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fraugwinska · 1 year ago

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I tried my hands on an Human!Alastor fic ;> It's still very different to write for Human Al, but I hope y'all like it ;> Special thanks to @hurthermore for beta-reading and encouraging me <3 This one's for you, love! !! NSFW - Heavy Smut Ahead, Minors DNI - 6k words !!

„You need technical assistance, sir?“

Alastor looked up from the papers on his desk, adjusting his glasses that slipped down the bridge of his nose. He didn't expect her to come in this late, or at all, not while he was still at the station. The curious little sound engineer that had started half a year ago was standing at his office entrance, hands in the pockets of her outrageous trousers. She was tiny, her small figure barely filled the door frame, even with her bulky tool bag that hung from her shoulders. Alastor leaned back in his seat, folding his hands, focusing his tired gaze on her defensive expression.

She was a novelty, that one. Not the first woman working at the station of course, but the first to assert herself in the male-dominated field of technical engineering. Her male colleagues saw the spunky, brass girl as a joke, either ignoring her or trying (very amateurishly) to bed her – both which didn't faze her at all meeting both scenarios with the same contemptuous indifference. The women – secretaries, errand girls and concierges – were much more organized and refined in their bullying. Shortly after her arrival rumors had already spread, one more abstruse than the other, and they had collectively decided to pretend the engineer didn't exist in their periphery. More than once he witnessed her talking to his own secretary Ruth, just to be left standing while Ruth got up and walked out with the other girls to lunch in the middle of her sentence.

The little engineer took it all in stride, though. Never complained, never became outright disrespect- or revengeful. Gradually, her expressions steeled, her answers shortened and her work hours shifted to evenings or nights, with less people to run into.

Alastor had been fascinated by her the moment they first met. He had just started his usual 'Saturday Golden Hour', his favorite and most popular segment to host, broadcasting the newest releases of jazz and swing in the evening, just before sundown. Not even ten minutes in, right after he started playing Bing Crosby's new song 'Dancing in the Dark', listeners started calling the station by the handful, complaining about horrific feedback's and sudden blackouts. While Alastor watched Rufus Ellis, the head of the tech team, frantically run around, yelling at his workers, the little engineer had wordlessly grabbed a few tools and vanished. Five minutes later, his broadcast went back to working perfectly, sound crisp and quality flawless once again. She had returned, put back the tools from where she had taken them, and when Ellis – flabbergasted – asked her what she had done, she had calmly explained that she went up on the roof to check the transmitters connected to the radio tower and fixed a broken generator that had malfunctioned due to some doves nesting in it.

No one thanked or even acknowledged her, they just shrugged and went back to business as usual. But Alastor didn't forget, and from this day he was determined to find out more about this extraordinary girl. She reminded him of his own struggle as the exception to the rule – it was a well-kept secret throughout the station exactly what Alastor looked like and who he was. That was the only reason he was able to do what he felt was born to, a cruel, unfair compromise. So, he felt an unusual sympathy for her, in addition to just his natural curiosity for oddities. However, he didn't expect her to be so elusive.

Whenever he tried to engage her in a conversation, she gave short, finite responses, avoided his eyes and hurried to get away from him, sometimes even bordering on rudeness in her haste to flee from him. Alastor was, to be frank, perplexed - his charm usually drew in the ladies unwantedly. That it had failed him now, with the little engineer, when he welcomed it for a change? Peculiar. To a degree, it angered him, but it also awakened his hunting instinct, just not the one he was used to.

“I'm afraid so, dear.”, Alastor smiled, standing up. He rounded his desk, hands behind his back, and went to her side, looking down a t her. Granted, he was a tall man, but next to her, he felt almost gigantic, which satisfied him in a strange way. “I noticed my microphone was acting up today, and would like you to take a look at it, if you don't mind. Before it decides to give up on me mid-broadcast.”

“That's my job, sir.”, she just answered, eyes intensely staring at the carpet. Alastor's eyebrow twitched in slight aggravation. But he lead her to his booth, unlocking it to let her in. She went straight to his seat, dropping her tool bag next to it and started to pull his microphone to her to inspect it. He quietly closed the door, locking it discreetly – just as a precaution so she couldn't flee him again so easily, now that he finally had her in his vicinity.

Alastor walked over to her, leaning over her shoulder to watch her carefully taking the device apart. She startled when she saw him out of the corner of her eyes. “It may take a while, sir.”, she mumbled, an obvious attempt to make him leave. Alastor laughed. “I've got nowhere to be, dear, take your time.”, he said with a hint of mischievous delight. He heard her scoff, turning back to her work. There was a prolonged silence, her fiercely ignoring Alastor's quiet, content humming while her fingers picked apart and put together parts and cables. He used the time to analyze her appearance – her hair was smooth but more unkempt than for a girl her age – how old must she be? Twenty, maybe Twenty-one? Vanity surely wasn't a flaw of hers, she didn't wear much make-up and Alastor saw various faint, light scars on her arms and hands, little bookmarks of mishaps and failures of her chosen career – the sight of them sent a sick shiver down his spine. Given his... hobbies, he found twisted appeal in scarred skin, finding beauty in those white, shimmering lines where blood once dripped from. He roamed her supple, curved body – unlike the recent fad of skinny, androgynous frames she was built womanly, round and fleshy... how beautiful could he paint her with white streaks on this vast canvas, add some masterpieces of his own to the collection?

“Alright.”, she pulled him out of his thoughts, mounting the microphone back on it's flexible stand. “A few cables were starting to corrode, I've replaced them, it should work fine now.” Alastor grinned down at her, putting one of his hands on her shoulder. The first real contact. “What an efficient engineer you are, dear. Always coming to my rescue, I have yet to show my gratitude.” She didn't look up, didn't even acknowledge that he said something to her, just packing up the various things she had spread out for the repair. Now that was just rude.

“Hello? Is this thing on?”, Alastor strained himself to sound lighthearted as he knocked two times on her head, feeling the shivers of impatience rising. The engineer closed her eyes and took a deep breath in, shifting in his chair with furrowed brows. “I'm getting paid to do my job. I don't need anything else.” She attempted to stand up, but his hand, still resting on her shoulder, holds her in place. “If that's all, sir?”

“Now now, not to hasty. I'd think it's unlike you to leave work halfway done. Normally you are quite thorough, aren't you?” Alastor cooed, tilting his head at her. “My work is done.” she said, her voice now intense and a faint tint of red on her cheek and neck. My, there's the little ferocity he thought she'd lost at the job. “Why we haven't tested the thing, dear – How can I be sure it works properly?”

“Because I know what I'm doing.” She looked outright offended at the implied possibility that she failed the task he asked of her. He had to chuckle, such a childish reaction to something so innocent. Maybe it was because implications like these grated her thick skin, but Alastor had no problem with being the straw that breaks that camel's back. He was skilled in putting people back in their place, and with her, it would be much more entertaining and much less fatal than with his other... acquaintances. He decided to tickle this sleeping dragon just a bit more, with a funny little idea in mind.

“No one is infallible – especially when they are so young. No fault in that, dear, but I'd like to be sure.” Alastor swiftly grabbed her wrist, pulling her up to stand. Putting up no resistance, most likely because of sheer perplexity, he twirled her almost like in a dance, side-stepping to his chair, and sat down, pulling her onto his lap, locking her there by an arm wrapped around her waist. The look on her face was worth it's weight in gold – eyes wide, mouth agape in stunned shock, and tips of the ears reddened. Her hands grappled the armrests so forcefully her knuckles were as white as the scars on her arms, and within seconds of regaining her active conscience she squirmed against his body. “What... that's so... sir, please let me g...” “There you go, dear.”, Alastor ignored her babbling, using his free hand to put the headphones on her. Her pulse under her thin, clear skin drummed faster against him, it's heat felt like it could boil his own blood.

He grabbed his own microphone, swinging it up between their faces and leaned forward, chin resting on her shoulder and the grille brushing his lower lip. She stared, dumbstruck, a bead of sweat forming on her forehead. He chuckled against her cheek, leaning his mouth to the mic as he pushed the switch on the control panel up, and his rich, sultry baritone echoed in her headphones.

"How about it, darling, do you hear me?"

She breathed deeply, gulping, and her heart sped up even more. Alastor smiled devilishly against her soft skin, delighted and in awe by how far he got her worked up as she just nodded sharply.

"No soundrops, feedback or small interferences?", he hummed, his voice dripping sweet honey. She took a moment to answer. "N-no... everything seems alright."

"Lovely." He almost whispered, but she heard it crystal clear through the headphones. He let a low sigh and took off his glasses with one hand, slowly, teasingly, his nose tracing over her neck, as if it was coincidental, as if he'd never ever do such a thing intentionally, putting the accessory on the table next to him, eyes locking on the hazel ones of hers mirrored in them. "Although I wonder..." He pushed the mic nearer to her mouth, seeing a tremble running over her body. "... if the higher pitches might be a problem... You wouldn't mind help with that, would you?"

She stiffened up, barely daring to breathe, her skin erupting into goose flesh underneath his lips, he felt the impulse to press them against her, lick the salt and nervousness from it.

"Sir, I-I can't.."

He chuckled at her strained, whispering voice. How beautiful was her distress, so rich, so fragrant, almost strong enough for him to savor its essence without even needing to touch her.

"Then, may I assist you?", Alastor felt himself giddy with impish delight, his hands slowly trailing upwards from her waist to her bust, cupping her gently through the thin fabric. This made her wriggle again, a small, high pitched squeak leaving her lips that his microphone just amplified in glorious reverberations. Alastor chuckled darkly as she froze, neck burning red in deep embarrassment from the sound she heard from the headphones.

"Now we're talking. A wonderful first try. But let's see what else we can get out of you, darling. After all, we want to be thorough."

His hands palmed and kneaded the supple flesh through the cotton, feeling her squirm and tremble and the warmth of her bosom, imagining the blood rushing through her heart. How exquisite was she?

He could hear a small whimper as her head slightly lowered. Was she closing her eyes? He imagined it so. Imagined she'd shut her pretty eyes closed, furrow her brows in conflict as her legs pressed against each other in fruitless desperation. Her hands tightened on the armrest.

"You are so very quiet, dear. Why don't you relax and turn the volume up for me?"

With one of his hands he quickly loosened the two buttons that kept her blouse close and tugged at the collar to widen the neck hole, then slid under her brassier and gripped one breast with a tight squeeze. Alastor caught his breath as he realized just how sensitive and sweet the freckled skin under his fingertips was. Soft. Warm. So fragile... He would never have imagined this was hiding under her daily uniform, her sagging shoulders and loose jacket hiding those lovely features. Alastor felt a delightful spark crackle in his head and shoot up the nerves of his spine. His hunting instinct pulsed under the mask. But... with a slight delay, Alastor recognized it as a different type of hunger... one of the carnal and more depraved kind. Another novelty for him.

Alastor suddenly wondered what her lips tasted like, how soft and warm would they feel on his, her teeth biting, her tongue teasing him. How many ways could he break her - and could he do it quickly, with his bare hands, with his words alone maybe, or with his undisciplined arousal pushing against her rear-end through the fabric of his trousers? How often did she think of him? How did she think of him? Did she fear him, or dislike him even? He could hear her breathing hasten as he was trying to compose himself.

