if he’d be able to watch his car on this night. You must have missed the money exchange, or perhaps he slipped it when handing over his keys. The man at the door had to be a coworker, someone he’d asked ahead of time to let you in through the back in return for a bit of cash as well.

It could almost come across as pathetic, someone trying to use this as a means to impress you. As you remembered how long the line had appeared on the street, though, you couldn’t exactly say that his efforts weren’t working.

That being said, your theory would still be discredited in no less than five minutes.

That's right. In the time it took Bucciarati to navigate from the kitchens to your dining table, it became abundantly clear that he was not just someone who worked here. No employee would be given this level of priority, no matter how essential they might be to company productivity. No employee would be this universally adored.

As he guided you through the long service hallway, another host appeared to be taking a break, a half eaten sandwich in his hand.

“How are you doing, Gino?” Bucciarati asked, causing the man to look up and extend his hand.

The tone of his voice hinted that he wasn’t just making small talk, however. There was a genuine sense of care behind the question he’d asked the stranger, marked by the fact he’d used the man’s name.

The employee greeted Bruno politely and happily without holding him back from his destination, allowing your date to keep moving forward as he simply replied, “I'm good, Bucciarati. I wish you a good evening, Signore!”

“How couldn’t I have one? I hear Romano’s on tonight.” Bruno shouted over his shoulder, each step leading you further from the man who had burst into laughter at the seemingly normal exchange.

Perhaps it was an inside joke between employees, but what kind of person refers to their coworker with such formality?

Change in the theory: Bucciarati was someone of significance at this restaurant, perhaps a manager or the son of it’s owner. All other variables unchanged. Still a tad bit pathetic.

He turned you around a corner, the deep red hall winding back and forth as you passed another handful of workers.

“Every time I come here,” Bruno quipped naturally, gesturing to the man and woman having what seemed to be an argument near the kitchen entrance, “every time, you two.”

The couple laughed him off as your date grabbed your hand, now dodging and weaving between kitchen staff in a new section of the building. You were beginning to feel a bit disoriented by the unfamiliar halls, but then he turned once more, revealing the hustle and bustle of the restaurant's heart.

A man crouched by the freezer, filling a bucket of ice. Another squeezed past you wordlessly, holding a baking sheet with parchment lining. You narrowly avoided a stack of milk crates piled to your right, having missed them entirely while trying to take in the rest of the busy scenery. Brunos hands were now on either side of your waist, politely maneuvering you through the tight spaces as you continued towards the stovetops, only taking them away on one occasion to pat a chef on the shoulders.

It seemed every other person in the room received some variation of, “Hey, how are you, we have to catch up, how are the kids—” And each returned the greeting with a sense of familiarity, referring to him by name as they responded with gratitude for his acknowledgment.

Throughout all of this, Bruno did not stop moving, as if he were parading you for all these people to see. Finally, after turning another set of confusing corners, you had reached the actual interior of the restaurant, the lighting now warm and comforting instead of sterile. He shook another man's hand as he led you to another section of the room.

“We weren’t expecting you tonight, Signore Bucciarati, glad to see you.” The stranger had said, throwing your hypothesis that this had been predetermined completely out the window in one breath.

At this point, you had no other choice but to roll with it. You clearly had no idea where or what was going on, but it was obvious Bruno knew what he was doing. You only got a brief glance at your surroundings—the gorgeous candle lit tablecloths contrasting the grand nature of the crowded establishment, every table filled to the brim—before a man in a blue suit snapped his head towards your date, completely disregarding the two men he seemed to have been conversing with.

He extended his arms forward, but not before gesturing to another employee beyond your line of sight.

“Signore Bucciarati,” He smiled with a handshake as the second worker moved into the space, signaling to another that it was time to start moving, “Nice to see you.”

The man shook your hand as well, though his attention was fixed on the two men scrambling to his right. “It’s lovely meeting you.”

He waved his hand, instantly a table was picked up and marched to the main floor of the restaurant, placed gently in front of the stage as the other man followed with two chairs and a candle.

