#i will not stop thinking about this thing ever i think
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alex-procrastinates · 14 hours ago
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pls click see more i spent like an hour writing these tags
This links to a wheel with nearly a hundred fic tropes for plots, settings, and more. Spin it twice.
This could also work with art inspiration, but the buttons only allow for so many characters on them. And please do ramble in the tags! I'm going to have no idea what most of you are talking about, and it's going to be great.
#fluff and domesticity and grief/mourning#ASTERIX 50 YEARS IN THE FUTURE BABY#idk if i can do it well but DAMN i am THINKING about what the beginning of book 34 could have been like#first of all: getafix and geriatrix don't survive to like age 150 or whatever#valuaddetax and the venerable druid come to give getafix a proper druid funeral and valuaddetax ends up staying#he cant make the magic potion but he helps with a lot of things#the romans dont attack much anymore but the countryside is full of bandits who keep bothering the village#asterix has trained picanmix to become the next village warrior#but he has spent the last 3 decades fighting tooth and nail against the idea of retiring#these days though he stays out of it more often than not#his back is really starting to get to him#obelix is about as strong as ever but his fortitude is starting to wane#his knees struggle to bear his weight and he just can't run that fast or jump that high anymore#in his early forties he ends up meeting a nice strong girl who makes a mean boar soup#and they have two children and their children have children#to the grandkids asterix is 'uncle asterix' and he'll tell them stories for hours of his and obelix's old adventures#unhygienix and fulliautomatix's kids have finally stopped arguing and now they have family dinners together#their dads complain about it but everyone knows they're happy#and it hurts sometimes to remember the simple old days#asterix wishes he could protect the village like he used to#no one can bring themselves to pack up much of getafix's stuff#but it's all right for a while#until asterix wakes up one morning and obelix is still and cold beside him#no breath and no pulse#the potion having finally worn off in his sleep#and something in asterix breaks#by the time they'd normally be helping obelix's wife fix lunch he can finally get words out#and he asks the golden sunlight streaming through the window#“is he in the land of youth now? is he happy?”#and something pushes on his heart that “no. not really. he wanted to stay with you.”
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isa-ghost · 2 days ago
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Maybe this is extremely incorrect or narrow of me to think in some way, but
When you learn about Hitler's takeover in school, I feel like you always imagine it being so much bigger, even bigger than it already was, like more... I don't know how to explain it. Like it stopped every single other aspect of life for everyone ever. Because like. Y'know, gigantic historical event. Like unfathomable degrees of impact on a global scale, even if that was only the case after years of damage.
And yet here we (Americans) are, living through something that has terrifying amounts of parallels to the start of all that, and like... Nope. Life doesn't freeze, not everyone feels an instant tangible change for the worst. People are still living out their daily lives, doing whatever their version of mundane life is, whether it's working for less than minimum wage at a shitty retail job, doomscrolling on the toilet at home, seeking out somewhere to stay warm and safe, etc.
Like no matter what life is like for them, everyone is acutely aware one way or another that this is happening and ongoing, but chances are it probably isn't completely derailing their average day (I'm having a hard time wording this in a way that emphasizes there's an element of privilege involved in this and keeps the people who will be impacted ASAP by things like ICE raids and such in mind but the sentiment is there, sorry).
Like. This is the next 4 years of our lives. I'm a poor, queer, neurodivergent woman. And I'm still more privileged than some people despite being quadruple disadvantaged (for a lack of better term). But I feel like I'm living a death sentence despite that privilege. And you'd think that, given I feel that way, what's happening today and will be happening for the next 4 years would feel more real than it does right now? Like I wouldn't be sitting in my home completely objectively fine, casually posting here on Tumblr feeling existential and spending an embarrassing amount of time trying to word what I'm thinking in a way that isn't/doesn't feel ignorant in some way.
But no. We're on the precipice of god knows what and it's not consuming very single American's life including mine in every single conceivable way like how you (or at least I, I guess) imagine it was for every single person back before/during WWII.
I dunno, I guess I'm just really feeling like this meme right now.
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And it's all only made worse by the fact that like. The election was rigged (said by Trump himself btw) and there are a million other blatantly obvious reasons this shouldn't be happening. And yet it is. Like not only do we have to endure unimaginable amounts of dread for years to come, but we have the knowledge that this should not be happening to begin with but everything is so fucked up and the people that could do something to stop it are so fucking stupid and only out for themselves that it's happening anyway.
Edit: Can't believe I have to add this, but zionists and neo-nazis get the fuck out of here. Please choke to death, actually.
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lamefish · 1 day ago
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kento nanami is an anniversary man. nsfw
you think it's sweet, how he has the date of big events in his life on memory. when it's a loss, he'll take the day off to remember, with his head in your lap as he tells stories of whomever has passed. you listen intently, ask questions about them and watch as your husband recounts every good thing about a person.
he celebrates the good, too. almost excessively. the date you met is circled on the calendar, and kento will wake you up with breakfast in bed and a day of doting to show you just how important this anniversary is to him. you turned his world upside down in the best of ways, and what kind of man is he if not one to celebrate the light in his life?
of course, your wedding anniversary too. it's the one he goes all out for: more often than not you put a weekend aside to take a trip and spend some uninterrupted time together. you'll act as newlyweds again, because you still feel like newlyweds despite the passing years, and you'll be reminded over and over just how lucky you are to have found your soulmate in a man like kento nanami.
a man who is sentimental, and so very in love with you. and also celebrates the first time you had sex.
that first year, he had spent the day doting on you so profusely that you were convinced he was going to propose. he was pulling out all of the stops, taking you out fopr an expensive meal, dosing you with fine wines and so many kisses you could get drunk off the taste of him alone. he took you home, ran you a scented bath and took care of the house while you relaxed.
and of course the night ended in mind blowing sex—as your nights usually do. he had insisted on fucking you in missionary despite his recent penchant for taking you from behind and, once he has ripped two orgasms from you and was working on your third, he let it slip.
“we made love for the first time a year ago today,” he whispers against your lips, cock pulsing inside of you as he reaches deep inside of you. “just like this—looking into each others eyes, three orgasms from you, two from me. fell in love with you that night, do you know that honey?”
“you kept track of the day?” you cant finish your sentence without a moan breaking from your throat. “kento, you’re something else.”
“of course i did. it’s an important date, reaching such intimacies—feeling these beautiful velvet walls of yours for the first time… i’ll never forget it.”
you laugh, though it’s quickly swallowed by a kiss from your lover. he rocks his hips into you, feels every inch of his veiny cock disappear inside. he looks down to watch himself sink into you, though his gaze his brought back when you speak.
“three.”
kento blinks. “three what?”
“orgasms from you. you said you had two, but you came a third time right at the end—i milked you dry and you were so sex-drunk and exhausted but you insisted on making me food.” you reach down and grab his hand, the one that had been cupping at your chest, and hold it up for him to see the gentle scar that runs across his thumb. “you cut yourself slicing the bread because i fucked you mindless.”
it comes back to him in gentle flashes. you had, in fact, milked him of a third release. he had just been so out of his mind with nerves and pleasure that the memory had washed itself clean from his mind. he scolds himself mentally for ever daring to forget a detail about being intimate with you, but smiles.
“i remember,” he says. “you told me sex made you hungry so i wanted to incorporate it into your aftercare…”
“silly man,” you wrap your legs around his waist and lick your ankles behind him. with a gentle nudge, he’s forced that tiny bit deeper inside of you. “my silly man.”
kento moans—his eyes flutter shut and his lips catch between his teeth. he adores you—he really does. so much so that the sheer memory of his first time with you is quickly becoming too powerful of a memory to have.
and you, his beautiful other half, laid beneath him with lustful eyes and parted lips, smile up at him. “are we recreating our first time, ken? is that what this is?”
he nods, a little wordless as he tries to keep his mind straight.
“then i think you know what i’m going to do to you, my love.”
he smiles. “milk me for all i have. it’s all yours anyways.”
you lean up and kiss him. it’s slow, gentle, like your first kiss with him was. you taste him wholly on your lips and thank all the divine beings that may exist for putting such a man in your life’s trajectory. his cock twitches inside of you, he fills you out so perfectly.
still, you smile as you roll your hips up to meet his. “just let me handle the aftercare this time.”
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lizziesangel · 2 days ago
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heyyy, could you do a one shot of rafe x high maintenance!kook!reader, about her expensive skinncare routine and rafe is just so in love of how well she takes cares of herself but at the same time like "90 dollars of this shit????" and reader is just "yeah😁 it has collagen, you should try it"
absolutely love this!!
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the night had been perfect—rafe made sure of it. dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town, with white tablecloths and a wine list so long it came in a leather-bound book. he didn’t even blink at the check, sliding his card over with the confidence of someone who did this all the time. the drive home was just as good, you sitting in the passenger seat, admiring your new nails under the streetlights, the soft hum of the radio in the background.
