#the way I would write the ending of shorts 30

[youdontknowe]

OK take two for this week cus I took a bit longer to read the last chapter 💙

(Gonna start using numbers cus I always have to cross reference when I read your replies lmao)

1. He’s so caring it’s sickening (I’d melt)

2. Cackling ‘proposing is probably off the table’ and the funniest part is it’s not even off the table if he did ask

3. lol cas being concerned about her drooling

4. I love a good cas drop in cus he has all the lore

5. I hope you include Dean enjoying cooking when/if the bunker comes along. My favourite thing about Dean is he can cook

6. Lmao she’s always gotta throw in some words that can be taken suggestive by Dean. Keep him on his toes and horny

7. Dean you will ALWAYS be better than your arse of a father. I bet John wasn’t even that good of a husband compared to how Dean already is (I have no base for this I just feel it in my soul)

8. Dean really has a power kink huh like he just finds her being powerful a huge turn on

9. ‘Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time.’ And you’d love it if you knew

10. “No.” “You got a better idea?” “…no” that just sums up their dynamic mostly

11. Dean isn’t god fearing he’s Bobby fearing

12. Lmao sammy snitching is so fucking funny and then he’s got a oh shit moment and then He’s back to it

13. It’s funny he always considers the possibility of being stabbed for risk factors like she wouldn’t personally check herself into hell if she hurt Dean

14. These fuckers are about as bad at procrastination as I am

15. Oh ho ho I do love me a cat fight with ruby

16. ANOTHER GODDESS REFERENCE! (I’m keeping track of that from now)

17. Awh flashbacks of Bobby??

18. ‘The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin,’ oooooo unintentional equivalent of cas marking ribs thingy?

19. Poor Jo she’s gotta learn to knock otherwise she actually might walk in on them mid sex

20. “he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.” I see you and your kinks 🫵 (me too, me too)

21. “ Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep” OH MY GOD?!

22. Jo ‘just fuck him already’ harvelle

23. Awh Jo would be an amazing sound tech

24. Oh he’s so gonna short circuit when he finds out he’s the first EVERYTHING

25. Her just throttling the damn thing is so awesome

26. Anndddd the wheels fell off the car (the roof fell off the church?)

27. Oh no I’m scared for jo please don’t let this be the ‘ehehe secrets’ from weeks ago 🥲

28. Oh no

29. Oh my god I don’t usually cry but I’m crying. Owie

30. Oh god poor Dean first Jo now she’s leaving again

31. Oh god everyone’s crying even Dean

32. End note: the ultimate fridging but atleast YOU gave her a personality (take note directors)

33. Your mean, why would you put me in a false sense of security and Rip it away that fast??? Do you want me to just cry why way through this fic??? But seriously that’s some fucked up goood writing. none does angst like you do, and imma just go eat my pasta and cry some more. See you next week 💙💙 pls be nice to my lil heart (even if your not I’ll keep reading anyways cus I love you)

Chapter 20 - Wait For Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: first chapter that made me cry writing it. Enjoy.

Chapter Title from Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a lot of feelings, and you make a plan. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

Read on A03!

“What happened?” 

Sam’s question was low. Quiet. Careful, because the last thing they wanted to do right now was disturb Her, passed out on the back bench of Baby. 

She hadn’t moved since Dean guided Her there. Her eyes had fluttered, She’d hummed his name in the prettiest sound he’d ever heard, and then slumped right over. And Dean had indulged himself. He’d wrapped Her in a blanket, and carefully shifted Her around until she was in a comfortable position. He’d even pulled off Her shoes and placed a kiss on Her brow, scanning over Her one last time, just to be positive nothing was wrong.

And it wasn’t.

Visibly.

There was no blood, and Her hair was a little matted, but he had found Her lying in the ocean. 

No blood. No wounds or scars. 

Nothing but Her eyes and lips a little puffy from crying. 

And the taste of Her back on Dean’s lips. Fruit and sugar and salt, and Dean got damn well why She liked those colorful girl drinks so much. They tasted like heaven. 

But he wanted to keep tasting them on Her. 

She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Dean. She’d been crying and freaking the hell out, but son of a bitch, She’d kissed Dean, and that had to mean something. His shirt was still wrinkled where She’d grabbed him, and he wasn’t going to smooth it out. He kept touching his lips like a teenage boy, and running his tongue over Her teeth because She’d done that during the kiss, and he wanted to feel the rush of it again.

And what happened was that Dean was addicted. There had never been a chance of him going back, but now he was gone. Her’s. Only Her’s. He’d have sat down in the ocean at Her side—until they were both just salt and brine—if it meant the mud washed off, and Dean got to be Her’s.

He wasn’t sure now was a good time to tell Her that. He didn’t have the words for it yet, and he didn’t trust that kiss to mean She’d be his. She’d been emotional. Sobbing in Dean’s arms then trying to climb him, and he’d never have Her any other way but blinding and demanding, but Jesus, he wouldn’t know what to do if She turned him down. 

Dean couldn’t get on his knees and swear that he was Her’s aloud, only to be kicked back down into the mud. It might make him a pussy, but he wouldn’t survive it. Then She’d leave, and Bobby and Sammy and Jo would kill him for making Her leave, and they’d be fucked because they couldn’t do this without Her.

But that’s not what Sam meant by what happened. Sam wanted to know about the seal. The case. He didn’t want to hear about how Dean was trying to work out what Her wanting him would look like.

Probably like kissing him, and crying for him, and climbing onto his lap in the dead of night. 

He didn’t have a damn clue what to after he worked it out. Proposing was probably off the table. They’d kissed twice, hadn’t even slept together, and weren’t technically dating. 

He’d figure it out. When all of this was over, Dean would figure it out. Right now he had to answer Sammy’s question. 

“Found her on the beach.” He muttered, glancing to Her in the rearview mirror. Her hair was shiny again. That was a good sign. “She was just lying in the water, dude. Tide was rising and she was just fucking lying there. Nobody else around, no blood. Nothing.”

“Did she say-“

“Nope.” Dean’s jaw twitched. “Mentioned that she took care of it, but that’s all I got. Sammy, I’m…” Dean trailed off, looking to Her again. He couldn’t damn help it.

“I know.” Sam muttered, and Dean wasn’t sure he did—Sam didn’t live in Her orbit, didn’t feel like the world was worse when She was sad, didn’t dream about Her and crash down into Her all the time—but he let it go. “But you know we might have to go back, right? After we drop her back at Bobby’s, we can’t just leave the seal unresolved.”

“She said she took care of it.” Dean grunted, and Sam sighed.

“Dean, it’s- We can’t risk it. I trust her, I do, but I’d go back and check your work too, just like you’d go back and check mine-“

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would-“

“I wouldn’t.” Dean snapped, shooting Sam a glare. “You told me you took care of it, I’d take you at your word. And let’s face it, Sammy, between the three of us, she’s the most likely to deal with one of these by herself.”

Sam gave Dean a sad, too soft look. “She was trying to drown herself, Dean. We still don’t know what happened, while she was gone-“

“Sammy. Drop it.”

“I’m not doubting her, man, but she’s always been- You know-“

“I do know.” Dean hissed, his grip strangling the wheel. “I know better than anyone, Sam. I’ve seen it a hell of a lot more than you have, and I’ve seen it worse, and you know what? At least she’s fucking eating and sleeping. And I know shit happened, I’ve had to stitch up her goddamn stomach because shit happened, but she says she took care of it, and I’m trusting her, because that’s what you do, when you-“

“Do not crash the car.”

Sam started, and Dean sighed, glaring back to see Cas sitting in the backseat. He didn’t care that he’d gotten cut off. It was good he’d gotten cut off. 

He cared that Cas was in the backseat. Where he could’ve disturbed her. 

“Jesus, Cas.” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That was- I mean, I appreciate the warning, but shit.”

“My apologies.” Cas muttered. “I needed to speak with you as soon as possible, and I could not wait for a better time.”

“Fine. Just keep your voice down.” Dean grunted Her name. “She needs the sleep.”

He glanced back to see Cas nodding, watching Her with an odd expression. She’d slumped into his side. Not like She slumped into Dean’s—where She’d fall half over his lap and Her face would end up buried in his body—but with Her head on Cas’ shoulder and her body relaxed.

That was good. Dean could trust Cas with Her. He’d seemed to respect Her, and he’d been willing to bend further stupid Heaven laws for Her, so Dean didn’t have to worry.

“Should she be sleeping like this?” Cas looked up to them with a small frown. “It doesn’t seem like a peaceful environment, and there is drool falling out of her mouth-“

“She does that.” Dean muttered, and Sam smirked. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were gonna. She drools Cas.” And it was freakin’ adorable, but that didn’t feel like the point right now. “What’d you need to talk to us about.”

Cas said Her name slowly. “The seal is… dealt with. Thanks to her.”

Dean shot Sam a smug look. “Told you.” 

“Yeah, alright. You did.” Sam sighed, twisting in his seat to frown at Cas. “Is that it? You just wanted us not to worry about the seal?”

“No. I am here to…” Cas took a long breath, his frown deepening. “Warn you. We are displeased. With how this case was handled.”

Dean scowled. “We? Is that you talking, Cas? Or just the asshole angel department managers?”

“I do not know what a department manager is-“

“He’s asking if you’re mad about the case.” Sam interjected carefully. “And I’m wondering too, Cas. If you’re mad at us-“

“I am not mad at you.” Cas said, and Dean didn’t miss his weary glance at Her. “I was not told the details of what happened, only that we are angry.”

“You keep saying we.” Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes at Cas in the mirror. “I don’t care what a bunch of holy dipshits think of what happened. Hell, I don’t even know what happened, but-“

Cas cut Dean off with Her name, and his whole body tensed. 

Sam cleared his throat. “Cas, we’re really not following-“

“It is her.” Cas repeated Her name, his words slow and careful. “She is… complicating things. Lilith made a move to break the seal that crossed several lines. We are not sure her intention was to break the seal.”

“Well, what the hell does this have to do with-“

“She stopped the seal, but she is not supposed to be involved with the seals. Or you. At all.” Cas met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “I warned you to be careful. This is why.”

Dean’s teeth were going to break. He had been careful. He was always careful with Her, because he’d been real goddamn reckless before. When when Dad was in his ear, telling him that women were mostly good for longer nights and better days, but nothing compared to family. That careful wasn’t any way to treat a person, because they had to be able to fend for themselves.

She could fend for herself. She’d stopped a seal by herself. That was why Dean needed to be careful with Her. He couldn’t just fuck around with the living, breathing star, dropped right into his hands. He had to hold it, soothe it, care for it.

“We were careful.” He grunted, and Cas sighed.

“Not careful enough.”

Sam shook his head. “But you haven’t told us why, Cas. We’re not sending her away, and we can’t be careful if we don’t know what we’re being careful against-“

“Because I cannot tell you.” Cas snapped. “There are things at play that I do not understand. That I suspect my superiors don’t understand. My brothers and sisters are still dying, Lilith is still opening seals, and all I have been told is that the girl can’t be allowed to interfere. That precautions will be taken if she continues to step out of line.”

Something was tight around Dean’s throat. “You said she couldn’t get zapped-“

“And that is still true, but there are… other ways. To put her back in line.”

“In line?” Sam’s voice had risen slightly. “In- In what line-“

“I do not know.” Cas sighed, and She was still fast asleep. 

Dean hoped She was dreaming well. That She was entirely obvious to the conversation, thinking of only pink-sand beaches and movies and sugary drinks. That maybe, in Her sleep, he was there. He didn’t even had to be wrapped around Her or kissing her stupid. He just wanted to be there, for Her, by Her choice.

“We’re not ditching her, Cas.” Dean muttered, making his words firm. Final. “She stays with us. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“

“I have no problem with it.” Cas muttered, glancing down to Her peaceful face. “But I have no sway in what Heaven desires. And they have deemed her a threat. We cannot account for her, and that makes her dangerous.”

“She is not dangerous-“

“We both know that is not quite true.” Cas gave him a flat look. “I am risking a fair amount by being here, Dean. By warning you.”

Sam swallowed. “Warning us?”

“Be careful. I am still trying to learn more about exactly what the Magdalene is meant to be, but…” Cas sighed. “My progress is slow. And if it comes down to it, I will not be able to interfere directly. So be. Careful.”

There was a whooshing sound, Cas vanished, and She was left curled on the seats. 

Sam and Dean didn’t fight for the rest of the ride. They barely even spoke. Cas had said more than enough.

They needed to take care of Her.

And Dean wasn’t good at a lot of things. 

He could sing, but he couldn’t really carry a beat. He couldn’t bake, but he was fine with that. Wasn’t like he’d ever had a kitchen to practice in anyways. He didn’t have a damn clue how to do all that art critic shit, because as far as Dean understood it, color was color and words were words. He couldn’t take apart a painting and point to all the ways it worked. He liked things because he liked them, there was no fucking reason to justify it, and that was all anyone needed to worry about.  

He was alright with kids. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d be able to see a little kid with his nose and bright eyes, laughing the way Dean did and grabbing at shiny hair. Then he’d push that though way far down because now wasn’t the time for that. That wasn’t something he even got to have. No apple pie life was barreling in his direction right now. Maybe not ever.

He’d like one. He’d always liked one. Years ago, he would’ve lain on the bed and imagined a time that Dad would tell him and Sammy to hang it up, and Dean would’ve been allowed to build something like that.

Dad never did that, though. He left Dean and Sammy to deal with Hell and demons and angels and the rest of the shitshow, and he’d yanked Dean’s chance for that away. Told Her to leave. Made Her leave. And the what-if game wasn’t useful—it’s never been useful—but Dean still had a secret fantasy that helped him fall asleep sometimes. One where She was in his arms, but nightmares weren’t a worry. He would be allowed to bury his face in Her hair, and in the morning he’d wake Her up with kisses all over her face. Then She’d giggle, and let Dean pull Her into the shower, and he’d touch Her everywhere as She dropped her brow on his chest with a soft, happy sigh. 

But it was just a fantasy.

And Dean had done that to himself.

Because most of all, he wasn’t good at being good. A good man didn’t torture people. A good man didn’t damn the rest of the world for one woman, a good man got the job done, and a good man didn’t make pretty girls cry. If Dean was good, he would be guarding all the seals without a problem. If Dean was good, Dad would be proud of him, and Dean was pretty goddamn sure Dad would beat him into the dirt if he could see what Dean was doing now. 

Parking the car, and carrying his girl to bed. Grinning to himself when She nuzzled her nose into his neck.

“Dean.” She mumbled, her eyes fluttering up onto his, and his cock twitched in his pants. 

She needed to stop doing that and pouting. 

It was going to make him lose his damn mind.

“Hey, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his voice low. Sam had called and told Bobby they’d be home early, so they wouldn’t get killed for walking inside, but if Bobby woke up and saw Dean carrying Her bridal style into her room, Dean might end up on the wrong end of a shotgun.

“Where’r we.”

“Home.”

She hummed. “You smell good.”

“Thanks.”

“S’ like… cinnamon.” She blinked up at him again. “You’re so big.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Ba- Sweetheart, you should go back to sleep-

“Are you going to sleep?” She poked his chest as Dean set Her down on the bed. “You need it too, Deano.”

“I know, I just gotta get you down first.”

“‘M not a child.” She started to pout. She was trying to kill him. “I can put myself to bed.”

Dean just raised his brows. “You want to put yourself to bed?”

“No.”

He chuckled, letting himself be a little fucking greedy, and brushed some hair from Her eyes. “I know, Princess. I’ve got you.”

She made another cute grunt, and let Dean help Her to bed. He faced the door while She changed—managed to fight off a boner when he realized She was wearing his shirt—smiled to himself when she flopped onto the bed, and felt like he was goddamn flying when he scooted in next to Her, and she wiggled right into his side.

Dad wouldn’t have wanted him to be a good man like this. Being Her shadow and falling into Her every single fucking second, not doing the hard thing and leaving Her to focus on the seals. Dad would’ve called Dean weak.

But Dad hadn’t been a good man, either.

And Dean still had too much of Dad in him. Too much anger, too much hate, too much mud built up under his nails to ever fully be clean of it. People had always said he looked like Dad, too. And he used to stand a little taller because of it. Because John Winchester was the best fucking hunter in the world. A shield of a man.

Just as Dean had wanted to be.

But Dad hadn’t been a shield. He’d been a bludgeoning, dull-edged blade that hacked up everything then left it behind him. He’d hacked up Ellen, and Sammy, and Dean, and Her.

Dean was a blade too.

A weapon that carved things up and spilled blood and would follow whoever wielded him around like a sick fucking dog.

But in all of Dean’s sins, he’d always have one thing Dad never did.

Her. 

Dad had Mom. He’d lost Mom, and lost his goddamn mind trying to get her back. And Dean needed that to be the difference. 

Dean wouldn’t lose Her. He wouldn’t even think about it. 

So he wasn’t good at being good. Or being gentle. Or knowing when to stop, or keeping himself in check, or keeping peace.

But he was good of taking care of things. Baby was in perfect condition, and she’d stay that way until Dean was in his grave, then a long while after that if Sammy didn’t want to get fucking haunted. He folded all his clothing in his bag, and washed out all the stains on his jacket because it was all he’d ever really had. His guns were always clean, and whatever they needed for a hunt, Dean always found. 

And he took care of Her. When he kept himself in check, Dean took damn good care of his girl. Even if She only got to be that in his head, Dean would always take care of his girl. Since She’d gotten back, he kept some of Her favorite snacks in his bag, like he was trying to lure a damn stray into his house. Sometimes he’d be showering and check on Her fancy shampoo and conditioner that no one else was allowed to use—not that Dean would know how to use it—just to make sure She didn’t need any more. He always ordered Her a drink, because that was another way to take care of Her. He’d started to leave his shirts casually on the dresser, trying to bait Her into wearing them.

It was working. She started sleeping in them almost every night after Florida, and—just like how neither of than slept without the other anymore—they didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t have The Conversation.

But for now, Dean just wanted to have Her. And if this was how he got Her, that was all he needed. 

Still Her shadow, because—for reasons Dean couldn’t begin to understand—he didn’t need to be a good man to be Her shadow. So until She banished him from Her side, he’d stay. All the way down. 

If Dad had a problem with that, he shouldn’t have tried to take Her away.

Dean had found Her anyway. He’d always find Her. 

If Dean knew anything, he knew that Heaven and Hell could do whatever the fuck they wanted to him, but he’d always come back and find Her. And until that hand was forced, he’d do fucking anything to keep Her at his side. Maybe kiss Her, just one more time. Just to say he had. 

She’d been sleeping in his shirts. She’d kissed him. And Dean had been risking soft touched on Her arms when he wanted Her attention, been getting sweet smiles in return, and son of a bitch, he didn’t have a fucking idea how Dad could’ve ever hated Her. 

She was awesome.

She called Dean smart when he told Her about how he’d worked out the magician case. She’d sat with him while he fixed the Firebird’s headlights, smiling at him and holding his beer as they talked about anything but the everything. She was still crawling over Dean in bed and looking at him with bright, hopeful eyes, asking if he was hungry then holding his hand as they drove back to the convenience store. Leaning Her head on his shoulder as they ate in the car. 

And Dean still had all his fantasies. He was still a sick, rotten asshole, because when She called him smart, he wanted to swallow Her pretty words with his lips. Wanted to roll his body over Her’s, to kiss Her stupid into the couch cushions and not stop when he got hard enough to poke into Her thigh. Maybe She’d moan his name, grinding up into him, and Dean would get to love Her until she was shivering and whining under him. 

She’d whine. Dean knew Her, even if he’d never been Her shadow like that, and She’d be pretty and snarky and bratty under him, and son of a bitch, he wanted to see it. He wanted to indulge it and tame it and hold Her when she was a writhing mess, doing that eye-flutter thing as she came. While he’d been fixing the Firebird, all his thoughts that weren’t devoted to fix the car you got Her—you idiot, because she deserves Heaven at her feet and the best you can offer her is a car—were made of setting down his wrench, walking between Her legs, and seeing if she’d push him away.

If She didn’t, and he’d been brave and wrong enough to push his luck again, Dean would’ve palmed Her over her jeans until she was panting and begging for him. Maybe he’d shove two fingers into Her pussy, and see if he could get Her eyes to glow silver again. 

See if he could worship and hold Her well enough for Dean to be the only person She needed.

And it was getting out of control.

Everything was rushing around them—Lilith had broken more seals, and Ruby still had her claws sunken in Sammy, and the angels kept being fucking douchebags—but all Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Her. About a life where She’d still crawl over him in bed, but he’d roll Her over and fuck her into the mattress. They’d still go to the Convinces store, and still hold hands, but there wouldn’t be any looking over their shoulders for demons or monsters. She’d lean on him all the time. She’d love him all the time, and Dean would find a way to give Her all the comfort and luxury She deserved. 

He wouldn’t get that world. Not anytime soon, while they were still dealing with everything. But at least, for now, he didn’t have to worry about losing Her.

She’d benched Herself. When they’d gotten back from Florida, and carefully told Her what Cas had said, she’d benched herself.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with that?” Sam had asked, watching Her carefully, and She’d nodded.

“I can still help.” She’d mumbled. She’d been writing on a napkin again, that same repeated word from the resort. Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time. 

Bobby had said Her name, his voice low and firm. “It’s not that I don’t love havin’ you home, but you’re gonna drive us both up the damn wall if you’re just sittin’ around-“

“I won’t just sit around. That angel girl is still missing-“

“Anna?” Sam had frowned, and She’d nodded.

“Yeah, and I can try to find her. If she hates heaven, she might be willing to help us. And, Bobby, the book I made you guys get before...” 

She’d trailed off, and there had been a glossy look in Her eyes as she was picked at Her nails-

Dean had grabbed Her hand. Just to stop more blood from being drawn, he’d grabbed Her hand in front of Sam and Bobby. 

He hadn’t gotten shot.

Bobby had barely even scowled. But he’d also been mostly focused on Her.

“The one in Romanian?” He’d grunted, and She’d nodded.

“It’ll take a while, but I want to try and work through it. See if there’s anything we can use.”

Bobby had nodded, and She’d gotten the book. That was, apparently, how She spent most of Her days while Sam and Dean were gone. Bobby said that She’d curl up in the library and translate until she passed out on the couch, and Bobby carried her to bed. 

It wasn’t as bad as in those few months before Dean’s death.

But it still wasn’t good.

She hadn’t told them exactly what had happened. How She’d stopped the seal. But when they’d asked, She just shrugged it off, refusing to look Dean in the eyes. All he knew was that they hadn’t kissed since, and that She was trying to goddamn kill him. 

Because the benching had lasted for exactly a month before She was gathering them in the kitchen, the table scatted with a lot of loose papers, all of them fucking covered in Enochian. 

Sam picked up one of the papers—squinting at it like it might suddenly turn into something he could read—as Dean dropped at Her side. 

There was nowhere else to be.

“Any luck on Anna?” Sam asked, and She shook Her head.

“I still haven’t figured out how to summon an angel. I mean there’s like, prayer. But they don’t have to answer that.”

Bobby frowned. “Could ya’ figure out how to summon an angel? I mean, I know you got all your rituals, kiddo, but we ain’t even sure how angels work-“

“They’re beings.” She shrugged, sorting through the papers. “And they don’t have souls, but they can still be summoned. I remember seeing something about it in the original book-“

“The one you lost?”

She nodded at Sam. “Yeah. So it’ll be in here,” She tapped the Romanian book, her gaze never leaving her papers. “But I just have to find it.”

“You never told us how you lost it.” Dean muttered, and She sighed, giving him a soft smile.

He got a soft smile. Between Dean, Sam, and Bobby, Dean was the one who got a soft smile.

His grin back took up his whole face, even as She dodged around his question. She’d smiled at him.

“The hunter people in Mexico stole it.” She hummed, twisting the skin on Her finger, and that was a lie. Dean wasn’t sure which part, but it was a goddamn lie.

“If you don’t have Anna,” Sam said, before Dean had a chance to push Her. “Then what’s, you know.” He gestured to the table. “This.”

She grinned at Sam, a smug sort of light dancing in Her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked, Samuel. This is our way out.”

“Out?” Dean frowned. “Out of what?”

“The seals.” Her smile was almost manic. It was still pretty. “Anna said that there were 600 of them, right? If Lilith fails one, she can probably either try again, or move onto another. But,” She grabbed the paper out of Sam’s hand, presenting it to Dean. “I can lock them.”

They were all silent for a long moment. Staring at Her as she looked around the room, sitting tall in Her chair with her chin raised. It was a chipped, old, wooden piece of shit that Dean knew had been broken before, but under Her, it looked like throne. 

Dean cleared his throat, glancing back to the paper. “I can’t read this, Princess.”

“Oh, right.” She flushed slightly, pulling it back and scanning over the Enochian words. “It’s basically just a recipe. We can either do a trial run, scale it down and have me lock one, or we can go for the big game and I’ll lock all of them at once.”

Bobby frowned at Her. “What does lock ‘em mean?”

“It means Lilith will try to break it, and it won’t do fucking shit.” She glanced down at the paper, then grabbed a chewed-up pencil to scratch another note. “I think if we had more time, I could maybe re-make the already broken seals, but she’s already gotten thirty-four of them. I don’t want to wait.”

“How do you even know this will work?” Sammy frowned around the papers. “I mean, was it in the book?”

“No.” She shrugged, spinning the pencil between Her fingers. “I thought of it. Myself.”

“Course you did.” Bobby grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out of him. 

“You raised me like this-“

“I ain’t complainin’ kiddo, I just.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know how ya even begin to think of this shit. And Sam’s got a good point, we don’t got anythin’ to prove it’ll work-“

“It will work.” Her words were firm as She rubbed her wrists, and She gave Dean an almost desperate look. Like he was the only one in the whole world, the only one who needed to hear Her and stand by her side. “Please, I just- I know it’ll work. And I can do it, I promise. Cas said I’m made of magic. He said I’m half Magdalene. Maybe this is my thing. My change. I’m not making super-demons, I’m stopping the rise of Lucifer. Lilith doesn’t get to win.”

Dean just stared at Her. He couldn’t even find any words. This was way above his paygrade, even if that same paygrade had been getting higher and higher every year. It was too big a jump, going for just stopping one seal to trying to lock all of them, but She was always making insane plans and moves like that. And She always said there was another way, and Lilith doesn’t get to win, but there must be a catch. A cost. There was always a fucking cost, and Dean wouldn’t pay it if it was Her, but Her eyes were blinding and consuming and pleaded on his, and She’d never led him wrong before-

Sam coughed, and Her attention turned away. 

“What’s a super demon?”

She shook Her head. “Don’t worry about it. I just- I can do this. And I think that we should go for the big one, because once I do this the angels are going to be on my ass-“

There it was. 

The price.

“No.” Dean snapped, and Her gaze shot back to him as Bobby sighed.

“Dean-“

“No. We’re not doing this.” Dean grunted Her name, gesturing around the table. “You’ve been staying off the radar to avoid the angels, not give them a big, neon sign to come and take you.”

“They won’t take me, Dean, I’ll be fine-“

“You said it would take big game to lock all of them-“

“And I have that big game.” She folded Her arms over her chest raising Her chin. “And I’m ready to do it. Jo’s got all the ingredients for us, we just have to meet her at the roadhouse.”

Sam blinked at Her. “Jo’s been helping you with this?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, rubbing Her wrists. “I- I was talking to her about Florida and Bolivia, and she- That’s not the point. We can do this. I can do this.” Her attention turned back to Dean. “Please.”

Son of a bitch. She was saying please and giving him the flutter eyes, and Dean had a horrible, boiling and dreadful feeling about this, but She said please.

And he should’ve known better than to think She’d just bench Herself. Of course She’d been working on something like this. A way around. A risky, insane way around.

“I don’t like it.” He muttered, and She gave him a flat look.

“Do you have a better idea?” 

Son of a fucking bitch. “No.” 

She gave him a sweet smile, and he sighed. 

He’d back Her up, because it was Her. Dean had to back Her up. That was how this worked. He was Her shadow, and he couldn’t protect Her if he didn’t back her up. She’d just fuck off and do it anyway. At least this way, Dean could take all the blunt ends of the fallback. Bobby could have someone to blame if it went wrong. If She lost it, Dean would take care of Her. 

She needed to do this, so Dean would do it with Her. Whatever She needed to be happy. If She thought this was Her Magdalene thing, then Dean would stay with Her all the way down. 

But he’d need to have some fucking words with Jo, after. He was trying not to think about how She’d told Jo about Florida and Bolivia—about everything Dean didn’t get to know—but that wasn’t what the words would be about. They’d be about encouraging Her to push herself, to make stupid fucking plays that might end in Her getting hurt. 

Some small voice in his head kept muttering that if this worked, it wouldn’t be done—there would always be more monsters, more horrors, more problems to solve—but all those fantasies he had would be closer to reality. Maybe Dean would finally find the guts to take Her face between his hands and have The Conversation. 

Princess, I want you. Always want you. Even when we were kids and I was a fucking idiot, I wanted you. Wanted you since you walked into my life, and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on and build you a million cars. Buy you a house. Give you the apple pie life you deserve. 

That was it. What he’d have to say.

If they got through this, he’d just have to say it. 

And he’d faced literal fucking Hell, and walked out on the other side with Her still staying. And nothing Dean could do that made Her happy, made Her satisfied, could ever be a sin. 

She was more than angelic. She was bigger than anything in the sky. 

So Dean would do this. For Her.

“What’d you boys know about what Thing One and Thing Two have been plannin’?” Ellen asked, and Dean sighed.

They’d left Bobby’s soon after the kitchen meeting. The longer they waited, the better chance Lilith had of getting more seals. Of getting some type of wind of their plan, and stopping it. She’d explained how this was a Magdalene spell, so even if it wasn’t directly from the Book, if Lilith heard about someone ordering dirt from Jerusalem to the States, she might put two and two together, and it would end poorly. 

Dean was already pretty sure it was going to end poorly. And he’d been trying not to drink when they’d gotten to the roadhouse. When She’d been sitting right next to him—close enough for him to smell fruit and sugar, close enough for their thighs to be pressed right together—but then She and Jo had scrambled off early, and he’d made Ellen give him the strongest shit they had. 

He wouldn’t get drunk. She never said She hate it when he drank, but he’d seen Her nose twitch at the smell of it. So he’d moderate, just enough for Her to still want to share his bed and press into his side.

But he’d still drink.

“Ain’t nothin’ more than you.” Bobby sighed, frowning at his own bottle. “Ya know, I got half a mind to beat Cas’ angel ass, tellin’ her ‘bout it like that. Know he meant well, but, fuckin’ Christ.”

Sam frowned. “I thought we wanted to know what she was?”

“We wanted her to have some peace.” Bobby grumbled. “I’d been hopin’ we’d find out she’s just some typa fallen angel or hybrid or somethin’. Not this.”

“Jo mentioned your angel friend said she was like Cleopatra?” Ellen gave Dean an amused look. “That make you Antony, or Caesar?”

Dean scowled, ignoring Sam’s snort. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“Cleopatra was married to Caesar, and had an affair with Marc Antony.” Sam shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Dean just stared at him.

“What.”

Sam said Her name, giving Dean a pointed look. “She’s Cleopatra-“

“She ain’t Cleopatra.” Bobby snapped. “She ain’t anythin’ but her, not matter what heaven seems to think.”

“It doesn’t sound like she has a choice, Bobby-“

“Always a choice.” Dean muttered, cutting Sammy off with a glare. “If the angels got some sort of contract with her that she didn’t sign, we get her out of it.”

Something scratched at the back of Dean skull. It was made of how She’d told him about her family tracking their bloodline, while the Magdalene’s were genetic. And how she was destined for some sort of crazy marriage, and Cas had said there was more about Her. He couldn’t talk about it now. Dean had promised not to tell anyone about Her family, and he’d rather cut off his own arm than betray Her trust. 

But he’d have to talk to Her about it later. She’d probably take all the pieces in Dean’s brain and connect them quickly, because She always understood him like that. 

He missed Her. She was just upstairs with Jo, but he fucking missed Her-

“Do you think it’s like, a predetermined thing?” Sammy said, and they were talking about the Magdalene thing. “You guys made it sound like heaven doesn’t even know what the Magdalene’s bring-“

“That’s cause Cas made it sound like that,” Dean muttered, turning his bottle in his hands. “Said they tracked them, but didn’t know where they came from.”

Ellen frowned. “Ain’t those big boys supposed to know everythin’ about everyone?”

Dean shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“Good they don’t.” Bobby grunted. “Means we got a leg up on ‘em. Cas said he ain’t been able to track her-“

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Cas wouldn’t tell me how he tracked her. But he could. It’s just one of his dramatic secrets.”

“But she’s still off the angel’s radars.” Sammy frowned into the air. “Did Cas mention anything about the soul stuff she can do?”

Dean shook his head, and Ellen cleared her throat. 

“I wouldn’t worry about the angels findin’ her. That one could hold Her own against an army of gorillas and robots.” Ellen paused, tilting her head slightly. “In fact, I ain’t that worried at all. She’s strong, and stubborn, and less somethin’ drastic happens, She’s not goin’ anywhere that Dean isn’t.”

Dean choked on his beer, shooting a quick look at Bobby. Silent on his stool. Staring at his own bottle. 

Likely still carrying a gun.

“I, uh- I don’t-“ Dean stuttered Her name, trying to find his way out of a hole he hadn’t even dug. “I’m not- We’re don’t- I mean, she’s-“

“Jesus, Dean.” Ellen gave him an amused look. “You’re give yourself a damn heart attack, if you don’t slow it down.”

“But-“

“Look,” Ellen gave him a flat look. “I’ve been tryin’ to be subtle ‘bout it for a few hours, kid, but that clearly ain’t workin’. What the hell is goin’ on with you two.”

“I, uh- Nothing. We’re friends.“

“Friends.” Ellen didn’t believe him. 

Dean didn’t need Ellen to believe him. He just needed the horribly silent Bobby to believe him. 

“Yeah.” He said quickly. “I mean, we’ve always been friends. Good friends.”

“Really good friends.” Sam drawled, grinning like a fucking bitch. “Such good friends that you’re sleeping in the same bed, right?”

Bobby already knew that. That was fine. “We get nightmares, asshole-“

“I get nightmares too. Do you think I can cuddle with-“

“No.”

“Why not?” Ellen looked far too fucking amused at Dean’s torment. He was starting to worry this had been some sort of trap. “She and Sam are friends too. What’s wrong with her sharin’ his bed?”

Dean was going to fucking vomit. Bobby still hadn’t looked at him.

“She doesn’t want to share my bed.” Sam sounded amused, and victorious, and Dean was going to knock his teeth out. “I don’t call her princess, or make her cars, or drive her to the corner store in the middle of the night-“

“How the fuck did you-“

“I was taking a shit when you guys got back last night.” Sam shrugged. “Saw all the food wrappers.”

Ellen sighed, giving Dean a look that was almost disappointed. “Dean, if you really think you two are just friends-“

“He doesn’t.” 

Dean needed to run. 

“I mean, they are friends, but he knows there’s more.”

Before Sammy ran his big mouth, Dean needed to run.

“Because you don’t make out with friends, do you, Dean.”

Later, Dean was going to run Sammy’s head through a wall, then throw some very stainable foods on all of Jo’s clothing for snitching. 

But for now, he was dead. Dean was fucking dead. 

Bobby was looking at him. Probably sizing up where the best place to shoot him would be. If Dean got a vote, he’s like it to be the brain. Gone quick, no pain. Just put down like the wet, mangy dog who’d been trailing after Her, who’d never deserved Her light and beauty, let alone Her love or touch. And Bobby knew that better than anyone. Bobby might be the only other person who understood just how vital She was to the world continuing to turn. And Bobby knew Dean. Knew what Dean had done. That Dean could never, ever be more than Her shadow, and even that was pushing it-

“You kiss her?” Bobby grunted, and Sam’s eyes widened slightly. The little shit seemed to have been so caught up in snitched to Ellen, he must have forgotten Bobby was there. 

Dean hoped that this time, he’d get to come back as a ghost and haunt to fucker to his own grave.

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby scoffed. “Don’t sir me, Dean. She kiss you back?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long, slow breath. This was it. He was dead-

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Bobby muttered, shaking his head. “Finally.”

Dean froze. “I- Uh-“

 “I ain’t fucking stupid, ya ijdit.” Bobby gave him a flat look, and Dean swallowed. “I got eyes. Ears. A damn brain. If you think I ain’t noticed how you look at her all the fuckin’ time, then I’m worried about your brain.”

Dean blinked, and shook his head. “It’s- I didn’t- We only kissed. That’s it. No funny business, and she kissed me the second time-“

“The second time?!” Sam looked far too happy about this information. “When was the second time?”

“Florida.” Dean grumbled. “That’s not the point, Sammy. She kissed me-“

“You two bein’ safe?” Ellen raised her brows, and maybe Hell could do him a favor, open up, and swallow Dean whole. 

“It was just kissing, and we’re not fucking idiots-“

“So you will have sex-“

“Sam-“

“Dean.” Bobby voice was low, but they all fell silent. “Listen. I meant it. I’m… glad. She needs someone who gets her, and you two- I ain’t able to be mad at ya for makin’ her happy. But if you break her heart. You leave her waitin’ for you, make her cry even one fuckin’ time.” Bobby narrowed his eyes. “I’ll make your time in Hell look like a fuckin’ nunnery.”

Dean gave a small, firm nod. He could live with that. If he ever hurt Her, he’d more than deserve whatever Bobby fulfilling that promise looked like.

And Dean didn’t bother to tell them that The Conversation still hadn’t happened. That Dean’s brain kept running away from him and calling Her his girl, but in reality, that wasn’t anything different than before.

Nothing Dean felt or thought about Her was different from before. Parts of it were amplified—he’d had a very firm and now impossible rule about never fantasizing about Her outside of touching himself, but now he couldn’t listen to her talk without imagining what She’d sound like when Dean shoved his face into Her cunt or stuffed her mouth full of his cock—but it was still the same. 

Even before the kiss, he would’ve spent the rest of the conversation thinking about Her. If it wasn’t those fantasies, it would be Her siren-like voice haunting him on the wind, all while he tried to figure out what the hell She and Jo were doing, and if he’d get stabbed for trying to crash it.

He would’ve found a good reason to leave a little early before, as well. Would’ve ended up slowly opening the door to Jo’s room, and grinned at just the sight of Her. All the lights were off, save for the glow of the TV—still playing some sort of chick-flick Dean didn’t recognize—and She still looked like a goddamn dream.

She and Jo had fallen asleep against each other, under the same blanket. 

And It was good She had Jo. A friend that didn’t have anything complicated. Sure She had Sammy, but at the end of the day, the kid was still Dean’s brother. So if for some reason Bobby ever had to fulfill that oath, She’d still have Jo. 

And Sam was also right.

Dean wasn’t just Her friend. He’d never been just Her friend. Even when he’d been keeping Her away from Dad, hunting with Her in secret, they’d never been just friends.

They had to have The Conversation. Dean would find a way to survive if She ripped his heart out of his freakin’ chest, but Bobby hadn’t been mad. If Dean was really bad for Her, Bobby wouldn’t have thanked God Dean kissed Her. If She didn’t want Dean, on some level more than just a quick fuck or two emotional kisses, Bobby wouldn’t have said She needed Dean. 

Maybe She craved him too. 

Maybe.

Princess, I want you.

He could do it. 

Later.

He’d do it later.

For now, Dean would pick up Jo’s beer and Her soda, brush all the hair from Her face and smile at Her in the dark—there didn’t need to be any witnesses, because Dean wasn’t touching for anyone but Her and his own selfish hunger—before detangling Her from Jo to get her to bed. 

She made an adorably disgruntled sound as Dean hauled Her up his chest. And it amazed him sometimes. How the same glowing, soft eyes blinking up at him could give dagger stares that made demons afraid. How those slightly parted, soft lips could curl into deadly sneers, and the same haunting voice that was mumbling his name could spit the most venom he’d ever seen. 

“Dean?”

“Yep.” He walked slowly, trying his goddamn best not to disturb Her more than he had to. “It’s late, you know.”

“I’m not clock.” She grumbled, giving him the cutest fucking pout in history. “How do I know you’re Dean?”

He frowned at Her. “Cause, uh- I’m me, sweetheart. Unless you got another Dean on the side-“

“Just you.” She shoved Her face right into his neck, and he had to be fucking dreaming. “’S always just you, De.” She giggled to Herself. “Was a stupid question. I know you’re you.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, shouldering their door open. “How do you know, Princess.”

“You’re gold.” She hummed. “And strong right here.” She poked a little to the right of his heart, and Dean stopped in the center of their room as She blinked up at him. “Only my Dean is gold like that.”

She might as well have fucking shot him. Her Dean. He was Her Dean. 

He’d be Her whatever. Son of a bitch, Dean would be Her court jester if that was the only place She offered him.

It wouldn’t be. 

Court jesters weren’t allowed to share the Princess’s bed. They didn’t get to help Her into one of their shirts, keeping their eyes firmly fixed away from the bounce of Her breasts. Jesters didn’t get to kiss Her brow and have Her wrap her arms around their neck.  

That was a job for shadows. 

