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godmadeaterribleerror · 12 days ago

Text

Hold You Tight In My Mind

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, blowjobs, kinda fingering), soft angst, injury, hurt/comfort, demon possession, friends-with-benefits to lovers.

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Maybe you won't have to love him in silence after all.

Author's Note: Kinda request from @brtodd!! Nothing I love more than a good old love confession, enjoy!

Title from Terrance Loves You by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 8.5k

That’s a lot of blood. You’ve spent nights in motels stitching wounds and lost yourself on the side of the highway shouting for help, your guts half spilled on the pavement, but you’ve never seen that much blood.

“Son of a bitch, that’s a lot of blood.”

Dean, apparently, hasn’t seen this much blood either.

“Should we, um,” you scan over the tile floor, your nose slightly scrunched. “Should we take a picture for Sam?”

“Yeah, he should see this shit too-“

“No, Dean,” you give him a flat look. “For the case. To help him figure out what the hell this thing is.”

Dean gives you a bright, boyish grin and nod of approval. “Good thinkin’, in case he gets mad at us-“

“Gets mad at you,” you correct, moving to stand at Dean’s shoulder as he takes the photo. “I’m not a part of this. I just wanna go home.”

Dean shrugs. “We all wanna go home, Sweetheart. Hell, I’ve got a wife and kids- Shit-“

He doubles over slightly from your elbow in his ribs, and you roll your eyes.

“You have a fake wife and kids. And your fake wife,” you jab your thumb at your own chest. “Doesn’t want her fake brother-in-law to kill her.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, Dean’s never allowed to have fun.” He mutters, rubbing his side. “And Sammy wouldn’t kill ya’-“

“He’d kill my fake husband.” You pout at Dean, placing a hand over your heart. “And that would kill me.”

Dean chuckles, rising back to his full height. “I love it when you pretend that you care about me. Makes me warm and fuzzy.”

You roll your eyes, hoping he can’t see the low flush on your face. “You’re an asshole.”

“I know.” He shrugs. “You’re into it, though. C’mon, we gotta see if there’s actually a body in here, or Sam’ll kill both of us.”

Dean trudges off through the lake of blood, and you have to shake your head slightly to clear it. This case is going to kill you. This is so fucking gross, and the longer you’re here—in this room, in this town, on this case—the sicker you feel.

And it’s not just the blood. It’s all of this. It’s the haughty country club patrons who are downright impossible to properly interrogate, it’s the extra fancy clothing you have to wear for the investigations, and the shitty little tea cakes that the club serves. Tea cakes that you can feel your stomach growling for, because you haven’t had a chance to eat all day, and that only makes you feel worse. As every hour passes, you only feel more and more sick. You only spiral into starving mess that needs either food or Dean.

And that just makes you ill. Every time you look at Dean and hear him say wife, you want to strangle him then kiss him and it’s exhausting. Because you’d walked into this stupid fucking country club with a plan that would’ve worked fine—Sam’s your driver because he drew the short stick, Dean’s your bodyguard, you’re some fancy heiress looking to spend some money—and everything went sideways the moment the front desk asked how many household members, and Dean said four. Dean said that he was your husband, and you have kids, and that he knows he’s punchin’ above his weight class, but damn him, he can’t feel bad about it.

You want to hate him for that. You want to throttle him for how he’s treating this like it’s casual and easy, like every time he says wife it’s not so quietly cruel to your heart. How it flutters and glows before withering, because you’ll never have that. Dean always says wife with a teasing voice and nudge of your shoulder, and you can only grin at him like it’s not killing you, reminding you of what you can’t have.

But you can’t hate Dean. You don’t really know how to hate Dean. And he doesn’t know that this is like torture, because he really thinks you’re happy with this. Not just the fake wife thing—because you are playing into it, trading the same taunts and jokes and grins—but the very real, no-strings-attached fuck-buddies arrangement you have. Have had for fucking years. The one where you’ll follow him to the ends of the earth and never, ever look back to see what you’d left behind, but all he’s asking is that you stay in his bed and let him fuck you when he asks.

It’s not a bad arrangement. He’s a sex god, he gives as good as he gets, and you’re technically exclusive, but it’s still not what you want. Crave. Desire more than you’ve ever desired anything.

Because you really just want all of Dean. Something he’s never offered anyone‚ will certainly never offer you, and you’re going to chase until it kills you. You’ll warm Dean’s bed and touch his body for as long as you’re allowed, and cling to these small deaths of maybe this could be real until they all finally catch up to your heart. You’ll gather small offerings he drops in your lap without knowing—you’re the only person he looks at, and his eyes don’t seem to stray, and he’s the one who decided you should be fake married—and build a shrine to him along your ribs he’ll never be allowed to see.

But his voice still haunts your dreams with words you feel over your skin where he’s touched you before. Words you’ve heard a million times—so pretty, sweetheart, good girl—and words you’ll never hear. Words that circle your brain and bang on your skull all the fucking time, even in this disgusting, haunting mess of blood. Words that make some small part of you spark whenever you hear Dean’s deep, strong voice say your name, because you’re a little pathetic and you can’t stop praying that he’ll say them. He won’t. He never does.

He calls your name, and that spark kicks up your spine, and he still doesn’t say them.

“I got it!” He sounds so proud, and you hate that it makes you smile. “We’re looking at a demon!”

You turn, pushing through the blood to join Dean at where he’s standing at a fireplace, running his finger over the mantle with a twisted expression of disgust.

“Sulfur?” You ask, stopping as close to his side as he can manage, and he shoots you a grin, holding up a bloodied—but blackened—finger.

“Bingo, Sweetheart.” He winks, obviously missing your open, wanting gape at him as he looks back to the mantle. “Nasty son of bitch, though, I’ve never seen one of those douchebags do this.”

Dean gestures around the room, and you hum an agreement.

“So we’re good?” You ask, standing slightly on your toes to survey the sulfur buildup. “That’s it?”

“That’s it.” Dean pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m gonna call my wife, tell her I’ll be home for dinner-“

You whack his arm, and he laughs like a handsome, cocky fucking asshole you still can’t figure out how to hate.

“Your wife is starving, and tired of standing in blood.” You kick your foot through the mess, wrinkling your nose. “Can we please go?”

“I dunno, I think this is kinda romantic.” Dean gives you a shit-eating grin, and you swallow. “I mean, this is freakin’ gross, but it’s just us and all these guts, I think we could waste some time-“

“Shut up.” You shove him, and he doesn’t stop grinning at you. “Haul ass, Winchester, or you’ll be in the fake doghouse.”

He chuckles, rebalancing in a second. “You’re being a little dramatic, kid-“

“Don’t kid me, Dean Winchester, I’m your fake wife. I gave birth to your fake kids-“

“You’ve got some good points,“ Dean drawls your name, pulling you right against his chest, and suddenly the smell of metallic blood is nothing compared to the leather and whiskey and gunpowder of Dean. The sticky heat of the room is overtaken by the heat in your core, the heat of Dean’s breath as he lowers down to kiss right behind your ear, his voice dropping to a deep, teasing growl. “And I’m gonna real fuck you when we get back to the motel. But I gotta call Sam and catch him up, can you-“

You nod, reaching into his pocket to grab the keys, and force yourself not to look back as you leave. You wince slightly as you lean into the Impala—starting the car before rising back up and leaning against the door—but it’s not like she’s never been covered in blood before. This just… a lot more blood than usual.

Dean takes a year to join you, and when he walks out of the building he’s smirking, spreading his arms in a wide aren’t you happy to see me? gesture.

“Sam’s workin’ it.” He stops right in front of you, too close and never close enough. “Can I buy a pretty lady a beer?”

“You can buy her some food.” You cross your arms, grinning up at him. “I saw a drive-thru down the road, we shouldn’t go inside looking like this.”

“Smart.” He places his hand on your lower back, guiding you around the car and into the passenger’s seat, and just being so fucking impossible as he opens the door and helps you inside. “Greasy fast-food for me and my girl, comin’ right up.”

You have to learn how to hate him. You have to learn how to flip Dean off and mean it, how to not flush and giggle like a schoolgirl with a crush under his attention. He doesn’t mean it, he doesn’t know how to mean it, but it still makes your lower gut warm and your face split into a wide, stupid grin when he calls you my girl, drawls your name in the car, and rests his hand on your knee as you pull through the ordering window. When he parks in the lot and you laugh together, his eyes rarely leaving yours and his smile never falling from his face.

Even when he gets out to use the bathroom—promising he’ll be fast and try, somehow, not to draw attention to how he’s soaked in blood—Dean still grins and winks at you, and you can’t figure out how to shove his chest and shout that this is mean. That he’s mocking you and stringing your heart up on wires to play with, and he can’t be expected to know that but this is so fucking mean. He needs to stop smiling at you, and stop saying wife all the time like it’s real when it’s not. It won’t be, it can’t be, and now that’s going to haunt you forever.

You sit there for long, lonely minutes while Dean’s gone, trying get as little blood as you can on the upholstery, because Dean had already started grumbling about how much work this is gonna be to clean up and you can’t bring yourself to make anything harder for him. You spiral through the sound of Dean calling you my girl and promising to fuck you, sit in the ghost of his big, warm hand on your body and his chest pressed right against your breasts. The gleam in his eyes that was full of promises, and the fantasy of all the plans he might have for that aforementioned fucking.

Then you hear his phone ring, and you frown. Dean almost never forgets his phone in the car, even if he’s just getting beer or paying for gas. It’s a hazard, to not have it. To not be able to reach you or Sam if he needs to, for you and Sam to not be able to reach him.

And he’s been gone a while. Long enough that your throat starts to form a small lump, and—when you pick up the call—your voice is a little unsteady, your attention on where Dean had disappeared into the building.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, hey.” Sam says your name through the speaker, his tone a little surprised. “Where’s Dean?”

“Bathroom.” You frown at the building, desperate for Dean to just appear, and soothe this horrible twisting in your gut. “What’s up?”

“I figured out what we’re looking at.” You can hear some papers shuffling on Sam’s end, his words slow and careful. “Special kind of demon that feeds off of lustful blood, which explains why he’s been going after all those rich people. Like, ten ladies and five dudes have tried to sleep with me this week, and I know you and Dean got that, uh, offer-“

“Sam.” You mutter, your eyes still on the building. “Can we exercise it?”

“Kind of. We can’t use the normal one, because it’s not a normal demon, but there is a way. And these guys seem to be capable of being injured, more dependent on their vessels or something. So-“

“If we find him we can knock him down,” you mutter. “Hold him until we figure out how to flush him out.”

“Exactly. And I’m trying to work on the flushing part,” Sam sighs, and you can picture his sheepish expression. “But I don’t have it yet. Are you-“

“We’re coming back soon. Do you want us gone a little while longer, so you can focus-“

“No, Dean told me about all the blood. Sounded gross.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “It was. But-“

“I’ll take the car, need to stop at the library anyway.” Sam says your name through the phone, and there’s a sound of pity in it that makes you curl slightly into yourself. “You and Dean can shower, relax, do, uh, whatever you do-“

You sigh. “Please don’t give me permission to fuck your brother, dude. It’s weird.”

“Yeah.” Sam chuckles through the static. “Sorry. I just know he’s been trying to get you alone-“

“He’s always trying to get me alone.” A dumb smile takes over your face as Dean reappears, and he’s fine. Still covered in blood, but grinning at you with a dizzying joy and gleam in his eyes. “I’ll tell him what we’ve got, and text us when you’ve got the exorcism.”

“Will do. Call me if you need anything, or if, uh, I should stay away longer-“

“Suck my dick.”

You end the call as Sam laughs, and look up to find Dean tapping on your window with a smirk. You blink at him, because he might be covered in more blood than before. There’s a bruise on his forehead that wasn’t there a second ago, his shirt is on backwards, and his jacket is drenched, but he’s look at you like he won the lottery, and you’re not sure what the hell is going on.

“Dean,” you frown at him as you roll the window down, your brow furrowed as he braces an arm on the roof of Baby. “Are you-“

He cuts off your words by ducking down, grabbing your chin, and pulling you into a long, mind-numbing, sloppy kiss that leaves you gaping and dumb. Your fingers curling in his shirt, his low chuckle rolling through your body as he pushes his tongue down your throat, the taste of Dean—lingering burger and sweet soda and salt for your food, plus something innately Dean that’s heady and always leaves a perfect aftertaste on your tongue whenever he kisses you—overtaking the taste of blood just enough override your sense of this is kinda gross, and make you pull him closer.

When Dean pulls back—leaving you starting at him, your breathing ragged and heart trying to escape your chest as he grins at you—he grins at you, his voice a gravely promise.

