#<- world's emptiest character tag

[bonestrouslingbones]

thinking about a scene where russ is talking to honey and trying so so hard to not completely lie about everything that happens with him and edge but also trying not to make honey completely flip shit about all of his new extremely-visible-edge-induced-trauma & scars and failing miserably because he's already bad at judging when he should care about his own wellbeing and then honey points out the bigass bite mark on his neck/collarbone like "you want me to believe he wasnt trying to kill you when he did THAT" and russ has to be like um. well that was from a different event actually

[humanjarvis]

an off day

synopsis: zayne has an off day, so you make him take one.

tags: reverse comfort, angst, fluff, heart to heart, zayne shuts down at the hospital one day, he cries in your arms on a bench, he’s having an existential crisis, i accidentally wrote overachiever gifted kid zayne, think of him like a confused baby deer, size difference, side character death, a very infatuated siamese cat, something something zayne’s subtle attempts to reclaim dominance/dependability after being taken care of (you notice them all). takes place in autumn because i yearn for it

pairing: zayne x fem reader

word count: 3.5k

a/n: zayne brain

Akso Hospital’s parking lot is the emptiest you’ve ever seen it.

The Wednesday starlight is partly to blame. There’s not much traffic at 8 p.m. on a weekday—which makes your current predicament all the more confusing. 

It’d been a standard day at work: emails, meetings, and sneaking out 10 minutes early. But right before you’d stepped into the shower at Zayne's house, your phone had rung.

“Yvonne? Hello?” 

“Um, hello! I’m so sorry to call like this, but we really don’t know what else to do. Dr. Zayne is really…shaken? He’s not hurt, but he’s not responding to any of us, and you’re his first emergency contact. Please come down to Akso as soon as you can!”

You’d re-dressed in record time. 

As you step through the sliding doors, their glass panels reflecting the towering streetlights, you note the hallways are as empty as the parking lot. You suppose it’s a good thing—for a hospital not to be busy, and all—but the absence of friendly faces makes you quicken your steps. 

At the end of the hall, you jam the elevator button to his floor, unease prickling at the back of your mind. 

You sigh in familiarity when the doors open. A confused-looking Yvonne is speaking with the receptionist at the front desk, but she ends the conversation as soon as she spots you. 

“Thank you for coming. I didn’t know what to do! I just—this doesn’t happen to him,” she rushes out, shaking her head profusely. “I see it with the others, but never him.” 

You touch her elbow in gratitude and offer a smile. “Thank you for calling. You did the right thing. Where is he?” 

Relieved, she turns toward the end of the hallway, where the edge of a sleek wooden bench protrudes past the wall. “Just down there,” she says, pointing a finger around the corner. “Thank god we aren’t busy tonight. It’s been deserted up here since the last surgery.” 

The last surgery. 

“Thanks,” you breathe, trying not to wonder what that could mean. “I’ll take care of it from here, don’t worry. You should go home and get some rest.” With a short wave, you set off down the hallway, passing vibrant anatomic murals and pediatric patient artwork. With every step, your breaths shallow and your pulse quickens. You don’t know what you’ll find at the end.

Your steps falter when you round the corner. 

In all the time you’d known him, Zayne had never wavered. He offered tireless strength and support—displayed composure you could only dream of. He was your Atlas, except he shouldered the weight of the world not out of punishment, but out of duty. 

But in that moment, he was an uprooted anchor, drifting through sloshing seas. 

His bowed head, shaky hands, and shuddering shoulders. The sheen coating his pale face. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d seen a ghost. 

With an ache in your chest, you approach, but Zayne’s head stays low. Only when your favorite teal-and-white tennis shoes come into view do his glistening eyes snap up. 

Shock and longing color his face a rosy pink, matching the fading imprint from his surgical mask. Wordlessly, he reaches for you. 

Unsteady arms wrap around you as you move between his legs, cradling his head into the crook of your elbow. Your chin covers his hair this way, and you slant your cheek to nuzzle into him. 

“Hi,” you whisper, gently stroking his soft strands. 

“Hi.” By the rasp in his voice, it’s the first time he’s spoken in hours.

Your heart clenches. “Are you tired?”

A long exhale fans across your arm. And then, he nods.

You’re forced to blink back tears of your own when his drop onto your skin. 

This was uncharted territory. Thousands of thoughts, thousands of actions mill about in your mind, but you’re not sure which to settle on. Right now, you can only tell him what you’d want to hear. “I love you.” 

His voice trembles as his arms tighten. “I love you, too.” 

You’re not sure how long you embrace him. When his breathing evens, you lift his chin, smiling gently down at his flushed face. “Is your shift almost over?”

He nods once, solemn.

“Let’s go back to your office. I’ll sit with you.” 

You successfully coax him off the bench, guiding him through the halls to his empty office. But after a few minutes of signing paperwork, his gaze is on you. He eyes you forlornly, not saying anything—and he wouldn't have said anything had you not noticed.

Your lips quirk. “Your work is down there, silly.” 

He blinks. 

Chuckling softly, you rise from his guest chair and hang your purse on its arm. A few steps later, and he’s pulling you toward him and burying his face in your stomach. 

You let him, but raise his head soon after. Again, he greets you with glassy green eyes.

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” you murmur.

“I’ve never been like this before.”

Quiet ambient music fills the car ride home. 

Pulling into his driveway, you switch off the ignition and quickly circle around to take his hand when he steps out. 

Pretending not to notice the way his cheeks flush, you lead him to the doorway and press his thumb to the sensor, letting out a breath when it lights up green. 

Once inside, you head straight for his bedroom. In the dim lamplight, you help him out of his disheveled scrubs, smiling softly when he avoids eye contact. After undressing yourself, you tug him toward the master bathroom, where you run the shower on hot. 

Through the mist, you lather soap over his body, washing his hair of the beads of sweat that’d gathered before your arrival. 

You step out once you’re both clean. Zayne follows, reaching for one of your matching towels, but your hand intercepts his halfway. Shaking your head softly, you lift the towel from the rack and wrap it around him, catching the steam that still rises from his skin as you gently pat him dry. Through it all, he allows you, taking his nightclothes from you when you finish.  

Under normal circumstances, you’d expect a smart remark—a sideways glance as he subtly reminded you he wasn’t a child. But tonight, Zayne is pliant. Deferent. He utters not a word of protest, his trusting hazel eyes trained on you as he waits for you to move him along.

Once you dry yourself off and slip on your nightshirt, you do exactly that: taking his hand and heading back toward his room, gently pushing him down on the bed. His grip tightens when you turn to switch off the lamp, and it takes a soothing grin and touch of his cheek for him to reluctantly let you go. 

When you slide into bed next to him, his arms encircle you instantly. He tucks his head in your shoulder, and you reach up to stroke his raven hair.

“Good night�� are your last words tonight.

“I love you” are his. 

It’s late morning when Zayne hurries down the stairs, the pads of his slippers smacking against the floor. When he sees you at the kitchen counter, tapping your phone next to a bowl of cereal, he stops in his tracks. “When someone’s alarm doesn’t go off, it’s generally nice to wake them up in its place,” he chides, visibly trying to suppress his irritation.

“Generally,” you repeat. “But…what if you didn’t go to work today?” you ask, tone gentle so the suggestion doesn’t send him into shock.

It’s only slightly helpful. Suddenly wary, he narrows his eyes in suspicion. “What do you mean? My rounds are scheduled as normal, and I have several reports to complete.”

You scratch your neck. “But what if I already called Yvonne about it, and she and Greyson and your whole team agree you shouldn't go to work today?” you reveal with a sheepish smile.

“You….” His eyes fall closed in an intense grimace. “And all of them agreed?”

Smile widening, you put your palms up in defense. “Yes. But you don’t have to spend the day inside! I’ve been looking for things for us to do around town. Think of it like a short vacation!” you cheer, hopping off your chair to wave his arms in excitement. 

Oversized sleeves billowing in the air, Zayne sighs in defeat. “What do you have planned?”

After a quick drive to the parking garage downtown, you walk hand-in-hand past closely packed buildings, coming to a stop outside a recently opened cat café.

Spinning around, you make a ta-da gesture. He snorts. 

“The first time we tried to come, you got called in for an emergency surgery. So I thought we could go in today! But only if you want to, of course,” you say quickly. 

The beginnings of mirth glitter in his gaze. Stepping forward, he holds the door for you like he always does—as if the way he’d let you lead him last night were but a distant memory. You study him for a moment, noting the quiet plea in his hazel eyes, before brushing a kiss on his cheek and strolling inside.

“Welcome!” the greeter calls as the strong scent of coffee hits your nose. “We’re glad to have you here! Feel free to take a look around and play with the cats, and order when you’re ready!” 

Nodding your thanks, you shift your attention to the cats’ biographies on the wall to your right. “Look, Zayne! This one was rescued from a house fire an—Zayne?” 

The man who’d walked in right behind you has disappeared. Panic fills you for just a second—until you spot him at the coffee bar, nodding along as the barista repeats his order. Him and his sweet drinks. 

Marching up to collect him, you tuck your arm in his and settle at a table on the back wall. 