There was the devil's urge to just let himself go. To shove the equipment aside and tear those outrageously inadequate clothes away from her flesh, run his hands over the skin he didn't get to see yet, trace and map those scars of hers until they fade underneath his fingers. Mark her more thoroughly than any machine mishap ever could. Make her cry, moan, beg and whine under him until there was nothing left in her and this novel hunger was satisfied.

A wonderfully loud moan escaped her, a sweet, silky, vibrato sound of passion, that went right from Alastor's chest into his pelvis. She opened her eyes wide, pressing her hand firmly over her mouth, mortified at her own pleasure.

Oh, Alastor thought to himself, smiling mischievously as the shock of lustful rapture coursed through him, how easy it was for him to undo her. So unexplored, so fresh... "Do you wish to stop, darling?", he asked with a teasing pinch of her hardened nipple, which made her cry out and her other hand fly up and cover her mouth, too. She shook her head, her cheeks flushed and hot, eyes hazed with confused pleasure. He rubbed and teased the nipple gently in his palm, holding her close, making her struggle in defiant silence. The only sound was his gentle, patient humming.

But oh, she was breaking, crumbling like a stale beignet, and the noises his hand bullied out of her turned from hushed whimpers to barely muffled groans and cries for him, long and wanting 'Sir's and 'Oh's. She was melting under his palm. He grinned wickedly, his lower body hard and wanting against her as he put the microphone to his own lips again and spoke into it.

"Say it with your words, dear, should I stop? Or is it that you can't hear me?"

"Y-yes! I mean... No sir... d-don't... stop." There was a suppressed crack in her voice, and Alastor sighed with lust at her gasping affirmation, grinding against her plushy backside. He has found it amusing to push her limits, break through her thick skin and riddle her, like an ice pick cracking open a glacier. And now it would shatter her so gorgeously. "It's Alastor, darling." He whispered into the microphone with a dragging, sultry voice, his hand retreating from her breast, only to snake it's way to the hem of her pants. Her legs twitched, pushing together to futilely protect her modesty, but her body eagerly arched in a way that gave such easy way for his fingers to slip under the garments, feel and stroke the short, coarse hair, following it's trail, only to meet soft, silken and slippery wetness. A startled gasp escaped her and the only reason she didn't leap up was because Alastor kept his firm grip on her waist, pulling her tight against his throbbing erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, exposing her delicate throat as she whimpered, hands flying from her mouth to the armrests again, gripping so hard her fingernails dug into the hard wooden surface.

He tried to restrain himself but couldn't, he testily bit into the thin, soft flesh of her neck as his fingers found their way into her entrance and dipped deep in, coating his palm in generous wetness and crooking, exploring carefully, but with a patience even he was surprised at, eyes fixated on the taut fabric as he thrust into her in tandem with the waves her body undulated at the new sensation, her sweet taste on his tongue.

"S-Sir, please...", she groaned against his hand that still remained pressed over her lips, as if it could suppress the bliss Alastor wrought her into. He withdrew his hand for a moment, fingers wet, glistening and slick, as she was breathless, but she couldn't hide how her hips were chasing his retreating touch. He leaned into the microphone, barely lifting his mouth from her neck.

"Say my name, and I shall listen, little engineer."

She hesitated for just a heartbeat, before opening her eyes, hazily staring at the ceiling as Alastor patiently waited, his fingers drawing idle circles around the sweet pearl on her outer folds. She pressed her lips together for a second, seemingly mentally preparing herself, and then opened her mouth, to give in, to submit to him.

"...A-Alastor, please..."

"I like the sound of my name from your lips, darling." He almost purred in return and resumed his movements with added vigor and focus. He put down his head on her shoulder, nuzzling into the juncture of her throat, watching her reaction and every detail of how his hand worked her over with the rhythmic hump of his hips, forcing him to breathe harshly as he was starting to be deprived of blood. He had barely noticed it, how incredibly erotic and sinful this whole thing felt not just for her, but for him, too. Partly of course, because of the chase, the coaxing, the hunt to have her call and writhe for only him, not for any of these imbeciles that tried to get their pick with her, his ears pricked and eager to savor her wanton sounds... A surprising need to be connected, closer to her than anyone ever could be in her whole life, and it made him even giddy to know no man had touched her like he was doing now, taking her purity with ease and glee.

But there was another part, something he thought slumbered too deep within him to be ever awoken, a roaring fire in his guts as the alluring, delicious scent of her arousal assaulted him like a siren's song, lulling, cajoling him with sensual desires to drown in them, to abandon all else and indulge, to completely give in and surrender. It wasn't tactical, calculating or strategic, but wild and primal and primitive, and not at all as painful or awkward to him as he had always thought it'd be.

What a revelation a woman's body could be.

He almost missed her coming into his eagerly working hand - a sudden, full-body twitch that went through her spine, a whine in her voice that ended in a choked sound as her orgasm claimed her and washed her away in the torrent of rapture - eyes going wide as the air escaped her in a desperate cry, hands gripping his thigh and the chair's armrest so hard the nails left little scratches in the wood. He barely had time to notice it before her climax hit him like a truck - the convulsing of her inner walls, gripping and spasming tightly around his fingers as he slowed and stroke out her high.

This moment was pure madness in his veins - his head foggy and airy, like a drug, like a vicious new addiction he would do almost anything for. Her body went slack against him, and the only thing that held her upright was Alastor's arm still securely around her, still keeping her pressed onto his hard length, still pulsing for some release of his own. Alastor wanted more, already was plotting what his hands could be doing to her body next as she came down from her high and back to earth, the heat leaving her body slowly as the soundproofed air trapped within the booth hung heavy with her hot breath and the smell of her passion.

The first movement of hers, after having come undone so beautifully for and on him, was to lift up the headphones.

"Well then, little engineer.", he huffed into her ear, laughing with barely hidden delight. "What is your final assessment?"

"Your microphone works perfectly. J-just like I said it would." She was determined, if nothing else. And unbearably cute when she was defiant. Alastor simply adored a fiery spirit, even as he was already thirsting for more. He looked up, her sharp tone prickling his pride. He shot her a glare from the corner of his eyes, his usually calm smile tugging upward in a half smirk as she avoided his eyes. Oh, was she starting to have second thoughts about her tone towards him?

"I always admired your work ethics and knowledge, my dear, even though you eluded my attempts to give you your well-deserved recognition." The hand not occupied in playing with her still moist, delicate flesh lifted the arm that she had still buried in his thigh, brushing his fingers lightly over her knuckles as he brought it to his lips. She went still as a stone under his fingertips. "I asked myself, what would be the reason you ignored and evaded me for so long? Do you dislike me that much, little engineering girl?"

"No." It took her a moment, a little quiver in her voice, but it seemed like this was the first time in a long while that her answer was as blunt and truthful. He sighed contentedly, planting a soft kiss on her hand. "Quite the contrary, in fact."

His eyes snapped to her, narrowed. She still refused to look at him, still tense and obviously embarrassed, her free hand trembling on her lap. So it hadn't been animosity that made her behave so coldly towards him, not aversion that made her flee his presence and not prejudice that made her avoid their encounters but...

"Ah." Alastor chuckled softly at her awkward behavior, grinning delightedly at the revelation. "Of course."

Shyness was a curious thing, he thought, often misinterpreted as either prude modesty or cold antipathy. And it seemed Alastor had fallen for the latter interpretation - he would've been miffed at the thought if it hadn't brought her here, into his lap, and into his hands - alas, better late than never, he guessed. And there was still something to take care of.

"Well, since you're not running from me now..." His hand left hers and joined his other one in pulling the belt of her pants open, gently tugging on the metal buckle until the strap slipped free. "Let me finally show my gratitude in kind, for the lovely engineer and her marvelous work."

He loosened his tight grip on her, enough so that he could turn her to face him - for once, she glanced at him from under her lashes, not only out of bashfulness now - but he thought he saw something like cautious anticipation there, too. His grin became even wider as she kept his gaze, even if barely. A last stubborn act of shy rebellion - in another situation it would have enraged Alastor, but now, he was delightfully fascinated and challenged by her stubborn nature, by the unpredictability of her reactions even now, as she herself hooked her fingers under the hem of her pants and pushed them down over her shapely hips.

The last barrier of decency fell between them, revealing the full picture before him - there was her reddened face framed by cascading locks, eyes lowered in embarrassed defeat; Her stiffened nipples prominent on her perky, tight breasts; The damp patch of dark pubic hair that barely hid her glistening privates and the plush roundness of her thighs. And the whole body covered in tiny, white streaks, healed cuts and burns scattered in between her freckles. Oh, she would be delightful to ruin over and over again.

He took a step towards her, his hands immediately moving to her hip, exploring, caressing the soft flesh. This time, she did not move away from his touch and watched him with big, wide-blown eyes, full of expectation and a new type of uncertainty as he lifted her up onto the main control panel. He discarded of his jacket, the cloth too heavy and hot for him now, and threw it aside carelessly, leaving his bow tie hanging loosely around his neck as he went back to the woman, his little prey. Her knees parted slightly when his body wedged between them, an inviting gesture from her, though Alastor suspected she herself didn't notice. He grinned darkly, lifting her chin up by a finger, before bending over and planting a firm but restrained kiss on her lips, feeling his own skin crawl in electric stimulation, eager to finally taste her. His hands made quick work of his slacks, freeing his almost painfully erect member with a pleased sigh. From the way she gasped and her eyes widened, he could easily deduct that she had less to no experience whatsoever.

Oh, what a fortune. Alastor relished the thought of claiming precious, well kept treasures, his breath quickened as he broke from the kiss, hands running over her heated skin in swift, soothing motions, goosebumps trailing in their wake as he felt her shudder with hesitant desire beneath him. Oh, this would be fun.

"Let's be sure you'll hear my message loud and clear, this time, hm?"

He took her mouth again before she could protest, discreetly angling the microphone down with one hand just near enough where she would soon enough be connected to him. With a sly grin, he lined himself up to her waiting entrance and slowly pushed in. She stiffened at the unfamiliar invasion, a mewl muffled against his lips and hands in his shirt, and he stilled, enjoying the way her body reflexively tightened and squeezed around him as she tried to cope with the sensation of him stretching her.

She gasped as her chest heaved from the feeling, her walls convulsing around him like a vice. He allowed a low groan to escape him, she felt so gloriously tight and hot he had trouble keeping his composure, hands twitching to rut into her and just plow through.

"Ready for the final test, darling?"

"T-test...?"

He didn't bother to give her an answer as he started to move. In and out, with slow and drawn out movements, keeping his thrusts shallow at first, deep and precise enough to press against her innermost point and making her moan helplessly. The wet sounds of their coupling reached his ears, coupled with her wanton cries, an obscene and enchanting noise he was waiting for. With a mischievous smile, he picked up the headphones from where she had put them down, lifting it to one of her ears. Her face flushed in such lovely shades of red when the squelching echoes of what the mic picked up reached her ears, amplified and oh-so-clear thanks to her own handiwork.

He let out a guttural chuckle as he leaned into her, still thrusting slowly, her head falling on his shoulder and hanging onto his shirt for dear life, knuckles white as she could hear all the sweet sounds their bodies made and how they connected, each inch of her body singing praises for only him, for his size and rhythm. He could tell the moment her walls began to relax around him, squeezing the blood into his member as she took him in again and again, accepting it's size wholeheartedly with greedy eagerness.