She’d told him that She could sense when souls wanted each other, and hadn’t really explained it, but Dean needed his soul to start doing some fucking work for him. To make it real fucking clear that, the moment She said the word, Dean was going to wrap around Her and never let go. Do half The Conversation before it even started, so that Dean could finally be allowed to kiss Her brow and trail down Her nose, ending on Her lips and pulling every perfect sound She had to offer from her throat. 

Make Her happy.

Bobby had said Dean could make Her happy.

It was a little fucking terrifying. Just how much She was to him. More than the world. More than all the stars in the sky. 

And laying in the dark, Her curled into his arms, Dean was glad Dad was Dead. That he’d gone a fucked-up kind of heroes death.

The alternative was that Dean would’ve kept crashing up into Her—covered in mud and feeling so fucking good every time She took him all the same—and then Dad would’ve kept prying Her away. Making Her leave. Making Dean lose Her.

And Dean would’ve killed him, or punched him, after simply losing his fucking mind trying to convince himself he didn’t want Her on Dad’s orders.

Princess, I want you. Always want you.

He’d always wanted Her. It didn’t matter what anyone did to him or told him, Dean would never stop wanting Her. The only thing that would keep him away was Her saying no. 

But son of a bitch, if She said yes. 

Dean fell asleep to fantasies of Her saying yes. Of Her telling him she wanted him. 

He woke to Her still in his arms. 

And he didn’t stray for the rest of the day.

For as long as Dean could manage, he stayed at Her side. Hanging over Her shoulder as She and Jo went over the plan on last time, running down the ingredient list. Guiding Her to the Firebird with a hand on Her back, and tailing after Her in the Impala as they headed away from the roadhouse. 

She’d wanted space. Just in case, She’d demanded that they do this somewhere with space. Just a few towns over, where it was mostly field and birds. Bobby and Ellen would be on standby just in case. Sam, Dean, and Jo would bring their guns, just in case. They’d get a motel and wait a day, just in case. 

“I thought we wanted to move fast?” Sam frowned at the Firebird ahead of them, and Dean sighed.

“Apparently there’s a sweet spot, Sammy. Not slow enough for Lilith to hear about it. Not fast enough for demons to show up and have us miss them.”

And no demons showed up. They got a two bed to share, did routine sweeps of the town every few hours, and found no demons.

But one demon found them. 

There was a knock on the door, and they all froze. Jo one the bed with a book, Dean on the couch with the TV and Her and Sammy at the table, doing something on the laptop. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was slow as they all stared at the door. “Did you order food?”

“Nope.” He muttered, and Jo stood up slowly, her gun in hands. Dean reached for his own, he knew Sam was doing the same, and She-

Her grip was white-knuckled on her knife, and She was staring at the door with a little more intensity the rest of them. Her face was colorless, and Her eyes were wide, and Her mouth opened as Jo touched the door handle.

“Jo, wait-“

Jo pulled back, but she’d already unlocked the door. 

And when it swung open, Ruby was grinning on the other side.

“Could you guys at least pretend you’re happy to-“ Ruby’s eyes landed on Her, and the bitch paled. “Fuck.”

A lot of things happened at once. Jo slammed the door shut before Ruby could run, Dean aimed his gun at Ruby’s temple, and Sam threw himself in front of Ruby as something in the room started to shift.

She wasn’t advancing with the knife. It was just spinning in Her hands as she stared at Ruby, and Dean had never seen her look at anyone with that much pure fucking hated. Usually there was some sort of starlight dancing or flickering in Her gaze, even if She was angry. 

Maybe Dean just hadn’t seen it up close last time. Because it was the same as Boston. She was amplified, and everything seemed to be revolving around Her, and her pupils were silver.

And it wasn’t just starlight anymore.

It was a supernova.

It was wrathful. 

“What the fuck,” She hissed, and Dean could swear Her voice was echoing around the room. “Is she doing here.”

“I don’t know.” Sam said quickly, giving Dean an almost desperate look. “Dude, I swear I don’t know. I didn’t bring Ruby, I didn’t even tell here where we were-“

“He didn’t!” Ruby jumped in quickly. “Fucking- I’m here to help, I’m always here to help, and that’s not going to change, no matter how much you id-“ The world grew technicolor, and Ruby stammered over herself. “I’m trying to warn you! Alistair knows you’re here!”

Dean felt his blood go cold. Alistair. Alistair had promised to take Her, to hurt Her, and he knew they were here. 

Sam said Her name slowly, not moving from in front of Ruby. “She doesn’t have any reason to lie. And if Alistair does know-“

“Then we’ll move fast tomorrow.”

Ruby frowned. “Move fast on what-“

“Shut the fuck up.” She snapped, and Ruby paled. “How do you know Alistair knows.”

“Because I’ve been tracking Hell’s Assassins. And they’re headed here.”

Jo blinked. “I thought they’d been takin’ orders from Azazel-“

“They take orders from the top dog.” Ruby said, still watching Her wearily. “Right now that’s Lilith. And she’s passed them onto Alistair, to help him however he wants. And he’s sending them after you guys.”

Her cold glare on Ruby didn’t waver. “And why are you telling us?”

“To help-“

“Don’t lie.” She hissed. “You fucking left me-“

“Because Lilith pushed me out of my meat-suit! I- I told Sam-“

She raised Her hand, and Ruby fell silent. Dean felt like he should be doing more than just standing here. Maybe he should be going out and getting every bit of candy and sugar, and a collector edition copy of Indiana Jones, and a whole lot of body scrub and makeup, and forming some sort of fucking alter to the goddess in their motel room. 

And it was still just Her. It was just Her, everywhere. In everything. The whole fucking world was Her, and Dean could feel it. 

He wanted to live in it. Live in Her.

Another thing that would have to wait for later. Because right now, it seemed like Ruby was pretty damn close to getting killed, and Dean wanted to see that.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” She said, Her eyes still locked on Ruby. “I’m not going to kill you, because Sam’s my friend, and I care about him, and I want to trust him. But if anything goes wrong tomorrow, if anything other than a few, easy-to-kill Hell’s Assassin’s show up,” her eyes narrowed. “I won’t kill you. I will obliterate you. Literally. Got it?”

Ruby nodded, and She smiled. A toothless, mocking, crude smile that made Her look a little like a Queen. 

Dean shouldn’t be this turned on by how mean She was being. Knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to launch himself at Her and pin Her to the wall. Kiss Her until all that raw fucking power was directed at him, and he could throw it right back at Her with only his hands and dick and mouth and care.

Not in front of Jo and Sammy. 

But later. If Dean got Her, he wanted to figure out what that fun little trick could do in bed. If he could use it to fuck Her, if She’d be able to see his soul while they fucked, if maybe he could bury himself deep enough inside of Her that he’d be enough of Her to see Her soul.

It would be beautiful. All of Her was beautiful, so Her soul would have to be too. 

Dean would have to wait for later. A lot of things were going to happen later. 

But now, he watched Ruby shuffled back out the door, and ran to Her side as the world collapsed back into Her. She was swaying slightly on Her feet, as the world became just the world again. And Dean caught Her.

That was his job. 

“We should go to bed.” She mumbled, Her head rested slightly on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll need to be up early tomorrow.”

“Can we do it tonight?” Sam suggested, and She shook Her head. 

“Need the Sun for it.”

“Oh. Sure.” Sam gave Dean a confused look, and Dean just shrugged.

His job wasn’t to question about Her methods. 

It was to orbit around Her as they all got ready for bed, crawl into the mattress at Her side, then pull Her right into his chest and lean down to whisper in Her ear. Low enough that Sam and Jo couldn’t hear, because this wasn’t for them. 

“I still don’t like this.” He murmured Her name, and She met his gaze in the dark. “There’s gotta be another way-“

“This is the other way,” She whispered, offering him a soft smile. “And I can handle some Hell’s Assassins-“

“I know you can, b- Sweetheart-“

“Then let me-“

“I will.” Dean leaned forward, their noses bumping slightly. “This is what we’re doing, I’m backing you up. All the way down. But I want you to know I still think it’s a pretty shit idea.”

She giggled. “Your objection is noted. Go to sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to fight his grin. “So bossy-“

“Can’t hear you,” She burrowed Her face his neck. “Night, De.”

“Night, Princess.” He muttered, running a hand through Her hair, and the boiling dread was back. 

But he’d still do this. 

For Her, Dean would do anything.

He clung to Her, through the whole night. Kept his face buried in Her hair and his body half on top of Her’s, because he was allowed to. Maybe She’d feel it. See it with Her magic soul pheromones.

And if She didn’t, Dean would tell Her in the morning. 

—————

“Look.” The big man made of green—who hadn’t hurt you and all the birds and flowers seemed to adore—was kneeling down to meet your gaze. “I don’t know if you ain’t able to talk, or if you just won’t, but I can’t keep callin’ you kiddo. You know what a name is?”

You know what a name is. You have one. This man has one too, although you’d forgotten after he told you. You’ve just been calling him the Big, Green Man.  

And he’s still looking at you. You’re supposed to answer his question, but you don’t remember how. You know your own name, but you’re also the pressure of the house foundation, and the weight of all the beer the Big Green Man is keeping in the fridge, and the tension of the guns on his wall.

You hate guns. The last gun you saw had been in your father’s hands, and it had been aimed at the head of your cousin. 

He’d gotten in trouble because he’d tried to touch you. Hurt you. Half his face was already covered in boils, because you’d screamed and all the Silver light in your body had surged up to protected you. And you’d just wanted him to go away. You’d just wanted all of them to go away, and leave you alone again. They hadn’t stopped hating you, after the ritual. They only hated you more, because it wasn’t supposed to be you.  

You hadn’t wanted him to die.

But your father had apologized to him, and pulled the trigger. 

He’d never apologized to you. Nobody did. 

Most of this is your fault anyways. And nobody wanted to hear you talk. To plead for it to stop, because it was too much and you could see your cousin putrid, greasy sort of brown sinking down into the floor, and his blood on your clothing already missed him, and you wanted to go home.

You didn’t get a home. You were on hold until the Sky decided to take you.

And you haven’t seen the Sky, since you ran. 

You haven’t spoken for a while before that.

So you’re just blinking at the Big Green Man. And he’s blinking back, scanning over your face for an answer you don’t know how to give him.

“You know how to write?” He grunts, and you blink at him. “Shit, wait here kiddo-“

The Big Green Man walks away, and you wait. He’s safe. His guns aren’t angry like your fathers are, and there’s beer in his fridge but it’s sad. Not violent like the wine your grandmother and aunts poured down your throat to keep you satiated. 

You’d vomited that up, before you ran. It made you tired, and you couldn’t afford to be tired. 

But the Big Green Man was making you sleepy. You could rest in his big house with all the books, and nothing would try to hurt you. 

He comes back with a pen, before you can curl up to sleep. 

“If you’ve got a name,” he grunts, placing a paper on the coffee table and passing the pen into your hands. “Write it here.”

You look between him and the pencil, and give it a little testing scribble. Its ink is red, and that’s wrong. You’re not red.

The Big Green Man frowns as you push the pen back across the table. “You able to write?”

You nod, and he sits up a little straighter. 

“Somethin’…” He glances down to the table. “Wrong with the pen?”

You nod again, and slowly push to your feet. The Big Green Man has a desk, and the desk must have a pencil, and-

There it is. There’s a yellow highlighter too. And it’s not Golden, but it’ll do. 

The Big Green Man watches you as you return to the couch, and scribble your name on the paper. The graphite is a little silver. And that’s you.

“Huh.” The Big Green Man repeats your name back to you, and you nod. “You remember my name?”

You shake your head, and the Big Green Man reaches for the highlighter. You snatch it away with a frantic shake of your head. That’s not for him. That’s for the boy the Sky says he hates and doesn’t want you to find.

And you—not the you staring at the Big Green Man, who’s going to grab a pen from the desk until he finds the right color and writes down that his name is Bobby, but the you now—don’t remember that part. But these types of dreams tend to have small things that you’d forgotten, or maybe made up in the first place. You’re never sure if it’s real or just another dream at all until-

“Hi, Princess.” 

There he is. “Hi, De.”

Dean’s pressed right into your side on the couch, and suddenly Bobby isn’t so big anymore. You’re not that small, either. And it’s a little like you’re flickering back and forth between the little girl who’d sat on the couch and the… Whatever you are now. Who’s leaning into Dean’s side.

“Why does Bobby look so young?” Dean mutters in your ear, and you laugh. 

“This was eighteen years ago, Deano. Would be a little sad if he didn’t look young.”

“Huh.” Dean frowns at the air. “Eighteen years ago I was…”

“Ten.”

“Uh, yeah.” He raises his brows at you. “How’d you know that?”

“I did math, Winchester.” You grin at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “It’s this thing with numbers, where you add them together and take them away, and then you get other numbers-“

“Alright, alright.” He rolls his eyes, but his arm his looped around you, and you’re lying against him on the couch as Bobby keeps talking.

“You didn’t add a last name,” Bobby mutters, and he looks back to you. “You got anyone, kiddo? Family?”

You shake your head, and Dean tenses beside you.

“You’ve got me.” He mutters, sounding a little like a dejected puppy, and you give him an amused look.

“I didn’t eighteen years ago. This me,” you gesture around the room. “Didn’t have anyone.”

“But you had me.”

“I didn’t know you.”

Dean scowls, like the very fucking idea of that is intolerable. “You coulda. I coulda found you.”

You hum, your smile never wavering. He’s adorable, and you love him, and you can’t say it aloud, but you grab the yellow highlighter from the table—Bobby seems to be caught in some kind of static as your attention remains on Dean—and hold Dean’s gaze. “Do you want to have me, Dean?”

And it’s a dream. You have to remind yourself it’s a dream.

But the open, hopeful, sheer look of desire on Dean’s face isn’t as foreign as it should be. 

His voice is low, almost hoarse. And the whole dream seems to be filling with a golden haze that makes you feel a little high as he leans down, holding your gaze.

“I always fucking want you, Princess.” He mutters, and you swallow. “Wanted you since you walked into my life and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on, baby.”

Baby.

You know I love you, baby.

But this sounds more real, and yet it’s just as fake, and you don’t know why your mind hates you so much. 

Yet you’ll take all of Dean you can get. Even if it’s just a dream. 

“Okay,” you whisper, uncapping the highlighter and slowly moving it to his brow. 

You’re not sure what you’re doing. Dean clearly isn’t either. 

But you let the Silver take over, and start to write on his forehead, just like you’ve been practicing. His name, but running away from you as you add more, and suddenly it’s your name too, and then-

The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin, and he’s holding your gaze, and you love him, and the Sky can never be allowed to take him away or you’ll do a hell of a lot more than just scream and beg-

Your eyes flutter open, and you’re staring at the ceiling, covered in a big, warm weight and drowning in the smell of spice. 

Dean’s snoring above you. And you don’t know when you flipped over, but he’s pinned you between the mattress and his body, and his face is in your neck. 

You could stay here forever. 

But you have a job to do. And you have to move. Fast.

“Dean,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, and this isn’t overindulging. He’s on top of you. You’re just trying to wake him up gently. “Wake up. We’ve gotta go.”

The snores hitch, and your smile grows.

“C’mon. Up.”

“No.” He grumbles, and you giggle softly.

“I know you’re awake now, Deano.”

He pauses, tensing slightly. “No, ya’ don’t.”

“Sleeping people don’t talk.”

“Could be sleep talkin’,” he mutters, still not moving. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do.” You push at his shoulders lightly. “Up, you big baby.”

His head turns, eyes blinking open, and if he doesn’t decide to get up now, you’re not going to have the strength to push him. 

He’s so pretty. And in the morning light, there’s no part of him you can see that isn’t Golden. It’s in his eyes and soft on his skin and woven through his hair, and you love him, and you’re not allowed to say it. 

You can’t let it affect work either. And it can’t show on your face. 

So you’re trying to smile at him the same way that you’d smile at Sam or Jo. But he’s perfect, and all around you, and it’s not affecting work if Sam and Jo aren’t even here to do the work-

The door slams open, and Jo waltz through it with the timing of some sort of sick joke. 

“Oh, good, y’all are-“ She freezes in the center of the room, eyes widening. “Shit, I didn’t mean to- I can come back, if you’re- y’know-“

You flush and Dean twists to shoot Jo a glare.

“If we were, it would’ve been ruined already, Jo.”

Jo’s eyes are going to burst out of her head. “So you were-“

“Not yet.” Dean pushes up off of you, pauses, and leans down to press a kiss to your brow. 

Not yet.

Baby. I love you, baby. 

You’re just staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and you’re going to melt into the mattress. The Spiderweb loves this. It’s bursting and sparking everywhere, the ache between your legs building as you just stare up at Dean, and his lips tighten slightly.

“You good?”

You smile at him, nodding a little stupidly. “I’m awesome.”

His mouth twitches slightly, and he nods. Brushes a little hair from your face before he moves away. 

And you just keep lying there. Dean and Jo are talking about how Sam’s at a shitty diner down the street, and Dean should go join him so they can case the old church you’re using before the ritual starts. Jo will stay with you, going over the plan one last time, and Dean will survive one damn hour without you.

“But she needs to eat-“

“And I brought food.” Jo calls your name. “You want some pancakes?”

“Yes, please.” You might be whispering. You still feel sort of molten. 

“See.” Jo’s talking to Dean again. Her voice isn’t ever really firm like that when she’s talking to you. “Go get your own food, Dean. And I already yelled at Sam ‘bout Ruby, but double teamin’ never hurt.”

Dean grumbles something about killing Ruby himself, if she shows up, and you hope he does. Sam and Dean fight about that kind of stuff all the time, and you really don’t want to be the one who has to kill Sam’s demon friend.

Dean can do it for you.

Dean’s always doing stuff for you.

“See you at the church.” He mutters, suddenly hovering above you like the angel he is, and you smile at him. 

“Okay.”

“Eat what Jo brought you.”

You nod, still a little dizzy and lost in just the sight of him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch slightly. “You sure you’re alright down there?”

“Yeah.” You’re definitely whispering, and Dean’s face splits into a grin.

“Don’t do anything insane.”

“I would never.”

He rolls his eyes. “Jo-“

“Nothin’ insane. I heard ya, Dean. Now go.”

“She’s so mean to me.” Dean mutters, his fingers brushing so easily through your hair, and the Silver has never been this happy in your body. “You’d never be that mean to me, Princess.”

Jo snorts. “Yes, she would-“

“Nah.” Dean grins at you, and you can only grin back. “Pinky promise you’re gonna eat.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak, and lock your pinky with Dean’s. His smile is the best thing you’ve ever seen. This plan has to work, so Dean can smile like that all the time. 

“Good girl.” He mutters, and his attention turn away just before your love and need for him escapes, splattering all over your face. 

Dean and Jo exchange a few low words, and you just keep staring at the ceiling. Baby. I love you, Baby. You know I love you-

“Y’all are so gross.” Jo groans, dropping down on your mattress. “I mean, that was worse than if I did walk in on you fuckin’-“

“Jo.” You mumble, giving her a flat look. “We aren’t fucking.”

Jo sighs. “You’re not holdin’ out on him cause of... that thing, are ya?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it-“

“He won’t care.” Jo’s voice is firm, and you turn to see her almost glaring at you. “Don’t ruin this for yourself just cause you think he’s gonna get weird about it.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. Dean’s not gonna give a shit if you’re a virgin. I think he might get all caveman about it, actually. He seems like the type.”

You need to stop telling Jo everything about you. At this point, all she doesn’t know about is how you-

“I mean, you love him. Don’t think you’d love him if you really thought he’d get all fuckin’ shitty ‘bout something like that.”

Fuck. “Jo, I- I don’t-“

“You don’t need to say it.” She shrugs, holding your gaze. “’S why I’m sayin’ it for you. Dean wouldn’t do that to ya’. I really think if you tell him, he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.”

“Jo-“

“C’mon. You can lie to each other, but you can’t lie to me.” Jo is lucky she’s basically your sister. Anyone else would’ve been stabbed by now. “You love him. Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep, when you ain’t there.”

“He has?” You need to sound less hopeful. It’s not selling the I don’t love Dean angle that well. “I- I mean, I don’t care-“

“Yeah, you do.” Jo smirks at you. “You want him to kiss you, and hug you, and fuck you- Shit!”

You slam a pillow over Jo’s face, and when she tries to retaliate, you let just enough of the Silver out to make the pillow burst into only feathers.

Jo scowls. “I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah, well, I hate when you tease me about Dean-“

“But you deserve it! You are so obvious, it’s like- Oh my god, you remember when we were at the roadhouse a few months back, and that hunter from Louisiana started talkin’ to you?”

You blink at her. “No?”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Course you don’t. You were lookin’ at Dean.”

“Hey-“

“Well the asshole was tryin’ to get in your pants, and you were just makin’ those fuckin’ I love you eyes at Dean-“

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, you do. It’s like,” Jo flutters her lashes, pouts slightly with an open mouth, and you hit her with another pillow.

“I do not fucking do that.”

Jo seems completely unfazed, which is really annoying. “Yeah, ya do. And you were makin’ those eyes at Dean, and the hunter didn’t see ‘em, but you didn’t see him. You were bein’ polite, but you’re real fuckin’ shit at flirting-“

You gape at her. “You’re really mean this morning-“

“I’m sick of you and Dean dancin’ around each other!” Jo throws her hands up in the air, flopping back down on the mattress. “And you keep interrupting my story! The point is that Dean got all barky and mad at the hunter, and you didn’t even notice cause you were too busy eye-fuckin’ him!”

“Barky?”

Jo grins. “I think he fuckin’ growled. I’m tryin’ to tell you that you’re not good at pickin’ up signals, and you love Dean, and he wants be allowed to love you, and if you’d just fuck ‘im, shit would be so much easier.”

You let out a long, slow breath, and before you can even open your mouth and ask Jo to drop it, she’s holding up a finger.

“Look, how about this. What’s your dream life?”

Dean’s asked you that before. And you’re not sure where Jo is going with this, but she’s going to get the same answer he did. “I’ve never thought about what else I’d do-“

“I’m not askin’ what else you’d do.” Jo shrugs, holding your gaze. “I’m askin’ about your dream. If everything works out and you get a perfect world, what’s it look like?”

You stare at Her, and the Silver is rioting inside your body.

A perfect world. Not a realistic one, where you’re either still locked up, or the Sky has taken you, or you’re just hunting until it kills you, or everyone around you dies and you turn to stone, waiting for them to return. 

A dream. 

You can see it, forming far too fast. It’s just water-painted colors and ideas, but it’s still clear. No monsters or demons or angels, and the Sky is gone. Bobby’s just running his yard, and Sam’s back in college, doing whatever he wants to do. You and Jo get coffee every weekend, and these kinds of conversations never have an underlying sense of danger around the corner.

And Dean’s everywhere.

All his clothing doesn’t stay in a room he never sleeps in, but is tucked into the same drawer as yours. He works in the scrapyard with Bobby, and you don’t know exactly what you’re doing—you’ve really never thought about it—but it’s something useful, where you get to read a lot and talk a lot, and nobody ever gets hurt. 

And you come home to Dean every night, and he kisses you everywhere. He falls asleep with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair, and all your rules are broken because you tell him you love him all the time. And there’s a future. It’s not just the thing to get to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is promised. 

The longer you think about it, the more the Silver spreads. And you’re a little afraid to say it aloud. Aloud makes it real. 

So you just shake your head, twisting the skin on your finger. “I don’t know.”

Jo knows you’re lying. She raises her brows, and her lips tighten into a line, but she doesn’t push it. She knows you well enough not to. 

“Think about it,” she shrugs, and you nod. Now that it’s in your head, you don’t think you’re ever going to stop thinking about it. 

“Do you have one?” You ask, lying back down at her side, and Jo frowns at the ceiling. 

“I think it used to be this.” She mutters. “Huntin’. But I dunno, I’d just wanna fuckin’ chill. Get a cat.”

You give her an amused look. “A cat?”

“Yeah. I’d relax and get a cat, work in somethin’ with sound. I was really good at that,” she says your name, giving you a grin. “The sound shit? From the lich case. I liked it. Lotta buttons.”

You snort. “You want to work in sound cause there’s a lot of buttons?”

“Yep. And don’t act like buttons ain’t fun to push.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “I’d love to have a job that’s just pushin’ buttons. This job is… you know.”

You do know. And if this works, Jo could have an out. Your dream world is just a dream. You have too much hanging around you for it to be any more than a dream. But the Sky doesn’t watch Jo. Demons don’t hunt her. She’s not a Magdalene, or salvation, or damnation. 

That’s why you’re doing this ritual in the first place. For Jo. 

You didn’t tell Bobby, because he’d tell Ellen. You didn’t tell Sam, because that would involve explaining that Jo got the idea from hearing Ruby talk about it, and then he’d say that’s not what Ruby meant, and try to make your talk to Ruby. 

You couldn’t tell Dean. If you told Dean that Jo had overheard Ruby talking about the possibility of locking all the seals, then came to you to see if it was a possibility, he’d get mad at Jo for pushing you. And she hadn’t pushed you. Not on purpose. But she’d wanted to know if that was in the cards, and it had been, and then she’d wanted to do it. 

“If you think you can,” she’d said over the phone, her words slow. “I don’t think we’re getting’ a better solution.”

“I know.” You’d sighed, frowning at your notes. “But I- I don’t trust it.”

“If you think it’ll take too much-“

“No. I’d be fine. I just- I don’t know. We’ll do it.”

“I’m serious, if you ain’t on board-“

“I’m on board. I’ll pitch it to them tomorrow. Can you start-“

“Been workin’ on the ingredients since you gave me the list.” Jo had said your name carefully. “Thank you. I know this is dicey, but it’s gonna work. You’ve got it. We can do it.”

You’d nodded, and hung up. 

You’ve got it.

You don’t feel like you’ve got it, but you had to have it. This ritual was volatile, and the Silver still feels like a muscle that spams and tenses and seizes up under the wrong amount of pressure, but you’ve got this.

Ruby showed up last night, and that was making the Silver roll and howl in a kind of alarm over your skull, but you could deal with Ruby. You’d meant it. If she’d set this as some sort of trap, and you showed up tomorrow to find hundreds of demons, or a pack of hellhounds, or Alistair himself, you’d crush Ruby with the Silver until she was fucking nothing. 

And you want to tell Dean about it. Tell him that you have this itching, rash-like feeling over your wrist and along your bones, and something just feels wrong. You don’t know if you can do this, but you’re repeating it over and over until it feels a little more true. 

But if you’re going to use the monster for something, you might as well use Her for this.

It has to stay between you and Jo.

And you’ve got it.

“We should start movin’.” Jo mutters, pushing up off the mattress. “Ready?”

You’re not ready. 

You nod anyway. 

Jo runs over the ingredients one last time while she waits for you to change, and everything is in order. You’ve got your jacket, your knife hidden safely inside, and the flask in your pocket. Filled with whore tears.

You don’t really want to know how Jo got those. 

“I think you should tell him where we’re done.” Jo hums in the Firebird, and you shoot her a glare.

“Don’t you have your own love life to worry about?”

“Ha! So you admit it’s a love life-“

“I’m gonna crash the car-“

“No ya won’t. Dean gave it to you.” She bumps your shoulder, and you can’t stop your small smile. “And I was serious, before. You don’t even have to jump right in with the love shit. You can just say I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.”

You sigh. “Can’t I make you do it for me? Like we’re in middle school?”

“Nope. Cause then you’re gonna tell him that he’d be the first, and like, I know we don’t wanna fetishize that, women are more than their bodies, he’d want you if you’d fucked a million dudes-“

“Jo-“

“He would. Right now, it probably ain’t even occurred to him that you haven’t. And I want you to see his dumb little monkey brain explode when you tell him.”

You shoot her a glare. “Dean’s not dumb.”

“I know.” Jo shrugs. “But he’s gonna short-circuit. Promise.”

You just shrug, and try not to think about it. It’s easier if you don’t think about it.

There are just too many other things to think about, besides is Dean going to like you back. The Romanian translations, and the ingredients, and if the Silver is going to settle the heel down and cooperate. If Hell’s Assassin’s do show up, how you’ll handle them.

But he might. Everyone can’t be wrong. There might be a world where you can wrap your arms around Dean, rest your chin on his chest, and say Deano, I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.

You’ll rephrase it.

And you’re not supposed to overindulge. Asking Dean to fuck would definitely be overindulging. 

But he smiles at you, the moment you and Jo walk into the church. Dean grins at you like you’re not about to take a huge, deadly fucking gamble. Like he’s about to ask you to go get some food and watch a movie.

Like a date.

Softer than just fucking. And instead of sweeping the pews for lingering sulfur and demon marks, you could lean over the table and hold his hand. 

Maybe.

If he asks you, you’ll never be strong enough to say no. It’s why you’re not telling him you don’t want to do this.

He’d say don’t do it, Princess. And then you’d go home.

He’ll talk you out of it. You don’t really want to be talked out of it, not when it could be the way. Not when you promised Jo.

So you’re going through with it. It won’t be rushed or experimental. Jo tracked down all the right ingredients—and you’ve really decided to not ask questions about it—and the Church is supposed to help the spell draw power as holy ground, but you’re mostly using it for your own peace of mind. 

Because this all on you.

“Do you guys-“

“We’ve got everything.” You mutter, turning over the skull of a sickly bird in your hands. “Sun’s almost through the windows, and we- There needs to be one thing in every cardinal direction. This,” you hold up the skull. “Comes with me to the dais. Jo’s taking the South and the tooth, Sam’s West and the blessed fruit, and Dean’s-“

“Black pearl covered in lamb’s blood, East.” Dean frowns down at his item. “How the hell did you get this stuff, Jo-“

“Don’t worry about it.” You and Jo say in unison, and Sam snorts. 

“Is that really it?” He asks, frowning at his apple. “Just stand in the corners of the room and all the seals will lock?”

“You have to stand in the corner of the room.” You mutter, pulling your flask from your jacket. “Bottoms up.”

You down the whore tears in one gulp, trade the flask for the knife like it’s a security blanket, and turn on your heels before you can lose the nerve.

Everyone finds their places fast. And all they’ll have to do is stand there, with their items at their feet.

You have to work.

Sam’s looking around the room. Jo’s looking between you and the teeth, a taut but hopeful expression on Her face. 

Dean’s looking at you. Only at you.

If you look at him, you’ll run to him. But you have to focus.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and let the Silver move out. You’re the freedom of the wind and the wisdom of the Earth, the warmth of the sun on a river miles away, and every single leaf on the trees. It’s all bending toward you, as you continue to expand. 

And you keep your eyes squeezed shut. You’re the dirt and the flowers and the stars, you’re flying up and you’re all the invisible stars in the Sky, and it’s watching you, closer than usual. So fucking closely.

Then you bite your lower lip until you drawn blood, grab everything by the fucking neck, and focus. 

You’re not sure what you’re throttling. Only that you’ve found it, deep, deep, deep under the Earth, and you’re choking it.

Lock. You hiss at it, and it balks. Close and lock.

There’s a boom through a little more than the world and the Sky is flaring in warning. 

It’s angry. 

That means you’re fucking doing it. 

Lock.

This time there’s a rattling sound like bones and insects.

Fucking lock.

Something hisses and crashes, and Dean roars your name. Sam’s shouting too, and so is Jo, but you can’t really hear any of it. 

You’re in the blur.

You’re fucking everything, and you and feel the wind ripping and biting at your skin, but it doesn’t hurt because you’re not you. You’re all Silver, and you’re everything, and the hissing is growing. Like something is fusing together. And you’re so big, you’re fucking everything, and you’re close. You’re so fucking close. You can fucking do it- 

Then you feel it.

 The Silver building too high, and the hissing starts to ring in your ears. It’s blaring and going fucking wild, ripping through the world to try and get back to you, because something is wrong.

You’re everything, but you’re not the Gold. And He’s roaring for you and running with Silver, but there’s no need to grab it and command it like to rest of the universe. Because you could grab the blue and the infected purple, and command them. Will them. But you could never touch the Gold like that, because it’s not something to be played with or harmed. The bit of Silver in it is pure. 

And He’s calling for you, so you have to answer.

Something is wrong.

Your eyes shoot open, still in the blur, and you’re crashing back down into the Gold.

But every falls apart so fucking fast, and you’re not fast enough to piece it all together until it’s done. 

The roof of the church is gone. Half rubble around you, and opened up for the Sky to see. Sam’s knocked out on the floor, and there’s an angel. Not Castiel, because even in another vessel, he’d still be running with electric blue. This angel is filled with yellow.

Not yellow like Dean’s gold. 

Yellow like poison. 

She’s got a long blade aimed at Jo’s throat. And you’d rip her apart with your bare hands.

But Dean. 

Dean’s surround by Hell’s Assassin’s. Three of them. Two holding him on his knees, the third aiming a shotgun at his skull.

The Spiderweb is going haywire. The Silver is scratching at your ribs and skin to be let out, but you’re keeping it pinned down your knife on your forearm. It’s too uncontrollable. If you let it get too far from you, it might not just be the angel and the demons who die.

So you’re frozen. 

And Dean’s in danger.

“What-“ You clear your throat, because you sound a little like a scared fucking child. You are a scared fucking child. But you can’t let it show. “What do you want.”

“I don’t know about the girl scout.” The demon with the gun hisses, jerking it’s head at the angel. “But we’ve been sent by Lilith to warn you to stop. She says that you’re meddling in things you don’t understand, and that if you don’t back up, we’ll kill your little human toy for real this time. Lilith don’t need him no more. And this time.” It’s lips curl into a horrible smirk. “There won’t be no coming back, so-“

“I’ll stop.” You say it quick, and it’s the easiest trade in the world. You’re not losing Dean twice. “Please, I’ll stop, just-“

Dean groans your name, and there’s a little blood trickling from his temple. You hadn’t stopped it. You’d been to fucking big, and you’d let him get hurt. “Finish it- Don’t- I’m not worth it-“

“Shut up.” You snap, and Dean just shakes his head, coughing a little bit of blood. 

He’s staring at you. Blinking once, over and over and over. Not safe. 

You know it’s not safe. That’s why you’re going to stop.

“Is that it?” You ask, looking to the angel. “If I crawl back to my hole and stop interfering, will you leave?”

“I don’t care about the interfering.” The angel says, and she almost sounds sad. “You can’t be trusted, and if you don’t come with me, I’ll kill her.” The angel gives Jo an apologetic expression. “Sorry.”

Jo just glowers at her, and you swallow.

“If I come with you-“

“No!” Dean’s roar echoes around the ruins, and the even the demons flinch slightly. “You’re not going fucking anywhere. Anna, you’re being insane-“

“I am being rational. Seeing clearly.” The angel—Anna, the one they’d told you about—sighs. “Ruby’s right. She’s been warning you, but you wouldn’t listen. And she may be a demon, but she,” Anna nods to you. “Is far worse. I know she’s a Magdalene. Castiel is not as good at snooping as he thinks. And she’s warped your mind.”

You shake your head frantically, the Silver still pounding. “I- I’ve never- No-“

“Men of God are drawn to Magdalene’s.” Anna mutters. “You are the Magdalene. You’re unstable, and too dangerous. You’ve blinded them-“

“I’m not fucking blind!” Dean shouts. “I don’t give a goddamn fuck about all of heaven’s drama and politics. Ruby’s the unstable bitch, Anna, you’re being insane-“

“Dean, please be quiet.” Anna presses the blade further into Jo’s throat, you’re fucking dizzy, and there’s a soreness deeper than your muscles. “I’m trying to help. We can do this peacefully. She’ll go, and the demons will release you. Or we can finish the seal ritual, then go. But she can’t be allowed to live. Her name is written in languages humans can’t even read. I’ve seen it in the parts of Heaven Castiel has never been allowed. She’s their tool-“

“I’m not.” You mumble, and it’s somehow enough to make Anna listen. “I’m not their tool. And I- Dean, I’ve never warped you-“

“I know, Princess-“

“But I’ll go with you.” You keep your eyes on Anna. On the blade, poking into Jo’s throat. “Let Jo go, and I won’t even fight.”

Jo’s eyes widen, and Dean’s shouting your name, but you can’t look at him. You have to keep looking at Anna, or you’ll see the gun pressed against his skull and the world will split in half. And the Sky is watching, and it’s always hated you looking at Dean. You can’t afford making it angrier. Not right now.

Anna’s trying to protect Dean. You can understand that, more than anything. You’re going to do more than just kill Ruby, but you won’t blame Anna for trying to protect Dean. And maybe you have warped him. She’s not wrong that you shouldn’t be allowed to live. That you’re unstable and dangerous. 

Maybe she’ll be strong enough to do what John Winchester couldn’t. 

“I’ll let you take me.” You whisper. “Just let Jo go.”

Jo’s trying to shake her head, but it doesn’t work with a blade pressing against her skin. And Dean will be fine. He’ll have Sam and Jo, and they’ll explain to Bobby, and everyone will be fine. If anything, you’ll be saving everyone a whole lot of trouble, by going with Anna. Sam won’t have to worry about you killing Ruby. Jo can use this as her reason to get out. Dean and Bobby will have a harder time, but Bobby will never have to deal with your insanity again, and Dean can find that sweet, easy girl he deserves, without you in the way.

And the Sky is watching. If it wanted you to live, it would do something, but it’s only watching.

So you’ll-

“Anna.” A horrible cold voice is coming from right behind you. “You’ve done so well. Much better than we expected. Almost enough to be forgiven for your… Transgressions.”

Dean’s lips curl into a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing here, you bald douchebag-“

“I believe you were told to be quiet, Dean Winchester.”

And Dean’s voice just… dies. Goes silent. 

You move before you think. Whirling around, your knife raised, and aimed for the neck of a balding man that vanishes with a ruffling sound, then reappears a little off to the side.

“Oh! You’ve got a bite!” The man laughs to himself, soothing his suit, and there’s a clattering sound as Dean starts to struggle against the demons.

“Do I just, uh, shoot him-“

“Don’t be insane, Fiona.” The bald man gives the demon a flat look. “If you kill Dean Winchester, we kill you and bring him back.”

Another demon scoffs. “You ain’t ever been strong enough to kill us, Zachariah-“

“But she could.” The bald man—Zachariah—nods to you, and the room goes quiet. “Anna is quite correct. Which is a little more impressive than usual, as she is so often wrong. The best thing to do would be put the beast down, but I’m afraid that might cause quite some problems with my bosses, so for now, just a muzzle will do. Kill the girl.”

Dean’s mouth his still opening and closing, but no sound is coming out. You feel like a haze. Like this is just a horrible waking nightmare, and soon the Sky will crash over you in a fury, and you’ll wake up.

You need to wake up.

But you don’t.

And the Sky just watches.

“The girl?” Anna whispers, glancing down to Jo in her arms. “No I- That would be wrong Zachariah, even for you. I don’t think it’s even her time-“

“Yeah, but it would’ve been.” Zachariah shrugs. “What’s a year, really? And this’ll be faster, and- Look! I’m thinking outside the box! Blondie still goes, and she’s barely consequential. The whore heads back to her place, the bosses are happy, and you get off scot-free! You don’t even have to come home, but we can reset you. Give you that vile little human life you always wanted, two point oh.”

Anna’s still not moving. You need to do something, but if you do it wrong, you’ll just kill Jo yourself, and take Dean with her. And you can’t hurt them, you were supposed to stop hurting them, but it feels like something is keeping the Silver coiled, and when it explodes, too much might go with it.

Zachariah sigh. “C’mon. Be honest with me, Anna. I know you hated being one of us, but she,” he points to you. “Is not an angel, or a human. And aren’t you mad at her for taking what might have been yours? For ruining everything, and making Dean Winchester barely give you more than a second glance? She will be damnation. She’s reckless and emotional. I mean, even more than you.”

You need to move. To do something, other than standing here and being sick, but it’s all moving in the stupid fucking blur.

Anna looks at you. Then Jo. Then Dean, and all the spineless fucking demons, who aren’t even trying to do anything. They might see this as a win. You’re dealt with. You’re put down. That’s all they needed to do. 

Then Anna looks to Zachariah, like a nervous fucking child, and he nods. 

“You’d be free.” He says, and Anna’s throat bobs. “And you could come home. We’d listen to you, this time. About the humans.” He holds his hand up. “Promise. You just need to give us something, and it’ll be like you never left.”

The world falls apart all at once. 

Anna’s blade tilts down, drives into Jo’s stomach, and you lose control.

Zachariah’s gone. The Silver tears through the world for him, but he was fast, and may have known what was coming. Must have known. He killed two birds with one stone.

You. 

And Anna. 

Because when the Silver can’t wrap around Zachariah, it wipes out the Assassins in one wipe, atomic blow, and moves into Anna. Into every single arm and eye and wing, and grabs them. Shreds them. Rips them apart, all of Anna’s grace moving out and out and out into the world and evaporating into nothing, bigger parts falling onto the floor and being ground into the same, and then she’s gone. 

Her vessel’s body is dead on the floor, and there are no wings splayed behind it.  

Dean’s skull and soul are still intact. 

But Jo-

You sprint over the rubble, not caring as pipes and brick scrape at your skin. Your knee’s burn as you skid onto the ground at Jo’s side. 

“Shit-“ She’s coughing blood as you pull her off the ground, into your lap. “’S bad, ain’t it-“

“I can fix it.” You mutter, and it’s mostly to yourself. You can fix it. It’s just a wound, and the Silver can fix it.