Three white kittens, most likely siblings, chase balls of fuzz in the corner. To your left, an adult Persian cat lounges on a tower, its tail lashing with superiority. As you wait for your order, you and Zayne are so engrossed in your surroundings that you fail to notice the besotted Siamese in front of you. 

Until it leaps and lands right on Zayne’s lap, that is. 

Mroww, it purrs, affectionately bumping its head into his chin. Startled, he looks to you with wide eyes, hand hovering over the cat’s arched back. 

You almost fall out in laughter. Almost. But instead, you spare him and nod encouragingly, guiding his hand down to pet its sleek coat. “Well, who’s this?” you chuckle, running your fingers through its short fur. 

“That,” your server interjects, setting your drinks down and scratching the cat’s ears, “would be S’mores. She’s the oldest cat here. And very friendly.” 

“Hello, S’mores,” Zayne murmurs, and she bumps his chin again. 

S’mores doesn’t leave you—doesn’t leave him, rather—for the next hour. When he stands to throw your cups away, she meows in protest, digging her claws into his shirt. For a moment, he looks as though she’s going to eat him, but he schools his nerves quickly, this time. “Now, now,” he shushes. “We’ll be back.” 

A few shops down from the café lies a retro ice cream parlor. The shopkeeper’s bell jingles as you step inside, surveying the pink stools and checkered floors. 

“Hi!” you greet the teenage cashier. “He’ll have three scoops of green tea, and I’ll get one of taro, thanks.”

“Cups or cones?” the cashier asks, looking utterly bored with everything but the man behind you. 

You smile at her in understanding. At least she has taste. “Cups, please.” 

Hearing rustling behind you, you turn your head and see Zayne reaching into his back pocket. “Oh, I’ll get it,” you chirp, digging inside your purse for your wallet. 

He barely spares you a glance before laying a generous bill on the counter. “Can she get an extra scoop, please?” 

Taking small spoonfuls of ice cream, you follow the winding sidewalks outside the parlor in comfortable silence. Before long, a city park comes into view, its verdant grounds preceded by a shimmering pond. The ducks’ multicolored feathers are almost iridescent in the afternoon sun.

Pointing to the wooden feeder ahead, you slow your steps. “You want to?” 

Before you finish the question, Zayne is already pulling coins from his wallet, handing them to you with a soft smile. “Of course.” 

After you slide the coins in the machine, unappetizing pellets fall from the dispenser into a complimentary feeding cup. For several minutes, you take turns sprinkling them into the water, watching as the ducks paddle over to you with intrigue. The bobs of their sleek heads create turquoise ripples across the surface, while you rest your own on Zayne’s shoulder. 

After a while, he takes your empty ice cream cup and heads for the nearest trash can. 

You smile at him when he returns. “You’ve been so chivalrous today. It’s like I’ve stepped into a fairytale.” 

He cuts his eyes at you before placing a hand on the small of your back, urging you down the twisting park path. “If you don’t feel like that every day, then it seems I need to work harder.” 

“‘Work harder’ shouldn’t be in your vocabulary,” you chide. Then, your voice softens. “You always make me feel that way. Today, it’s just…extra. And I love gentleman Zayne—very much—but he’s just as cute when he’s clingy in his sleep,” you promise, nudging his thigh with your hip. 

He clears his throat. “He’ll make a note of that.” 

After a few more minutes of walking, a fork in your path prompts a moment of indecision. Go left, and you’re sure to have the conversation that he may not be ready for. Straight? An hour more of idle chatter before you head home in the setting sun. And right…well, to the right is the 4-foot-tall jungle gym, so you’re not too worried about ending up there. 

Before you can ask which way, Zayne tightens his grip on your waist and turns left, ambling over to the blue and gray swing set. 

You smile to yourself. He’s being brave.

As you settle on the sun-warmed swing, the tips of your shoes drag back and forth in the gravel below. Dust kicks up on the pristine leather, turning white to beige, but Zayne’s earnest voice interrupts your grieving. 

“I had a good day today. Thank you.” 

You’re not swinging very high—only a couple feet off the ground—but compared to him, you might as well be on Mount Everest. Chuckling softly, you reach down and join hands, pulling him with you into the air. “What was so good about it?”

He delays his answer, his startled eyes widening with each rock back and forth. Only when he gets used to the movements does he elaborate. “It was peaceful. I did things and went places I’d never had the chance to before. And I got to spend time with you.” 

You hum. “So it has everything to do with where you were, and nothing to do with where you weren’t?”

He’s silent for a moment. Trees rustle in the quiet, their scarlet leaves dancing on wavering limbs before succumbing to the gentle autumn breeze. 

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

“It’s alright,” he murmurs. “It’s only fair I tell the one who came to rescue me why she had to.”

“It might be fair,” you nod, turning to meet his emerald gaze. “But do you want to?”

His lips twitch. “I want to.”

Digging your heels into the gravel below, you halt his and your momentum, giving him your undivided attention. 

“A teenage patient received an emergency surgery yesterday. Complications with congenital heart disease,” he begins. “I’d spoken with him a few times prior, and we got along quite well. Aspiring physician, set to graduate at the top of his class. The only thing was, he’d often worry about…missed experiences. He didn’t attend school dances or athletic events. His older sister gave birth last spring, but he missed it due to a college entrance exam.” 

“That sounds lonely,” you offer, rubbing your thumb across the back of his hand. 

“Yes. He was very lonely,” Zayne agrees. “He was lonely up until the moment he flatlined on the operating table.” His hand flexes in yours, and you tighten your grip. 

Blowing out a breath, you ask what you already know the answer to. “And he…?”

“Did not respond to resuscitation attempts.”

Your chest hollows at the words. To lose someone so young…to lose anyone at all…. “I’m so sorry, Zayne. If I had known—”

“Oddly enough, his passing wasn’t the main cause of what happened yesterday. It only exacerbated the issue at hand.” 

Knitting your eyebrows, you wait for him to continue. 

“Yesterday,” he pauses, “was a lesson learned. Because I realized I also lack those experiences. And I thought, if someone a decade younger than me left his life with so much regret, then….” He swallows thickly. “If I were to die today, I’d have dedicated my life to this pursuit. But what would I have done outside of that? What stories would be told of me, other than those that took place in a classroom or a hospital?” 

A mix of emotions renews the ache in your chest. Pity, fear, surprise, understanding. “You saw yourself in him.” 

Watching a group of boys climb on the jungle gym, he interlaces your fingers. “I did. For a second, it was me on the operating table. Is that selfish of me?”

Humming, you draw swirling patterns in the gravel. “I don't think so. I'd hope no one would,” you muse. “Zayne, you…are the smartest, most hardworking person I know. But sometimes, I wonder how much that took from you.” At the admission, you expect his eyes to widen, his lips to tug into a frown. But all he does is eye you expectantly, with all the trust in the world. And you know it’s okay to continue. 

“You always knew what you wanted to do growing up—you wanted to help people. You wanted to save lives. You wanted to practice medicine. There was always a goal, right? And you were always sprinting toward it. I mean, you were in algebra when your agemates were still stuck on multiplication tables,” you recall, playfully wiggling his hand in the air. “But maybe in choosing what you wanted to do…you overlooked who you wanted to be?” 

The question floats like the leaves in the wind, and for a moment, you think he’s just like them. Beautiful, vital, but just a little lost. He purses his lips, a contemplative pout forming on his face, but says nothing. 

“Forget about medicine for a second, Zaynie. Don’t look at me like that—I know it’ll be hard, but try. Now, what sort of things do you like? What are you passionate about? When you look back on your life, what kind of experiences will you want to have had? A few minutes ago, you asked how others would describe you. But how would you describe yourself? Who is Zayne when he’s not striving for something?” 

“I….” He pauses, voice dwindling into a whisper. Last night’s expression creeps back onto his face. “I’m not sure.” 

“That’s okay.” Nodding your encouragement, you rise from your swing and stand just in front of his, slotting your legs between his knees and cupping his cheek. You’re just a bit taller than him like this. “To me, Zayne is a gentleman who likes sweets and animals and is adorably afraid to swing too high. He helps people, not because he’s a doctor, but because he’s kind and compassionate—even when he doesn’t show it. And he’s still figuring some things out about himself, but that’s okay because I'm proud of him.” You beam. “Your turn.” 

Sometime during your speech, his face had softened. He chuckles lightly before obliging. “To me, Zayne is…a pragmatist. And he’s cautious, not afraid,” he adds, narrowing his eyes when you shrug. “He can be cold when he doesn’t mean to be. He’s curious, but often too timid to satisfy those curiosities without someone by his side. And he wants to be someone…who doesn’t live with regret for his missed experiences,” he finishes, hazel eyes twinkling up at you. “Perhaps that’s why I felt so happy today. You give me new experiences, every time we’re together. Which is why, if you’re willing, I’d like to make up for lost time and make more memories with you. What do you say?” 

“I say,” you drawl, flitting your eyes to the structure behind him, “have you ever been on a carousel?” 

His brows furrow as he turns his head, catching your hand in his when it slips off his cheek. “I can’t say that I have.” 