"Such a talented woman.", he praised into her free ear, sighing at the delicious way her slick, swollen lips slid over his length, her thighs twitching against his with every single thrust and every word that fell from his lips. "Just listen to the fruits of your impeccable labor, dearest. Almost wasted in a place like this."

A moan, shaky and delirious, a shuddering sob for him, so high and flustered she sounded almost pained escaped her throat. She pressed against him and with a jolt that reverberated through her spine, convulsing so sweetly against him he almost came from the tremor that rushed through his cock. But it wasn't her peak. Alastor hadn't gotten his fill yet and he wouldn't stop now until it was both of their turns, but damn if he wasn't tempted.

He reached to the other ear to put the second headphone on her. Now her world had no escape, she could only listen, only hear every filthy wet noise of his slick slide, his ragged breathing and the beat of her own heart- a heavy, cacophonous staccato.

Her eyes were heavy-lidded, head clouded and flushed, looking up at him with rapt fascination. His own gaze met hers as his pace increased, suddenly snapping his hips with harsh precision, and his voice was low, carnal.

"But their loss is my gain, darling. Don't you ever forget that, now."

And his thoughts went to of those incompetent, thickheaded dunderheads who took their jobs, but were no where as skilled or invested as her, knowing full well they were inadequate and undeserving to get close to her, trying to touch what clearly should have been for him alone to do, and it sent a nasty spark of possessiveness through Alastor, igniting a furious hunger, a beast waking up within him and snarling with unbridled desire, to claim, to mark her as his. And nobody else's.

He grinned devilishly, a low rumble in his throat as a needy whine escaped his little engineer and he grabbed her waist tightly, digging his fingers into the fat there as he picked up speed and drilled into her with more intensity, savage, merciless and utterly ruthless, finally throwing all composure and rationality overboard to replace it with feral instinct and possessive desire. Her hands clutched him desperately, thighs tensing and pressing against his moving hips, her choked cries of his name were nothing else but heavenly and he was filled with lecherous obsession and greed - yes, he could get addicted to the sound of his name being screamed and moaned from her lips, her sweet, wet flesh fluttering around his throbbing length, the violent stuttering of her breath that just enticed and pleaded him to continue.

"Mine. My own, little, eager engineer." he hissed against the shell of her ear, headphones slipping from her, hips still pounding away at her heat with feverish pace and an undeniable pleasure coiling low and tightly within his pelvis. With every harsh thrust, every desperate, salacious cry, he pulled her deeper and deeper into sinful depravity, her head thrown back in bliss, the headphones slipping from her head as her nails scraped desperately over his clothed chest. The sharp bites of pain mixed with a sweet ache and tightening within Alastor, telltale signs of his climax nearing rapidly. "No more avoiding me, no more elusion or flight for you, understood? You are mine and mine alone."

Her toes curled as his words spurred her over the edge with him, her core spasming and quivering around him as her moans became ragged and desperate, jaw agape in rapture but no words found as she toppled into her orgasm, dragging and taking Alastor with her. The immense wave crashed into him and swept him along, and he growled in the sensational and exhilarating feeling and his head fell against her shoulder, with a growl ripping from his throat, low and guttural. His seed emptied in her with long, forceful spurts, her body tensing and relaxing as each twitch and jerk pushed his release deeper and deeper, the pleasure so acute, so sharp it was almost painful, until both their highs subsided and Alastor had to rest against her for a moment, their labored breaths the only noise that reached his ears.

Alastor sighed contentedly, his hand loosened it's grip and his fingertips gently traced over the angry, red lines they had left behind on her tanned skin of her waist, feeling her shivering underneath him. His lips pressed into the soft crook of her neck, placing a tender kiss on the flushed skin. He would have to do something about the bruising and marks... His eyes wandered up and he noticed that she was staring now, hazily and exhausted, her pupils still wide, lips bitten swollen and reddened, her cheeks and chest still painted pink with lingering arousal. The sight was so deliciously debauched and lewd, a smirk crept on his face.

"It seems that the equipment is indeed in perfect working order again, thanks to you, darling."

"...Yes, sir." she replied warily, her voice still breathless. Her usual demeanor returned, too embarrassed to look him in the eyes she tilted her head away from him. He chuckled, lifting her chin and capturing her lips once again, not much for hers but more for his own gain, and then moved off and out of her. He took a moment to savor the view - the red, swollen flesh, leaking his essence that pooled on the metal surface of his control panel he would work on in a few hours, and her thighs glistening in the faint orange light of the booth.

"Please, darling, from now on..." Alastor took a handkerchief from his breast pocket, wiping the mess of his hands and cleaning her with careful gentleness, her legs twitching weakly at the contact.

"...call me Alastor."

He hummed quietly and lifted her from the console, closing the buttons on her blouse again with fastidious efficiency after she slipped back into her pants. Then, with a few quick motions, Alastor picked up his jacket and fixed his own appearance, before helping her stand properly on her trembling feet.

"I trust we won't have any misunderstandings anymore?" He smiled at her, tilting his head slightly, a soft and yet challenging smile, his hand cupping her face and the thumb brushing her lower lip. Her cheeks grew warmer and redder again, her eyes flickering downwards, then back up, before she nodded silently. "Excellent."

Alastor put the headphones back on their rack, before taking his glasses, slipping them back on and reaching for the door handle, his other hand extended towards his little engineer in an inviting motion.

"Come along, my dear. Let me treat you to a nice cup of coffee, I find there's nothing better after a job well done."

She paused, her face going a shade darker and her lips pressing together. Then, after a heartbeat, she stepped next to him and through the door he opened for her. He could see the small smile that crept onto her lips as she hurriedly passed him, a shy glance shot towards him, but this time it didn't feel like she wasn't fleeing, but almost daring for him to chase her.

Another kind of hunt, he mused, and the thought made him smile as he closed the door and followed her out.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #fraugwinskawrites #Human!Alastor x Reader #Alastor smut #Human!Alastor smut

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wileys-russo · 1 year ago

Note

Mary Earps, "will you marry me"..."we're already married", nightclub/party/some sort of night out

marry me II m.earps

you weren't able to go to the game because of work but you'd heard how well mary played, score checking as often as you could when your boss wasn't looking though you knew he really wouldn't mind all that much being a united supporter himself.

finally on your afternoon break you'd had a chance to call her, getting the full recap on everything including what sounded like a rocket of a goal from both maya and ella, united going up 4-0 in one of their best games of the season.

it killed you to have to cut your wife off mid story but with only a couple minutes left mary was more than understanding as you promised to meet her with the team once you finished, not thinking you'd make it in time for dinner but they had plans to go out afterwards to a karaoke bar.

"-and i promise not to sing a single abba song until you arrive beautiful!" mary promised and you could hear the grin in her voice as you softened, the two of you having met when a rather tipsy mary had mistaken you for a friend and tried to sweep you off your feet to have a dance to voulez vouz years ago.

now it was your unspoken song, always making sure to get it requested whenever you went out with friends, the two of you in your own little bubble as you'd giggle and swing one another around like the lovesick idiots you really were.

telling her you loved her and again how proud you were of yet another clean sheet under her belt you ended the call and hurried back to your desk where a large number of emails awaited you.

you were somewhat grateful for how busy your afternoon was given that it made the rest of your shift fly past, your timer going to clock out jolting you from your chair almost as you saved the doc you were working on and shut down your monitor.

collecting your things you said your goodbyes to your coworkers and headed out, wishing you'd bought a second jacket as you speed walked from the office to the tube, settling a little once you were inside and headed home.

it was the same story as you power walked from the station to the bus, and then from the bus stop to your flat you shared with your girlfriend. your new years resolution this year had been to use public transport to get to work at least twice a week.

given the business you worked for operated seven days a week and you only worked five including like today the occasional weekend it was going quite well so far, even if also like today it was that little bit harder with the weather.

by the time you let yourself inside it was nearing half past seven, and still needing a shower and some food you sent your wife a message indicating as much with a promise to keep her updated on your eta.

you melted at her reply text, following her instructions and going to the fridge where indeed she'd already cooked you dinner earlier this morning, the food just needing to be heated up.

not wanting to chance spilling food on anything you ate before you showered, putting on the highlights of the match and watching on proudly with a smile, cheering as though you didn't already know the outcome.

finishing up you rinsed and stacked your bowl and the tupperware in the dishwasher which was nearly full, tossing a tablet in and clicking it on as you thanked your wife for the meal and ducked into the shower.

by the time you showered and changed, finally looking presentable, it was nearing nine and mary had already informed around twenty minutes ago they were headed to the bar from the restaurant and she'd see you there.

ordering an uber you slipped on your shoes and grabbed a jacket, greeting the driver but otherwise remaining quiet, grateful that he picked up on that and just turned the radio on as you messaged mary you'd arrived.

thanking the uber you stepped out and joined the small line to enter the bar, grateful for the jacket around your shoulders as a sharp breeze whipped through the night air.

you frowned a little when mary hadn't texted back, but assuming she just hadn't heard her phone you'd barely stepped foot into the bar before a couple of bodies tumbled into you.

"ya made it!" you laughed as millie lifted you into the air in a tight hug and ella hugged your other side, the two having spotted you enter from the bar as they hustled you back over with them to grab a drink.

you greeted a few more of the girls and their partners as you waited, looking around for your wife but unable to spot her. "you might want to prepare yourself babe." maya warned patting your shoulder and handing you your drink as you gave her a curious look.

"dumb and dumber here have been feeding mary shots so she's...a little bit tipsy." maya smiled apologetically as you chuckled, knowing from her tone that was clearly an understatement as you followed her back to the booths where most of the team was hanging around.

"hello beautiful!" you heard her before you saw her, the taller girl crashing into you as maya hurried to grab your drink from your hand or else you'd have wound up wearing it as your wife practically tackled you down onto the lounge.

"mary! watch out ya idiot." katie laughed with a shake of her head. "hi baby, having fun?" you smiled, taking your drink back off maya and settling it down on the table as mary sat up and nodded, arm draped securely over your shoulders.

"so much fun!" she giggled and you grinned at the bright red flush across her cheeks you knew only appeared when she'd had far too much to drink. "mm i can see that, whats this i hear about shots?" you teased sipping at your own drink.

"mary!" you groaned as you barely had a mouthful before the goalkeeper had taken it from your hand and downed it, her only response being to grab your face and smash her lips to yours causing your neck to warm and wolf whistles to ring out around you.

"okay okay! down girl." you laughed pushing at her chest as she again chased your lips with a grin. "no i missed ya, c'mere." she tugged at your dress as you shook your head. "you owe me a drink earps." you warned booping her nose with a grin.

"mary watch out!" you laughed again as she practically leapt over you and made a beeline for the bar, dragging millie along with her. "no more shots for her turner i mean it!" you yelled after them as millie only winked and you sighed.

turns out, there was more shots.

a couple of hours had passed since you'd arrived and having sung three times now both with your wife or friends you were ready to call it a night, mary barely able to hold her head up.

"i'm gonna get us an uber. can you help me get her up?" you chuckled to leah and millie, millie who had sobered up scarily fast considering you'd watched her do shot after shot with your wife who was near passed out on your shoulder.

"maz, baby. come on up we get, we're gonna head home!" you shook her lightly as her eyes fluttered open and she mumbled something incomprehensible and slumped back down. nodding to millie and leah once the uber was booked the girls helped mary up who thankfully could mostly walk herself once she was.

