#nsp trip
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bigbigtruck · 2 years ago
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Road trip
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dick-meister · 3 months ago
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"I know what would make you feel better! What about a song, pal? Sometimes it works- or at least helps put the smile back on your face!"
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“I’m listening.” A song? Well, Alastor being the radio demon, he was sure the man had something up his sleeves to give Adam a good smile.
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sillykytty · 6 months ago
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They said "Cory is crushing on Lara" and I jumped, it was a fucking jumpscare I swear 😭😭
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grumpzone · 3 months ago
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I got so insanely high last night while listening to ninja sex party that I felt like I went on a spiritual journey while listening to Nut Heat
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cosmic-ghost-hermit · 9 months ago
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Take what resonates and leave behind what doesn't. Always be open to new perspectives.💙🩵🤍
PILE 1
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Crystal: Sodalite
Astrology: Sagittarius♐️, Virgo♍️, Gemini♊️
Song: “Independent Together” from Steven Universe
or “I Forgot You Existed” by Taylor Swift
Great news, pile 1! You have been spending a lot of time healing and working on yourself. You have put so much love into your independence. The news this reading brings you is companionship! Someone new is coming into your life and you are being instructed to take the leap. You are going to need to use your discernment skills that you have been building since your last long term relationship. Your heart has been broken a couple times recently and the cards say you have taken that pain in stride and it is going to rocket you into a good solid connection. Remember to be observant and watch closely when starting this new adventure with this new person. Remember you deserve only the best! 🩵
🩵🩻🛁💎🧊❄️🪽🦋🫂🥶💍🛼💠🚿🪣🐋🐦🦈🪡👖🦕
PILE 2
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Crystal: Blue Goldstone
Astrology: Aries♈️, Capricorn♑️, Libra♎️
Song: “I don't really like your boyfriend” by Avenue Beat
Welcome pile 2! The good news that is being delivered to you is definitely interesting. I see you have been watching a situation unfold. You have opinions to say the least. Someone you care very much for has been experiencing injustice and so far they have been asking you to stay out of it. You love this person so much and it has felt fucking awful to watch them get hurt. The good news you are being given very soon is that this person will come to you for help with the situation they told you to stay out of. They are gonna realize exactly how terrible they have been treated and it will be in your/their best interest to defend them in their time of need. If you are in a position where you cannot stand up for them, then you are going to need to give this person solid advice to follow through on. Your help is going to give them the push they need to take care of themselves. 🖤
🖤🖊️🍯⚒️💣🦂📼♟️🎤📸💰🕶️🥷🏻🐈‍⬛🪤☕️💛🐡
PILE 3
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Crystal: Labradorite
Astrology: Aquarius ♒️, Leo ♌️, Taurus♉️
Song: “Built 4 Love” by TWRP and NSP
Oh my goodness, pile 3 this is the best news ever. I cannot wait to tell you. You found the one! The one that is perfect for you in every way. You really hit the jackpot. This person is a breath of fresh air. This person is so gentle and so kind. They feel like your other half. This doesn’t have to be a romantic partner, honestly this could be a best friend. They take no energy to be around. They support you in exactly the ways that you need. They appreciate and accept your good and bad traits. You can be yourself with them. They truly feel like an angel. This person wants to explore you to your depths that no one has ever even seen before and love every part of those depths. Pile 3, I am so happy you found them. I am so blessed to be giving you such good news. There is really no instruction from this reading besides trust them with your life. Trust this person.💙
💙🧿🖌️🪬🛫🪻🌀🛝🫐🌊🦚🌏🪼🧵🪡🙆🏿‍♂️👥💤🛌🚲
PILE 4
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Crystal: Larimar
Astrology: Scorpio ♏️, Pisces ♓️, Cancer ♋️
Song: “Rät” by Penelope Scott
Hello, pile 4. You are holding so much on your shoulders right now. It feels like the weight of the world sits atop your head. Pile 4 please hear me when I say this. You can let go of some of what you're holding. Not all that you are taking responsibility for is supposed to be your responsibility. There is someone stealing your energy out from under you. You are blind to it or you were blind to it for a while but you realize now that an energy vampire has been clinging to you. You are not required to save them. They act as if they desperately need your assistance but in all honesty they are fully capable of doing things for themselves. Let them drown in 3 inches of water instead of throwing on your lifeguard outfit. Let them trip over their own shoelace instead of tying their shoe for them. They are not your responsibility. Your good news is you can let go. 🤍
🤍🪙⏱️🎹🎧🥋🥈🩹🧴✉️💭🏳️🩶🔍🥚🍚☁️🌬️🐻‍❄️🐏
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Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)
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Title: Five-Finger Discount
Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader
Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?