“Then let’s go!” you giggle, hauling him up with all your strength. “The sun won’t set for another 30 minutes. And while we’re at it, I’ll race you there!” 

[randomnumbers751650]

That post on Superman made me think why I’m writing my novel. Since it’s from a work that I haven’t got to finish (got sidetracked because I decided that I should write a fanfic where an idol reincarnates as a mech pilot), I’ll put under Read More.

I mentioned in the tags that gentleness is underrated strength in our current time (among others). Maybe I was just being a boomer when saying this, so you can ignore that, but still why do many people complain? I studied heroism and heroes from an academic point of view and I know that the monomyth/hero’s journey is bullshit.

In my novel, Mara is a loser. Both before and after going to Tabula. Before, she’s poor, ugly, unhealthy and perceives herself to be unloved and unlovable (she thinks her mom hates her and she’s only partially right). After that, nothing changes; even if she gets the “solution” to being poor, ugly and unhealthy, everyone there is brainwashed to serve her and those aren’t either freaking hate or pantshittingly fear her.

But one thing that I want to include is Mara losing all intellectual debates and discussions. I always hated the trope of small kid humiliating everyone else. Mara is just a teenager, she only doesn’t flunk because she’s studying in the literally worst school in all of Tokyo, they’re too apathetic to flunk kids there. Of course she has no capacity to win against an intellectual debate (1).

Returning to Mara, she has a few things: faith, kindness, gentleness. She’s the very definition of a good girl and that’s what being tested here. Tojava is doing all those things because, while she believes in the good potential of mankind, she thinks the best course of action is removing mankind’s ability to choose evil, no matter the cost. Mara has to be tempted to either agree with Tojava or become bitter and closed to the world (because she isn’t becoming a villain, she has no drive for that).

But I’m aiming for a third choice. Mara is a devout Catholic, but, in the beginning she’s one because it fulfills a need in her life (God is love), so she doesn’t really know why she is one. Her time in Tabula will test that and many times she’ll feel God has abandoned her. But through perseverance she has to learn she can’t be someone passive; if God is love, you have to put that in practice. Otherwise, her defeat is guaranteed because those fancy powers are temporary.

That’s what makes Superman so interesting as a character: he has a lot of fancy powers, but they don’t really define who he is; rather, they provide even more incentive for him to be kind, gentle, compassionate. And I hope to do something like that in my novel.

(1) There’s an academic edge to this, which is fitting because I work in the field. Aristotle taught us that debates can be won and the one who lost should submit (I only read his Poetics, but this I’m saying from a former pastor of mine who said this to me, who, in hindsight, was a bit too much interested in winning arguments, and whose church I don’t go anymore for a large variety of reasons and I don’t regret anything), but the more I study philosophy of science, the more I see that, from a technical point of view it’s impossible to win a debate because we’re always discovering new things in science that might make old debates outdated. It’s like attributing magical properties, the final word of a debate is a conversion spell. I won a debate once, when I had facebook, against a contact who always won against me; I managed to trap him and win…we stop talking (he was another who put way too much interest in winning debates), but even after “winning”, I felt it was one of the emptiest experiences of my life. Contrast with Ayn Rand, another person who had a bit too much faith in the miraculous properties of debates, and a big fan of Aristotle, who loved to create strawmen for her characters to beat subhuman antagonists; and whose biographers said it was invincible in debates, but her invincibility was more because it made the other realize “why the hall am I taking to her?” and just move on with their lives. This is why I hate the trope of "super genius defeats so-called wise men", because it's just so self-indulgent in a toxic way, even when I agree with the winning side.

[sleepylixie]

I Hate to Admit

College! AU Bang Chan X fem! reader

Imperium Universe || Jisung || Seungmin || Chan 

2k (I’m so sorry), fluffiest fluff 

Request? Yes! Hope you like this, Anon!! Apologies about getting a wee bit carried away. >.<

Warnings: None!

A/N: I liked writing this, even though it’s waayyyy longer than I expected it to be oops. This is an extension of the same universe as this Jisung fic and this Seungmin fic, but you can definitely read this as a standalone! Do let me know what you think about this fic, I’d love to hear feedback!! ONTO THE FIC :D

Requests are open for SKZ and BTS! || Masterlist

The skate park right outside your campus was always an interesting sight. There were always a lot of people around, enjoying themselves on the gentle slopes and plateaus. You were always mystified by the way the skateboarders could so easily throw themselves into the air, seemingly unafraid of taking a tumble to the concrete floor.

You’d pass by the skate park thrice a week in the early evening, on your way to a part-time shift at Imperium- the closest bar to your university. Your shifts ran late sometimes, bordering on midnight when you’d step out of Imperium’s back door.

More often than not, you’d encounter the same lone figure in the skatepark on your way back- an average-sized, lean figure who had a way with the skateboard that you’d never seen anybody have before. The first time you spotted him, you stopped and watched for a few moments as he made his way up the slopes like it was nothing at all- he was that good.

Skateboarding wasn’t your thing as much as people watching- there were so many interesting people in the world, so many different kinds of personalities that you couldn’t get enough. You would write them into stories of back-alley romance, tales of rippling fantasy and chronicles of traitorous woe,  reveling in the way your worlds and characters built themselves up along the plot.

It became an unconscious habit, seeing the boy(it seemed like a boy, judging from his impeccably built shoulders and a penchant for extremely sleeveless muscle tops.) on your way back from your late bartending shifts.

He was curious, you decided. Who only visited the skate park when it was at it’s emptiest despite being so good? Did he not like attention? Was he shy? You made a mental note to try and talk to him one day- you weren’t hesitant with your curiosities. Someday, when you weren’t bogged down by your already numerous Works in progress and university, you would approach him and find out more about this midnight skateboarder.

But as it turned out, you didn’t have to wait too long.

//

“Y/N! Where were you, it’s almost 1 a.m!” Your sorority sister Chaeyoung sat up on her bed as you walked into your shared room. Her short blonde hair fluttered around her face as she slipped off the bed, bounding towards you. “I had a longer shift than normal, Imperium was weirdly full.” You responded, pulling your bag off your shoulder.

“Alpha Phi Alpha is throwing another rager. Do you want in?”

That’s when you heard it. You’d been so absorbed in the music from your own earphones that you didn’t even noticed the deep bass thumping through the air, the muffled cheers and screams of enjoyment. Of course there was a party going on, it was a Friday night.

Life next to a fraternity house wasn’t the most peaceful, but you didn’t mind it. Your sorority, Delta Kappa, was housed right next to the Alpha Phi Alpha frat house, close enough to share a fenced wall.

The Alpha Phi Alpha fraternity was the most sought after fraternity on campus; acceptance meant instant skyrocketing of social worth. It was all extremely cliché: the best frat on campus, filled with the smartest, most attractive guys, throwing the most memorable parties and yet maintaining their stellar record of being good at pretty much everything.

“Sure, why not? I have some energy to let off.” You smile, throwing open your shared wardrobe. Chae’s eyes shone wickedly, she was sold by the idea of any kind of party. “Are any of the other sisters coming??”

“Jennie, Lia and Yeri already left. I thought I’ll wait around for you.”

“How nice of you, Chae,” You huff out another laugh as you held out an outfit for her to see. “Ooh, I like it. Now hurry up, right?”

“Okay, okay!!”

20 minutes later, you were walking into your next-door frat house with Chae, already warmed by the electric vibe. “Y/N!!! You’re here!!”  There he was-tall, blonde and devastatingly handsome. Also seemingly tipsy, by the looks of it. Hwang Hyunjin was one of your closest friends, but he had a hard time handling his liquor, even though he would stoutly disagree when sober.

“What took you so long?” He slurred slightly, slinging an arm around you and giving you a tight, alcohol-smelling hug. “Unlike some of you, I have a job, Hyunin,” You quipped, returning his embrace and pecking his cheek- your usual greeting.

“Whatever, you’re here now.” He scoffed and ruffled your hair. “ We just made some new additions to the frat, you should come and meet them.”

“Sure, why not?” So Hyunjin took your hand and led you through the throngs of partying people. Soon enough, you stepped onto the roof of the frat house, a fairly clean space for being set up by a troupe of boys. Fairy lights left the people on the terrace bathed in soft yellow lights, a rather aesthetic sight.

There were around a handful of people lounging around on the couches and carpets, but Hyunjin led you to a particular group of people nearest to the railing, laughing and talking in a circle. You knew he had a gang of friends from all over the campus that just seemed to have an inexplicable pull towards each other.

You knew some of them by appearance from other ragers- music major Jisung with the cheeky smile, law student Seungmin with the puppy-eyes and an acidic tongue, Changbin with his almost flawlessly built body (you always paused for a second to admire his physique) and Minho, the guy who for some ominous reason always had bruised knuckles.

“Y/N! Hey!” Jeongin exclaimed, eyes brightening up in an endearing smile. “Hey Innie,” you grinned, happy to see another familiar face in the junior from the same major as you. “Yes yes hello and all that, Innie,” Hyunjin rolled his eyes, ignoring the look of mock offense he got from Jeongin. “I brought Y/N to meet Chan, coz he’s new to the frat, and my favorite sorority girl should be the first to know about the new fish.”