"for earps? thank you." you checked with the uber, leah shoving mary in the back as you sat down beside her and buckled her in, thanking both girls and waving them off as they made their way back inside.

"are we on the tube?" mary lifted her head squinting her eyes with a slur making you chuckle. "no you muppet, we're in an uber." you rubbed her knee as she hummed and collapsed into you with a grunt.

thankfully the bar wasn't too far from your flat as the uber pulled up outside and you gently pushed mary to sit up, exiting the car and quickly making your way to her door.

opening it you grunted as the girl near fell out, the sudden drop at least waking her up enough to allow you to pull her out of the car, closing the door and stumbling your way up the driveway.

"come on babe, work with me here!" you groaned as she leaned her much taller body into you with a moan and a mumble of something that wasn't english, your fingers freezing and struggling with the key in the door as you finally popped it open.

"down we go!" you dropped your wife onto the sofa as she giggled and blinked a few times, sighing as you hurried to the bedroom to change.

grabbing clothes for mary you joined her again in the living room rolling your eyes as she was now properly passed out, mouth hanging open and all.

"maz, maz baby." you crouched down beside her and poked at her as she groaned and swatted you away. "come on, we need to get you changed you idiot!" you laughed, shaking her a bit harder now as she awoke and you helped her groggily sit up.

"oh hello darling." mary slurred, grabbing your hands and tugging you down to sit on her lap. "when did you get here? i missed ya." she mumbled making you laugh and shake your head, well prepared to tease her relentlessly for this tomorrow.

you helped her get dressed, ignoring the comments about buying her dinner first and her little teenage giggles as with absolutely no assistance from your wife you managed to get her changed.

"you're so so beautiful." mary smiled lazily pulling you down onto her lap again making you sigh but crack a smile. "will you marry me? i think you should marry me." the goalkeeper grinned with hooded eyes making you laugh.

"we're already married my love." you grabbed her hand and held up your own, the taller girl squinting at the rings which sat on them. "oh lovely! tick that off the list then." she ticked mid air as you rolled your eyes.

"come on you big dope, time to go to bed with your wife."

#woso community #woso x reader #woso #mary earps x reader #mary earps #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs

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jamesmcalover · 19 days ago

Text

like moss

Hálfdán Helgi Matthìasson (Væb) x reader

Warnings: fluffy & cute, reader is such a hater in the beginning i'm sorry

Summary: You weren’t supposed to get attached. He wasn’t supposed to remember you. But somewhere between dress rehearsals, cardboard boats, and late-night messages, Hálfdán made it hard not to care.

a/n: idk if any of my followers care about eurovision but im PISSED væb got so little points and none from the jury at all?? robbed. anyway, i love væb & i love hálfdán so i wrote a little something to cope. hope you enjoy <3

1.9k words - not proofread!

You hadn’t expected the Icelandic delegation to be the most chaotic one. That title usually went to countries with spark cannons and complicated pyrotechnics. But then came Væb. Five guys in matching silver and rhinestones, constantly buzzing with energy, and a giant cardboard boat prop that looked like a children’s play set. Somehow, they still managed to make it iconic.

During the second dress rehearsal, you were stationed just offstage with a clipboard and headset, making sure each act hit their cues and got safely to the green room. You’d gotten used to managing artists in full glitter-mode, but Væb tested even your practiced patience.

“Please don’t touch that,” you said without looking up. Hálfdán was standing a little too close to the confetti cannon.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice laced with mischief and a thick Icelandic accent that rounded every consonant and softened the edges of his words. “Is it armed?”

“It’s always armed,” you said, finally glancing up.

He was grinning, of course, dark sunglasses tilted slightly down his nose. Up close, you realized they were the same ridiculous rhinestone-studded pair he wore during the performance. And if you weren’t mistaken, you could just barely see regular glasses behind the tinted lenses.

“You’ve got actual glasses in those,” you said before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah,” he said proudly. “Glued in. Otherwise I cannot see the boat. Or the floor. Or anything, really.”

“You forgot them the other day, didn’t you.”

“I walked straight into a camera,” he said, cheerful as ever. “Matti told me I looked like a disco bat.”

You didn’t smile. You were determined not to be charmed. That wasn’t in your job description.

He grinned. “Dangerous place, this.”

“So are you,” you said flatly, turning back to your schedule.

He laughed, loud and full, and the sound echoed backstage.

That was the thing with Hálfdán. He didn’t try to fill the silence because he was insecure. He filled it because he was alive. Loud, kind, present. He talked like it was his way of connecting to the world around him, not to distract from it.

“You like the song?” he asked suddenly, nodding toward the stage where their ridiculous boat prop still sat parked.

You considered lying. Keeping the distance. But you didn’t.

“I didn’t think I would,” you admitted. “But it’s grown on me.”

His whole face lit up. “That is the best kind of liking,” he said. “Like moss. It grows slow. But it stays.”

You blinked. “Did you just compare your song to moss?”

“We are from Iceland. Moss is romantic.”

That made you laugh. Quiet, but real. He looked almost smug about it.

Your radio crackled to life. “Iceland, green room in two.”

“Let’s go,” you said, nodding toward the backstage path.

He didn’t move right away. Just tilted his head a little and asked, “Do you get a break after the show?”

You looked at him. His tone had shifted. Still casual, but not a joke.

“Uh.. Yeah. An hour,” you said.

“Come sit with us,” he said. “In the delegation lounge. I will behave. No moss metaphors.”

You should have said no.

But you didn’t.

═══════════════════════════

You hadn’t meant to actually go.

After the final show run-through, you had intended to file your reports, check your equipment cases, and maybe eat something that didn’t come in a foil wrapper. But somehow, an hour later, you found yourself stepping into the delegation lounge.

It was dimly lit, cozy despite the fold-out chairs and half-eaten bowls of fruit. Delegations were scattered in loose groups, buzzing with leftover adrenaline. Some were still in costume. Others were already back in hoodies and slippers.

Væb had taken over one of the corner couches and were sprawled across it like hyperactive cats. You spotted Matti first, feet tucked under him as he animatedly recounted something with full-body gestures. Then Hálfdán, unmistakable even out of costume, now wearing a hoodie and his normal glasses. He looked calmer than usual, though that might have just been the lighting.

He noticed you right away. His face lit up like someone had flipped a switch. He waved, quick and enthusiastic. You caught Matti glancing over, then smirking as he bumped his brother’s arm and said something in Icelandic. Hálfdán elbowed him back without looking away from you.

You only hesitated for a second before walking over.

“See?” Hálfdán said as you reached them. “No chaos. Very calm. Very chill.”

“Miraculous,” you said, deadpan.

Matti laughed, gave you a cheerful nod, and slipped off the couch to grab a drink. It left an open space beside Hálfdán. Obvious.

You sat.

“You survived the day,” you said.

“Mostly,” he replied. “I didn’t fall off the stage or burst into flames, so I’m counting it as a win.”

“You did almost trip going on the stage.”

“That doesn’t count if I recover gracefully.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. He was wearing a faded hoodie now, sleeves pushed up, and the energy that usually buzzed around him seemed to have settled. Maybe just a little. His glasses sat slightly crooked on his nose.

“I’m still not convinced you sleep,” you said.

He leaned back against the couch. “I sleep a lot, actually. Ask Matti.”

You glanced at him, your face showing slight amusement.

“And you?” he asked, tilting his head. “Do you sleep?”

“When I can. It’s easier when people aren’t texting me memes at two in the morning.”

He looked scandalized. “That was educational.”

“That was a photo of a seagull in a wig.”

“A very stylish seagull.”

You gave him a look.

He smiled, and something in it wasn’t performative. It wasn’t the usual gleam of being on stage or in a green room. Just him.

“You’re not really a Eurovision person,” he said after a beat.

“Is that a crime?”

“No, no! But why do you work here then?”

“You shrugged. “It’s a job. A good one. But weird hours and weird people.”

“Rude,” he gasped, hand to his heart. “I’m not weird.”

“You’re wearing rhinestones on your ears.”

“Fashion,” he said, grinning.

For a few seconds, the noise around you faded into the background. He wasn’t fidgeting. He wasn’t being loud. He just watched you, eyes softer now.

“You know,” he said, “I talk too much most of the time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You don’t say.”

“I mean it,” he said, almost serious. “I don’t like silence. I get antsy.”

“And now?”

He looked at you for a long moment.

“Now I don’t mind it.”

You swallowed a smile. There was something in the way he said it. Unguarded, unshowy. No performance. No charm turned up to eleven. Just honesty.

“Maybe you’re tired,” you said lightly.

“Maybe,” he said. “Or maybe you’re different.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. And for once, it seemed like he didn’t expect an answer.

Instead, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, glancing around the room like he wasn’t used to staying still this long.

“After this,” he said, voice lower, “we go back to Reykjavík. The normal world. No glitter. Just gray skies and fish stew and radio interviews.”

“Sounds thrilling.”

“It kind of is,” he said. “In the right company.”

You gave him a look, skeptical but not unfriendly. “Is this where you ask me to visit Iceland?”

“No,” he said, surprising you. “That would be weird.”

You blinked.

He looked at you, serious again. “But if you ever do go… I’d want to know.”

Something in your chest twisted in a way you didn’t expect. You didn’t know what this was, or what it could be, but it wasn’t nothing.

It wasn’t a fan fantasy. It wasn’t about glitter or cameras or being noticed.

Someone asking you to remember them.

And maybe, you would.

════════════════════════════

You’d half-convinced yourself he wouldn’t reach out. That maybe it had just been a Eurovision moment. One of those things that feels meaningful because the whole world is vibrating and glittering around you.

But then, one night, your phone buzzed.

Four Instagram messages from @halfdan.helgi

8:43 PM

hey

i found a piece of confetti in my sock drawer

made me think of you

you still pretending you don’t like eurovision?

You stared at the screen, heart kicking up unexpectedly.

A minute later:

so.

do you want to come to iceland?

serious question.

(mattis says hi. he’s worried you still think we’re weird.)

You stared at it for a solid ten minutes. Then you answered.

════════════════════════════

Two weeks later, you were landing in Reykjavík.

He picked you up from the airport himself. No assistants, no big gestures, just a hand-lettered cardboard sign that said your name and a ridiculous doodle of a rhinestone cannon.

“You came,” he said when you reached him, almost surprised.

“You DM'd,” you said back.

He gave you that grin – the real one, the one that didn’t need an audience – and for a moment, the cold Reykjavik wind didn’t matter at all.

The next few days passed in the kind of rhythm you hadn’t realized you’d needed. He showed you around the city, not the touristy parts, but the places he actually went, like late-night burger joints, record shops that still smelled like dust and vinyl, walking trails where moss crept over old lava rock the only sound was the wind and his voice, constantly narrating in that lilting accent like it was an audio tour.

He still talked a lot. That hadn’t changed.

But he also listened. Asked questions. Let the silences linger when they needed to.

One evening, you were sitting on a bench near the harbor, watching the sun refuse to set properly.

He was quiet for a long time. Just leaning back, hood pulled over his hair, fingers fidgeting with the drawstring.

“Do you ever think about how weird this is?” he said suddenly.

You turned to look at him. “What part?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “You here. Me not being… I don’t know. Loud. I usually don’t shut up.”

“You’re still talking,” you said.

He smiled. “Yeah, but I like the way I talk around you. It’s not to fill space. It’s just… talking.”

You didn’t say anything. You just shifted a little closer.