“seriously, rafe, aren’t they gorgeous?” you asked, holding your hand up to catch the faint glow of the dashboard lights. “look at the shine. and the shape? absolutely perfect. they even feel sturdier this time, like they’re not going to chip in two weeks.”
he glanced over briefly, his lips tugging into a lazy smile. “yeah, they look good. but you’ve said that, like, twenty times already.”
“and i’ll say it twenty times more, you’re the one who paid for them,” you pointed out, inspecting them again. “you should be happy i’m obsessed with them.”
“oh, i’m happy,” he said, turning into the driveway. “just wondering if i’m gonna hear about them all week.”
“probably,” you teased, stepping out of the car.
the conversation didn’t stop there. even as you followed him upstairs, you were still gushing.
“seriously, though, rafe. i think this might be my favorite set ever. they’re just so clean and classy.”
“yeah, they’re nice,” he said, pulling his shirt off as he walked into the bedroom. “good thing you didn’t go with that neon pink idea you showed me.”
“it was bubblegum pink, and it was cute!” you argued, crossing your arms.
“sure, babe,” he said with a smirk, falling onto the bed. “bubblegum pink’s cute.”
rolling your eyes, you walked over to the mirror, sighing at your reflection. “ugh, i have to take my makeup off first.”
rafe propped himself up on one elbow, watching you. “can’t you just… skip it?”
you turned to him, horrified. “skip it? baby, do you know what that would do to my skin?”
“no, but i’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” he teased, flopping onto the bed and pulling the blanket up.
you ignored him, grabbing your skincare bag and heading to the bathroom. after what felt like forever, you finally emerged, your face clean of makeup, wearing your silk robe.
rafe was lying in bed, one arm behind his head, watching you with a mixture of impatience and amusement.
“you know what we should get?” you asked, your tone casual.
he raised an eyebrow. “what?”
“a vanity.”
rafe blinked at you. “a what?”
“a vanity,” you repeated, walking over to sit cross-legged on the bed.
“why would we need a vanity?”
“so i can do my makeup and skincare in the bedroom instead of going to the bathroom every time,” you explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
rafe gestured vaguely toward the open bathroom door. “the bathroom’s literally right there.”
you rolled your eyes, scooting closer to him. “yeah, but i’d rather be in here with you.”
he groaned, but there was no missing the fondness in his voice when he said, “you’re unbelievable.”
“and you love me for it,” you said with a grin.
he chuckled softly, pulling you closer for a quick kiss before turning back to his phone. shaking your head with a smile, you stood and padded back to the bathroom, ready to start your skincare routine.
as you began massaging a cleanser onto your face, you heard footsteps behind you. glancing in the mirror, you saw rafe leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.
“what are you doing?” you asked, surprised but pleased.
“figured i’d see what all the hype’s about,” he said, smirking.
you laughed, turning back to the sink. “all right, pay attention.”
he stayed quiet, watching as you worked.
“first step,” you began, holding up the bottle. “oil-based cleanser. this gets rid of all the makeup and sunscreen.”
“so that’s why your face looks all shiny now?”
“exactly,” you said, rinsing it off. “next step: water-based cleanser. it makes sure everything’s actually gone.”
“seems like overkill,” he muttered, but his eyes stayed on you as you lathered up the second cleanser.
“it’s not,” you insisted, rinsing and patting your face dry with a towel. “now, toner. it balances your skin’s pH and preps it for the rest of the products.”
“you’re making this up,” he said, shaking his head.
“i’m not,” you said with a laugh, grabbing a small bottle. “next is serum. this one’s hydrating—it has hyaluronic acid.”
“whatever that is,” he said, leaning in a little closer.
“it’s amazing,” you said, patting the serum into your skin. “then comes eye cream. dab it under your eyes to keep them hydrated.”
“you have young skin,” he pointed out. “why do you need all this anti-aging stuff?”
“prevention is key,” you said simply, dabbing the cream under your eyes. “next, lip mask. it keeps your lips soft overnight.”
“lip mask?”
“yes, rafe. just trust me.”
he chuckled, watching as you smoothed the mask over your lips. “what’s next?”
“retinol,” you said, holding up a small tube. “but i only use it once a month.”
“why bother, then?”
“because it’s good to start early!” you said, smoothing a tiny amount over your skin.
rafe stayed quiet for a moment, watching as you worked through your routine. his curiosity got the better of him again when you reached for a fancy-looking gold jar.
“how much was that one?” he asked casually.
you hesitated. “uh… ninety, i think?”
“ninety dollars?” his voice shot up an octave as he grabbed the jar to inspect it.
“yes, rafe,” you said, snatching it back. “it’s a luxury brand. it has collagen.”
he gestured at the counter, which was full of bottles and jars from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so how much is all of this combined?”
you shrugged, applying the last of your products. “a couple hundred, maybe?”
“holy shit,” rafe muttered, running a hand through his hair.
you grinned, turning to face him. “what? you like how soft my skin is, don’t you?”
rafe gestured at the counter, which was covered in products from estée lauder, clinique, and clarins. “so… who pays for all this?”
“i do,” you said, capping the jar of moisturizer.
rafe stared at you, incredulous. “no, you’re lying.”
“i swear!”
“no,” he said firmly, crossing his arms. “i’ll pay for it.”
“rafe, you can’t pay for everything,” you argued, rolling your eyes.
he shook his head. “i can, and i will. no way you’re spending this much on—” he gestured vaguely at the counter—“this… whole collection.”
you raised an eyebrow at him. “i budget for it.”
rafe stared at you for a moment, then leaned against the counter with a smirk. “okay, new plan. i’m paying for it from now on.”
“rafe, you can’t just—”
“i can, and i will,” he interrupted, his tone firm but playful.
“you’re not paying for everything,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him.
he leaned in, his smirk softening into something gentler. “you’re right. i’m not paying for everything. just the stuff that makes you happy. and this”—he waved his hand at your collection of bottles and jars—“obviously does.”
you felt your cheeks heat up, but you rolled your eyes to cover it. “fine, but i’m not letting you pay for all of it. maybe just the retinol.”
“deal,” he said, pulling you into his arms. “but i’m serious. next time, just send me the bill.”
you laughed, resting your head against his chest. “you’re ridiculous.”
“yeah,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “but you love me for it.”
“unfortunately,” you teased, earning a chuckle as he pulled you back toward the bedroom.
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MASTERLIST
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CURRENT TAGLIST⋆⭒˚。⋆
@maybankslover ⟢ @honeyluvsatj ⟢ @zazidot ⟢ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 ⟢ @lunaleah ⟢ @maybanksangel ⟢ @wtfdudesblog. ⟢ @niktwazny303. ⟢ @outerbanksloverp4l ⟢ @slut4you ⟢ @maybanksgirl69
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starfieldcanvas · 2 days ago
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yes!!! as an exr shipper myself, can we please stop giving other people's plotlines to grantaire. if the two of them ever managed to get together it would be so, so much messier and less rational than any of those options
it’s so so funny silly. “grantaire is a working class person who inspires enjolras through new perspectives” so close, that is feuilly. “grantaire is enjolras’s intellectual equal who has complicated and conviction-informed feelings about revolutionary violence and his articulations of these feelings round out and supplement enjolras’s perspective” so close, that is combeferre. “If grantaire had joined in the fighting he would have been super awesome at it and earned enjolras’s respect and admiration” so close‼️‼️ that is MARIUS!!
#it's like that thing where somebody takes the main couple apart and just gives the role to their other preferred character instead#and literally nothing about the plot changes whatsoever#like. what are you doing here#why do you like this character if none of the actual canon details about them matter to you#grantaire has a hell of a lot going on with him#it's messy and interesting#if you just want to give him the template of a different character then why am i here#everyone who's ever written 'grantaire corrects enjolras during meetings and it strengthens his positions' owes me twenty dollars#including all my favorite authors. yes i love you yes i enjoyed the fic but i'm still annoyed#i just think!! that 'guy who keeps showing up to activist meetings because his friends go' is fascinating!#having him actually be politically engaged enough to nitpick is not going to lead enjolras to think r isn't politically engaged!#being the party guy who just goes because he loves his friends is SUCH an interesting character note#for ARMED INSURRECTION#i think my favorite little fanfic snippet about this#is the one where grantaire stops hanging out with the amis for some reason and goes to hang out with another group#and realizes he's kind of upset by how racist and sexist they are bc he got used to hanging out with hyper progressives#and his overton window has moved radically left without him realizing#that MIGHT be if music be the food of love? idk#grantaire already being a snarky leftist who can keep up with enjolras from the start is#much less interesting than his imagination being captured by enjolras#'without him being clearly aware of it'#and his growing genuine investment in enjolras and all these other people being a transformative force#but simultaneously his persistent personal attachment to enjolras being something that affects enjolras in return#love and attraction don't have to be logical!#grantaire doesn't need to be super admirable for enjolras to experience desire or interest#like. there are lots of ways to do this#of course#it's not totally unreasonable to give SOME traits to modern AU grantaire that overlap with canon era feuilly/ferre/marius etc#but it does often feel like somebody just fuckin gave up on it being realistically messy and decided to make it pat#sigh.