“Can you tell my mom I’m sorry, and-“

“I need to focus, Jo.” You swallow, laying your hand on her stomach. Already hot and sticky. 

Your fingers already stained in red.

But you can fix this.

The Silver leaks out. Carefully at first, just enough to start the flow and mend. You just have to stop the bleeding. If you can stop the bleeding, you can get her to a hospital, and she’ll be fine.

She’ll be fine.

Every time the Silver patches over something, it rips back open, but Jo will be fine.

She has to be fine.

Jo mutters your name, and you shake your head, biting down on your inner cheek. “It’s okay-“

“No.” You mutter, and the Silver runs itself deeper into Jo’ body. Fuck stopping the bleeding, it’ll just weave into her and offer her a little while longer, and- “I need- The car, we need to start the car-“

Dean says your name, his hand carefully on your shoulder, and you don’t really care when he got there. “I don’t think-“

“Start the fucking car.”

It’s almost a screech, but Dean doesn’t flinch. He just offers a hand in your periphery to Jo, who meets it with shaking fingers. 

“Don’t be dumb.” Jo whispers, and you can’t tell if you’re choking on your own blood or the air. She’ll be fine. There’s no need for this, because you’re going to make her hold on, and she’ll be fine-

The Sky flashes above you, and the Silver is almost rocketed out Jo’s body. Her whole body shakes with the cough.

Dean squeezes Jo’s hand, kisses to the top of your head before walking away.

You’d screamed at him. You hadn’t meant to scream at him. And you want him to come back. You can’t do this without him. 

And you’ll get through this. You always do. 

But every time you find a new way to keep Jo, the Sky rips it away. 

She’s too pale. The pastel blue in her body is faded. Washed out. Like a river draining, leaving only a mud bank. 

She says your name, and you shake your head again. 

“Can ya look at me instead of tryin’ to fix it-“

“I am fixing it. It just keeps- Fuck-“ Your fingers curl against her, and this re-tear is bigger than it had been before. “No-“

“Please stop.” Jo mumbles, her voice wavering. “You heard ‘em, I’m gonna die anyway-“

“Don’t say that word-“

“But I’m gonna. It’s alright. Least you already avenged me. No hauntin’ for me. Maybe I can have a grave.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Silver retreats one last time. 

The Sky won’t let you fix her. 

And you don’t know what to do.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Jo’s voice is too soft, and you shake your head, fighting the lump in your throat to speak. You won’t let her go alone.

“For you?” You ask softly, and Jo nods. “No. I don’t think so. I- I think it might feel a little weird at first, but then it- It won’t matter.” 

“What about for you?” Jo blinks up at you. There’s almost no blue left. “Is it gonna hurt for you?”

“For me…” You don’t want to tell her. She doesn’t need to hear the truth.

But you’ve never been good at keeping things from Jo.

“For me it’s going to hurt a lot.” You can taste the salt as you speak, but you push on. For Jo. “For a really, really long time. But I’ll be ok.” 

“Promise?” She mumbles, and you swallow.

“Promise what?” 

“Promise you’ll be ok?”

“I-“

“Please.”

You’re not sure.

But Jo deserves something.

So you nod.

But the blue is already gone when you find your voice. “Promise.”

You sit with her. Until Dean comes back to take you from the desolated church, you sit with Jo. And think you whisper to him that she wanted to be buried, and not burned. And he might have told you that Sam’s up, and he’ll make sure it’s taken care of. 

You’re not sure though. 

It’s hard to think past the little remnants of blue, still on the tips of your fingers. Clinging to you, because the rest of them is gone. And you press your fingers into Dean’s neck as he carries you to the Impala. Hard enough for a little to stick to him as well. 

You might be crying. You’re not sure of that, either. The world is horribly blurry, and you can’t speak because it’s too much.

You feel like the little girl again. The one who hadn’t wanted anyone else to get hurt, and never knew what to do, so she never spoke. The only difference is now, Dean’s wrapped around you. The car stopped at some point, and Dean’s covered you in him. It numbs everything. Makes you breathe a little easier. And his thumb is running down your nose as he murmurs in your ear, and the world is still awful, but at least you can breathe. At least Dean is here.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Princess. That- I’m sorry.”

Your body shakes with something, and it’s probably a sob. 

He’s sorry. You did this, but Dean’s sorry. You should’ve gone with Anna, and Jo should still be okay, but Dean’s sorry.

You curl into him. He’s the only thing you don’t think you can hurt, so you sink your fingers into Dean’s back and hold on. And he stays. You’re certainly sobbing and shaking, and you’d screamed at him, and it should be your body on the ground, but Dean stays. 

It’s twice now. That it should’ve been your body. That you should’ve done better, but you lost. Failed. That all that stupid fucking power you don’t even want failed.

And this is different than Dean’s death.

Dean came back. Cas saved him.

Jo was killed by an angel. 

She’s gone.

And you did this. You should’ve told her no, I’m not doing to seal thing. We’re already pushing our luck. You should’ve been in more control, and killed Anna the moment she showed up. You shouldn’t have drowned in the power, and been faster when everything went to shit.

You don’t think you can hurt Dean. The Silver’s always moves around him.

But you killed Jo. You were weak and emotional and sick, and you killed Jo. Everything that’s gone wrong has been you. The lich. The boto. The angels have been angrier because of you, and Hell’s Assassins had a gun to Dean’s head because of you.

And you can’t hurt Dean. And he’d never hurt you. 

But a gun had still been pressed to his head, in your name.

And you know what you have to do.

“Dean?”

He grunts, and the sun might have set then broken back into the sky. It doesn’t really matter either way.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and you know he doesn’t understand. “Sammy’s getting her home, Princess, so we’ll meet him there-“

“No.” You whisper, leaning back to meet his gaze. “I need to go.”

You can see the moment it hits him. And his features harden, and his jaw clenches as his grip on your body tightens. Like he can keep you there with force. “No.”

You give him a sad smile. “You can’t stop me, De-“

“Wrong.” He snaps. “I can stop you. I- I’ll fucking call Bobby, and I’ll siphon all your gas, and I- I’ll sit on you-“

“You’ll sit on me?”

“You’re goddamn right I’ll sit on you!” He’s shouting now, and you don’t flinch. He’s not mad at you, and you can’t really stand to be angry right now. “You’re not allowed to just leave, you-“

“You owe me a favor.” 

Dean’s eyes flash. “That was fucking years ago-“

“Less than two.” You shrug. “I need to go, Dean. I- I can’t stay here. I can’t. I’ll hurt someone-“

“No, you-“ He shakes his head, and you hope his hold leaves a bruise. “You fucking promised you’d stop running. You promised.”

You did.

But you also promised Jo you’d be okay.

And if you stay somewhere that you’re the problem—the sickness, the monster, the damnation—and Sam or Bobby or Dean get hurt because of it, nothing will ever be okay again.

“I’m not running.” You curl your fingers at the top of his shirt, keeping your words gentle. “I can’t be here, but I told you. You can’t lose me. You’ll know where I am, and we’ll call, and I’ll come back.” You scan over his openly pained features, and try not to feel it too deep in your own body. “You and me, Dean. All the way down. I’ll come back.”

You’ve never seen Dean cry before. It’s nothing different than his usual sadness. Just a little bit more. Tears rolling down his cheeks that catch the light then fall between your bodies. And he knows you’re not moving on this. Dean knows you, and if it comes down to it, he won’t really try to stop you.

“You gotta come back.” He mutters, his voice barely a rasp. “If we’re using old shit, you owe me a dance, Princess.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and it’s hard to smile. You’re so fucking tired, and you’re not going to sleep in Dean’s bed for a while, so it will only get worse.

But you have to smile.

Otherwise you’ll be selfish, and breakdown again in Dean’s arms. And he might not be fighting you, but once again, if you let him hold you and care for you, you don’t think he’ll ever let go.

Dean holds his pinky up with raised brows. He doesn’t need to say what it’s for. 

You’ll come back.

So you hook your pinky through his, and when he uses it to pull you down into another kiss, you let yourself have it. 

Long and slow. He’s not trying to rush it, or take more. You think Dean knows that the moment this is done, you’ll be gone. So every bit of this kiss is about time. His hands roam your body slowly, and his lips mold and nip and press into yours, and you let him have whatever he wants. Soft sighs and moans, knuckles brushing back under your shirt, a hand tangled in your hair to pull your hair back. He kisses over your neck and collarbone, and you only let out a soft hum of his name.

It’s more of him that you’ll get to have. More Gold on your skin, some of it covering over the blue. Preserving it.

And you don’t tell Dean you love him, when he pulls away. Or when you both refuse to say goodbye, and Dean just ghosts a softer kiss over your lips before you climb off of him, and stand in parking lot alone. 

But you still broke a rule. You’re too tired to keep your love off your face. And if Cas sees it, when he takes your prayer and lands at your side, he doesn’t say anything. 

“You wish to go.” He mutters before you even open your mouth, and you sigh.

“I need you to fly me away. Far.”

“Will you be returning?”

You nod, and you can’t look over your shoulder. Dean’s still in the car, and if you look at him, you’ll run back to him. 

“And this is really what you-” 

“Yes.”

Cas sighs, and nods. “Alright. It will be… uncomfortable.”

“I can handle it.” You mutter, and you can’t look back. “Cas?”

He tilts his head at you, his hand already resting on your shoulder, and you sigh.

“Please be careful. And make sure Dean…”

You trail off, but Cas understands. “Dean will be in one piece, when you return. I swear it on my grace.”

“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’m ready.”

It’s right before you’re gone, that you look back.

You never could help it.

And Dean’s watching you, and you want to run back to him, but it’s too late. The world turns into a rush of color and cold, and you’re gone.

You’ll come back. 

You promised.

End Note: Fridging Jo for a *woman*, now that’s what I call progress (i’m joking because if I don’t I’ll start crying again)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - handle with care

warnings ; oral (f recieving), he hits it from the back, hair pulling, blue collar dick🚨🚨

prompt ; in which your landlord sends an electrician to fix your power, and you end up learning firsthand the magic of blue collar dick.

note ; if you are reading this.. this is a queue’d post while im in MEXICO!!!!! you horny little sluts really thought i would leave you alone for 5 days.. i would never. i figured — hey if i can’t post part 5 of tpod i can at least give a life lesson on blue collar dick, right? backstory here is that the other day my best friend and i had a conversation about our sexy ass landlord and that got me thinking… jungkook..? blue collar..? big dick..? so anyways this is the product of that convo! (and also a standalone one shot bc yall be loving these!)

Later, when someone asks you to recap this story, you’ll say that in your defense, you weren’t expecting the electrician to look like he walked straight off some cringy Pornhub set. You’ll say you just wanted your electricity fixed, not to be spiritually humbled by a man who smells like sawdust and pine.

Your apartment is the kind of place that builds character. And by character, you mean mild trauma.

The kitchen light flickers like it’s been possessed since the day you moved in. The ceiling creaks when your upstairs neighbor sneezes. Your shower only has two settings (arctic and molten lava). There’s a weird stain on the ceiling you’ve been ignoring for three months. And today, of all days, the universe decided to cut the last thread holding your sanity together: the power.

No lights. No working outlets. No WiFi. Which means you’re sitting on your couch, in a hoodie and shorts, trying to hotspot your laptop with 3% battery left while rage-texting your landlord like you’re filing an official grievance with Satan himself.

You immediately text your landlord, fully expecting a five-day delay and a $30 deduction off your next rent.

You: hi. respectfully. what the FUCK is happening?

You: i work from home. i pay rent. i have needs. pls fix ASAP.

He replies five minutes later like he’s doing you a personal favor.

Landlord: sending my guy over. 15 mins.

Your landlord is somehow both your greatest nemesis and your weirdest emotional support system. He’ll ignore three maintenance requests, ghost you for a week, then show up unannounced with a half-eaten bag of Hot Cheetos. You’ve threatened to sue him in writing and sent him a happy birthday meme in the same month. And you’re already halfway into a mental spiral about “his guy” being a 60-year-old with pants that don’t stay up and opinions about the current political climate when there’s a knock at your door.

You swing the door open, fully expecting to see a crusty old man with a clipboard and a wheeze, and instead, you see… (and you’ll remember this moment until the day you die.)

Lip ring. Tattoo sleeve. Tool belt slung low over cargo pants. A black tee stretched across broad shoulders. Jesus Christ, the hair. Dark, slightly shaggy, pushed back on top but long in the back, curling at the nape of his neck in a way that should not be allowed near unsupervised women.

“Hey’,” he says, like this isn’t a pivotal moment in your sexual awakening. “I’m here about the outage?”

You blink at him. You are officially unfit for conversation.

This man has a mullet. A tattooed, lip-ringed, mullet-wearing man is standing in your hallway holding a voltage tester like its foreplay.

Suddenly, your pajama shorts feel too short for this moment. You fumble with the doorknob, “Uh. Yeah. Come in. It’s, uh.. yeah.”

Brilliant. Shakespeare could never.

He steps inside, and holy shit, he’s even taller than you thought. The kind of tall that makes your ceilings feel shorter. The kind of tall where you have to crane your neck just slightly to look up at him, which is offensive because you’re not exactly short yourself. He smells like a mix of sawdust, a hint of pine, laundry detergent, and a 2002 Nissan Altima. It’s oddly specific.

He glances around like he’s surveying a battlefield. “Power cut out completely?”

You nod, shuffling behind him as he moves farther into your apartment with the kind of confidence like he’s somehow been to your home before. His boots thud across your hardwood floor, scuffed and loud. The tool belt clinks. His shirt rides up when he stretches his arm to check something near the ceiling and there’s a flash of golden skin and low-slung cargo pants and—

You’re not doing well.

He pops open the panel in the ceiling like it’s nothing. “Y’all been having issues with this before? Flickering? Dead outlets?”

“Sometimes the kitchen light hums like it’s possessed,” you say, which you regret immediately. “I mean, not literally possessed. Not like.. haunted. Just… you know. Buzzing.”

He chuckles. It’s a low, gravelly sound that sinks its teeth into your spine and doesn’t let go.

“Probably a loose connection in the junction box. Nothing too crazy,” he says, grabbing something from his belt that you will now dream about tonight. “You work from home?”

You nod again, helpless. “Yeah. Marketing.”

He glances back at you. “Tough with no WiFi.”

You turn around under the guise of “letting him work” but really just to text your roommate, Sana, with trembling fingers.

You: help. our power went out and the electrician we got sent is so hot

You: he has a MULLET. a mullet, sana. he said “junction box” and i almost moaned

You hear him grunt softly as he stretches to reach something and you nearly drop your phone.

Sana: SEND A PIC RN

You sneak a glance back — he’s perched on your step stool, arms flexing as he reaches into the ceiling. His hair is curling perfectly at the back of his neck, a little messy from the heat.

You don’t send a pic. You can’t. It feels criminal. You feel like you’re watching live porn with consequences.

Then he speaks again, casually. “You smell something burning last night? Or anything weird before it cut out?”

You nearly say “just my ovaries,” but God reaches down and slaps your mouth shut.

Instead, you clear your throat. “Nope. No sparks, no smell. It just… died this morning.”

He nods, focused. “Might be a fuse then. I’ll check the basement in a sec.”

He drops down from the stool with a casual thud and wipes his hands on that rag in his back pocket. That ass, that rag. This is no longer an apartment. It’s a crime scene.

You glance up just in time to see him walking toward your front door, lifting the back of his shirt to wipe his forehead. You black out for a second.

You: he just wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his shirt. i saw ab muscle. like cut definition. i think it smiled at me.

Sana: you need jail or a CONDOM stat. get his number???

You’re halfway through typing “I don’t even know his name yet” when the front door opens behind you, and you almost launch your phone across the room like it’s a grenade.

He steps back into your apartment with that casual, unbothered energy he’s so good at carrying. Hair slightly damp at the edges now, cheeks pink from the walk up your stairs, tool belt still jingling.

“Basement breaker’s fine,” he says, brushing his palm down the front of his shirt. “Might be a wiring issue. Gonna check one more thing.”

You blink. Nod. Attempt human speech. Fail. “Cool. Yeah. Check… stuff.”

Christ. You sound like you learned English from Duolingo five minutes ago.

He smiles then, actually smiles. Full teeth, little bunny front ones peeking out. His lip ring glints as he does it, and your brain goes completely static for a second.

“Want some water?” you blurt, and immediately hate yourself. “Or iced tea? Or, whatever I have in the fridge that isn’t expired?”

He huffs out a little laugh, shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. But thanks, sweetheart.”

You freeze like you’ve been slapped by a porn star. He walks past you again like nothing happened, reaching for something in his tool bag, completely unaware that your soul just evacuated your body.

You unlock your phone immediately, fingers trembling, and text in all caps.

You: HE CALLED ME SWEETHEART.

You: arrest him. make him marry me. i don’t care just make it LEGAL

You barely get the message out when he turns slightly and casually, and says, “So… you live here with your boyfriend, or…?”

You blink hard.

The question hangs there, just slightly too relaxed. Like it’s not loaded with potential. Like it’s not every Wattpad plotline you’ve ever read come to life in front of your half-broken Ikea bookshelf.

Your brain short-circuits harder than your kitchen socket. Is he flirting? Was that… are you being flirted with? It’s been a minute. Like, a long minute since you’ve had someone show genuine interest in you. You can’t tell anymore. He could be asking because he needs to know whose ass he’s about to get chewed out by if he knocks something over, or because he’s just curious.

You manage to croak out, “Just my roommate. Sana.”

He nods and doesn’t press. He lets out a low, distracted, “Hm,” like that’s useful information. Like it slots into place somewhere in his head and he’s okay with it.

You, meanwhile, are mentally drafting a will because you’re not sure your heart’s going to survive the rest of this visit.

He leans over your couch armrest to reach the outlet near the floor. His cargo pants pull slightly tighter around his thighs and you look away so fast you give yourself whiplash. You try to look normal, like a woman who isn’t catastrophically horny over someone adjusting your voltage.

You: HE ASKED IF I HAD A BOYFRIEND

Sana: I AM SCREAMING. I’M IN LINE AT TRADER JOE’S. OFFER TO MAKE HIM LEMONADE OR SIT ON HIS FACE IDK CHOOSE FAST

He stands back up, wiping his palms on that stupid fucking rag again, and glances over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t take much longer,” he quips with that lazy, dangerous smile.

You nod, eyes wide, pretending you’re normal. “Cool. Thanks. No rush or anything. It’s not like I need power to… survive.”

He quirks a brow at that, like he finds you kind of funny, or kind of tragic.

You sit on the couch, phone hidden in your lap like it’s a shameful secret. He crouches near another outlet, testing something with one of those little gadgets that beeps and blinks.

“So, marketing,” he says over his shoulder. “Like… ads?”

You blink. “Uh. Yeah. I work for a beauty brand. Mostly social media, some campaign strategy. Lots of pretending I know what I’m doing and hoping the algorithm doesn’t hate me that day.”

He chuckles. That low, amused sound that makes your toes curl. “That why you’re so good at talking?”

You freeze. “What?”

He glances back, smile creeping in slow and lazy. There’s an unfortunate amount of sarcasm behind his tone. “You seem to stumble a bit over words.”

You blink again, officially out of working brain cells. “Sorry. I—I can stop. I don’t mean to be annoying, I just—”

“I didn’t say it was annoying.” He doesn’t look at you when he says it. He crouches lower again, tapping something against the outlet. But you hear it anyway and feel it, low in your stomach like a dropped elevator.

Your phone buzzes in your lap, blessedly interrupting the moment before you combust.

Sana: girl. do i need to walk around the block or are you gonna fuck him. be honest.

You bite your lip so hard you nearly draw blood. He straightens up, wiping his palms again. “So do you like it? The job?”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. It’s… stressful. But fun, sometimes. I guess,” You scratch the back of your neck.

“You good at it?” He grunts out, looking for something in his toolbox.

Your mind blanks. “What?”

He turns to look at you full-on now, arms crossed, shirt clinging to the curve of his shoulders. “Marketing. All that stuff. You good at it?”

You let out a nervous little laugh. “I mean, I hope so. I’ve been doing it for a few years now, and nobody’s fired me yet.”

“That’s not what I asked.” His tone isn’t aggressive. It’s low and relaxed. But something about the way he says it makes your pulse skip.

“I… I think I am,” you say, slower this time.

He nods once as if that answer pleases him. “You seem like you’d be.”

You’re gonna die. You’re going to actually die. This man is being nice to you, and it feels like your body isn’t prepared for that level of stimulus.

You glance at your phone again.

Sana: WHY ARE YOU TAKING THIS LONG TO RESPOND??? IS HIS DICK OUT. BLINK TWICE

You look back up and he’s leaning against the doorframe that divides your kitchen and living room now, arms still crossed, lip ring catching the light. “So your roommate…?”

You nod, trying not to choke. “Yeah. Her name’s Sana. We’ve lived together since college.”

“She at work?” You swear he looks at your legs in your shorts, but could also be wishful thinking.

“Not right now. She works night shifts at the hospital 15 minutes away from here.,” You twiddle your thumbs in your lap.

He hums, still watching you. “So you’re here all alone today.”

It’s not a question. It shouldn’t be hot. It’s just a sentence. But, the way he says it? The tone? The slight lilt at the end, like it means more than it says?

You let out a strangled sound that you hope reads as a laugh. “Yeah. Just me. Alone. In this… apartment. Where you are. Currently.”

He tilts his head, smiling again. “You’re kind of funny for someone with no electricity.”

You hesitate. Then, blurting before you can stop yourself, “And you’re kind of cocky for someone who still hasn’t turned my lights on yet.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk slowly appearing. “Hm?”

You shake your head way too fast. “I mean—just—like, you’ve been here for a bit now and you’re fixing my power and it is taking quite long, but I promise I’m not mad about it.. I’m sorry.”

He lets out a real laugh this time. Full, low, and stupidly hot. He pushes off the wall and walks back toward the kitchen like he didn’t just wreck your central nervous system.

You take another breath and text Sana.

You: he’s flirting. he’s literally flirting. i want to crawl inside the oven

Sana: girl. jump on the counter and say “while you’re fixing things, i’m also broken.”

Almost like he was trying to prove a point to you, the lights come back on with a quiet click, a whirr of electricity humming back to life through your walls, and you swear the sound might as well be a death knell.

He steps back from the panel in your hallway, tapping the side of it with a knuckle like he just fixed your entire infrastructure. “There we go,” he says, “Should be good now. Might’ve just been a loose connection behind the breaker, it’s common in these old buildings.”

You nod slowly, like you understood a single word of that. All you really heard was competency and your brain whispered: breedable.

“That’s… great,” you reply, way too softly. “Thanks.”

He wipes his hands again on that same rag and starts packing up his tools, metal clicking together as he slips things back into place. His forearm flexes with every movement, tattoos shifting across his skin like they’re in on the joke.

“Need help with anything else?” he asks casually, not looking at you as he zips up the tool bag. His voice dips slightly.

Your heart stutters. You should say actually, yeah, my back is acting up and I think the solution involves that couch and maybe you using me like a handrail. But instead you go, “Nope. That’s all.”

Your phone vibrates against your thigh, dragging you back to earth.

Sana: have you ever heard of blue collar dick??? this is ur chance

You squint at that text, thumbs pausing mid-reply.

Blue collar dick.

The phrase unlocks something buried deep in your brain. A memory. A TikTok you watched half-asleep one night at 1:37AM, under the glow of your LED lights, while eating dry cereal out of a mug. The girl had looked straight into the camera, wide-eyed and deadly serious, and whispered: “Blue collar dick is not just a concept. It’s a lifestyle. It’s the kind of unholy grip someone develops on you after a man with calloused hands and a union paycheck fixes your sink and rearranges your soul in the same afternoon.”

You’d laughed. Scoffed, even. How dramatic.

He zips up the last pouch on his tool bag and stands tall, glancing toward the door like he might head that way but he doesn’t. He stays.

He rolls his shoulder a little, absently adjusting the strap, and you watch his fingers drag across the curve of his neck.

“You think everything working alright?” he asks, voice low and unhurried like he’s trying to fill the silence. Like he knows you’re still stuck in some sort of horny trance and he’s being generous enough to let you catch up.

“Yeah,” you say, breathier than intended. “Power’s on. Looks like the WiFi is back. I can check if my laptop came back to life.”

You gesture toward your computer like it matters. Like any of that is worth focusing on when he is standing six feet from you.

He hums, looking around your living room where you’re still on your couch. “Place is cute.”

You blink. “Oh. Uh. Thanks. It’s… falling apart slowly, but charming.”

He doesn’t really acknowledge that. “Anything else broken in here?” he asks, stepping away from the wall a little. “Leaky faucet? Shaky table leg? My dad taught me how to fix a ton of stuff, I’m pretty handy with anything. You want me to check something else?”

Your mouth opens and closes. Your brain struggles to find the words, and the words you want to say are not coming out easily, so you just respond with, “No. I mean… no, I think we’re good. You fixed the lights.”

His eyes flicker and stay on you just a second too long. Then he shifts slightly, sets the tool box down again with a thud, and stretches his arms overhead like he’s got nowhere to be. Shirt rides up just enough for you to see the line of his waistband and the shadow of toned skin beneath it, and you almost bite your tongue off.

“You sure?” he asks again, tone casual, almost amused now. “You looked kinda… bummed when the lights came back on.”

Your head jerks up. “What? No. I wasn’t.. I mean, not bummed. Just surprised. Happy. Grateful. Electrified, if you will.”

Electrified. You’re going to throw yourself off the balcony.

He laughs again, and you swear it vibrates in your chest. “I could hang out a sec,” he offers, and it’s not subtle anymore. “Just make sure everything stays stable. Sometimes the lights will turn back off randomly.”

Everything’s stable, you repeat in your brain like an idiot. I am not.

He’s leaning one shoulder against the wall now, lazy and relaxed, eyes still on you like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll say next.

Before your brain can stop your mouth from doing anything reckless, you blurt out, “Have you eaten?”

His brows lift. “What?”

You clear your throat. “Lunch. Have you had any?”

He tilts his head, eyes flickering down to your mouth for one half-second too long. “Not yet,” he says, “Didn’t get the chance.”

You nod like this is normal. Like offering sandwiches to electricians with tool belts and stupidly sexy mullets is part of your daily routine. “I can make you something if you want.”

His mouth curves, slow and teasing. “Yeah? You feed all the guys your landlord sends over?”

You roll your eyes so hard they nearly eject from your skull. “Only the ones who save me from having to live in darkness.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Then yeah. I’m kinda hungry.”

He walks over to where you’re sitting, drops his bag beside the couch, stretches with a casual groan that shoots straight between your thighs, and flops onto your couch like he’s done it a hundred times. Like your couch is a perfectly acceptable throne for his man-spreading, bicep-showcasing, very-much-staying presence.

You twiddle your fingers, “If i make you food, it’s only right if I get your name.”

Smooth. Real fucking smooth.

“Jungkook,” He looks over to you, trying to bite back a grin. “And yours is [Y/N], right? Saw it on the assignment sheet.”

“Cool,” You gulp down some saliva that was lodged in your throat.

You march to the kitchen like a woman on a mission, flinging the fridge open with the determination of someone prepping for an exorcism. It’s not that you want to impress him. It’s just that… okay. No. You do want to impress him. You want to serve this man a sandwich so good he files a formal complaint against your thighs for being too far from his face.

You find good bread. Not the sad white slices. You find turkey. Cheese. Lettuce that isn’t slimy. A tomato you aggressively pat dry with a paper towel like a psychotic housewife. You toast the bread and add a little mustard. You even cut the sandwich diagonally, because if you’re going to be delusional, you’re going to be domestically deranged about it.

Your phone buzzes for the billionth time.

Sana: DID YOU FUCK HIM YET

You ignore her. You grab a little paper plate with a cup of water and a napkin and present this meal like you are some Michelin chef. You walk it out carefully, feeling like you should have a white linen apron and one of those vintage Coke ads playing behind you.

“Damn,” he says when you hand it to him, voice warm with surprise. “You really went all out.”

You shrug, trying to act chill. “Just a sandwich.”

He takes a bite and groans.“No, this is next level. Wife-tier sandwich.”

Your face goes hot. You sit down beside him on the couch, one cushion away, legs crossed, heart racing. You grab your phone and finally reply to Sana before she drives to the apartment and physically removes you.

You: sana i need you to take a lap. actually take a five-mile lap. this house needs to be mine for two hours minimum.

Sana: i will literally be gone until sunset

You set your phone down and glance at him again. He’s halfway through the sandwich already, clearly enjoying the hell out of it, crumbs on his fingers, lip ring glinting as he chews.

“So,” you say casually, “how’d you get into electrical work?”

He swallows, wipes his mouth, and shrugs. “Started out helping my uncle with his crew back home. Learned enough on the job that I stuck with it. Took the exam, got certified, picked up my own clients.”

“That’s hot,” you say before thinking.

He pauses, blinks, then smirks again. “Yeah?”

You want to shrivel into the cushions. “I mean, just like the hands-on thing. Fixing stuff. Being good with your hands.”

He glances at you, faintly amused. “It’s a bold choice… Flirting with the guy who knows your wires inside out better than you ever could.”

You’ve made your decision. You’ve committed to the bit. You’re going to have him. You don’t care how. You don’t care if it’s a terrible idea. You’re already halfway there, and if blue collar dick is a myth, you’d like to be the one to confirm or deny it firsthand. You smile, tilting your head. “I like living on the edge.”

He finishes the sandwich and sets the plate on your coffee table with a little sigh. “Damn. Guess I should’ve been in this line of work sooner.”

You let out a soft laugh, glancing at him through your lashes like you’re not actively in the process of losing your mind.

He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm thrown casually along the back cushion, knee brushing yours now, and your whole body tightens at the contact. You look down at his hand, rough, calloused, fingers spread just enough to imagine what they’d feel like anywhere else.

Focus. Focus.

“So,” you start, aiming for casual but landing somewhere around unhinged, “do you, like… do this for a lot of people?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Fix electricity?”

You laugh too fast. “No! Well, yeah. I mean. Yes. But like… do you do this for one person a lot? Regularly? Like… someone special. Like a client. A consistent client.”

He’s still watching you, brows slightly raised, clearly trying to follow your logic. “Huh?”

You look down, embarrassed. Shit. Too subtle. You double back. “Sorry, I meant… like… is there someone who, you know, gets their power fixed all the time? Like a… girlfriend?”

Oh my god. Girlfriend. You say it like you’ve never spoken English before, like the concept of casual inquiry never existed.

His lips tugging up like he knows exactly what you’re asking. “Nah,” he replies. “No girlfriend.”

He reaches for the glass of water you’d set on the coffee table earlier, and you watch his throat work as he takes a slow gulp. His lip ring catches the light again, and your brain completely flatlines.

No girlfriend.

No girlfriend. That’s… fine. That’s great. That’s also dangerous.

Your heart is pounding so loud in your ears you barely register that he hasn’t looked away. When he sets the glass down again, his eyes don’t drift back to his phone or the room or the vague distance.

They stay locked on you.

You shift slightly, suddenly hyperaware of how close you’re sitting. His fingers are still relaxed against the couch cushion, a breath away from the curve of your shoulder.

“Should I expect a full background check with your next outage?”he says, voice low now.

You’re officially in the danger zone now with no intentions of stopping. “Already ran yours. Five star reviews all around. “

He chuckles, quietly. “I’m honored.”

Your breath catches. It’s a small sound. Barely audible. But his gaze dips lower at the sound of it, flickering between your mouth and your throat. He doesn’t hide it anymore. There’s no playfulness left.

“Stop staring” you mutter, trying to keep your voice even.

He lifts a brow. “I’m not.”

“Are you… thinking about kissing me?” This is worse than that one time in 10th grade when you got put in a closet with your crush and you practically slammed him against the door begging him to kiss you.

However, Jungkook doesn’t smile or smile. His gaze lingers on your lips still like he’s counting the seconds. “Would that be a problem?”

Your stomach drops. The air between you turns solid. “No,” you say softly. “It’d be the opposite of a problem.”

He doesn’t move right away, or lunge and lean in. He lets the silence fill with heat, with potential, like he wants you to feel the choice stretch out and make sure you want it just as much as he does. (Is he insane? Of course you do)

You want him to kiss you so bad it’s physically painful. Every nerve in your body is waiting for it, screaming for it, for the weight of his hand on your jaw, the feel of his lip ring pressing into yours.

You inch just slightly closer and your knee brushes against his fully now. Your face is tilted up toward his without even thinking.

“Are you gonna?” you whisper, voice barely there.

His eyes flicker again and then he smiles. “Thought you’d never ask.”

He leans in, not in some clumsy rush. He drags it out just long enough for you to feel your whole body tense with anticipation. His hand finds your jaw first, thumb brushing your cheek, fingers curling gently under your chin.

And then his mouth is on yours.

He kisses you like it’s his job, like he’s done this a thousand times but still finds something new in the shape of your lips. His mouth moves with intention, none of that awkward fumbling, none of the soft, shy hesitation. It’s confident. His lip ring drags against your lower lip and you actually whimper, because of course he knows how to use it.

He groans low in his throat when your fingers knot in the front of his shirt, tugging him closer. One hand slips around the back of your neck, the other finding your waist, pulling you across the couch and into him like he can’t stand even a breath of space between you.

He tastes like faint mint and the sandwich you made him. Your legs shift, tangling with his. His hand is already on your thigh, rough palm skimming under the hem of your shorts, gripping hard enough to make your breath stutter into his mouth.

You gasp when he bites down lightly, but enough to make you feel it. He soothes it with a kiss immediately after, dragging his mouth down your jaw, and murmurs into your skin, “You’re a good kisser.”

You could die. You could die right now and it would be worth it.

You tilt your head back to give him more access, voice breathless. “Yeah? You’re not so bad yourself.”

That earns you another groan, this one deeper, more possessive. His hand slides up your side, under your hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin and making your back arch instinctively.

He kisses you again, messier now and wetter. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing. His fingers sink into your thigh, pull you closer until you’re practically straddling him on the couch and you feel him, hard beneath his cargo pants, pressed against your hip like a threat.

“You sure you don’t need anything else fixed?” he murmurs against your mouth.

And all you can do is nod, eyes heavy, hands trembling against his chest as you whisper: “Hmm. I think my body is out of order. Needs fixing.”

Big hands grip your thighs, and with one swift, greedy motion, he’s pushing you back into the couch cushions. You land with a quiet gasp, hair fanned out, lips swollen, hoodie riding up over your stomach.

He’s hovering, body caged above yours, weight pressed into one arm braced beside your head, the other skimming up your waist and dragging your hoodie even higher. His silver chain dangles loose from his neck and every time he leans down to kiss you again, it smacks against your throat, cold and heavy, sending a shiver straight through you.

He groans when you arch up into him, letting your hips roll slightly, needy and desperate, and he feels it, feels how bad you want him and how worked up you are.

His bicep flexes beside your head, holding himself up so he doesn’t crush you but you kind of wish he would. You let your hand drift up, fingertips grazing the muscle slowly, shamelessly.

Holy fuck, he’s strong.

Strong in the way that makes your thighs press together, that makes you want to find out what else those arms can hold you down against. You squeeze just a little, test the resistance, and he grins against your lips.

“That’s what you’re thinkin’ about?” he murmurs, dragging his mouth to your neck now, teeth grazing your jaw. “My arms?”

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your brain is literally melting.

He licks a stripe up the side of your throat and bites, just enough to make you whimper, and the damn chain swings again, cold against the same spot.

“You like that?” he asks, “Hmm?”

You nod frantically, whining. You’re gone.

His hand slides down to grip your thigh again, hiking it up around his waist, and the angle has you gasping. His hips dip into yours just enough to make it obvious: he’s hard, and he’s not even trying to hide it now.

“You gonna let me take care of you?” he mutters, biting your earlobe. “Since you fed me and everything. Feels only fair.”

You nod again, breathless. “Yeah.”

“Good,” he says, lips brushing yours. “Been thinkin’ about kissing you since the second you opened that door.”

His hands are already slipping under the hem of your hoodie, thumbs dragging across the skin of your waist as he mutters, low and sinful, “Lift your hips for me.”

You do instantly and he slides your shorts down so slowly it feels like punishment. They snag slightly at your thighs before he gets them off, flinging them somewhere over the armrest, and then he just stares. Lets his eyes drag from your knees to the place between your thighs like he’s about to pray and commit a felony in the same breath.

You’re not even fully naked, but you already feel exposed. Every part of you twitching with anticipation because the way this man looks at you? It’s like he already knows what you taste like.

He lowers himself, right between your knees and spreads your legs open with two hands and drags your body closer to him.

“You’re already shaking,” he whispers, lips brushing along the inside of your thigh. “What’s got you so worked up, sweetheart?”

You want to answer. You try to answer. But then he presses a kiss right above your knee, then lower and lower. It’s like he’s savoring every inch of you, kissing a trail up your thigh like you’re dessert and he’s been starving all day.

When he finally gets to your underwear, he lets out a low hum.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, thumb dragging along the edge. “You’re soaked.”

You choke on your own spit. He hooks his fingers under the waistband, and looks up at you, eyes dark. You’re propped up on your elbows, watching him like you’re in a live-action fantasy, because that’s exactly what it feels like.

“Gonna take these off now,” he says, almost too gently.

You nod like a bobblehead. “Please.”

He tugs them down painfully slow, and when they slip off your legs and drop to the floor, he doesn’t even hesitate. He just dives in.

Tongue flat, broad, ruthless against you, dragging through your folds. You jolt, hips bucking off the couch, and his hands immediately slide up to pin you down, fingers bruising your thighs as he holds you in place.

He moans into you, tongue curling, lips wrapping around your clit with slow, maddening pressure. The suction makes you cry out, hand flying to grab at his hair, soft, messy strands you curl your fingers into.

“Fuck, J-Jungkook,” you gasp. His grip tightens on your thighs in response. He flattens his tongue again, licking long and slow, nose nudging against your clit just enough to make your legs shake. Then he shifts, tilts his head just slightly, and flicks the tip of his tongue in tight, fast circles.

You swear you see God.

He doesn’t stop, and it’s obscene how good it is. You can hear it. Mapping out every flick, every swirl, every suck that makes your thighs twitch and your head fall back in helpless, high-pitched whines.

He’s so good at it, it’s almost infuriating. Like he’s been training for this specific moment, like he knew your body before you ever laid eyes on his goddamn toolbelt.

“Shit,” you whimper, your fingers gripping the edge of the couch like you’ll fall off the earth if he keeps going.

He pulls back barely, enough to murmur against your soaked skin, “What’s that, sweetheart?”

You look down at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and the sight makes your stomach flip.

His eyes are dark, heavy-lidded, locked on yours with zero shame. His lips are wet, his lip ring gleaming, his chain dragging down your thigh. His hands are still gripping your legs tight. “You’re already shaking,” he taunts, “You gonna fall apart before I even get my fingers in?”

You let out a sound you don’t recognize. Your hips buck without permission, trying to chase more friction, more pressure, anything, and he laughs.

“Thought you were gonna take it,” he mutters, kissing your inner thigh again, right where it’s already slick. “Thought you were tough.”

“Jungkook,” Your voice breaks.

“Yeah, baby?” he smiles, “Want more?”

You nod frantically. “Please. Please, please.”

“Mmhmm.” He drags his tongue back up, slow and torturous. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want—” you gasp as he suckles your clit again, just hard enough to make your legs spasm. “I want your fingers please. I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, way too calm. “You’re gonna. Not done with you yet.”

He slides one hand down between your thighs, dragging his fingers through your slick folds, slow and unhurried. You feel the first press of his fingertip at your entrance and it’s over.

When he finally pushes in just one thick finger, your mouth drops open in a silent gasp. It feels so good, too good.

“You’re so tight, baby,” he notes more to himself than to you. “Fuck. Gripping already.”

He curls his finger and you practically wail. You slap a hand over your mouth but he sees it, and then lowers his mouth back down to your clit like he’s starving for it.

His tongue and his finger move in tandem. Circles and pressure and heat all at once, building you up, pushing you higher, dragging desperate sounds out of you that you’ve never made before.

“Jungkook, fuck, please,” you sob, grabbing at his hair. “Please, I need—”

“You need what?” he murmurs against you, adding a second finger slowly, the stretch perfect, his mouth never leaving your clit.

“I need, need to cum, please—”

“Nah,” he says, eyes flicking up to meet yours as his fingers start to fuck into you even deeper, “Not yet.”

You’re near tears at this point.

He flattens his tongue and moans into you, and your hips jerk off the couch. Your hands are clutching at him now, your stomach tightening, thighs trembling around his head as he talks you through it.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he exhales, eyes locked on your face. “All needy and loud. Fuck, baby. I could eat you all day.”

You’re so close it hurts. He can feel it, the way your walls clench around his fingers, sucking him in.

“That’s it,” he coaxes, voice hoarse against you. “Come on, pretty girl. Cum for me.”

And you do, embarrassingly hard. It crashes over you like a power surge, hot and fast and blinding. Your hips jerk, your mouth drops open in a silent cry, and you’re cumming so hard you forget your own name.

He doesn’t stop until you’re twitching, until your legs are shaking uncontrollably and you’re pushing at his shoulder with a broken gasp.

Still, he doesn’t let up. His tongue is relentless, fingers even more ruthless. You’re sweating, teary-eyed and so close you’re practically vibrating, when you finally snap.