He let the quiet settle again before saying, more carefully this time, “I didn’t invite you here for, like, a fling or something.”

“I know.”

“I invited you because I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You looked at him.

Then, after a moment, you said, “That’s a pretty dramatic way to ask if I like hanging out with you.”

He huffed out a laugh. “This is me being sincere. I don’t do it often. It’s weird.”

“Well,” you said, “you’re doing okay.”

He glanced sideways at you, like he was checking if you meant it. You did.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either,” you added, quieter this time.

That softened something in his face. He didn’t grin, not the big one at least, just let the corners of his mouth tip up, slow and warm.

“Yeah?” he said.

You nodded.

He didn’t say anything else right away. Just nudged your shoulder with his, gentle.

“So you’re staying a few more days, right?”

“Maybe.”

“I’ll take it.”

#eurovision song contest #eurovision #hálfdán helgi matthíasson #eurovison 2025 #esc #esc 2025 #esc25 #væb #iceland 2025 #hálfdán #vaeb #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #reader #y/n #x y/n

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vanteguccir · 1 year ago

Text

── ୨୧ !　𝗜 𝗟𝗢𝗩𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨

　　　　　　　　　𝒑𝒂𝒖𝒍 𝒍𝒂𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒆 x reader

SUMMARY: Where Paul finally gets the courage to say "I love you" for the first time.

WARNING: None.

REQUESTED?: Yes, on Wattpad.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Y/N's eyes slowly opened as she tried to adapt to the brightness of the space, rays of the morning sun completely entered through the window covered only by a thin curtain, keeping the room warm and comfortable.

The girl turned her head as she stretched lazily, a smile stretching across her cheeks as her eyes stopped on the face of her boyfriend, Paul, who was lying on his back, eyes closed and small snores coming from his half-open mouth.

Y/N shifted her body to the right, facing Paul while her head rested on his bicep, which served as her pillow every night she slept at his house.

Her eyes traveled over his face, which carried a relaxed expression. His long eyelashes rested on his tan cheeks, and his nose moved slightly from time to time, showing that his mind was immersed in some dream. Y/N felt like she could stay there all day, her left hand drawing small shapes on her boyfriend's bare chest.

After a few minutes of admiring him, the girl felt her hunger speak louder, sitting up slowly so as not to wake Paul, smiling in relief at not seeing him move even an inch, showing that he felt extremely calm and safe in her presence.

Y/N slowly got up from the bed, casting one last glance at Paul before starting her steps out of the room and towards the kitchen, her hands using the black hair tie on her wrist to tie her hair into a high ponytail.

The girl entered the kitchen, a yawn escaping her lips. She walked over to the small radio on the counter and played it, leaving it on the station she always listened to with Paul, turning down the volume a little so as not to disturb her boyfriend's sleep.

Y/N walked to the fridge and opened the door, vaguely observing the items inside, deciding to make a creamy scrambled egg with buttered bread and a fruit salad with yogurt, knowing that Paul felt hungrier than normal and a simple loaf of bread wouldn't sustain his stomach for more than 30 minutes.

She took what she was going to use, placing it on the sink and doing the same with the cabinet, organizing separately what she would use for each dish and starting to prepare breakfast.

With the bread already in the toaster and the water already heating for black coffee, the girl took a ceramic bowl and broke five eggs there, stirring them with a fork.

Sounds of footsteps echoed through the hallway between the bedroom and the kitchen, but it was imperceptible to Y/N, who was too focused on her action and the music coming from the radio.

Paul leaned his body against the threshold of the kitchen door, crossing his arms as his eyes admired his imprint preparing coffee for both of them while softly following the melody on the radio, a smile stretching across his cheeks at the scene so homely, free from weight and worry from all the chaos that has surrounded the supernatural beings of Forks over the last few months.

The opening whistle of the song "Home" by Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros sounded through the room, catching Paul's attention. That song was considered one of the main songs of their relationship, as it played during the first bonfire that Y/N attended as Paul's companion. The memory of the two of them dancing together late at night, bare feet on the sand, surrounded by people they loved and lots of food was engraved in their minds.

The boy walked away from the door, going towards Y/N, who swayed her hips to the beat of the music as she passed the eggs to the frying pan on the stove.

Warm, strong arms surrounded the girl's waist, causing her to jump in place in fright, her right hand flying to Paul's arms while her left went to her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"You scared me!" Y/N said loudly, slapping weakly her boyfriend's arms, taking the spatula from the sink and stirring the eggs in the pan before it burns.

"Sorry, my love. Good morning." Paul responded in a whisper, resting his head in the crook of his girlfriend's neck, breathing in the natural scent of her skin and the body cream she had applied the night before after her shower. "Remember this song?"

"How can I forget? It's our song, it marked the beginning of our relationship." Y/N responded in a low voice, not wanting to burst the bubble that seemed to settle around them.

"Yes, I will never forget you dancing in that beautiful white dress that night, the bonfire behind you, and the smell of food in the air. Remembering that memory makes me love you even more." Paul commented with a goofy smile on his face, closing his eyes briefly, seeming to see the scene in front of him again.

Y/N's right arm, which was previously moving the spatula against the eggs, suddenly stopped, catching the boy's attention, who raised his face and moved so that he was next to his girlfriend, watching her with confused eyes.

"You love me?" She asked in a whisper, turning off the heat and dropping the spatula into the frying pan, turning around and facing him.

Paul replayed in his mind what he had said seconds ago, the understanding that he had said that he loved her flashed across his eyes, a nervous smile expanding on his face as his heart accelerated, fear settling in his chest.

"Yes, I love you." He revealed, knowing that was no coming back, looking at her closely, observing her reaction closely.

His heart warmed at the sight of his girl's eyes shining with tears as her mouth opened slightly in surprise, Y/N's right hand going to her own chest in disbelief.

"Oh Paul, I love you so much." She reciprocated, a tear escaping her eyes as she walked closer to her boyfriend, laying her head against his warm chest, her arms wrapping around his waist.

Paul sighed in relief, his eyes also filling with tears as he pulled Y/N closer, hugging her tightly.

"I've loved you since before I understood what that kind of love meant. The first time I saw you, I gave myself completely. When we kissed for the first time after you accepted me as yours, I became an addict and I knew that no one else could make me feel such an electric spark. Y/N, the moment I looked into your eyes for the first time, I knew I would follow you to the end of the world if necessary. And I don't say that because you're my imprint, my love for you goes far beyond that." Paul declared, pulling away slightly so he could look into his girlfriend's eyes, a huge smile decorating his features.

"Paul, it's not fair of you to make me cry at a time like this." Y/N muttered, her voice cracking with emotions. Paul brought his large hands to her face, wiping away the tears that wetted her flushed face. "I love you so much, I promise I'll be yours for the rest of our lives." She whispered, her heart overflowing with love, passion, and affection.

The boy bent down slightly, sealing his lips on hers in a slow kiss, full of the best feelings. A sigh escaped Y/N in pleasure, surrendering to the kiss and Paul's arms.

The sound of the wolf's stomach begging for food interrupted them. Y/N let out a laugh against Paul's lips, opening her eyes slowly and walking away, smiling big and turning to the stove again, going back to finishing breakfast for both of them.

Paul's arms remained around his girlfriend's body seeking contact and comfort, his heart warm, as their bodies moved slightly to the melody of the songs that sounded from the radio.

They felt like they could stay there forever, surrounded by the best feeling, love.

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jolluxstrait · 8 months ago

Text

MIX 1

Paring: Logan Howlett/Wolverine x reader

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: fluff, reader has hair but no other physical descriptions, mutual pining?, can be read as whatever gender desired, no use of y/n

a/n: first fic iv written in several years, feels good to write again. Based off of a prompt, see below. enjoy!!

[They're stuck on a road trip, and she's singing her heart out, while he pretends to hate it, but when she falls asleep, he quietly turns her playlist back on]

—

When Charles Xavier called you and Logan into his office, you had no idea what would come of it. He proceeded to explain that there was a special mission for just the two of you; going up into southern Canada to scout a possible Brotherhood hideout. When Charles offered the Blackbird to you both to use for said mission, you lept at the idea. However, Logan was quick to dismiss it.

“Yeah, no, not happening. The last time I was in that death trap Scott damn near got us all killed.”

You shoot him an annoyed glare, despite knowing that he's right. Scott Summers is good at many things, but piloting that jet is not one of them.

“Yeah, but Scott won't be flying it so there's nothing to worry about!”

You chime in, sounding hopeful that this will somehow convince Logan. In all truth, you don't want to spend any more time with the brooding man than you absolutely have to. The trip in the Blackbird would take around five hours in total. Five hours is not ideal, but doable.

“I don't care, I'm not getting back into that thing. I'll drive us.”

His voice is stern and serious as he speaks, his tone making it clear that he's not backing down. You let out a huff of annoyance at his stubborn attitude, internally grumbling to yourself over spending the next ten hours in Logan's old beat up truck. It's not that you didn't like Logan, quite the opposite, actually. But you knew, deep down, that the two of you would never work out. He was too much of a loner to ever even consider letting someone get close enough to love him and you didn't think that you could handle the rejection from him anyway. So you buried your feelings away in the farthest corner of your mind and committed yourself to just being friends with the grumpy man.

—

The two of you have been on the road for the past three hours. It's been a long and painfully quiet trip so far, the only saving grace being the soft sounds of the radio, humming quiet country tunes that float around the cab of the truck. It's the reason you're still sane, honestly. You stare out the window, head resting in your hand as your elbow is propped up on the side of the door. The scenery has been nothing but tall trees and empty roads since crossing over the Canadian border.

Logan taps his fingers gently against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the song that's currently playing. The sound is an ever present reminder of the silence between you two. To your surprise, Logan is the first to break the ice.

“You're not fallin’ asleep over there, are ya?”

His voice is gruff as he speaks, a hint of curiosity in it. He continues to keep most of his attention on the road, only glancing over when you respond.

“No, just watching the trees go by..”

Logan nods his head at your answer, knowing he would be doing the same thing if he wasn't driving.

“You can change the station if ya want.”

You perk up at his offer. It's not that you didn't like country music, more that it wasn't your favorite. And honestly, after the last three hours, you were kind of tired of it. You take him up on his offer, shifting your gaze from the tree-filled scenery to the truck's radio, clicking through the stations, pausing on a few only to change it a couple minutes later.

“There's nothing good on right now.. do you mind if we listen to a CD? I figured I'd bring some since you insisted on driving.”

Despite your genuine question, your tone was a bit pointed, still slightly annoyed at him for wanting to drive instead of fly.

“Sure darlin, whatever ya want.”

Logan gives you a simple shrug, gesturing to the CD player. Even though he was acting very nonchalant about it, he was genuinely curious about what you liked to listen to. He was also hoping that the change in music would give him a much needed distraction to how focused he was on you in the passenger seat. Every rise and fall of your chest as you breathe, every subtle movement of your body as you shift to get comfortable, the way your scent lingers in the air like smog as it completely takes over the original smell of cigars and leather that usually permeates the cab. It was incredibly distracting and he found himself stealing glances at you every couple minutes.

You rustle through your bag for a moment, soon pulling a small CD case from it, taking a few moments to flip through the thin plastic sleeves until finally settling on a plain gray CD with the words “MIX 1” written on the top in black ink. With a smile, you pop the CD into the truck's CD player. A couple seconds of silence falls over the inside of the cab before an upbeat punk rock song rings out through the speakers. Logan doesn't try to hide his surprise, looking at you with wide eyes and a raised eyebrow.