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cryinggirlnamedhelen · 3 days ago
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you are in love.
ft; itoshi rin, michael kaiser
synopsis: the small action that suddenly make them realize that it’s not just a temporary feeling of romantic fondness, it’s ever-lasting love.
a/n: title named after the taylor swift 1989 song!!! it’s genuinely such a cute song and i love it so much🥹💕 also, all of them are already dating reader in this one, it’s just that they all think that it’s just some temporary relationship that’ll last like 6 months before it’s off…until the events of this shortfic.
———
itoshi rin realizes that he is in love when he stays in bed for extra time with you when you had slept over.
his schedule is always meticulously planned out every second of the day to perfect and hone his skills for soccer; meditate, stretch, open the window for some fresh air, etc,…and the only things on his mind when he does so are his brother and soccer. his parents aren’t aware that rin isn’t on good terms with his brother (well, one sidedly, but rin doesn’t know that), so they only believe that rin is extremely ambitious.
but after a particularly long study session with you on saturday night, you beg rin to let you stay over. he declined at first, although after your offering of taking him out to ochazuke and also the fact that you were his girlfriend, he accepted in defeat.
rin still has his nightly routine, so he leaves you in his bedroom alone. bad decision, because the moment he leaves, you’re climbing into his bed and pulling the covers over your head. within 15 minutes, you’re out cold. rin comes back 10 minutes later, and to his surprise, he’s not irritated in the least when he sees you and snuggled up on his bed. instead he feels…strangely happy?
after brushing his teeth and changing into his pajamas, he decides to not push you off of the bed and instead climb into with you.
the next morning, rin wakes up at his regular time of 6:58. usually, after lying in bed for 2 more minutes to become more awake, rin would get out of bed at 7:00. but that’s not the case this time; your arms are wrapped around him tightly and clinging onto him like a lifeline. rin’s eyes linger on you—your messy bed head, the drool at the corner of your lips, and the incoherent mumbling.
and rin laughs.
it’s not loud or extremely attention grabbing, but it’s perfect. clear and expressive, and his laugh is purer than any melody and more beautiful than any symphony. it’s quiet, and only rin heard himself. he stops quickly as he brings up his shirt to the corner of your mouth to wipe the drool off like his brother did when rin was smaller, a tiny smile on rin’s lips the entire time.
and when rin checks his watch, it’s 7:01. but he doesn’t panic, instead, he wraps his arms around you as you had done with him and lied with you just a bit longer, until you would wake up.
rin has never been a particularly religious person, but at this moment, when you’re objectively at your lowest, with messy hair and previously drooling and sleep talking and clinging to your boyfriend like a koala, rin wonders what he’s done to be so blessed, and he thinks about all of those things he’s heard about heaven. heaven is paradise, a place of peace, love, and joy.
so wouldn’t that make you heaven then?
(when you finally wake up and rin checks his watch, it’s already 9:28. you’re shocked to see rin not at all mad at you for making him sleep in until so late.)
———
michael kaiser realizes that he is in love when he doesn’t slap you away when you touch his neck.
kaiser has never had good experiences whenever someone’s hands were on his neck. this had especially stemmed from his childhood, when his father’s hands would be on his neck daily and pressing down so harshly that kaiser couldn’t even breathe. and then it was the paparazzi, who were sometimes so intrusive that they would touch him just for content. it’s still a commonly mentioned scandal in the soccer community of kaiser nearly beating up a paparazzi who had touched his tattoo without consent and just for the sake of it.
even with you, his own childhood best friend and girlfriend, the only pillar stabilizing him in this dreadful life, kaiser still felt nauseous and unable to breathe if your fingertips would even accidentally graze his neck. you would always apologize profusely afterwards, so the nausea wasn’t nearly as bad with you as it was with anyone else.
even during intercourse, kaiser doesn’t put his hands on your neck. he knows that you’re fine with it and you don’t care, but if he ever does, kaiser knows that his actions will only make him more like his father.
and one night, after a long day for the both of you—practice for kaiser, college for you—you’re both sitting in the living room of your shared apartment, lights off, tv on, and watching titanic (“i did not cry when we watched it last time!” got a laugh out of kaiser, he literally got a recording of you starting to bawl during jack’s death), your hand is interlocked with kaiser’s leaning on his body while watching.
you’re gently tracing the crown tattoo on his hand, bringing it up to your lips and kissing it. kaiser feels the tip of his ears burn, although he was used to the feeling. you do these sorts of small little gestures all the time; although these days, kaiser can’t help but notice you constantly linger your eyes on his tattoo on his neck. he can tell that you want to touch it—but you’re too hesitant.
and kaiser wants to test out something.
slowly, kaiser takes his hand away from your mouth—albeit keeping your fingers laced together—and brings your hand up to his neck, though not touching skin quite yet.
your eyebrows shoot up before your eyes soften in worry. “mihya, you don’t have to if you don’t like it. i don’t want to make you uncomfortable or anything
now, on the field, kaiser is the emperor. he rules. when he wants something, he gets it. if he wants a goal, he’ll score it, one way or another. and right now, he wants to see if he’s still scared of you touching his neck. if he is, then oh well. if he’s not, then that confirms it for him.
with kaiser’s determined nod of approval, you gently graze his tattoo before placing your hand fully on the side of his neck, thumb gently moving back and forth on the blue petals of his rose tattoo.
and then kaiser’s kissing you, his lips cold but his face and hands warm.
because this time, there was no nausea. there was no tears. there was no air shortage.
this time, there was only love.
(funny, because the moment he kissed you was also the moment that the iconic ‘titanic pose’ was on screen and jack and rose had also kissed right after. you swore that it was fate, and although kaiser outwardly disagreed, inwardly, he was just as much of a firm believer that it was fate as you were.)
———
sorry this one was lowkey kinda short…i crammed this in in like 50 ish minutes lmao
but anyways i find it so funny how it’s canonically confirmed that sae doesn’t even realize that him and rin are beefing…their interactions in the u20 make so much more sense now. and i know that it’s never been mentioned, but the itoshi parents gotta at least know SOMETHING about their (one sided) beef, right? i mean, if one of your kids is literally gritting his teeth and clenching his fists if he even hears something about your other kid, then you gotta at least know that SOMETHING is going on.
also did you know that kaiser’s red eyeliner is actually a tattoo (kaneshiro confirmed it in an interview)
NOT PROOFREAD BTW
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satorella · 3 days ago
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“𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐠𝐨, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐈’𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰”
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“Y’know you have to go back to Germany eventually, right?” You said while lying on 𝐊𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐫’𝐬 chest, listening to his heartbeat.
He sighs, dragging a finger up and down your spine. “I know, Liebchen [darling/sweetheart].” He pauses before continuing, “…I hate leaving you...” You had no response. You couldn’t tell him to just up and drop his career for you. Not that you would ever make him, or let him, do that in the first place. Soccer was all he knew, before you. And you were understanding of that. “Come with me.” He breaks the silence. You lifted your head up off his chest and gave him a confused look. “Micha, you know I can’t.” “Why not? You’re not even happy here in your own country.” He made a good point.
“So, what? Just drop everything, sell my house, my car, leave my friends and family, my life behind?” You were pacing around your room now, while he was still relaxed on your bed, his private area only being covered by the thin blanket. He was casually just flipping through the novel you were currently into. “Ja.” [Yes.] You stopped and glared at him. “Babe, this is serious. Do you realize what you’re asking of me?” “Mhm.” Your eye twitched at his nonchalance. He snaps your book shut and finally looks up at you. “I’ll take care of you. What was that thing you would always say? That you’re ‘meant to be a passenger princess’ or whatever? Well, now you can be.” He shrugs. “For the record, I only said that once or twice!” You look away sheepishly. He couldn’t help but smirk at your expression. “Riiiight.” He replied sarcastically, sitting up on the edge of your bed. He pulled the blanket off, exposing himself and patted his thigh, beckoning you to come. You practically melted at the gorgeous, naked sight of him and walked over. He grabbed your waist and pulled you in between his legs, “Come on, Engel [Angel].” His voice was soft. “And what about when you leave for games? I’ll be alone again, but in a foreign country.” You slightly pouted, playing with the blue ends of his hair. He shrugged again, “You will come with me to my games too. So einfach ist das.” [It’s that simple.] It wasn’t a bad idea.
You did love watching him play. You even got too into it at times.
He remembered one time when he’d been shoved and landed on his back, knocking the wind out of him. As he laid there on the field, trying to get his breath back, he looked up into the stands and saw you screaming at the top of your lungs at the ref, almost about to climb over the railing to give the other player a piece of your mind. Thankfully, Ness was benched during that half of the game and was able to calm you down before security came. It turned him on… how feral you got for him…
He dicked you down so good that night.