“Jungkook,” you moan, throat raw. “I need you to fuck me. Please. I can’t—“

That gets him to cease. He pulls back, mouth soaked, lip ring gleaming. His hand lingers between your thighs for a second longer before he pushes himself up and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting.

You reach up, fingers clutching the front of his shirt, dragging him down so you can kiss him. You taste yourself on his tongue, and it just makes it worse, makes you needier.

He stands up, stripping down as fast as humanly possible. The black tee comes off first, revealing a chest that’s all muscle, abs that flex when he tosses the shirt aside. Then the cargo pants get shoved down, and…

Holy fucking shit.

It swings free and heavy into his palm, and you gasp.

That’s what they meant by blue collar dick. Thick, veiny, the prettiest goddamn cock you’ve ever seen. Long, curved just right, flushed and leaking at the tip as he wraps his hand around the base and starts stroking himself, slow and lazy.

He tilts his head back with a low groan, lashes fluttering, chain swinging over his chest and you just stare.

You’ve seen good dick before. You’ve had great dick, even. This is different. This is the kind of dick that installs central air and breaks bed frames. The kind that fucks through creaky floorboards, says “good girl” like a prophet, and pays in cash everywhere.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still jerking himself slowly, eyes dark as he looks down at you. “You want it, baby?”

You nod like your life depends on it. “Please. Need it so bad.”

He doesn’t waste another second. “Turn over,” he says, voice commanding. “Face down, ass up. I want that spine arched.”

You scramble to obey, flipping onto your stomach, shoving your hoodie up out of the way. You bury your face in the couch cushion, arms stretched forward, hips high in the air and the sound Jungkook makes behind you is inhuman.

“Fucking hell,” he licks his lips, hands gripping your hips, thumbs spreading you open. “Look at you.”

You feel him line up behind you, thick head sliding through your slick folds, teasing but not pushing in yet, and your whole body twitches.

“You’re perfect like this,” he says, one hand sliding up your back, pressing between your shoulder blades until your arch deepens. “Back all pretty, ass in the air, soaked for me. Fuck, baby.”

He leans forward, voice rasping hot in your ear. “You gonna take it for me like this, yeah? Gonna let me fuck you nice and deep?”

You moan out, whimpering into the pillow. “Yes. Yes, please.”

“Atta girl.”

He pushes in slow, allowing you to feel every inch. You feel the thick, burning stretch of him as he sinks in deeper, splitting you open around his cock. Your breath catches on a whimper, eyes rolling back as he fills you.

“Fuuuuck,” you choke out, voice strangled. “You’re so big.”

Behind you, Jungkook lets out a guttural groan.

“Yeah?” he rasps, still sliding in, forcing your walls to open around him. “That too much for you, baby?”

You shake your head, barely able to breathe, cheek pressed into the cushion. “No, no, it’s so good, just, fuck—���

He bottoms out, hips flush against your ass, and you swear you see stars. You’re so full it’s almost unbearable, like he’s in your stomach, You’ve never felt anything like it; your walls clenching, dripping, pulsing and he’s barely even moved yet.

He pulls out halfway and slams back in, then does it again… and again… and again.

His pace is brutal, deep, pounding thrusts that send shockwaves through your spine and bounce off the walls. Skin slapping, the obscene wet squelch of your cunt sucking him in over and over, the couch creaking beneath you. You’re a full mess under him, and he’s moaning now too.

“Fuck,”Jungkook growls behind you, breath ragged. “You hear that? You hear how wet you are for me?”

You do. The sound of your pussy squelching around his cock is loud, echoing with every thrust as your juices coat his length and drip down your thighs onto the couch cushions below.

“Fucking soaked,” he growls again, hips snapping into you.

His hand finds your hair, grabbing a fistful at the base of your neck and pulling. Your head lifts from the pillow you grabbed from nearby in a panic, back arched to its limit, body bent like a bowstring as he fucks into you harder now that he has you right where he wants you.

“Taking it so good, baby,” he pants, yanking your head back just enough to make you moan. He keeps pounding into you, dragging that cock so deep it feels like he’s carving himself into your soul, keeping your head held high by your hair, whispering filth that makes your legs shake.

“You wanna cum, don’t you?” he growls, tone thick and mean. “Wanna fall apart right here on my cock?”

You’re shaking too hard to answer, all that’s coming out are some babbles you nor him have any energy to interpret. Somehow, your brain flashes back to that fucking TikTok. That girl that described “blue collar dick” like it was some natural disaster.

Now you’re living it.

You’re bent over on your own couch, spine arched, tears in your eyes, unable to even think as Jungkook wrecks you with his cock and whispers filthy praise in your ear like it’s his job. This is blue collar dick. This is the goddamn thesis statement of that TikTok. You’re going to send that girl flowers.

“Please,” you cry, “Please, Jungkook.”

“Yeah?” he pants, breath hot against your neck as his fingers reach down and work your clit cruelly enough to keep you from tipping over. “That desperate for it, sweetheart?”

You nod, choking out sobs, your body twitching around him, clenching hard enough that he starts to fall apart.

“Fuck,” he groans, cock twitching inside you. “You’re so tight. Keep squeezing me like that and I’m gonna cum before you do.”

You moan loud into the pillow, your whole body wrecked and burning, still locked in this purgatory he’s created, his cock fucking you deep and hard, his fingers rolling over your clit with precision, holding you right there.

“Say it,” he growls, “Tell me how bad you need it.”

“I need it, please, I need it so bad. I can’t, I’m so close, please let me cum.” Your self -control has exited the apartment.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he grits out behind you, “Fuck, baby, feel how tight you are? How bad your pussy wants to cum for me?”

You can’t answer. You’re drooling into the pillow, gasping, your body jerking with every thrust like you’re being electrocuted.

“Let go,” he groans, voice shaking. “You’re gonna cum for me now, yeah? Go on, baby. Fucking cum.”

The second his thumb presses tightly just right against your clit, you shatter. It hits you like a wave. Your body locks up, thighs clenching, back arching so hard it lifts your hips even higher as your orgasm rips through you, hot and overwhelming. You scream as your pussy clenches around his cock, pulsing and gushing as you cum so hard your vision goes white.

Your arms give out completely. You collapse forward onto the couch with a breathless sob, ass still arched up as your cunt throbs around him, wetness dripping down your thighs in sticky trails. Your face is buried in the cushion, your legs are trembling.

“Oh my fuck,” Jungkook groans, “Just like that. You feel that, baby? Feel how good it is when you cum on me?”

He curses, pulls out fast and you let out a weak little cry at the loss, at the ache he leaves behind.

But then he’s jerking himself over you, his hand wrapped tight around his cock, wrist snapping fast, hips stuttering as he pants over you, chasing his own high.

His head tilts back, bottom lip tucked under his top teeth. A deep, broken moan is ripped straight from his chest as his hips twitch forward and he spills across the curve of your ass in thick, hot ropes. His chain swings with the motion, clinking gently as he fucks his fist through it, painting your skin in messy, perfect streaks.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” he groans, his eyes squeezed shut. “You’re… fuck, baby. You’re unreal.”

You’re too far gone to speak.

You stay face-down on the couch for a full minute post-impact, naked and glazed like a donut.

Jungkook exhales somewhere behind you, like he too is processing the life-altering events that just occurred in your living room. You hear his body move as he leans back, chest rising and falling, the distinct sound of a man who just came so hard he forgot his social security number.

There’s cum on your ass. Your hair’s stuck to your cheek. The throw pillow has a bite mark in it. You are not well.

You finally lift your head a fraction of an inch. “I think I just met God.”

Jungkook lets out a soft, post-nut laugh. “Yeah?” he rasps. “Tell him I said hi.”

You look over at him from where you’re sprawled out on the couch, now on your stomach. “…So do I owe you money, or…?”

He snorts. “For what?”

“For fixing my power?” You say it like it’s obvious.. which it should be.

Jungkook leans over and smacks your ass, casual, affectionate. “Nah. This one’s on the house.”

Eventually, he helps you sit up, grabbing the nearest clean towel in your bathroom like this is all completely normal. You look at each other and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry or call your landlord and thank him for being so aggressively useless.

You’ll deal with that later.

Right now, you accept the towel, take a shaky breath. You blink at him, dazed, legs still jelly. “So if I break something else… just a hypothetical, should i call you..?”

He smirks, tugs his pants back up without bothering to button them, and says, “Depends. If you break something else, I expect a personal invitation. No middleman this time.”

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[simpjaes]

✘ WIP DIARY ── LAST NIGHT, I READ YOUR DIARY. (p.sh) ✘

Sunghoon has been trying be everything you need since your mother passed. A father, a friend, a therapist. You never really understood what your mother saw in him in the first place, if you’re being honest. He’s awkward, quiet, and typically used to keep to himself up until now. You’re impressed with his efforts by the time you’re entering into your senior year of college, though his entire demeanor towards you seems to have changed.  or the one where your step-father grows obsessed with you minute by minute. 

── step-dad /weirdo park sunghoon x afab reader  

── minors dni

── tags: sunghoon is in his 30s, reader is in her 20s so, age gap, step-cest, heartbreak, obsession, manipulation, coercion, stockholm syndrome-ish, fluff if he manipulates you as a reader lmfao, angst, smut. don't read this if you are easily triggered. ── side characters: heeseung as reader's ex boyfriend, jay as reader's closest friend

── !WARNINGS!: this work contains non-con, dub-con, and stalking behavior. your mom isn’t alive in this fic. warnings will be updated as i write.

── a/n: this one is gonna be a wild ride, that's all i gotta say.

LAST UPDATED: 4.30.25

⨯ est wordcount: 30k+ ⨯ current wordcount: 18k ⨯ est release date: may 2025 for patreon, public release date is still tbd ⨯ completion: 65% of 100% ⨯ scenes written: 12 of 16

⨯ TAGLIST IS NOW CLOSED. if you asked to be on it and you're not, please comment on this post! some of you may have been lost!

15k is now available to read on patreon! UPDATED REVIEW 5.8k:

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Your first heartbreak is meant to be painful, but this? This is more painful than you could have imagined after what you’ve already gone through. 

Heeseung was one of your only constants in life. From childhood to high school it’s like he was there more than anyone else was, and certainly more than your own father. Even when your mother passed, Heeseung was the one who held you through it, he’s the one who made you smile again, he’s the one who made you feel like it was okay to heal and keep going despite the horrifying truth of your life. 

It’s the fact that it was a “mutual” break up that hurts the most because deep down, you couldn’t see yourself without him at that point. Yet, still, you willingly watched him hop on the plane with a short kiss and long goodbye. It felt so final to you. You could have handled a long distance relationship, truly. But Heeseung didn’t want that. He wanted to explore the world, he wanted to try new things, be with new people. 

He wanted to do things without you clinging to him all the time. 

In a way, you understand that. After all, you’re the only girl he had ever been with up until now. Senior year of college. You think you knew your relationship was coming to an end by the time he announced he was going to be studying abroad for his final year without ever once even telling you he was applying to do so. 

So, yeah, it was mutual solely because you want him to be happy and he’s made it clear that he believes that can only happen without you. Such is life. Painful, painful fucking life.  

You can’t imagine being the light in someone’s life anyway.

Just last year when your mother passed, you nearly dropped out and Heeseung had been your rock to make it through class after class with a grade barely high enough to pass. You’re certain some of your professors took pity on you and raised your grade just enough to move forward. You’ll forever thank them for recognizing how hard you were trying to hold it together. But now? Without your mother, without Heeseung, you’re at a loss.

And there’s a difference between loneliness and isolation, you think. Loneliness to you always hits hard during small spaces in your day, like when you’d get into Heeseung’s car and he would close your door for you. The silence always hurt your ears while he was still making his way around the car to the driver’s seat. A shallow loneliness that you could feel right at the top of your gut, like it was squeezing inside of you and making you lose your appetite. Solely because that silence reminded you of what you always had, a lack of loneliness because of him.

But then there’s isolation. Where it feels forced upon you by other people. Your mother fucking died, Heeseung fucking left, and now you’re just here expected to wake up like you always do, go to class, study hard, sleep well, when the reality of it is– you’re genuinely struggling just to look at yourself in the mirror. 

Then there’s Sunghoon. The only person close enough to you now that you can reach out to. The issue with that is you’ve never actually been close. And that’s what sucks. The fact that he of all people is all you have now? May as well just assume you have nobody.

His regular calls meant close to nothing to you in the grand scheme of things. Despite him calling twice a week every week since your mother died, your step-father is just as distanced from you as you are him. You’re aware that it’s his obligation, not because he cares. And that hurts, because it’s all you have now. 

Now, you have to try and find meaning in those short calls. After all, Sunghoon fell apart when your mother passed all on his own, with no one beside him. You had only called him out of obligation too. You were already in college and stressed, falling apart yourself with someone to love beside you helping you through it. Calling him when it all happened felt empty because you knew both of you were trying to hold it together and save face. 

It wasn’t like this before she died. In fact, he never called and you never cared for him to. You’d see each other when you were home, share awkward pleasantries, and that’s it. It’s hard to believe that now you feel like you need a father, after all those years of practically rejecting him as one. He seemed fine with the rejection after you hit your teen years. He knew by then that he could never be the father you want, but at least he could be the husband your mother needed.

You have grief in common now though. Loneliness. Isolation.

You try not to think about how you were okay up until now. Having Heeseung to fall back on to soften the blow of your loss, you guess Sunghoon didn’t have that. Maybe his monotone voice and empty words through phone calls were his way of coping, a way of hearing a voice that wasn’t the one in his own head. 

It’s just you and a man you never considered family past the titles and obligatory respects. Finding meaning in his short phone calls does nothing to help your growing isolation, but you cling to them now that Heeseung is gone. You wait for the calls, you ask him to check in with you every day now, to the point Sunghoon starts to notice the difference in you.

No longer rushing to get off the phone. Now, you’re dragging on meaningless conversations. Now, he hears cracks in your voice. 

“You feeling okay?” Sunghoon asks you, in a way that makes you wonder how he’s able to tell that you’re definitely not. The way his own voice has a bit of life to it when he asks it is…strange too. Like he’s concerned. 

“No–” You trail off in your meek voice, staring at your ceiling and mind swirling with all of the work you need to get done for classes already. “I’ve only been in classes for a week and I already feel like I’m drowning.” 

Sunghoon sighs into the speaker, contemplating how to further the conversation with you in a way that isn’t too intrusive. After all, who is he to pry? Still, he never intended for you to feel neglected or like you couldn’t come to him. After all, you were too happy about his lack of parenting you throughout his presence in your life. 

He finds solace in the fact that you’ve been accepting him now, though he hasn’t the slightest idea as to why. He’s checked in with you since the passing, but lately it feels to him like something more is going on with you. He may be somewhat estranged, and he may have his own problems to deal with, but you’re still someone he needs to be here for. 

Plus, it makes him feel needed again, which is nice considering the circumstances. After living in this bustling house with you and your mom for so long, to it just being him and your mom, to now just him…all that remains now is dread, dissociation, and his own thoughts.

“Did something happen?” Sunghoon keeps his questions short, offering more silence if anything for you to use this call as a therapy session if you need. 

You pause for a long moment, realizing that you want to talk about your issues so badly but don’t quite feel the need to share it with him, of all people. You’ve already ranted day after day to Jay. To the point you’re sure he’s about one rant away from blocking your number. 

Probably because you’re not that close to him either. Not these days, anyway.

You sigh instead. 

“No…” You trail off. “I think I just miss being home. My dorm mate is never here, class work is already piling up, and I can’t even find the energy to look at the assignments.” 

Sunghoon can tell you’re feeling much like he does and he can’t imagine the weight on your shoulders dealing with these feelings while also in college. Sure, he has work, but it comes easy when he doesn’t even need to leave the house for it. When he’s the boss, and when he has people to practically do his job for him. You don’t have that. 

But, you have Heeseung, do you not? It appears to him that you’ve been doing okay until now, and you haven’t even brought him up. Not once in the past few weeks has his name been uttered by you. Which is strange, after all, the two of you were practically attached at the hip growing up, to the point of choosing the same college, working the same jobs, and even keeping that middle-school puppy love in full swing throughout highschool and college. 

If anything, after your mother passed, Sunghoon felt okay knowing you had Heeseung there with you to help you through it. It meant he could focus on himself and get through the day-to-day. He could barely handle his own mournful thoughts, let alone the daughter’s feelings of the woman he loved so dearly. He was forever grateful for Heeseung during this time. 

He has his suspicions now though, and his heart aches for the voice he hears from you these days. 

“Why don’t you come home for a while?” He lends a pause to see if you’ll jump for the opportunity before selling the idea to you. “I have the bills here covered and your campus is only a forty minute drive. I’m sure that’s inconvenient but you won’t have bills to worry about on top of everything else.” He doesn’t want to sound too desperate, of course. 

After all, the loneliness he’s feeling is also becoming unbearable. Even if the two of you never were able to see eye to eye, or to form a bond together, you’re all he has left of your mother. He, arguably, is nothing to you, but there’s no one else in this world he’d rather heal the loneliness with outside of you. Only because you knew your mother on a level deeper than he did, and to have someone to share those memories with, or even laugh with, would help him tremendously too.

“I think being at home may do you some good.” 

You think it over in your head, wondering if being home will help you at all. In reality, you know it may make you feel more trapped than you do now. All those memories with your mother, with Heeseung, with all of your friends that have since moved to different colleges. 

But…you wouldn’t be alone. You’d be with someone who knows how to give you space because he’s never even tried to shrink your existence to that of your bedroom and your bedroom alone. You wouldn’t have to worry about rent, food, or anything aside from studies, gas money, and trying to heal from your heartbreak. 

Your dorm is small, you note as you look around the room and wonder how long it would take you to pack your things up. Two hours, give or take. The longest part would be taking all of the little decorations off the wall, if you’re being honest. 

You find yourself nodding before answering, solidifying in your mind that– maybe you’re not the only one who needs company in your space. Not too close, but close enough to not be totally isolated. 

“Okay.” You mutter into the phone, for some reason feeling the tears well up behind your eyes. 

You’re just a bit overwhelmed, that’s all. Knowing you’re going home feels like a relief you didn’t know you needed. 

“Yeah?” Sunghoon confirms. “Just let me know when and I’ll drive up there to help get your stuff back home.” 

You agree, sighing into the phone with a shaking voice. Sunghoon takes note of it, always remembering and quite frankly missing how loud and obnoxious you used to be. Hearing you like this pains him. He wants to help. Now more than ever is his chance to be someone you need, and he hates knowing he hasn’t already become that person for you.

Getting to be your father now? It feels awkward, but at least it’s a feeling other than loss. 

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Sunghoon sighs at you through the speaker. “I know I’m not someone you like coming to but–well, I’d like for you to rely on me more, okay?” 

You find a lot of comfort in those words, despite hearing him say them time and time again. This is the first time he’s ever shown that he means it through the offer of bringing you home, rather than just saying it and accepting whatever you say back to him at face value. 

“I know…” You trail off. “I’m okay though, really.” 

Sunghoon hates himself for never forcing you to accept him. Sure, there may have been some teenage defiance towards him, but eventually the two of you could have seen eye to eye. He could have been someone you needed. You could have relied on him too, rather than just Heeseung. That’s all he can really think right now. If there was ever a good time to do this, it was probably a year ago, the second best time is now. 

“Are you sure there’s nothing else going on?” The man nearly pleads in his tone, desperate to have someone rely on him again. “I’ve never heard you sound so exhausted before, I can’t help but worry.”

You’d tell him, but honestly, what grown ass man wants to hear about a first heartbreak? It would just get awkward again, he’d just feel obligated to do something about it, and worse, he might end up feeling like he’s supposed to dislike Heeseung now. 

You choose to remain silent in the final straw that broke your back this semester. 

“Really, I’m just tired.” You nod to yourself as you hold your phone loosely against your ear. “I might not go to class tomorrow and just pack instead. I’ll just call you when I’m ready, is that okay?”

Sunghoon smiles to himself, wanting to mean something to you in a way that can hopefully help you out of this slump. Your mother would be throwing a fit if she heard how you’ve been sounding, he can’t help but take over that role and try to make damn sure you are okay. 

“That’s fine,” Sunghoon confirms. “I’ll call and let them know what’s going on so don’t worry about any of that. Just get yourself ready to come back home.” 

You find yourself smiling, relieved that you don’t have to be the one to contact your school and tell them that…well, you’re breaking your student-lease, dropping your food plan, and need to be reimbursed for partial tuition costs since Sunghoon insists every semester that you purchase tuition insurance. You should no longer be charged to live on campus, or for the facilities within the dorm. 

Knowing you’ll at least get back a couple thousand dollars is a nice change of pace, and already you’re feeling weirdly excited to go back to a space that will likely make you miss your mother more. It’ll hurt, but at least you won’t be alone.

The forty minute drive to campus feels less horrifying now, and maybe your friends will still come and hang out with you in your actual home rather than a tiny dorm. 

“Sounds good.” You say, as if to end the call before you mutter out again. “Thank you, by the way. Sunghoon, really.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Sunghoon knew he was spiraling further and further into his loneliness. He knew it wasn’t healthy either, but now. Oh, now he realizes just how bad it’s gotten as he demonizes himself upon picking you up. 

You haven’t come home since your mother’s funeral, and even on that day he barely remembers what you looked like. Eye contact was never a thing for him, but looking at you now, he sees how much you’ve matured since you went off to college. Truly sees it.

Your once bright, excited eyes have turned dull and empty. The bags under them are heavy from lack of sleep. Your lips appear to be in a permanent state of pouting, though he isn’t sure if you’ve noticed. You appear to have lost weight, which is concerning for him of course, but…there’s something else about you.

Something that sits in the pit of his stomach and rots.

“Uh–” You cough, noting the way Sunghoon looks at you as you try to hand him a large box. “Thank you for helping me move my stuff back…” 

Sunghoon snaps out of his thoughts, grabbing a heavy box and then waiting for you to stack another on top. 

“No big deal,” He mutters, feeling the weight in his hands double as he prepares to carefully carry your things out to his car. “You haven’t been home in a while so, I’ve fixed up your room for you and went ahead and connected my gaming system in there.”

You nod quietly, feeling awkward for how fatherly he seems.

“Thanks…” You trail off, flopping a pile of your things into his trunk before stopping to look at him. “You look like shit.”

Sunghoon furrows his brows, noticing for a split second how that facial expression you made is very similar to one his wife used to throw at him when he’d have hair out of place, or a wardrobe malfunction. And then he smiles. 

“You’re not looking too good yourself.” He jokes out to you with a small, breathy laugh.

You smile back at him, feeling a bit of the awkward air fizzle away. 

“Well, I’m not doing well, so.” 

You were continuing the joke, but his face falls before yours does. 

“You can talk to me–” He starts.

“I know, I know.” You wave him off. “I’ll feel a lot better once we get back and I can settle in.

There’s a nod from him now, and then silence as the two of you continue to put the rest of your belongings into both his car and your own. 

“Well, I guess I’ll see you in a bit?” You say now, awkwardly.

Sunghoon nods, looking you over once again.

“See you in a bit.” 

   ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Shame.

Pure fucking shame. 

Sunghoon knew he needed another presence in this house but upon seeing you again, he knew that this may have been a mistake. 

He likes to think of himself as level headed. He’s never gotten into any trouble, never had a stray thought, never cheated, lied, or stole anything. He can’t think of a single thing that he’s done in life to be considered taboo.  But simply looking at you feels…incorrect?

Indecent? 

You’re his step-daughter for fuck sake but it’s the fact that you don’t feel like you are. When he looks at you, he just sees another person. He did this to help you, he did this to feel needed, to be your fucking father. 

He did not do this to look at you this way or to feel his eye stray even without his intention. Why do you look so much like her? Why do you do that thing with your pinky when you carry things like she did? You even have a similar smell, probably having picked up on your mother’s habits throughout childhood. 

You being here…It’s like she’s still here. Except it’s you, and he can’t be thinking this way yet his mind still spirals. Already he’s caught himself nearly calling out her name rather than yours when your back is turned to him.

And for you, it just feels…too nostalgic right now. Walking through the door for the first time and not being able to see your mother running to greet you. 

Ouch. It’s like your body reacted, dropping everything in your hands to expect a hug, only to feel and see nothing while Sunghoon bumped into your back by accident with your things.

“Oh– Sorry.” He said briefly, stepping back and trying not to drop your boxes. 

You moved quickly out of his way, stepping into the room and grabbing a box from him. The smell in the house hit you harder than anything though. It still smells like her perfume, you suspect Sunghoon must be spraying it quite often for it to be this strong. 

It’s suffocating. So much so that it takes every ounce of energy for you to gather the rest of your things to put them in your room without your eyes burning with tears. Only able to breathe one full breath when the bedroom door is closed and your window is open. 

This is not how you cope. Still being able to smell her hurts, despite knowing it’s nothing more than a too-expensive bottle of perfume you can buy from any high end store. It’s more than that to you, and more than that to Sunghoon. It’s her. 

That scent he had grown accustomed to does not assault his nostrils, if at all, his skin burns when the air isn’t polluted by it. Still, unaware of why, Sunghoon had noted the rush in your step. He tries to pay no mind to the way you lock yourself behind that door, knowing you’re needing to settle in before he makes any effort to be who you need right now. After all, his mind is struggling to be a good father right now too. He needs the distance just like you do.

And what exactly does being a good father entail, exactly? Give you your space, make sure you’re fed, throw around a few shitty jokes? Fuck if he knows. All he can do is try to pretend that this isn’t awkward. That his mind isn’t going in fifteen different directions regarding this situation as a whole. Ten of those directions being…well, not savory for most.

Intrusive thoughts. That’s new, even for him. 

So, he lets you stay in that room walls away, and he mimics the action himself by closing himself in his own bedroom that he’s grown to despise. Alone again, empty, lying in a bed that always felt so full until she was no longer here. 

The walls, empty of photos because he struggled to look at them day after day. The scent of her perfume is still in the air by his own doing. Nothing has changed for the better, even with you just down the hallway. And you can argue that you feel the same.

Then again, expecting an immediate change is more insane than the two of your struggling minds put together. 

Already, you miss the tiny dorm room you just abandoned. There weren't many places to cry in there, but here there’s far too many corners with memories, far too many walls and windows to contemplate while you stare off. Much like him, much much like Sunghoon, it just feels…worse.

You find yourself lying down on your childhood bed trying not to kick and scream. You remember the last time you had a tantrum in this bed and the reasoning feels so small to you now as you anticipate the bubbled feeling of loss claw and scratch at your chest. Your mother wouldn’t let Heeseung sleep over, even though you offered to leave the door open and promised that there would be no funny business.

He was so happy with you back then, cheeky and mischievous smirks at each lie you’d tell your mother. You both knew the door would fall shut by “accident” like it had done so many times before. 

Funny how the two who caused that tantrum are no part of you now outside of fond memory and pain. Even funnier how the tantrum you could throw now would end far more dangerously, with ripped sheets and broken windows. 

You just cry quietly instead, pushing the assignments you still need to try and prioritize to the back of your mind, hoping that this short one week break from classes will help you get your head screwed on straight. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

The days blur together during your time off, pretending to laugh and enjoy conversation with a step-father you barely know well enough for it to be real. It became routine after the first day, which is kind of helpful because routine is what you need right now. 

Something to focus on, something to keep you from wondering where it all went wrong for the last light in your life to flicker itself out so willingly. Still, you wonder where Heeseung’s head has been since your mother’s passing. You must have grown to be too much for him, too heavy of a burden on his shoulders to stay much longer with you through it. 

You appreciate him if that’s how he felt, because you really had no idea. He was always so gentle, loving, and kind towards you. Never changed in any way, or even acted as if he was hiding anything. That– you think, proves that in some way, he does truly love you. Or, did love you. Just not in the way you need. 

He may not have enough love in his body to stabilize someone like you. Someone who is entirely unbalanced on this earth. And when you look at Sunghoon sometimes, you wonder how much he loved your mother, or how he got through it without someone to constantly exhaust with his mournful antics like you did. 

The circles under his eyes and that permanent furrow in his brow shows the stress he’s been living with. You never thought he could appear more dull and lifeless even before she passed, but now. Now he looks dull. Now he truly looks lifeless, lost, maybe even as if he died with her. There’s part of you that feels bad over how you thought of him previously compared to now because of it. Thinking back, there was so much more life in him, and probably so much of him to enjoy from your mother’s perspective. You just never cared to see it. 

You missed the chance to see what it is about Sunghoon to love, and now all you can see is a shell of a person who made your mother the happiest she had ever been, if you can call it that. You know it wasn’t Sunghoon’s fault, if anything, he’s the reason she held on for so long. 

And you note the house’s condition more and more as you wander around, almost like this isn’t your own childhood home. It’s pristine now, in immaculate condition. Never has the house been this clean, and perhaps that’s why you feel like you don’t entirely belong anymore. It doesn’t feel like it has been lived in. You don’t know how he finds the energy to keep the place clean after the nature of your mother’s death came to light. Or even how to stay in this house at all, in that bedroom, sleeping on that bed. 

He’s still hurting. Maybe even more than you.

The worst part of it is that you truly felt like you were healing when Heeseung was with you, but it turns out, he was just a bandaid and a distraction. He didn’t like seeing you sad, so he wouldn’t let you feel those things if he could help it. You couldn’t mourn, you didn’t want to mourn. 

Now you have to. 

It’s hard to truly believe you were healing only to find out that you haven’t faced the loss of your mother at all and now you’re forced to face not only her passing, but Heeseung prying you off of him and moving out of the country just to get away from you.

He still loves you, right? He doesn’t resent you…right?

It’s just you and Sunghoon now, hopefully you can get through it together. So, you try. You try to use some of your time to spend with him, to genuinely laugh at his jokes, and mock his attempts to pretend that the two of you have always been close just for the sake of pretending like a family. 

No smile reaches the eye though, for either of you.

It feels easier as the days pass though, up until you’ve got only two days left before you need to start going back to campus. You spend them trying to make the days lighter. Opening windows to erase the scent of your mother, because in all fairness… seeing Sunghoon discreetly spray her perfume every morning is really, really heartbreaking. Additionally, you’re trying to let the dishes pile up in the sink and practically plead with Sunghoon to just…leave them. 

Let the house be a mess for once. No more nervous cleaning, no more busying yourself with things that don’t matter. No more, no more.

And it’s like hell for him seeing you try so hard to feel okay, but he relents to your pleas of letting the house become a mess. His hands itch to clean, but his heart burns knowing that if you feel better, maybe he will too. Even with the scent of your mother wafting out the windows into the big, horrifying world, he tries to stay away from that bottle of perfume too. He misses her so much that it nearly crippled his brain. 

Somehow, you’re bringing a type of normalcy back despite the dark thoughts that he doesn’t allow to surface. Still, there’s a long way to go with this, it seems. He knows all too well how you fall apart once your bedroom door is closed. The effort from you is endearing during the daylight hours though, and he softens up at you everytime. 

Yet, those hidden tears aren’t just for your mother and he knows it. There is something else happening. 

“So, how has Heeseung been?” Sunghoon asks over dinner. A shitty bag of takeout mending both of you bite by bite. 

He doesn’t notice at first the way you fall silent, awkward again as if it’s still the first day you came home. 

“Oh–” You come up with excuses, with lies. “He’s taking a semester off to see his mom. Guess what happened rattled him a bit too, wanted to hug her and stuff.”

Sunghoon’s gaze stays on you as you avoid eye contact. You’re lying, he knows it. He remembers your mother always calling you on your little lies when you still lived here too. “She always curls her pinky and ring finger when she’s lying.” She had chuckled to him back when she still had a twinkle of hope in her eyes. He recalls how you slammed your door that night, lying about being with Heeseung when you said you were with your very obvious not-best-friend. 

Your mother would have let you go, but you were just a teenager and she had to at least pretend to parent you. Sunghoon loved watching her do it. All the laughs that came out of it, learning about you through her and her alone. 

Now, he sees your hands on top of the table and he focuses on that pinky and ring finger curling into your fist. Such a small action telling on you.

 The point is, Heeseung wouldn’t just up and leave you like that, not in a million years, Sunghoon thinks as he remembers the sheer amount of times he’s met the boy. In fact, it was rare to see you without Heeseung. 

“I see…” He trails off, taking another bite of his food before washing it down with a gulp of soda. “Has he called you?” 

You feel it in your stomach, the fact that you’ve even avoided asking yourself that question. Because no, of course he hasn’t. And he probably hasn’t because he knew you didn’t want to break up despite pretending it was okay. It’s for you, he’s giving you space. It’s not because he doesn’t care.

“Yeah,” You nod, trying to mask yourself to be perfectly fine. “The other day he called super late and I was already asleep so we didn’t really get to talk.”

“Does he know you’ve moved back home?”

You nod slowly, wishing that Sunghoon would go back to not really caring about what’s going on in your life.

“Yep.” You lie again. “Seems pretty happy about it, said he thought it would help me since he’s not around anymore.”

Unfortunately, you don’t notice the slight slip of your tongue. He’s not around anymore. That sounds far more permanent than a simple home visit where he misses his mommy due to the death of your own. 

“Ah, that makes sense.” Sunghoon watches you and your nervous body language. Lie after lie plastered blatantly on those false-smiling lips. “Forgive me if I’m prying but, don’t you think it’s selfish that he just up and left to see his own mother after–well,” 

You nod without intent before raising your hands in defense of Heeseung. 

“No, no!” You exclaim, Sunghoon noting how this is the most emotion you’ve had all day. “I don’t blame him. I’d probably do the same thing.” 

He relents now, realizing it’s probably too early to expect real, honest answers from you. Even if he’s just curious, he would assume anyone would be considering the way you and Heeseung, again, were attached at the hip. 

“Well, I’m still here for you.” He finally says. 

Before, you’d just wave him off, but now? It feels like your efforts are making it so that you pay attention when he says those words. When he pretends to care, or offers his comfort. He’s really all you have now, and maybe it’s just your own mind telling you that. Then again, maybe it’s all that sorrow and guilt that’s doing it. 

“I know…” You sigh, losing your appetite entirely. “You can talk to me too though, you know?” 

Changing the subject seems easier. The fact that Sunghoon is trying so hard right now does mean a lot to you, but even if your relationship with him wasn’t estranged– you still wouldn’t be ready to talk about how Heeseung left you the way you did. Not yet at least.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Sunghoon responds warmly, not mentioning how much you should. 

“Focus on you.” 

You nod, looking down at the table and recognizing that this food that once smelled so delicious to you is now turning your stomach. 

“I do worry though.” You mutter. 

Sunghoon sees your fingers uncurl from your fist at those words and he physically can feel as his heart swells. Finally, someone worries for him again. 

 ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

This fic will be dark, very taboo, morally bad. Not a grey area, it is blatantly bad. sunghoon will do bad things. Please be aware of your own triggers once it's completed and posted. I write within my own triggers, not yours.  ・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[dellieghtful]

[ZAYNE] LADS: Saying Things They Don't Mean

🍓A/N: Here comes another one >:3 we'll start off with the angsty and then I'll give u guys the groveling & yearning \\( •̀ω•́ )// I'm going to try and write for all the guys before I decide to release a longer series for this

SYNOPSIS: After a bad day, you both end up in an argument and to say the least, some things are truly better off left unsaid.

Masterlist | Rulebook | Tags

📍Character/s: Zayne

Tags: @animegamerfox @justanotherreader658

Xavier | Rafayel

Today just wasn't the day. It was surgery after surgery, consultation after consultation. The work just kept coming non-stop for the entire day and despite Zayne's cool and calm exterior, he was nearing the brink of exhaustion. Working an additional and unexpected 8-hour shift was not in his bingo card for this week. The worst part? He missed out a date with you. The only free day he was supposed to have was spent on another shift because the hospital was short-staffed as of the moment. Despite you, being kind and understanding partner with Zayne and his busy schedule, he couldn't help but feel guilty about not being able to exactly provide all your needs and wants just like any other partner would be capable of providing.

Capable. Was he even capable of taking care of you? At some points throughout your relationship, Zayne would go through the process of self-doubt. Funny, you'd think the man who just has about everything one needs before the age of 30 would doubt himself and his own capabilities?

Zayne would often ask himself if he was deserving enough to be sheltered with such love and kindness. Rubbing his temples, attempting to soothe the ache, he prepares and calls in his next patient to cater for the hour.

Zayne had worked himself to death that day, morning to night. If he'd look out the window right now, he could give out an estimate that it's way past 6:00PM. 6:50PM at most, I should've have gotten home about an hour ago. At home, with you. Zayne could feel himself take in a deep breathe and let out an exhausted sigh as he continued to eye the never-ending pile of documents on his table.

Zayne, choosing to not dwell on it, took out another pile and began skimming through the contents and carefully planting his signature at the last page of the file before tucking it away. Zayne had followed this smooth and gentle rhythm of opening folders, flipping the pages, then signing the documents. Unknowingly being stuck in a trance, Zayne had not realize the soft knocks coming from his door.

You were on the other side of the door, patiently waiting for Zayne's smooth and calm voice to give you the go-signal to come inside the room. You passed by the reception not too long ago, asking for your oh-so busy doctor of a boyfriend. Yvonne, had informed you that Zayne was busy being locked up in his office. You, then decided, to take yourself to his office with a fresh bag of takeout for dinner. You know with Zayne's busy schedule at the hospital, he probably skipped out a meal or two, not to mention you were both supposed to spend his free day to celebrate your 7th month of being officially together as a couple.

It had been a good 5 minutes and Zayne had not yet called out or come to open the door for you. You, then decided to give it another try before touching the knob of the door and pushing it open. You hadn't told Zayne you were coming today because you hoped to surprise him at work and spend the remainder of the night with him to keep him company before going home for the day.

"My love," Zayne called out, pulling himself out of the focused trance he put himself with the documents he had in hand. Sparing not a second longer, he stood up and walked towards you to cup your face and welcome you with such a warm gaze. "You did not tell me you were coming in today," He continued, already-eyeing the bags that you were holding which he presumes are dinner take-outs.

"I wanted to see you today," You started, moving your eyes past him and focusing your gaze towards the growing pile of paper works on his table. You couldn't help but scrunch your brows. "You've been overworking yourself again today".

Zayne already knew where you heading with this conversation. You and Zayne had always had the tendency to argue about his overworking habit that he can somehow never get over despite you always bringing up your concern about his health. You were his girlfriend, it was part of your job description to look after your boyfriend. Wasn't it?

Or does my opinion of him mean little of value to him?

And with that single thought, it made your heart ache a little. But, you quickly pushed that thought away in hopes of spending the remainder of the night in a good mood with a simple dinner takeout with your boyfriend.

"I brought you dinner!" You said, putting up a smile and bringing the bags of takeout in front of Zayne's face, hoping to change the subject and bring a up a better mood into the atmosphere of Zayne's office.

"I was hoping we could spend some time together over dinner. I didn't bother texting about my visit since I knew you'd be swamped with work". You said, going around your 6-foot something boyfriend and heading over to the coffee table near the couches to place the food on the table.

"I really appreciate the gesture but, you really didn't have too." Zayne said, breaking the silence between the both of you as you sat on opposite ends of the table. "Oh don't be like that. You've been working a lot lately, this is the least I can do to support my very hardworking boyfriend". You responded, with a small smile decorating your face as you pick up your meal and shove a spoonful of it in your mouth, happily chewing away your meal.

"No, I mean, you can't keep making unannounced visits here especially during the busier days". Zayne responded, taking off his glasses, and rubbing the curved space in-between his forehead and nose bridge as if attempting to ease an incoming headache. "You know how many people I have to cater from morning to night. I'd appreciate it if you could at least give me a heads-up before you come inside here like it's your second home".

"What are you saying?" You stared at him, as you carefully drop the spoon back into the box of takeout and placing the box onto the table. "I'm sorry, I didn't think I needed to book an appointment to come see my boyfriend after a busy work day".

"Well, maybe it is something to take into consideration the next time you do visit". Zayne had responded. What on earth was going on with him today? You knew where this conversation was already heading yet he chooses to act this way after you spent time out of your day-off to come visit and enjoy a good meal with him? As if the mere idea of seeing you, the mere thought of spending time with you wasn't part of his rigidly-made schedule for the day. Was being here in his presence a nuisance to him?

"Are you really going to pull this up on me now, Zayne? Come on. I just wanted to come see you today."

"Well, I never asked for your company in the first place".

And that was what set off the already-ticking bomb of self-destruction in your heart. "Okay, it's fine I understand. I didn't think being here would bring so much imbalance to your perfect schedule".

Not bothering to pick-up your meal, you quickly grabbed your bag and coat and walked towards the door, already reaching out and grabbing the knob to twist it open. You felt Zayne's presence from behind you and whipped your entire body towards his direction. "Happy first and last Zayne. I hope you find what you need with your work. Good night". Then bang, the door was closed shut, leaving Zayne at a loss for words. He fucked up and he knew that, but why couldn't he move and run out to chase you?

It didn't matter anymore what he chose to do. Your heart was breaking into tiny pieces and your vision, growing even more blurry by the passing second as you picked up your pace, walking further and further away from his office, from him.

Part 2 | Coming soon . . .