“This really the type of music you like?”

“Yeah, what's wrong with it?”

You glance over at Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. Of course he wouldn't be into the same music as you. All this time on this round, dirt filled planet and he never bothered to broaden his music taste, only sticking to what he knew, what was familiar.

“It's damn noisy is what's wrong with it.”

It's a simple and straightforward answer, exactly what you would expect out of him. He wrinkles his nose as the next song plays, another similar sounding tune from the same genre.

“Yeah well, you said I could listen to whatever I wanted, so you're stuck with it.”

You roll your eyes at him as you start singing along to the second song. You run through the whole CD, getting more into the music with each passing song. Logan, despite keeping up his annoyed facade at your singing and choice of music, is absolutely enamored with you. He steals glances at you every so often, watching as you smile while you get lost in the music, his heart rate increasing at the sight. He takes in every moment of you like this, carefree and having fun, committing it to memory.

Logan knows he shouldn't feel this way about you. He shouldn't want to spend time with you as often as he does, shouldn't want to reach out and grab your hand or brush a stray strand of hair from your face, or find any excuse to touch you. Yet, the urge to do so is ever present. He knows that there's no way that you can feel the same way for him that he does about you. He's not sure if he could even bring himself to let you in, not wanting to taint you with the darkness and trauma he keeps bottled up inside. So he pretends to be indifferent towards you, to always keep you at an arm's length away for your own safety. He subtly shakes his head, pushing his meandering thoughts to the back of his mind as he forces himself to focus on the road. You let out a soft sigh as the CD pops halfway out of the player, signifying that it has reached the end. Logan doesn't move to push it back into the player, keeping his gaze on the road ahead of him. You take that as a sign that he's had enough.

“Alright.” You say, settling back against the leather passenger seat. “It's your turn to pick the music.”

Logan glances down at the radio, reaching up without a word to click the button a few times as he searches through the stations. Finally, he settles back on the old country station. You let out a soft chuckle, not at all surprised that this is what he decided. After about thirty minutes of the quiet music, Logan sneaks himself a glance at you, raising his eyebrows when he sees you asleep in the seat next to him. A small smile tugs on the corners of his lips at the sight of your gentle breathing. He can't help but notice how calm and peaceful you look in this moment, a stark difference from earlier when you were singing your heart out to your music.

Without thinking, he reaches his hand over to push a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He pauses as his fingers are mere inches from the strand, hesitating for a moment before finally giving in and gently moving it out of the way of your face. His touch is featherlite, making sure not to disturb you in any way. Logan takes one more good look at you before turning his attention back to the road. As the radio station starts to fizzle out of range, he brings his hand up to change it, noticing your CD still sticking out of the player. With a soft push, he watches as the CD slides back into the slot, the same upbeat punk rock song playing moments later. He turns down the volume a bit so as not to wake you, tapping his fingers to the rhythm of each song on the steering wheel as he lets the CD play. It's still noisy, but knowing that you like it, and the images from you singing your heart out to it earlier are making Logan see the genre in a whole new light.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #logan howlett x you #Logan howlett fluff #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x you #Logan wolverine #x men #james logan howlett #logan howlett fic

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justforbooks · 3 months ago

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Roberta Flack

Singer with a reserved, intimate style on hits such as The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and Killing Me Softly With His Song

Roberta Flack’s pensive version of Bridge Over Troubled Water, from her 1971 album Quiet Fire, so impressed another rising star that he sent her a fan letter. “Dear Roberta,” wrote Elton John, “I have never heard anything this beautiful in years ... ”

Flack, who has died aged 88, must have seemed both familiar and fascinatingly different to the young English songwriter. Like John, she was a classically trained pianist who had gravitated to pop. But she was North Carolina born, and had taught in high school before having her first hit at the age of 34. Her career was founded on her ability to sell a song using reticence and reserve, qualities that defined her from the early smash singles, The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face and Killing Me Softly With His Song, to her final album, a collection of Beatles covers released in 2012.

Hit-making partnerships with the singers Donny Hathaway and Peabo Bryson stayed in the same nuanced lane, with few departures into drama or melisma. Even as R&B became more experimental in the 1970s and 80s, Flack burrowed deeper into a gentle musical conservatism. Bar the occasional flash of social consciousness, she was, in both artistry and manner, quiet when quiet was unfashionable.

Her reward was a string of chart hits, four Grammy awards and the loyalty of America’s adult-contemporary radio stations. Her success on AC radio also opened up the white-leaning, soft-pop format to other African-American artists.

Flack sang as if romance were a subject deserving deep, measured consideration – a style that complemented her voice. Clarity and perfect pitch were her distinguishing vocal features, developed in part by spending her adolescence listening to the soprano Leontyne Price. If her love of opera did not set her apart enough from other teens in Arlington, Virginia, where she grew up, she was also a piano prodigy, winning a music scholarship to Howard University in Washington DC when she was 15.

Though influenced by jazz, R&B and easy listening, Flack was not quite any of them – in the NME’s spot-on description, she created a middle ground between “genteel promiscuity and stronger codes of heartbreak – always with the lamps down low”.

Her early albums were partly informed by the turbulence of the civil rights era – the 1969 track Tryin’ Times was unabashed protest soul – but by primarily sticking to apolitical timelessness, she became one of the top female singers of the 70s, in any genre.

Some critics unfavourably compared her to more visceral contemporaries such as Aretha Franklin, which provoked the retort: “I am a black person who sings the way I do. I am not a black person who sounds anything like Aretha Franklin or like Chaka Khan. I shouldn’t have to change in order to be who I am.”

The comparisons were unfair, anyway: Franklin’s style had been forged in the Baptist church, whereas Flack had grown up as a restrained, hymn-singing Methodist. That was especially evident in sporadic nods to her southern church background, such as the bawdy 1970 single Reverend Lee; she could be muscular when required, but never to the point of full, bodily immersion.

The thoughtful approach served her well. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face was the US’s top-selling single of 1972 and won record of the year at the 1973 Grammy awards. At the 1974 Grammys, Killing Me Softly – a five-week US No 1 – took record of the year and female pop vocal performance.

She was born in Asheville, North Carolina, one of four children of Laron Flack, a tobacco picker, and Irene Council, a school cook. The family moved to Virginia when Roberta was five, by which point she was already playing the piano. Practising on an upright her father rescued from the local dump, by the age of 13 she was proficient enough to come second in a statewide contest for black students.

She was bright, finishing high school early and graduating from university at 19 with a degree in music education. For the next seven years she taught in the Washington school system, while developing a sideline as a pianist/singer in local bars. In 1968 she was spotted by the jazz pianist Les McCann, who was so taken by her voice – “I laughed, cried and screamed for more,” he said – that he introduced her to Atlantic Records.

Flack’s jazzish, folkish early albums made a muted impact. Arguably, she owed her eventual success to the fact that Clint Eastwood paid her $2,000 in 1971 to use The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face in the film he was then directing, Play Misty for Me. The song, from her 1969 debut First Take, had not previously been a single, but was released when it proved one of the film’s talking points.

It duly spent six weeks at No 1, establishing Flack as a major artist. Her grip on the mid-70s charts was strengthened by duets with Hathaway – in particular, The Closer I Get to You and the Grammy-winning Where Is the Love, which were among the best songs either artist ever made.

In the early 80s, when the hits had dried up, a series of duets with Bryson, notably Tonight I Celebrate My Love, brought her back to the charts. Her last big seller was a synth-soul double act with Maxi Priest, Set the Night to Music, which reached the US Top 10 in 1991.

In the years that followed, Flack took the fail-safe route of many veteran vocalists, making Christmas albums and collections of pop and jazz standards. The hip-swinging 1994 covers album Roberta received a Grammy nomination, but a likable and inventive Beatles collection, Let It Be Roberta, sank – despite the endorsement of Yoko Ono, who was Flack’s across-the-hall neighbour in the Dakota apartments in New York.

She hosted a syndicated weekly music and chat radio show between 1995 and 1998, but was more fulfilled by making music than talking about it. The Fugees’ highly successful 1996 cover of Killing Me Softly spurred Flack to release a remixed version of her 1972 hit, which duly topped the US dance chart.

After suffering a stroke in 2016, she returned to recording in 2018 with the song Running, heard in the film 3100: Run and Become, a documentary about a 3,100-mile run held annually around the streets of New York. But in 2022 it was announced that Flack had been diagnosed with ALS, amyotrophic lateral sclerosis, known in the UK as motor neurone disease, which had made it impossible for her to sing.

In 1966 Flack married the bassist Steven Novosel; this and a second marriage ended in divorce.

🔔 Roberta Cleopatra Flack, singer, born 10 February 1937; died 24 February 2025

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Roberta Flack #in memoriam

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aylacavebear · 5 months ago

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Watermelon Crawl

You knew Dean didn’t like country music. The man had a love affair with the same five cassettes that he played on repeat any time he was in his Baby. If he wasn’t listening to one of those, he was hunting for a classic rock station on the radio. You knew the rules, Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cakehole. You knew the rules, but that didn’t stop you from attempting to listen to other stuff. Pushing Dean’s boundaries wasn’t the smartest idea, and he always gave you that glare whenever you tried. There were rare occasions when Sam would drive and let you fiddle with the radio, but it was only the two of you, so to you, it didn’t count.

Dean x OCF Reader/You

Word Count: 5777

Warnings: Angst, Longing, Fluff, Reader Insecurities, Dean being Dean.

----------------------------------------- A few times, you had tried to talk to Dean about other music, but he would just hold his hand up to stop you, not even looking at you. It was his way of ending the conversation without it ever getting started. You even tried playing music in your room, extra loud so he could hear it. His response, he’d go into his room, put his headphones in, and turn on his music. Half the time, he left the door open, just so he could smirk at you that he couldn’t hear your music over his, making sure to mouth the words to you. The other half of the time, he’d just smirk when he did that.

It was infuriating and had been going on for nearly six months now, and you were somewhat dumbfounded about how to get him to listen to at least one song. His argument was that country music was depressing and slow. The whole ‘tear in my beer’ sort of bias about it. Sam found your insistence and Dean’s instant shut-down somewhat amusing the longer it went on.

Now, the three of you were sitting in a bar after a case. It’d been successful, and this time, the three of you hadn’t had the crap beat out of you. So, it was time to celebrate. However, the moment the three of you had entered, you smiled but Dean was instantly in a sour mood.

“Hope the whiskey isn’t as crappy as the music,” Dean grumbled as he slid onto one of the barstools.

You just frowned. Why does he have to be so damned stubborn? And, as you slid onto your barstool next to him, your mind began working overtime. You needed to figure out a song that would really get his attention, help him see that country wasn’t as bad as he thought it was. The downside, half the time, you couldn’t remember the name of the song, and the other half of the time, you couldn’t remember the artist. And inbetween that, sometimes all you could remember were certain lyrics to the song.

So, there you were, sitting at the bar and staring at the counter while all sorts of words sped through your mind. You were so lost in thought while trying to place a song with just the three words from the chorus that you didn’t notice the beer that had been set down in front of you, or how both brothers were staring at you.

Dean had ordered, like he typically did. Whiskey for him, and a beer for each you and Sam. Sam had even lifted his beer and said, “To a successful hunt.” But you hadn’t heard, and now both of them were staring at you. Sam had to lean forward so he could see around Dean, though.