“You ready to head back, darlin’?”

You blink at him. He’s never called you darling. Darling doesn’t sound like a Dean word. “Uh, yeah, but are you feeling okay? You were in there a while-“

“Food didn’t sit right,” he shrugs, drawing back up with a last wink. “Trust me, Sweetheart, it ain’t gonna be an issue anymore. I’m all flushed out.”

He rounds the car, and you watch him move with a frown. That’s the Dean swagger-walk, but it’s longer, with almost no urgency. Dean always walks with a least a little urgency, and he calls you Sweetheart but not darlin’, and something is still squeezing around your throat and telling you something’s wrong, when Dean’s right here. He’s winking at you from the driver’s seat, driving with the same cool ease Dean always has behind the wheel, and talking to you like he always does. Like your every word is fascinating and amusing, and you could say the grossest thing in the world but he’d still call you adorable.

You hate that he does that. It’s perfect and painful, feeding that shrine over your ribs, and almost enough to distract you from how weird he’s being. How he doesn’t seem at all interested to hear about the blood demon, how his first clarification is so Sam’s gonna leave us in the motel, and how he’s growing bolder with his hand on your leg. Trailing fingers lazily up your thigh and grinning when he brushes over the apex of your thighs, chuckling at your small gasp.

“Think we’re ready for that fuckin’, Sweetheart?” He drawls, pulling into the motel lot. “You sure seem real needy-“

“We’re not having sex, Dean, there’s a demon on the loose-“

“A demon Sammy’s handlin’.” He shrugs. “And I’ve been tryin’ to get you alone all freakin’ week. C’mon, we deserve some time together.“ Dean leans forward, smirking at you. “And I know you want it, babygirl. I bet you’re real fuckin’ wet for me.” He reaches up to your face, running his thumb over your lower lip. “So pretty, darlin’-“

There it is again. Darling. Darling, and the excessive drawling, and the slow walk, and the glint in his eyes you’re only now noticing. It’s colder than how Dean ever looks at you. It’s shallow and crude, like he can’t see anything past a pretty face and body, when Dean is—above all else—your friend. When there’s always a shining light when he looks at you that—both amazingly and awfully—reminds you that you’re more than just a body, and he mostly sees you as the best friend he’s ever had. The one he can do this with, because you care about each other too much to complicate things, and who he’ll always respect.

And this doesn’t feel respectful. It doesn’t feel like Dean. His hands are touching you, but there’s something off about them. Dean would be tracing his fingers over your inner thigh, not moving any further until your either grabbed his hand and moved it for him, or downright pleaded for him to touch you. He’d be disgusted by keeping your bloodied clothing in Baby for even a second more, and choose to back you against the motel wall instead of whatever this is. He’d let you get a word in, for your mock sparring and teasing that he always seems to win.

He would’ve worked in a joke about wanting to fuck his wife, because she can be a real brat when he neglects her. And you’d have smacked his chest, and he’d have laughed, raising his brows and saying see? She gets all bitchy and dramatic when I don’t fuck her right.

But Dean’s not doing that right now. And when you reach over the seat, trailing your hand up his chest in a pretend gesture of need, you feel it.

Warm, sticky blood that’s fresh, and seeping through his shirt. Pouring from a wound you can feel the dip of, that somehow doesn’t make him flinch when you press slightly on it.

A wound right over his anti-possession tattoo.

You move before the demon—not Dean, this isn’t Dean, and you feel fucking ill—can register what’s happening. You pull one of the Impala’s random guns out from the glove compartment, thank a God who’s obviously not listening that it’s weighed and heavy, and ram the butt of it into Dean’s temple. Not hard enough to kill him—you do want your Dean back after this— but hard enough to knock him out. To buy you enough time to grab his by the neck of his jacket and drag him out of the impala. You kick open the motel room door, scream to Sam for help, and haul him into a chair. Sam ties him down, while you take long, deep breathes, and your words are soft and short when you finally manage to speak.

“He’s possessed.” You whisper, starting at the floor. “They carved through the tattoo.”

“Shit,” Sam starts to pace, and there’s a ringing in your ears that makes it hard to hear him. “It’s-“

You nod. “The blood demon.”

“Are you good to stay here?” Sam marches over to the table and shoving his laptop into his bag. “I’ll go to the library, find what we’re looking for, and call you when I’ve got it. Okay?”

You nod, trying not flinch at Sam’s sympathetic pat of your shoulder, and stare at Dean as Sam leaves. You feel vile. That’s not Dean, but it’s Dean’s body. Dean will still be injured when you get this piece of shit out of his body. He’ll still be covered in bloody, disgusting clothing, and he’ll remember you knocking him out. He’ll ask questions that you’ll have to answer, about how you knew. And you’ll have to tell him that you just did. You’ll leave out the part about how you have every piece of him memorized to worship, so that even if the demon had tried a little harder to pretend to be Dean, you probably still would have caught on. You’d recognizes Dean’s bones in the grave. You’d recognize his voice in space. You’d recognize him just fucking near you if you were being waterboarded and flayed alive. And you’ll have to look him in the eyes and say the painfully basic and obscuring answer of I just did, and that will hurt.

But you have time to practice. The demon’s still knocked out in Dean’s body, and Sam’s taking too long to figure this out, but you don’t have anywhere to be. You can tug Dean’s jacket off his body with a mumbled apology he can’t hear, and busy yourself trying to clean it. You can’t stop looking at him—battered, vulnerable, his face so painfully slack—and the warm, soap-covered cloth isn’t enough to keep you from spiraling. From flinching as the blood, Dean’s blood, becomes red bubbles, and trying to convince yourself that this isn’t going to be so impossibly horrible. That, maybe, the demon just won’t wake up, and you won’t have to do anything but clean Dean’s jacket until Sam gets back

But you’re not that lucky.

Pretty, green eyes that are but don’t look like Dean’s flutter open, the demon drops any pretense of playing pretend, and your skin begins to crawl as it speaks.

“Good mornin’,” it leers at you from the chair, pulling slightly on the bonds. “Aren’t you a pretty sight to see after some forced shut eye.”

You start to scrub on the leather to a degree that can’t be helpful, your knuckles white.

“Knockin’ us out wasn’t very nice to your friend in here, Sweetheart. He’s awfully torn up about it. Feelin’ like he failed you, beggin’ me not to hurt you, hates that I was able to get the up on him and touch you at all. But can I tell you a secret,” the demon says your name, and your blood curls in your body. “He really wants to touch you himself. You’ve got a real dirty minded fellow on your hands. Who woulda thought the great Dean Winchester’s weakness would be a smart-mouthed bitch-“

The demon seems to choke on that last word, and when your gaze shoots up Dean’s body looks like it’s in pain. He’s curving into himself—his eyes screwed shut and sweat forming on his brow—and you’re moving before you know what’s happening. Jumping out of your seat and grabbing his face between your hands, your voice high and frantic over the blood pounding in your ears.

“Dean?” You run your thumb over his cheek, and he twitches, like he can’t figure out if he wants to flinch away or lean into your touch. “Shit, Dean, I need you to talk to me-“

Dean’s eyes snap open—that foul glint still rooted deep into them—and he laughs as you jerk away like he’d burned you.

“I’ll give ‘im this.” The demon says, the words still slightly strained. “He ain’t an easy ride. Keeps tryin’ to break out and talk to you, tell you not to listen to me and go find Sammy.” The demon laughs again, and it might be the worst sound you’ve ever heard. It’s Dean’s laugh, but inverted. Cold and hateful and wrong. This is so fucking wrong.

“Shut up.” You mutter, taking an unsteady step back, and the demon raises Dean’s brows.

“Well, darlin’, you’re just breakin’ poor Dean’s heart. Hurtin’ him, tellin’ him to shut up, tyin’ him up-“ The demon cuts himself off, twisting Dean’s face into a smirk. “Well, that one’s a funny little case, ain’t it. He’s too much of a pathetic little bitch to admit it-“

You scowl, standing a little taller. “Dean’s notpathetic-“

The demon pushes on as if you’d said nothing at all. “But he’s kinda into this. Likes the idea of you havin’ some fun with him however you want, pleasin’ you however you like, or,” the Demon’s grin grows mocking and crude. “Switchin’ places. Keepin’ you down to find out if he can make you scream louder than when he does that thing with his tongue, see if he can get you beggin’ all pretty. Nothin’ gets him goin’ more than when you beg-“

“Shut up.“ You hiss, grabbing your phone off your bed. “I don’t know what your fucking angle is, but I’d recommend you get out of my-“ you catch yourself, taking a short breath before plowing on. “Out of Dean-“

The demon caught it, though, and his smirk grows. “Your what? He ain’t your boyfriend, darlin’. But Jesus, he hates that too. I don’t think you’d keep indulgin’ this asshole if you could spend a second in here with ‘im like I am. He’s fuckin’ obsessed with you, it’s goddamn pathetic-“

You clench your jaw so hard you might break teeth, your movements rough as you scroll for Sam’s contact. “I said shut up-“

“He thinks he’s fuckin’ poison.” The demon sneers, and you can’t look at Dean’s face—can’t see it cruel and filled with hate—or you might start crying. “And shit, darlin’, he’d like to poison you. He’d like to do everythin’ to you. Fuck ya’ and buy you flowers and marry ya’,” the demon cackles, and you feel a little dizzy. “’S why he’s been doin’ this stupid fuckin’ charade all week. He wants to bruise ya’ and bite ya’, then whine and bitch about how he’s so disgustingly in love with you-“ The demon hacks a slight cough, and shakes his head with a mocking grimace. “Makes me fuckin’ sick, how needy and weak this piece of shit is-“

“I said,” you cross back to the chair, fisting Dean’s blood-covered shirt in your hand and yanking him up with cold words and words you hate on your tongue. “Shut the fuck up. And get out of him, before I fucking kill you.”

The demon just laughs at you, spit covering your face. “You ain’t gonna kill me, Sweetheart. Not while I’m in your precious Dean’s body. Not while you got me here, tellin’ you all the nasty things he’d like to do to ya’, how he worships the ground your fuckin’ walk on and dreams about you sayin’ you love a pile of trash like him-“

You tear off your own jacket, bundle up the sleeve, and stuff it the demons mouth. You don’t fucking care if it’s trapped in Dean’s body until Sam gets back, you can’t keep listening to it. Listening to it fucking lie and rip you apart with only words, watch it eyes gleam as it puppets Dean’s mouth to torture you. Why the fuck would it say things like that. It can’t be to hurt Dean, because all he’ll have to do is tell you when this is over that he’s sorry about what the demon said, and that it’s all just lies. And the demon doesn’t know—can’t know—that it just ripped your heart out of your chest and ran it through a meat-grinder. It doesn’t make any fucking sense, and you feel like your skin is trying to fly off your body, and Dean’s still covered in blood and it’s horrible-

Your phone buzzes on the floor—slightly cracked from being suddenly dropped—and it’s Sam. When you pick up he doesn’t wait to hear you before he launches into frantic words, practically shouting into the speaker.

“Found it!” He sounds a little out of breath, and you wouldn’t doubt that he’s been running back to the car. “Can you put me on-“

“Yep.” You press speaker, ripping your jacket out the demons mouth and turning the volume all the way up. “Go.”

Sam starts to recite a long, fancy string of Latin words, and you can’t bear to see Dean’s body thrash and roar and fold in pain, but you need to make sure the demon goes. That when Sam finishes and Dean’s eyes start to flutter, it’s safe to thank Sam, hang up the phone, and fall to your knees at Dean’s side.

“Dean,” you cup his jaw, angling his head slightly back. “Shit, Dean, please say something-“

He moans your name, and you almost start crying in relief, dropping your head carefully onto his leg.

“I, shit-“ Dean’s voice is hoarse as he pulls slightly at the bonds around him. “I’m happy to see you too, Sweetheart, but I kinda need you do untie me-“

“Fuck, sorry-“ You scramble with the ropes, scanning over his body as you do. “I’m gonna go get Sam’s medkit, can you take your shirt off-“

“Well, I’d usually make you but me some dinner- shit-“ He’d already started to pull his shirt off, his whole body shuddering as his arms tried to raise up.

“Dean-“

“Gimme three, I’ve got it-“

“No, you don’t. I’m cutting your shirt off, just-“ You move to your feet, pointing a stern finger at him. “Stay.”

He raises his hands, flinching slightly at the movement. “Yes, ma’am.”

Neither of you speak for a long while. You throw yourself entirely into his stitches, tossing the bloodied rags of his shirt into the trash and stealing small at Dean’s handsome, exhausted features. He’s watching you the whole time, his mouth opening and closing like he wants to say something but it’s sure where to start. When he finally clears his throat, you hum, keeping your hands steady on the stitches.