The man in the blue suit escorted you to your seats, ensuring everything was up to your date's standards.

Bruno shook his hand again, “Thank you, Signore, I appreciate it.”

Your chair was pulled out for you, but Bucciarati turned to the surrounding tables before taking a seat himself. Another chorus of ‘it’s good to see you’ and other various greetings rang through the air as you awkwardly took your gloves off, but another aspect of these interactions caught your eye.

“You gave them a stack of lire each.” You mused, no longer explicitly attempting to question his actions as he returned to your side.

He shrugged, now settling into the seat next to you with confidence. “It’s alright.”

Had he been doing that with every handshake this evening? By now, you were certain he didn’t work here. No service worker would throw away their money for such a spectacle, regardless of how much they yearned to impress a date.

You also understood that this level of respect and attention was earned over years of collaboration, even with a week of preparation time, it couldn’t have been faked.

Before you could dwell on it further, the man in the blue suit was back, a bottle of alcohol in his hands.

“This is from Signore Tomei, over there.” He said, placing it on your table before gesturing to another section of the restaurant.

“Where?” Bruno asked, looking around.

The man repeated himself. “There.”

At the neighboring table of five, you watched as one of the men raised his hand politely while nodding.

Bucciarati nodded in return, “Thank you,” he said.

“No problem.” The stranger quipped casually, returning to his own beverages and conversation as if he hadn’t just given away the most expensive looking liquor you’d ever seen.

Bucciarati gently patted your hand, but your mind was racing with a million different questions about the entrance you’d been given. Who the hell was this friend of Mista’s, and how was he able to support this kind of spending? What kind of twenty year old had this level of connections? Was he some local heir? Did he come from a family of wealth?

Another realization dawned on you: he wouldn’t go to this extent if he didn’t want to make a show of it. Bucciarati wanted you to ask. If he didn’t, you would have been sitting in jeans in the same restaurant as last week… you wouldn’t have been offered opera tickets before even leaving your house… hell, you probably wouldn’t have been on this date to begin with!

“What do you do?” You asked him with a hint of bluntness, careful to take any sense of accusation out of your tone.

“What?” He asked, turning his attention back to you, leaning in to hear better.

“What do you do?” You repeated, furrowing your brow and glancing around as the band began to warm up.

He smiled, instantly giving an answer that felt too practiced. “I’m in construction.”

Skeptical, you grabbed the hand he’d left resting on the table. As the lights in the room began to dim, you let your fingers examine his palm, running over the place where callouses should have been. But Bucciaratis hands were soft, well taken care of, and smooth.

“They don’t feel like you’re in construction.” You commented, causing him to pull the hand back, smiling still.

“Well, I’m a union delegate.” He replied, looking around the room instead of at you.

Before you could dispute him further, the patter of a drumroll filled your ears, and a man on stage was announcing the evening's entertainment: the aforementioned Romano.

Tonight was about having fun, you reminded yourself, it was not about the man—or whatever occupation he was hiding—paying for said fun. After guiding you into this environment with careful diligence, Bruno Bucciarati had given you every assurance that the concept was, in fact, mutual. You could relax.

Well, you could if you had the ability to ignore your intuition practically screaming for you to investigate what he was hiding. For now it might have been set aside, but you had no intention of staying in the dark forever.

Knowing that no theory could scratch the surface, you left dinner instead with a goal: Learn something about Bruno Bucciarati before returning home.

You’d have to cross your fingers, hopefully the trip to the San Carlo was longer than the car ride to the restaurant; theatres weren’t typically known to be the best places to talk.

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

blog masterlist ->

AN:

As promised, here’s the scene from goodfellas

Expect another jjba post soon, not sure if it’s gonna be more gyro or a new thingie with rohan, but it’s coming for sure

Also, I wrote a drabble for nanami kento because i have no self control so ig let me know if that would be of any interest…. may or may not contain smut

Taglist

Comment or dm to be added, and make sure your permissions allow for tags:

@mysticalzonkthingparty

@yunho-leeknow

[l0relaii]

Okay so you know that scene where Mike asks jess if she's wants to invite josh up with them to the cabin?