He pulled you even closer so that you were straddling him now, his hands making their way under your robe and slowly up your sides. “S-So… you realize… you’re basically asking me to move in with you, right?” You clarified. His hands slowly moved up higher, thumbs lightly tracing circles on your bare skin. “That’s the general idea, ja.” He kept talking as if all this was no big deal. But now that you think about it, it would have happened eventually… so. He hummed as he gently cupped your breasts, taking your now hardening nubs between his index and middle finger. You slightly threw your head back, enjoying his touch. He grabbed ahold of your hips as you started to rock against him, his grip becoming a bit rougher as he started to guide your movements. He leaned in, pressing his lips against you; starting from your shoulder and making his way up to your neck. “M-Micha… we… we still need to discuss this…” You bit your bottom lip, trying to stay focused. “No more talking. Just fucking.” His voice was low and demanding; once bright blue eyes, now dark. “Sag einfach ja.” [Just say yes.] He whispers. You let out a content sigh. He really knew how to make you loosen up, didn’t he?
Tsk.
He undid the knot on your robe and let it slip off of you. A shiver ran through you as the cool air hit your skin, along with his touch. You moaned out a “yes” just as you sunk down onto his hard cock. You guys may actively fuck like rabbits, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to his larger size. He gave you a second to adjust, before he wrapped your legs around his waist and stood up to place you on the edge of your vanity. “Ah! B-Babe! My makeup!” You whimpered as his hard thrusts caused all your things to topple over. He grabs your chin and captures your lips in a sloppy kiss to stop you from talking.
“I’ll buy you more in Germany.” He grunts.
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© 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒-𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.
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luvergirl777 · 2 days ago
Text
Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester
Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count | 12.5 k
Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut
Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.
Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.
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Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 
“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 
“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 
“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 
“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”
“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 
“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”
Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 
“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 
“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.
After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 
“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 
“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 
That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 
--- 
“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “
“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 
“Stop calling him that?” 
“Calling who what?” 
“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 
“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 
“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 
---
“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 
“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 
“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 
“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 
---
Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 
“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.
---
Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 
“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 
“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 
“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 
Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 
—-
You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 
A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 
“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 
“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 
“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 
Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 
“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 
“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 
“Dean-“ 
“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 
“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 
Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 
---
You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 
Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 
“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 
“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 
“What?! It is not-” 
“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 
“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 
“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 
--- 
Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 
He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 
You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 
His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 
“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 
“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 
Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  
---
Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 
Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 
“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 
“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 
“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 
“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 
“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 
---
With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 
---
Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 
“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 
“Washing your dirty ass car.” 
“And why would you do that?”
“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 
“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 
“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 
“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”
“Do what?!” 
“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 
“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 
“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 
In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 
You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 
“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”
“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 
You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 
“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 
“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 
“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 
You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 
“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 
“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 
“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 
He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 
“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 
“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 
“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 
“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 
“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 
“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 
“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 
“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 
“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 
“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”
His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 
“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 
“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”
He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 
“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 
“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 
“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 
“Is that a problem?” 
You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 
“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 
“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 
“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 
“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 
“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 
“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 
“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 
“To you, of course.” 
Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 
“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 
His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 
“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 
“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 
You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 
“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 
You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 
“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 
You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 
“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 
“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 
Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 
“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 
You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 
“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 
“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 
“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 
“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 
You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”
“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 
“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 
“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”
“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 
“Is this what you say to every girl-”
“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 
He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 
“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 
You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 
Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 
“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 
“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 
“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 
“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 
“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 
Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 
“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 
He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 
“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 
“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 
You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”
“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 
“I can’t-”
“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 
“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 
Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 
“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 
Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 
“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 
“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 
“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 
“No, no you do not.” 
The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 
“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 
“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 
“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 
He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 
“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 
“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 
“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 
“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 
“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 
“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 
“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 
Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 
“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 
“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”
“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”
“In the mug you know I like-”
“What?! That’s his mug!”
“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”
“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 
Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 
You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 
You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 
“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 
“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 
“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 
“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 
You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 
You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 
“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 
Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 
“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 
“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 
“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 
“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 
Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 
“Need you,”
“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 
“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 
“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 
“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 
“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 
“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 
“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 
“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 
“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 
“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 
“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 
You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 
“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 
His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 
“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”
You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 
“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 
“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 
“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 
You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.
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harryslittlefreakk · 2 days ago
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off limits
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summary: planning your brother’s birthday turns into crossing a line with his best friend. everyone say thank you @bethiegurl19 for the request!!!
wordcount: 4.5k
warnings: angst, smut (foreplay, protected sex)
a/n: back with a bang baby!!!!!
masterlist 😋🌷🫧🍒 taglist
“You’re not bringing him.”
“You can’t dictate that.”
“Yes I can.”
“No, Harry, you can’t. It’s my house, my brother, and my-.” Your voice trailed off, not knowing what you could actually call Matt. Harry knew as well as you did that he wasn’t your boyfriend, he was the man who bothered with you when his other options were busy.
“Jake doesn’t even like him,” Harry muttered, his jaw flexing as he spoke.
“Neither of you will ever like who I date while you still see me as a kid,” you shot back, standing up too fast, feeling the wine rush to your head as you turned your back on Harry. It was the fourth night you’ve gotten together to try and plan your brother‘s birthday, the fourth night Harry had fought you about Matt.
“It’s not about that. He’s an arse and everyone sees it except you.”
You rested your elbows on the counter, rubbing at your temples. “It’s not your place to see it. But fine. I won’t invite him,” you sighed, hating that you were giving in to Harry.
“Good,” Harry all but growled, downing the rest of his wine in one sip.
“And I don’t still see you as a kid,” he added, walking over to you, his hand brushing your side as he reached for a new bottle of wine. His touch was light, barely even there, but it sent a jolt of electricity through you, heat blossoming against your skin. You could feel his presence next to you, close enough that the scent of his cologne mixed with the dry oaky smell of the wine on his breath. He hesitated for the briefest second, his hand lingering near your side. But even if he had noticed the way you’d gone totally rigid, he didn’t say anything.
You moved away slightly, trying to focus on the wine splashing into the glasses in front of you, the walls of the glass stained pink from Harry’s sloppy pouring, ignoring the way your skin buzzed in the aftermath of his touch. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, your mood worse.
“You’re not even pouring it right,” you muttered, snapping at Harry before you could stop yourself.
His head turned, and you could feel his eyes on you as he straightened, the bottle still in his hand.
“Pouring it right?”, he laughed, that fucking smirk tugging at his lips. It boiled your blood.
You turned to lean your hip against the counter, grabbing the bottle from his grip.
Harry let out another low, frustrated laugh, raking a hand through his long curls as he turned towards you fully.
“Relax,” he said finally, pulling the bottle back slamming it back down on the counter. “You’ve been on my case all week. The decorations, the music – you fought me on every single thing. What, because I don’t like your little boyfriend?”
You froze as Harry stepped closer, his tense frame towering over you. His green eyes were locked on yours, sharp and darkened in his frustration.
“Tell me then. What the fuck are you even doing with a guy like Matt?” His voice was low and biting, but not teasing in the way you’d grown to expect.
Your jaw clenched, your throat dry as your hands reached behind you to grip onto the edge of the counter. “You don’t know him,” was all you managed to say.
“Yes I do, y/n. I went to school with him. Jake went to school with him. And I’ve seen enough of him to know he hasn’t changed at all,” Harry shot back, his voice rising.
“It’s none of your business! I’m old enough to make my own mistakes. I don’t need either of you to protect me anymore,” you shouted, glaring at Harry.
“You never needed our protection. But look at you! You’re trying to pick a fight because I don’t think your hook up should be at Jake’s party. Is he even worth it?”
Your stomach twisted at Harry’s words, heat flooding your cheeks. You knew what he was asking. He wanted to know if despite all of Matt’s other flaws, of which there were many, he was a good enough fuck for you to keep him around.
“It’s worth it just to piss you off,” you mumbled.
Harry ran a hand over his face, looking straight through you as he laughed. “You’ve wasted a year fucking him because it pisses me off?”
“I’m not discussing that with you.”
“Why not? Because you don’t want to admit that’s the entire reason you carried on seeing him? Or because you don’t want to admit that he isn’t even a good fuck?”
You opened your mouth to spit something back at Harry, but nothing came out. Harry clearly knew you better than you thought, and no matter how much you wanted to deny it, you couldn’t.
Your silence didn’t go unnoticed. That same irritating look of amusement was still on Harry’s face as he looked down at you.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his voice low, his eyes flickering to your lips where they lingered for just a second before snapping back to your eyes.
You hated him in that moment. For being right, for knowing you so well, for backing you into a corner you couldn’t see a way out of. But more than anything you hated how your body was reacting to him, the way his closeness made your heart race.
You wanted to punch him, to shove him out of your house and never see him again. But when your hand reached out towards Harry, it betrayed you, gripping at his t-shirt and pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.