“This fucking sucks.” He grumbles, and you huff a dry laugh.

“Yeah. It really does.” You pull another stitch through the gash, and Dean winces. “Shit, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize.” He mutters. “I should be apologizing to you.”

You frown up at him, your hands coming to a still. “Why?”

“I let that asshole get one up on me.” He grunts, refusing to meet your eyes. “Couldn’t get a hold over him, either. Let him say all that shit to you-“

Something cracks in your heart, but you just shrug. “That’s not on you, Dean. Demon’s lie, you don’t have to explain it-“

Now Dean’s frowning at you. “What?”

“The demon,” you mumble, your face flushing slightly. “What he said. I get it, it’s what they do, you don’t need to-“

“The demon didn’t,” Dean coughs, his face redder than you’ve ever seen it, his voice almost nervous. “It didn’t lie. He was a dick about how he said it, but he didn’t lie.”

“I, um, I don’t-“ You gape at him for a long second, trying to figure out if he’s joking. This isn’t something Dean would joke about, but that just means you must have heard him wrong. The demon said Dean loved you, and Dean didn’t love you—you haven’t even allowed yourself to entertain the thought outside of secret fantasies and feverish dreams—so the demon lied. The demon lied. The demon had to have lied, but why would Dean-

He says your name, tone cautious and features soft when you blink at him. “Lost you for a second, Sweetheart, are you-“

“I’m okay.” You mumble, refocusing on the stiches. “I’m probably just tired, I thought I heard you say-“

“That I love you?”

You swallow. There it is again. “I-“

He says your name again, careful fingers brushing hair from your face. “Look at me.”

You can’t. You don’t know what’s going on, and there’s still so much blood.

Dean hand moving under your chin and guides your gaze up, you lips parting slightly as your eyes meet his. He’s scanning over you, a slight furrow to his brow, and you can’t stop your hand from moving up and wiping a little blood off his cheek.

“Dean-“

“Never mind.” He mutters, shaking his head slightly. “Thought that we, uh, never mind.”

When you finish the stitches—your hands shaking slightly, your head spinning with confusion—you force him to shower first. It gives you time to spiral down, down, down, your brain turning desperately to figure out what that was. Why Dean would say that, why he’s acting so strange, why the demon would say that, why Sam’s being such a dick and insisting that he’s getting a second room, because Dean would—allegedly—rather have you here as the three of you had already been rotating through the floor, couch, and bed.

Which means you’re stuck with alone Dean for the night. And he’s not fully looking at you when he exits the shower, and you’re mostly just mumbling to each other, and he doesn’t love you but he looks like a kicked puppy. He picks up your own blood-covered jacket, helps you carefully out of your seat, takes the soapy rag from your hands, and flat out refuses to sit until you move to the shower.

And the water doesn’t help. You feel cleaner, but the steam makes your head spin all the more, and you can’t stop picturing Dean’s fallen, almost pained features, and playing the demons words over in your mind.

Dean’s disgustingly in love with you. He worships the ground you walk on and dreams about you saying you love him. And you do love him, but he doesn’t love you, and it’s dangerous to hope that he’d love you, and-

And he still looks so beaten down when you exit the shower. He barely looks at you as you cross the room, his attention wholly on your jacket, and when you drop on the bed and clear your throat, you could sworn he pales.

“Are you,” you swallow, forcing your voice to be stronger. “Are you feeling better?”

“Yep” He mutters, still not looking up. “Stitches are fine, Sweetheart. Good work.”

You flush slightly, but push on. “And your head?”

“Pounding like a bitch, but I’ve gotten through worse.” He shrugs, and words start to creep like vomit up your throat. “We’ll grab Sam in the morning and get goin’-“

“What did you mean?” You blurt, and Dean freezes. “When you said the demon wasn’t lying?”

Dean sighs, and drops the rag, running his hands over his face before turning to you, his voice low and elbows braced on his knees. “What I said.” He grunts, his eyes now refusing to leave yours. “He didn’t lie.”

“About-“

“All of it.”

Your breathing is shallow, your voice barely a whisper, but you have to ask. It will ruin everything, but you need to ask.

But you’re a coward, and you ask the wrong thing.

“Why did you tell the country club we were married?”

Dean lets out a low, humorless chuckle. “Because I thought it would be fun. I’d get to call you my wife and see you blush all freakin’ week, and this case was gonna be shit so I thought what the hell.”

“Oh.” You whisper, unsure what to make of that. “Okay.”

Dean still doesn’t look away. If anything his eyes sear into you as his voice drops lower, his expression darkness and unreadable. “How’d you figure out I was possessed?”

You’d practiced this. You just did. You just knew it wasn’t him. That’s all you have to say, and you can’t. Something grabs your tongue and all you can say is the truth.

“Because I know you.” You mumble, unable to break his gaze. “And that wasn’t my Dean.”

“Your Dean,” He chuckles, shaking his head like he doesn’t believe you. “Wasn’t sure I was your anything, kid-“

“Well, I didn’t think you loved me.”

You say the words before you can actually think them through, and time freezes. Dust seems to the hanging static in the air, red water still and motionless on the table, the hum of the bathroom fan stuck on one long note, and you and Dean both trapped in place. Neither of you strong enough to speak, but not weak enough to run, and why did you say that, Dean doesn’t love you-

“I didn’t think you’d want to hear it.” He’s searching over your face, words low and whole body tensed. “And I’d try to take it back for you, but-“

“Don’t take it back!” You almost yelp, and Dean’s eyes widen slightly. “I don’t want you to take it back, I just- I don’t-“

“You don’t believe me.”

You nod weakly, wishing he would look away. Wishing Dean would just let you curl into yourself and hide for a million years, until this ends. Until this sore heat of shame over your skin and blooming warmth of hope that Dean might, maybe, really, possibly love you both die a quiet, easy death.

But he doesn’t look away. Dean pushes himself out of the chair with a grunt, walks on unsteady legs to stand before you, and takes your face between his hand, his words deep and firm.

“I love you,” he says your name, lowering his face to yours. “And I know it’s not what you want, but I do. I won’t apologize for it, but if you’re done messing around with me because of that, I’m never gonna make you pretend you love me back-“

You’d been sent into a daze of Dean loves you, he’s saying it himself and it’s the truth and he loves you, and that snaps you out of it. You close the last breath of space between your lips without effort, and this is a long, lazy, peaceful kiss that people without blood and demons would have. It’s cementing, steeling it fully into you that Dean loves you. You’ll never have to try and force yourself to hate him, because it’s shit work to hate Dean Winchester and there’s no point it anymore. He loves you, and it’s impossible to doubt that he loves you when he’s kissing you like this—not invasive but deep, not demanding but still dragging small moans and happy sighs from your throat, holding your cheek with one hand and cupping the back of your head with the other—so it’s not a war with yourself push him back a little and finally say words that have been stuck in your throat for years.

“I love you too.” You smile at him, and his eyes flash. “I don’t have to pretend, and this is what I want, so please,” you take a shaking breath, moving your hand to hold his against you. “Please don’t apologize for this. And please,�� you lean a little further forward, bumping your nose with his as he continues to stare. “Keep messing around with me, Dean. I love you, so I’d-“

You cut yourself off with a squeak as Dean pulls you back into a kiss, this one heavier and sloppier, leaving you with ragged breath and puffed lips. Your hands curl into his shirt as he drops onto the bed at your side, hauls you over him with only a low, slightly pained grunt, and looks up at you with a slight frown on his face.

“That son of a bitch kissed you.”

“I thought it was you,” you mumble, tracing a small patten on his chest with one finger. “Sorry-“

“I’m not mad at you,” Dean gives you an amused look, pressing another, smaller kiss to your lips. “I’m mad at that douchebag, for trying to get with my girl.”

His words are mumbled against your lips, settling deep and warm in your stomach, and you can barely manage a hum of, “Oh. Okay.”

He chuckles, his hand moving under your shirt to run up the skin of your waist, your body shivering with pleasure at the touch. “I’d like to fuck you,” he mutters your name, his eyes on yours so attentive and dark that you might agree to jump off a cliff if he asks. “But my doctor said I need to take it easy-“

“I’m your doctor,” you gasp, dropping your brow to Dean’s as he brushes the underside of your breast. “And I think that- shit, Dean-“ He’s adjusted you in his arms, settling your core right over the obvious, proud bulge in his jeans. “If we take it easy, and you promise to let me stay on top-“

Dean shakes his head, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “That’s gonna be a real hard,” he ruts up into you, and you whimper. “Promise to keep, babygirl-“

“Well it’s that,” you lean back, giving him a stern glare. “Or nothing, Winchester. Your choice.”

He gives you a look of mock disbelief. “I can’t believe I fake married someone so freakin’ mean to me-“

“I can.” You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, your own lips curling up slightly. “What’s it gonna be.”

Dean narrows his eyes at you, his hand trailing down your stomach to cup you right over your pussy as he drawls. “I think you should make that choice, Sweetheart. Tell me exactly how you want me to fuck you.”

“I-“ You lean forwards, burying your face in his neck to try and stifle your moans. “I already-“

“You said you stay on top, but that can mean a million things,” he mutters your name, kissing right under your ear. “I can fuck up into you, or you can ride me, or,” Dean starts to rub you through your pants, his thumb drawing rough, taunting circle over your clit. “I can finger fuck this pretty pussy until you cum all over my fuckin’ hand.”

“Dean,” you moan against his skin, your nails digging into his back. “Fuck, I-“

“This,” he moves his free hand up, playing with the waistband of your pants. “Seems to be getting in our way. Take it off for me.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice. You almost scramble to pull off your clothing—still manage to shoot Dean a glare for his low, teasing wolf-whistle when you’re fully bare before him—and almost throw yourself back onto him before you freeze. He’s still dressed—you can see the outline of where his pants must be becoming painful—and he’s still hurt. That’s why you had to stay on top in the first place. Dean won’t say it, but he’s in pain, and that’s more important than sex. You’re aching for him between your legs, you whole body whining to be pressed to his, but you can’t let him injure himself.

So you drop to your knees, help him out of his pants and boxers—feeling Dean track your every movement, remaining silent as you work—and swallow as his cock springs into view. You’ll never get tired of the sight of it. Big and meant to fit so well inside of you, pretty because it’s Dean’s, and he’s not really capable of being ugly.

Dean grunts your name as you take him in your hand, your fingers trailing over his strong thighs as you start to pump him slowly.

You smile up at him, raising your brows. “Do you like that?”

“Of course I fucking like that-“

“Do you love me?”

You say the words innocently, squeezing your hand lightly, and he blushes slightly, throwing his head back as he groans. “Shit, Sweetheart, you don’t know what you’re doin’ to me-“

“I do,” you whisper, pressing an open mouth kissed to the broad, red tip of his cock. “You do it to me too.”

“’S not-“ You take him into your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and letting him bump against your throat, and he cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, ’s not the same-“

You pop off of him with a frown. “It is. I love you too.”

“I know, pretty girl.” He mutters, moving hold your cheek, his cock twitching in your hands as you lean into the touch. “But you don’t gotta do this for me just cause you love me-“

“I like doing it.” You shrug, licking a long stripe up his shaft to prove your point, savoring the grunt it draws from his chest, the way his hand moves to fist in your hair. “I might love you, Dean Winchester,” you grin at him, replacing your mouth with your hand as you speak. “But I also really just like sucking your cock.”

“Son of a-“ Dean’s voice is a growl, his eyes darting over your face like he’s looking for something. “You’re- fuck it.”

You squeak as he pulls you up, back to his lap, and impales you on his cock in one smooth motion.

“Dean!” You try to gain a little power over your mouth, your fingers running over his fresh stitches. “Your doctor did not, fuck-“ He rolls his hips, and you bite your tongue to stop your moan. “Winchester, your doctor did not approve picking heavy things up-“

“You’re not that heavy.” He shrugs, kissing your shoulder as his arm braces you against this chest, his words teasing and low. “And lucky me, my fake doctor is also my fake wife, and they’re both,” he moves his mouth back over yours, muttering against your lips. “Begging me to fuck them all pretty.” His other arm wraps around you, starting to guide the rolls of your hips, his eyes on yours so soft for how he’s splitting you open and bumping against the deepest places inside of you. “And get them to cum all over my fuckin’ cock.”