[kiwriteswords]

Blushing [Aaron Hotchner x Shy!Reader]*

Masterlist|| Ao3||Word Count: 7k|| AN: Here is the full version of this story I have been working on...since December? Smut is just so not something I feel confident with in my writing, but I did add a bit at the end here, so hopefully, my fellow smut-lovers will enjoy it! Also, this is likely filled with errors since I have come back to and abandoned this like 30 times. Tags/Warnings: female reader, mdni, smut, sexual tension, established relationship, hotch is a flirt, shy!reader, kinda fade to black smut, alcohol tw, reader is shy but like...only to an extent? idk she might not even be categorized as shy but that was the intent lol Summary: Hotch likes making you blush.

You thought Aaron Hotchner was supposed to be the serious one--the unreadable, stoic, always-in-control one. That's what you had signed up for when the teasing turned tangible, when subtle glances turned into late nights and when the soft-spoken tension finally broke, leaving you tangled in his sheets.

Tonight, you were at his apartment. It wasn’t unusual--things had been happening between you and Hotch for a while, nights spent together whenever cases allowed, secret moments exchanged between cases and jet rides.

But tonight was different. Not because of where you were, but because of how he was looking at you.

You stood in his kitchen, clad in one of his dress shirts draped loosely over your pajama shorts, the soft fabric brushing against your thighs with each movement. You scrolled through takeout options on your phone, the bright screen casting a glow against the dark granite countertop. The air was filled with the subtle scent of coffee left over from the morning, mingling with the faint, lingering spice of his cologne.

You felt him before you saw him--his presence warm behind you, his body just close enough to make your stomach flutter.

"What do you feel like eating?" you asked, your voice casual, scrolling through the options.

There was a beat of silence. Maybe he hadn’t heard you? 

Then--

"You."

Your fingers fumble, nearly dropping the phone, your pulse spiking like a live wire.

You turned sharply, eyes wide, because no way did you just hear that right--

Only to find Hotch, completely calm, watching you like he hadn’t just shattered your ability to function.

"Excuse me?" you finally managed.

His lips curved slightly, his voice smooth, measured, just the slightest bit flirtatious--

"You asked what I wanted."

You stared at him, your brain short-circuiting, because Hotch--the man known for his restraint, his control--had just completely unraveled you in two words.

And he knew it.

Oh, he absolutely knew it.

His gaze didn’t waver; just watched you as you scrambled for a response, his lips twitching in the smallest smirk when you failed spectacularly.

"I meant for dinner."

"So did I."

Your breath caught.

Because fuck, that was not fair.

That was not the way this was supposed to go.

You were supposed to be the one making him blush, the one teasing him until he snapped.

Not the other way around.

And then--to make it worse--he stepped closer, his hand coming up to trace the hem of the shirt you were wearing, his touch barely there yet sending electric shivers down your spine. His voice was low, smooth, devastating. "You look good in my clothes."

Your stomach flipped.

Your throat went dry.

Because fuck, this wasn’t fair.

Aaron Hotchner was not supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to be composed. Reserved. Contained. 

Not this.

Not smooth and utterly wrecking you with a few choice words.

And yet, here he was--watching you squirm, his touch slow, deliberate, entirely in control while you were the one standing there blushing like a damn rookie.

Sure, you would have never considered yourself the type of person who took on the contained, reserved, mysterious persona--but you were unraveling right before his eyes.  

And that?

That was the moment you realized--

You had never been in control of this game.

Aaron Hotchner had been playing you the entire time. And he had tricks up his sleeves. 

xoxoxo

The first few times Aaron Hotchner caught you off guard, you convinced yourself it was a one-time thing.

A fluke. A slip of restraint.

A rare moment where he let himself say what he was thinking instead of keeping it locked behind the walls he’d built for years.

But now?

Now, sitting in the BAU bullpen, surrounded by agents, the hum of paperwork being shuffled and keyboards clicking filling the air--

You realized you had been very, very wrong.

The office was alive with the usual post-case exhaustion, a strange mix of relief and tension still lingering in the air.

The team had only gotten back this morning--after a case that ran for days, a case that left you exhausted but wired, adrenaline still flickering beneath your skin.

Most of the team was wrapping up reports, lingering in the bullpen with coffee cups and sighs of relief that they finally had a few days to breathe.

And you?

You were sitting at your desk, typing up the final notes, trying to focus but finding it impossible.

Because you could feel him. It was this magnetic pull. This energy shift. 

Hotch was in his office, his blinds half-drawn, his body partially turned toward the window.

And he was watching you.

You knew, because every time you glanced up, you found him already looking.

Not in a way that anyone else would notice.

Not in a way that said, “hey, something’s happening here!” 

But in a way that sent a warm, twisting pulse through your stomach, in a way that made your fingers hover just slightly over your keyboard, in a way that made you forget what you were even supposed to be typing in the first place.

Damn it.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to refocus, fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, the words forming on the screen feeling far less important than the heat creeping up your neck.

And then--

"Agent, a word?"

Your stomach flipped.

Your brain must have shut off and lost track of time or the atmosphere because, for one moment, he was up at his desk looking at you with those eyes--now? Now, he was standing at his door, pulling you from your thoughts. Your scrambled, less than work-appropriate thoughts. 

Because fuck, that voice.

That low, even tone--just professional enough that no one else would think twice about it, but you?

You felt the weight of it.

You exhaled carefully, schooling your features before standing, aware of Morgan’s knowing smirk as you passed his desk.

"Getting called to the principal’s office?" he teased.

You shot him a pointed look, but it lacked any real bite, because truth be told, your brain was already spiraling.

Because Aaron Hotchner wanted to see you in his office.

That should not have been a big deal.

But God, it was.

You stepped inside, closing the door behind you, the usual scent of coffee and paper filling the space.

Hotch was behind his desk, one hand resting on a case file, the other rolling a pen slowly between his fingers. The faint sound of the air conditioning hummed in the background, a stark contrast to the palpable silence that fell between you.

"Close the blinds."

You blinked, confusion mingling with the sudden spike in your pulse. The blinds filtered the late afternoon light, casting long shadows across his stoic face, giving him an almost ethereal glow that didn't suit the gravity of the moment.

"What?" you managed to stutter out, your hands unconsciously tightening at your sides.

Hotch lifted his gaze slowly, and fuck, the weight of it knocked the breath from your lungs.

"The blinds," he repeated, calmly, smoothly, like he wasn’t already unraveling you from across the room. "You don’t want an audience, do you?"

Your pulse spiked.

Because Jesus Christ.

What did that mean?

What did that mean?

Your pulse spiked, adrenaline coursing through you as if you were on the edge of a precipice. The office felt smaller suddenly, the walls inching closer, filled with the scent of leather from his chair and the faintest hint of his cologne--a sharp, clean smell that was all too familiar.

You hesitated, your fingers tightening slightly against your side, your throat suddenly dry, because this was not the Hotch you were used to.

This wasn’t the man who delivered briefings with an unreadable expression.

This wasn’t the Unit Chief who kept his emotions locked down so tight that you sometimes wondered if he ever let himself feel anything at all.

This was someone else entirely.

Someone dangerous.

Someone who knew exactly what he was doing to you.

And fuck, you weren’t ready.

"I--" You exhaled sharply, trying to ignore the heat spreading through you, the fact that your hands were trembling slightly as you reached for the cord and tilted the blinds shut.

When you turned back, Hotch was still watching you.

But this time?

This time, his head was tilted slightly, his gaze slow, assessing, his fingers tapping against his desk in an almost lazy rhythm.

"You’re blushing." It was less of an observation and more of a fact. 

Your breath hitched.

"I am not." You moved to go sit at the chair in front of his desk, but your legs felt wobbly. Your palms sweaty. 

Hotch hummed--low, thoughtful, like he knew you were lying, like he was entirely too pleased with himself.

"I don’t know," he mused, leaning back slightly in his chair, fingers tapping slower against the wood. "I think you are."

Your stomach twisted.

Because what the hell was happening right now?

"Did you need something?" you asked, forcing your voice to stay steady, but fuck, it was so much more complicated than it should have been.

Hotch just watched you for a second longer, his expression unreadable--except, this time?

This time, you felt the shift before he even spoke.

"Yes." He exhaled, shaking his head slightly, like this was some mild inconvenience to him, and God, that only made it worse.

Then--

"Come here," he instructed, his voice not commanding but inviting, which was somehow more unnerving.

You blinked, startled, your fingers pausing against the back of the chair you had barely pulled out.

"What?"

Hotch didn’t repeat himself.

Didn’t clarify.

Didn’t explain.

He just sat there, calmly watching you, like he had all the time in the world, like this was nothing unusual at all.

And fuck, something about that made your pulse kick up.

"Aaron--"

"Come here," he repeated, smoother this time, his tone velvet over steel. Your stomach flipped, heat curling low in your spine at the way he said it--smooth, even, just a little too controlled.

Like he already knew you were going to listen.

You exhaled, cautious, unsure, but you stepped forward anyway, the room suddenly too quiet as you stopped just in front of his desk.

Hotch didn’t move right away.

Just sat there, assessing, his gaze dragging over you, the air between you thick with something you couldn’t name.

And then--

He reached out.

His fingers hooked into your belt loop, pulling you forward, slow, unhurried, until your thighs pressed against the edge of his desk. The touch was light, but it might as well have been a chain for all the escape it afforded you.

Your breath hitched.

"Aaron."

"I’ve been thinking about kissing you all morning." 

The words knocked the air from your lungs.

You stared at him, pulse hammering in your throat, because Jesus Christ, what?

"You--" You swallowed, brain short-circuiting, your fingers gripping the desk for support. "We’re at work."

Hotch hummed, unbothered, his thumb skimming lightly over your waistband, just the slightest touch, but God, it burned. "And?"

"And--" You exhaled shakily, completely thrown, because what the hell was happening right now? "And the door isn’t locked," you finally managed.

Hotch’s lips curved, his gaze flicking up to yours, something dark and knowing glinting behind his eyes. "Would you like me to lock it?"

Your stomach dropped.

Your breath came uneven, your fingers gripping the desk tighter, because fuck, you were losing this so fast.

"Aaron," you hissed, voice quieter now, because you could feel your face burning, and God, you could not afford to be flustered right now.

Hotch just watched you, so damn pleased with himself, his fingers still resting against your hip, his throat bobbing slightly as his gaze flickered to your lips. "See, you are blushing." 

Your heart nearly stopped. "I am not."

"You are." His voice dipped, smooth and devastatingly confident. "And it’s because you like it."

You gaped at him.

Because holy shit, when did he start talking to you like this?

When did he become so damn sure of himself, so deliberate, so utterly` unbothered by the fact that you were two seconds away from completely losing it in his office?

"You’re impossible," you muttered, trying to pull away, but his grip tightened slightly, keeping you right there, pressed against his desk.

"You love it." Your entire body locked up. Your breath caught.

And before you could even process that, before you could think of something--anything--to say back, there was a knock at the door.

Your stomach plummeted.

The moment snapped like a rubber band, Hotch’s hand releasing you instantly, his expression falling back into something neutral, completely composed, like nothing had just happened. As if he was able to use some sort of remote and hit the pause button on whatever version of himself he became around you these days. 

Like he hadn’t just spent the last minute ruining your ability to function.

You took a step back just as he called--

"Come in."

The door opened, Morgan stepping in with a file, his brows raising slightly at the sight of you still standing in front of Hotch’s desk. "Am I interrupting something?"

"No," you rushed, your voice a little too high, stepping away before Morgan could get any funny ideas.

And Hotch?

Hotch just hummed, flipping open a case file, unbothered, completely unaffected, like he hadn’t just wrecked you. "We were just finishing up."

Morgan shot you a look, but you ignored it, too focused on trying to steady your breathing, on forcing the heat in your cheeks to fade.

And the last thing you saw before stepping out--

Was Hotch’s smirk, just barely hidden behind his coffee cup.

And fuck, you were so, so screwed.

xoxoxo

You’d kissed him before.

You’d slept with him before.

You’d spent nights wrapped up in him, tangled in sheets, learning the feel of his hands, the weight of his body, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath in the dark.

But this?

This was something else.

This was Aaron Hotchner in daylight, in his office, in the middle of a workday--fully dressed, fully composed, and still completely ruining you.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

He liked it.

And now, it seemed, he had absolutely no plans to stop.

After leaving his office, you spent the next few hours actively avoiding him.

Not obviously--you weren’t that obvious--but strategically.

You kept busy, buried yourself in reports, made coffee runs just to stay occupied.

But it didn’t matter.

Because Hotch wasn’t doing anything.

That was the worst part.

He wasn’t following you around, wasn’t pushing further, wasn’t going out of his way to tease you again.

No, he was just existing.

Existing in the same space as you, taking up too much room in your mind, leaving you hypersensitive to every moment he was near.

Like now.

Now, standing in the elevator, the doors about to close, your mind was blissfully Hotch-free--

Until, at the last second, he stepped in. The doors slid shut with a soft whoosh, sealing you inside the small, confined space. The air shifted, becoming charged as he pressed the button for his floor. The soft glow of the elevator buttons cast a dim, amber light across his features, sharpening the angles of his face. He slid a glance toward you--subtle, casual, nothing outright provocative--but your body reacted anyway.

He exhaled, a soft, almost imperceptible sigh that you felt more than heard, and shook his head slightly. “I’m surprised you’re not avoiding me anymore.”

Your stomach flipped, pulse quickening, because so he noticed. You kept your expression neutral. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”

Hotch made a low hum, unconvinced. “You were.” He glanced at his watch. “And I’d say you lasted a solid three hours.”

Your throat went dry. Because Jesus Christ, was he keeping track?

Your fingers curled into your palms, but before you could fire back, the elevator jolted to a stop. Hotch barely reacted, shifting his weight slightly, one hand slipping into his pocket, the other pressing against the wall behind you.

You tried to focus on anything but the fact that he was close. Too close. His body just inches from yours, the weight of his presence too heavy to ignore. The faint smell of his aftershave mixed with the sterile scent of the elevator, enveloping you in a cocoon of unwelcome intimacy.

You swallowed. “You like this.”

He tilted his head slightly, his brows raising in a way that was almost amused. “Like what?”

You huffed, your arms crossing. “Making me flustered.”

The moment stretched, his gaze flickering over your face, assessing, calculating, like he was debating whether or not to humor you. And then, slowly--

He leaned in, his breath warm against your skin, his voice low, quiet, meant just for you. “I like watching you realize you’re not as in control of this as you thought.”

Your stomach twisted, heat licking up your spine, your breath hitching before you could stop it. And fuck, he heard it.

The corner of his mouth twitched, and his fingers brushed your hip, just the slightest touch--barely anything at all--but God, it was enough. Enough to make your pulse spike, enough to make your body sway slightly toward him, enough to make you forget how to breathe for a full second.

And then--

The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. Hotch straightened, unbothered, stepping out like nothing had happened at all. Like he hadn’t just left you wrecked against the back wall of an elevator.

You let out a slow breath, your fingers tightening into fists, because Jesus Christ, this was your life now. Hotch, already walking down the hall, turned back just briefly, the slightest smirk tugging at his lips before he disappeared into the bullpen.

And you? You were so damn screwed.

xoxoxo

You were still recovering from the elevator incident when it happened again.

It was later that evening, most of the team having already packed up for the night, the bullpen quieter than usual.

You had planned to finish one last report before heading home, but apparently, Hotch had other plans.

Because he showed up at your desk, leaned down, and murmured--

“Come over.”

You blinked, your pen pausing mid-word, your brain completely blanking for a full second.

You turned, staring at him, because surely he wasn’t just asking you to come over like it was nothing.

“I--” You swallowed. “Tonight?”

His lips twitched. “Unless you had other plans.”

Your pulse skipped.

Because technically, no.

You didn’t have other plans.

But fuck, this was still new.

Navigating this whole blending your lives thing, figuring out what it meant to go from stolen nights to actually knowing each other on a different level.

Still, even though your brain was short-circuiting, your body was already answering for you.

You nodded, clearing your throat. “Okay.”

Hotch hummed, satisfied. “Good.”

Then, just because he could, he leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.

“You might want to finish that report before you get to my place.”

Your stomach flipped.

Your breath caught.

Because Goddamn him, he was doing it again.

And before you could even process what he meant, he was already walking away, leaving you to sit there, completely undone, pulse racing, trying to figure out what the hell you had just agreed to.

xoxox

By the time you showed up at his apartment, you had spent far too much time overthinking everything.

But as soon as he opened the door--standing there casual but effortless, his tie long discarded, his sleeves rolled up, his expression unreadable--

You knew.

You were in trouble.

So before he could get ahead of you, before he could smirk and tease and say something that left you breathless--

You stepped forward, pushing your palm against his chest, making him back up just slightly, your voice quiet but firm. “You like this.”

Hotch arched a brow. “We’ve already established that.”

You shook your head. “No.” Your fingers tightened slightly against his shirt, your breath uneven, because God, you weren’t used to feeling this way.

You had thought he would be the restrained one.

The one holding back.

But he was not holding back at all.

You exhaled. “You like seeing what you do to me.”

The moment stretched too long.

Too thick.

Then--

Hotch’s lips curved, his hands settling firmly on your waist, his touch warm and steady. “Of course I do.” His hands holding you like they were meant to. 

Your breath faltered.

And when he leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his voice dark and so damn sure of himself, he sealed your fate entirely. “I love watching you fall apart for me.”

And God help you, you knew then...

Aaron Hotchner was going to be the death of you.

xoxox

The team had known for a few weeks now.

After the initial teasing, the sideways glances. 

The endless smirks from Morgan. The numerous questions from Spencer. The poking for details from Penelope and JJ. The knowing eyebrow raises from Rossi. Emily was honestly the only one who remained… reasonably quiet. 

Things had finally settled into a new normal.

No one made a big deal about it anymore.

No awkward comments. No pointed jokes. No Hey, you two gonna behave? remarks at briefings.

It was just a fact now.

You and Aaron were together.

So, really, tonight should have been easy.

A casual night out after wrapping a case, a chance to unwind, a chance to drink, laugh, and just exist outside of work.

And it was easy. For about ten minutes.

The local bar was a cacophony of laughter, clinking glasses, and the undercurrent of music that was just loud enough to make you lean in to hear the person next to you. The dim lighting cast everyone in a soft glow, the neon signs flashing intermittently, reflecting off the polished surfaces.

You were seated in a large booth, a round of drinks on the table, the air filled with the residual adrenaline of the case just closed. Hotch was beside you, his presence both a comfort and a source of tension. His arm was casually draped over the back of the booth, not quite touching you, but close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him.

And it was nothing.

It should have been nothing.

But you knew better now.

You knew what he was doing.

And when you glanced at him, eyes narrowed slightly, he didn’t even look at you.

Didn’t smirk. Didn’t acknowledge what he was doing at all.

Which, of course, made it so much worse.

You were mid-conversation with JJ when you felt it--

You felt his fingers lightly touch your arm as he reached for his drink, a simple gesture to anyone watching, but to you, it was a direct challenge. His touch lingered just a moment longer than necessary, his fingertips tracing a path down to your wrist, barely noticeable under the hum of the bar.

You caught your breath, the sound drowned out by a burst of laughter from Morgan. Hotch’s touch was feather-light, yet it ignited a fire that you felt all the way to your toes. You glanced at him, his expression unreadable in the low light, his eyes a shade darker than usual.

He was watching you, a slight tilt to his head, assessing your reaction. You knew this game, the push and pull of it, and you hated how well he played it. The warmth from his hand seeped through the fabric of your sleeve, spreading slowly up your arm.

His thumb brushed casually against your pulse point, a touch so light it might have been accidental. But nothing with Hotch was ever accidental. Your heart hammered against your ribs, betraying your calm exterior.

Under the table, his knee pressed more firmly against yours, a silent acknowledgment of the tension crackling between you. It was a bold move, given the company, and it sent a clear message: he wasn’t as unaffected as he appeared.

You took a sip of your drink, the cold liquid doing little to cool your flushed skin. The ice clinked against the glass, a sharp contrast to the warmth of his touch. You tried to focus on the story Rossi was telling, the familiar timbre of his voice usually so soothing, but tonight it was just background noise to the silent conversation happening between you and Hotch.

As Rossi's story reached its finish, the team's laughter filled the air, but you barely heard it. Hotch’s fingers were still on your wrist, his presence enveloping you, pulling you into an undertow of desire that you weren’t sure you wanted to resist.

Just kept listening to the conversation, completely unbothered, completely compossed, while you sat there actively trying not to combust.

Finally, as the laughter died down and the team’s attention shifted to the next round of drinks, Hotch leaned closer. His breath was warm against your ear, his voice a low rumble that only you could hear.

“You’re very quiet tonight,” he murmured, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

Your stomach flipped.

Because Goddamn him, he knew exactly why.

You swallowed, forcing your voice to stay level.

"Just listening."

Hotch hummed, his fingers brushing over your thigh, absently, unhurried, like he wasn’t doing anything at all.

"You always get this quiet when you’re distracted?"

Your throat went dry.

"I’m not distracted."

That time, he did smirk.

Just the tiniest curve of his lips, still out of sight from everyone else, still completely subtle, but God, you felt it.

"No?" His fingers pressed just slightly, his voice dropping lower. "Then why are you gripping your glass so tight?"

You hated that he was right.

Your fingers were wrapped tightly around the glass in your hand, your grip white-knuckled, your body burning alive.

And Hotch, fully aware of it, just sat back, composed as ever, taking a slow sip of his drink.

Like he hadn’t just wrecked you in public without anyone noticing.

By the time the team was wrapping up, you were fully over it.

Your face was warm, your heart was pounding, and Hotch was still sitting casual as ever, like this hadn’t been a test of endurance.

And maybe you could have left it alone. Perhaps you could have brushed it off.

But then--

As everyone stood to leave, Hotch leaned in one last time, his hand settling lightly against your lower back, his lips brushing just barely against your ear.

"If I didn’t know better," his voice was smooth, dangerous, "I’d say you like it when I do this to you."

That did it.

Your face burned, your body tensing, and before you could stop yourself, you whipped around, voice low and warning.

"Aaron Hotchner, if you don’t stop--"

Hotch blinked at you, mild, unreadable, the picture of innocence.

"Stop what?"

You glared. "You know what."

And then--

Then, the bastard smirked againl.

"No, I don’t think I do."

And fuck, you knew then. You had completely, utterly lost.

The car ride home was silent, the air thick, the tension tangible.

And Hotch knew it.

You knew he knew it, because he was smirking the whole damn way back to his apartment.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, you turned toward him, voice exasperated.

"What was that?"

Hotch didn’t even look at you, "What was what?"

"Don’t play innocent, Aaron."

He exhaled, amused, shaking his head slightly. “I was just enjoying a night out.”

You stared at him, jaw tightening. “You were trying to make me lose my mind.”

Hotch made a low hum, thoughtful, "If I had been trying, you wouldn’t have lasted as long as you did."

Your brain short-circuited.

Your body locked up.

Because Jesus Christ, he was serious.

You inhaled sharply, your fingers curling into your lap, because if you responded now, you were going to lose even harder.

Hotch, of course, knew this.

Which was why--when he pulled into the parking garage and put the car in park--he finally glanced over at you, his gaze slow, dark, knowing.

"Come inside," he said simply.

And fuck, that was all he had to say.

xoxoxo

You had barely gotten through the door before you felt it--the weight of his presence, the air charged, his demeanor too casual, too confident, like he already knew how this was going to end.

You should have walked away. Should have seen it coming.

But you had walked right into it.

You had let him pour you a drink, let him pull you onto the couch beside him, let yourself breathe in the warmth of him, the sheer gravity of him.

And then--

The first move.

He had leaned back, one arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his fingers just barely brushing the exposed skin of your shoulder.

Nothing obvious. Nothing that would call attention to itself

But enough to make your breath catch--to make your body react before your brain could catch up.

And Hotch? He had noticed immediately.

His lips curled slightly, his voice lower than before, “You tense up every time I touch you.”

Your stomach flipped.

You swallowed, forcing yourself to stay calm. “I do not.”

Hotch exhaled a quiet, amused sound, shaking his head. “You do.”

His fingers brushed lower, skimming along your forearm now, his touch light, unhurried, deliberate, “And you don’t even realize it.”

Your breath hitched, your body betraying you instantly because Jesus Christ, this man was dangerous.

“You’re fighting it.” Hotch shifted, his voice smooth, devastatingly confident.

Your throat went dry.

You hated how right he was.

But you couldn’t let him win.

Not yet.

So you exhaled sharply, tilting your chin up, “And what exactly am I fighting?” Giving him your best unbothered expression.

Hotch smirked.

And then--

He leaned in.

His lips ghosted just along your jaw, his breath warm, deliberate, controlled, and when he finally spoke--

It wasn’t fair.

“You want me to ruin you.”

Your entire body locked up.

Your pulse spiked so hard it nearly made you dizzy.

Because fuck, that was it, wasn’t it?

That was exactly what this was.

You had spent weeks trying to endure him, trying to pretend you could keep up with him--

But now, you realized--

You didn’t want to keep up.

You wanted to lose. You wanted to fall apart for him.

And Hotch knew it.

It happened so fast.

One second, you were holding onto your last shred of restraint, trying desperately to pretend like you weren’t completely and utterly wrecked by him.

And the next--

You snapped.

You turned on the couch, grabbing the collar of his shirt, pulling him toward you with zero hesitation.

Hotch barely had time to react before your lips crashed into his, your hands fisting into the fabric, pulling, needing, demanding.

And fuck, he gave in instantly.

A sharp inhale against your mouth, a low sound deep in his throat, his hands gripping your waist, grounding, steadying as he pulled you closer.

You shifted, straddling him without a second thought, your fingers tangling into his hair, and God, the way he groaned against your lips, the way his grip tightened around you--

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

This was everything you had been holding back, everything he had been pushing you toward--

And now, neither of you were pretending anymore.

You pulled back just slightly, breathless, your body burning, alive, completely consumed by him.

And Hotch?

He tilted his head up toward you, his gaze dark, heavy, knowing, his breath warm against your lips.

“I told you.”

Your chest heaved, your hands still gripping his shirt, and God, he looked so satisfied.

So pleased with himself.

So infuriatingly smug.

And that?

That just made you kiss him again.

And this time--

You weren’t holding back at all. Hotch’s hands tightened, fingers digging just slightly into your waist, his breath warm against your lips as he murmured--

“I knew you’d break eventually.”

Your pulse spiked, your body thrumming with heat, your entire world tipping off its axis--

Because fuck, he was right.

And you hated that he was right.

You gritted your teeth, your breath uneven, your nails curling into the fabric of his shirt as you yanked him closer, your voice low, warning, desperate.

“Shut up, Aaron.”

Hotch chuckled--low, dark, impossibly knowing--his fingers tracing slow circles along the bare skin beneath your shirt.

“Make me.”

You did.

Your lips crashed into his, teeth and heat and hands grasping at anything solid, your body pressing into him, needing more, needing all of him.

And fuck, he let you take what you wanted--

For about five seconds. Until, he took over.

Hotch shifted, his grip tightening, his body twisting, and before you could even register it, you were suddenly on your back against the couch, breathless, pinned beneath him.

You gasped, your fingers fisting into his shirt, because fuck, when had he learned to move like that?

Hotch smirked, his breath brushing the curve of your jaw, his voice low and completely unfair.

“Now that’s better.”

Your stomach flipped, a breathless sound catching in your throat as his hands skimmed up your sides, slow, controlled, deliberate.

And then, his lips brushed over your pulse.

Just a whisper of contact, not enough, never enough, but God, your body arched instinctively, your breath catching, your fingers tightening in his hair.

Hotch hummed against your skin, pleased, “You’re so easy to unravel.”

Your breath stuttered, your mind blanking, because Jesus Christ, he was doing it again.

And the worst part?

You loved it.

You hated how much you loved it.

Hated how effortlessly he could reduce you to this--

To breathless gasps and frantic fingers, to helpless tension, to something desperate and completely undone beneath him.

Hotch, of course, knew it.

Which was why, after another slow, deliberate brush of his lips against your throat, he murmured, “Tell me what you want.”

Your stomach twisted, your body shaking beneath his, because fuck, he was making you say it.

You swallowed, your fingers trembling against his shoulders. “You.”

Hotch hummed, “Say it again,” pleased but not satisfied, his lips dragging along your collarbone, his hands smoothing down your sides, taking his time, making you burn.

You hated him (you didn’t).

You hated how much you loved this (you did love it).

You hated the way he was completely in control of you without even trying (you’d let him control everything).

You hated how badly you wanted him to never stop (you hoped he didn’t).

“Aaron,” you gasped, half a plea, half a demand, your fingers tugging at his belt, desperate, impatient.

And the walk to his bedroom was a blur.

Your back hit the wall, his lips crashing into yours, hands grasping, pulling, anchoring, never letting go.

Your shirt hit the floor, his hands skimming every inch of you, learning, memorizing, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

And God, he wasn’t just toying anymore.

This was real.

By the time you made it to the bed, you were burning alive, your fingers desperate to strip away everything between you, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

Hotch hovered over you, watching you, his hands framing your face, steadying you, his breath ragged, uneven, barely controlled.

Your breath shook, your fingers brushing over his jaw, his cheek, memorizing the moment.

And then--

You smiled, soft, cheeky and completely breathless, “You’re flustered, Hotchner.”

Hotch exhaled sharply, his jaw tensing, his fingers curling against your skin.

And then, with a low, rough sound--

He kissed you like he was never going to stop.

You gasped against his mouth, your own hands grasping at his shirt, fisting into the fabric, yanking him impossibly closer.

His voice, low, rough, almost teasing, broke through the haze, “So impatient.”

You bit his lip in retaliation.

Hotch groaned, deep, guttural, wrecked, and fuck, that sound sent heat surging through you so fast you nearly melted into the mattress. 

He dragged his lips slowly down your jaw, his breath warm against your throat, his hands firm on your waist as he pinned you in place.

“You have no idea,” he murmured against your skin, voice low, dark, unbearably smooth, “how long I’ve wanted you like this today.”

“Then stop holding back.”

His jaw tightened.

And then, with zero hesitation--

He didn’t.

The rest of the clothes hit the floor in a blur of movement, hands grasping, mouths searching, heat building with every breath.

You pulled him flush against you, your hands everywhere, your nails skimming down his back, pulling him closer, desperate to have him right where you needed him.

Hotch groaned against your lips, his breath uneven, wrecked, completely lost in you.

And God, you had never seen him like this.

Never seen him completely, utterly undone.

Never heard his voice this raw, never felt his hands this desperate, this needing.

And fuck, you wanted all of it.

Wanted him to ruin you.

Wanted to ruin him right back.

Your lips dragged down his neck, tasting, taunting, savoring, and when he groaned, his hands gripping your hips harder, you smirked against his skin.

“You always so composed, Hotchner?” you murmured, your voice breathless, wrecked.

Hotch huffed a laugh, shaking his head as his hands slid lower, his breath ragged and completely destroyed.

“Not with you.”

And God help you, that was the moment you knew--

This wasn’t just about giving in.

This wasn’t just about breaking tension.

This was something else entirely.

And now, there was no stopping it.

His hands were everywhere.

Rough. Desperate. Needing.

And God help you, you weren’t any better.

The heat between you was consuming, spiraling into something neither of you could stop even if you wanted to.

Hotch wasn’t gentle now.

Wasn’t careful.

He was fully, completely undone.

And fuck, you wanted him like this.

You wanted all of him.

His hands gripped your hips, fingers pressing firm, anchoring, pulling you flush against him, bare skin meeting bare skin, and Jesus Christ, he was solid.

Strong. Unyielding. Overwhelming.

Your lips crashed together again, the kiss messy, starved, like you’d been waiting for this your whole damn life.

Hotch groaned against your mouth, low and wrecked, his hands sliding up your spine, fingertips pressing into your skin like he never wanted to let go.

Your stomach tightened, your breath shaky, your body already burning alive beneath him.

And when he moved lower, when his lips ghosted down your neck, his breath hot against your skin--

You gasped, your fingers tangling into his hair, your entire body shuddering as his lips brushed lower, then lower still.

Tasting. Exploring. Claiming.

You arched beneath him, your body seeking, aching, and fuck, Hotch noticed instantly.

He chuckled against your skin, his voice dark, knowing, completely unfair.

“So eager.”

Your breath hitched, your nails digging into his back, because, God help you, he was taunting now.

And he knew it.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, tugging, and when he groaned, his grip on you tightened right back.

“If you don’t stop talking,” you whispered, your voice shaky, breathless, “I will make you.”

Hotch huffed a laugh, his lips dragging along your collarbone, slow, deliberate, completely in control.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You did.

You flipped him over, your hands pinning him down, your breath ragged, your lips crashing into his like you were determined to make him unravel this time.

His breath stuttered, his hands gripping your waist, his body tensing beneath yours, his control cracking at the seams.

And God help you, it was the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen.

Hotch’s hands skated along your sides, his touch slow, reverent, exploring, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his fingertips.

You shivered, your breath coming in soft, uneven pants, your pulse skipping every time his fingers traced over newly exposed skin.

And fuck, he was taking his time.

His lips dragged along your collarbone, warm and open, his breath heavy, steady, consuming.

His fingers gripped your waist, grounding you, his body solid against yours, heat radiating between you in a way that made your stomach twist. It wasn’t long until you were back beneath him, bodies pressed so close together. 

And God help you, it wasn’t enough.

You wanted more.

Needed more.

So you arched beneath him, your body pressing up into his, your fingers skimming down his back, gripping, seeking, pulling.

He groaned, low and wrecked, his breath catching, his fingers tightening against your hips. He lifted his head, his gaze dark, heavy, completely unreadable.

And fuck, he just looked at you.

Just stare.

Like he was taking you apart with his eyes alone.

Like he was seeing you for the first time and still somehow knowing exactly how to touch you. Like you hadn’t already been under him, over him, and all around him before. 

His voice, low, thick, almost strained, "Are you sure?"

Your stomach flipped, your breath hitching, because fuck, how could he even ask?

You let out a soft, shaky exhale, your fingers sliding into his hair, pulling him down, closer, needing him right where you wanted him.

"I need you to stop asking questions and just--"

Your words were cut off as his lips crashed into yours, swallowing whatever remark you were about to make, leaving nothing but heat and wanting and absolute, complete surrender.

His hands slid lower, his touch burning and slow, his body pressing into you, against you, against every part of you that had been waiting for this, aching for this.

And God help you, you let him. You gave in completely.

You let him take you apart, piece by piece, breath by breath, kiss by kiss--until there was nothing left but him.

Much later, long after the tension had snapped, after the air had settled, after the last remnants of desperation had faded into something warmer, slower, softer--

You found yourself laying against him, your body tangled with his, your skin still thrumming from the aftershocks.

Hotch’s arms were wrapped around you, his fingers trailing lazy, absentminded circles along your spine.

And for the first time--

Neither of you spoke.

Because there was nothing left to say.

Because every word had already been spoken in the way his hands had held you, in the way your body had moved against his, in the way neither of you had let go even once.

Your fingers traced along his ribs, your breath steadying, your body finally settling into his.

And then, barely above a whisper--

He murmured against your skin, soft, quiet, so damn real, "You’re dangerous."

You huffed a breathless laugh, pressing your forehead against his chest. "Me?"

His arms tightened slightly, his lips brushing your temple, his voice gravelly and warm.

"I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you." Your stomach flipped, your chest aching, because that wasn’t teasing anymore.

That was something else entirely.

And now, there was no going back.

That was real.

That was something else entirely.

And God help you, you felt it everywhere.

His hand rested against the small of your back, fingers splayed wide, thumb absently brushing over your skin--a slow, reverent kind of touch, the kind that felt more like grounding than claiming.

You swallowed, your fingers tracing light, thoughtless shapes over his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, still just slightly uneven.

You should say something.

You should respond, should acknowledge what he just said, should do anything but lay here drowning in the weight of it.

But all you could do was stare at him, at the way his jaw was still tense, at the way his throat bobbed slightly, like he was bracing for whatever you were going to say next.

Like maybe he wasn’t sure if he should have said it at all.

So you did the only thing you could think to do. 

You reached up and cupped his face, fingers tracing along the sharp line of his jaw, your thumb brushing just under his cheekbone, slow and deliberate.

Hotch exhaled, heavy, measured, but he didn’t look away.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t pull back.

Just watched you; waiting.

Your voice came soft, quiet, barely above a whisper, "You mean that?"

His brow twitched, like maybe he expected you to brush it off, to tease, to challenge, to do anything other than meet his honesty with honesty.

But you didn’t.

Because you couldn’t.

Not with him.

Not now.

His fingers curled just slightly against your back, like he needed something to hold onto, and when he finally spoke--

"Yes,” his voice was low, careful, unwavering.

The breath pushed out of you, your fingers tightening just slightly where they rested against his face, your body warming from the inside out.

Because fuck, there it was.

No hesitation.

No second-guessing.

Just truth.

And that?

That was more dangerous than any teasing remark he could have thrown your way.

You swallowed, unsure if you were steady enough to speak, but knowing you had to anyway.

"I’ve never wanted someone like this either."

His jaw tensed beneath your fingers, his throat bobbing again, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

Like he was committing every word to memory.

Like he was afraid to breathe, afraid to move, afraid to break whatever fragile moment had settled between you.

But then--

Your fingers slid lower, tracing along the column of his throat, across his collarbone, down over the scars and stress and everything that made him who he was.

And you whispered, "I think I might be in trouble."

Hotch huffed a breathless laugh, shaking his head, his lips twitching just slightly, but his fingers tightened against you, his voice lower, quieter, something dangerously close to soft.

"Yeah?"

You nodded, your own smile breaking through, "yeah,” your forehead falling against his as you exhaled.

And then, before he could say anything else--

Before either of you could ruin the moment with too much thinking, too much overanalyzing, too much wondering what the hell you were supposed to do now that you’d both admitted this out loud.

You kissed him.

Slow. Steady. Intentional.

Not desperate, not rushed, not frantic--

Just this.

Just you and him.

Just something that neither of you were pretending wasn’t real anymore.

And fuck, if that wasn’t the most dangerous thing of all.

Tag List: @zaddyhotch @estragos @todorokishoe24 @looking1016  @khxna @rousethemouse @averyhotchner @reidfile @bernelflo @lover-of-books-and-tea @frickin-bats @sleepysongbirdsings @justyourusualash @person-005 @iyskgd @hiireadstuff @kcch-ns @alexxavicry

[leclercstars]

save a horse.

dodge mason x reader

Summary: You're annoyed about getting paired with Dodge for a group project. He's quiet, cold, and you find nothing about him appealing (at least, that's what you're telling yourself.) Things start to take a turn when you end up having to work on the project in his bedroom, and suddenly, Dodge becomes the teacher.

Warnings: SMUT! 18+! protected sex, slight daddy kink, dom!dodge, nipple play

author's note: you all asked and you shall receive! god i love dodge mason (and you should too.)

“And you’ll be with Dodge Mason” the professor said when she got to your name on the class list. You thought you would be able to avoid group projects in community college, but apparently not. Dodge didn’t even shoot you a glance when the professor announced you as partners, so things were surely off to a great start.

He always sat in the very back, head low, kept to himself. He never raised his hand to answer a question or chime in on a discussion, and he always hurried out as soon as the professor dismissed class. You had seen him out at parties on occasion, chatting to one or two other guys in the corner. He looked good at parties, blue jeans and a tight t-shirt was a good uniform for him, especially when he added a cowboy hat. But his mysteriousness was unappealing, you found the whole “brooding cowboy” thing to be more cold and standoffish than sexy.

“Dodge! Dodge!” you chased him out of the classroom. You caught up with him and his expression hardly changed when he saw you. “What time should we meet to work on this?”

“8pm tonight sound fine?” he scrawled his address out on a piece of notebook paper and handed it to you.

“Sure! See ya then!” your cheeriness did not impact his mood, and you scoffed as you headed back to your car.

You did not find Dodge Mason appealing at all, but you found yourself standing in front of your mirror at 7:30 p.m. making sure that your outfit looked good. Your skirt was short, your shirt was tight. Why were you doing this? You kept trying to convince yourself you saw nothing in him, but your mind kept flashing back to the way his arms looked in those t-shirts that fit him so right. You threw on a hoodie so you at least seemed a little more casual.

He answered the door as soon as you knocked, and you walked in to quite a few folks in the dining room.

“Sorry, my sister has friends over. We’ll have to work in my room,” Dodge said as he led you down the hallway.

Why was your heart beating faster? You were just going in there to work, and it's only because you can’t go anywhere else.

His room was just as you expected it to be. Gray walls, navy bed sheets, decorated with rodeo trophies and a couple vintage cigarette ads.

“Neat room,” you said, even though it was boring as hell.

“Thanks.” he sat on one edge of the bed and you sat on the other, it felt like there was miles of distance between you- both physically and mentally at this point. Your legs were crossed tight, as you realized maybe wearing a skirt was not the best outfit choice for doing homework on a bed. The two of you got to work, talking about nothing except the work at hand. You were getting so bored, and your mind started to wander. His concentrated face was unfortunately very attractive, as he bit his lip looking down at the paper. His hands were huge, made evident by how small the pencil looked in them. His t-shirt was once again, tight. Hugging every muscle in his arm. You couldn’t stand it anymore. You took off your hoodie, revealing the crop-top you had on.

“Sorry, all this writing and concentrating is making me hot,” you laughed sheepishly.