So...

Mike x josh x reader because reader actually decided to invite josh up hdjshdgeb I need them both

he refused when jess asked "really? " , he wouldn't make that mistake with me..

you were all at the lodge for a weekend getaway and josh just told you about this guest cabin where you could spend the night

because last time you were there the whole lodge heard you and mike in your shared room

you were excited, to say the least

you could finally fuck the sense out of mike without worrying about being heard by anyone

"i can't believe he's sending us away"

"yeah well, if you weren't so goddamn loud last time maybe we wouldn't have to go now"

"me? loud? i'm sorry missy but i remember that YOU were the one who woke up the whole mountain last year"

"excuse me? so you're telling me i'm the reason we're being fucking exiled?"

"that's a bit harsh, i think sex-iled is more fitting for our situation.."

you burst out laughing. of course he made you laugh in the middle of your argument. well, you couldn't be mad at him anyways 🤷‍♀️

you're suddenly startled by josh appearing in the doorway with some keys that he throws at you , which you figured were for the cabin

"hey porn stars! you're gonna need these"

"porn stars?"

"i'd pay to see it"

"i bet you would.."

"i'm sorry to kick you out like this but i think some of us would like to get some sleep tonight"

"no worries man"

"i'm sure you're gonna find a way to.. entertain yourselves"

"mhmm.."

"oh, i almost forgot, you gotta fire up the generator so you can see where you're going.. it's dark out there"

then you see him disappearing back into the lodge, walking awfully slow, like he's expecting something

"i think josh was flirting with us"

"mkay? you wanna invite him up with us?"

"hell yeah"

"wait, i wasn't serious-"

"well i am"

"what the-"

"HEY JOSH? could you maybe help us with that generator thing?"

you see him coming back with a smirk on his face while adjusting his beanie. oh he knows what he just did

the walk to the cabin was kinda silent, but what were you expecting? should you ask him if he ever had a threesome before?

maybe that was his thing? maybe he liked joining couples

you certainly saw how he was rooting for chris and ash to get together and you kinda started to understand why 👀

you started to regret your spontaneous decision to invite josh, you remembered the shock on mike's face.. what if he gets more mad?

but then you saw it. the way he looked at you two and the bulge in his pants. oh he wanted this as much as you did..

when you got to the guest cabin you settled down on the couch while josh started a fire. oh he was attractive, very attractive, that's the main reason you invited him here

you couldn't help but stare at his arms as he fiddled with the fire wood and the matches

maybe he could lose that stupid beanie..

and you decide to help him with that

you sit up from your spot on the couch leaving mike to stare at you as you walk towards josh who's still crouched down next to the fire and you yank his beanie off

"eager, aren't we..?"

he sits up facing you and grabs your ass pulling you into him

you hear mike's breath hitch and the sound of his belt buckle

you don't even know how or when all your clothes disappeared and you made it on the bed

but now you're sat on josh's cock with your back pressed against his chest while one of his hands is squeezing and pinching your breast

mike is sat in front of you stroking his cock rapidly while watching the way josh is pounding into you

"mmfuck man, is she always so tight?"

"d'you like her?"

"hell yeah i do"

he accentuates every word with harsh thrusts into your cunt making your eyes roll to the back of your head

his hands push you forward so now you're on all fours with your head close to mike's leaking cock.

without even being told you wrap your lips around it while josh is still thrusting into you from behind

"ohh look at you babe.. so fucked out by josh but still craving my cock.."

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

If Jungkook really could cum 8(!) times, how do you switch it up between orgasms? Do you pick a different position each time? And what do you do during refractory periods?

Sex is a collaboration. All parties are to contribute. If not, well, that's just masturbation with somebody there. I'm not one for plans, as I believe that takes the fun out of sex, but more importantly this type of question implies that I lack consideration and perception of what he would want, which isn't true. I don't know Jungkook personally but I do respect him as a person with his own desires.