He threw an arm out, pointing to one of the guys leaning against the railing of the terrace, all smiles and black hair. You extended your own smile towards him, already giving him a casual once over- He wasn’t too tall, with impeccably built shoulders in a muscle top….wait. The question was out of your mouth before you could stop it.

“Are you the weirdo that goes skateboarding at midnight?”

A pause rippled across everybody in the circle, the smile on Chan’s face reducing to an incredulous splutter as Jisung choked on a giggle- that did it. All of the guys dissolved into peals of laughter, loud and unrestrained.

“Sorry about that,” You said, letting out an embarrassed sigh as you stepped around the circle to get closer to Chan. “I’ve seen you in the skate park when I’m getting back after work.”

He shrugged, his handsome features still splashed with sheepishness. “It’s fine, it was just a matter of time, I guess.” Over the laughter, you could hear how smooth his voice was, like melting chocolate.

“If it counts for anything, I thought you’re really good at it.” You weren’t the beat around the bush with your words. “You made it look so easy.”

A light blush reddened his ears as he grinned at the compliment. “Thanks.. Y/N, was it?”

You spent the rest of the night with the boys, caught in easy banter- but particularly, you got to know Chan. He had been living off campus until he’d decided to apply for the fraternities on a whim, ending up with an acceptance to Alpha phi Alpha. He was a business major, with a creative minor in music producing- just like Changbin. He was a natural extrovert, effortless with conversation and people skills, a man married to his work-to the point that he regularly lost sleep over it. He was also a bit of a dork, you noticed, with his random bursts of exaggerated hand movements and lame jokes.

The sun was beginning to rise when you decided to get back home. “It was nice getting to know you, Channie,” you grinned, pulling him into an easy hug and pecking his cheek.

“Likewise, Y/N.” He smiled his captivating smile at you, before walking you to the frat house door. “Before I go, what do you say about exchanging numbers?” You asked. He was a good sort, the kind of guy who’d make a really good friend. Why not?

Chan agreed amicably and sent you off with promises to catch up soon, leaving you feeling light and happy.

To your surprise, he ended up dropping by your sorority the very next morning, asking if you were up for waffles at a nearby café. You happened to be awake at the time and decided to tag along with him- even though it was 6 in the morning.

“The guys refuse to wake up early and join me,” he complained, holed up in the café with plates of waffles and orange juice in front of you. “Chan, be honest,” You chuckled. “The only reason we’re awake at ass o�� clock is because both of us can’t sleep to save our lives.” He rolled his eyes in amusement. “Stop wise cracking and get on eating, Y/N.”

That café run cemented your day-old friendship into one of peaceful camaraderie, a safe space for each other within the chaos of your friend circles.

//

Winter melted slowly into spring, bringing tidings of new beginnings, assignment and semester exams and subsequently, end of semester parties. As always, Alpha phi Alpha was throwing a rager of a party that was expected to be the best all semester.  Your entire sorority had received invitations and were all excited to drown out the stress of exams week. You, on the other hand, were also thinking about something else. Someone, rather-Chan.

You and Chan had only grown close over the course of the past months,  gradually bonding over ungodly morning cafe runs, late night texts between breaks and video calls asking for outfit opinions.

You frequented the frat house more often, a fact that Hyunjin rejoiced (and teased you relentlessly) over. Chaeyoung only gazed at you with a suggestive look in her eyes when you slipped into the room at 2 a.m in the morning with one of Chan’s many black hoodies hanging off your shoulders. What, it was winter, it was cold on your way back from Imperium and he offered! Chan, to his credit, seemed to be just as invested in this newly growing friendship as you were. He walked you back from Imperium whenever he was at the skatepark, invited you on his midnight skate runs,  even almost breaking his arm trying to teach you how to balance on his skateboard.

It was an outlet for his energy, he explained one day. Sometimes working on music or going on a run didn’t give him the same sense of calm that skateboarding did. It wasn’t about the attention for him- with Chan, it almost never was. Not surprisingly, you liked that about him.  You liked Chan, for all his insomniac, stress skateboarding, black hoodie hoarding self.

The party was already in full swing when you and Chaeyoung knocked on the main door. One of the frat boys you didn’t know opened the door, smirking at you before yelling over his shoulder. “Yo, Chan, your girl’s here!”

Your eyes widened, exchanging an amused glance with Chae, who was openly laughing at your expression. Chan’s girl? Not that you hated the sound of that.. But you were just a friend- a friend who had a crush on him.. Right??

Chan hurried to the door that very instant, shoo-ing his frat brother off. “Sorry about that,” he murmured , exchanging hugs and cheek kisses with you and Chae. “To the usual spot?” he grinned, comically offering you his arm.

“Of course, my dearest,” you gushed, the two of you bursting into a fit of giggles as you linked your arm with his, allowing Chan to steer you towards the staircase leading up to the terrace. Once on the rooftop, you were met with a familiar sight- 7 boys giggling and talking amongst themselves in a loose circle near the railing. “Chan, don’t hog all of Y/N’s attention, she’s here for the party, you know?” Jisung called out the second he spotted the two of you heading towards them.

Amidst a gale of laughter, Chan frowned indignantly, opening his mouth to give Jisung a tongue lashing before you broke in, a sly smile stamped across your own face. “Who says I’d mind it??”

A chaotic chorus of 7 male voices responding to you had you laughing aloud, scanning Chan’s face for any discomfort. But he only had flaming ears, shifty eyes,  and a shy smile trained on you- a smile that shifted from shy to teasing in split seconds.

“If that’s the case, then I’m stealing Y/N for the night, you guys!” He declared, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the door the two of you had just walked through. “Chan, what are you doing?” You breathed out in amusement, not pulling your hand away. Your heart was beating out of your chest at everything going on, especially with Chan’s warm hand enclosing yours and the way he’d just smiled at you-

“Something I’ve wanted to do for a while now,” Chan’s voice was exactly as you knew it, smooth, warm melted chocolate. “Come with me to the skatepark. Just for a while.” Who were you to say no to that voice?

//

Chaeyoung opened the door to the sorority early next morning, squawking in laughter when she saw who stood in front of her. You in Chan’s hoodie, your hand in his, your lipstick staining the side of Chan’s jaw and the kicker- you hugging Chan, quickly landing a soft kiss on his lips before skipping into the house.

Chaeyoung could only look at the adoring look on Chan’s face as you disappeared into the house and close the door, laughing quietly.  Ah, young love. 

[herstarburststories]

I posted 140 times in 2021

34 posts created (24%)

106 posts reblogged (76%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.1 posts.

I added 142 tags in 2021

#dean winchester x reader - 25 posts

#dean winchester - 20 posts

#dean x you - 13 posts

#dean winchester x you - 13 posts

#timezone reblog - 12 posts

#dean winchester imagine - 12 posts

#supernatural - 12 posts

#spn - 12 posts

#dean winchester headcanon - 12 posts

#dean winchester imagines - 11 posts

Longest Tag: 66 characters

#based on lisa x dean relationship with w less understanding reader

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

Home in a Motel Pool

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: Dean and you have some fun in the motel's pool.

A/N: This one took a little longer than I thought, but here it's! Wet Dean in motel pool for us. So canon compliant of me, I know I know. This piece is my submission for @deanwanddamons 's 1st Blogiversary and 2K follower celebration with the prompt in bold. Congrats again, honey! And it's also my part for @anaelsbrunette 's YAS’S POC READER CHALLENGE with the song Home by Depeche Mode. Thanks for the extra time and the marvelous challenge!

Warnings: sex in the pool, p in v, dirty talk

Hunting was brutal. Even when the hunters won, it was a victory with no triumph-- there would be someone dead, always a corpse and loved one weeping as a reminder that you and the Winchesters couldn’t save everyone. You’d come around the town, tell the folks what they wanted to hear to get some information, kill the thing, and luckily save a person or two. It was a page from the emptiest stage, a show for a crowd of three: you, Sam, and Dean. Their own critics and praisers, doctors and patients, sinners and saints.

And if your hands were melted and molded into killing machines, you better pray for your heart to be made of anything but gold. That job didn't leave space or time for tenderness. In order to hunt the prey, you must become ferocious. Attack anything on sight, sing to the loneliest sound that’s the gunshot in the dark, pretend that you’ll make amends only to end up befriending the glorious end of the line that often came too soon.

Thing is, it wasn’t just about that. It would be easier if it was all about perfect soldiers and ultimate killers. A black and white world stained with crimson red would be the ideal, but there were always more colors.

Certainly, it wasn’t the most illustrious job one could get. If anything, it was unfair and underpaid and the seed of violence. Every hunter happened to do things they never could speak about, and all the blood got so normalized to the point red is just the color that pointed you were doing it right. like a good grade or a father’s head pat. Where was the seat on the table for any gentless to sit down in the chaos? In the thankful hugs from the mothers of the rescued children, in the pranks the boys came up with against each other for no other reason but childish nostalgia, in the nights where the three of you stopped and sat on Baby’s hood to watch the stars in silence, in the way Dean’s tough hands touched your cheek so lovingly, in the smell of the Impala’s wheels burning against the streets. Summarizing, when saving people wasn’t reasoning enough, kindness appeared glistening in the middle of the pandemonium, as a paragon of something good in cruelty.