“Hey, you okay?” Dean asked, slightly concerned at the far-off look in your eyes.

His voice made your head snap up, blinking blankly at him for a moment. “Yeah, I’m okay. I was just lost in thought,” you replied, repeating those three words in your head so you wouldn’t forget them so you could try to remember the song they went to.

Neither of the brothers were sure they should believe you. “You sure?” Sam asked, just as concerned as Dean.

“Yeah. I was just lost in thought,” you repeated, still repeating those three words in your head, wishing they’d let you get back to the conundrum in your mind.

Sam and Dean glanced at each other, a silent but concerned conversation passing between them before Sam held his beer up again, “It was a successful hunt, and no one got hurt. To a win.” He smiled a little, but was still concerned with what would have you so lost in thought.

You smiled, raising your beer as Dean raised his whiskey glass. “To a successful hunt,” you repeated happily before your glasses clanked together, and each of you took a drink.

Then, you were right back in your head, mentally cursing at yourself for forgetting those three words you’d been repeating. So, you pulled out your phone, opened your notes app and began typing things out that you could remember. Dean tried to glance over your shoulder, but you moved so he couldn’t see. The brothers watched you as you typed and sipped your beer, concern etched in their features, but you didn’t notice.

Even back at the bunker, you only waved good night over your shoulder as you went to your room, your phone still in hand. Once inside your room, you changed into pajamas, let your hair out of its braid, then plopped onto your bed and continued the list you’d been working on.

The two had stopped halfway through the war room, watching as you walked off. With how you had hidden your phone from them, they would have thought it was due to you talking to a guy, but you hadn’t dated anyone since you had started hunting with them. “What do you think has her so quiet?” Sam asked, still staring toward the hallways where you disappeared down.

Dean stood there, just like Sam, staring down the hallway. He’d been trying to figure that very thing out since back at the bar. “Well, it’s not the case. And she’s not dating anyone, so it’s not a guy. I honestly don’t know.”

For a moment, Sam tried to put the pieces together but was still clueless. “Maybe she’ll be up for talking tomorrow,” he offered before finally heading to his room for the night.

“Yeah, maybe,” Dean murmured before following Sam, both ready to finally get some much-needed rest.

—---------------------

Over the next several months, while not on cases, you spent your time making a list of country songs that were upbeat, suggestive, or just plain fun. It was a decent list, and you were quite proud of yourself. Now the question was, which song would you use to try to get Dean into country music?

The brothers had tried to talk to you, find out what had you so completely focused on, but you brushed them off. You could tell they were worried. However, you weren’t ready at the time to tell either of them what you’d been up to. You knew Dean would have instantly shot you down, and Sam would have lost it laughing.

“I’m going for a supply run,” Dean stated, getting up from his seat in the library, but you didn’t respond, concerning him further.

Sam glanced over at you; your entire focus was on your laptop in front of you. You’d turned it slightly so neither could just look over to see what you were up to. “Kitten, you gonna go with him?” Sam asked, concerned. You always went on supply runs so you could get a sweet at the store.

You looked up, a little puzzled, only having half heard both of them. “No. I’m good,” you replied plainly before returning your focus to the screen in front of you.

Dean and Sam exchanged another worried look, then they both looked at you, trying desperately to figure out what the hell you were so focused on. “But, you always go on supply runs,” Sam pointed out, this time, you heard his concern and met his gaze.

“I just really need to work on this. You know that if I walk away from it mid-focus, I’ll forget where I was at, and it’ll take me an hour to figure it out,” you told them apologetically, hoping they’d both understand.

It was true, and they both knew it. Just one of your weird little quirks that they both found cute some times, and annoying other times. “Do you want me to grab you anything?” Dean asked, a little dejected that you weren’t going with him. He loved it when it was just the two of you, but he’d never admit that to you or Sam.

“Pie?” you asked, already back to what you’d been doing.

Dean sighed as his shoulders slumped a little. You missed how his lips slowly turned downward before he walked off to the garage. Sam watched him go, then listened as the Impala drove away. “Alright, spill,” he told you bluntly, his gaze now on you.

Slowly, you lifted your head and looked at him over your laptop. Being short was a bit of a perk, since, right now, all he could see was from the bridge of your nose and above. “Promise not to tell Dean?” you asked apprehensively.

Sam’s brow raised in curiosity. “Depends on what it is.”

“Nothing bad,” you replied.

“Then I can promise not to tell him,” he told you, sitting up a little more as he leaned on the table.

You looked down at the screen, then back up at Sam. “I’m trying to find a country song that would get Dean to at least listen to the song,” you began explaining, then got a little quiet. “...and maybe even like it.”

Sam stared at you, blinking blankly for a moment before he erupted in laughter. You instantly deadpanned, leaned back in your chair, and crossed your arms while attempting to wait patiently till he stopped laughing.

His hand was now over his chest, attempting to catch his breath. What you were attempting sounded utterly absurd to him; Dean, liking county music. The thought alone made him laugh again. Sam’s eyes teared up the longer his laughter lasted, only annoying you.

“I was serious, Sam,” you told him bluntly when his laughter died down enough that he’d hear you.

He instantly froze, mostly from surprise. You were serious. Sam cleared his throat, leaning forward and resting his arms on the table. “Okay,” he replied, drawing the word out a little, trying to get you to elaborate.

Sam was like a brother to you, and since he seemed interested, you perked up, getting a little excited to tell him about your ‘plan.’ “So, I have been making a list of all the country songs that are upbeat, suggestive, and just plain fun. I want to pick one from the list and learn the dance to it. Then, now with your help, set it up so that Dean can’t get out of not only hearing the song but also seeing the dance and how much fun country music really can be,” you explained quite excitedly.

He wasn’t sure how to react to what you’d said. The mere thought of Dean staying in any place for the length of a country song sounded impossible. Although he’d seen the way Dean would watch you when you’d walk away or when you had your nose stuck in a book helping them with research, so he thought your idea might just work. Sam moved from across the table to the seat next to you. “Alright, I don’t know much about country music, but I’ll try to help,” he offered with a genuine smile, bringing a smile to your lips that went all the way to your eyes.

You then began emphatically showing him the playlist you had made on youtube of the songs, then on the dances for each one. Sam watched intently. You’d done your research, but that was something you had always been good at. Luckily for the two of you, Dean took his time on the supply run, half-lost in his thoughts about what was going on with you.

“Watermelon Craw, definitely,” Sam chuckled after watching the dance for it.

Looking over at him, you tilted your head a bit, “Why that one?”

“Well, I just think it’s the best one to get him thinking a bit more about country music,” he replied, stifling a knowing smile that was toying with his lips.

You looked from him back to the laptop. It wasn’t a difficult dance. “Okay. But you gotta help me figure out how to set it up so that Dean will stay put long enough for the whole song.” “I can do that. You just focus on learning the moves, Kitten,” Sam chuckled, already devising a plan.

By the time Dean got back, Sam was in the library alone. “Gonna help unload?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Sam replied, getting up from his seat. “Y/N! Come help unload,” he hollered, already heading toward the garage.

“So, you find out what’s been up with her?” Dean asked quietly as they grabbed bags out of the Impala.

Sam loaded several bags into his hands, “Yeah. She’s working on something for you. It means a lot to her. So, don’t be a dick when she goes to show you.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, you were working on something, for him? “I think I can do that,” he replied fairly nonchalantly, grabbing several more bags. At least she’s not upset. Whether he would admit it or not, he’d been worried about you since that night at the bar.

That was about when you finally showed up in the garage, wearing your typical pair of jeans and some random shirt with a flannel pulled over it. With how big the two of them were, you had to wait till they moved before you could grab anything. Dean gave you a gentle smile before he and Sam headed to the kitchen.

You were just as stubborn as they were when it came to trips back and forth to the car, so loaded up with almost as many bags as they had grabbed before joining them. Dean watched you as you began putting things away. If he was being honest with himself, you hadn’t looked upset over the last month, just… focused, and perhaps even determined. Now, though, you looked relaxed.

He wanted to ask you about whatever this thing was you were working on for him, but with how Sam had told him, he couldn’t. Clearly, whatever it was, you wanted to surprise him with it. Dean loved watching you when you were relaxed like this. You typically had a small smile on your lips and a softness in your eyes, no matter what task you were doing.

Sam, clearing his throat, quickly pulled Dean’s attention. He’d been staring too long again, and again, Sam had caught him. Dean gave him the ‘don’t say a word’ look while Sam just smiled and shook his head in amusement. You were oblivious to it, though. Your focus was on organizing the spices since Dean had remembered to grab the ones that were low.

—---------------------------

You spent all your free time in your room over the next four months practicing the moves for the song. Well, most of your free time. You still hung out with the brothers, having movie nights or goofy drinking games. When you were finally ready to put your ‘plan’ into action, you let Sam know. He had even covered for you to grab the couple of things for the outfit that you didn’t own.

Now, you were standing in front of your mirror, feeling like you looked ridiculous. Typically, you never wore shorts unless they were bed shorts, and even in those, you never left your room in them. You owned shorts, you had just never worn them in front of either of the brothers. The ones you were currently wearing were jean cut-offs, easily resembling daisy dukes. Then there was the top, a red and white plaid button-up that tied so it was more of a half-top with short sleeves. It wasn’t that it looked bad or anything; it just showed off your mid-drift, and your belly-button piercing. That was also something neither of the brothers knew about. This particular one was a skull and crossbones.

The hat was a nice, plain brown cowboy hat to match the knee-high cowboy boots. You’d left your hair down, but it didn’t seem functional. So, you thought about how a girl would have her hair if she was doing things on a farm or ranch, even if she was wearing a hat. With that, you set the hat on your bed and put your hair up in a braid before returning the hat to your head.

Well, it looks better, at least.

It wasn’t that your goal was to seduce Dean or anything like that. Yeah, you liked him, far more than you’d admit. But he was a hunter, and you weren’t human. So you had completely pushed any idea of anything with him out of your mind.

I still look stupid.

You never dressed like this, ever. Then again, you really wanted Dean to see that some country music was fun and not all of it was the ‘tear in your beer’ sort of music. You hadn’t even let Sam see what you were wearing. The last thing you wanted to hear was him teasing you. With a determined breath, you pulled out your phone and sent a text to Sam. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll text you when I’m outside.”

Less than ten minutes later, your phone buzzed again with another message from Sam.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.” One more glance in the mirror, then you sent a text to Dean. “Can you meet me in the library? I want to share something with you.”

Dean had been relaxing in his room for most of the morning, and now Sam was gone on a supply run, and you’d basically locked yourself in your room for the last nearly hour. So, when his phone went off with your notification sound, he picked it up, curious and puzzled. That only got worse after he read your text.

“Sure.”

He closed his laptop and headed out of his room while you listened at your door to his boots as they went down the hallway. When he rounded the corner into the library, it was empty, save for a note sitting on the closest table. Please just give me three minutes of your time, and if you still hate it, I’ll never ask again.

Y/N Now, he was really puzzled, but before he had any time to contemplate what the note meant, he heard a familiar tune coming from the war room. It was a tune he’d heard you listen to before. Dean hadn’t even noticed that your speaker had been placed on the table. He did hear your steps in the hallway, getting louder the closer you got.