Word Count: 10,300
Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty
Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.
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A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.
Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.
You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”
“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”
You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”
“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”
“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”
You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”
“Yes.”
It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”
“Huh?”
“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”
“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”
He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”
You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.
“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”
“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”
Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”
Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people. 
You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.
Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.
“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.
“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”
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You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.
The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.
As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.
The hotness of the Winchester brothers.
You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.
And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo. 
The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.
Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”
Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.
“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.
“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”
“I-yeah-it’ll do.”
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After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.
“Holy shit,” you whisper.
The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.
Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.
Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.
You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”
“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”
He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.
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Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”
“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”
Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”
As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.
“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.
“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”
He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”
“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”
His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”
“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”
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You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.
Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.
His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.
“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.
“Just a little detailing is all.”
He sits and eyes you warily.
A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.
You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.
Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.
“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.
“Nothing,” you mumble.
You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.
Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”
He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”
“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”
He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.
You swallow the urge to bite that finger.
For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”
He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”
“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”
“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.
“Hands,” you request.
He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.
What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.
“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”
“Huh?”
He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”
“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”
“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.
“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”
“Yeah, well…” He begins.
“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.
His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”
For some reason that shuts you both up.
You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.
He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.
It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”
“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”
“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”
I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”
His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.
He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.
It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.
He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”
And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.   
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Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.
A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.
You wait for Dean. 
Things had not gone according to plan.
At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.
You all were SOL.
You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.
Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.
You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.
You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.
Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.
Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.
“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”
You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”
Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”
“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.
Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”
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The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum. 
“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.
“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.
“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.
The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.
The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.
So, dialing back the ogling is going great.
“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”
The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.
The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.
“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.
“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”
You groan.
“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.
“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.
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You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included. 
You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers. 
You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.
His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”
You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”
“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.
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You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.
A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?
It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.
You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.
So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?
You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.
A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.
“That’s all it is,” you mumble.
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You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink. 
Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.
The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”
Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”
You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”
“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”
“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.
You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.
After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.
Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.
You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.
Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”
“Fine.” You hum. 
The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”
“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”
“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.
You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”
“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.
“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”
He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”
You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.
His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”
“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.
“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”
You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”
One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.
“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.
“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”
You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?
“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”
You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.
He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”
“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”
He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”
You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.
Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”
“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.
But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”
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You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…
You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…
You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.
You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.
Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?
You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.
There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.
“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.
But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.
“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”
“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”
You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”
That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.
“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”
Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”
“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”
You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”
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You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.
You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.
You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.
“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”
“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.
He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”
The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”
“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”
Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.
“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.
You smile. “I think I will.”
“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.
Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.
“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.
You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.
The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.
A pair of hands.
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Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture. 
You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.
Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.
His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent. 
Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left. 
“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.
You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”
He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”
“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”
Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.” 
The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea. 
There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.
It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.
You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.
Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.
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It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.
Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.
It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.
Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”
You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.
He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.
“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”
“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.
“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”
Dean chuckles.
Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.
Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”
“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”
Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”
Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”
You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.
“Sure, Leia.”
A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”
Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”
Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”
That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.
Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”
Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.
Leia whispers, “Stop that.”
Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.
Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”
Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”
“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.
“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.
You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.
Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”
You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”
“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.
You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”
The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.
But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.
“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.
You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.
Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”
The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”
Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”
The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.
And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.
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You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.
You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.
He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”
It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.
You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”
“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”
You chuckle. “Be nice.”
He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”
You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”
The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”
“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”
Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.
“Yeah, guess so.”
“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.
You nod, deliberate and slow.
“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.
You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?
“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.
“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”
His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”
He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”
His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”
You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”
“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”
“Wha-?”