You moan, throwing your head back as you start to grind down on him, and you’ve done this a million times before, but it feels different. You’ve fucked Dean enough that you must have covered every base—rough and fast and soft and slow and teasing and desperate and angry and blissful—and it’s the same to your body, but different to your mind. Dean’s hands still ignite fire on your skin as he holds you as close as he can manage, but you’re not worried about how they might drop away. He’s still kissing you everywhere he can reach, but there’s nothing turning in your head about how he might not like what he tastes. He’s doing it all right—he always does it right—but it’s so much more.

You squeeze around his cock and he moans your name, almost pinning you into his laps as he latches his mouth to your upper chest. Sucking and nipping you where people can see. He’s always kept his small habit of marking you to where it won’t be visible, where people won’t jokingly ask you who got messy. But people will see this, and he knows that, and it seems to spur him on. His mouth crashes back into yours, his hands keeping your rhythm on him steady as his mouth and cock unravel you above him.

“You gonna cum, Sweetheart?” Dean growls down your throat, and you just nod frantically, swiveling your hips around him.

“So close,” you whine, trying to find just a little more friction. “Please, Dean-“

He starts to slam up into you, holding you steady with one arm as he leans back, bracing himself on the bed. His stitches are somehow still closed, he’s looking at you like you’re all the world gathered for him to hold, and his mouth is lowering to pull your nipple between his teeth. Keeping you right on the edge as his thrusts grow uneven, his hands bruising on your skin in the best way.

“Fuck, you wanna cum with me, babygirl?” He groans, flicking your nipple with his tongue before pulling you down to him, dragging you into a kiss of spit and need and pure fucking desire. “Think you can ask me real pretty-“

“Please. Please, Dean, please.” You gasp, your clit starting to rub against his abdomen, your whole body so close to bursting into flames. “So fucking close, need it so bad-“

He bites on your lower lip, smirking at your high whine. “Good girl.” He jerks up into you one last time, the movement rough and uncontrolled, and groans into your ear. “Cum.”

You might have screamed, but everything goes blinding and loud and holy like a hymn you only know in the language of Dean, and you never want to stop singing for the rest of your life. You can hear him shouting your name as he spills up into you, but you’re so high on your pleasure— on the smell of Dean everywhere around you and his lingering taste on your tongue—that it’s distant and only a rush of good. Dean feels good, and he’s muttering in your ear that he loves you, so you think everything might be really good.

And it is. This isn’t blood or work. This is Dean’s cock still buried inside you, his hot, warm cum running down your thighs, and your hands tracing over his warm skin to check that his stitches are still together. This is your face pressed into the crook of Dean’s neck, his hands combing through your hair, and a priceless sense of peace. It’s always lingered before, but it would wash away as you both left the bed, and drift into nothing as you wandered back into the real world. It feels more certain now. It feels more set into your bones, and you know you’ll see more blood and stitch more wounds, but this is going to stay. Dean is going to stay, and you have all of him. And that’s welcoming this sense of peace that’s so finite and rare, you’d have to be insane to let it go.

So you won’t. And you won’t have to cling to him, because Dean isn’t foolish enough to let you go either. You’ll keep all of Dean, he’ll do the same for you, and he’ll keep igniting a spark in your gut by saying my girl that you won’t ever allow to go out.

End Note: Look! A Rare Dean Winchester dealing with his own emotions! Spotted in the wild! And I am physically incapable of writing a short one-shot, and I'm very sorry about that.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

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silliestgirlintheworld · 1 month ago

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The demons in my brain refused to let me rest until I drew Phyuri so here you go :)

(some headcanons under the cut bc I love yapping)

I feel like Dani and Fi during the peak of their career would accidentally get slotted into the 2010's niche of "not like other girls" content and they'd both have really complicated feelings about it, especially due to their sexualities and how they each feel about gender.

It would confuse Fi, as she doesn't want to imply that she thinks less of women around her but she also feels deeply uncomfortable with expressing herself femininely. She knows she wants to dress more masc and explore that part of herself (butch fi forever!!) but she lacks the self confidence, so for most of the peak of their career she just comes off as very uncomfortable with femininity in an internalized misogyny sort of way. Cue think pieces about how "Fi is setting a bad example for young girls by not embracing her womanhood" and extremely uncomfortable viewers pick my outfits videos where she's forced into dresses. Eventually after cutting all her hair off in 2018 and coming out she'd figure things out and be much happier and more free and I think a lot of people would feel bad about how she was treated while she was trying to work shit out.

I think Dani would lean into it, the idea of being "not like other girls" feels very in line with old danisnotonfire sketches and it would be a way of coping with feeling like she can't measure up to the societal expectations of women as a deeply closeted lesbian. She'd dress femme in a 2010's tumblr grunge sort of way and wear a lot of makeup but it would never feel fully authentic. Post coming out this would all fuck with her head, both in terms of reckoning with a lot of problematic rhetoric she spread due to her internalized misogyny, and also now she finally feels free to express herself how she wants, but what does she even want? I think Dan in every universe would always have some gender stuff going on and I can clearly in my mind imagine Dani going on yap tangents about how differently straight girls and lesbians express their own femininity and whether or not she even wants to be feminine at all deep down because her only experience with it is years trying to conform to heteronormative ideals of what femininity is whilst closeted. She's on a long journey to figure out a form of expression that feels right to her and I don't see her identifying as a femme lesbian because I think no version of Dan would want to fully commit to a label and she's got her own secret third thing going on. Danigender.

#tl;dr for my yap butch fi forever and dani has a very complicated relationship with her own femininity.#I love you phyuri!!! I love lesbians!!!!#dan and phil #dan howell #phil lester #dnp #phanart #phyuri

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thedevildompolybunch · 3 months ago

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Irresistible Attraction (Mammon X Body Insecure MC) 18+ Fluffy Smut

Sorry this took so long! I kept rewriting it trying to make it perfect! I’m excited to have finally completed it and I hope you like it! Thank you (Unknown if they want to be tagged) for the writing prompt. This has been a labor of love! I learned so much writing this!

Summary: When Mammon realizes MC is avoiding his sexual advances, he attempts to figure out what’s going on.

What to Expect: smut, AFAB, fluff, established relationship, unprotected sex, crying, insecurity, negative self talk, polycoded, Mammon is pushy and greedy but means well, MC is wearing pants and a shirt, shallowing, gender neutral, cum on body.

I’m currently not accepting writing prompts, and plan to in the future once I get my guidelines situated. I was just super in love with the idea!

Vulgar Language: cunt, pussy, cock, vagina, general swearing such as fuck, shit etc.

Other ways to read (usually better formatting due to length)

Privatter.net (This version allows you to input your MC’s name and have it inserted into the story. Password: TheGreatMammon)

Archive of Our Own

Chapter 1: Alone at Last

The unbearable tension that grew between Mammon and you was no longer ignorable. The two of you sat on his sofa making out while some video neither of you planned to watch continued to play.

Wrapping a hand behind your thigh, he effortlessly hiked you onto his lap to deepen the kiss. The feel of your tongue against his was waning on his already diminishing inhibitions.

“Ya know, this is all your fault human.”

He broke the kiss, his lips sensually brushing past yours as he began to speak.

“If ya didn’t go and tease me.”

His tone was labored with ecstasy as he blamed you for both of your desires.

“...This nevuh woulda happened.”

And, he was right, it truly did feel that way. Mammon’s sin gave him the insatiable desire to pursue all things that were valuable, and you were one of the greatest jewels.

With both hands on your hips, he grinded you against the bulge of his pants. The pressure of his cock tempting your already swollen cunt.

“Ya like that treasure?”

His question begged for your praise and his body demanded it. Rocking harder, he drew moan after moan out of you. The ownership of your current pleasure further enticing the greed that already resided inside him.

“Fuck…”

He bit at his bottom lip in an attempt to maintain his composure.

It didn’t work.

Desperately he clawed into your thighs; steadying you as he rocked you into his wave-like motion. The peak of each ripple elevating both of your arousals.

He couldn’t take it anymore. His urges were becoming unmanageable and he would do anything to have more of you.

Leaning back, he caressed your sides, pulling at your shirt in an attempt to remove it.

“Oh look, I’ve been wanting to see this.”

Your words were random and they caught him off guard. Pointing over at the tv, you redirected his attention; using the moment to seamlessly adjust your shirt to cover back up.

Mammon looked over, only to see a video that neither of you would have wanted to watch. In fact, he wasn’t even sure what was playing at this point because it was just some random recommendation from Deviltube. Wait…was that an ad?

“Yo, are you serious!?”

Mammon was offended. The last few weeks everything had been more interesting than him, or at least he felt that way, and now you wanted to watch some random ad over fooling around with him? What the fuck was going on?

“MC, ya got a problem or somethin’?”

His callout made you freeze. He hadn’t said anything about the way you’ve been acting lately and you hoped it would have remained that way.

“Like, I know you ain’t tryin' to watch that.”

He gestured to the ad as it ended. Ugh, what bad timing. You thought to yourself. In all fairness you would have never pointed to the tv if you had known.

“Sorry, I thought it was something else.”

You attempted to cover up your failing lie, but Mammon didn’t buy it.

“Seriously, what’s goin on?”

Couldn’t he just let it go?

“Mammon, I promise; nothing’s up. I just got a little nervous.”

You tried your luck at a half truth, but it seemed that it wasn’t in your cards to outwit him today.

“That ain’t true, ya been actin’ weird for a bit.”

Been actin’ weird for a bit? Are you kidding me, he noticed?

Of course he noticed. Mammon noticed most things about you, he loved to. But just this once, couldn’t he just leave it alone? It had nothing to do with him.

The thoughts in your mind were racing and soon it was hard to find the right words.

“We don’t gotta do this if ya don’t wanna.”

That wasn’t it. You did ‘wanna’, you just couldn’t get out of your head long enough for that to happen.

It had been weeks that you had been rejecting him, with little to no explanations, and he was beginning to wonder if you even liked him at all.

“Oi! MC! Ya hear me?”

Mammon broke the silence with his worry, snapping his fingers in front of your face in an attempt to help you regain consciousness.

“We don’t gotta do nothin’ if ya..”

His attempts at comfort only increased your anxiety.

“N-no, no, that’s not it…Its…”

You began to stutter, quickly trying to find the words to make the conversation end.

“What, What is it then?”

His fears cut you off, trying to speed up your answers. What did he do wrong? Why were you having so much trouble talking to him?

“Did somethin’ happen?”

He was asking questions faster than you could answer, and even faster than you could process.

Overwhelmed, you rushed for the door, Mammon swiftly following behind.

“HEY! Wait, would ya?!”

He reached out for your arm.

“Leave me alone!”

Avoiding his grasp, you ran off; slamming the door behind you.

💰💰💰💰💰

“And, you didn’t do anything?”

Asmo inquired after Mammon explained what had just happened.

“What makes ya always think I did somethin’? I’m askin’ for your help, and this is what I get?”

“So, is that a no...or?”

“Asmo, I ain’t bein’ funny. You got that thing with MC tonight, ya gotta figure out what’s up.”

“I don’t know, what’s in it for me? ♪”

The nerve. That was Mammon’s job.

“You kiddin’ me? Nothin’, the satisfaction of helpin’ your older brother out.”

“Yeah, I don’t know about that.”

“I don’t want to hear ya askin’ me for nothin’ ever again then.”

“Hun, you're the last demon I’d ask for something.”

Mammon let out a groan of frustration. Resorting to his next best plan…guilt.

“I can’t believe you would treat your older brother like this! After all I’ve done for ya…”

His animated hand motions expressed his annoyance.

“Like that time I returned your bracelet back to ya instead of sellin’ it.”

“You were the one who stole it, sweetie.”

“Point bein’, I didn’t sell it! I brought it back to ya! That thing was worth major grimm, I coulda made bank!”

He left out the part where he only returned it because he was caught in the middle of the transaction.

Asmo rolled his eyes, his next words, putting Mammon out of his misery.

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

It took Mammon a moment to realize that Asmo had agreed to his plea.

“Oh, and how abou...Really?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Asmo shrugged as if the answer had been easy all along. Because it had. The moment he realized it was something involving you, he knew he was going to say yes. It was just an added bonus to be able to get under Mammon’s skin for a bit.

Pulling out his phone, he reminded you of your date; reassuring Mammon that he was serious.

Asmo: “Don’t forget 😉”

MC: “Wouldn’t miss it!”

Chapter 2: Spilling the Tea

Asmo laid next to you on his bed in nothing more than a robe. The floral smell of his body oil was soothing yet overwhelming.

“So, these were the earlier designs and I thought they were a bit boring, so I came out with these…”

He opened a velvet lined box that revealed the prototypes of a new ring collection he had been designing for his jewelry line.