Just like this moment.

‘’My body aches in places I didn’t even know that could hurt.’’ You groaned as you got out of the classic black car, hand on the back of your neck to apply some pressure. Even being thrown against a wall by some demon hurt less than sleeping in the backseat-- sweet mundane problems.

Sam scoffed before adding insult to injury, ‘’At least you were sleeping and didn’t have to hear the same cassette three times.’’

‘’Quit whining, you two. I was the one driving through two states.’’ Dean said in a huff, swirling the keys as the three of you walked towards Bonita Motel’s entrance. He placed an arm around your waist, his own way of showing affection in quietude. Your hand slipped inside his leather jacket’s pocket. ‘’Sides’, Baby’s backseat is comfortable and Zeppelin is awesome.’’

The youngest Winchester refrained his response to an eye roll and a mumble among the lines not when played three times in a row. You, though, turned your head to the side and offered your stubborn boyfriend a cynical smile.

‘’I prefer a bed.’’

He aimed at you with his signature lopsided grin, the one he knew that you loved, while you passed through the main door of the establishment. ‘’That’s not what you said last week.’’

‘’Guys, limits.’’ Sam pleaded, shaking his head at Dean’s comment before turning around. He made a chatter that quickly got old with the woman behind the counter, gaining two keys. The long haired hunter tossed one at his brother, who quickly grabbed it with his free hand.

‘’This is a good motel…’’ You commented as the three walked upstairs, the gleaming blue sight caughting your brown eyes. Your whole body shone as if it was really a beach and not only a cheap motel’s pool. Dean and Sam had never gone to the beach, but you grew up with salt aired weekends, a collection of swimsuits, and a loud family on the sand. You missed the sensation of being held by the ocean so dearly. It wouldn’t be the same, nothing was after you jumped in Dean’s Impala in New York; hustling for some other life, a better one like your parents when they came to the United States. Yet, a pool could be diverting and cozy. Pulling away from your man’s hold, you approached the small chlorine miracle. 

‘’There’s a pool!’’ You pointed out, as excited as a kid in a carnival. ‘’We should take a swim.’’

‘’You guys go. I have some research to do.’’ Sam nodded at the pool with his head, denying the request with a sleight of hand as he opened the lock of the room 209. ‘’Have fun, kids.’’

The green eyed man clicked his tongue when his brother disappeared with the craike of a door. He wasn’t exactly against the idea of jumping in the pool - apart from the germes, but his paranoia wouldn’t mind that much, not after trying endless motel’s bathtubs. The drive here had just been too long. Besides, if that crap motel had a well-cleaned pool, it probably had vibrating beds. He could use a massage. ‘’I think I’ll get crash in bed.’’

You arched an eyebrow. ‘’Didn’t you say that Baby’s backseat was comfortable to sleep?’’

‘’How taller than you I am, sweetheart?’’ He smirked as you walked back to him like you always did, your own north star in shape of a magnetic force of a man,

‘’Shush.’’ You slapped his chest playfully, wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck. ‘’Come on. Most motels we go to barely have a door, much less a pool. I miss going swimming. It’s a sunny day…’’ The childish joy in your tone metamorphosed into a newfound malice. ‘’You’ll get to see me in a bikini.’’

The Winchester wiggled his messy brows at your statement, suddenly reinvigorated as he placed his arms around your waist to bring you closer. Forget the body ache and all that, that was a way better reason to be sore in the bones later. ‘’You made some good points.’’

‘’I always do.’’ You kept the adamant tone, even when you could feel his breath on your cheek, those green eyes so livid when looking at you. God, you had to put a period here before things escalated and you two ended up getting to right in the middle of the hall. You attempt to make a joke: ‘’Darling it’s better, down where it’s wetter.’’

He knew it was a prompt from The Little Mermaid-- you two had watched two days ago in Tupelo, in a vintage television after killing a Ghoul, while Sam got some junk food. Yet, the kind of smile that brought to his face held anything but purity. A simple conversation became double-edged with Dean Winchester. You two often ended up breathless, either from fighting or from doing more entertaining dances. You should’ve seen that one coming.

‘’I know another wet spot.’’ He’d say, unholy significance trapped in each word as his right hand started to motion over your skin, guiding his greedy finger under your skirt. Your mouth was set in a grim line, a surprisingly determinate attempt to hold back a moan. You and Dean could do it in the pool, unite the good infant memories with the tent-like emotions of adulthood to make a grand deal.

‘’You’ll get all of me wet.’’ You kissed the corner of his lips, smoothly pulling away with a wink. So much self control. ‘’Hurry up, cowboy.’’

You grabbed your bag and rushed to room 208 to change your clothes, leaving an astonished, mildly turned on Winchester behind. Getting in the bathroom, which didn't stink for once, you swiftly changed into the bikini. A jade green one, directly from Brazil’s brand Cia Maritma. If you squint your eyelids hard enough, you could still put a name to each face that was with you when you wore it for the first time in the calmer days. All the long gone friends and the daily sunbath in your caramel skin.

Decided to leave the past well enough alone, you just smiled in melancholy and turned around, facing your reflex in the mirror. You looked hot. Dean surely would agree about that, especially with the way the top brought up your breast.

Arriving in the room to your boyfriend ready for the swim, you couldn’t help checking him out. You were attracted to the way the righteous man’s body was built since the first glance, addicted since the first touch. His shoulder, the freckles on his nose, and the way he wasn’t all defined, yet had the muscles right in the certain spots. You took off your hairpin, hair falling on your shoulder into a brown sea, like the waves crashing against the ocean rocks. The smell of your sweat and orange monopolizing the edges of everywhere, mainly Dean’s senses. He relished on how soft your skin was compared to his, how your accent tingled his insides, and the way you swing your hips while walking. Your boobs almost jumping at his face because of the tiny bikini only aroused him more.

The place had to get some credit. For a dive motel, it was more than they’d picture. Manageable bathrooms and safe locks, the pool glimmering blue with a small tree by the right side. It was gorgeous.

A dazzling breeze whispered through your bodies, causing you to shiver slightly and Dean to get sweet smelling sheets clinging to his knees and feet. Fucking tree. You could taste the friction swallowing the atmosphere, a report of what was near.

Before you could say anything, Dean grumbled as he pokes a leaf away. ‘’It’s gonna rain.’’

‘’It will.’’ You agreed, holding his hand to pull him closer, well-aware that your body would scare away any linger of adorable grumpiness. ‘’But who cares about raining when you’re in a pool?’’

It's the kind of question that doesn't need an answer, it briefly exists to make Dean distracted in wonder just now, a pause between seconds as you jump in the pool first. The water splashing around with a brutal sound. Your body seems to recall an old memory, how you made a lark of anything with your siblings in the sea,  how you used to feel like the beaches were a peculiar way of God to show the living how his touch would feel like. Every fiber of your body missed this.

Dean went in too, emerging to the marvelous sound of your laugh. He glanced at you, now less of a hunter and more of a man. The drops on your face could easily be confused with tears, yet the way you grinned and threw water at him couldn’t leave space for any other world but happiness. The Winchester often noticed your longing for cultural things that you no longer had in the palm of your hand. It was stupid, he even felt somehow resposible for taking you away of everything you ever knew only to coaxe you through the road not taken— full of bumps and blood and undecked halls. Then you’d smile, you’d wrap your arms around him like you were doing in that exact moment, and he would see that the drops all over your face are flickering with your chortle.

What other choice would Dean have, what other option could he ever make himself pick, if not to place his hands on your hips? So it goes. He put his rough hand on your, each tender touch seeming to make the bruises there clear up.

The hunter was leaning in to kiss you as a wave of water met his face.

‘’Ops!’’

He narrowed his eyes, spilling out the water. ‘’You are gonna pay for this.’’

‘’I’d like to see you try, Kansas boy.’’

Yeah, you once were raised in the water, such an important part of your identity which you didn't wish to lose, yet slowly slipped beyond your reaches. But you had Dean, you had adventure, and you had the motel’s shitty pool. If you could find contentment in that, you should know that who you were wasn’t lost. You were still the five years old who played in the plastic pool, the seventeen girl who grabbed your cellphone’s lantern and went looking for what was making a noise at 3am, the twenty years old who jumped in a car with two hunters and a craving for finding her true home. You were all of them at once. 

Heaven sent the only true friend you could call yours and you’re under his lips. Dean’s crashing his mouth with yours, hungry like an animal after your playful war. You two are soaked, and so is your pussy. He pressed your against the border of the pool, your back to the wall of it. The water rushes in and you couldn’t care less. When did a bikini start to look like too much clothing?

Breaking the kiss, the Winchester glanced at you. The green of all the wild gardens localized in his orbs, dappled with stars and desire. Waiting for his touches, enjoying when he took his time with you was always worthwhile. Today, though, you needed him fast and dirty and raw.