“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”
Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.
“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.
You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!
“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”
You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”
His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”
You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”
His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”
“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”
Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.
“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.
Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”
You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”
His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”
You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”
He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”
The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.
Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”
He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.
And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.
You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.
Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.
You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.
“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”
The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.
And you want. You so want.
Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady. 
Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.
It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.
His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.
His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.
And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.
Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”
You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.
He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”
You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw
“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”
You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.
He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.
“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.” 
A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”
“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.
His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.
You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”
You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.
To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”
You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.
Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other. 
He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.
“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”
“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.
“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.
“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”
He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”
You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.
A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”
You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”
He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”
“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.” 
When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.
You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”
Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”
You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”
He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”
“You’re wrong, you know?”
He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.
You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”
A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”
THE END
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polaris-stuff · 20 days ago
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Hello hello.
Me and a friend have been posting about Lunar/Lunara in the shipfessions, and while I mentioned it before (I think i did anyways? On the bloodmoon/bloodmoon ask I sent?) I wanted to know if you had any headcanons for Lunar/Lunara? Are they fluffy to you? Angsty? ...whumpy? Any thoughts?
Hi! Sorry for the wait in answering this sobs 🥺
I actually have little idea how to make their relationship work, and I am, unfortunately, a hopeless romantic so I do everything a bit fluffly 😭💖
We already know that Lunara is bored of living with the star to the point of wanting to throw it into the void so let's think: what happens if Lunara throws the star and the entire load of SP and NSP collides and causes an explosion or implosion so strong that it altered the physics of the dimension, opening a portal to the last dimension that opened in that place: the prime dimension. And of course, the shockwave pushed Lunara there.
Lunara wakes up in the daycare of the prime dimension, perhaps in the middle of the ballpit, and even scared because, oh no, where is he? The star! He threw it away!! He is helpless in a place he doesn't know but... that place looks very familiar at the same time.
Lunara tried to hide but between her desperation and feeling weak again without the star, she ended up tripping and being found by Earth, who thought she was Lunar. Lunara slapped the hand Earth brought out to help him and yelled at her to stay away, causing Earth to become confused and the real Lunar to run into the daycare. Lunara is like a very scared little rabbit at that moment lol.
I get the idea that Lunar ended up deciding to take care of Lunara, since, well, she's a version of him from another dimension so, and in Lunar's words: "he knows himself perfectly." And Lunara doesn't seem to be a danger other than the tantrums and bites she sometimes throws.
Lunara was super reluctant to live with the celestial family but quickly found herself comfortable in Lunar's little fort. The blankets and boxes on top felt safe and comfortable and Lunar got her addicted to Nutella too lol. Lunara quickly became inseparable from Lunar because she is the only person who makes her feel safe, so it becomes normal to see Lunara hiding behind Lunar and refusing to go anywhere if Lunar doesn't go too.
SO YEAH ✨ Lunar takes care of him and that care made them closer, helping Lunara understand the dimension and Lunara was so surprised to know that there really was a dimension where Lunar was happy. (and a little jealous, because he could never have that, but now he is getting a new chance to have a family that loves him 🥺).
They sleep together and hug and cuddle and the first kiss was so sweet and shy ajdkahdka Lunar holding Lunara's face and both give each other a soft kiss, Lunar laughs and Lunara looks away nervously, before kissing again 🥺💖✨
(I have the HC that the star played with Lunara's mind to make it more insane, changing memories and erasing others so Lunara remembers most of her "happy time with Sun and Moon" in a very very blurry way. Also, i like making Lunara use all pronouns XD)
I HOPE THIS IS GOOD AJDKAJ TYSM FOR THE ASK
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felix-floyd · 1 year ago
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(Day 3 of a Dan pic/lyric every day to find new NSP friends)
“New Zealand got a blast of my
semen, I did some butt stuff with
Russians until they got a concussion. I Bangladesh!”
- Road Trip, Attitude City
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redlips-blooddrops-deux · 1 year ago
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Favorite color(s): Many shades of green and purple
Song stuck in your head: NSP-First date
Last song you listened to: Pat Benatar-Fire and Ice
3 favorite foods: Gyros, Fruit salad, BBq
Dream trip: Japan, Iceland and Portugal
Anything I want rn: A reassurance that everything will be okay in the future..