It was all the confirmation he needed. His lips were on yours, rough and urgent, like he’d been holding himself back for weeks and finally couldn’t anymore. For a split second, you froze, your mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. But then his hands were on your waist, pulling you even closer.
You kissed him back without thinking, your hands clutching at the cotton of his t-shirt as if you needed to hold on to something to keep from falling. His body pressed against yours, his warmth searing into you, that big wall of muscle pushing against your front.
Harry groaned against your lips, his hands tightening on your waist as he backed you up against the counter. The edge of it pressed into your lower back, but you didn’t care. All you could care about was him - the way his lips moved against yours, the way his fingers dug into your skin, the way he tasted like wine and heat and something unmistakably Harry.
He stepped back, running a hand through his curls, his breathing uneven as his eyes darted between your face and the floor. His lips were red and swollen, and you couldn’t look at him without feeling like the world had tilted sideways. He stared at you, his eyes dark and wild, his hands still gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
His lips twitched into a smirk, though his eyes were still dark and locked onto yours. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough. “Didn’t seem like you minded.”
“I should go,” he said quietly after a minute, his voice hoarse and full of something you couldn’t quite place.
Your chest tightened, but you nodded, your arms wrapping around yourself in a futile attempt to fill the sudden ache his words created. “Yeah,” you said softly, avoiding his eyes. “You should.”
For a moment, he hesitated, like he was waiting for you to stop him. But you didn’t. You just stood there, rooted in place as he turned toward the door. He didn’t look back as he left, and the soft click of the door shutting behind him felt deafening.
You let out a breath, leaning back against the counter as you tried to gather your thoughts. Your lips still tingled from his kiss, your skin still warm where his hands had held you, and you hated how empty the room felt without him. You hated that you even wanted him to stay and kiss you again.
The thought hit you like a wave, but you shook it off, forcing yourself to push away the longing that crept into your chest. He was gone, and it was already messy. It didn’t need to go deeper.
But when the knock at the door came, your heart leapt into your throat, and before you could even process what you were doing, you were pulling it open.
Harry stood there, his hand braced on the doorframe, his eyes dark as they met yours. He didn’t say anything at first, just stared at you like he was fighting an internal battle he’d already lost.
“I couldn’t go,” he said finally, his voice rough.
You didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, because he was stepping inside, kicking the door shut behind him as his hands found your waist. He pulled you to him, wrapping your legs around his hips as he pinned you against the wall, his lips finding yours with a desperate, hungry urgency that left you breathless.
“You’re impossible,” he muttered against your lips, his voice thick with frustration as his hands gripped your thighs. “You know that?”
“You’re the one who came back,” you shot back, your fingers tangling in his hair as he kissed you again, deeper this time.
“Yeah, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he growled, his lips trailing down your neck, sending a shiver racing through you. “Couldn’t stop thinking about how I’m right. Matt isn’t enough for you, is he?”
Your breath hitched, your nails scraping lightly against his scalp. “Don’t—”
You hated how easily he got under your skin, how his words hit far too close to the truth. “You’re so full of yourself,” you snapped, though your voice lacked conviction, trembling under the weight of his presence.
Harry smirked, his hands tightening on your hips as he carried you toward your bedroom, not breaking eye contact. “Maybe,” he admitted, his voice dripping with confidence. “But I’m not wrong, am I?”
You didn’t answer, refusing to give him the satisfaction. But the heat in your cheeks and the way you clung to him told him everything he needed to know.
By the time he reached your bedroom, your resolve was gone, replaced by a desperate ache in your core that only he could seem to satisfy. He laid you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours as his lips brushed against your ear.
“Let me show you how it’s supposed to feel,” he murmured, his voice rough but steady.
And as his lips found yours again, his green eyes locked onto yours for just a split second, looking at you in a way that showed you both permission and forgiveness.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Harry whispered, his words muffled against your mouth, the scent of the wine warm against your skin.
“I can handle it,” you replied, trying to convince yourself as much as him.
“Say you’ll tell me,” he repeated, firm and commanding.
“I’ll tell you,” you echoed, heat spreading through your body as he planted his hands either side of your head, caging you in.
The silver rings on his fingers caught the lone beam of moonlight streaming through the curtains, the chilled metal brushing against your skin as he moved closer still. Your gaze follow the lines of his tattoos, the dark ink curling up his forearm, disappearing under the pushed-up sleeve of his t-shirt.
Harry‘s mouth moved from yours to the curve of your neck, his lips brushing over your wild pulse with a deliberate slowness. His teeth grazed your skin, a contrast to the soft flex of his tongue as he kissed his way down, and you couldn’t stop the quiet whimper that slipped past your lips.
“Think you finally ran out of shit to say,“ he teased, his hand shifting to wrap your leg around his hip, his touch firm and possessive as he pressed himself against you.
The hardness of him against your inner thigh made your head spin, the friction of his jeans against the thin cotton of your leggings burning into you. You rolled your lower lip into your mouth, trying to suppress the moan threatening to escape as his hips rolled against yours, his cock pushing against you.
“These jeans,“ you whispered, your voice breathy as your hand slid between your bodies, tugging at their skin-tight waistband. “I hate them.”
“D’you really?” Harry asked, his voice laced with that same teasing amusement as he moved back off the bed. “‘Cause I’m pretty sure they’re driving you crazy right now.“
You glared up at him, your lips pulled into a reluctant smirk, waiting on your brain to form some sort of comeback. Instead, you pushed up onto your knees, grabbing at Harry��s t-shirt until his lips crashed back onto yours in a kiss that was all teeth and heat and frustration.
Harry groaned into your mouth, the sound low and guttural as it echoed through you, his hands roaming over your body, sliding beneath your t-shirt. His touch left trails of fire and goosebumps in its wake, your back arching into him, your fingers curling into his hair.
“D’you want me to stop?“ he murmured against your lips.
“No,“ you breathed, your lips brushing against his before his mouth captured yours again. More insistent now, his fingers splayed across the curve of your waist. Your world was spinning with every touch, your every thought consumed by him – his taste, his scent, the way his lean frame press against yours like even an inch of empty space between you would be too much.
He let you part for just a second, just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, his eyes somehow darkening even further as they roamed the skin that had, until then, been off limits to him. His breath hitched, his fingers skimming along the soft lace of your bra. He took his time, like he wanted to memorise every inch of you.
“Even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his voice gravelly yet almost silent, as if he wasn’t saying that to you, but to himself.
Your eyebrows quirked in questioning as his eyes snapped back to yours, something dangerous in the depths of darkened greens. “More than I should’ve,” he confessed, leaning down to press his lips to the sharp angle of your collarbone. “Much more.“
His confession sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through you, your fingers finding their way back to his hair, tugging him closer as his mouth continued down your body.
When his fingers slipped into the waistband of your leggings, he paused, pushing you softly back down onto the bed, his eyes boring into you. “I need to hear you say you want this,“ he said, pushing his free hand through his curls.
“I want this,” you breathed without hesitation. “I want you.”
That was the final confirmation he needed, his hands never leaving your skin as he stripped away the barriers between you, first the remainder of your clothes, and then his.
When he finally pulled his shirt off, you let your eyes wander over his body, drinking in the sharp lines of his torso, the way his tattoos rose and fell with his breathing. You kept your gaze on his body as he kicked off those damn jeans and his underwear, Letting yourself appreciate the soft smack of his cock against his flesh as he freed it, something your teenage self was sure to thank you for.
You felt your eyes wide and slightly as you registered his size, your breath catching in your throat.
But Harry only smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slower this time, his hand sliding under you to cut the back of your neck as his body settled over yours. His weight, his heat, the feel of his skin against yours – it was overwhelming.
“I told you he wasn’t enough for you.”
You opened your mouth to argue, to tell him once again that he was arrogant, but his hand slid between your thighs, and the words died on your tongue.
You let out a strangled gasp of his name, your head falling back into the pillows as the part of his thumb worked at your clit.
“Say it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Say I’m better for you than he is.”
You wanted to fight him, to deny him and take him down a notch, but all you could do was whimper against his skin, your body arching into his touch as heat pooled in your core.
“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his lips trailing across all the skin they could reach, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.
The roughness of his hands contrasted with the gentle touch of his movements, intoxicating and addictive as his hips ground against yours.
“You’re already so worked up for me,” he muttered, his voice almost a growl as he pushed two fingers into you. “All this time, y’just needed to be fucked right.”
“Shut up,” you managed to bite back, losing the edge to your voice as his fingers flexed against your sweet spot.
Harry chuckled, a deep, throaty laugh that sent shivers down your spine. “That’s why you get so riled up. Because every time I fight you about Matt, you’re thinking about this.”
You tried to glare at him, but the way his fingers fucked into you made it impossible to do anything but push your hips against his touch, your cheek turning to him as his lips grazed your ear.
“What do you think about, hmm? Me touching you like this?” he continued, taking your silence as confirmation.