He knew how much you enjoyed an array of music, and you always wanted to share it with him and Sam. Most times, he wasn’t in the mood. That was typically due to your timing on the matter. At the bunker, he just loved messing with you. Half the time when you’d turn your music on, he’d put his headphones in but wouldn’t turn on his music so he could hear yours and watch you dance around your room. He just couldn’t tell you that.

Typically, you wore your shoes or went around in socks. The sound he heard from your footsteps was neither of those, and he couldn’t pull his gaze from the hallway. The moment you came into view, he swallowed hard before his mouth went completely dry. You never showed skin, like, ever. His arms were crossed, an unreadable expression on his face as you entered the war room, your steps on par with the beat of the song. Then, you began dancing, your eyes on Dean the whole time. You were a little self-conscious as your thighs jiggled a little as you moved, but you tried to focus more on the moves and not that. Technically, the song was a line dance, but you had added your own flare to it, along with doing the “watermelon crawl” mentioned in the song.

Dean looked you up and down, slowly, and the thoughts that began playing through his mind were far more detailed than anything his imagination had come up with before. The way your thighs jiggled had him wanting to knead your flesh or burry his face between them and make them jiggle for an entirely different reason.

When the band started playin' The watermelon queen said “Let me show you somethin’ That you ain’t never seen” She grabbed me by the arm said “Come on let's go” She dipped down, spun around, and do-si-doed She rocked back on her heels Dropped down to her knees Crawled across the floor Then she jumped back on her feet She wiggled and she jiggled Beat all you ever saw Said this is how you do The Watermelon crawl

Thankfully, the music was loud, or you would have heard the groan that made it past his lips when you did everything in the song except grab him by the arm. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t take his eyes off you. It was when you jumped back on your feet that the light in the library bounced off your belly button piercing that made his lips part slightly.

When the song came to an end, you were standing at the foot of the stairs in the war room. Your breathing was a little heavy from the exertion of dancing, but you had a small smile on your lips. It quickly faded when you looked over at Dean. He hadn’t moved a single muscle.

He couldn’t move. It was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to pin you against the wall before carrying you to his bed. “Done?” he asked, far gruffer than he meant to, and he instantly regretted it when he saw your expression fall further.

A sad sigh slipped out your nose as your lips formed a small pout, “Yeah,” you mumbled. Then you turned, head dipping a bit, grabbed your speaker, and went to your room.

The moment you were out of sight, Dean set his hands on the library table, using it as balance as he attempted to fight with his throbbing cock. I swear, that woman has no idea what she does to me. He took several slow, deep breaths, trying to shake the images of you dancing from his mind. I’m never going to be able to even hear that song again without thinking of her.

Once in your room, you changed into comfy sweats and a slightly baggy shirt, then plopped down on your bed. “You can come back in Sam. I’m done.”

“How’d it go?” he texted right back since he was only sitting outside the bunker.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Sam was instantly concerned, pocketing his phone and making his way into the bunker. He found Dean, still in the same position, leaning on the table, his breathing still a little heavy and clearly lost in thought.

“Dude, you okay?” Sam asked, now a little worried about his brother too.

Dean’s head snapped up, not expecting his brother to show up so quickly. “Yeah, I’m good,” he lied, his voice that octave deeper.

“Funny. You don’t look so good,” Sam told him, daring to take a few more steps closer.

Dean sighed, then leaned his back against the table. “She got to me, alright. You could have at least given me a heads up as to what she was going to wear.” Sam furrowed his brow, a little confused. “She didn’t even show me what she was going to wear.”

“Did you know she has a skull and cross bones belly button piercing?” Dean mused as a smile began tugging at the corner of his lips.

That was when Sam chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. “Nope. You need to talk to her, though. She thinks you’re mad at her,” he explained. Even if you hadn’t said it, it was clear to Sam how you were feeling.

“And what the hell am I supposed to say to her?” Dean asked, almost reluctant to ask.

“Tell her the truth,” Sam suggested gently, knowing how long his brother had been attempting to hide his feelings for you.

Dean hung his head. The last thing he wanted you to believe was that he was mad at you. He glanced at the hallway, then took a deep breath before heading in that direction. Sam wished him good luck before he took those couple of steps down into the war room.

The closer he got to your room, the faster his heart sped up and the more the butterflies danced around in his stomach. Dean was never good with words. Well, he wasn’t good with these sorts of words, but for you, he’d at least try.

The hesitant knock on your door pulled your attention from your laptop, but you went over and opened it anyway. You figured it would have been Sam to come console you and get you to talk about how it had gone. You were not prepared to see Dean standing there, looking… nervous.

He couldn’t quite meet your eyes, knowing how dejected you had looked when you walked away earlier. “I’m sorry, about… earlier,” he told you, quieter than you were used to hearing him.

You looked up at him, a little puzzled, even if you were still feeling dejected. “Why? I know you don’t like country music. It’s my fault for pushing you,” you told him, doing your best to keep your emotions out of your words. You really didn’t want his pity.

His eyes instantly met yours. “No. Don’t do that. It’s not your fault. And you didn’t push me, so don’t go thinking like that,” he told you, a little sterner than he meant to. Then, he let out a sigh as he ran a hand down his face.

“Can I come in?” he asked, the guilt that had been weighing him down slipped into his words.

You weren’t sure what he was trying to get at, but you moved to let him in anyway. He was still your friend, after all. You sat down near your headboard again while he took a seat at the foot of your bed, his gaze on the floor while his arms rested on his thighs.

“I’m sorry, for not saying anything earlier. I honestly didn’t know what to say,” he began, still unsure how to tell you what was going through his head or how he felt. Dean could tell you were watching him. Probably even tilting your head like a curious cat, which he always found adorable.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves and racing heart. “It was amazing. You were amazing,” he finally told you, quietly breaking the silence that was driving you crazy with worry. “I’ve never seen you dance before,” he admitted in almost a whisper. “Why did you go through all that?”

You bit your bottom lip, thankful he wasn’t looking at you, or he would have seen the blush on your cheeks from his compliment. “I just wanted you to see that country music wasn’t all depressing like you kept saying it was,” you admitted in a nervous, almost whisper, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

When he chuckled, and that smile found his lips, you smiled, too. You couldn’t help it. His smile always made you smile in return, even if it wasn’t always directed at you. It was when he turned to meet your gaze that your breath hitched in your chest, and you hoped he didn’t notice.

He still wasn’t entirely sure when it had happened, but he knew he couldn’t deny it anymore. He just couldn’t quite bring himself to admit it yet. There were the times he’d caught you watching him, a look in your eyes that took his breath away and scared the hell out of him. But now, you looked almost worried about what he would say.

“Sometimes, when you’d turn on your music and I would put my headphones on, I didn’t always turn my music on. Sometimes, I listened to what you were,” he admitted a little sheepishly, shifting a little so he was facing you more.

The surprise on your face brought a smile to his lips, so he continued. “I do like some of the songs, and not just from the country ones you would play. I’ll never be able to listen to that one you danced to and hear it the same way again, though,” he chuckled a little, thinking about how you moved. “I’m gonna see you dancing to it in my head. I loved that, by the way,” he added gently but sincerely.

Your expression instantly brightened, even if a deep blush found your cheeks, but before you could say anything about how happy you were, he spoke again.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a piercing? It’s cute,” he told you, that devilishly hot smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes.

The blush on your cheeks went deeper as you ducked your head and averted his eyes, instantly flustered from head to toe. It was when you felt his hand over yours as you fidgeted with your shirt that pulled your gaze back to his.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he asked, but this time it was genuine concern. You talked to him about everything, or so he thought.

Your eyes fell to his hand over yours, trying not to frown. “A lot,” you mumbled. Then you felt him shift on the bed so that he was closer to you before he gently lifted your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“Talk to me, Kitten, please,” he asked softly, but he hadn’t moved away, and it made your heart flutter a little.

“I felt stupid, wearing that outfit and dancing. My thighs were jiggly, and I just felt exposed. I wasn’t trying to make you think about me. I just wanted you to see that country music wasn’t all depressing,” you confessed quietly but had averted your eyes from his before you had even started talking. Then, after a few moments of silence, “...and I never mentioned my piercing cause I thought you’d think it was stupid,” you mumbled.

Dean sighed, hearing the vulnerability in your voice broke his heart. You were one of the most confident people he knew, even if you weren’t human. “Listen,” he began sincerely, then dipped his head so he was looking into your eyes. “You’re beautiful, even if you don’t see it.”

“Not pretty enough,” you mumbled.

His look went from sincere to utterly serious. So that’s why she always wears things that cover her curves. The lightbulb finally came on for him. He knew he was going to have to say things he’d kept to himself for far too long, apparently.

“Kitten, listen,” he began, and the gentleness of his tone pulled your gaze to him again. “I know I’m risking everything here, but it’s damn time you knew. You really are beautiful. I’m always thinking about you, wondering what you’d look like in something a little more… form fitting. Those shorts of yours…” That smirk found his lips before he bit his bottom one, and he practically purred at the thought of them on you.

“I’d love to see you in them again,” he told you with the smirk that said far more than you wanted to think about. Mostly because you always told yourself you imagined him looking at you. “...I love them, and you look amazing in them.” He watched the blush in your cheeks go a shade darker, and to him, it was the most adorable thing he’d seen, other than your curious cat look. “I’m not good with talking about emotions. Can… can I show you what you mean to me?” he asked gingerly, knowing he was risking everything if you didn’t feel the same way.

Your heart was pounding so loudly that you swore he could hear it. Then it was like all the air had been sucked from your lungs, and you couldn’t take a deep breath. You swore the butterflies in your stomach were doing some sort of rave, and the look in his eyes made you swallow hard. Literally, all you could do was nod.

Dean looked from your eyes to your lips, which were slightly parted, then back to your eyes before he slowly closed the distance. His finger and thumb were still gently holding your chin so you could pull away if you really wanted to. His other hand was still over both of yours in your lap. The moment he saw you close your eyes, his lips met yours, and it was better than anything his fantasies had come up with.

The way he kissed you had you thinking all sorts of things. It was slow, intimate, and you prayed your heart wouldn’t explode with as hard as it was beating. Does he really feel the same? It was the only thought that kept running on repeat as your lips moved with his. For a few moments, it was hard to fully relax, let the moment flow.

Dean could feel how tense you were, so he went slow, only wanting to show you what he couldn’t tell you. He wasn’t ready to usher those three little words into existence. Slowly, he shifted closer to you, his lips in a slow dance with yours. His hand glided across your skin from your chin to your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he held you close.

You allowed yourself to lean into his touch, feel what he couldn’t tell you in words, and by doing so, your fingers laced themselves with his in your lap. The moment stretched on, the tenderness of everything that was him, soothed your worry, your insecurities, and the doubt that always clouded your mind.

When he did pull away, he rested his forehead against yours, still holding you close, trying to catch his breath. “You really are amazing,” he whispered tenderly, a soft, genuine smile on his face.

It made you smile a little as you looked into his eyes, seeing something there that had your breath hitching again. He does feel the same way. “So are you,” you whispered.

Both of you knew things would change. The lives you lived were hard, but it was moments like this that you both secretly vowed to have as many of as possible. To be each other’s rock while also being that soft, loving safe space that would bring peace to the other’s soul. You knew Dean had his faults, but you had yours. It wasn’t going to be perfect, but it was going to be something you’d put your all into, as would he, and neither of you needed to speak those words to each other to know that.

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