No, it would not matter if I was the dom. No, it would not matter if he gave consent to me having full control of his entire body. People are not tools for my own pleasure. People are people. Even gagged, tied-up, and unable to hear me. It doesn't matter. It is my responsibility to listen. The body talks. I will know he can do it even if he says he can't. I will not pressure him to do something he doesn't want to do even if I think he physically can. Those are two different things and it is important to be able to discern so before engaging in power play.

Also, want to make it clear that I don't expect him to have multiple orgasms just because I like it. I actually don't have any expectations. He could tell me he's a virgin and I would enjoy teaching him from the ground up. (Honestly, that would be much easier than unlearning any bad habits.) Sex is like any other activity - you need to practice to excel at specifics. People have ceilings, too. I could practice basketball every day for 10 years and I would still be ass at it. Likewise, if JK asked me to help him nut as many times as he possibly could, I would absolutely get him there over repeated instances. But I'm not gonna whip out every trick in the book and push him to his limit the first time we intend to fuck because 1) that's intimidating, 2) his dick couldn't handle it, 3) he couldn't handle it, and 4) I wanna enjoy too, lol.

There's no "do xyz, it works every time" because it won't. The realistic answer is, depends. The positions? Depends on how we're feeling. Variety is the most reasonable answer. But what if we want to test how many times I can make him cum with my mouth? Or what if he wants as much pussy as his dick can handle? What to do during refractory periods also depends on how things worked out that day. Sometimes you spend the time in between cleaning up a bit. Sometimes you don't care and stick to each other like sticky rice. Sometimes there's no stop and you keep going. If he wants to do it and can do it, I will make it happen. The individual actions matter little as they are completely circumstantial. I won't outline a step-by-step process because there isn't one. You just do what is right in the moment. We all have preferences but I think it's equally important to be adaptable. Read body language and respond to it. Not only for another, but also yourself. Attune to the moment, not just what you know or what you aspire to be.

There's no formula. When I first started having sex, I too had a idea of standard procedure. Maybe some can be satisfied with that but I quickly found it intrusive. I abandoned such a concept. Passion cannot be contained in a plan. People change on the day, in years, over their lifetime. The best sex happens when you're in the moment. I already know what they want before they know they want it because I'm listening to their body. Not just sound, but also reaction to touch, mood, tension. I honed intuition by paying attention to what is in front of me rather than getting lost in my own ambitions.

I never say, "I'm going to make you orgasm eight times." I simply ask afterward, "How many times did you orgasm?" And he wheezes out, "Eight," before collapsing while I think BTS is seven though, maybe he squeezed out the last one for me?

[scaryscarecrows]

“You should sleep–”

“No.” Antoine doesn’t so much as look up from his laptop. “No. M’not–” There’s a shudder, almost imperceptible, an old mask sliding into place. “M’not gonna sleep anyway, after that.” He spares an easy grin Mark’s way, the one Mark knows has gotten him freebies before. “M’fine.”

“Put that away, it doesn’t work on me,” he says bluntly. “Fine. Just keep your ass outta my way or I’ll throw you out myself.”

“Mm-hm.” And just like that, the grin’s gone and he’s settled back into the chair he’s been in since this morning. “Patrol found some of Crane’s notes. Jimmy’s uploading them now, says he’ll be done in about an hour.”

Good. It’s been a hell of a night, nobody’s been sleeping much to begin with–always the pre-op excitement, last-minute preparations, you know–, and that last, frantic retreat to base…the boss’s notes on Scarecrow’s bullshit are pretty thorough, but Mark wants as much as he can anyway, to avoid…interactions. Or at least try to.

Honestly, he should force the issue of sleep. He really should. They all need the rest. But Antoine’s a stubborn little shit and Mark knows, even if he doesn’t know every last nitty-gritty bit, that this whole fiasco has triggered something bad. So he lets him be in favor of reaching over to adjust the oxygen mask and take the boss’s pulse (machines lie, his training doesn’t) and triple-check the IV. 