“Harry,” you groaned, gathering a fistful of his hair as his hand stilled, his thumb pressed to your nerves.
“C’mon, kitten. Tell me,” he pressed, a commanding edge to his words that only deepened the ache in your core.
“What you’d feel like, how you’d sound. How you’d fuck m-“
You didn’t get to finish, Harry’s lips were on yours again, swallowing the rest of your words in a kiss so deep and consuming that it felt like he was pulling the life from your body. He pushed a third finger into you, his rings stone-cold against your folds, the silence punctured by breathy gasps and your wetness pushing in and out of you with his every movement.
Your breathing quickened, each stroke of Harry’s fingers building the pressure in your core. He worked at you expertly, his thumb circling your clit in a rhythm that had your skin overheating, your toes starting to curl, your hips bucking into his palm.
His name spilled from your lips like a mantra as your body tensed. Harry kept his eyes locked on you, his brows furrowed as he watched you unravel beneath him.
“Let go, love,” he murmured, his voice thick and coaxing, his fingers curling just right to hit the sweet spot that had you seeing stars.
He didn’t need to tell you twice. The tension that had built inside you snapped, a fresh wave of ecstasy crashing over you with such power that you couldn’t hold back from crying out. Your muscles tightened around his fingers as hot, pulsing waves of pleasure worked their way over your skin, leaving sharp tingles in their wake.
Harry didn’t let up, drawing out your high with slow, deliberate movements, his thumb back to pressing firmly at your clit as his fingers worked you through it.
When you finally went limp beneath him, your chest heaving, he slowly withdrew his hand, the sudden lack of touch drawing out a needy whine from your throat.
You watched through blurry eyes as he brought his fingers up to his mouth, his tongue darting out to taste you. A satisfied smirk tugged at his lips, an appreciative groan echoing from his throat.
You let out a shaky breath, your head spinning, your world now entirely tilted on its axis. But Harry didn’t give you much time to recover. He leaned back down, his lips brushing yours, letting you taste your sweetness on his tongue as his hand cupped your cheek.
“Not done with you yet,” he promised, his voice muffled against your lips.
“Then don’t stop,” you whispered, your mouth quirking into a smile, heart racing as he fished through his pockets for a condom.
“I’ve been patient with you,” he said, tearing the foil wrapper with his teeth as he knelt between your legs. “Not anymore.”
You swallowed hard as he rolled the condom over his cock, his length hard and heavy in his hand.
“I can handle you,” you retorted, heat flooding through you.
Harry let out a low chuckle, his nose brushing against yours as he lined himself up, his tip just barely pressing against your entrance. “Guess we’re about to find out.”
He pushed into you slowly, his hips rolling forward inch by inch. The stretch had you gasping, your hands flying to his shoulders. Harry groaned, the sound raw and guttural, his forehead falling to yours as he stilled, letting you adjust to him.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his voice strained. “Feel so good, princess.”
Your fingernails dug into his skin as your body arched into his, trying to adjust to the overwhelming fullness of him. “Move,” you whimpered, desperate for him to do something to help ease the ache building inside you.
Harry obeyed, his hips rolling back before snapping forward again, and again, the force of his thrusts sending a jolt of pleasure through you. He moved deliberately, his pace slow and calculated, his free hand grabbing needily at the flesh of your hip.
“Look at you,” he groaned, full of awe as he watched the way your body responded to him. “Taking me so well. You were made for this.”
Your head rolled back on the pillow, your nails raking down Harry’s back as he drove into you, his pace unrelenting. The sound of skin against skin filled the room, mingling with your breathless moans and Harry’s gravelly groans as he buried himself in you over and over again.
Every thrust brought you closer to the brink, the coil in your stomach tightening with every snap of his hips. Harry seemed to sense it, his hand sliding underneath his body, finding your clit and circling the nerves with practiced precision.
“You gonna come for me?” he asked, his teeth grazing the skin at your jaw. “Gonna let me feel you fall apart?”
Your entire body trembled as Harry’s words broke through the fog in your mind, his deep, commanding tone sending shockwaves through you. His fingers on your clit matched the rhythm of his thrusts, each movement calculated to push you further into a haze of pleasure.
“Please,” you whimpered, your hands clutching desperately at his curls.
“Wanna feel how good I make you feel,” he pressed, his lips brushing against your ear.
Your back arched off the bed as his hips slammed into yours, the angle perfect, his cock burying itself deep inside you. You howled out his name, your walls clenching and pulsing around him.
Harry groaned deeply, his head dropping into the crook of your neck as he fought to maintain control.
“That’s it,” he growled. “That’s my good girl.”
He didn’t stop, his hips continuing to drive into you, his fingers on your clit prolonging your orgasm until your body shuddered from the overstimulation. You writhed and whimpered, trying to ground yourself, but Harry wasn’t done with you yet.
“You’ve got another one in you,” he whispered against your ear, his voice rough and full of intent.
“I can’t,” you whined, completely sure that you couldn’t handle more, that another orgasm might break you, but the fire in his gaze told you it wasn’t a question.
He shifted, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit even deeper. The sensation was overwhelming, your body already sensitive, but the way his cock dragged against your sweet spot had you spiraling all over again.
His fingers left your clit only to grab your other thigh, pulling you flush against him, his pace growing rougher, more desperate. “You feel that?” he groaned, his voice thick with need. “Feel how good you’re taking me? Fuck, you’re perfect.”
You could barely think, your mind foggy with pleasure as the pressure built inside you again, faster and harder this time. Harry’s lips found yours, swallowing your moans, his movements growing erratic as he chased his own release.
“Come with me,” he urged, his forehead pressing against yours, his voice barely more than a breath. “Come with me, kitten. Let me feel you.”
And then you were falling again, your body clenching around him as another orgasm ripped through you, white-hot and all-consuming. Harry followed just a second later, his groan low and guttural as he buried himself deep, his body trembling as he spilled into you.
The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, your bodies tangled together as you both came down from the high. Harry’s weight pressed against you, grounding you, his lips ghosting over your temple in a surprisingly tender gesture.
“You okay?” he asked after a moment, his voice softer now, full of concern as he brushed your damp hair away from your face.
You nodded, still catching your breath, your lips curling into a small, satisfied smile. “More than okay.”
Harry chuckled, the sound warm and comforting as he leaned down to press a lingering kiss to your lips. “Good,” he murmured, his thumb tracing lazy circles over your cheek. “Still think I’m full of myself?”
You shook your head, “no. Just thinking about me being full of you,” you grinned, biting down on your lip.
He cupped the back of your head, rolling onto his back and bringing you with him, holding you flush to his body. “I think your brother might kill me,” he whispered, a nervous edge to his usually steady voice.
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traveler-at-heart · 2 days ago
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Hot and Cold
Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.
A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!
Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.
Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.
Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.
“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”
Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.
“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”
“No, not really”
“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.
“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.
“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”
“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.
“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”
As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.
“I’ll handle it”
As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.
By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.
“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.
“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room. 
“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.
“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”
“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked” 
Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.
Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.
“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.
“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it���s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”
“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”
“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”
“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”
“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses. 
“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”
“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”
“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”
“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.
“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.
It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.
Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.
“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.
“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”
Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.
Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.
Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty. 
Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.
Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence. 
It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.
“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.
“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?” 
“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”
Wait a minute.
He’s a nerd.
“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”
“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.
“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.
As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.
Natasha finds your blush adorable.
“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”
“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”
“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.
“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”
“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”
“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”
“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world. 
“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.
Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.
The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.
--
Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.
So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.
One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.
“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly” 
They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.
“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.
“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you. 
Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.
“Ignore him, Y/N”
You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.
The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.
“How…?”
“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”
“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.
“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.
“Of course, Capitan” 
An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody
But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.
Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.
You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.
The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.
After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.
Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.
One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes. 
“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.
“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.
“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research” 
“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.
That turns out to be a lie.
A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.
It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.
She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.
“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.
“I…”
“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites” 
“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt. 
Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.
“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.
“Thank you” 
It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.
“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.
“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.
Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.
“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.
“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”
“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.
“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.
“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.
Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.
“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you  could take!” 
“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”
You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.
“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment. 
Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you. 
“Catch you later?”
“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.
Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.
“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.
“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.
Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.
“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves. 
Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.
As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.
“Show me the mission’s footage”
Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.
The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.
You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.
By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.
“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.
“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit” 
Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.
The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.
Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.
Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.
“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.
“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand. 
“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.
As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.
It’s fine. You can handle it.
Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.
“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.
“Huh?”
“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”
“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.
You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.
All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.
Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.
“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind” 
Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.
“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka” 
“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.
As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.
“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”
You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.
“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on” 
It’s the best sex of your life.
So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.
“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.