There was nothing you'd rather than spread your legs, so you did it. Dean’s smart fingers quickly ripping your panties and brushing against your heat. He let out an annoyed huff, missing the satisfaction of your wetness around his digitals, how he knew you were a mess for him and him only. The pool’s water didn’t let it much evident, he’d have to fuck you even harder, make sure you were still needy for his cock.

You whined, clinging to his touch with a swing of hips. His hand covering your pussy as Dean applied some pressure, savoring the way your body winced and your eyes shut close, a beautiful moan leaving your lips. He couldn’t wait to eat you out later after he made you come in this stupid pool. Hedonism made his blood thicker-- like he was a calm sea before you, and now his waters were violent and hungry for destruction. 

He pulled his hand away. ‘’Dean…’’

‘’Don’t worry, sweetheart.’’ His throbbing cock entered you, voice even deeper as he spoke. ‘’Gonna give you what you want.’’

You placed your legs around his waist and he held your thighs underwater, the sky spilling out its own water above. It didn’t stop two. Your hand on his shoulders, nails sinking in seemed to be a combustible for Dean to go harder inside of your. His hips attacking yours as his mouth kissed your neck with bites.

‘’Dean, please.’’ You pleaded, warm walls squeezing his long dick. ‘’More.’’

‘’All my cock is for you, honey. You get all of it, fucking you, scratching you open.’’ The eldest Winchester said, his voice so low and sensual. You could come only from his talking. ‘’That’s what you want, huh? You want me to fuck that pretty cunt, mark you up inside this shitty pool.’’ His digital reached your clint and you growled. Dean kept his dick inside you, unable to pull away from the heavenly sensation of being inside you. ‘’Wanna know something? I can’t wait to come inside that tight pussy right here.’’

He increased the rhythm, pounding you even faster and rougher as you tried to keep up, the lack of synchrony causing his cock to reach and pull inimaginable pleasures inside you, all turning more brutal and necessary. The pool had its own waves, your and Dean’s movements causing a chaos ocean chaos in it.

The heat and the sickliest, you were drowning in pleasure with each thrust to a desperate beat that his heart echoed. All your pretty noises tangled with his breathless howls. The rain’s drops becoming one water with the pool as you and him became one with your intertwined bodies, only to grow apart again and come back in need for more.

Your and your lover’s figures distorted on the reflex of the pool water, washing away any piece left of purity as you moved in a hurry when you finally reached your orgasm. Your cunt tightening around his hardness was too much to bear, making Dean come after you.

He rested his forehead against yours, breathless faces with closed eyelids darting together. The heat calmed down by the water. Dean dared to look at you, but not to pull away. His cock remained inside your tight cunt and he caressed your cheek gently. That woman pounded from within and is pinning him down to earth, like you are his own gravity, the glimpse of relief, the lover’s photographe that gives the soldier’s battle a meaning.

‘’There’s a saying in my country.’’ You said suddenly, opening your brown eyes as he lifted his head to greet yours with his forest ones.

Dean captured your small nose, your desirable lips, your big eyes, your gorgeous tan skin, the signals he had map of on his lips. His thumb still stroked your face as his cock took its time to weaken inside your pussy. ‘’Yeah? What’s it?’’

‘’Quem está na chuva é pra se molhar.’’ He arched his eyebrows, a silent request for an english version. The Winchester knew around ten words in your mothertongue. Half pet names, half cussing. You pecked his plump lips. ‘’There's no literal translation, some things just lose their core if you try to put them to another language. It would be like if you are in the rain you want to get wet. It would be another way to say if you can’t take the heat, get out of the kitchen.’’

‘’I gotta say, you look pretty hot when you say those things.’’ You smirked. You rolled your eyes playfully, fingernails tenderly fondling the back of Dean’s neck under his haircut. ‘’Do you miss it?’’

‘’My country?’’

‘’Yeah. Not just your country but your language, your friends, your life there.’’ He shrugged, secretly scared of the answer. ‘’It’s not like we go to the same places you used to go to. I see how many bikinis you carry around.’’

Which was the main reason he booked that motel. You didn’t need to know that. The childish joy you had with the surprise was enough for his credit.

‘’No. Well, I still speak my language when I’m mad at you.’’ Dean chuckled. Whenever you two got in a heated argument, your inner latina would come out and jump at him in both languages at once. It was supposed to be serious, but mostly got him all hot and bothered. Your accent was just too sexy, especially when you were angry. ‘’But no, not really. I miss situations and people, but not how it was. It was a good life, but it wasn’t the one I was supposed to have.’’ You pulled him to you by his neck. ‘’I thank you, you know? For bringing me here. For showing me home, Even for the tears and the fear. I finally I’ve found where I belong.’’

Tranquility engulfed the atmosphere momentarily as comfortable as a silent sleeper, the rain no longer coming, giving stage to a sunny sky. You and Dean, twisted together like that was all serenity you could relish on. You both quiet in the afterglow, his cock no longer hard but neither wanted to pull away. He laid his head on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. He certainly would bring you to a beach as soon as he could, maybe pop the pretty question on his knees there. For now, thought, he could enjoy thar simple moment.

‘’After my house was burned to the ground, I didn’t think I’d have another one. I was always rolling around the country, never really stayed in a place for too long. I didn’t want to call some random walls my home and have it destroyed in my face again.’’ Dean said, his thumbs caressing your thighs underwater. Since his first breath near you, he knew he was a goner. Even better, he knew he wasn’t a goner, a nomad, or a lonely wolf anymore. Dean Winchester once swore he would never come back home after what happened in there, and then you appeared. The hot latina who kept up with his stupidity and didn’t think twice before calling him out on his bullshit, and was always there for him and actually loved him-- not besides the job, but with all the things being a hunter included, all the ugly acts he had to go through. You believed he was good and worthy. His house burned, but you gave him a home. For the first time in so long, Dean felt warm and happy and loved. ‘’But you gave me a home. Without the apple pie life and all that. You, me, and Sammy-- fighting the good fight, just the three of us. This is my home.’’

To be a hunter was to be gauge of the deadliest trap ever laid, always carrying the heaviest cross ever made like a soldier’s duty that wouldn’t end with a couple years of trocious war. This treacherous slope was forevermore. A hunter life, all the fraunds and the paid phone calls and the running away with laughs empty of joy, the song from the wrong side of town. But fuck, all the saving and the excitment and the hustled love made a dance for the melody and suddenly it was worth it. All the tender parts, the new restaurants every week, the jokes in the car, the hidden chortles in the dark places. Sam. Dean. Dean and all this am out of love and loyalty he gave to you.

Everything was worth it to be in his arms.

He brought you back home.

Comment & reblog. Feedback is magic! Check my masterlist ♡ Tags in reblog!

171 notes • Posted 2021-01-29 01:12:14 GMT

#4

Y/N: is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?

Dean: *takes a gun out of his pocket*

Y/N: that's a gun

Dean: it was my penis poking you earlier tbh

X

179 notes • Posted 2021-01-13 00:16:02 GMT

#3

tolerate it

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Summary: your love for Dean used to be celebrated, but now he tolerates it.

A/N: here it is, hunters! First fic of the year, wow! I hope you guys like it! Based on Taylor's song tolerate it. Also requested by @ashleyygeza!

Warnings: so much angst, language, smut

There was this thing you always liked to do. It was mostly the learned behavior of a child that grew up in motel rooms. It was usual for the adult that called a bunker her home, too. You’d lay on your back, staring at the light on the ceiling and squint your eyes to the point the glimmering white light could be mistaken as the moon. You never thought you’d end up doing that to people as well.

It used to be something so sensual and sequin back then, but now the fact that he's so much older and wiser only makes you quiet. You see his bruised hands and worried glances; the stubble on his face growing as his sense of self starts to fade with borrowed time. Dean used to love you in screaming colors; now he just sits in silence reading with his head low, researching the next case under the dim light while you watch him. Sam can't seem to stand slow deaths either -- he just clears his throat and leaves the bunker with the empty excuse of a supply run. 

Still, you remain here. You stand still like a good ornament in Dean's collection of lovers. It seems like it's a matter of time until he leaves you too. Yet, you’re sitting and watching him, and you can't help but wonder if you aren't just another wrinkle on his face. You’d been a memory of something worth dying for, once, but now you were starting to believe you were just another battle scar; marred skin that had spent so long settling that he didn’t even notice the scarification anymore. 

Hours pass as quickly and emotionally draining as dry heaving. His huffs of annoyance and thirsty fingers of whiskey were difficult to ignore. The eldest Winchester doesn’t dare to approach you; to throw those dust-collecting books away and make love to you with dumbfounded grins and breathless groans like he had done so many times before. That was when you were a complete person and not just the husk of a lover destroyed. Once you held the strength of Jeanne d'Arc, now you sit and wait for a man to love you back. You’d be disgusted by your weakness if you had any pity left to spare.

If you look at someone too much you can confuse it with love. And if you already love someone and keep looking, you might waste all the rose-colored visions love could create. Maybe that's what happened to Dean. It’s a treacherous game, and it seems like he’s winning. Perhaps it’s your fault, your snide mind speculates against your will. You should try harder.