“No problem.” Dodge replied plainly, although you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes suddenly scanned your body. He wasn’t even trying to hide it, as they lingered on the curve of your hips and the peaks of your tits, visible over the neckline of your shirt. Your face was getting warmer than the sun.

“I need a break, why don’t you tell me about these trophies?” you shot up and stood by his dresser, desperate to form some sort of connection with this man.

“Alright,” he stayed on the bed. He began explaining each one in pretty great detail. If you couldn’t physically get close to him, at least this was helping you get to know him better. There was a big one from when he was kid that had a particularly funny story to go along with it, and you held the shiny gold cup, facing away from the bed. You didn’t notice the way he slowly got up, coming up behind you and sneaking his hands around your waist. Your breath hitched, the smell of his musky cologne apparent as his neck was mere inches from your face. He turned you around to face him, fingertips never leaving the exposed skin between your shirt and skirt.

You stared up at him, eyes dark and low. It wasn’t his usual uninterested stare. No, this was lust, a throbbing, aching lust. God, he was so tall. You nearly had to tilt your head all the way back to even make eye contact. He cupped your face with both hands and pulled you in, kissing you in a way that you had never been kissed before. It was as if his lips were a key and yours were the lock, they fit perfectly together. His tongue found its way down your throat as his hands started to gently roam, tracing every curve and pausing as he found your ass under the skirt. He cupped your ass and squeezed, hard, earning a moan from you into his mouth. You could feel him smile against your lips as he squeezed again, making you press your body into his. Fuck, his abs were so tight and so defined you could feel them through the fabric. You looked up at him again with pleading eyes and he smirked before leaning right next to your ear.

“You wanna learn how to ride?” he whispered. You knew he was cracking a joke but god it felt so serious in that moment.

“Yes daddy.” you groaned back. Woah. He had never asked you to call him that, and you were not the type to just bust that word out usually.

“Fucking christ I need you so bad,” he hoisted you up and you instinctively wrapped your legs around him as he carried you to the bed. So “daddy” was well received. He flung all the notebooks and paper to the ground with one swipe of his arm. He was holding you up with one arm, giving you a chance to realize how strong he truly was. He tossed you down on the bed, rough but making sure he didn’t hurt you. His shirt came off almost immediately, and you happily helped him undo his belt buckle so you could see more of him. His cock was already throbbing through his boxers, just coaxing you to sit on it. He had already pulled your shirt and skirt off, and expertly unhooked your bra, tossing it to the side and taking a moment as you laid there in nothing but a lacy thong.

“Goddamn,” he sighed, grazing his thumbs over your nipples, teasing you and only making you want his cock more. He started applying more pressure, doing gentle circles with his thumbs and pressing his erection between your legs. Your moans were soft as you bucked your hips into him with progressively more force.

“Easy,” he firmly placed his hands on your hips, steadying them and pressing them back down into the mattress. “That’s no way for a good girl like you to behave.”

Suddenly it was Niagara Falls between your thighs.

He kept playing with your nipples, pinching and twisting and flicking, seeing how good it clearly made you feel. He wrapped his hands around your back and flipped you on top of him, quickly pulling down his boxers and exposing his cock, already slick with pre-cum. He reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a condom, looking at you as you straddled him.

“You ready baby?” he nearly cooed. You nodded and started to lift yourself up over him, but he decided to take control. His rough hands were planted firmly on the sides of your supple hips, guiding you onto his length. You were soaking wet, but he was so fucking big you could still only take half at once without flinching. He held you steady, waiting for you to get used to the feeling of him inside you. You both had locked eyes the moment he grabbed your hips, and neither had dared to look away, drinking in, being intoxicated by every emotion that crossed the other’s face. He slowly moved you down until you were fully sitting on his cock, gasping as the last inch pushed into your walls. Your hands were on his chest as you leaned forward, eyes now shut as you felt how close the two of you had become. Two hours ago he would barely say a word to you, now he was literally inside of you. He started rocking you back and forth, controlling your hips and making you feel so fucking good. Your clit rubbed against his abs as you rode, sparks zapping across your body every time he moved you in just the right way.

You were on top, but Dodge was fully in control. You were completely submitting to his touch, letting his hands do all the work. His body was doing all the talking he hadn’t done earlier, as he purposely thrust his abs up, knowing that was getting you closer and closer to the finish. You were starting to lose it, made completely stupid by how good his cock felt inside you.

“Fuck Dodge-daddy, fuck,” you were so so close, you could feel the orgasm starting to bubble up in your stomach.

Right as you were about to climax, Dodge sat up and leaned in.

“Cum for me good girl,” the thickness of his voice was enough to send you over the edge as you cried out, breaking free of his hands and grinding on him.

“Oh fuck me,” his head rolled back and the feeling of your pussy clenching around his dick was enough to finish him off, pulsating against your walls.

You slid yourself off him and collapsed onto his pillows, resting your head in the crook of his arm.

He started playing with your hair and the two of you just laid in silence, basking in the bliss of the sex you just had.

That was certainly one ride you never wanted to get off.

dividers by @.cafekitsune

[lillymmb]

pls can you do an established relationship lewis fic about reader who always has longs hair and goes drastically short and reader & lewis are obsessed w it

New hair, New wife

husband!lewis hamilton x wife!reader

warnings:none

a/n: thanks for the request babe it was so cute to write this bcs i love cutting my hair super short! Srry this is kind of short but I hope you like it!☺️☺️☺️

For as long as he'd known you, your hair had been long, always cascading down your back in soft waves. It had become a signature look for you, the kind of hair that always turned heads. But today, that was about to change.

When I told my husband I was going to cut my hair he probably thought it would just be the ends but looking at myself in the mirror after leaving the salon made me feel like a new person. My new short bob was framing my face perfectly.

The whole process felt surreal. I'd been nervous at first, sitting in the chair, but the stylist was incredibly reassuring, and soon the clippers were in my hair. Every inch that fell to the floor seemed to make my excitement grow.

"Omg who is that" I whispered to myself.

My smile could be seen for miles, I feel like myself like I've never felt before. I felt a sense of freedom like a free bird.

I look for my phone in my bag to text Lewis to pick me up, today we were going to a new Italian restaurant that George recommended to us.

I needed to text Lewis a photo of my new look. “New me. What do you think?”

He replied immediately. “I’m on my way. Don’t move a muscle.”

I couldn’t help but grin as I waited for him to arrive. The anticipation was almost unbearable. The idea of him seeing me like this, in such a drastically different way, made my heart race.

As I waited for him, my excitement and anxiety only increased, our house is 30 minutes from the salon but when my husband showed up in 10 minutes I knew he was serious, I saw the car and every step I took I got more anxious.

Lewis quickly got out of his Ferrari, his smile made me get butterflies in my stomach like I was a teenager when her first crush looked at her in the school hallway. His eyes immediately locking onto me. He froze for a second, taking in my new style, his lips parting slightly.

"Hi baby, you look- Wow" he said, his voice soft but full of awe.

I laughed softly, brushing my fingers through my now-short hair. “You think so?”

Lewis closed the distance between you in two quick steps, his hands gently lifting your chin so he could get a closer look at you. He ran his fingers through the ends of your hair, marveling at the change.

“You look stunning,” he murmured. “But honestly, you always do. You know I’m obsessed with you, right?”

I chuckled, my heart warming. “I don’t mind being your obsession.”

He leaned down, kissing me softly, as if savoring the moment. “I think I’ll have to spend the next few days just getting used to this new look,” he said, his tone playful. “But I have to admit, it’s giving me a whole new level of attraction to you. I can’t stop looking at you.”

I smiled against his lips, enjoying the way he seemed to fall for me all over again. It was funny how something as simple as a haircut could reignite that spark. But I didn’t mind—it was a reminder of how much Lewis adored me, no matter how much I changed.

[mymindisneverhere]

I can’t lie I’m enjoying writing these. 🙃 lowkey wish it was me

warnings: 18+, SMUT, edging, dirty talk, oral sex, fingering.

Masterlist

Summary: Aaron is having a get together at his home with his colleagues and his wife has had an attitude with him all day… he ends up fixing it tho.

30 Whole Days

He marched up the stairs and into the bedroom searching for her. His breathing was heavy, not from exhaustion but from rage. This was it, she had pushed him to the limit with her most recent emotional outburst. He understood how sensitive she was and that at times her emotions could get the best of her but he never thought she’d use this moment to embarrass him in front of his people.

Her attitude was far out of control and he didn’t know if he were to blame or if this was all on her. She had been short with him all day. Half assed answers, avoiding kisses and walking away when he’d reach for a hug. He couldn’t believe 30 days had done this to her, and had caused her to become so… bratty.

Attempting to lighten her mood, he had asked her to bring him and the guys another round of tequila shots. He knew his wife’s favorite thing to do was serve him, not only because he’d asked but because it was her love language, so he figured it wouldn’t be an issue.

She waited a few beats to respond then flashed a fake over exaggerated smile to him before heading to the bar that sat right outside on the back patio. She was over him at this moment. She was pissed, frustrated, angry and now after 30 days of holding back her emotions, she exploded.

She grabbed the bottle of tequila and took a few gulps of the warm liquor before storming back into the living room where the guests sat. They all laughed and sipped on their beverages as she walked directly to him, never taking her eyes off of him.

“Pour your own damn shots!” She stated through gritted teeth before slamming the expensive bottle onto the coffee table cracking the glass that held drinks and coasters.

The room went completely silent as they watched her walk away stomping up the stairs and slamming the door a few seconds later.

”We should get going, I think we may have overstayed our welcome.” Jamal, his colleague said, looking over at him with a worried stare. “I’ll see you later man.” Everyone stood and shook hands before departing all at a once.

Once the large horseshoe driveway was empty he immediately turned and shot up the stairs to the owners suite. She had officially lost her damn mind.

“Veronica!” He yelled, in a tone that demanded her presence right away. His voice roared throughout the whole house, there was no way she didn’t hear him. When she failed to appear in front of him, he knew she was purposely testing his patience. He walked into their adjoining bathroom to find her at the vanity casually fixing her hair and makeup.

“Have you lost your fucking mind? I have a house full of guests and you decide to embarrass me?” He asked standing in the doorway eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

“I didn’t embarrass you like I could have.” She shot back, sending a look of anger right back to him.

He paused for a few seconds before letting out a deep breath and nodding his head. “Alright, if this is what you wanna do, it’s fine with me.”

”Fine.” She responded.

As much as he loved his wife, he hated her stubborn attitude. Her need to prove a point, her desire to be right all the time, to be the winner of some game that only she’s aware of. Usually he would be the one to fold simply because he knew his wife and she’d thrown fits like this in the past to get what she wanted but tonight she had taken it too far. He decided that for the first time in the 4 years they’d been married, she would have to swallow her pride to get what she wanted.

He walked out of the bathroom and made his way to the walk in closet. He began smirking to himself wondering how long it would take for her to do the one thing that comes rare to her, beg.

He undid his tie first and removed his dress shirt right after. He kept his white wife beater on along with his dress slacks and dress shoes. After placing his tie and shirt in their designated areas, he left the bedroom and made his way downstairs to the study, making sure to close the bedroom door behind him.

She sat for a few minutes in confusion. He knew what she wanted and by now he’d be giving her just that but something was off about tonight. She got up from the vanity and went into the bedroom looking around for her husband. He wasn’t there.

She went into the closet to see if he’d be there deciding on an outfit for morning brunch with the family but he wasn’t there either.

“He really just left me in this room by myself.” She whispered to herself in shock. She knew he hadn’t left the house because the security system would have alerted her.

She looked over at the clock on the nightstand that read 9:40 p.m. in digital white font. He was going to make her beg for it but she refused to give in, not after he made her wait for 30 days. He owed HER and he was going to be the one to give in, not the other way around.

So she decided to turn on the tv and watch reruns of her favorite reality shows until he walked through the bedroom door, shirt off and dick swinging.

Two long hours had gone by and he still hadn’t made his way back to their bedroom. She couldn’t believe he’d actually decided to sleep in one of the guest bedrooms. I mean yeah she had thrown a tantrum and it may have been a bit much but he started it. How could he not expect her to react this way after going cold turkey for so long.

“I’m over this shit.” She threw the comforter off of her body and jumped down from their tall king size bed. She walked down the hall to the guest bedroom closest to the owner's suite, only to find the bedroom empty. “So now he’s playing hide and seek, how childish.” She mumbled to herself.

She made her way to the opposite end of the hall to the second guest room to find it empty just like the one before. She tightened her satin robe out of pure frustration and trotted down the stairs. She was about to make her way to the living room when she saw a light coming from under the double doors of the study.

“So he’s working while I’m around this bitch playing cat and mouse.” She said, rolling her eyes.

She opened the doors to the study and marched right over to him, locking eyes with her husband. He looked up at her, meeting her gaze, awaiting an explanation. The two had a standoff for a few seconds but the tension in the room made it feel like hours. She was waiting for him to give in, not knowing that he had no plans to do so.

“You got something you want to say to me?” He asked in a low calm tone, never taking his eyes off of hers. He knew what he was doing. He was going to get her riled up until she really snapped. When her patience ran thin, her mouth became lethal.

”You’re not funny Aaron.” She spat leaning over the large desk that separated the two.

He continued staring at her. This time bringing a glass of Cognac to his lips.

“You owe me!” She hissed, leaning further onto the desk causing her robe to slightly slip open revealing her breasts.

He sat, remaining silent.

“It’s been 30 days, stop playing with me!” She warned, pointing her finger in his face.

He finished his Cognac before placing the glass down, his eyes still never leaving hers.

“Tell me what you want.” He commanded.

She smacked her teeth. “You know exactly wh-“ She started but was interrupted.

“You throw a tantrum in a room full of people embarrassing both me and you but now you’re too scared to tell me what you want from me?” He questioned. One thing he knew for sure about his wife was that she was far from scared. He was pushing her buttons on purpose.

“I’m not scared.” She shot back.

He stood up from his chair and slowly made his way to her side of the desk. She turned around to meet his eyes, they had yet to break this intense stare down. He stood in front of her planting his hands on the desk, right by her sides.

Their faces were so close she could smell the Cognac on his breath and that made her clit throb. She loved when he’d had a few drinks, the night would always end with her cries of pleasure. But she wasn’t so sure about this night, her tantrum had really pissed him off and he was really standing his ground.

“So say it.” He said, his voice deep and impatient.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sudden command. Aaron was usually very gentle with her. He’d treat her like she was fragile, like she was a priceless piece of art that should be handled with great care.

This Aaron was a bit dark, not in a scary way but in a way that made her regret her decision she’d made hours before. She wanted a reaction out of him but she didn’t expect this one.

‘Say it.” He repeated, this time through gritted teeth.

“I want you to fuck me.” She whispered.

“You were loud a few minutes ago, why you whispering now?” He questioned. “Say it, louder.”

She hesitated for a second, looking down at his lips. They were so soft and full, she wanted them wrapped around her clit.

“I want you to eat me til I cum and then fuck me, right here on your desk.” She said in a normal tone.

He smirked at her response simply because she truly thought she was the one calling the shots in this moment.

He used his knee to part her legs and wrapped one hand around her neck, causing her head to fall back. He snatched the belt on her robe making the thin fabric to fly open. He placed wet kisses down her neck to her shoulder before licking back up to her ear.

“You enjoy embarrassing me?” He spoke into her ear causing her to inhale sharply from the warmth of his breath.

“I wasn’t trying to.” She breathed.

He ran the tips of his fingers across her nipple, still nibbling on her ear. He knew tending to her sensitive spots at once would drive her crazy. He played with her left nipple, enjoying the feeling of its hardness in between his thumb and index finger.

“Then what were you trying to do?” His voice remained low and calm in her ear.

She was in so much bliss she couldn’t think straight. He hadn’t even fucked her yet and she was already feeling her first orgasm coming. Her first orgasm in 30 days.

Aaron had decided that they should hold out on sex for a month. It wasn’t due to any mishaps in their marriage, he just wanted to build some anticipation.

He had married a woman with a high libido and with him being the first man to ever make her orgasm, she was demanding sex from him damn near everyday. They would get breaks during that time of the month but even then she still wanted more.

”I don’t know.” She barely managed. Her body was feeling so many things at once, things she hadn’t felt in a while that all she could manage to say was “I don’t know.”

She hissed from pain as he pinched her sensitive nipples and bit her ear. He wasn’t pleased with her answer.

“I was mad at you.” She admitted , “I was just pissed but I’m not anymore.”

He gently brought her face up to meet his before saying “Well I am.”

He kissed her passionately, not leaving an ounce of emotion behind. He was animalistic. He had never been an aggressive man but tonight he decided to take his anger out on his wife, the one who had caused it. He bit her bottom lip slightly before pulling back and forcing her back to lay flat on the desk.

He wrapped his arms under her thick thighs pulling her hips to the edge of the desk. He placed kisses and bite marks on her inner thighs, the bites causing her to moan in pain and pleasure. He came face to face with her pussy, placing kisses around her lips to tease her, one of the things she hated.

She rolled her hips in anticipation hoping that one of his kisses would land right on her clit. He tightened his grip on her thighs making it hard for her to move from his hold.

“Baby please.” She begged.

He smiled to himself before placing his tongue in between her lips. He licked slowly from her entrance all the way up to her clit, making sure his tongue hit every inch of her pussy. When he got to her clit he carefully rolled his tongue in circular motions, sucking it ever so often. He didn’t want her to come anytime soon so he thought he’d enjoy edging her.

“Ooh yes!” She moaned, placing her hand on his head. This was her way of telling him he was doing a damn good job.

“Yes daddy right there.” She moaned, indicating that her orgasm was near. Right when she could feel it build in her stomach, he’d slow down, making her come back down from ten. He done this a few times and she was becoming frustrated but that's exactly what he wanted.

“After what you did, you think I’d give it to you that early?” He asked, planting kisses up her body. He licked and sucked on her nipples one at a time. He carefully pushed two fingers into her pussy while still focused on her breasts. He pumped his fingers in and out of her, making sure to hit her G-Spot, sending her back up the orgasm ladder.

“Oooooh fuck!” She cried out. “Like that baby, just like that.” Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she prepared to send her wetness all over his fingers.

He felt her pussy tighten around his fingers and he slowed down, stroking in and out of her at a snail's place.

“Oh my God.” She moaned. “Why are you doing this to me?” She cried out in pure frustration.

He let out a deep chuckle before pulling his fingers out and placing them in her mouth. She sucked them, moaning at the taste of her on his hands. He undid his pants with his free hand, dropping his underwear in a swift motion. She was so into sucking her juices off of his fingers, she couldn’t brace herself for the dick she hadn’t had in a month.

He slid inside of her, giving her a quick and hard thrust causing her to let out a loud moan. He paused for a few seconds, taking in the tightness of her wet pussy. It had been so long since he’d been inside her, they both needed to adjust.

“Shit.” He managed.

He pulled out of her, slapping the head of his dick onto her throbbing clit. He needed a moment to prepare himself for this ride. If he was going to give her the punishment she deserved, he'd have to last long enough to make it worth his while.

He pushed inside of her slowly, admiring the way her eyes rolled into her head. He loved the faces she made when he fucked her, she was so fucking pretty.

He lifted both of her legs up resting them on his shoulders. He held onto her full hips as he thrusted in and out of her slowly. She frowned from pleasure, lust written all over her face.

“That dick feels so fucking good.” She moaned, her eyes shut tight.

“Look at me.” He demanded.

Her eyes fluttered open landing right on his. As soon as they locked eyes he picked up the pace. He was testing her, he knew that if he quickened the strokes she'd struggle to keep her eyes open.

Just as he thought, her eyes closed and when her eyes closed he slowed down.

”Okay baby, I get it.” She moaned in a pleading tone.

“Close your eyes again and I’ll stop.” He said, looking down at her.

She fixed her eyes on him again, her eyes low and lust filled.

He picked up the pace again, rolling his hips into hers making sure to hit her spot. He wasn’t going to let her cum until she begged him.

He was fucking her into oblivion. There’s was no way he expected her to keep her eyes locked on him when he was fucking her like they would never see each other again.

“I’m sorry daddy, I swear I’m sorry.” She cried out, her eyes beginning to roll again.

“Open!” He warned.

“Please baby.” She cried again.

”Please what?” He asked, never missing a beat. He could see in her face he was hitting the right spot. It was only a matter of time before she gave him what he wanted. He bent down, bringing his face to hers, still stroking her pussy.

“I wanna cum.” She begged.

He sped up the pace staring directly into her eyes.

“Please I wanna cum.”

“Let it go baby.” He said, giving her the okay to release her treasures onto him.

“Fuck yes!” She screamed out in pure ecstasy.

He watched as her body jerked from the orgasm it was experiencing, the way her pussy increased in wetness damn near sent him over the edge but he wasn’t done with her just yet.

“That’s right baby, get all that shit.” He said into her ear, placing kisses on her neck and cheek while she came down.

She moaned, still trying to catch her breath and relax her body underneath him.

After a few more seconds, pulled out and walked backwards until he found one of the large chairs in his study.

“Come here.” He demanded, his eyes still never leaving her. He sat down, placing his arms on the rests of the chair as he watched his wife struggle to get across the room.

“My legs are a little sore.” She whined as she walked to him.

“Come. Here.” He repeated impatiently.

Finally crossing the room, she stood directly in front of him and dropped her robe.

“Sit on this dick.”

She climbed onto him, her coffee colored skin tainted in sweat, her large breasts decorated with nipple rings that complimented her large dark brown areolas, she was a sight to see. She positioned herself right above his dick and sat down slowly, staring down at her husband.

She rolled her hips into him as she looked for pleasure in his stare. All she could find was lust and a hint of anger. She didn’t know what to expect from him, he was actually fed up with her tonight.

She rode him anyway, deciding that she’d take this moment to be selfish and get her pleasures regardless of the stern look on his face. She closed her eyes and dropped her head back as she held onto him, her hands on the back of his neck for support.

“Mmmmm.” She moaned in enjoyment, her hips rolling at a steady pace as she felt the wetness from her pussy spread to her inner thighs.

He sat back and watched his wife take control. He loved that she wasn’t afraid to take full control to reach her orgasm. He appreciated the fact that she was a sensual woman and proud of it.

But he was the one calling the shots tonight. He snaked both of his hands up her body reaching for her neck, gripping her throat.

“Yes daddy.” She moaned, still caught up in her own pleasure.

Without warning he began thrusting his hips into hers, making her eyes open in surprise. He had let her have a few minutes to come down from the last climax but it was time to remind her who was really running the show.

“Yes, fuck me baby.” She cried out. She held onto his wrists as he fucked her. Her cries became louder as he continuously hit her spot with every single stroke. She looked down at him again as he brought her face to his, still stroking in and out her pussy.

“You like making me mad don’t you?”

“No.” She replied out of breath.

“You wanna embarrass me again?” He asked, his lips touching hers.

“No Daddy.” She cried, as she felt her climax coming.

The way he was fucking her, the way he was talking to her had unlocked another level of sensual satisfaction. The hold he had on her neck, the way he caressed his thumbs against her lips, his deep sultry tone of voice and spicy smell of liquor on his breath was a combination that would send another orgasm through her body.

“You cum when I tell you to.” He barked through his teeth, daring her to climax.

“I can’t hold it anymore.” She cried, a small tear of ecstasy running down her face. She came harder than the first time.

“Yes!” She screamed out, unashamed and completely out of body. Her pussy pulsated and slightly stinging from pain due to his size. He let the tear run down her face as the rest of her emotions ran down his legs. She squeezed her eyes shut as her body responded to yet another orgasm.

“I knew you’d beg me for it.” He smirked with his cocky ass attitude.

”Fuck you.” She whimpered, taking in every moment of her peak.

”I know, baby.” He said, soothing her after ruining her. He caressed her cheek as he watched her come down from yet another orgasm. He had to admit to himself that this tantrum she had thrown earlier had unlocked a different beast inside of him. He kinda liked it.

“You okay?” He asked in a calm tone, he could never fully get rid of the gentle side of him.

She nodded her head slowly then finally collapsed onto his chest still struggling to catch her breath.

“Please don’t make me wait that long again.” She said in between breaths.

“I won’t.” He kissed the top of her head and the two laid together until night became dawn.

Please excuse any mistakes! 🩵

(Y’all ate that last one up so I thought why not write another one. Thank y’all! 🥹)

[readwritealldayallnight]

Hello, I love your writing and I'm so sorry to bother you but I'd like to request... it may sound stupid and feel free to ignore this, maybe I'm just venting. Could you do a ghost comforts reader about their hair. Went to the hair salon today and the hairdresser cut off 7inches of my hair 😭. I know it's been said many times before but I literally feel like someone clipped my angel wings. Haven't stopped crying ever since. Hope you're doing good :,)

You were meant to call Simon to come pick you up after your hair appointment was finished, but after the stylist finally spun you around in the chair to face the mirror, you decided you needed the almost 30 minute walk home to be alone with your thoughts

You didn’t want to make this into a big deal when you saw him, it was just hair after all, you could practically already hear his deep Manchester accent telling you that it would grow back in no time

But another part of you was feeling slightly heartbroken, having gone in to the salon for what you hoped would only be a trim, an inch or two off the ends, and instead walked out with an entirely new haircut, wondering if the hairdresser had even been paying attention when you specified you wanted just a small cut

You haven’t had hair this short in a long, long time. Long before you knew Simon. And while you doubt he would ever have anything negative to say about, especially once he sees how bothered you are by it, small part of you can’t help but to worry about what his reaction will be

You feel your phone buzz in your pocket, taking your mind off your pessimistic thoughts for a moment. Glancing at the screen, you see Simon has texted you

Si <3 : ‘Nearly done?’

You : ‘I’m almost home actually, decided to walk’

Si <3 : ‘???’

You : ‘You’ll see’

You : ‘:(‘

Turning the corner and spotting your building, you steady yourself with a deep breath, figuring it’ll be easier to just rip the bandaid off so to speak, and get this stupid reveal over with

Walking up to your front door with keys jingling in hand, you’re surprised when the door swings open before you even have a chance to find your right key, your mountain of a man evidently stood there waiting for you

“What are you doin’, walkin’ home for-” He cuts himself off when his eyes notice the change, irises darting from shoulder to shoulder, over your head again and again before landing on the sour expression on your face

“She took off so much more than I wanted.” You try not to literally whine as you squeeze past his hulking frame to slip into the flat, knowing he’ll be following right behind you. “It was only supposed to be a trim. Now I look-”

“Beautiful.” He cuts you off this time, your head whipping around to see if he’s truly making fun of you right now, but you find no trace of teasing or joking across his expression. Instead, you almost think you see the faintest tint of red creeping across his pale cheeks, his eyes constantly moving as they have trouble deciding where to land on you, taking in your new appearance in a way similar to someone admiring art work in a museum

“What?” You question, wondering if you’d misheard him. Or maybe the countless head injuries were finally catching up to him and he’d confused beautiful with horrendous

He takes a tentative step closer to you, reaching a hand out to slowly run his fingers across the newly cut ends of your hair

“You look beautiful, love. Don’t ya think?” He asks you, digits still gently playing with your locks

“I mean- not really, no. I didn’t want it this short.” You say, though your distaste for the cut is slowly diminishing as you witness just how much the man in front of you adores you

“Think it’s pretty.” He mutters, bringing his other hand up to join the exploration of your hair now. “Haven’t seen ya like this before.”

“You like it?” You ask timidly.

“Mhmm.” He hums in confirmation, stepping even closer to you now, coming around to stand behind you with his hands on your shoulders. “Makes it even easier to do this.” He adds, gently brushing your locks away from your neck before pressing a kiss as gentle as a butterfly below your ear, venturing his lips down tot he side of your neck, your collarbone, any skin his mouth can find

“I- I guess so.” You agree, slinking your own arm back to wrap around his neck, holding him closer to you. “Didn’t realize you’d like it. Was sure you were just gonna tell me ‘it’s hair, it grows back’.” He snorts at your weak attempt to mimic his voice, utterly butchering the accent. You can’t help but let out a small chuckle as well, feeling much lighter now than you did when the stylist first picked up their scissors.

“You’re a smart girl, lovey. Don’t need me tellin’ you that.” He replies, muscular arms coming to wrap around your middle, keeping you as close as he physically can. “You’ll need to show me how to write a review online though. They can’t have my girl coming home this sad and not expect consequences.”

First of all, thank you so much for the love and don’t you or anyone ever apologize for sending in requests or just ranting to me, I always love to hear from you

Second, I’m so sorry your haircut didn’t go the way you wanted :( that can be so tough, but hopefully this short lil drabble puts a smile on your face

Hope you’re doing well!

- M 🫶🏻

[lolacelest101]

No Need For Privacy

18+ MDNI

Hii!!! This is my first story or anything like this that I write and publish so I am sure it will be bad. I would love to get your feedback and let me know if I missed anything in the TWs. I am a big fan of F1 and other mainstream spaces so I will try to do more in the future. Also here is Part 2

Happy Reading!

Word Count: 6131

Themes: Lando!Norris x Fem!American!reader, Embarrassing moment turn spicy, next door neighbor, close proximity

Smutty tings: wall pinning, voyeurism, exhibitionism, masturbation, mirror sex, p in v, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex!!!!), spanking, oral sex, slight edging, fingering, gagging, praise and degradation kink.

Your POV

I moved to Monaco a week ago with my two best friends from work, Liana and Aaliyah. It’s been a dream come true for all of us, especially since our company launched a new project in the Monaco branch and requested our expertise.

Settling in has been a breeze, mostly thanks to Alexander Qasemi, the top manager of the Monaco office. He has multiple investments in the area and offered to rent out one of his properties to us at a discount. It’s conveniently close to the office, and his wife, Catalina, has been a lifesaver, helping us get set up, showing us around, and pointing out all the spots we need to check out. Coming from Florida, Monaco feels like a mix of Palm Beach and Miami, but it’s still a world apart from Tampa, where we grew up.

The house has three bedrooms, each with its own view from the second floor. We picked rooms based on the views, but I ended up going for the one with extra closet space—even if it has a “boring” view of the street and a direct line of sight into the house next door. And judging by what I’ve seen, the neighbor isn’t big on privacy; I can see right into what looks like the main bedroom.

I wake up to Liana singing loudly to what sounds like a new song by The Weeknd, her voice filling the house. Squinting as sunlight streams into my room, I reluctantly drag myself up and into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth, choosing to ignore my messy bed hair. Liana’s door is open, and she spots me staggering around like a zombie.

“Good morning, sunshine!” she shouts, singing along with the song. All I can think is, It’s way too early for this.

I shuffle back to my room and glance at the clock on my nightstand. It flashes 10:32 AM, and panic hits—I remember that Catalina mentioned she’d be here around 10:45 AM to show us more of the area, and she insisted we make time for it.

I rush back into the hallway, suddenly wide awake. “Liana, why didn’t you wake us up? Catalina’s gonna be here any minute!”

Liana smirks and says, “I did, about 30 minutes ago. Aaliyah’s already up and made coffee. You told me I was ‘handsome and sexy’ and asked for five more minutes.” She’s trying not to laugh, and my face goes red as I realize I was probably having an almost wet dream.

“Well… he sure was, wasn’t he?” I say, trying to brush it off. “But we still need to hurry.”

After a quick change into something suitable for the weather, I throw on some black skinny jeans that hug my curves, a short flowy black-and-white striped top, and sneakers.

“Y/N, come down! Catalina’s here,” Aaliyah calls up the stairs.

I see her car pulling up from my window, so I run down to grab a quick sip of coffee before she knocks on the door. Liana’s sitting on the couch, putting her shoes on, and I lean against the counter, downing my coffee like it’s a race. Aaliyah opens the door, greeting Catalina with hugs and kisses. I set my mug down, go over to greet her, and offer to make her a coffee before we start the tour.

Catalina’s dressed in a floral top and white pants, looking like the definition of “aging like fine wine.” Despite being in her 60s, she doesn’t look a day over 40. She radiates warmth, like a grandmother everyone wishes they had.

Liana goes back to grab her phone, and as Catalina and I step outside, we bump into a man with dark hair and intense eyes. Catalina lights up as soon as she sees him, opening her arms for a hug.

“Oh, Max! I didn’t know you’d be here!” she says, surprised, pulling him in for an embrace.

“It was very last-minute for the Monaco GP,” he replies, hugging her back. When he lets go, he glances at me expectantly.

“Max, this is Y/N,” Catalina says. “She moved here a week ago with her friends.”

Max extends his hand, and I shake it, trying to keep my cool. “Nice to meet you. I guess we’ll be running into each other a lot,” I say, smiling.

Holy shit, Max Fewtrell is staying next door! My mind races, and I make a mental note to change my Quadrant phone case ASAP—I don’t want him thinking I’m some obsessive fan.

Max’s voice snaps me back. “Ah, an American accent! Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

I laugh lightly as Liana and Aaliyah join us. I introduce them, and Max shakes their hands before introducing himself.

“Nice to meet you,” he says. “I’m not exactly your neighbor, but my best friend lives here, so you’ll probably see him more often than me. Oh—there he is now,” he adds, looking over my shoulder.

My heart skips. The only person this could be is Lando Norris, and I’m about to pretend I’m way cooler than I actually am.

I snap back to see Lando Norris, head down, fiddling with his car keys. When he looks up, he immediately spots Catalina, a smile breaking across his face.

“Hey, you! How’ve you been? I already miss having you as my neighbor,” he says, giving her a hug.

She laughs, “I’ve missed you too, but I brought you some new company, so you won’t miss me too much.” Catalina turns to us with a smile. “Lando, these are the new neighbors: Liana, Aaliyah, and Y/N.”

Lando shakes each of our hands. His grip is firm, his fingers slightly calloused, probably from hours on the simulator. When he gets to me, I feel his gaze linger a bit longer, like he’s trying to place me.

“I don’t mean to sound creepy, but… you’re the one sleeping in that room, right?” He nods toward my bedroom window.

Caught off guard, I stammer, “Uh… yeah, that’s mine. Why?”

A faint blush crosses his face, a sly grin forming as he glances back at me. “You might want to, uh… move your mirror. Just saying.”

It takes a second for the realization to hit, but when it does, I’m mortified. I remember putting my large gold mirror directly across from the window and how, last night, after a long day of rearranging, I decided to… “treat” myself, lights on and all.

My mind races back to that memory—me stripping down, lying on my bed, a vibrator in one hand…

I force myself back to the present, trying to salvage what little dignity I have left. “Oh! I didn’t realize anyone was home over there… It looked empty all week.”

Lando chuckles, his grin widening. “Yeah, I just got back last night. And… well, let’s just say I got quite the welcome back.”

The heat rising in my cheeks is unbearable, and I quickly turn to Catalina. “So, Catalina, you mentioned we have a lot of places to see today?”

I feel Lando’s eyes on me, making my skin prickle with heat.

“Yes! Let’s get going.” Catalina waves goodbye to the guys, and we start heading toward her SUV. As I walk away, I can still feel Lando’s gaze burning into me, like he’s savoring every second of my embarrassment.

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

Later That Night

The night air is warm and slightly humid, with a faint breeze blowing in from the sea. We’d just gotten back from the club, laughing and chattering as we climbed out of the cab. Aaliyah and Liana are still buzzing with energy, but I hang back a bit, enjoying the cool air on my flushed skin.

Liana nudges my shoulder. “We’re going inside to get some water. You good out here?”

I nod, waving them off. “Yeah, I just need a moment to cool down. I’ll be right behind you.”

They head inside, leaving me alone in the quiet of the street. I close my eyes, letting the night’s calm settle around me, when I hear footsteps. I look up, and there’s Lando, standing just a few feet away with Max at his side. Max offers a friendly nod before slipping inside, leaving Lando and me alone on the sidewalk.

“Well, look who it is,” Lando drawls, a smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t expect to see you out here this late.”

I shrug, trying to act nonchalant. “Just needed some air. The club was loud.”

He steps closer, his gaze intense. “So, have you moved that mirror yet?”

I feel my cheeks heat up despite the cool night air. “Why do you keep bringing that up?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he says, his tone teasing. “Maybe because it’s hard to forget. Didn’t realize you were such an exhibitionist, but hey, I’m not complaining.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “I didn’t know anyone was watching. And I’m not an exhibitionist.”

He raises an eyebrow, the smirk never leaving his face. “Could’ve fooled me. You looked pretty comfortable up there, totally absorbed… didn’t even close the blinds.”

The tension between us is thick, the memory of last night making my pulse race. I cross my arms, feeling his gaze linger on me. “Well, you could’ve looked away.”

“Could’ve,” he agrees, stepping even closer until he’s barely a foot away. His voice drops lower, his tone laced with something dark and enticing. “But I didn’t want to.”

A shiver runs through me as his words sink in. We’re standing close enough now that I can feel his warmth, his eyes scanning my face, searching for something. His gaze drops briefly to my lips, and I can feel the air crackling between us, heavy and charged.

I tilt my head, giving him a challenging look. “You get off on watching your neighbors, then?”

His smirk deepens. “Not usually. But you’re not just any neighbor, are you?”

I swallow, feeling my resolve slipping. “And what makes me so special?”

Lando’s hand lifts, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my face, lingering just a second too long. “Something about you… can’t quite put my finger on it.”

His voice is rougher now, barely above a whisper. Every nerve in my body is on fire, my breath hitching as his gaze drops to my lips again.

“What are you waiting for, then?” I murmur, my voice betraying a hint of a dare.

He chuckles softly, his fingers trailing down my cheek. “You sure you can handle it?”

I lean forward, closing the space between us just enough that I can feel the heat of his breath against my lips. “I think I can manage.”

Lando’s hand moves to my waist, pulling me a fraction closer until there’s barely any space left between us. “Careful, princess. Once we start, I might not stop.”

His words are a warning, but his eyes tell a different story—one that has me aching to close the distance, to see just how far this tension can go.

Just as Lando leans in, his hand firmly on my waist and his eyes locked on mine, the front door swings open, breaking the moment.

“Y/N!” Aaliyah calls out, her voice bright and oblivious. “You coming? We need you to settle a debate on which of us danced better tonight!”

I pull back, startled, and glance over at the girls standing in the doorway. They don’t notice Lando standing in the shadows just out of their line of sight.

“Uh, yeah, I’ll be right in,” I call, trying to keep my voice steady, heart still racing from the almost-kiss.

Lando chuckles softly, his hand slipping from my waist, though his gaze doesn’t leave mine. There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leans down, his lips grazing my ear, voice low and teasing. “Guess we’ll have to pick this up some other time, hmm?”

My breath catches, and I turn to give him a playful glare, but he’s already smirking, enjoying every second of my flustered expression. I can barely think straight, still caught up in the heated moment we were just sharing.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he murmurs, his tone laced with a promise that has my heart thudding against my chest. He steps back, giving me one last lingering look before turning toward his house. He pauses, glancing over his shoulder with that signature smirk.

“Don’t let those blinds stay open tonight,” he says, voice dripping with suggestion. “Or do. Your call.”

I feel a blush rising to my cheeks as he disappears into the darkness, leaving me there with my heart pounding and my mind racing.

I turn back toward the house, trying to regain my composure as I walk inside. Aaliyah and Liana are too caught up in their dance debate to notice the flush on my face or the slight tremble in my hands.

But as I head upstairs, all I can think about is Lando’s words, his hand on my waist, the almost-kiss that left me wanting so much more. That smirk, that challenge—it’s all burned into my mind, and I can still feel the heat of his touch lingering on my skin.

I lie in bed, staring at my mirror across from the window, replaying the night in my mind. And, despite my better judgment, I leave the blinds just a little open.

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

The Next Morning

I wake up to a quiet house, the morning sun streaming in through my half-open blinds. Liana and Aaliyah left early to grab some groceries, promising to be back soon, but I decided to stay and sleep in. After a while, though, I find myself wide awake and craving something sweet—specifically, chocolate chip cookies.

I slip into some cozy clothes and head downstairs, popping on some music as I pull ingredients from the cupboards. Soon, the smell of warm cookies fills the air, and I feel a little proud of my spontaneous baking session. Figuring it’d be a nice way to break the ice, I plate a few to bring next door later.

Just as I pull out the last tray from the oven, there’s a knock at the door. I wipe my hands on a towel, open it, and, sure enough, there’s Lando, standing there with his signature smirk.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” he says, stepping in before I can even invite him. “Saw the girls head out and figured you’d still be here. Thought you’d sleep all day after last night’s… excitement.”

I feel my cheeks heat instantly, but I roll my eyes, trying to brush it off. “Good morning to you, too. And no, I don’t sleep all day. I’m actually productive.”

He glances at the mixing bowls and cooling cookies. “Productive, huh? Baking cookies for the new neighbors?” He reaches over, snagging one from the plate. “Are these just for me?”

“They’re for the neighbors,” I say, crossing my arms with a smirk. “But you’re welcome to have one.”

He takes a bite, savoring it with an approving nod. “Alright, alright—not bad. Didn’t peg you as a homemaker.”

“I’ve got layers,” I tease, nudging him lightly.

He chuckles, but his gaze drifts around the kitchen, taking in the scattered ingredients and my little baking mess. His eyes eventually settle back on me, a glint of mischief lighting them up.

“So, I gotta ask,” he says, leaning against the counter, “did you actually move that mirror? Or should I go check?”