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ladyshinga · 3 days ago
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NGL I think if a society is hyper individualistic, it will ALWAYS also struggle with anti-intellectualism. Because when you're expected to survive on your own, no help and help being looked down on and mocked, when having assistance in life puts you into this lower class of person, of COURSE people end up reactionary and angry when it comes to admitting THEY DO NOT KNOW EVERYTHING. Doctors cost money you don't have so in order to survive, you tell yourself you know enough about medicine that you can do your OWN research and take care of YOURSELF. People do shitty DIY in their houses because asking for help from some one who knows better than you is admitting weakness and a lack of knowledge some one can mock or exploit you over. Admitting you don't know things and you need help is SO looked down on that people who say "Hey I actually HAVE training in this, I DO know more than you about it" ends up being the enemy. Doctors are hated for saying things about medicine that the average American doesn't like (ie "vaccines work and don't cause autism"), professionals with skills are hated and mocked and Americans cling to ANY alternative that lets them do things "on their own" ("lol why would I hire some uppity writer or artist when we have AI now")
You cannot be hyper-independent and also admit you have blind spots and things you will never, ever be able to do AND THAT'S OKAY. You need to look around your daily life, on a regular basis, and notice everything you use and need that you had NOTHING to do with.
Admit you need other people, admit people know more about stuff than you, and maybe you'll just kinda all-around chill out and stop being so… cringingly American*
(*yes yes Not Just The USA but i don't like to @ people living in places where i shouldn't be the one @'ing ykwim)
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my-castles-crumbling · 2 days ago
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discuss - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - word count: 353
"So..."
It takes James about five minutes to bring it up. Really, Regulus thinks it must be some sort of record for him to resist bringing up Elephants In The Room, but he hasn't kept track.
"I'd rather not discuss it," Regulus replies, trying to bring their lips together again in an effort to distract the Gryffindor he's pressed up against.
Surprisingly, James does not seem to be willing to fold to distraction tonight. "Reg, we - I -" He gently pulls away from Regulus's grasp and looks him in the eyes. "We need to talk about it."
It was a stupid thing. They'd been walking the grounds earlier, and some stupid seventh-year Slytherin had happened upon them. He'd, of course, spouted some stupid bigoted remarks, and called them boyfriends.
And Regulus had immediately panicked.
Because they hadn't ever talked about what they were, and even though he wanted that, he wasn't sure where James was...he figured the other boy had a hundred better choices, and he wasn't even sure where he stood on being out, and really they'd both avoided the topic very thoroughly so far, just enjoying being together, so...he'd changed the subject. Blushed and stuttered like a mortified first year and refused to acknowledge it.
Of course, now James is bringing it up.
"It's alright," he murmurs, looking down. "We don't need to-"
"Go out with me," James interrupts, bluntly saying the words Regulus figured he'd never hear. "Properly. Be my boyfriend."
He just gapes, because he's really rather shocked.
"I know you probably think it's stupid. I know you're not one for...all that romantic stuff, and I know I've never had a boyfriend before, so I might be shit at it," James says, chuckling self-consciously and rubbing at the back of his neck. "But I like you, Reg, and I...I'd really like if you gave this a shot. Us."
And he has no words for how much he'd like that, so he just swallows and nods a bit. "Alright," he whispers, biting at his lip to stop himself from breaking into a giant smile.
James, however, beams. "Yeah?"
"Yeah."
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pacofprunes · 3 days ago
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thoughts on yandere!dae ho?
i think it fits him sm bc he'd be so needy and jealous 😭
you’re right anon, 110%.
warnings — manipulation, yandere content, jealousy, ptsd mentions, noncon touching, short
yandere! daeho headcanons
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yandere daeho who can’t stand to be separated from you, both in and out of the games.
yandere daeho who whenever you need to use the bathroom in the games, he tries to go with you everytime.
yandere daeho who can’t stand when you talk to another guy, let alone look at another guy. always finding an excuse to get your attention. making a loud noise or dropping his food on the floor whenever you’re talking to gi-hun to stop your conversation from going any further.
yandere daeho who clings to you at night like his life depends on it. if anybody even comes near your bed he immediately sits up in case somebody’s trying to kill you. constantly paranoid and on his toes.
yandere daeho who manipulates you. he never realizes that’s what he’s doing, he unintentionally does it. he can’t help it. but so what if he is? he just wants the best for you. always shutting down and going silent if you say you’re going to go talk to gi-hun about something in private. when you ask what’s wrong he says you said it aggressively. says the way you spoke to him was very hurtful, causing you to apologize profusely and hug him tightly. a breath of relief escaping his mouth that you trusted his words and now you’re back in his arms again.
yandere daeho who makes you think you’re going crazy. you’re already in this game of death which is bound to make anybody go crazy, but now he’s twisting his words. saying one thing to you and another to someone else.
“daeho, but that’s not what you said.”
“yes it is. are you sure you didn’t mishear me?” he wants you to rely on him and only trust what he has to say. he wants you to think he’s the only one who has the right answers for you, making himself the only one you ever come to when you have a question or need help.
yandere daeho who over time you start to notice him slowly inching a little closer, his grip getting a little tighter as the days go on, so you decide to say something to him. he does apologize, but it’s only to make you feel bad.
“ah, i’m sorry. i don’t mean to be so clingy. i’ll keep my distance.” and then you’re the one who clings to him, apologizing if what you said came across wrong. telling him that he’s not clingy and that you don’t have a problem with him being so close. he doesn’t pay mind to your words though. only paying attention to the warmth he feels around his body from you before reciprocating the hug you’re giving him back.
yandere daeho who uses his ptsd from being in the marines as an excuse to jump close to you and hold onto you. with every gunshot squeezing tighter and tighter.
yandere daeho who when the lights are out and he slides into bed with you, you ask him to go. you liked him as a friend, you two weren’t a thing, so why was he so close to you? you protest to him but he only pulls you closer, shushing you, saying it’s to keep you safe and that with you in his arms, nobody will try anything throughout the night.
yandere daeho who purposely doesn’t bring the ammo back during their revolt. you’d gotten too close to all those people. junbae, gihun, youngil. if he could let them die and play it off as him being scared, he didn’t care. as long as he had you all to himself. not having to share you with a team, not having multiple people to protect you. no. he wanted to be the only one.
“daeho, what are you doing?”
everybody was dead asleep. you were laying in your bed before feeling a dip and turning to see daeho. he pulls you into his chest.
“i’m just keeping you safe.”
you try to push yourself out of his grips but his biceps just flex and stay wrapped around you.
“uhm, i appreciate the gesture, but uh—”
you gulp and take as big as a breath as you can with the little space that you have between the two of you.
“can you lay somewhere else? there’s just not much space anyways, you know?”
he moves one of his hands to run it through your hair and you shiver. it was a kind gesture, and you liked daeho, but you didn’t want this. he was your friend. nothing more, nothing less. he only squeezes you tighter though.
“don’t worry, i won’t let you fall off the bed. i won’t let you get hurt. i’d take a bullet straight through my head before i ever let a scratch even cover your beautiful skin.”
you just shrink into yourself. shrink into him, knowing that it was futile. he wasn’t harming you, so you guess it was fine for now. you take shallow breaths, your chest hitting his everytime you breathed in from the close proximity. you’d think something like this may help you sleep more but it was only gonna keep you up even longer. but maybe that’s what he was counting on. being who you could lean on and trust to save you while you’re too tired to properly play the games the next morning. you didn’t know. you just furrow your eyebrows together, forcing your eyes shut before feeling his head lean against yours, feeling his lips on your head, spreading into a smile against you.
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enbyorge · 2 days ago
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I have a Secret^TM Stop Crying Sooner (ish) technique, and I will never tell a single person what it is ever.
Why?
Because the second someone even thinks in my general direction about "gUiDiNg mE" through my own freaking thing, it will never work again.
[Oops, I made a rant]
If I'm crying in public, I'm probably losing my mind and definitely absolutely terrified. The only way other people could possibly help is to stay far enough in front of me that I don't think you might try to touch me (or that I could at least get away if you did make that very bad mistake) and ESPECIALLY not go behind me.
Honestly, if I'm crying in public, there's a huge chance my back was touched, and an even bigger chance I either have heard or will hear "tHeY DiDn'T ToUcH yOu oN pUrPoSe!!1!" Which will instantly make me think of that idiocy every time I think of the person who said it for the rest of my life.
Fact: My amygdala doesn't care in the slightest if you MEANT to make it mistake you for an axe murderer. Say sorry if you must, but never mention the incident again. I'm more likely to forget you were even there the day it happened if you just leave it at one perfunctory "sorry" and pretend nothing happened. It probably wasn't actually your fault beyond a completely human level of not noticing the proximity of my back to your elbow/shoulder/whatever.
These incidents would escalate so much less if people just let me stand with my back pressed firmly into a wall for a few minutes until I can get over it on my own. And if it didn't coincide with physically painful (to me) levels of noise.
TLDR: Don't touch someone when you don't know for absolute certain that you, personally, would be acceptable touch to them, personally, in that exact moment, and don't get defensive at people for not instantly deciding you are the most trustworthy person on the planet. No one owes you trust in a panic attack, meltdown, (I hate that term, but that's a me thing.) Etc.