“I’m gonna grab a snack. Want something?”

“Nah, I’m good.” The easy grin comes back. “Don’t trust you not to drug me.”

Mark rolls his eyes.

“Don’t tempt me.”

* * *

Have you slept at all? Jimmy types out. For several minutes, there’s no answer and he thinks that maybe that’s done it, gotten Antoine to realize what time it is and go, ‘shit, bedtime’.

Have you?

Oh. Fuck him, then. He wasn’t supposed to flip this back around, that’s not how life works!

A little. I have the Green.

Don’t nag or I’ll tell Mark.

That motherfucker. He’ll do it, too, Jimmy knows he will. He doesn’t fight fair. Probably comes with being the Little Brother, but still.

I’ll sic Frank on you, he warns. 

Fuck off. I’m fine. There’s still an invasion to run, y’know.

Jimmy can’t help it. He does The Office stare. There is an invasion, true, and now they have a mad Bat to track, but really. Literally anybody else can manage this for a few hours. Antoine stubbornly refusing to budge from that crappy-ass IKEA chair is not going to make Batman materialize.

Whatever, he finally types. It’s your ass.

Get me the Dragon drone footage for Arkham, comes the quick reply. You redeploy a Cobra out there yet?

Oh my God. 

YES. It’s not there yet. 

Christ.

* * *

“Dude, have you moved at all?”

Antoine looks like hot death. Trent’s thinking he should maybe just pick him up and put him to bed like a toddler.

“Yes.”

“Lecturing the troops does not count.”

“Sure it does.” Taptaptaptap. “You asked if I moved. You didn’t say it had to be preapproved.”

Screw picking him up. He could bitchslap him into unconsciousness. It would work. It would be in his best interest, even. It wouldn’t even have to be a full bitchslap, probably; those dark circles say that a good, hard flick to the side of the head would put him down, but Mark’s such a nag about head trauma…

“Two hours of sleep is not gonna make or break it.”

“M’fine.” TAP. TAP. TAP. “S’what coffee’s for.”

Trent sighs. He’s not surprised. Honestly, the Knight had been equally annoying when Antoine went down from what turned out to be a helluva flu. Mark had banned him from medical because of contagion risk–none of them had been allowed in for the first two days, actually–but he hadn’t exactly taken it well, either.

Fucking dumpster fire.

“Whatever, dumbass. Want me to bring you anything?”

“The report from the last Miagani patrol and a bag of Zapp’s?” 

Well. At least it’s not a request for fucking Adderall.

“Fine.”

* * *

Riley doesn’t even bother nagging, asking, or suggesting. He just drops his old Souls flask into Antoine’s lap with a curt, May as well.

“What’s in it?”

Spiced rum. Not drugged.

It’s really not. Riley had considered it, honestly, but that trick will only work once and really, it’s not to that point yet. If he wants to be stiff in that stupid chair, that’s his problem.

“Thanks.” He doesn’t open it, but there. Riley’s done his bit.

The boss hasn’t woken up at all, but Mark did take him off of oxygen yesterday, so that’s something. The fear toxin’s out of his system, too, but he’s still, well, hella fucked up. Tends to happen when a whole-ass building comes down on you. The fact that he walked outta there is…well…it’s great and all, but Jesus Christ, how stubborn can you be?

It’ll help, he says, and taps the flask. Drink it.

“I will, I will,” comes the absent reply. Then, “I want access to GCPD’s interior cameras. Think you can help Jimmy get it for me?”

Riley would almost be offended at the question, if the circumstances were different.

One hour, he says. Maybe take a power nap or something.

“M’good. Have fun.”

Drugs are too nice. Riley votes for a chokehold. He’ll check with Mark when he gets back. A little tiny bit of damage isn’t that bad, surely. He’ll even apologize, if it helps.

* * *

Frank intends to lay down the law, really he does, but when he comes in, Antoine’s asleep. Like, out cold asleep; his laptop’s hanging on like grim death and he’s wadded into his flannel and definitely heading for a cricked neck, but he’s asleep.