I feel a flicker of heat under his gaze, but I keep my tone even, hoping he won’t catch on. “Of course I did. You were right—it needed to be moved.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Oh, yeah? Somehow, I don’t quite believe you.”

Before I can stop him, he’s already heading for the stairs, and my heart leaps. “Lando!” I laugh nervously, following after him. “You don’t need to go up there!”

“Need to see for myself,” he says over his shoulder, that smirk still on his face. “If you really moved it, then you shouldn’t mind me checking.”

He starts toward the stairs, and I blink, realizing what he means. “Wait, Lando—”

But he’s already halfway up, glancing back with that mischievous glint in his eye. “Come on, Y/N. Don’t tell me you’re shy now.”

I trail him up the stairs, heart racing. The truth is, I didn’t move the mirror—it’s still in the exact same spot, right across from the bed. And now he’s about to see it.

He steps into my room and glances around, his gaze landing on the mirror across from the bed, right where he left it in his memory. The corner of his mouth lifts, and he lets out a low chuckle, clearly amused.

“You didn’t move it,” he murmurs, his voice low and pleased.

I cross my arms, trying to play it off. “I like it where it is. Why should I change it just because you got an eyeful?”

Lando steps closer, his gaze never wavering from mine, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Maybe I want another one.”

The tension between us thickens, the air electric. He’s close enough now that I can feel his warmth, his gaze dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes. His hand moves up to gently brush a strand of hair from my face, lingering just a moment too long, fingers tracing down my jaw.

“You’re not afraid of a little attention, are you?” he asks, his voice soft, teasing.

I swallow, trying to steady my breathing. “Depends on who’s watching.”

He leans in even closer, his breath warm against my skin. “Then tonight… don’t close those blinds. And don’t move that mirror.”

The words hang in the air, heavy and filled with promise. My heart races, every nerve tingling as I meet his gaze, a challenge sparking between us that’s impossible to ignore.

Lando’s fingers linger on my jaw for just a moment longer, then he pulls back, that smirk still on his lips as he steps away.

“Enjoy your cookies, Y/N,” he says, glancing over his shoulder as he heads back downstairs, leaving me standing there, breathless, the echo of his words replaying in my mind.

As I watch him leave, I can still feel the heat of his touch, the thrill of his words searing into my memory. And tonight? Well, let’s just say I don’t plan on closing those blinds.

----------

Later That Night

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting Monaco in a warm, golden glow, I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, adjusting the last few things on my dresser. The blinds are open just enough, casting a soft reflection of the room and inviting in a sliver of the night. I glance over my shoulder at the window, knowing full well who might be watching.

I breathe in, feeling the excitement build. Tonight, I’m ready to give him that “show” he teased me about. I settle onto my bed, relaxing against the pillows, and allow myself to sink into the evening’s quiet. There’s an awareness in the air, the thrill of knowing that maybe, just maybe, I’m being watched.

I reach over to my nightstand, casually bringing out my favorite toys, a purple vibrating dildo and a vibrating toy in the shape of a tongue. Slowly, I begin to lose myself in the moment, all too aware of the tantalizing possibility that Lando might be watching from his window.

Just as I’m truly relaxing into the scene, there’s a firm knock at the door, shattering the silence. My heart jumps as I glance at the door, pulse racing. I hesitate, but something inside pushes me to go see who it is.

I make my way downstairs, opening the door just wide enough to see Lando standing there, his eyes dark, filled with that same mischievous look that’s been driving me crazy. He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting in a smirk.

“You left your blinds open,” he murmurs, his voice low and laced with suggestion. “Thought I’d come by and… check on you.”

In one swift motion, he closes the space between us, his hands sliding around my waist, pressing me firmly against the wall, his body heat igniting every inch of me. His gaze locks onto mine, daring me to pull away, but there’s no chance I would. He dips his head, his lips grazing my ear as he whispers, “You knew exactly what you were doing, didn’t you?”

I shiver, the thrill of his words sparking something wild and eager between us. His hands roam, fingers slipping under my shirt, exploring every curve as his lips capture mine in a kiss that’s hungry and unapologetic, each movement demanding a response.

As he carries me to the bedroom, there’s an electric anticipation, an unspoken promise that fills the space between us. The moment we reached my room, he pressed me against the wall, his hands firm on my waist, holding me steady. His gaze meets mine in the mirror across from us, dark and intense, every look fueling the thrill building between us.

He leans in, his voice a low murmur against my neck. “You knew I couldn’t stay away, didn’t you?” His words send a shiver through me, and he slides his hands along my waist, drawing me even closer, his touch both possessive and gentle, filled with the heat we’ve been holding back.

“I did—but I didn’t anticipate you barging in at this hour,” I manage to say between kisses, each one feeling more primal than the last. My core seems to have a mind of its own, my hips grinding against him, wanting more. Needing more.

He grins against my lips. “Didn’t take you for the needy type, princess.” He pulls back, sitting on the bed, leaving me craving the contact.

“Well, princess, not everything comes easy,” he murmurs, his gaze growing hungrier. “You teased me, so now it’s time you learn your lesson.”

I rise from his lap, tugging his shirt off in one motion, my hands exploring his toned chest and feeling his muscles tense under my touch. I trail kisses from his jaw down his neck, my lips grazing every inch, each one making my core ache with anticipation.

Sliding to my knees between his thighs, I reach the waistband of his trousers and boxers, sliding them down to let his hard cock spring free. My eyes, full of lust and need, are fixed on him, my mouth craving the feel of him. I waste no time wrapping my hand around his length, bringing my mouth to the tip, letting my tongue swirl slowly around the head before sliding down, inch by inch.

His moans and grunts grow stronger, more primal by the second. His hands grip my hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail, giving both of us a clearer view in the mirror.

“Fuck, princess, look at you, being such a good girl for me,” he growls, tilting my head to see his cock sliding deep into my mouth, the tip pressing at the back of my throat. Our eyes meet in the reflection, his grin never fading, eyes bright with satisfaction at the sight.

I try hard not to choke or gag as he picks up the pace, using my mouth for his pleasure. I can feel my own need intensifying, wetness pooling as I slip my free hand between my legs, seeking a hint of relief from the ache.

Just as I feel his cum on my tongue, sliding down my throat, my moans vibrate around his length, making him twitch in my mouth. His gaze shifts to the mirror, catching sight of my hand as I touch myself. In that instant, he releases his hold on my head and pulls his cock from my mouth, leaving a mix of confusion and hunger on my face.

“Princess… did I tell you that you could touch yourself?” Lando leans in, lifting my chin so our faces are close, his breath warm against my lips.

“No, you didn’t,” I reply, a hint of rebellion mixed with anticipation flashing across my face.

“Well, bad girls need punishments, so let me think of something.” An idea lights up his eyes as he guides me up onto the bed, positioning me on my hands and knees, facing the mirror. My mascara has smudged, trailing down my cheeks from the tears shed while he was in my mouth.

Part of me craves for him to finally take me and fill me up, while another part wants to see just what punishment he has in store.

He stands beside the bed and instructs me to keep my ass up and face down, so I adjust to ensure we’re both visible in the mirror. Once I settle, Lando’s hand trails from my hair down the arch of my back and onto my ass. He rubs my cheeks, his fingers dipping lower to feel my wetness, sticky and creamy, dripping onto the mattress.

“Look at you. So wet and needy for me,” he murmurs, bringing two fingers coated in my arousal back to my lips. I open my mouth, ready for a taste, and he slides his fingers in, letting me lick them clean. His breath is warm on my neck as he leans close to whisper in my ear.

“Good girls don’t touch themselves unless I say so.” He nibbles on my earlobe. “But it seems like you might just be my needy little slut instead.”

He steps away, the cool air hitting my sensitive core, sending shivers down my spine and adding a thrill to the moment.

Without warning, a sharp smack lands on one of my ass cheeks, the pain mixing with a tingling heat. He rubs over the reddened spot before delivering another smack, this time to the other side.

“Since you teased me twice, you’ll be getting four spanks—unless I see you haven’t learned your lesson.” He counts, “One,” landing a solid smack, then “Two,” and repeats on both sides. By the time he finishes the fourth, his hand has left my skin bright red, each touch leaving a sensitive, electric throb. A mix of pleasure and pain shows on my face with each strike.

“That’s it, my perfect princess,” he murmurs, brushing his fingertips gently over my sore, reddened skin. “You did so well. I think you’ve earned a reward, don’t you?”

“Yes, please,” I breathe, arching my back and raising my hips higher, my aching core desperate for attention. A grin spreads across his face as his fingers slip into my folds, rubbing my swollen clit, drawing a moan from my lips with every heavy breath.

Lando’s hunger grows more possessive as he slips a finger inside me, filling my tight heat. The sensation sends my body into overdrive, and the pleasure on his face only fuels the fire inside me. He slides another finger in, his free hand roaming along the curve of my arching spine.

His thumb continues to circle my sensitive clit, his pace quickening as he pumps his fingers in and out, each movement leaving me trembling with need. I bite my lip, trying to muffle my moans, but the pleasure is too much.

“Lando… I’m—close,” I manage to breathe out between gasps and moans.

“Oh, princess, I can see that,” he murmurs, sliding his fingers out of me suddenly, leaving an unbearable emptiness in their wake.

My wetness clings to his fingers in a glistening string as he pulls them away. “Fuck, you look so good on my fingers,” he growls, his gaze fixed on the sight of my arousal. Slowly, he brings his fingers to his lips, wrapping his tongue around them and sucking them clean.

“FUCK. And you taste ten thousand times better.” His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he savors the taste, the heat in the room climbing higher. The sight of him tasting me sends my brain spiraling into bliss, my gaping mouth wordlessly wishing for more.

Moments later, he leans down, his tongue sliding through my folds, the sensation stealing the air from my lungs. He places a light, teasing kiss on my core before beginning to suck and eat every inch of my pussy with eager determination.

“Fuck, you’re addictive, princess,” he murmurs against my entrance, the vibration of his voice making me shiver. His hands grip my ass firmly, spreading me wider, giving him full access to devour me.

His tongue teases my entrance, flicking and dipping inside, making my body twitch and ache for more. My hips start to move on their own, thrusting slightly, begging for him to go deeper.

Without warning, he flips me onto my back, positioning me for a better view. His hands grasp my thighs, and with quick precision, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. Dropping to his knees, he toys with my clit, his fingers circling and pressing before diving back between my legs, tongue working with unrelenting fervor.

“Now this, princess,” he murmurs between kisses and licks, his voice dripping with satisfaction, “I’d eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner for the rest of my life.”

His words push me closer to the edge, my climax approaching rapidly as my legs begin to tremble. His grip tightens on me, holding me in place, preventing me from pulling away from his relentless mouth. My body shudders suddenly as the wave of relief I’ve been craving washes over me.

My fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as I grind against his mouth, riding out every pulse of my orgasm, my breaths coming in ragged gasps.

I feel my arousal spill into his mouth as he greedily licks and sucks, not letting a single drop go to waste. He stands, his eyes dark and filled with hunger, leaning in to kiss me. The taste of my release lingers on his lips, and I moan softly, lost in the sensation.

His hard cock presses against my core, grinding against me with desperate need, and I instinctively move my hips, craving to feel him inside me. His kiss grows rough and possessive, his hand sliding down from my neck to my breasts. He pinches one of my nipples, sending a jolt of pleasure through me and drawing a gasp that he swallows into the kiss, his grin wicked and satisfied.

“If my needy princess wants something, she has to ask for it,” he whispers, his lips parting from mine with a teasing grin, his breath warm against my ear.

His hand slides down to my clit, his fingers circling and flicking, sending jolts of pleasure through my body. My breath hitches, and a soft moan escapes my lips, my mind struggling to process his words.

“Use your words, princess. Tell me what you want,” he growls, his voice firm yet tantalizing, his fingers working me into a frenzy.

“Fuck me, please,” I murmur, my voice trembling as the heat builds in my core, every nerve in my body begging for him.

“Say that again, princess,” he demands, his tone dripping with playful dominance. “A little louder for me.”

“Fuck! I need you to fuck me—to feel you inside me. Please!” The frustration and raw need are evident in my voice, my body aching for him to claim me.

“That’s my good little slut,” he murmurs, satisfaction clear in his tone. He adjusts himself at my entrance, teasing me for a moment before slowly sliding inside, letting me adjust to his size. The stretch is overwhelming, and my fingers instinctively trail down his back, nails digging in and leaving marks. He jolts forward at the sensation, filling me deeper and making my head fall back, my back arching as I gasp at the sudden invasion.

He growls into my neck, leaving a trail of kisses and soft bites as he begins to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first. The rhythm shifts, his chest lifting from mine, giving him a full view of my bare body beneath him. One hand slides to my stomach, pressing down lightly as he picks up speed, fucking me harder and faster, his thrusts deep and commanding.

“That’s it, princess,” he growls, his voice raw with pleasure. “Fuck, you’re so tight. Let me stretch you just enough to make your pussy become a ring on my cock.” His hips slam into mine with a hunger that matches my own, the sound of our skin meeting echoing through the room.

As his thrusts grow more desperate, his hand reaches for the vibrating tongue toy on the nightstand. Without missing a beat, he presses it against my clit, the sudden overload of sensation making me throw my head back, a loud moan of his name escaping my lips as my hands clutch the sheets for dear life.

A wicked glint of satisfaction flashes across Lando’s face, his grin smug and proud. He leans in close, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, “Princess, as much as your moans are music to my ears, we can’t have your friends interrupting us right now—or finding out that their sweet little friend is such a good slut for the guy next door.”

Before I can respond, he grabs my black lace panties by the bed—the ones I’d removed during my earlier “show”—and gently pushes them into my mouth, muffling my cries of ecstasy as he continues to claim me.

My pussy clenches and twitches around his cock as his thrusts grow wetter, the sound of our movements filling the room. My orgasm teeters on the edge, his cum seeping into me, intensifying the sensation.

His growls and moans grow deeper and more primal. “Fuck, princess, you must be close,” he murmurs, his face satisfied as he watches my trembling legs and the euphoria written all over my face.

My muffled cries escape past the panties still in my mouth, vibrating softly in the heated air. “Cum for me, princess,” Lando commands, thrusting into me twice more. His words send me hurtling into my second orgasm of the night, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure consume me.

Lando’s thrusts grow sloppy, his grip on my waist tightening as he buries himself deep inside me. My pussy milks every last drop of his release, the warmth of his cum splashing against my inner walls. With a low growl, he slides out of me, both of our arousals dripping down my thighs and pooling onto the mattress.

He steps back, his eyes lighting up as he takes in the sight of my used, naked body, glistening and dripping with his cum. Slowly, his gaze traces every inch of me, savoring the evidence of what we’d just done.

“You know,” he says, his voice still thick with lust, “I might want this view every hour of the day from now on.” His tone is intoxicating, and he steps closer, gently removing the panties from my mouth before placing a soft kiss on my lips. “What do you think? You agree?” His smirk deepens, a dimple just beginning to peek through.

“I think that can be arranged,” I reply, wrapping my arms around his neck, a cheeky smile spreading across my face.

“Perfect,” he says, brushing his lips along my skin in a trail of butterfly kisses. “Let me start a shower for you, and then you can get some rest.” His voice is softer now, but still filled with care.

As he moves toward the bathroom, I pull myself up onto shaky feet, my body sore in all the best ways. Each ache is a reminder of every moment we’d just shared. I follow him, leaning on the sink in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of my reflection—flushed, satisfied, and completely undone. The sensation of his cum still seeping out of me draws my attention, and I can’t help but slide a finger down to catch a drop, bringing it to my lips. I shut my eyes, savoring the taste.

Fuck, I need more.

Lando calls to me, his voice echoing softly under the sound of the shower. I walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he turns to face me. Pulling him into a sensual kiss, I whisper against his lips, “Are you up for a round two?” A glimmer of mischief dances in my eyes.

Lando grins at my request, his hands sliding down to rest on my hips. Leaning close, he murmurs under the steam of the shower, “I could never deny you a request like that, princess.”

The End

[burrowdarling]

Always

Summary: After another tough loss in Week 5 to the Baltimore Ravens, Joe wants nothing more than to come home to you.

Pairings: Joe Burrow x gf!reader

Warnings: none

Note: Hi! This is my first time writing in a while so this may be a little rough. After the loss yesterday I want nothing more than to hold this man.

Word Count: 890

Check out my Masterlist here!

You were on the edge of your seat watching from home as each team was trading touchdowns back and forth for the entire game, sending the game into overtime. Everything was looking good, up until Evan went for the kick, the ball getting tripped up in the process, completely missing the posts. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in.

You saw the camera flash to Joe, hanging his head and a look of defeat on his face. You could feel his disappointment from where you were standing in your shared living room, knowing he needed this win more than the last. The past few weeks have been tough on him, the tension spilling into your dynamic together at home. Last week’s win was a great lift in spirits, but Joe still had his head down maintaining his focus to strive for more.

When Joe came on for his post-game interview, you knew it was going to be a tough watch. You could see the pain in his feature as he was being asked question after question from the reporters, looking exhausted trying to hold his composure. One in particular asked about each game having slim point differences and how that would translate to the end of the season. 

“We’re not a championship level team right now, we’re not. I’d like to think that you know, we’ll come back and improve throughout the season to get to that point, but right now we’re not and we have to get better” Joe answered, his voice showing his frustration and disappointment.

It absolutely broke your heart to hear him talk about himself the way that he was, bearing the fullness of the loss on his shoulders. You were both nervous and excited for him to come home. Wanting nothing more than to hold him close, but you knew the type of mood he would most likely be in.

Your phone pinged, the familiar sound of Joe’s text tone ringing through the silence.

On my way, I need you

The short message an indicator that after weeks of stress and struggles, he was seeking out your comfort. You typed out a quick reply and got to work before Joe got home. You spent the little time you had picking things up and getting dinner ready, whipping up his favorite comfort food.

About 30 minutes later, you heard the garage open and shut, followed by Joe shuffling in through the door. He kicked off his shoes with his head hung low. When he looked up, locking his sights on you, you could tell tears were welling up in his eyes, trying so hard to hold his composure. 

He took a few steps into the kitchen, the pain in his features becoming more prominent the more distance he closed between you too. You opened up your arms and he fell into your embrace, the dam holding back everything from the past few weeks of losses pouring out like a flood gate.

The two of you just stood there in the kitchen for a while letting time pass, slowing rocking Joe back and forth while he cried in your arms. Once the cries became sniffles, Joe pulled back and look at you with red eyes and tear-stained cheeks. You moved your arms from around him, bringing your hands to caress his cheeks, wiping away any remains of tears. 

“If only I had just done better and-“ you cut him off, not letting him bring himself down any further.

“You did everything you absolutely could have Joey. You put your entire soul onto that field and you know it”. 

Joe sighed and rested his forehead against your shoulder leaning down to reach you, letting his hands fall and rest lazily on your lower back.

“It’s just been so hard recently, it feels like whatever I’m doing isn’t enough and everyone is expecting me to do it all” Joe mumbled into your neck.

Your hands went to his hair, fingers massaging his scalp and tangling in the ends at the nape of his neck. 

“I want you to know that you are enough and that I know you’re trying your hardest, your fans know, and they only want to see you succeed. Reporters are gonna try their best to get the juiciest details from others defeat”.

You could see the tension begin to leave his body as he let his shoulders, lifting his eyes to meet yours. Joe scooped you up, placing you on the nearest countertop so you could be more level with one another.

“Thank you for always being there for me and being rock when I can’t for myself”. Joe said giving you a warm smile as he tucked a stray piece of hair behind your ear.

“I’ll always be your biggest supporter and cheerleader no matter what, it’s us against the world bug. I got your favorite ready for you on the stove. Why don’t we settle in on the couch and eat hm? I bet you’re hungry”.

“Starving, thank you, baby. Speaking of cheerleader, we should get you one of those uniforms sometime” Joe smirked, raising his eyebrows.

“There’s the Joey I know, I bet we could work something out” you laugh playing along, pulling him in for another hug. You were someone he could come home to always.

Thank you so much for reading, please send in any requests or comments. I hope you enjoyed!

[penvisions]

there's a place and time {joel miller x reader}

Pairing: Younger / No-outbreak! Joel Miller x Neighbor! Reader

Summary: Moving back to your parents house wasn't part of the plan, neither was being a thorn in your neighbor's side. but you roll with the punches, and hey, he's kinda cute when he gets huffy.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: age gap (joel is mid 30's / reader is mid 20's), angst, biting words, argumentative language, joel is a lil meanie but so is reader, grief, off-screen loss, depictions of depression, comfort, mushy stuff

A/N: this literally came out of nowhere, a random thought on the way to work and then a manic two hours of writing once i got home. this turned out a little different than first imagined, but i hope it reads well!

navigation || joel miller masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

“Why don’t you date?”

“Excuse me?” The form crouched in between kitchen counters looked up at you with a raised brow, surely mishearing the question.

“Dating, I know you know what that is.” You repeat yourself as you push your arms back to brace on the counter and hop up on it. The granite of it is cold on your bare thighs, the shorts you were wearing thrown on haphazardly when a panic stricken pair of teenagers had begun to bang on your door in the early afternoon. The words of ‘fire’ and “help!” spurring you into action where you had been napping on your couch. Now though, the oven was off, the blackened frozen pizza still on the rack and covered in foam from the fire extinguisher neither of them had known how to use. Their father had sent them upstairs, thanking you for helping them out and getting it taken care of. “Or the concept at least, yeah?”

“Don’t mean it’s any of your business, little lady.” Joel’s voice leaves no room for further conversation as he realizes you’re more serious than need be. Little quips between you two common, the unspoken understanding of not discussing the reason for your presence in the neighborhood mutual.

“I dunno, I remember you being real keen on the idea of me babysitting.” You take a sip of your soda, swiped from the fridge after everything had calmed down. “Would do you a favor now, should you need the night off for some…fun.”

“Dating and fun are two different things.”

“Dating can be fun, if you do it with the right person.”

“Yeah, and what do you know about that? Saw you move in all by your lonesome. No big, burly man helping you with your boxes.”

The fizzy drink sours on your tongue and you toss him a scowl as he stands. He’s a few feet away but you can feel the warmth of him as he stands at his full height. He’s reaching to close the oven door, the creak of metal on metal loud in the beat of silence.

“You wouldn’t know fun if it bit you on your perky ass, Miller.”

“Language, you’re in my house.” His brow furrows and he pins you with a stern look. Something you’d seen him give to his brother, his girls, the neighbor across the way when she wouldn’t take the hint that he didn’t want her dog shit in his yard.

“Old men like yourself deserve to have some fun every once in a while. They deserve happiness too.”

“Even if I did, it’s no concern of yours. Your daddy didn’t help pay for two degrees for you to end up babysitting for grocery money.”

The rebuttal on the tip of your tongue suddenly dissolved as you felt a shiver run down your spine. He’s right, you know he’s right. But you just…you couldn’t even open the envelope with the certificates let alone add them to your resume and begin the arduous task of job hunting.

“Fuck you, I was only offering to help out a neighbor.” The words are rough, rounded out with the weight of too many emotions. You shove off from the counter, abandoning your half-finished drink. A delicacy you enjoyed only over at his house, too expensive for you to indulge in as bills you never anticipated paying became your responsibility.

“I didn’t mean-“ He had the self-awareness to realize he said the wrong thing. His hands coming up from his waist to reach out for you, but you don’t look over your shoulder as you make your way through the kitchen.

“Don’t come to me if you do need someone to look after the girls. I wouldn’t take your money anyway.”

“C’mon now,” His full lips shape around your name, but you’re already out the door. Resisting the urge to let it slam shut behind you, your anger still so sharp and hot. But the girls didn’t deserve to feel it, even the echo of it in the slamming of a door. Despite being a dick, Joel was a good father to them. He’d made his home a nurturing and loving environment. You didn’t want to taint it with your stained hands.

As he stands there in his empty kitchen, the smell of burnt dough, smoke, and ammonia dizzies him as he watches you cross over his yard to yours next door. The blank expression on your face and the faint smears of dried pant all over your legs makes him regret his fast words. He had been going for teasing, but of course they had come out harsh and wounding.

You were someone he didn’t know how to interact with. So sweet and polite with the girls, with the neighbors. But you were a firecracker with him. Teasing, whipping words that rung around his head, and he recalled far too often. The little smirk that pulled at your lips as you said them, waited for his response or sputtering lack of one. His own pulled from him, making him feel like a teenager again, like a young man you hadn’t been suddenly left alone to raise a child. Like his old self, someone who stood a chance with you as you gave him your attention time and time again.

He had only ever met you through the words of your parents, the people who had once occupied the house beside his own. He had moved in with two six-year-olds just as you had shoved off to college upstate. The running joke was that it was perfect timing for him to have missed out on the perfect babysitter.

-

Graduation is supposed to be a time of celebration and proud smiles, at least that’s what everyone else got. The day you had counted down on the calendar and crossed off the passing ones as it neared was now a blur of too bright colors and phone calls with people telling you things you didn’t want to think about, let alone hear as your new reality.

A car accident, on the drive upstate. Both parents, reckless driver.

A house that had been recently paid off, left to you. Your name already on the deed, something you didn’t want to think about too hard. Close, you had been close with each of them and them as a unit. A small family but understanding. It was yours, the backdrop to your life and suddenly the two people were only memories.

The move had been quick, the apartment you shared with fellow graduate students mostly books and a beautiful desk. The bedframe taken apart to go while the shelves had been left for the next occupants.

You hadn’t shared the news with any of your roommates or friends, not wanting to taint their own celebrations and happy memories of the day you all worked so hard for. Addresses were exchanged, well wishes were meant, but of course it all faded as time had gone on. Their news of job offers and exciting dates had been good to hear, but with no good things to respond with of your own, it was hard to feel the same way about them as you once had. They reached out, worry coloring their words, which made you feel even worse.

It haunts you for days, as you seal yourself into the home that is now yours alone. The paint slathered on canvas dries and the brushes coated in it turn into hardened caps over the bristles. You’re allowing things to sit for too long, the water evaporating in the cups you use to rinse between swatches of color. The open paint tubes oxidizing and becoming unsalvageable. But you have no control.

The bed becomes damp with nights of sweat, from your tossing and turning body as the heat rises and the air conditioning that needs to be repaired is just another phone call. You don’t even think you know where your phone is. It can’t bear bad news if you don’t answer it. It can’t carry the end of your world if you don’t let it.

There’s a sharp knock on the door at some point, in the midst of the haze of days after storming out of Joel’s kitchen. You hadn’t been able to dissect the sounds of life going on outside your closed windows.

But it had, to the point where now someone was calling on you to make you return to it.

Shrugging on a robe, you hold it tight to your aching body as you push up from the bed. Bare feet sticking to the hardwood floor as the heat fills the home.

“What?” You can’t help but bark as you swing the door open, only to find a concerned Joel on the porch, with your phone in his hand.

“I found this in the kitchen, must’ve fallen off the counter in the madness of getting the fire out and callin’ me.” He holds it out to you, but you don’t move to take it. “Figured you needed it, there’s a lot of missed calls and voicemails. I may have left a few too, to check on ya. Haven’t seen you in a few days.”

“Been here, painting.”

“Okay, that’s…that’s good. Got everything you need? Food, water, someone comin’ to fix the A/C?” It’s an apology in the only way Joel Miller is capable of giving, the need to make sure someone is getting what they need, that they’re taken care of. He’s a good provider, to his girls, to his brother, to the neighborhood when he’s not beat down from long days in the sun with concrete and paint dried to his skin, with wood shavings and stain splotched on his jeans.

“No.”

“No?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m my own person.”

Your name leaves his mouth on a sigh.

“I know that, but your parents…I know that kinda thing is-“

“I’m fine. Thanks for returning this.” You snatch it from his hand and go to close to door, not willing to hear what he has to say on the loss of your parents. For his credit, he let’s you. Knowing that you’re going through the motions, through the event in your own way. It doesn’t stop him from speaking loud enough for you to hear him through the door.

“The girls will be by with dinner later! Try to be nice to them, they ain’t me!”

-

The meal delivered by two smiling teenagers does lift your spirits a bit, even if all you do is shower and do a few loads of laundry. It’s a long process, the climb out of the hole that you had found yourself in.

Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months. You’re back to quipping across the yard with the man. His daughters delighting in the comraderies that underlies it all. It’s the height of summer now, the girls spending time with you to try their hand at painting. Sarah is better with bursts of color that compliment each other, vaguely floral. While Ellie is better with a muted palette imposed between detailed line art.

They always thank you for the time and attention, offering to help you clean up or tidy the house in exchange for watching over them when you notice Joel’s truck is still gone from their own driveway until late. They aren’t helpless, but you know what loneliness feels like and you don’t want them to become familiar with it.

You finally open the envelope containing your degrees, the last letters from your friends and pen down long responses. The stamps cute as you drop them off at the post office, the ornate certificates framed and hung above the desk in your father’s old office alongside his own.

Joel joins them most days, mid meal if he can make it in time. Food finding it’s way into your kitchen, something you’re sure is the combined effort of two pairs of small hands and one pair of big hands. The least you could do is turn it into something for everyone involved to enjoy.

But just as things seem to progress, they fall back apart. It wasn’t over a throwaway comment this time, though, but a piece of mail delivered from a local gallery asking after your willingness to partake in an exhibit. That they expressed their deepest condolences in this trying time.

The paint dries up again, another set of brushes left to ruin. The door goes unanswered, as does the phone you can hardly stand to look at. The lights don’t glow in the windows once the sun sets, no music is heard from behind thin screens, nor the sound of you humming along to it.

The house becomes a burden once again, shielding you from the world you as you feel the loss of your parents all over again.

-

You don’t hear the door open from where you’re sprawled on the floor of the bathroom, the shower is running but you didn’t make it under the spray. You’re fully clothed, having reached down underneath the vanity for a bottle of shampoo when your fingers had brushed over something else. A bottle of your mother’s favorite perfume. The one that lingered in every room she occupied, on every piece of clothing she adorned. It was her, the perfect encapsulation of who she was.

And it was staring at you inconspicuously from the shelf. The mere sight of it tearing the wound open once again and making it hard to breath.

That’s where Joel finds you. In tears over something as trivial as a tiny glass bottle. But he doesn’t bat an eye, he’s taking in the scene and shutting off the shower in a few easy steps.

“Hey now, come ‘ere, darlin’,” He’s crouching down beside you, hands reaching for your shaking body.

He’s so gentle, so soft as he pulls you up from the tiled floor and into his chest. Leaning back against rhe now closed vanity to support your weight. One hand on the back of your head, holding it to his chest, pleading with you to match his breathing so you don’t hurt yourself.

“Datin’ is hard, you’re right.” His words make you pause, confusion crowding out the wetness lingering in your eyes. The words from a conversation long ago pulling you out of your breakdown, the casual way he continues it.

“It is.” You insist, voice small and muffled as you refuse to pull your face from where it’s pressed against the warmth of his chest.

“Maybe…. maybe you’d be kind enough to try it with this grumpy old man. I’d sure like to give it a shot with someone like you.”

“I ain’t nothin’ special. Just the neighbor girl your dead friends talked about too much.”

“They loved you, darlin’. With everythin’ they had.” He holds tight to the hand you move underneath one of his. Seeking him out, to feel his skin on your own. “You are special, those paintings they showed me, you got a gift, honey.”

“Gifts don’t mean nothin’ when you got no one to share them with.”

“You share ‘em with the girls, they loved coming over here to spend time with you. Share ‘em with me, if you want. The girls and I are in your corner, we got you.”

“You don’t…you don’t want to date me. Every boy-“

“Boys don’t know how to date, that’s only something us old men know how to do. Will you let me show you, how it feels to be taken care of and looked after? To feel appreciated and like you aren’t a hindrance on nightly plans to play fuckin’ video games?”

“I like video games,” You sniffle, voice gaining strength as the conversation goes on. He’s soothing you, even as he just sits on the floor with you in his lap, his arms around you and your body pressed up against him. It’s the most comfortable you’ve felt in months. And it’s just Joel being Joel, it’s just you being you.

“Show me, if you want. Let me get to know you, let me show you what it’s like to be loved, not just sought after for a night of fun.”

“I don’t date old men.”

“No?”

“You’re not that much older than me, so I wouldn’t really call you old.”

“Cause then you’d have to admit you’re old too, huh?” He reads the meaning behind the change of thought, as if he was in your head right there alongside you.

“Yeah, we ain’t old. Life just beat us down, but damn if it didn’t touch your perky ass.” You reach a hand down from where it’s cradled between your chests, to pinch at where his backside it firmly planted on the floor. He jolts a bit, not expecting the action. But his rumbling laugh lightens the air around you both even more so.

“You goin’ soft on me, a compliment like that is makin’ my heart pick up. Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, cause you’re a big ole sap.” You can’t help the breathy chuckle that escapes past your lips, the twitch of a smile trying to break out. You can, indeed, feel the way his heart is thudding in his chest. The truth of your words and his making you feel some of the weight lift from your own.

“You ain’t gotta clue how sappy I could me, lemme show you, huh?”

“Only if you promise it’ll make me roll my eyes and groan.” You lean back enough to see his face, the roll of your eyes up to take in his hopeful expression allowing you to know how much he means it. Your own heartbeat picks up and you swear he can feel it too, if the crook of his lips underneath his mustache is any indication.

“Only if you promise to have a smile on your face while you do it.” He leans in, nose brushing against yours. The action so soft, so welcome after the isolation you had subjected yourself to.

“Deal.” You breathe out against his lips.

“It’s a deal then.” He presses them to yours, and damn it all, but it does bring a smile to your face.

taglist: @sawymredfox @tuquoquebrute @littlemisspascal @hiddenbabynyc @jessthebaker

@joelsgreys @tonysopranosrobe @morallyinept

[hollaforlyla]

heeeello, I wanted to order the bungou stray dogs guys with a s/o who always cries when she drinks, like she's a bigger lightweight than Chuuya and also gets really clingy when she's drunk

bsd men with a lightweight, clingy soulmate

dazai, chuuya, atsushi, akutagawa, kunikida, ranpo

warnings: drinking, lowercase writing, short because i feel crappy</3

a/n: writing with nails is a pain, but not impossible!!

taglist: @justcallmesakira @atlasnessie @riiwrites @silverbladexyz <3 luv u guys!! comment to be added!!!

dazai

finds it absolutely adorable when you sob at the smallest of things when you drink.

first time he witnessed your lightweight behavior, it was your friends 18th birthday party and you were offered a drink...then it escalated to more then two...

he found you on the floor of the guest room with your friend, who was embarrassed for you.

"she was fine when you left, but then i heard her cry, saying you left her forever..."

he shakes his head with a soft smile, and motions your friend to leave.

when they did, he walked to your figure and brushed your hair out of the way of your face.

"my sweet'bella~ missed me that much~" he teased and kissed your cheek softly as you stared up at him and wrapped your arms around him and cuddled into his arms.

"i was gone for a mere 5 minutes.."

"hic- ihit felt like hic- 5 years.."

you closed your eyes and fell asleep in his arms, not feeling his soft lips kiss your head and rock you back and forth on the floor.

he wrapped his trench around you when he decided to sleep with you on the floor as well.

he made sure to keep in mind, "just 5 drinks...it's all it takes.."

chuuya

"CHUUUUYYYAHahahaa..."

"WHAT-what happened?!"

your eyes were watery, and your nose was runny

"i banged my knee..."

you came home drunk off your mind, and he already knew he was going to have to deal with your hangover, so he took the responsibly to take care of you.

you were on your knees on the carpet of your bedroom floor, making grabby hands at your boyfriend who sighed loudly, closing the door after him as he walked toward your body.

he lifts you up with a grunt and sat down on the bed with you on his lap, his hand rubbing your knee as you sniffled into his sleeve of his t-shirt.

it's only been 2 hours, and chuuya was ready to pass out because it was almost like he was taking care of a toddler.

"i thought you feel asleep, 2 hours ago!" he complained, now combing his fingers through your hair.

"i waaaassss!!!"

"then why aren't you?"

"ihi feel off reaching for the remoooote!!" you hung off his arms and your head rested on your pillow and closed your eyes.

chuuya couldn't move; however he didn't want to move.

he looked at you and chuckled softly before pressing a kiss to your arm that rested on your lap ontop of him.

atsushi

please, my boy is so confused

he had the same amount of alcohol as you, and your more drunk then a child on a sugar high.

your clinging onto him for the rest of the night, sobbing into his sleeve the moment you lose him and find him again.

"y/n...i went to go to the bathroom!"

"I THOUGHT YOU LEFT ME FOREVERRR!!!!"

he gives 10x the hugs and kisses you want.

at home, he would try to put you to sleep in your own bed while he sleeps on the couch because right now, although he helped you bathe for 30 minutes you still smelled like alcohol, and you kick in your sleep when you get like this.

he would know, he learned the hard why :(

"NAHO!! dohon't leeeeave!!"

"ow-ow-ow, y/n that's my hair- OW!!"

you ended up pulling him into your arms and wrapped your legs around his torso and fell asleep in two seconds.

he didn't fight you and just kissed your head and combed his fingers through your hair.

akutagawa

so, he doesn't drink as much as you think.

so seeing you get drunk after 4 drinks; he decided to keep you away from alcohol as much as he can....but he didn't know how without it seem like he was controlling.

the two of you were still at the bar, however you kept poking at his cheek in a way to annoy him.

"ryu...ryu..psst...ryu?"

"y/n!"

he glared at you, and you just giggled.

"hehe you look pissed!"

he took a deep breath in and out and looked at you, "and you're drunk..."

"PFFT!"

you cackled, slapping his arm and clung onto it soon after..

"mm..you have such strong arms~"

was that meant to fluster him?

well, it did.

he blushed and pushed you away, but you came right back, poking his bicep.

you closed your eyes as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"child. you are a literal child.." he rolled his eyes, interlocking his fingers with yours.

he stopped talking to take notice to your soft snoring, the bar was barely full, and the clocked read 11: 45...without any other choice, he took you to your place...making sure you woke up with at least some memory of tonight.

kunikida

"y/n. i'm working.."

"ahand i'm the president!!"

"more like drunk.."

you pulled his cheek and pinched his nose at the same time, making him look like a deformed potato.

he knews how lightweight you are, he made sure to write it down. he also made sure to write down how mnay drinks it takes for you to get drunk...which is 5...only 5.

to this day, he still has no idea how you do it!

he's not a pda kinda guy, so when ypu keep touching him or poking him when he doesn't know he will tie you up, i kid you not, you know how dazai tied up atsushi in that one episode with the mushroom- yeah...

"kuniiiiiiii!-OWAHAO!" you whined, falling off the chair he tied you in and banged your head on the floor.

he turned to see you on the floor and tears roll down your face.

he looked at you with a deadpan expression and you only cried more, rubbing your eyes as you still laid on the floor.

with a sigh, he stands from his desk and walked toward you, hoisting you up in his arms and rested you on another desk and checked your head.

"you're fine, y/n...just banged your head a little..." he kissed your wound and hugged you in a way to get you to stop crying.

even though it was a small bump, when your drunk like this; even a feather could hurt you.

ranpo

he knew.

he already knew by your first sip he will have to deal with what was about to come his way.

and he was okay with that.

he LOVES it when you act all baby around him; t's almost like he's now in control and can just say anything and you'll agree.

your face was buried into the table you and yosano sat at, and your muffled sobs caught the attention from others at the bar.

she sighs and takes a sip of wine before noticing ranpo return, "ranpo, come get your girlfriend...she thought i was you 10 times now!"

you felt someone's hands on your shoulder and you looked up to see ranpo smirking down at you, "i';m wounded...we don't even look alike...is she that drunk?" he teased, kissing your inner lip and you whined, the dried tears on your cheeks gave you an uncomfy feeling.

"nooo- kiss me properly!!" you begged, making grabby hands at you and he laughed; "no, i don't think you deserve any~ you can't even recognize your own boyfriend?!"

after you whining, ranpo gave into you and kissed your lips more times then you haved asked for.

but are you complaing?

nope!

[rainydayathogwarts]

would you write older!ron weasley x potter!reader where reader is harry‘s new stepdaughter & ron has never met her before. so one day they hook up & take a selfie afterwards cause they got along great. so ron is bragging about banging this hot chick last night & showed his friends the picture. well hermione recognizes reader as harry’s stepdaughter & immediately tells ron. he freaks out „what?!? but she’s not a minor, right?! she said she was 25!“ „no but she turned 18 just 2 months ago!“

and then harry finds out too!🤭 would be so funny! but reader & ron are a good couple so it’s all sorted out in the end🙂‍↔️ pls include smut!!🤭

Buy you a drink - ron weasley x harry's step-daughter reader

summary: when ron unexpectedly meets the girl of his dreams through a one night stand, he rushes to tell his friends the next day. but unfortunately, that reveals some new information about you, the apparent love of his life. wc: 3976 cw: smut, age gappp (r! 19, for the logistics to work, ron mid/late 30's, kind of dbf vibe but they don't know yet)

divider by @bernardsbendystraws

Ever since the new year had hit, Ron was convinced that this was his year. There were some moments in which he doubted that (severely), but other times the universe showed him it was on his side.