“Aren't they just perfect? No need to answer that, I designed them, I know they are! ♡”

Winding down with Asmo was pleasant. He’d always have a warm cup of tea waiting for you, a new beauty product to try…usually several, and he led most of the conversation; leaving you to just sit there and relax as he kept you updated on all things him.

“Oh and that’s not even the best part, the finished ones are each going to have their own unique charm that grants the wearer a different magical effect.”

He continued to fill you in.

“...I haven’t figured out all the details yet because I need to run it by Diavolo, and all, but I absolutely think everyone will love this line, I mean, how couldn’t you? ♡”

Asmo sprung up with enthusiasm at his own bragging.

“Try one on! I’d bet these would look just stunning on you!”

Pulling a ring out of the box, he slid it onto your finger, holding your hand in his palm to get a better view.

“aaaannnnd…look at that, I was right.”

He moved your hand around to let the ring shine.

“That looks absolutely gorgeous on you! ♡ ”

Admiring it for a few more moments, he sensually caressed the tips of your fingers with his thumb.

“But, that’s not a surprise, everything looks gorgeous on you.”

His words were sweet and complemented by a wink and a smile.

“ Speaking of… ♪”

He let go of your hand.

“That outfit I ordered you last week, It came in this morning, right?”

Removing the ring from your finger, he placed it back into the box.

“Have you tried it on yet? Do you love it? I bet you look absolutely Devilgramable in it!”

Asmo sat up in excitement at the thought, eagerly awaiting your feedback.

“I haven’t had time to try it on yet.”

“Awww, really?”

He pouted in disappointment.

“...I wanted to see it.”

Silence filled the air for a moment as Asmo sulked. He really wanted to know what it looked like on you because he was positive it would accentuate your best features.

“...Oooh! You know what!”

He perked up with enthusiasm, eager to express the thought that had popped into his head.

“I have a fun idea! Why don’t we try on outfits for each other? I have one I’ve been wanting to show you and I wouldn’t mind seeing how you look in the one I bought!”

Your stomach dropped. That sounded like anything but fun. Because the truth was, you had tried on that outfit; you just hated it.

The concept was cute, you loved how it looked when Asmo and you saw it on the rack; but after actually seeing it on yourself; you felt that it highlighted all your insecurities. How were you going to tell him that? He was so modelesque, it was intimidating.

“I’d rather not, I’m kind of tired.”

Strange. Asmo thought to himself, noticing the subtle shift in your demeanor. This was similar to what Mammon had described to him earlier.

“You ok, sweetie?”

He was relieved to finally get the chance to inquire about your problem. It had been on his mind since Mammon had brought it to his attention, and he was finding it unusually difficult to think about only himself.

“Y-Yeah, Yeah, I’m fine.”

Noticing your growing discomfort, he took your hand into his.

“Hun, you’re not fooling anyone. What’s going on?”

His thumb caressed over the top of your palm to show his support.

“You told me you loved that outfit in the shop and now it’s like you could care less about it, and a little birdy told me you’ve been avoiding their advances lately.”

Wow, subtle. Wasn’t anything private in this house?

“So, Mammon talked to you?”

“He might have said something… ♪”

His fingers played with yours in an attempt to soothe you.

“Plllleeaaase don’t be mad at me. I just want to be here for you.”

He pleaded for your forgiveness.

“Come on, you know you can talk to me.”

His tone was warm and his smile was inviting, complimenting his already striking features. Fuck he was beautiful…He was always so beautiful. He could pull off anything he wore and even when he thought he didn’t look good, he did. How could you even begin talking to him about what was going on? What would he think?

The words once again struggled to find their way out of your mouth as you attempted to confide in him.

“I-I-I don’t like the way I look.”

Asmo’s face dropped at the meaning of what you said. His hand gripping yours tighter to show his support.

“I-I don't know, I just don’t think I look good in most things.”

Your voice cracked as you held back tears, battling the thoughts in your head. You weren’t quite sure how to explain your issue to Asmo the Avatar of Lust; and rightly self proclaimed the avatar of beauty.

“Like, what would Mammon even think if he saw me naked?”

Tears began to roll down your face as you confessed your fears.

“Oh sweetie…”

He cupped your face into his hands, guiding your gaze to his to show his sincerity.

“That you’re the hottest being he’d ever seen.”

His eyes welled up with tears as he expressed his truth. He could relate to your insecurities; he too felt insecure about his body from time to time. It was constantly a losing game, and it broke his heart to think you were feeling the same.

“I don’t know how to tell you this lovely, but you’re wrong. You're one of the prettiest beings I’ve laid my eyes on.”

The tears he was holding back, slowly began to drip down his face.

“Before you, I’ve never met anyone who’s come close to matching my beauty.”

His lips grazed against yours as he resisted the impulse to kiss you; fearing it may tarnish his intentions.

“And, I’ve been to 3 worlds.”

Pulling you into his comforting embrace, he rubbed his hands up and down your back in an attempt to soothe your stress.

“MC, I’m obsessed with the way you look, almost as much as I’m obsessed with the way I do. I wouldn’t want you to change it for the world. We are easily the hottest couple to walk down the streets of the Devildom and our presence together is unmatched.”

His voice rang softly into your ear, as he snuggled you tighter into his arms.

“You are so attractive. And I think anyone would be lucky to see you naked.”

Releasing you from his embrace, he settled down next to you. Guiding your head to rest against his shoulder.

“Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and I don’t even want to leave the house.”

Taking in a breath of air to stifle the remaining tears he had left; he attempted to connect with you.

“I don’t always feel pretty either…”

He gently massaged the top of your head, slowly easing you both to sleep.

“...As shocking as that may seem.”

Leaning back, you both rested on each other in silence; the sweet aroma of tea and perfume comforting your spiraling thoughts.

💰💰💰💰💰

It was the middle of the night when Asmo was awoken by the buzz of his phone.

“Yo!”

“Hey!”

“I know ya seein this!”

“Asmo!”

“Ya betta not be doin’ anything funny with MC.”

“Ya suppose to be helpin’ me out dontcha forget!”

“Imma just message ya till ya respond.”

Tiredly Asmo attempted to respond, only to be interrupted by an incoming call from Mammon.

Hitting the reject button before the sound could disrupt your sleep he followed up with a text.

“Calm down sweetie, I got your answer.”

Chapter 3: Irresistible Attraction

Sitting up on your bed, you checked your phone…nothing. Mammon hadn’t talked, texted or seen you since that night and you wondered how long it would be until he did. It was unlike him to stay upset with you for this long, usually by now he would have at the very least come up with an excuse to talk to you.

But, maybe he didn’t want to talk to you anymore.

Maybe Asmo reported back to Mammon like you suspected he would.

And, Maybe Mammon decided that he was done with you.

Ugh, the thought of that put a pit in your stomach. Closing the messenger app, you switched to Devilgram; hoping the endless scroll would drown out your unwanted thoughts.

“Are you blind or just stupid!?”

The sound of Mammon’s voice bursting into the room startled you.

“I hear ya don’t think ya look good?”

He slammed the door behind himself as he made his way towards the bed.

“I don’t know where ya got that dumb idea from, cause it ain’t true. I mean look at ya…”

His hand gestured in the air to check out your body as he questioned the information as though he got it wrong.

“...You’re the fuckin hottest.”

Plopping down at the foot of the bed, he continued.

“Like, how can ya even think that?”

Mammon was at a loss. He checked you out for a moment to try to imagine what you saw. But he couldn’t, he could never think of you as unattractive. Was your mirror in your room broken or somethin?

“What? Do ya gotta hear me say it?”

In all honesty, you did. It was hard to say it to yourself sometimes and how did you know Mammon actually did feel that way? Nodding your head yes, your words came out as a whisper.

“Yeah…”

It was embarrassing to answer him. But, it was even more embarrassing for him to answer you.

“Yo, like, really?”

He shifted in his spot to expel anxiety.

“I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

But he did want to. He just couldn’t get out of his own thoughts long enough to…oh.

The correlation between your feelings became clear to him.

Truth be told, Mammon didn’t want to tell you all that stuff, because what were you going to think of him? He can’t be soft and sensitive; he was a demon after all and that wasn’t cool.

But, you not knowing how attractive he found you, that also wasn’t cool. Looking away, he rubbed the back of his neck to soothe his nerves, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“I think ya look pretty amazin’.”

His confession was unpoetic but genuine.

“Like, really amazin’…”

He paused nervously between his words.

“...I can’t stop looking at ya.”

His hands and eyes gestured towards you in an expressive motion that attempted to get you to see what he saw.

Leaning beside you on the bed, he rested on his arm; as he continued his monologue.

“Like, ya know those statues we learned about in human world history? The ones that are usually naked and shit?”

the Greek ones? Confused about where this was going, you continued to listen to Mammon as he attempted to clarify his motives.

“Yeah, ya make me think of those. Because like, they're pretty and stuff.”

“I remember hearin’ from Lucifer that they were known for their ‘natural beauty’ or some shit and it made me think about how they’re a lot like you.”

His heart rate began to pick up as he went on, his eyes checking out your body.

“I don’t know what to tell ya MC…”

His cock tightened his pants.

“I think ya fuckin’ hot”

Blush lit up his face as he swallowed the feelings of his arousal; his gaze returning back to yours.

“Besides, ya betta stop insultin’ me. The Great Mammon doesn’t just stare at anything, ya know?”

His hand cupped your face; the flat of his thumb sensually rolling over the softness of your lips.

“So, cut it out with this ‘I don’t look pretty,’ trash.”

His words aimed to disprove you as his face leaned closer to yours.

“Cause ya are pretty…”

He kissed your lips. Pulling away to berate you once more.

“...Stupid….”

With his face just a few inches away from yours, his eyes begged asked for another kiss. To which you responded with your lips against his. The validation of your interest re-igniting the weeks of tension that had built up between the two of you.

Rolling you into the mattress, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moans of ecstasy as they escaped your lips.

Oh how badly he'd been wanting you. And the feeling of your body writhing underneath his told him just how much you wanted him too.

Steadying himself onto his knees between your legs, he removed his shirt; following it up by sliding yours up and over your breasts; purposely keeping the fabric on to accommodate your comfort.

He took a moment to admire your body as it laid before him, his hands caressing up and down your shape.

“I ain’t got a clue what you see, Treasure.”

His words reassured you of his unconditional attraction.

“Because ya body is bangin’”

Resting his hands on either side of your head, he leaned in; kissing the skin of your neck.

Small whimpers of desire escaped your lips as he worked his way down the front of your body. The temperature of his labored breaths, only adding to the already tantalizing sensation.

Your fingers desperately clutched at his hair as he sucked the top of your breasts, leaving small marks of possession.

Continuously he made his way down, his lips appreciating every part of your body they came across, until he was stopped by the waistband of your pants.

Biting the fabric, he pulled at the top with his teeth, using his hands to assist him in sliding them over your ass and off your body.

Damn. He thought, as he checked you out. What was it ya didn’t like?

He growled as he nipped at the skin of your calves, pecking his way back up to your neck. His body pressing up against yours as he leaned in. The bulge of his pant’s applying pressure to your sensitive clit.

“Yo, ya gotta stop doin’ this to me…”

You moaned as you felt him twitch. The wetness from your arousal seeping through his pants.

“Ya know it’s hard for a Demon to resist somethin’ like you.”

Fully succumbing to his sin; he balanced on one arm to release his cock. You whimpered as it rested against your swollen cunt, slowly being rocked by the movement of his returning kiss.

Thrusting his hips, Mammon’s shaft continued to tease your folds. The repeated friction teetering you on the edge.

Fuck! You thought. The ache between your legs was insufferable. And with each sway of his hips it was only getting worse.

Instinctively you pulled him in, grinding back in an attempt to keep it going. Fuck, he felt so good, you were so close, you could just…

The tip of Mammon’s cock slid inside you by mistake; causing you both to let out moans that could be heard from outside of the room.

Re-orienting himself, he swayed barely an inch into your entrance; stimulating all the sensitive nerves that resided there. Your body trembled as he teased the most shallowest parts of your vagina.

Mammon was greedy in every way, and that included when it came to your pleasure. In this moment; every moan, movement, and gasp that came from you was his, and only his; and nothing tempted his sin more.

Stepping off the bed, Mammon pulled you to the edge; positioning your legs on either side of his waist to give himself more control.

His heart raced as he slid himself back into you, both your bodies shaking with euphoria as he slowly worked himself in and out, gradually increasing his depth. The adrenaline that was rushing through the both of yous was no longer able to be ignored.

Tilting your hips to reach the correct angle, Mammon filled you with his length, growling as his hips met yours.

You tightened your thighs together as he thrusted deep into you, grinding his curve up against your g-spot. Your pussy twitching around him as he controlled the rhythm of his hips.