You don’t miss Dean’s hidden sigh of relief when the door makes a noise, announcing Sam’s return. How could you? You notice everything he does or doesn't do. At first, you fantasized that, even if it started getting messy before, he was pushing you away because of the whole fighting God problem, now you aren’t so sure. The clues were all over the place when Chuck was gone. Dean smiled at Sammy as if there was no tomorrow and said we’re finally free without sparing a glance at you. When they-- when he started building other worlds, where were you? That long-fraught, battle-ridden past of the Winchesters might be gone, but the more you try to turn the page, the more they stick to each other.

‘’Sammy,” his gruff voice says. It is the first word in hours that wasn’t half-hearted mumbles agreeing with your occasional comments or the tuneful hum of a classic rock song between reading and drinking. ‘’Did you bring any bacon?’’

‘’Yeah, but they need cooking--’’ Sam interrupts his brother, already familiar with this conversation. Dean’s half-open mouth and wiggling brows meant one thing. He was such a kid sometimes. ‘’And no. I’m not frying this cardiac embolism waiting to happen for you, dude.’’

You get up, aiming a smile at the long-haired hunter. ‘’Don’t worry, I can cook it. I was gonna make some pasta anyway.’’

Sam slightly nods before tilting his head towards you. ‘’You sure?’’

‘’Yeah. My butt’s already sore from the research. Those chairs aren’t that comfortable.’’ You scrunched up your nose with a good-humored grimace. 

‘’Okay, thanks.’’ You nod, throwing a last glance at Dean, who barely moved since you got in the conversation. You turn around, walking to the kitchen when Sam’s voice reverberated through. Deciding to overhear against all your sense of privacy, like a schoolgirl in the bathroom, you lean against the wall. You can’t believe the point you got to at those moments, but the answer to the question Sam asks may be the solution for your personal tophet. ‘’What’s up with you?’’

Dean doesn’t seem phased by his brother’s prodding. ‘’What do you mean?’’

Sam arches his eyebrows. ‘’No butt jokes?’’

At least you aren’t going crazy here. Even Sammy noticed something peculiar about Dean and you. There had to be an explanation or reason.; something broken that you could fix.

‘’I’m a grown-ass man, Sam.’’ He scoffs as you heard the chair being pushed. You nibble on your bottom lip, catching your breath as they continue.

‘’Yeah, sure,” the younger man snaps sarcastically. Dean rolls his eyes. ‘’Actually researching when I leave you two alone? Come on, Dean. Did you guys argue or something?’’

‘’We are just fine.’’ His boots scuffing against the wood floor makes a well-known melody, just like Sam’s loud sigh. You know him; he thinks this his brother’s way to avoid the subject and run away. You can’t say you don’t agree with that.

‘’Dean…’’

“I’m gonna take a shower. I spent two hours reading. I gotta get ready for my bacon.’’ It is a simple answer that made your heart spin like a girl in a brand new dress. You had the sudden realization that at least he spent those hours with you, right? Deadly in his quietude, but he was there. Women always are excellent at convincing themselves that crumbs are a whole meal. Therefore, convince yourself this is enough.

You hear the creaking under his strong, heavy steps as he leaves, and a couple more from Sam as well. Ultimately, you turn around, clapping your hands together as you glare at the food still waiting to be made. You give yourself a comforting smile as you speak: ‘’Time to get to work.’’

Then you go. You pace around the kitchen, preparing the lunch with everything you have. Make it perfect, make it delicious. Fuck, even make it deluxe with pre-made bacon and vegan pasta on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s so silly how you make such a lavish effort with the smallest things only to maybe catch a glimpse of his attention. As if Dean would see, truly look at you again. You gave him the best you had, and when you ran out of that, you gave him what was left too. 

The pasta is smelling good. You two used to be each other's better halves, but since the coin had been tossed, you are now each other’s worst reflections. He’s your coldness; the gelid nature that was so useful as a weapon to hurt those who came before him. The ignorance, the lack of care for the ones who claimed to cherish you with their ripped out chests and open hands. You can see you in the way he moved, told white lies and walked away. All the most brutal aspects that your soul built through the years. You almost burn your hand, but at least it isn’t his bacon. And in you, you hold all Dean hated in himself lately. The clingy behavior, always urging to serve and make someone else happy. So needy for a gentle touch, one single proof that his lurking was wrong and he was worthy, that he could be loved someday if he just tried hard enough. Desperate in earge for aprovation, just like you grabbing the Men Of Letters’ sumptuous tapestry and the elegant candle holder, laying the table with the fancy shit.

‘’Wow.’’ Sam says once he arrives in the dining room. Dean refrains his reaction to arching his eyebrows in an unspoken question: what the fuck is happening there?

‘’Is the queen visiting us or somethin’?’’ You catch the pissed off glare that Sammy gives him, yet the older Winchester just shrugs. His little brother had the same eyes as him in many aspects, he had to agree that all those snobby objects were too much.

Unbothered, too used to his butch nature, you chortle. ‘’I just thought we deserved some nice things tonight.’’

Dean hums before adding: ‘’As long as there’s bacon.’’

Sam praises how good the sauce you made tastes. Of course, Dean just nods and agrees with a grumble, not even taking a second glance at you. He doesn’t notice that you are watching him, neither does he compliment your cooking. You never get the reaction you expect from him. Not a thank you, or a true smile, or even a drop of love in the saliva of his kiss, but you keep trying. Just like he tried to make daddy proud for so long. You both should know that's not how it works, but who can argue with a broken child mosaic in an adult damaged heart?

The green eyed man purposely sets the scene in a manner that his brother would be between the two of you. And yes, you manage to double cross this signal and sit down on another chair by his side. Although, when your elbows accidently meet during the homemade feast, Dean doesn’t look at you with the lopsided grin that you love so much. He doesn’t lean in to steal a kiss. Instead, he moves to the side discreetly. You were the roots of hope once, the one who could grow inside him and wrap around his organs for some relief of the hematoma and blood. The Winchester held the arm that pulled you closer and made sure you would stay. But he no longer touches you and the plants died of thirst and you are still here. In these moments, your trick mind asks: why are you still here? You can’t answer.

The lunch goes by filled with your and Sam’s chatter, Dean’s loud chewing and Miracle’s ocasional barks until there’s no food or reasoning to postpone staying together. All the three of you raise up, adamantly ignoring the strange atmosphere. 

‘’We’re leaving in an hour.’’ It’s all Dean says before leaving the room. Sammy dares to squeeze your shoulder softly before following his older brother’s path. With a suspire, you collect all the plates and lead to the kitchen again, starting to put the 60 minutes to good use. Polish plates until they gleam and glisten, maybe Dean will sneak in and wrap his arms around you, press a kiss to your neck and tell you to go to bed, that he will take care of the dishes. He used to do that. This was then and this is now. It’s easy to get lost in the tangles of time.

Of course he doesn’t. Though the hunter shows up with a bag and shouts from the living room for you to hurry up, so you do. Sleeping in the backseat of Baby through the streets of the United States, you wake up with Sam gently shaking your shoulder. Dean is already inside the restaurant. You try not to think too much about it, he could’ve been needing to hit the bathroom or something. As you and the youngest Winchester enter the establishment, four trained eyes fall on your boyfriend and the waitress, who’s clearly leaning forward to make her cleavage more evident. You two pace towards the table just in time to hear the end of their conversation. 

‘’Call me if you need anything.’’ The name tag says that the brunette is called Andressa. She's tall, tan and beautiful, smiling in a way that you never can never conquer. You miss having that confidence, how you’d walk in a room and be sure people would stop and stare. Remember when you used to be like that?

‘’Betcha.’’ He gives her a lopsided grin, the one that used to be directed to you. Andressa winks at him and leaves, swapping her hips in the most seductive way, which catches Dean's eyes like it's the whole Aurora Boreal and not just a woman's ass.

‘’Nice shirt, yeah?’’ You take his indiscretions all in good fun. Dean, though, takes a deep breath and wipes his face, as if he's the one with the right to be annoyed in this situation. It's so stupid how you keep making yourself smaller to fit in whatever expection is comfortable for him. At some point you'll disappear-- but hey, no body no crime. You attempted to explain yourself, ‘’I was just kidding.’’

He tightens his mouth into a thin line. ‘’I know.’���

‘’I saw one on Shein.’’

‘’Come on, Y/N.’’ The green eyed hunter scoffed. ‘’That’s like, Belladonna’s boobs sort of thing.’’

It’s so stupid how his opinons can change your whole weekend, as if your emotions were some sort of board game that Dean played by his own rules. You hang your head low, playing with the menu. You can ‘’Yeah, you’re right. It was dumb.’’

‘’That’s not what I---’’ He stopped himself with a deep inhale. Why did it seem easier for him to criticize than compliment you? You are using your best colors for his portrait of stares, yet all you gain are vacant side eyes. That man killed for you, and now every second by your side seemed to be murdering him. ‘’You’d look good on it.’’