Trust is earned through good behavior while not expecting trust to be given.
Also, if you don't know someone, don't decide to play doctor with their heads. Panic does not justify white-knighting, and the person panicking does not deserve to be your prop to earn cool points.
Grounding techniques don't really work for me especially in public... "five things I can see" I see a bunch of people pissing me off
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txkby · 2 days ago
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My experience with the Void State.
Before I discovered the Void State, I practiced meditation regularly in 2022 (literally the year of the Void State on Tumblr), the sensations I had when meditating were truly exquisite, that tranquility and peace are simply incomparable with people, material things, etc.
I swear that nothing has filled my soul like those sensations.
(This is very important, remember it)
I stopped meditating afterwards because I didn't have time and when I wanted to do it I fell asleep, like when you want to get to the Void, don't you think? LOL
I discovered the Void around the beginning of 2023, but I never gave it any importance, I've almost never liked the methods, because it became obsessed, and that's what I did, I became obsessed.
I became so obsessed with the Void that I was constantly looking for information everywhere, on Google, here on Tumblr, Twitter, YouTube, and in endless places.
And every day I spent time doing methods to get there, meditations, affirmations, etc. But I just couldn't get there, I couldn't.
I felt so bad guys, I felt tired, have you ever felt that tiredness that feels more like giving up? That's what I felt.
I felt dissatisfied with my life, and it's hard because you feel ungrateful to the universe, to people, to everything.
But I kept on trying every day to get to the Void, but again, I never got there, not that way.
So I went back to the beginning, I went back to the basics, what is the Void? How do you get there? And I realized that I forgot what the Void really was, I forgot everything because of my desperation and obsession to get there.
What I did to get to the Void was the following:
- I gave up, but not giving up by throwing in the towel, but by letting myself go.
- let it go, detach myself from it
- remember that the Void is a state, it is something attached to us that simply cannot be prevented
- I stopped trying to reach the Void with extreme methods, I stopped trying to get there with steps, with rules.
- I stopped forcing myself to reach the Void, because the Void is not effort, it is relaxation, it is letting go, it is surrendering
- I changed my focus, instead of wanting to reach the Void by manifesting my desires, I changed it to simply having a good time, to relax
- I started doing simple meditations, nothing like "meditation to reach the Void, meditation for this, meditation for that", no, just simple meditations.
- don't look for symptoms because that takes you away from relaxation, it takes you away from the key to reach the Void
- relax, that's the Void, never forget it
And I remembered that the sensations I had when meditating for 2022 were the same as the Void, which means that I had possibly reached the Void State at that time, but since I didn't know about the subject, I didn't make an effort to reach the Void, I just wanted to meditate for fun, and this is very important because when we concentrate and force ourselves to reach the Void, we don't get there, when we are desperate to reach the void we won't get there, when we are anxious to reach the Void we won't get there.
So, after doing all that, remembering all that, I reached the Void.
And it didn't take me more than 1 week after to understand everything I just said.
In the Void I felt what I felt when meditating, that exquisite tranquility, that peace, that happiness, and of course you have no emotions, thoughts and you don't feel your body at all.
I didn't manifest much, I only changed my name, time of birth, my personality, my mentality and voice, because that was why I wanted to get there, I felt bad about myself because during 2020 to 2022 I suffered from depression, my father passed away, the changes that occurred in those times affected me mentally, I had social anxiety, I suffered, it was horrible.
But by manifesting my change of mentality and personality my perspective on life changed, therefore now I am happy.
The thing about my time of birth was simply for fun LOL, and my name, my old name, mmm 🫤 , I never felt identified with it, I was not her.
Like all of you, I suffered for wanting to get to the Void, for looking for symptoms
And not letting myself in getting there, because of my focus, because of my low self-confidence, because of my obsession, because of my desperation.
Give up to enter the Void.
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And well guys, that's my experience with the Void, this post is so long but necessary, byee.
(I hope the translation is correct LOL) 🫂😝
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prettymfwrites · 1 day ago
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Honey pack Prank 🍯
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Paige bueckers x female reader
Summary: It had started as a normal day, with Paige dragging you out to help with errands you didn’t want to do. What you didn’t know was that Paige had been plotting her revenge ever since your last prank on her—and today, she had the perfect plan.
‧͙⁺˚*・༓🍯  🍯༓・*˚⁺‧͙
The car ride had been chill so far, and you left Paige in the car while you popped into the convenience store to grab a few things. What you didn’t know was that while you were inside, Paige was carefully stirring a honey pack into your iced coffee, grinning as she adjusted the camera she had set up on the dash.
“Y’all,” she whispered, glancing at the door to make sure you weren’t coming back yet. “She has no idea. None. And it’s already killing me not to touch her, but I’m about to make this so hard for her.” She giggled, sliding the coffee back into the cup holder as she saw you exit the store.
You opened the car door with an annoyed huff. “They were out of my favorite snacks. This day is already off to a bad start.”
Paige glanced at the camera for a split second before smiling at you. “Aw, poor baby. You got your coffee, though, right?”
“Yeah,” you muttered, taking a sip. You let out a content hum. “Okay, this is good, though. Maybe this’ll save my mood.”
Paige grinned, biting back a laugh as she pulled out of the parking lot. “Good. We’ve got a few more stops to make, mama. Hang in there with me.”
At first, everything was fine. You sipped your coffee, Paige teased you about your music choices, and it was all perfectly normal. But about twenty minutes later, you started feeling... off.
You shifted in your seat, tugging at the neckline of your shirt. “Is it just me, or is it kind of warm in here?”
Paige glanced at you briefly, feigning confusion. “Warm? Baby, it’s literally January. You good?”
“I don’t know,” you said, frowning. “I feel weird. Like... tingly or something. And warm. Definitely warm.”
“Hmm,” Paige said, her tone too casual. “Maybe you’re coming down with something?”
You sighed, shaking your head. “No, I don’t think so. I just... I don’t know. Can I have a kiss?”
Paige tightened her grip on the steering wheel, smirking to herself. “Mama, I’m driving.”
“So?” you said, leaning closer to her. “Just one. Come on, Paige.”
Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “Not while I’m driving, baby. You’re gonna have to wait.”
You huffed, crossing your arms. “Fine. But you owe me when we get home.”
“Oh, I know,” Paige said smoothly, her lips twitching.
Paige led you into the next store, where your restlessness only grew. You fanned yourself with your hand, tugging at your clothes every few seconds. “Seriously, why is it so hot in here?”
“It’s not hot,” Paige said, grabbing a shopping basket and shooting a glance at the camera she had discreetly placed in the cart. “You feeling okay, pretty?”
“No! I feel like I’m burning up, and I don’t even know why. And you’re just... standing there being you,” you snapped, gesturing at her.
“Being me?” Paige repeated, biting back a laugh. “What does that mean, baby?”
“You know what it means! You’re just walking around here being all fine, and it’s not helping!”
Paige stopped in her tracks, smirking. “So you think I’m fine?”
“Oh, don’t even start,” you muttered, covering your face with your hands. “Can we just get out of here already?”
“We still have a couple more things to grab,” Paige said, her voice teasing. “Patience, baby.”
You groaned, trailing after her like a lovesick puppy. Every time she stopped to grab something, you leaned against her, clutching her arm or resting your head on her shoulder.
“Can you hold my hand?” you asked, pouting up at her.
Paige laced her fingers through yours with a soft smile. “Better?”
“No,” you said, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into her arm. “I need more than this, Paige. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I feel so... ugh!”
Paige leaned down, her voice low and teasing. “Tell me what you need, mama.”
You pulled back, glaring at her. “You know what I need!”
Paige bit her lip as you walked away from her noticeably frustrated, glancing at the camera with an amused glint in her eyes. “Y’all, she’s making this so hard to do.”
By the time you made it back to the car, you were practically vibrating with frustration. “I don’t even care about the errands anymore. Can we please go home?”
Paige chuckled, patting your knee. “Alright, alright. Let’s get you home, pretty.”
When you finally got inside, you wasted no time stripping off your jacket and tugging at your shirt. “I’m burning up, Paige. I don’t know what’s happening, but I—”
You reached for the hem of your shirt, ready to pull it off, when Paige darted forward, grabbing your hands.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Paige said quickly, her voice a mix of laughter and panic. She moved to turn off the camera she’d set on the counter.
“What?” you asked, confused and flustered.
Paige grinned, holding up the empty honey pack. “It was a prank, mama. Payback for last time.”
Your jaw dropped. “Paige! Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” Paige said, laughing. “You messed with me first, baby. This is just karma.”
“You are so lucky I love you,” you muttered, glaring at her.
Paige leaned in, brushing her lips against yours. “I know, mama. And for the record? You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, even when you’re mad.”
You couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re still in trouble.”
Paige smirked, pulling you closer. “Worth it.”
🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯🍯
I take requests babes! 💕
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