Purposely he maintained a speed that was less than you wanted; indulging in the whimpers of your desires. Leaning his hands on the bed, he lost himself in the image of your body, mesmerized by the beauty of your motions below him.

He was so in love with you, he couldn’t believe it. He’d pleasure you all day if you’d let him, but he knew he couldn’t because eventually your human body would give up.

Finally giving you what you wanted, he steadied his motion; rocking hard and consistently against your spot. At this point, being aroused was painful.

Please Please Please. You begged in your mind. You couldn't take it any more. Out of breath and dizzy you clawed into his back to try to release some of your torturous pleasure.

“Come on, Treasure.”

Mammon cheered you on through his labored breaths. You both were reaching sexual exhaustion. You had played this game too long.

“Come on, MC.”

He gritted his teeth, carefully keeping the pace of his motion.

“Oh yes, like that.”

You praised him to make sure he would continue.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You were so fucking close!

Wrapping your legs around him you grinded hard onto your g-spot. The deep pressure stimulating your clit.

“I-I-m, gonna…”

Your moans rang through the room as you came; the warm sensation of your orgasm pushing him dangerously over the edge.

Pulling out, Mammon wrapped his hand around his cock and stroked; releasing himself onto your stomach.

“Fuck, I fucking love you treasure.”

His hands once again resided on either side of your head as he caught his breath. Time felt as if it froze as the two of you attempted to center yourself. Mammon’s hair brushing past your face acting as your anchor.

Stepping out of his pants, Mammon dropped to his forearms to kiss your lips; rubbing his thumbs caringly over the top of your forehead.

“I love you, MC.”

He kissed your lips again.

“And there ain’t anythin’ in this world that could get me to stop.”

His eyes gazed into yours to show his sincerity. Kissing your lips a few more times, he began to return back to reality.

He winced as he noticed the cold stickiness of his cum between the two of you.

Standing up, he looked around the room for a rag, settling on his shirt by the foot of the bed; he cleaned you up and wiped himself off; tossing it to the side when he was done.

He assisted you under the sheets, following in after you. Laying down, he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping his arm around your back to keep you close. The feeling of your heart beating against his side relaxed him.

He could have stayed like this forever. He never wanted to leave you. Not now, not ever. The last couple of weeks without you were lonely like he had never known and he was glad to have you back in his arms.

Mammon may not have understood exactly what made you feel this way, but he was more than happy to remind you how much he loved you time and time again if it would help.

Kissing your forehead, he snuggled you even tighter, falling asleep to the faint sounds of your tired breaths.

Original Prompt (paraphrased):

Mammon and MC are sitting in his room and he tries to do it with her a lot but they keep stopping him. One day he gets mad and asks Asmo for help so Asmo asks Mc what the reason is. They tell him that she feels insecure about her body, and he comforts her and when Asmo tells Mammon about it, he goes to her and makes love to them.

#obey me #obey me nsft #obey me smut #obey me fluff #obey me mammon #obey me x reader #prompt #Reader requested #obey me fanfic

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giannan04 · 4 months ago

Note

Can you please do a part two to the Jungwon one shot you wrote!🩷

Ask and you shall receive! A few people asked me to make a part two to my Jungwon X F! Reader one shot (https://www.tumblr.com/giannan04/760529750415589376/i-neeeed-panty-fucking-with-jungwon-ill-love) and I was thinking of writing a part two, I just didn’t know how much people would like the first part! I’m so thankful for everyone who supports my writing!🫶🏻

⬇️Part one is listed here ⬇️

Pairing: Best-friend’s brother Jungwon x F! Reader

Genre:Slight bad boy x good girl trope, smut. Best-friends brother

Warnings: SMUT! Cursing (F word is thrown around a lot), God’s name said in vain like twice (I’m a Christian 😭) choking, p in v, cream-pie!, unprotected sex (WRAP IT UP Y’ALL), oral sex (f! Receiving), choking, that’s about all I can think of.

MINORS, DO NOT INTERACT!🔞

You were always the perky cheerleader, dedicated to your academics and looking forward to college—just like your best friend, Niki. Everyone thought you two would end up together, especially since you were the head cheerleader and he was the quarterback of the football team. Jungwon, Niki's older brother, never let you forget that. He teased you constantly for being a “goody-goody”, for being just like Niki. But Jungwon was different. He was the bad boy who didn’t care about school, dropped out early because he was next in line to inherit their parents' pharmaceutical company (it would’ve been Niki, but he wanted to be a doctor), and spent his time smoking, drinking & partying, and bringing a string of different girls home every week—-much to the annoyance of Niki and his parents. Deep down, you always knew Jungwon wasn’t good for you, but something about him drew you in, even if you couldn’t stand his teasing, low-key flirting.

——-

It had been hours since Jungwon fucked you (and your panties), leaving you breathless and wanting more. The heat of his touch still lingered on your skin, making it hard to focus on anything else. You couldn’t stop thinking about the text he had sent when you finished earlier, the one that made your heart race: ‘See you in my room later. I’ll make sure you cum this time ;)’

You were now in the living room, curled up next to Niki, trying to concentrate on the latest season of ‘Attack on Titan’ but your mind kept drifting back to Jungwon. The way he had touched you, the way he spoke to and took control of your body with such ease—it was all too distracting. Niki, blissfully unaware, sat beside you with his eyes glued to the screen, excited to binge-watch your favorite anime. Every time you even thought about slipping away to Jungwon’s room, Niki would either start the next episode or ask, “Where are you going?” and “Why do you keep getting up?” trapping you in place.

Your phone buzzed again. You glanced down to see a picture of Jungwon’s hand gripping his hard-on. His dick was pressed against his boxer-briefs, begging to be freed. You squirmed on the couch, desperate to get up and leave the living room, but every time you did that, Niki would play the next episode. ‘I’m waiting for you’, the text read. Heat rushed through your body and your stomach fluttered, your body itching to get up and leave, but Niki kept chattering about the show, keeping you in the conversation. You could barely focus. All you could think about was how badly you wanted to be in Jungwon’s room.

Another text came in not long after. ‘Wtf are you doing?’ Jungwon's frustration was obvious, and you quickly typed back: ‘I’m trying to get away from Niki, but it’s hard!’

Minutes ticked by agonizingly slow, feeling like house until finally, Niki groaned, clutching his stomach. “Shit, I shouldn’t have ate so many snacks” he groaned, wincing. He stood up and headed toward the bathroom. “I’m gonna be in there for a while,” he added dramatically, and you watched as he dashed down the hallway.

This was your chance.

Without a second thought, you rushed to Jungwon’s room. The moment you slipped inside, you found him undressed, his lean frame illuminated by the dim light. He turned to you, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Took you long enough,” he drawled, eyes raking over your body. “Strip.” He ran his tongue over his lips in anticipation.

You hesitated, suddenly shy, your hands trembling slightly as you stood by the door. ‘Why am I so nervous?’ you thought. ‘It’s not like we haven’t done this earlier… but still…’ Your mind raced. ‘What if he doesn’t like what he sees?’ You couldn’t shake the insecurity that crept in as you stood there, feeling his eyes on you. You couldn’t believe that you acted all impatient earlier just to be nervous in front of him.

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing your hesitation. “What’s the holdup? I already fucked you earlier,” he said, his voice low and teasing, as he smirked at you.

“It’s different this time,” you muttered, tugging at the hem of your pajama shirt. “Before, it was quick… and I still had my cheer uniform on. Now it’s…”

Jungwon rolled his eyes and shrugged his shoulders, clearly unimpressed by your nerves. “It’s not a big deal. Get undressed.” He palmed his erection with impatience.

Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your pants before you finally managed to strip. You stood before him, feeling exposed and vulnerable, your arms crossed over your stomach and chest. ‘Is he really going to like my body?’ The thought kept looping in your mind, but you pushed it aside, trying to focus on the moment. Jungwon’s gaze softened just slightly as he approached you, his eyes trailing up and down your body. He reached out, his fingertips tracing the curve of your waist. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

“Thanks,” you replied shyly, avoiding his intense gaze.

Jungwon didn’t waste any more time. He picked you up effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the bed; you wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders. He laid you down gently, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss. Yet, as his hands roamed your body, he paused, sensing your hesitation. He pulled back, his forehead resting against yours. “What’s wrong now?” he asked, his tone sharp with impatience. “I already told you, you look good.”

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words. “I told you… this is different.”

Jungwon let out an annoyed sigh, running a hand through his hair. “Please stop overthinking it,” he muttered. “Just let me get to work. I wanna make you feel good.” You blushed. You wanted Jungwon. Badly. You knew he was right, you were doing too much overthinking about everything. “Okay.” Jungwon smirked at your response. He lowered back down and began kissing your stomach.

He trailed kisses down your stomach, his lips brushing against your skin as he moved lower. When he reached your core, he didn’t hesitate. He immediately flattened his tongue against your wet pussy lips. Jungwon’s tongue began to explore you, teasing and tasting, making your body writhe with pleasure. His touch was both demanding and tender as he focused on your clit, swirling his tongue and applying pressure. The sensation was almost too much, and you moaned, your hands gripping the sheets. “Oh my fucking God Jungwon. It feels so good.” You moaned louder, your fingers twisting in Jungwon’s hair as you pushed his face deeper inside you.

"Good girl," Jungwon murmured against you, his voice vibrating through your body. "You love this, don't you?" He picked his lips, using them to suck your clit gently.

The pleasure built quickly, and despite your exhaustion from earlier, your body responded eagerly. “Jungwon…I-I’m so close.” Jungwon’s skillful movements drove you to the edge, as he moved his tongue faster, and you cried out as you came, your body trembling under his experienced touch.

Once he was satisfied with your reaction, Jungwon shifted positions, his hands gripping your hips as he entered you from behind in a rough, commanding thrust, the sounds of your wet cunt filling the air. His dick plus the feeling of leftover cum from your last orgasm filled you with so much pleasure. The raw intensity of his movements made you gasp, each thrust hitting deep, relentless and powerful. "You’re so fucking tight," he growled, his breath hot against your ear. "Already came, and you’re still so perfect for me." Hearing him praise you while he fucked you so good left you craving for more. “Oh my god.”

His pace was unforgiving, his hips pounding into you with each stroke. You could feel his balls slapping against your pussy from behind. “I’m going to make sure you feel every inch," he groaned, pushing you further, your body arching and grinding back against him. His movements were punishing, but the pleasure was undeniable, making you cry out with each forceful thrust. “Yes, Won, you fuck me so good!”

Jungwon’s grip tightened on your hips as he felt his own release approaching. "I’m gonna fill you the fuck up," he groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic and frantic. With a final, deep thrust, he came inside you, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm. The warmth of his cum filled you, and he stayed buried inside, panting heavily. The warm cum and his thick cock felt so good inside you, you didn’t even want him to move.

Afterward, Jungwon carefully pulled out, his eyes still intense as he grabbed a warm cloth, which he already had waiting on his dresser. He began to clean you up and you felt the care in his touch. "You did so well," he said, his voice a mix of praise and control. "Such a good girl, taking everything I gave you." You’re murmured softly, that was all you could do. You were laying there spent, made a mess by Jungwon.

He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs as he continued to clean you. "Look at you, all wrecked and perfect," he whispered softly, a teasing edge still present in his voice. "Can’t even move after all that."

He helped you into his arms, covering you with a blanket and pulling you close. His touch was soothing as he rubbed your back, but there was still that familiar sharpness in his tone. "Don’t get too comfortable," he warned with a smirk. "Next time, I won’t be so easy on you."

He pressed gentle kisses to your forehead, his hands lingering on your body in a caring way despite his earlier harshness. "You did great," he whispered, his voice softening. "You’re amazing." You really did like Jungwon. Besides how good he made you feel sexually, you could feel how much he cared for you. And he made you feel good about yourself. But you couldn’t help but wonder if Jungwon saw more in you than just sex.

As you lay there, deep in thought, Jungwon noticed the distant look in your eyes. "What’s on your mind?" he asked, brushing a strand of hair from your face.

You hesitated, feeling a blush creep across your cheeks. "I was just wondering… what does this mean for us? Are we… official, or am I just… your fuck buddy?" You bit your lip nervously and played with your fingers, unable to meet his gaze.

Jungwon rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips as he pulled you closer. "What do you think? You’re my girl," he said confidently, leaning in to kiss you deeply. Before you could respond, he continued, "I’ve always wanted you. It drove me crazy that your little “good-girl” self was too occupied with school and your friendship with Niki to see that."