Tagged by @erxsxre sank ya numpty
tagging: @steel-and-fire @wclking-fire @videcoeur @cxnsolatio @mannequinentity and all of ya
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Tag ten people you wanna get to know better!
I was tagged by @steddieas-shegoes!! Thanks a bunch!!! 
relationship status: super single!!
song stuck in my head: Unsaid Emily from Julie and the Phantoms!
last song i listened to: Africa NSP cover
three favorite foods: mac and cheese, homemade noodles, and buffalo chicken dip!!!
last thing i googled: The Walmart near my house!!
dream trip: A big road trip with my best friends to just about anywhere!!!
anything i want right now: a chocolate frosty honestly lol
My one person to tag lol:
@bricksbloggyplace 
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sgholidaystour · 6 months ago
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idolsummons · 1 year ago
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𝐓𝐀𝐆 𝟏𝟎 𝐏𝐄𝐎𝐏𝐋𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 .
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favourite colour : purple's nice, but so are all the other colours, too! song stuck in your head : welcome to my parents' house by nsp. it's been stuck in my head for four days. please help. last song you listened to : fight the power - the isley brothers 3 favourite foods : ice cream, cake, churros, dream trip : going places scares me, but i guess, like, japan and ireland would both be pretty neat anything i want rn : hazelnut hot chocolate :(
tagged by: @poswiecenia, thank you! <3 tagging: i'm breaking the rules, please still this and say i tagged you <3
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woodys-surf-shack · 1 year ago
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Surf Log 007
Date: Sat 8th July 2023
Location: Boscombe + Highcliffe
Waves: 3-4ft
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Journal: I started today intending to take my first trip to Kimmeridge Bay, but as I was getting ready a new thought crossed my mind: what if I went to my local surf shop and got my first mini mal board? I'd been toying with the idea of upgrading from my foamie for a while now, and even though money is tight, I couldn't resist... I tore my wetsuit off and raced up to Sorted Surf Shop in Boscombe!
The shop has been there for over 20 years and it's not hard to see why: the stock is amazing and the staff are lovely. I got chatting to local legend Deano (who coaches Team GB when he's not in the shop!) and he was super patient and helped steer me in the right direction. Love that dude. Telling him I wanted more control and ability to turn on the waves, he advised I get either a 7.6ft NSP Element funboard or a 7.4ft Torq fish board. The fish was beautiful and definitely called to me, but I went with the NSP in the end as it seemed like the most sensible step for my progression and it was reduced in price due to a couple of minor dings. Perhaps I'll get a fish board next time...
I loaded up my gorgeous new board and headed home, I quickly noticed how much lighter and easier to carry an epoxy board is compared to an 8ft foamie. After chilling for a bit I headed down to Highcliffe as Surfline promised some 2-3ft waves. It was late afternoon and raining when I parked up, and foolishly I applied my first coat of wax to my new mini mal in the rain, which seemed to be a lot more effort and is something I'll avoid doing in the future.
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I immediately noticed the difference on this board - it humbled me reallllll fast 😅 it's slightly less buoyant, much harder to balance on (even when you're just sitting in the line up), and ultimately felt like taming a wild horse. Though a little shaken, I was determined not to be deterred, and I went for several waves. I ended up wiping out even more than I did on my first ever session a few months ago. I even got a nasty little cut on my wrist from one of the fins, but that only filled me with a weird sense of pride lol.
After a while I started to get used to this wild horse of mine, and even caught a few nice waves, though my form was probably a bit sloppy. As the session went on, the line up started to get really busy, but everyone was nicely spread out and there was plenty of room. On top of this the rain was hammering down and it felt epic. I headed in after less than 2 hours, as I just felt knackered, but as I left I felt some hometown pride - seeing all these surfers, swimmers, kayakers, and paddleboarders enjoying the big waves at this humble little beach that I'ds grown up next to. Idk, it was just a cool thing to witness.
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Learnings: Start waxing up at home before heading out. Waxing up on the beach is not the move.