Fucking finally.

He takes the laptop first, closes it up and sets it aside, before stepping out for a blanket.

“Any luck?” Mark asks. Frank shrugs.

“He’s out, I’m not gonna wake him.”

“Out?”

“Yep.”

“I’ll take it. Fucking family dumbasses, I swear to God–”

“Shh.” Frank flicks out the ratty old squishy blanket Mark keeps in his main office. “It’s your own fault if you wake him up now.”

He heads back in, tucks the blanket around Antoine as best he can without disturbing him, and sighs. This is not ideal. Not even a little bit. But it’s better than nothing.

“Mm–” Antoine shifts a bit, hand coming up to clutch at the blanket around his shoulders. “Da…”

“Shh,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

“Hrm…”

He jogs back out before anything else can happen. Mark frowns.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” he grumbles. “Just go to bed.”

“He’s a grown-ass man,” Frank points out. Mark rolls his eyes.

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure.”

[guinevereslancelot]

how do i stop feeling like i'm in trouble all the time fr. sitting here on my lunch break like everyone's gonna be soooo mad when u get back...from lunch...which you are allowed to have.....(?)

[no1ryomafan]

I like to say I’m okay with my interests having very small/pretty non existent fandoms because that means no stupid drama even if I wish the things I liked were more acknowledged, it’s better to take them in a vacuum then mainstream cause some of the stuff I like if it got bigger would be more mixed, possibly even controversial-

and I still stay true to that but I also remember how my interests could’ve been decently popular yet all of them got screwed over in some fucking capacity somehow regardless if that was intentional or not and I low key get a little mad.

LIKE JUST AS A POINT OF REFERENCE (I’m listing these all in chronological release order):

Big O: flopped in Japan but when it was brought over to the states it apparently did well enough to get a season 2, but cn were fucking stupid and aired the second season on adult swim rather then its original home network toonami, which is likely why it fell into obscurity when it could’ve been up there with other old animes if people saw the entire thing because a lot of anime popular from toonami are remembered

Kikaiders anime: Was like only popular in Hawaii but the anime was dubbed and aired on adult swim- only problem is they gave it a 12:30 am time slot and even if it first aired in summer a lot of people probably skipped out on it- also I have a hunch that even tho big o on adult swim definitely got less traction it and kikaider afaik aired around the same time, and big o time slot came first. People if they did know big o got moved probably only watched adult swim for that then shut off the tv for kikaider, which further shows putting big o on adult swim was not a good idea. (Oh and the fact this was a anime reboot for a toku even if it was somewhat more accurate to the manga probably didn’t help the reception in Japan, next to how little interest there seemed to be for it given it was so short)

Shin Jeeg: Literally flopped so hard in Japan that it wasn’t even considered getting a dub besides Thailand and Italy, Italy being the only place Jeeg is fucking remembered. It’s no wonder this one probably the most forgotten among my interests despite being a dynapro mech and a reboot directed by fuckinv Kawagoe.

Casshern Sins: I have zero clue what japans reception of it was but probably not high when it’s “an edgy reboot”. As for the west it did got aired on toonami and is LITERALLY the only anime I like that is legally watchable on crunchyroll but it became forgotten cause it aired on toonami when people stopped caring for it, and crunchyroll only tends to show what’s popular so you’d only find this show from really digging.

Getter the only thing I’m not listing here next to it’s still decently remembered-big o is too, but at the same time it goes under a lot of mecha fans radars-but also cause I’m perfectly accepting of “the times it aired on tv it was super old and only part of it got dubbed, then the rest of it were ovas before not getting anime content for fucking years” like that’s a fair reason to be forgotten- but everything else just feels like I’m cursed 💀 (and I wonder how the cycle will continue when I gain yet another old anime robot interest because it will happen- eventually)

[bmpmp3]

i think its really fitting that the "this shit........ is so ass :'') " anime girl reaction image is from oshi no ko because that is also what my expression was like the whole time while reading the entire last third of the story

[rosesradio]

i think my university fucking bit me wtf