He looked into your eyes, waiting for your response. "Do you feel the same, despite what you’ve heard about me? I know Niki told you I’m not good enough for you”

You nodded, kissing him back with equal intensity, holding him close. "I do," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity.

Just then, Niki barged into the room. "I knew you guys were fucking!” he exclaimed, giving you both a stern look. "Seriously? I couldn’t even take a shit in peace without hearing everything! And you’re supposed to be my company, Y/N!”

The tension in the air was thick as Niki stared at you, in the same bed as his older brother. You laughed awkwardly, attempting to break the tension. “Um, I’ll be right back down, Niki.”

Niki huffed, rolling his eyes. “So, are you guys like “a thing” now?”

Jungwon smirked mischievously at his younger brother. “Damn right.” He leaned down and kissed you, not caring that Niki was watching. Niki wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Gross”, he said, turning towards the door.

Before he left the room, he looked over his shoulder, directly at Jungwon. “Just make sure you treat her right. I don’t play about Y/n.”

Jungwon held you even tighter, his face nuzzled in your neck. “No shit. I’ll treat her like a princess.”

You couldn’t stop the cheesy smile that tugged at your lips. You knew Niki wanted the best for you, but you had no doubt in your mind that Jungwon was good for you.

——

A/N: Y’all, Jungwon is a DOM and I will die on this hill!😭🫶🏻

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gurugirl · 1 year ago

Note

can you write some sort of blurb where any version of harry is hitting it so hard he’s practically bruising her cervix (totally unrealistic but yk 🤪)

OH MY!! Well, you know I can, hon! Sounds painful but maybe Y/n likes that kind of thing?

And I've got no time to be doing this but I did it anyway 🙈 NOT PROOFREAD NOR EDITED SORRY. Enjoy this filthy, plotless blurb of Harry ruining you with his big cock. 460 words

Warning: SMUT, Reader getting her cervix bruised by husband!harry, rough sex

★★★

There was nothing like it when Harry would come back from long stretches of being away at work. You hated that his job meant you couldn't see him for days or weeks at a time but he always came back to you and absolutely railed the shit out of you until you were drooling and crying and left with a sore pussy and bruised cervix.

Like in that moment. He'd come home an hour ago and he already had you spread out under him, bed creaking and clanking against the wall, and he was groaning in time with his punishing strokes. Filthy words falling from his mouth, "You knew what you signed up for when you married me," he spoke through gritted teeth. "But you want it, don't you baby. Need my hard cock splitting you in half and making you scream."

You cried out and yelped when he punched his cock into you again, roughly pressing in further than he should be, the pinch and crawl of pain that spread over your tummy when his thick crown beat into your cervix. It hurt. It fucking hurt but you wanted it to hurt. You wanted him so bad and you needed to feel that bite of pain so that you knew he was really there. Was finally home with you again.

Sloppy presses of his thick cock sliding into your clenching hole... it was depraved. Dirty.

Harry gripped your neck and pressed you down harder into the bed as he thudded into you, "Filthy girl soaking the comforter because she likes it hard. Likes getting her pussy pounded and her guts rearranged doesn't she?"

You couldn't answer him as you tried to pry your eyelids open, tears filled your eyes as you opened your mouth to respond but only the most pathetic whimper fell from your lips when he gave you a brutal thrust that made your body jolt upward and you felt the snap against the neck of your uterus.

Harry hissed as he felt his cock begin to throb. You gripped him like you were made for him and he could tell you were spent after you'd already come on his cock once.

"Fuck!" He choked out his words as he rammed himself in, holding your body down so he could pump his come deep into your tummy and coat your delicate cervix.

You scrunched your face and tried to wriggle out of his grip but his hands were holding you down as he throbbed inside of you in his release.

A soft smile drew your lips up when he pulled back the slightest to give you relief, his chest heaving.

And it was true. There was nothing like hot welcome home sex with your husband and a bruised cervix after he was done with you. Nothing like his soft kisses and doting attention afterwards. There was nothing like it.

Tags: @michellekstyles @yousunshineyoutempter @tenaciousperfectionunknown @golden-hoax @swiftmendeshoran @luvonstyles @tiaamberxx @lukesaprince @closureesny @justlemmeadoreyou @itsgigikay @angelbabyyy99 @lanadelharry @novasblogofstuff @gills-lounge @damnasstyles @malwtilda @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @0oolookitsme @babybunharry @anothermannharry @love-letters-to-uranus @itjustkindahappenedreally @kelly-fushiguro345 @ssaama @onlyangellucifer @harryistheonlyoneforme @butdaddyilovehim-hs @reveriehs @lc-fics @mema10 @carmenxharry @hannahdressedasabanana @babegoalsreads @icumforbaldrry @lightttt @harrrrystylesslut

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dolphincultleader · 10 days ago

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Woozi being the first person you ever felt comfortable enough with to show your art

T/w- Reader sorta has self esteem issues, a few curses

A/n- Guys i am so sorry for the inactivity. Life has been throwing shit at me nonstop and I was in a horrible place the last week. I managed to get myself together and write this. I hope you enjoy this and I'll try to write more

Word Count- 1027

---

...

You loved to draw. You loved how it expressed feelings that could not be said in words. But in no way did you consider yourself an artist. It was always a silly hobby for you. You never even thought of expanding it into anything more. Showing others what you drew made you feel very silly.

The few months you had been dating Jihoon has been no less than a dream to you. He's just so... perfect. In every way. You truly felt like you had hit the jackpot. Sure, he prioritised his work a lot, but being a workaholic yourself, his habits never bothered you.

You admired him and his confidence. You admired how he could just put words from his mind together and make something so amazing.

You had never wanted to share your art with anyone else because of the fear of being judged. That was until you met Jihoon. He was so wonderful, in every way imaginable. You knew he would never judge you. He'd never criticise you unless you asked for constructive criticism. Being around him was so easy for you. Yet your fear was way too deep engrained

---

Now, as you paced back and forth in front of his studio door, you contemplated everything. What if it's so bad that he can't stop his face from morphing into one of disgust? What if it's so bad that his idea of you, as a person, gets affected.

He wasn't a mean and judgmental asshole, you reasoned with yourself. For god's sake, you were dating this man. You cursed under your breath and you turned away from the door, sketchbook in hand. If it was just a silly hobby then why did it matter so much to you?

You looked at the door again, hesitating.

The door suddenly opened.

Shit.

Jihoon stood at the doorway, phone near his ear, clearly talking to someone. Your widened eyes made you look guilty. What if he thinks you were eavesdropping.

Double shit.

He narrowed his eyes at you, you stood there frozen for the first few seconds. The muffled sound of a woman's voice came from the other side of the phone. You opened your mouth to speak just as his eyes dropped to the sketchbook you clutched to your chest deeply. He met your eyes while you smiled sheepishly. He gestured you to go inside while he left to get something, humming to whoever was on the phone with him.

As you entered his home studio, you let out a breath you didn't realise you were holding. Did he think you were eavesdropping? Fuck. Before you could spiral more, he reemerged in the entryway. Still on the call. His other hand clutched a wattle bottle.

After a few minutes, he bid goodbye and cut the call. He didn't look at you as he settled in his chair. Your mind thought of excuses to leave. He was your boyfriend for fucks sake. Why were you so scared?

You didn't even realise that he had gotten comfortable in his chair and turned to you. He looked over at you with curious eyes.

"Wanna tell me something, love?" He eyes the sketchbook, a teasing emphasis on the word love.

You cleared your throat.

"Well, I uh... want to show you something..." you paused, gawking his reaction. He hummed, amusement displaying in his face. Why the fuck did he look so hot? He waited patiently for you to show him.

You suddenly dropped your head in your hands and groaned.

"Never mind it's dumb" you muttered as you quickly made a beeline for the exit.

He gripped your wrist, preventing you from going. He sure had strength.

"No it isn't. Why don't you show me?"

His voice made shivers run down your spine in the best way known to humanity.

"Promise to not laugh?"

"I can try" he stated, clearing teasing. But the shit eating grin got knocked off his face as soon as he saw your face drop. He raised his hands in surrender.

"Just joking, of course I wont laugh."

You silently handed him one of the many sketchbooks you have. This was your most recent one and your proudest pieces laid here.

You sank to the couch again, head in hands as you heard the sound of pages turning. After a few minutes, you looked up at him.

Motherfucker had a poker face.

You immediate thought was-

He hated them and couldn't think of how to tell you.

And then a smile flashed his stupidly cute face.

"Do you... hate them?" You asked in a soft voice.

That made him look up from the sketchbook, brows shot up at your question.

"What do you mean by 'hate them'?"

"I uh... It's always been just a silly hobby"

He got quiet at that. Just staring at you. The fuck does his guy want?

"For just a silly hobby, you're damn good at it"

Pink tinted your cheeks at that. You were never good with compliments.

"You mean it?"

"Do you have eyes woman?"

You laughed at that.

"No, I am serious. How come I never noticed how talented my baby is?"

"You're the first person I have shown my part to... ever"

His eyes widened in shock and he muttered something silently that sounded a lot like "holy shit".

"You're joking, right?"

"It has always been silly to me..."

He shook his head at that. Placing the sketchbook gently on his desk, he got up and made his way to you. A slight grin playing at his lips. He inched closer to you while having a lovesick look on his face. How the fuck did he get so lucky, he wondered.

He placed his hands on your shoulders, pushing you back as he placed his lips on you. The kiss was so tooth rottingly sweet and gentle that you felt like you could melt. Your lips parted, giving entry to his tongue. After a few moments, you both pulled away, breathless.

"Sometimes I want to shake some sense into you"

"Well, you can fuck some sense into me..."

You knew your words would go straight to his dick.

---

Masterlist

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jewish-vents · 4 months ago

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i’m a teacher and i had a kid draw a swastika in my classroom on like. the second day of school. so one of our admin came in to two of my classes the next day to talk about it. and she started by telling this story about how she had a hijabi student. and a boy in the class was “really curious about what her hair looked like.” and had the students guess what happened next (pulled the hijab off, gross and awful) and how that might have made the hijabi student feel. at this point i’m sitting at my desk like “it’s been five minutes are we going to talk about the swastika” and then she finally goes “yesterday someone drew a symbol that represents division. and hate. and those aren’t things we stand for” and a kid (of course) was like what was it? and this fucking woman turns to me and goes “are you comfortable sharing what it was?”

?????? i thought that’s why you were here?? i thought you were here to explain why swastikas are not okay, and we are seven minutes into your little presentation and you haven’t said the word swastika or even jewish. so i said it was a swastika and several of the kids didn’t know what that was. which was disturbing on its own as i teach middle school but i digress. i said no way in hell am i drawing one so my admin looks at me and is like “could you google a picture?”

can’t believe i did this but i didn’t know what else to do in the moment so i pulled up a google image search of swastikas and projected it on the board. at no point did the admin say “hey you can take that down now” it just sat up there until i got uncomfortable and sick to my stomach enough to close it myself. and then she came back the next period and did the WHOLE song and dance again (no jewish, no antisemitism, not even the word NAZI which is insane to me) and STILL told the opening story about the hijabi girl even with two hijabi girls sitting in the class this time who were clearly uncomfortable.

this was like three weeks ago and it’s been quietly bothering me for a while and i finally told my (nonjewish) work friends about it and they were all like “holy shit that’s so fucked that she asked you to do that” and i told my (jewish) partner and he went “she couldn’t have picked up a fucking marker??” and that was when it really hit me.

maybe she didn’t want to be in a situation where she drew a swastika on a jewish teachers whiteboard. ok. but she apparently didn’t consider the WORSE implications of asking that same jewish teacher to google an image of a swastika and project a google image search of a page FULL of swastikas on her board.

AND she never once checked in with me after that. she left the class without talking to me again and hasn’t said a word about it since. i remember i even asked her “do you want me to leave the room” beforehand because im thinking i don’t want to have to look at swastikas but she asked me to stay because “the impact is real and they need to see it” which. uh. i’ve been pushing this experience down for weeks bc at the end of the day it “wasn’t that bad” but like. holy shit. she really wanted to put my trauma on display for the students instead of just asking me to leave and explaining what a swastika is/showing them one. and it took her nearly ten minutes to get to the actual swastika!! i’m just. so done

#jewish vents #antisemitism #leftist antisemitism

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novalpha · 2 years ago

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𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘯 𝐹𝑖𝑐 𝑅𝑒𝑐𝑠

♡ Fluff || ୨୧ Angst || ★ Smut || ꗃ SMAU || ⌗ Series || ✿ Drabble || ♤ Mature (No smut) || ✹ Humor

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Buy A Boyfriend ♡★⌗ -> @sluttywoozi Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Summary: Being a professional boyfriend on SVTHub is great - all Vernon has to do is respond to a few texts, send out a couple selfies, do a stream every now and then, and he makes enough to cover tuition. Things get a little tricky when he finds himself wishing he actually was your boyfriend.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ By hook or by cross ♡୨୧★ -> @kabira

summary — so you punched a guy, and now he wants you to teach him how to fight, because clearly, you know how to do it better. well, fine, you say. as long as he keeps his distance. (spoiler alert: he doesn’t.)