Paddling on a mini mal requires slightly more effort than a foamie, be prepared for putting in a bit more elbow grease.
When popping up, keep your hands facedown on top of the board, not clutching the board at the sides, which is what I've been doing up until now 🙃
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aryan-skytrust · 1 year ago
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How to Choose the Best Travel Agency in India for Your Next Trip
How to Choose the Best Travel Agency in India for Your Next Trip
India is a land of diversity, culture, and adventure. Whether you want to explore the majestic Himalayas, the golden deserts of Rajasthan, the serene backwaters of Kerala, or the exotic islands of Andaman, you need a reliable and experienced travel agency to plan your trip.
But how do you find the best travel agency in NSP among the thousands of options available? Here are some tips to help you make the right choice.
Look for Reviews and Ratings
One of the easiest ways to find out about the quality and reputation of a travel agency is to check their reviews and ratings online. You can use platforms like Google, TripAdvisor, or Trustpilot to read what other travelers have to say about their experiences with different agencies.
You can also look for awards and certifications that indicate the agency’s credibility and expertise. For example, SOTC - one of the best travel agencies in India - has won several accolades such as the National Tourism Award, the World Travel Award, and the Travel + Leisure India’s Best Award.
Compare Prices and Services
Another important factor to consider when choosing a travel agency is the price and service they offer. You don’t want to pay more than you should or compromise on quality and safety.
To get the best deal, you should compare prices and services of different agencies for the same destination and itinerary. You can use online portals like Goibibo, Yatra, Book my Bhara - three of the best travel agencies in India - to compare and book flights, hotels, tours, and packages at competitive rates.
You should also check what is included and excluded in the package, such as meals, transfers, sightseeing, taxes, etc. You should also ask about any hidden charges or fees that may apply.
Check Their Expertise and Experience
Another crucial aspect to look for in a travel agency is their expertise and experience in the destination and type of travel you are interested in. You want an agency that has in-depth knowledge and local connections in the place you want to visit.
For example, if you want to go on a wildlife safari in South Africa, you should choose an agency that has specialized in African tours and has access to the best lodges, guides, and parks. Similarly, if you want to go on a spiritual journey in India, you should choose an agency that has curated packages for pilgrims and seekers.
One of the best travel agencies in India that offers customized and niche tours is Swan Tours. They have been in the industry for almost three decades and have a team of experts who can design your dream trip according to your preferences.
Ask for References and Testimonials
Finally, one of the best ways to find out if a travel agency is trustworthy and reliable is to ask for references and testimonials from their past clients. You can contact them directly or read their feedback on the agency’s website or social media pages.
You can ask them questions like:
How was their overall experience with the agency?
How well did the agency communicate and respond to their queries?
How accurate was the itinerary and how well did it match their expectations?
How professional and helpful were the staff and guides?
How satisfied were they with the quality and value of the services?
By following these tips, you can find the best travel agency in Delhi for your next trip. Remember, a good travel agency can make or break your vacation, so choose wisely and enjoy your journey!