For instance, when Seamus had dragged Ron to a pub after work with a large group of giggling girls in a corner, Ron had shaken his head, begging Seamus to find another spot to spend the night. However, the bartender had quickly cut in, telling him “Oh give them a break, it’s a birthday celebration.” And begrudgingly, Ron had let Seamus drag him to the only available booth left, just next to the table they occupied. As the night went on though, Ron found himself warming up to the group of giggling girls, listening in on the funny jokes they shared. “Hey, let me buy the birthday girl a drink.” Ron had finally told Seamus, halting their conversation momentarily as he waved over one of the cocktail waitresses. “Uh if you have any idea what the birthday girl on that table is drinking, could you get her another one? Put it on my tab.”

Ron had no idea whose birthday it was, but when Seamus snuck off to the bathroom, leaving him alone, he was glad he had decided on being generous. Why? Well, the most beautiful woman he had seen in his life had stood from the table of girls, wearing a short, black, corseted dress that exaggerated all of her curves. Your eyes met as you made your way towards Ron, a gorgeous smile on your face. Ron felt his breath hitch in his throat, shuffling deeper into his side of the booth to make space for you to sit down. You did, sliding in next to him, and cocking your head to the side.

“You know, I’m not a believer that I owe something to men who buy me drinks, but how can I resist when you are just so handsome?”

Ron literally felt his heart skip a beat at the sound of your velvety voice. He leaned forward, putting on his most charming smile, and instantly noticed the way your eyes flickered down to steal a glance at his lips. Ron brought his hand up to his face, caressing the stubble on his chin. Your eyes were instantly attracted to the movement, only snapping back up when he spoke for the first time. His voice was deep and smooth, making your thighs squeeze together as he said “Well I don’t usually buy women drinks, but how could I help it when you look like an angel sent from heaven? You know, I’m trying to score my place there.” You giggled softly, putting a hand on his bicep. “That’s sweet if we’re not thinking about the fact that there’s no way of telling I am the birthday girl.”

Ron gulped, his cheeks flushing for being caught in his lie. “Would you believe me if I said I could just sense it was you? Because that’s not the truth.” You laughed, squeezing Ron’s bicep slightly where your hand was placed. Ron looked down at where your second hand was placed neatly on your lap. He lifted it up softly, leaning his face down slightly to press a soft kiss to the back of your hand. “The truth is that I felt kind today. And I’ve never been happier to be kind because I wouldn’t have had the pleasure of witnessing your beauty otherwise.”

“That’s awfully poetic. Shame the only thing I have to say is that I thought you were leng.” Ron chuckled, letting go of your hand to wrap his big hand around his beer, taking a big swig of the drink. “I think that’s the best thing I’ve heard in a long time. I don’t think I’ve ever tried flattering a woman like I did with you, and to find out I could’ve just gone with ‘leng’” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side. “Well I don’t mind when a man is being poetic to me. Not too picky about it.” Ron smiled, a hand falling on your bare thigh, sticking his other one out in front of you. “Well I’m Ron, by the way. Sometimes I can be a poet, most of the time I’m not.”

You eagerly shook his hand, revelling in the rough touch to his skin. “I’m y/n - not a poet any of the time.” A silence fell amongst you, in which you just looked at each other, hands still clasped together. You broke eye contact with him, running your gaze down his body, and you caught a glimpse of the shiny badge on his waistcoat. Your eyes widened slightly, recognising that he wore the same badge your step-dad usually did. “You’re an auror?” You question, reaching up to run a finger over the shiny metal. Ron hummed wordlessly, and he noticed the mischievous glint blooming in your eyes when you asked “Will you walk me home later then? To keep me safe of anything looming in the shadows?”

“And you said you weren’t a poet.”

It didn’t take long for either of you to be walking out of the pub with your arms wrapped around each other. Despite Ron’s job as an auror, neither of you were paying enough attention to the streets you were walking on, too engrossed in the way each other’s lips moved when you spoke, desperate for the other to kiss you first so you could finally pounce.

When you were finally in front of your apartment door, you fiddled with your keys, taking several attempts until you finally managed to slide it into its position, unlocking the door with a satisfying click. You could smell Ron, his musky cologne radiating off his skin. His scent completely engulfed you as you locked the door behind you, both his arms locking you between him and your your front door. Giggling nervously, you pressed yourself onto your tippy toes, curling your arms over Ron’s broad shoulders as you smoothed your body flat against his.

Ron took a couple of steps forward until your back was flat against the dark wood of your front door before he finally leaned in to kiss you, his lips teasingly hovering just above yours. With a whine, you gave yourself the last push, launching yourself closer to Ron to deeply kiss him. It was as though something in Ron suddenly snapped, his fingertips gliding against the skin of your waist before tightly gripping you and tugging you deeper into your apartment. Gasping when the man suddenly began groping your ass, you arched your chest into his.

The older man pulled away from the kiss with a gasp, his lips barely touching yours as he gruffly asked “Bedroom?” You pointed to the door across the room, a breath of air getting caught in your throat as he dragged you in its direction, shoving the door open and encouraging you into the room.

Ron removed his waistcoat without bothering to undo its buttons, and he did the same with shirt. Yanking the tie from around his neck and tossing it into the corner of your room, Ron suddenly gasped as you undid the button of his trousers, fingers grazing over his erection as you tugged him closer to your bed, which you sat on the edge of. “Shit” He mumbled, watching carefully as you pushed his trousers down his thighs, his boxers quickly following.

Just as Ron decided to take over, leaning down to remove the articles of clothing completely, you wrapped your fingers around his length, stroking him a couple of times until pearly beads of pre-cum trickled down his thick member. A hand cupped your cheek and you looked up curiously, smiling softly at Ron before ducking your head down and licking the tip of his cock. With a whimper, Ron thrusted his hips up, pushing his cock into your mouth.

“Shit, sorry,” He apologised, pulling out of your mouth completely, “I didn’t mean to.” Giggling softly, you shook your head, repeating your previous movement. “It’s okay, I liked it.” Your hand squeezed the shaft of Ron, cock, and he immediately wrapped a hand around your wrist, halting your movements. “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. I won’t last long.”

You stood up, the tight proximity between you and Ron heightening the tension in the room as his cock grazed your stomach through your short dress. Ron didn’t move away, his fingers edging towards the bottom of your dress. He slowly pulled the fabric up your body, teasing himself as inches of your skin were revealed at a time. You lifted your arms up once the fabric surpassed your chest, and Ron eagerly tugged it off you before his hands were immediately on your body again, lips leaving kisses down your neck as his big hands groped at your braless chest and the fat of your ass. You whimpered as he bit down on the skin of your neck, tilting your head to expose more surface area to him, which he keenly welcomed with more kisses.

Squeezing your thighs together, you let Ron push you back on the bed, climbing over you to trap you between his beefy body and the mattress underneath you. You gasped as Ron wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, leaning on one forearm to hold himself up whilst the other one trailed down your body, nudging your legs apart from each other. “Oh!” You panted, closing your legs around Ron’s hand when he finally reached your cunt, fingers sliding under the flimsy material of your underwear to touch you.

“Be a good girl and keep your legs open for me.” Ron instructed, lifting his head off your chest and reconnecting your lips. A shudder ran through your body at the term of endearment, and your legs immediately fell open. Ron rewarded you with a satisfied hum, swallowed in the kiss as his fingers gently rubbed your clit before sliding down your pussy, feeling how wet you were. You snaked a hand through Ron’s fiery hair as he slid two fingers into you, licking at his bottom lip so he could get the hint and deepen the kiss.

And deepen the kiss, he did, his tongue roughly gliding against yours, swallowing every single moan you had to offer him as he pumped his digits inside you, scissoring them to stretch you out. Suddenly, Ron was lifting his body off you, expelling a disappointed cry from you as his fingers slipped out of your needy pussy. The man giggled, watching your cunt pulsate in front of him. You shut your legs at the sight of his gaze fixed onto your cunt, watching as he kicked off his shoes and tore his trousers off the rest of his legs.

As Ron climbed back onto the bed, you pushed yourself higher onto it so you could have enough space. His fingers wrapped around your ankle and you stopped your movements, freezing when he dipped his head down to press a kiss to the skin above his hand, continuing to trail them up your leg until he was leaving a wet stamp of saliva all the way up your inner thighs. He hooked his fingers into the band of your underwear, shooting you one last look before slipping them down your legs. You enthusiastically kicked them off your feet, one arm hooking over Ron’s shoulder to pull him down onto you. He chuckled as you bucked your hips up, eager for friction. “Eager little thing, aren’t you?”

“Not little.” You disagreed, but Ron chuckled nonetheless, glancing down where his cock was resting on your abdomen. “We’ll see about that.” Ron gripped his cock, guiding himself into your entrance, moaning as he pushed the tip in, feeling your tight walls constrict around him. “Fuck, you’re tight. When was the last time someone took care of you huh?” You were too busy moaning to immediately answer his question, hooking a leg over his hip as he pushed deeper into you. “Fuck - like this? Never.”

Ron started snapping his hips into you at a fast pace, smirking in amusement as you screwed your eyes shut, mouth falling open to expel loud moans into the small room. “Yeah? These young men can’t give you pleasure this good?” Ron bit his lip as a groan grumbled in his chest, gasping when you slung your second leg over his hip to connect with your other one at the base of his back, closing the proximity between you. “No… no one fucks - oh god - no one fucks me this good!” Ron felt his cock twitch inside you at the unexpected praise, and he pushed your hair away from your neck to latch his lips onto it, sucking harshly on the skin.

He groaned against you as a hand came up to tug at his hair, moving your hips with the rhythm of his harsh thrusts. You lifted your free hand to play with your nipples, pinching them softly to add to your pleasure. Ron’s eyes fleeted over momentarily to watch the movement, groaning as he realised you were pleasuring yourself too. One of his hands trailed down your body to rest on your pelvis, pushing your body deeper into the mattress as he increased the power of his thrusts.

You gasped, back arching as the tip of his cock began repeatedly hitting the spongy spot inside you, your grip on Ron’s hair loosening so you could dig your nails into the sweaty skin of his back as you held on for dear life. Ron panted, moving his lips up to capture your lips in a desperate, messy kiss, full of tongue and hot breath.

“I’m close!” You cried, but Ron didn’t need you to tell him that, because he could feel it from the way your pussy began clenching around his dick. Ron lowered his hand down to your cunt, returning to their previous spot on your clit to put pressure on it again, rubbing circles on the bundle of nerves with more power than he previously had. “Oh my god!” You moaned, back arching off the bed, nipples rubbing against Ron’s chest. “I’m so- I’m so-” But your words were cut off by the string of cries of Ron’s name, using your legs to pull his pelvis deeper into you.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m coming.” Ron grunted, his hips digging into yours as he halted his movements, spilling his seed into you with thick ropes of cum. The overwhelming pleasure began fading away, leaving you in a state of post-orgasmic bliss. You unravelled your legs from around Ron’s body as he panted heavily, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. Raising your hand, your softly brushed away rogue strands of hair from his face, leaning down to press a kiss on his cheek that had a hot fluff overtaking his face.

With great effort, Ron pulled himself out of you, slumping down on bed next to you, his back leaning on the headboard. You turned around onto your stomach, pushing yourself up with a loud exhale of air before crawling over to Ron and settling yourself over his lap in a straddling position. Pleasantly surprised, Ron let out a fond laugh, his arms snaking around your waist to rest his hands on your ass. “You alright?” Ron asked, his voice hoarse. You hummed, resting your head on his chest.

This man, this stranger who you had known for no longer than three hours yet felt inexplicably safe around, with his cum dripping out of your cunt and onto his thighs.

“You look beautiful like this.” Ron found himself saying, pulling a suddenly shy smile out of you. He reached over the side of the bed, where his trousers lay, and he fumbled with the pockets until he felt for his phone. You watched curiously as he unlocked the device, finding the camera app and flipping the camera to face towards him. Ron pulled the camera back, just enough so both your faces were in the frame, and without instruction, you pressed a long kiss to Ron’s cheek, hearing the click of the camera as the image was captured.

“Another one, so I can remember your smile.” He bid you, and you smiled softly, looking at the camera as you admired how cute of a couple you would make.

“There’s no reason you'll have to remember it.” You said, reaching out to take the phone from his hands. You searched for the contacts app, opening a new file and adding your information to it before tossing his phone aside on the bed and pressing a slow kiss to his lips. Ron hummed, both hands resting on your waist. When you broke away from the kiss, you looked down to the spot your mixed cum had pooled down onto Ron’s thighs, and muttered “We should probably shower.”

And Ron nodded, walking with you into the shower, steaming water running down both your bodies as Ron pulled another orgasm out of you, his fingers selfishly rubbing you between your legs so he could watch the look of pure ecstasy cross your face again. He watched the way your back arched against this chest through the foggy mirror, whispering filthy words in your ears as you came again, your knees giving out on you. You only remained standing up because of Ron's muscular arm wrapped around your waist. When you were guided back to your bed, slumping down in exhaustion, Ron pulled your body against his, face finding home in the crook of your neck as he pressed one last kiss to your skin before falling fast asleep.

Despite his alarm ringing loudly the next morning, you were still snoozing away when Ron turned his phone off, struggling back into his clothes as his muscles groaned tiredly. Still, he walked into your kitchen and busied himself so that when you woke up, trudging into the open space of your flat in nothing but panties and a tank top, you found Ron making pancakes, a look of adoration in his eyes when he turned to greet you despite the mess you looked. “I was hoping I’d get a proper goodbye before going to work.” He sheepishly admitted as you wrapped your arms around him, giving him a gentle, tired kiss. “It’s already 10 though…”

“I work in the afternoon on saturdays.” He told you, offering you a plate stacked with freshly baked pancakes. You stole one off the top of the pile, and Ron followed you onto the couch like a lost puppy, abandoning half of the raw pancake mix in the bowl by the extinguished stove. Ron accepted all of the fluttering kisses you pressed on his skin before he finally had enough, cupping your cheeks in his hands and giving you a proper kiss. You moaned quietly, and Ron pushed you back to lay down on the couch, his lips separating from yours to continue pressing kisses down your body. He licked his lips as he reached your cunt, slipping your panties off to press a few teasing kisses to your inner thighs before moving your pussy, already wet with arousal. You held your breath, watching as he caressed the sides of your thighs, until suddenly, a phone started ringing.

Ron jumped up at the sound, abandoning you on the couch to find the source of the noise. He shot you an apologetic look as he read the name on the screen, answering the man on the other side of the line. Ron began nodded and humming along to whatever he had to say, and occasionally rolling his eyes in amusement too. Sighing, you slid your underwear back into place and sat up on the couch, stealing another pancake to nibble on. Ron hung up the phone and rushed towards you, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips before he was snatching a pancake and saying “I have to go, I’m sorry love.”

You smiled, shrugging your shoulders. “It’s okay. Don’t be a stranger.” Ron grinned, looking back at you as he opened your front door. “Oh trust me, I still haven't started with you.”

When Ron apparated to his apartment, he was met with three awaiting figures already sitting at his dining table. “I forgot, I’m sorry.” Seamus laughed as he unpacked the pastries they had bought, snatching the pancake from Ron's hand and tossing it aside. Hermione’s arms were crossed over her chest as she took in Ron’s appearance with amused eyes, and Neville responded to Ron’s comment with a shake of his head. “This was what I’m spending my days off on.” “Oh, calm it Nev, you’re a teacher.”

But as Ron sat down, he realised there was someone missing. Harry Potter. Ron paid no mind to Harry’s absence, used to his best friend’s disregard for punctuality. “So, how did it go last night?” Teased Seamus, shooting Ron a look from the corner of his eye. Hermione grinned fully now, nodding towards Ron’s chaotic appearance. The man hadn’t even thought of checking what he looked like in one of the many mirrors in your flat, but he was positive anyone could tell that he had fucked someone the night before.

“You guys won’t believe it. I think I met the love of my life.”

Neville’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at the revelation. If Ron was making such a bold statement, it had to be true because he was never the one to fall for someone so easily. “Let me show you guys.” Ron fished in his pocket for his phone, pulling up the selfie you had taken last night in bed. Seamus snorted as he took the phone from Ron’s hands, swiping to see the image of you kissing his cheek. “You seriously took a selfie after shagging?” At those words, Hermione snatched the phone from across the table, putting it in the middle of her and Neville so the boy could see the image.

But as Hermione observed the image of you more closely, looking at the one where you both smiled into the camera, her jaw completely dropped. “Ron.” Hermione gasped, looking straight up at her friend with wide eyes. “What? Hermione, what!?” Hermione shut the phone off, handing it to Ron as she finally stated “That’s Harry’s step-daughter.” Unanimous gasps shot out in the room and Seamus choked on his drink.

“You’re lying to me.”

“Why would I lie to you about that!?”

“Oh Godric, Harry’s going to kill me. I thought his step-daughter was young!? She’s not a minor is she?”

Hermione looked at Ron with a disapproving gaze “You slept with her without asking how old she is!?”

“She said she was 25! But that doesn’t make sense if she’s Harry’s step-daughter!”

Hermione snatched Ron’s phone off the table, unlocking it and returning to the photo album. Ron did a double take “You know my pass-” But his words were interrupted as Hermione shoved his own phone in his face, the image you had taken staring back at him. “Ron, does this girl seriously look 25 to you?”

“I’d fall for it.” Defended Seamus, shrugging his shoulders. “Of course you would. But you got lucky with this one Ron, she turned nineteen like two days ago.”

Ron felt as though his eyes bulged out of his face at the discovery, and for a moment he just stared back at Hermione. “How on earth am I going to marry Harry’s step-daughter?” A silence took over the room as the door closed, and Ron slowly turned his face towards the front door, panic overtaking his features as Harry Potter, boy who lived, killer of Voldemort, walked into the room.

“How are you going to what!?”

taglist: @ravisinghs-wife, @starry-remus, @pain-in-the-ashe, @hiireadstuff, @treefairy-28, @superlegend216, @kitkatkl, @juliet-017, @boromoony

[avelera]

Some Viktor (Arcane) Musings:

The thing is, I think Viktor must have told Jayce about his illness at some point in S1 before Viktor collapsed and ended up in the hospital

The reason being that it's literally impossible to ignore how much Viktor's health deteriorates in the 6-7 years between 1.03 and 1.04. There's no way he could not give Jayce some clue of what's going on with him.

But, for my own purpose and that of the fics I write, my thought was that Viktor maybe... downplayed the severity.

For example, my take is that if you have this fissure illness, you generally don't live past 30 in the undercity and Viktor knows this. He must have had some sense of a timeline, because his headlong rush to secure a legacy indicates the he knew he probably wasn't going to die of old age.

This, I think, he would be upfront with Jayce about. That they have to advance Hextech to the point where it's making breakthroughs in disciplines other than weightlessness and teleportation if Viktor has any chance of living a long life. Jayce would be on board with this fully, I think. Magic can do anything so if they're fast, and dedicated, chances are they can find something that will also improve biology too.

But, I think Viktor lied or played down how short of a time he actually had. Like, he told Jayce he probably wouldn't die of old age without Hextech intervention, and Jayce took that and like any sheltered, naive Piltie from a good family he thought, "This is awful, Viktor might never see 80!" Thinking that Viktor might, without intervention, only live to see, like... 60.

I also headcanon that once you start coughing up blood, it's a bit like TB, you don't have much time after that. So in 1.02/1.03, Viktor is driven to make a legacy for himself knowing he doesn't have a lot of time, but he might even still be fooling himself to think he's got more time than he does because of his move to Piltover. He has cleaner air here, better nutrition, better sun exposure, an easier life, etc. If the life expectancy in the underground for this disease is 25-30 or less, why should he maybe see 40 in Piltover?

But then... tragedy strikes. He starts coughing blood sometime during the time skip. His health rapidly deteriorates, and he doesn't tell Jayce that this means he's probably only got a few months to a few years left. He basically allows Jayce to keep living with the illusion that Viktor has limited time, because that would be unavoidable to realize just by looking at him, but still maybe decades remaining.

What compounds the problem here is that Viktor also tends to obfuscate his need for rapid intervention by posing them as the needs of the undercity which goes straight over Jayce's head. He tells Jayce they need to focus on new uses for Hextech to help people in the undercity now, it can't wait, they're running out of time, and goddammit Viktor, stop hiding your needs behind altruism, just be selfish, just tell Jayce that you're not talking about the undercity, you're talking about yourself and he would have dropped everything to help you!

Because this is Viktor's biggest flaw: he lies to himself and he lies to Jayce about why he's pursuing science at such a breakneck pace, and I don't even think he knows he's doing it. He's become so accustomed to the idea that he's not allowed to be selfish, not allowed to pose his own desperate desire to live as a priority, that he keeps fucking couching it in the needs of others so Jayce has no way to know just how desperate Viktor really is because Viktor doesn't admit it even to himself.

And this becomes a bigger problem writ large when Viktor creates his cult to "cure" other people because he can't fucking function if he's not posing his self-serving desires as things that also help the group. Babygirl, what is wrong with you?

So now instead of just perfecting himself in very scientifically troubling ways, he feels the need to spread around the cure that he made for himself to others to justify it, even if it doesn't fit them and in fact is horrifying to give the same solution to a bunch of people and fix things they never asked to be fixed.

[katiascraft]

✐ᝰ "You knew all too well i was right where you left me" | CL16 ࣪𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊

parings: retired!charles leclerc x writer!ex!reader

🔎 chapter one: "love is short but forgetting is so long"

chapter two: “did the love affair maim you too?” -> chapter three

summary: It’s the story of a woman frozen in the moment her world fell apart. A perfect dinner ended with, “I met someone else,” and while everyone moved on, she remained stuck in that instant, unable to let go of the past. A poignant tale of heartbreak, grief, and the weight of being trapped in a “forever” that never was.

word count: +4,5k.

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It's been a few crazy days for you. After what happened last time, it took you a few days to go back to the last flower cafe to write. You preferred writing in your studio at home. You had a comfy balcony with a lovely view of the Monaco sea. So you just took inspiration from it to write another chapter of your book. 

Seeing Charles confused you. You didn't know what to think or how to feel about it. You got scared you would see him again. But at the same time, you wanted to see him again. 

It felt confusing because you knew it wasn't right for you or the best to see him again, or wanting to or whatever. But even if he broke your psyche the way he did, you couldn't stop thinking about the what ifs. 

What if this time works? What if he was immature but he is worth it? What if this time is better? What if he feels the same way you do? What if he says he’s sorry? What if you forgive him?

All of those questions filled the fire to write. Writedown all of the what ifs as it was reality for your character. Maybe in this fictional life, you two have your happy ending.  

Your writing process was interrupted by your bestie phone call that you, of course, picked up. “Hey” you could hear the kids scream as if you were there.

“Are you coming to pick the kids up?” she asked, remembering you, you promised her to take them to have ice cream and for a walk. You facepalm. You forgot about it.

“Oh sorry, A. Yeah,of course. I’ll pick them up in 30 minutes. I’m sorry, i forgot” you apologised starting to walk towards your bedroom to get change. You still have your pajamas on. 

“It’s okay y/n. I knew you would probably forget that’s why I called. They will be ready when you get here. Thank you, i love you” you said i love you back and ended the call. 

You chose to wear a tracksuit, trainers and a coat. It was really cold this year in particular. But you loved it. You weren’t a fan of summer that much. You preferred snow and hot chocolate. Cuddling in bed to keep yourself warm. And playing cards near the chimney. You Loved autumn and winter, it made you feel special. 

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So today was the day, the day he probably would become officially single. Charles really hated the divorce process. It was a very painful one. He had, once again, broken another woman’s heart. He wasn't proud of it but he really wanted to do things the right way from now on. No more bullshit. No more feeling guilty of the past, tied to it as if he had to pay for everything. So 6 months ago he communicated it to Alex, it was really heavy on the heart scene. He felt like an actual monster. However, he started therapy. He was starting to understand himself more and learning to forgive himself for every decision he took that maybe wasn’t the best, but he didn't know better. He was young and about to become one of the most successful drivers in formula one. He thought he knew what he was doing to then realize he actually didn't at all. 

He started his day journaling. He tried to write something but all he could do was drawing your face. That image he couldn't stop seeing every time he closed his eyes. He felt scared about it but he let himself follow along. It was best to try to take you out of his mind in some way. Then after breakfast he decided to play some piano and record new parts of a new piece he was working on. He sent it to his producer and drove to Carlos' house to have lunch together. Lando was also there. They all chatted and enjoyed barbeque at Carlos’ beach house. 

And at that moment, talking in the living room, something changed. 

“Yeah, I don't know. I think she is a writer. I always see her on the balcony surrounded by multiple sheets of papers and a computer. Or maybe she is a translator or something I don't know but she is cute, you know? Maybe you can hit on her lando " Carlos commented while serving more wine to their cups.

“Do you follow her on instagram or something?” Lando asked for further information, apparently interested. Charles was zooming out thinking about you. 

“Oh no I don't, I don't even know her name but” Carlos opened his window curtains “yup, there she is” Carlos pointed to the balcony that was visible from there. Lando patted Charles' arm so the three of them could see through the window hoping the woman wouldn't notice them. 

“Oh my god” Charles almost fainted when he saw you there in your sherk pajamas drinking from an avengers cup (you didn't change that, though. You still are a geek for movies, superheroes, comics and books he guessed). Your balcony was quite close, the view was 4k. The guys who looked at Charles getting whiter, felt weirded out about his reaction.

“All right mate? I don't think she is that ugly, you know? I mean, she is fine as hell if you ask me and I'm not that into red hair” Lando said, checking on charles.

“Yeah, maybe she is too beautiful… now that he’s officially single” Carlos added.

Charles shook his head going back to the sofa.

“It’s y/N, carlos. y/n it’s your fucking neighbor. She was there all this time and i didnt fucking know. I don't know how I never bumped into her " Charles spitted with so much mixed feeling. Lando and Carlos looked at each other. Carlos closed the curtains before sitting along them.

“Mate, i didn't have a clue she could be y/N to be honest. I’ve never met her, "Carlos explained himself.

“Wait, who’s y/N? And why is she neighbors with you?” Lando was confused. For a moment he thought they were joking but Charles looked affected. He missed a part of Charles' story or something. The only woman he met was alexandra and she is officially out of his life.

“It’s his ex, like the one” Carlos explained to him but then Lando was even more confused. Charles noticed and with a sigh he explained the situation better in his opinion.

“y/n was my girlfriend during my f2 days. I left her for Alex but since that moment I regret it. It was like 10 years ago. "Lando's face expressed understanding with his mouth showing an ‘o’.

“So I guess I can't date her now, right?” Lando said, receiving a correcting punch on his arm by carlos. “Alright, alright” 

“I need to go guys, i got stuff to do” Charles said after a long silence and stood up ready to go. He Couldn't stay longer. He needed to breathe some air. He was scared. He actually hated feeling like that. Scared of what? Of her? Of himself? Of the truth? The truth that maybe he did indeed waste all of these years pretending to like his life when all he wanted to do was go back to her? Maybe. But the truth was too heavy to admit and process. 

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You were out with your nephews. It was a saturday afternoon, cold but the sun was shining bright. Between giggles you were walking with them to their favorite ice cream shop. 

Unfortunately, it was LEC ice cream. 

Benjamin and Renato were four years old, they were twins. And then there was Dante who was 6 years old. They were messy but today was a good day, they were chilling. They ran inside the ice cream shop all excited followed by you. You closed the door and they were already on the counter talking with the cashier. You smiled shyly. 

“good afternoon” you greeted her and she smiled back at you.

“Auntie, I want the chocolate one! It is always so yummy!” said Benjamin, excitedly grabbing your coat and pulling from it in desperation. He did a few little excited jumps as his twin. 

“No! Benjamin! I want the chocolate one!” Renato got mad at his brother. Their voices were so cute they made you giggle a bit. 

“It's alright boys, you both can get the chocolate one” you said, mediating between the siblings smiling at the cashier. She noted and went to look for them. “Dante, darling, which one do you want?” He was the shyest out of them all. He was so like your best friend, polite and collected. He looked at the flavour list on the wall. 

“I want the vanilla one, please” he talked directly to the cashier making you smile proudly.

“That’s my boy,” you said, congratulating him. Seeing him smile filled your heart full. You loved those three kids with your whole heart. You always get so emotional realising how fast they are growing. 

“Alright, gentlemen, here are your ice creams” the cashier said warmly and rounded the counter to give the ice cream to each one of them. You smiled watching the scene. They got shy but grabbed their ice creams anyway. 

“What do you say boys?” you looked at them gently. 

“Thank you very much” they said in unison, making the cashier smile widely. “go seat” you told them and they obeyed you. You got close to the cashier now in her seat on the counter. “How much is it?” you asked but before she could answer you, a voice, that fucking voice, interrupted.

“It’s on the house” you wanted to believe it was a dream and that it wasn’t real. But it was. It was charles. You turned to look at him a bit confused about the whole situation. He smiled at you again, the same way he did at the restaurant. You tried to play it cool, but you knew your smile and attitude were weird. 

“Oh, thank you. It wasn’t necessary” you said politely and he shook his head. 

“No problem, for real” he said and you half smiled in return. 

“Thank you” you say for both of them and went to sit with your boys at the sofa table they chose. You just didn't want to look at him that much nor you didn't know what to say. “Hey” you greeted them, and took some napkins from the table and cleaned the twins' faces full of chocolate. you smiled funny. Dante got closer to you while you were helping Benjamin clean his hands. 

“Auntie, is that the driver dad is a fan of?” he asked shyly close to you and really low so only you could hear him. 

“I think it is darling, would you like a picture with him?” you offer sweetly. He nods, smiling brightly. That made your heart race because you now have to talk to charles. You could hear him talking to his employees in a relaxed way. You could hear he came just to check in. 

You licked your lips nervously “i'll be right back, okay?” you tell the kids and stand up to walk right back to the counter. Your heart was racing. “Um, excuse me” you tried to capture his attention, and for sure you did. He looked at you immediately. His eyes found yours and you felt your heart skip a beat for a moment. “Sorry, but one of my nephews recognized you and I wanted to ask you if you could take a picture with him? Don't mean to bother you, of course,” you finally said. And you saw his face light up instantly. You were pretending you didn't know each other. You just played along without even mentioning it. You swallowed hard half smiling.

“Of course, no problem,” he said sweetly.

“Thank you” you said to him before getting to the kids.

“It's fine,” he assured you. 

You called Dante to come over and he came all shy. “Hey champ, is it good?” Charles was squatting to be on Dante's height. He talked really sweet to him. Dante stuck to you, intimidated to  have that awesome driver his dad loved so much. He nodded looking at him. “You wanna take a picture? I’ll be really happy to have one with you”  he said sweetly so Dante would loosen himself. He looked at me for aprovation. You just smiled and nodded at him excitedly. Dante then relaxed, nodding towards Charles in a huge smile. He gave him a hug and charles’ heart melted between the kid’s arms. 

They posed together and you took as many pictures as you could. And after cleaning Benjamin and Renato`s faces again, they also posed with charles. They started yapping with him and imitating car noises. They made you laugh for a bit. 

They got so excited, they gave Charles so many hugs. You played along so they can have a great moment to remember someday. You recorded some videos to send to your best friend agostina later, so she can have the memories. “My daddy loves you! He always screams to the tv ‘GOOO CHARLES GOOOO’ ” Dante commented imitating his dad in the funniest way making you laugh. “But he doesn't like Carlos that much, he prefers hamilton!”

“Oh wow, you are an expert in formula 1. Who’s your daddy?” Charles really engaged with your nephews. He even sat next to you so he could have a conversation with them. He got confused for a bit, he believed they were your children. But it didn't seem like that. 

“My dad is andrew and my mom is agostina, and she is auntie y/N” dante explained to charles the whole family dynamic in his way. You smiled nodding looking at Dante, then moved to see charles. He now understood the whole thing. You were their aunt. His heart melted for a moment. He didn't know what to say.

Benjamin asked you to grab him and you did. You sat him on your tights, and he was sleepy. You stroke his thin shiny hair gently as he pressed his head on your chest wanting to fall asleep. 

Charles looked at you with a half smile.

“I think it’s time to go home kids, mommy is waiting for you. It’s pizza night!” you told them funny and excited so they would get excited. Dante celebrated along with Renato doing a victory dance making you and Charles let out a laugh.

“Let me give you a ride, that baby wants to sleep,” Charles offered sweetly, looking at Benjamin in your chest. He was trying to play it cool but his heart was speeding faster than his car in any race. Looking at you like this, made him regret every single decision of his life. How could he leave you like that? He wanted to punch himself on the face because he was sure you hated him. So it was impossible to get a second chance nor that he believed he deserved it. 

You doubted but he got a point. Walking ten blocks with a baby or two in your arms was not gonna be an easy task and your back will suffer a lot. You sighed. “Alright, thank you. It’s really nice of you” you gave in at his offer and he smiled widely. 

“Alright, let’s go home guys” Charles announced. The cashier was even more confused than the two of you were. Since when did Charles Leclerc engage so much with strangers and offer them a lift? They must not be strangers at all. They must know each other all too well. 

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Charles helped you get the kids in the car, or well, his Ferrari  that was parked one block away. Dante, all excited, wanted to touch every single thing the car had so you had to tell him to calm down and behave for a bit. You got in the passenger seat. 

Charles let you use his phone so you put your friend's address on it. He now knew where you lived and he was thinking of offering to drop you there after leaving the kids but at the same time he didn't want to be so invasive. 

Smelling your perfume was sending him on a spiral. You still had that effect on him. And he didn't know how to feel about it. You didn't look at him. You probably hate him, he thought. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. But then why did you let this happen? Because of the kids? It was ten blocks away. He stopped himself from keeping up his delusions for way too long he would believe them. He felt like a kid about this whole thing with you. Or the one you had. The life you had. You made him and his family so happy. Arthur still likes you, you always had a soft spot on his heart. And that made Charles feel miserable. 

The drive was silent. The kids fell asleep in like three blocks. You were so nervous you would throw up right then and there. You just looked out through the window. You didn't want to talk that much with him. You knew that would be dangerous. 

He knew it too. He knew all too well what you were trying to do and in a way he was thankful for it. But in another way, he just wanted to know everything about you, again. 

A million questions were playing again and again in your heads silently but agonizingly at the same time.

Ten minutes later, you were finally on your destination: your best friend’s, agostina, house. She was waiting at the porch of her house. When she saw the black ferrari stop by her sidewalk she frowned. She thought you were coming on foot with her three children. 

You looked at charles in a half smile, just praying your friend doesn't get mad at you for this insane idea. “Thank you for lifting us” you said shortly and he nodded. It was awkward. 

“Let me help you” Charles said and both of you got out of his car. 

When your friend first saw you, she looked confused, with a million question marks in her eyes. But then, when she saw Charles coming off the driving seat, her eyes almost fell out. I mean, she was relieved that it was him at some point but not so much out of concern for you. 

“Hey, A” Charles greeted her with a wave helping you wake the kids up. He remembers your friend, of course. He remembered everything about you. 

“Hey, charles. It’s been a long time” A said, grabbing Benjamin from your arms. Charles helped Dante and you grabbed Renato in your arms. Both baby twins were knocked out sleeping. Dante grabbed his mum's hand and waved to Charles in a goodbye. He closed his Ferrari door and waved to us. You just smiled. You were in the most uncomfortable situation of your life. You didn't have a good feeling about this. 

You felt it was the beginning of the end, for some odd reason you couldn't identify yet. 

“Bye charles!” Dante said happily and was still a bit sleepy. Agostina smiled at him but when she turned to look at you, her eyes were screaming “ARE YOU CRAZY GIRL?” and how could you blame her for it. You just put her kids into the car of a known stranger. 

Charles observed the situation with you and your friend from his car. The sunset sun made you glow. And your eyes were so shiny he got confused for a bit if he was actually dreaming. He made his horn sound and disappeared into the monaco streets pretty fast. 

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Cozy wrapped around blankets and pillows, your friend brought you a cup of hot chocolate. You decided it was to sleep overnight to gossip because Andrew, her husband, was out of town for work. The kids were sleeping in their rooms. The baby monitor in front of you two. You were laying on the living room couch with ambient music in the background playing from the tv above the chimney. 

“I can't believe you bumped into Charles, to be honest. It's been ten years, you have never seen him and out of nowhere you see him everywhere” your friend was as surprised as you were. 

“Yeah, I don't know. I feel really weird about it. I thought next time i would bump into him i would be dead but i’m still alive so far. He felt so different… Yet he felt the same. His perfume was the same. His eyes are the same, the way they shine and…” you sighed stopping yourself. You started crying. You didn't know what you were feeling. If you were supposed to feel happy or angry or sad. The stress level was at its peak. It was too much emotionally to handle. 

It hurts you to pretend you didn't know him, that you didn't want him or that he was once your everything and now he was a stranger. A stranger holding so many secrets of you. All of your life traumas and experiences, your virginity, your first ever love story (and the only one). It still hurts because it couldn't be easier. Why couldn't it be forever together as you dreamed? When you saw him you felt the same as that last day you watched him leave that motherfucking restaurant. 

Your friend hugged you understanding how hard this was for you. And how frustrating it must feel to finally be ready to move on and then he is back just like that. How unfair life could be, right? She felt so sorry for you. You deserved to be so happy yet here we are, still crying for that ficking stupid asshole. 

It felt like the beginning of the end.

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“Hey, Arthur, I'm officially and legally single again. Want to have dinner at my place?” Charles called his brother on his Ferrari the second he sat in the driver’s seat. He needed to talk to someone about what happened this afternoon. His anxiety had made a hole in his stomach and he almost threw up a couple of times. 

He felt guilty. Like he did something terrible lifting you and your nephews to your friend’s house.

“Bro!!! That’s amazing!! Ready to enjoy life? I’ll be there in 30 minutes, and order some steak. I’ll bring wine. Love you!!” he shouted into the phone making Charles put it a little far away from his ear so he won't be left deaf. He ended the call, so Charles couldn't say otherwise. He giggled a little to himself. He loved his family, but especially Arthur, he was his little brother, and also his best friend.  

After a few minutes, he was already wearing his comfy clothes and had ordered the stake his brother told him to. He had set the table and put some random playlist on spotify on shuffle. Now that he was home, the hole in his stomach was not as huge as it was during the day. His house was his safe place. Though, it still felt weird not having leo (his and alex’s puppy son) or alex around. He tried so hard to love her, he got used to having her around. The chemicals on his brain were adjusting still to his new life. He changed furniture and redecorated the whole house. He wanted to start again from zero. Rebuilt himself step by step and finally, the Charles he always wanted to be. 

The bell took him out of his thoughts announcing his brother had arrived. 

“Hey, Brody,” Arthur said excitedly, hugging his brother when the older one opened the door. Arthur was really proud of his brother. He knew how hard all of it was. And how hard he was with himself when it came to mistakes committed in the past.

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They sat on the couch in front of the tv with everything already tidy up and with their stomachs full. They talked about everything and anything but yet not about her. 

“I brought you something, wait a second” Arthur said and got up looking for his bed. Charles observed his brother a little tipsy by wine already. He didn't know what to expect from him. He was always a surprise box. “I know you saw her again, I don't know how you feel about it but I know we will eventually talk about her. But I think it will help you if you read her book. I think it’s a fictional story but the way she tells it… i think it can make you reflect on what happened.” he added coming back from his bag with a book in hand. After he sat again on the couch he handed it to charles. Charles listened and watched the book in front of him. He took it carefully.

“I saw her today, she was with her nephews. I also know where she lives now as well. It was at carlos’ house and he was talking about his neighbor being attractive so Lando could try and hit on her. So he opened the fucking curtains and there she was on her balcony. I almost choked and died. Then I saw her at LEC. and I gave her a lift to her friend’s house. "Charles started throwing up everything that happened that day. Arthur’s eyes were big as plates. He couldn't understand how his brother survived o all of that. I mean, he was happy. He loved y/n, but he knew damn too well it was probably a nightmare for his brother to go through all of that. 

“Oh my god, charles. And you also were announced to be single legally? How did you survive? I'm impressed. You’re strong dude” arthur commented half joking half serious. Charles laughed it out a bit shaking his head. 

“I don't know but all I know is that my heart almost stopped how fast it was beating,” Charles answered.

“That’s called anxiety,” Arthur pointed out.

“I know. I was scared. She looked even more beautiful than she ever did or that I remember” he grabbed the book in his hands more strongly. He took a deep breath. “Today was too much for me,” his brother agreed. 

After Arthur was gone, Charles sprinted to his bed. He had a headache. He wanted to pretend it was because of the two bottles of wine they drank. But he knew it was because of overthinking. He laid in bed. Book in his hands. He started analyzing the cover: It was light blue, her favorite color he remembered. A red scarf and autumn leaves falling down. Her name is printed on the corner of it. He brushed his thumb above it taking a moment.

Adjusting his glasses he flipped to the back cover of it and that’s where something changed inside him.

‘Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?’

⋆˚࿔ TO BE CONTINUED 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

chapter three: coming soon.

tag list: @a-beaverhausen , @priniya , @annaluna12 , @thehoplessromanticclub , @emryb , @hadids-world , @kaztheemyth , @freyathehuntress , @diorbrxtz , @theseerbetweenus , @sie17136

shout out: thank you to my girlies from the gc (ur the best i<3u all), specially Sonny for hyping and helping me sm with this!

author's note: here it is <3 i'm so excited about this series! Sorry if you don’t see that much French I know NOTHING of it so yeah :(

what do you think it's gonna happen next?

don't forget to like, reblog or comment! and follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)