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ divorce child ♡★ -> @lovelyhan

summary: you like to think that your most recent breakup with vernon ended on relatively good terms. there’s only one issue left to sort out: who’s getting custody of the cat you got together?

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Cold hands, Warm hearts ♡ -> @duhnova

synopsis: this holiday season, your daughter decided the best present she could give to you was a new boyfriend, which is why she and her best friend yujin have taken it upon themselves to play matchmaker. their candidate? yujin’s father.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Operation : Hot girl summer ♡✹★ -> @shuaflix

SUMMARY ▸ the summer you started putting more effort into your appearance also happens to be the summer where vernon chwe's piercing gaze leaves you feeling like you're floating high up in the clouds.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Not a virgin ♡✹★ -> @ncteez

Vernon, a friend of your friend spills his spicy sex life and accidentally reveals to an entire group of near-strangers (including you) that he’s had sex one and a half times and that it was sick.

or the one where despite vernon not being a virgin, he is somehow more of a virgin than an actual virgin.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ High and fucked ★ -> @rubyreduji

summary: hansol is nothing to you but your ex-boyfriend's roommate, but you still find yourself alone with him while you get high together

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Risk it all ★ -> @sluttywoozi

Summary: Vernon's got a crush on his tutor, and everything gets harder when you start wearing thigh high socks. Everything.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ The soulmate service ♡✹୨୧ -> @dkfile

the soulmate service has one purpose: to help those who drew the short end of the stick and ended up without a person to live their forever with. after the heart wrenching realization that the boy you’ve loved since you were thirteen isn’t the one meant for you, you put your love life in the hands of vernon chwe — which, now that you think about it, is probably a very bad idea.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Work husband ♡✹ -> @wondernus

synopsis: falling for the young and flirty high school history teacher is inevitable especially when he pays for your groceries and calls himself your work husband

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Trillium ♡★ -> @beahae

Summary: Vernon is flying in to see his girlfriend. Oh shit, that’s… you. Being away from him for the past few months ago makes it hard for it to feel real, especially after two years of what you both convinced yourselves was a purely platonic friendship. Now that he’s here in the flesh, you are determined to make it feel real. And very non-platonic.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Say you love me (i love you) ♡✹ -> @viastro

synopsis: three heavy words. you’re so used to saying this to the one person that’s always been by your side, because you know that he’s your other half; platonically. these words have always held some sort of meaning whenever you say it to vernon, in hopes that maybe one day he’ll say it back to you.

❙❘❙❙❘❙❚❙❘ ⌕ Distraction ♡✹★ -> @minghaoyoudoin

summary: typically, when a person’s house smells like fire, you call the fire department. when your house smells like fire, you know it’s because Vernon is cooking.

[ More Vernon fic recs will be updated ]

Want more Seventeen fic recs? -> Click here

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melancholicstation · 19 days ago

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𓊆ྀི󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠󠀠 ARCHITECTURAL DIGEST: OPEN DOOR! - a jack schlossberg one-shot. 𓊇ྀི

summary: your open door architectural digest interview with your husband jack schlossberg takes an unexpected, and downright sensual turn in your shared kitchen over the most innocuous citrus fruit. note: this is part of the husband!jack schlossberg universe, here are other works with wife!reader and husband!jack: like an american, husband!jack hc's, and comfort husband!jack hc's

warnings: orgasm denial (male), cunnilingus, smut, 18+

words: 1,830

"Hi AD, We're Jack and Y/n, welcome to our house"

Filming for Architectural Digest, as glamorous as it might look from the illustrious glow of a MacBook screen, was not all it cracked up to be. AD had been relentless in their pursuit, contacting both you and jack's agents on more than one occasion proposing the opportunity for you guys as a couple to be featured on their open door celebrity series.

Initially as a couple you had turned the opportunity down, with Jack working tirelessly on the campaign and you being busy with negotiations on your new book deal: it just wouldn't have worked. But after your wedding, which was featured in Vogue, the title "The Bride Wore Vintage John Galliano And The Groom Wore JW Anderson. Inside Their Cape Cod Ceremony" The open door offer came around once again and it came at just the perfect time.

A few weeks back you and Jack had been getting back into the grove of normal life after returning from an illustrious three week honeymoon in the Greek Cyclades: a honeymoon spent in mostly nothing—bar itty-bitty specs of linen as makeshift bikini's, and gucci by tom ford beachwear.

Getting back to AD, you'd woken up before Jack: which was funny because when you first entered the relationship Jack was always the one who got up early, maybe you've been a bit of a bad influence in that department. Nevertheless you spend about five to ten minutes neglecting to wake Jack up: instead opting to trace the sepia hairs littering the top of his neck while quietly leering at his chest hair—looking like an absolute creep, but I mean, he was your husband after all so—that's gotta minus at least 15% of the pervy factor, right?

When he did wake up—and subsequently clocked your staring contest with his chest, he proceeded to lean over like a total and utter drama queen to piously cover himself with the sheets like a 30s model getting a tasteful nude portrait of herself to give to a lover.

You neglected to do any makeup only choosing to smear some P50 lotion on you and Jack's face—you swore he was like a toddler sometimes always wanting to mirror whatever weird shit you put on your face. Once the hair, makeup, and stylist team for AD got there you and Jack were effectively separated for the next few hours, which you did not hear the end of via jack's incessant complaints about the distance between him and you over iMessage and many, many unhinged gif selections sent to your iPhone.

But alas, you two were reunited for the open door interview and it started off generally normal...

First, you two were situated on the front steps of your townhouse and asked when and why you chose the house,

Jack started for you, "We moved here about five years ago, and it was the second house we both had looked at ever in our whole lives, and it so happens that it was the first house we ever bought as a couple"

"Seems clandestine to me", the interviewer cheerily replies to which you both glance at each other playfully while he speaks.

Taking the hint to speak up, you share what drew you to the home adding, "I love the city, but I also love wood and I love light and I love antiques, so I just fell in deep love with the place. For us it struck the perfect balance of being in the city while not feeling like the city was breathing down your back all the time, it can be hard to find a place like that here."

Making your way into the apartment, you and Jack were told to take a short break for about 2 minutes while the videographer got a good layout of the place, and scoped out the best lighting angles to capture it.

Your home occupies the first floor of a Meatpacking District block, and is a few blocks away from the Hudson River—which more than encourages your Husband's borderline addiction to paddle boarding. But, hey you routinely get to see your man walking home in an ultra-tight swimsuit sopping wet, so who were you really to complain about such things?

Despite loving the city, you found yourself devoted to the charm of those old French farmhouse interior's that you'd looked at in your mom's old magazines. And it felt particularly poignant to you guys as a couple—being that your first couple of dates were in the south of France.

You and Jack didn't want the space to come off as just another midcentury modern sterile, ultra-functional flat. So, you opted for sheetrock to be removed from the walls and ordered a large pair of antique door double doors for the living space off 1stdibs.

Just as abruptly as the break had started, it subsequently finished and the cameras began rolling once again. The interview dragged on until you two had finally gotten to the kitchen which was the last room and the last portion of interview.

You started the space off absolutely waxing poetic about the olive-coloured room,

"This is our little kitchen, we painted it horribly together. And then needed to implore a professional painter to fix our many, many painting faux pas." you take a breath to giggle slightly with Jack at your shared delusional confidence that you could paint a whole room successfully.

It was then Jack's time to pitch in, while the camera man did a slow zoom across the decor littering the marbled countertops—causing you and Jack to both notice a certain stone bowl containing a citrus fruit that you know for certain neither of you put there before AD came. Weird you thought, you weren't notified that set-dressing came with the interview.

Leaning on the counter Jack laments, "I love baking, I cook a lot too. I love limes"—to which he dramatically takes a lime into his hands, spinning it between his large fingers, "They're great and I love them so much, and I like to present them like this in my house."

You try not to let the emotion of total bafflement present on camera at Jack straight up lying for the hell of it about the limes being an integral part of your shared household decor—he neglects to mention that they're set dressing and that he's moderately allergic to them.

Closing of the interview you fake lead the interviewer out of the house to close out the interview, only to let them back in seconds later. The interviewer, Mark, who seems to be a genuinely sweet guy thanks you and Jack for your time, informing you that the crew should be packed up in 10 minutes, and the camera guy only needs another 5 minutes to get b-roll footage.

Once all the pleasantries have been fulfilled you lead, or rather playfully drag Jack by his crisp collared Prada button-up into your kitchen.

"Jack, I mean seriously what the hell was that, truly? I know you know you're allergic."

"M'sorry it was just too good not to pass up! I mean what kind of weirdos just but a bowl of lemons out and nothing else? it's barbaric just from a feng-shui standpoint alone!"

"Godd you're such a weirdo. Come kiss me and make it quick so I can forgot that very fact, please" you beckon him to you, placing your chin on his chest with your hands on his chin. Which, by the way is blemish-less—god, you absolutely hated men sometimes.

"Oh come on! you only kiss me cause I'm a weirdo, let's be real." Jack chuckles yet fulfils your request. He kisses you like a man starved which was quite concerning since you had only parted from him today for two hours—absolute max.

The intimacy got more and more heated until well... maybe you currently had your loafer clad feet either side of jack's head while he ate his idea of a mid-afternoon desert.

The very motion of Jack placing the flat side of his tongue against your clit sent you into an absolute. fucking. meltdown. To the point where the moans you made no longer represented someone who was cognisant that they're were about fifteen people working for AD rooms away. You try to compose yourself, which provides a stark contrast to his relentless endeavour on your clit that seem to be ever increasing.

As if to praise your restraint of volume his thumb gently strokes the inside of your thigh—up and down... and up and down. Sensing your impending climax Jack speeds his motions and adds a digit that outright seems to antagonise you—almost trying to tease a mind-numbing orgasm from you. And because you're weak in the face of his machinations, you of course do.

On your come-down you notice a glaring visitor—a quite large bulge in his pants and decide to take pity on it and by looking at the saccharine, loopy look on his face, him as well.

But you wouldn't be yourself if you didn't make him work for it at least a bit.

Continuing your motions on his bulge: feeling it's twitches and reflexes as intimately as you feel him breath while sleeping on your chest at night—

That was until the door to the kitchen was knocked upon,

"Sorry to be a bother but could you guys get that bowl of limes?—the crew is absolutely swamped trying to pack up for the road."

It was at this point in your movements on his bulge that Jack was starting to get loud, a bit too loud for your current situation, so you did the one thing that could shut him up—bar actually suspending the current movements on his mound: but that wouldn't be half as much fun would it?

Quick thinking led you to quite forcefully shoving a medium sized un-cut lime into his mouth to drown out his moans: it sure as shit worked but his puppy dog-like eyes made you feel bad for your prior roughness—you settled on a quick caress of his hair as a pseudo apology.

"Oh of course it's no trouble at all, we'll go grab it now!"

Hearing the footsteps move further and further from the kitchen you glance at Jack: a pitiful, overstimulated sight really. But a sight you deeply enjoy no less.

Picking up the bowl of lemons you grab his hands, afixing each hand to a parallel side of the stone bowl,

"Why don't you go give them back that bowl of limes you love so much and then maybe we can get back to what we were doing?"

Overcome from the intense stimulation Jack nods, willing to do anything that brings him present relief,

"Good boy" you coy, swiping off your own juices from his mouth and chin, then finally taking the un-cut lime out of his mouth.

tags: @obsessedwithjohnjr @candyneckl6ce @rocker-chick-7 @ultr4v1ol3nt @violetharmonsfavgf @strip-weather-forecast @darcyspirits @fortheloveofjos @h-l-v-kennedy-blog @h-l-vlovesvintage @bluelancergirl @snowsgames @salvatoresablondie @dulcegal @kennedyism @bloxholden35 @kimcrystal123 @absurdlyvintage @jackiesgirl @chemicalw0rld @remotewatch @starsprangledgirl @strryhaze @beloved-angel

#12 days of melancholicstation #husband!jack #wife!reader #jack schlossberg fanfiction #jack schlossberg imagines #jack schlossberg imagine #jack schlossberg x reader #jack schlossberg x you #rpf #political rpf #kennedy fanfic #kennedy fanfiction #kennedy rpf #jack schlossberg rpf

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