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mell-eight · 1 year ago
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The Past Month Has Been Crazy
6/12/23 I have been doing so much better lately with posting regularly to keep everyone in the loop, and then I went and vanished for an entire month!  Sigh.  I admit I've been very busy, and spring has definitely kept me on my toes.  My sister is getting married this summer (soooo excited!!!), so the last few weeks were the bridal shower and bachelorette party.  Plus, I had a business trip for my 9 to 5 and I went to the beach for Memorial Day.  And this entire last week has been sniffles and coughing.  Covid test was negative, but I still felt nasty.  After about ten hours of sleeping three nights in a row I'm starting to feel better, so I appear to be on the back end of this spring cold.  Blah.  Here's everything else I've accomplished over the last month: The Chef is complete!  I've dotted my Ts and crossed my Is and set it aside to rest for a while.  I was right that it wasn't going to beat Magnified as my longest story, but it came really close!  To all my readers who have mentioned they "love my stories but wish they were longer", The Chef is for you!  It taps out at a whomping 59k words, which is easily double the length of most of the rest of my stories.  My plan is to pull The Chef out of hibernation sometime in August or September, give it a last read through, and submit it to NSP for their consideration.  That is a lot longer than I normally give my stories for their resting phase, but The Chef is part of a series whose overall plot will continue between the books.  Right now, the second book, The Prince, is entirely dependent on events that occurred in The Chef.  If something in The Prince isn't flowing correctly, I need to be able to go back into The Chef and make changes, which means The Chef is going to be delayed.  I expect by August to have gotten far enough into The Prince where that won't be an issue any longer. Another problem is I haven't come up with a series name yet.  I might go simple and call it Kingdom of Toval, which is one of the locations in the book, but I'm not sure yet.  Also, I have some vague ideas for a third book in the series, but I don't really see how it can fit into the current plot.   I'm contemplating making it a short story set in the world, but that would depend on how The Prince ends up. I have seen the first draft for the cover of Witch, the third and final book in my Witch's Circle series, and it is glorious!  I can't wait to share it with you.  I don't have an official release date yet to share, but it is with the proof reader at the moment (the final step before ARCs), so I should hear more very soon. Aside from that, the only fun thing is my garden is starting to sprout.  It looks like I will have beans, peas, green peppers, and lettuce fresh on demand all summer!  I can't wait! 
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skytrustitdelhi · 1 year ago
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 Discover the Best Travel Agency in Delhi for Your Ultimate Indian Adventure
 Discover the Best Travel Agency in Delhi for Your Ultimate Indian Adventure
Meta description: Looking for the best travel agency in Delhi? Look no further! Explore the top travel agency in India that offers exceptional services and unforgettable experiences.
Introduction:
Are you planning a trip to India and seeking a reliable travel agency to ensure a hassle-free and unforgettable journey? Look no further! In this blog post, we will introduce you to the best travel agency in Delhi that caters to all your travel needs and provides exceptional services for your Indian adventure. With their expertise, attention to detail, and commitment to customer satisfaction, this travel agency stands out among the rest, making it the ideal choice for exploring the diverse and vibrant country of India.
Discover the Best Travel Agency in NSP:
When it comes to selecting the best travel agency in Delhi, there is one name that stands above the rest - BookMyBharat. With years of experience, a dedicated team of professionals, and a wide range of travel services, they have earned a stellar reputation as the go-to agency for travelers seeking a seamless and enriching Indian experience.
Why Choose BookMyBharat?
Expert Guidance: The team at BookMyBharat comprises travel experts who possess extensive knowledge and firsthand experience of various destinations across India. They can provide valuable insights, recommend hidden gems, and design customized itineraries tailored to your preferences and interests.
Comprehensive Services: From flight and hotel bookings to transportation arrangements, sightseeing tours, and local guides, BookMyBharat offers a comprehensive range of services that cover every aspect of your travel needs. They take care of all the logistics, allowing you to focus on enjoying your journey.
Personalized Itineraries: Recognizing that every traveler is unique, BookMyBharat specializes in creating personalized itineraries that align with your specific requirements. Whether you're a history buff, an adventure seeker, a nature lover, or a food enthusiast, they will curate an itinerary that reflects your passions and interests.
Impeccable Customer Service: BookMyBharat prides itself on delivering top-notch customer service. From the moment you contact them until the completion of your trip, their friendly and professional staff will be readily available to assist you with any queries or concerns you may have. They go the extra mile to ensure your comfort and satisfaction throughout your journey.
Local Connections: As a prominent travel agency in Delhi, BookMyBharat has established strong relationships with local service providers, including hotels, transport companies, and guides. This allows them to offer you the best rates, exclusive experiences, and insider access to attractions that may be off the beaten path.
Conclusion:
When it comes to planning your Indian adventure, choosing the right travel agency is essential for a smooth and memorable experience. With its exceptional services, personalized itineraries, and commitment to customer satisfaction, BookMyBharat has rightfully earned its reputation as the best travel agency in India. So, get ready to embark on an extraordinary journey through the captivating land of India, knowing that you are in the hands of trusted professionals who will make your trip truly unforgettable.
Book your next adventure with BookMyBharat and prepare for an incredible Indian experience that exceeds all your expectations!
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