You decide not to go on the next hunt, give both of you a break from the grey skies that always seem to suppress you and Dean. What if you two just need time apart? You live together, work together, and even have the same group of friends. Putting the whole monsters and multiple deaths aside, it was pretty much like a normal relationship. You must just need some time alone to miss each other. So you start going on less and less hunts. God, past you’d hate that scared little girl act, begging to be seen like a shiny toy.

Your cell phone buzzes, causing a smile besides the burning anticipation building up in your veins, crawling under your skin like a million little stars, or bugs. It depends on how you choose the perspective, no surprise you’d go for the romantic one. Well, it's a text from Dean. Plaid and crude: getting home in ten minutes. Why’d you be unpleasantly anxious about that? He’s your boyfriend and he’s coming home after a week! Your fingers dance around the keyboard before answering a sweet waiting for you, with a couple hearts in the byline.

You get his favorite burger and a whiskey older than you in the Deancave, which is settled up with a three hours marathon of Scooby-Doo. It was always so adorable when Dean and you made bets to see who’d guess the episode villain first. Even his hot dog pants and his robe are on the armchair. As for you, you are waiting by the door like you’re just a kid, in a vat to greet him with a battle’s hero welcome. One, two, three, minutes piling up as uncountable as the hidden tears that you cry each week in after the city’s asleep. Let’s be fair, you should’ve seen this coming from a mile away. What was the last time Dean accomplished something he promised to you? He doesn’t even reply to your text message asking if he was okay. Minutes trapped into hours, and you’re sitting with your back to the wall, right next to the door he should have burst out long ago. Time’s ticking, your mind is so tired and your body is sore; it’s exhausting to love someone like this, so you take a rest when sleep wins your hopeful, unclever thoughts.

Dean arrives one hour later, an oral scarlet letter on his tongue that tastes like beer and unregrettable priorities, an apologist expression accompanied of a very grumpy-ish Sam as the door is pushed open. The short haired hunter purses his plump lips at the sad sight; you sleeping on the floor next to the door, probably waiting for him. Maybe he should've answered your text earlier and not just rolled his eyes and ordered another drink. What a suburban mistake for a Winchester.

Dean doesn't turn around to face Sammy; his brother made his opinion on that matter very clear during their roadtrip. Instead, his aching body just leans in and picks you up bridal style — that would've made him smile in the gentlest way his blood-stained mouth and sharp teeth could, eye dipping with joy and a silent promise for the future, but now that only gets a stoic expression as he walks towards your shared room. 

He dares to sigh. There you go, taking too much space and time. This might be a deceiving concept dappled with melancholic nostalgia, but to take space and time wasn’t a trouble before. Dean once worshiped the light-hearted emotion you could bring out his inner little monster - or his soul, whatever you wanna name it. The time wrapped around your finger as he was, and things were just good. Raw good. Yet, now he sees it; time’s always running, and so is him. It’s no surprise the heart he was holding fell and was left behind at some point of the race.

The hunter bumps on the door with his shoulder, leading inside the bedroom and placing you on the mattress. Your body can’t help but to cling to him as you mumble in your sleep; maybe it’s your fond memory, used to Dean’s body seeking some human contact only in the middle night.

Clicking his tongue, he pulls away. The movement is docile, just enough to wake you up. Dean can’t help but to groan at this.

‘’You came back.’’ You murmur, while Dean adjusts on the spot next to you in bed.

Arching his eyebrows with some comedic background, he answers: ‘’Of course I did. I live here.’’

Live. You wouldn’t call what he does living. More like a ghost hunting his old house when you are around. Or maybe you were the ghost and sure, most people would run away from it, but Dean always goes looking for the supernatural beings anyway. Unnerving that he’d make someone he loved out of one.

‘’Why didn’t you pick up the phone? I was worried.’’

He shrugs and kisses your hand. ‘’Was busy.’’

It’s a poor excuse, but those are all that have been holding you two together lately.

Here it is. Your inner anger for being treated wrong, the mad woman inside you scratching to come back. He has been treating you like a coat in Texas’ summer, like a stained flannel, like a forgotten feeling. You deserve more than this. You are so much more than this. Who he thinks he is?

But he has those green eyes that cried single man tears, and he’s so close you can feel his breath on your cheek. And you love that man so.

Instead, you smile and reach out for his hand. ‘’I missed you.’’

Dean doesn’t answer. He restricts any emotion to a grin, and suddenly you are under him. He pushes his lips against yours in a desperate act of recovery, to gain back what he somehow lost through the way. The green eyed man might not find his love in you, but there’s something else he can work with; luxury. Love was always harder to spell than lust anyway. To you, the way he howls against your lips is love. To him, it’s the confirmation of the absence of it. But he can’t let go.

Your hands and his, still together coaxing each other into giving in. It’s so easy that way. Dean rushes to rip your t-shirt, gaining a laugh out of your and a kiss to his jaw. He’s out of his pants before you can even pull away to assist him. The male catches your earlobe, kissing that sweet spot to make you whimper his name.

‘’Dean.’’

Your wince, his shirt is tossed away, just like your skirt. You aren’t wearing a bra, and quickly your cherry panties are pulled apart with a simple move of his finger.

‘’Gonna make you feel so good, babe.’’ His index finger is shoved inside your tight cunt. You throw your head to the back, spreading your legs open. You want to beg him to make you feel anything good, for him to be the reason of the holy and not hollow, just this once. ‘’You are so wet--’’ Another finger, they move inside of you in an attempt to find the right spot. ‘’So fucking tight for me. I’ve fucked you so many times and you’re still so tight.’’ Dean’s thumb caressed your clit as he licked his lips, relishing how you squirm and whine his name. What a good girl. ‘’Can’t wait to fuck you.’’

It doesn’t take much longer. The eldest Winchester quickly replaced his skilled fingers with his pulsating cock. His member begged to be inside you, squeezed by those warm and tight walls. Your pussy was always so good for him, taking him so nice. Dean moans at the sensation, his hand losing yours to hold the bedpost, his thrusting wildly against yours.

No more praising words, no more foreplay. He comes to get what he wants and you’re willing to give. He used to touch you like a priceless wine, now his hands are hustled and careless like you are just another bottle of cheap beer. Dean fucks himself into you and you can’t do anything but groan in pleasure. Sometimes the hurting can be delicious, too.

You crave more, though. Your hands, tiny compared to his, meet Dean’s back, nails digging into the bare skin in a reminder I’m here, you’re still mine. Your legs wrapped around his torso, which only caused his moves to go faster and more ferocious, destroying your needy cunt for any other. It feels so good to have him inside you, fucking you up to the point you are an inchorent ball of cum and sweat. He’s gonna get you there, it’s certain, Dean always does.

His thumb comes back to your vagina, digital press to your clit as he attacks your neck. You try to move your head and get those plump lips against yours, but he sounds like an animal, increasing his rhymin and sucking your tender skin.

Everything is so hurried and irrational and not intimate. He comes inside of you after your own release, marking you up with his orgasm. As soon as he’s dones, he crawls out of you and lays on his back. Sure, you come around and rest your weary head on his chest, but that’s what it is. Deep silence. Not the one where love or magic or whatever Aphrodite is made of fills the void and makes the lovers comfortable. No, this one is visceral, like a chuckle empty of joy. It’s like the tie of gold that tried you two were tangled and ripped. Your love should be celebrated, but he tolerates it. He tolerates everything you do. He tolerates your presence. 

The wrath sneaks in smoothly and astute. You aren’t just one night stand or a sweetheart. How can Dean act like you are? You lift your head and watch him breathing with his eyes closed. It’s so brutal, emotionally violent how you are aware that he’s only doing that not to have pillow talk. Where’s that man who’d throw blankets over your barbed wire? Easily misplaced by the one who threw your boundaries away and out the trap there nowadays. You made him your temple, you mural, your sky, now you’re begging for footnotes in the story of his life.

In the rare cracks of lucidity, you picture what would happen if you did what your old, better self would do. Dean appears to assume you are fine, but what would he do if you break free and leave you two in ruins, took this dagger in you and removed it, gain the weight of you then lose it? He was so comfortable with you. Maybe he didn’t think you would ever do that, but there’s just so much a woman with your determination and cleaverity can take. Believe, I could do it. You did it before with others. Sometimes you need to leave to breathe. Perhaps it's time. 

But then, he embraces you. Just like that, all your doubts and fears and bruises caused by his kisses are reduced to paranoia. You decide maybe you got it wrong somehow. Not even blinking at the thought that Dean enjoys cuddles. No, he’s pulling you closer and snucking his nose into your hair because he loves you. Convince yourself. You are majestic with lies, it gets surprisingly facile to tell them when you nuzzle into the Winchester’s neck like his smell is some sort of placebo.  

You aren't tiptoeing around it, or even stepping on the doubts with tiny hoaxes. You are barefoot on his love-- but his love feels a lot like walking through a street of fire and thorns. But hey, isn't that the point of devotion? To put something, someone first? To go through any suffering and starve to get to the prize, to walk through the golden gates? If this was a church, the priest would tell you to get on your knees and pray harder. You can see where he’s going. You’ll do better. Be everything Dean needs. You can be worthy-- you are worthy. You were his everything once and you can be that again. Pick up the soul tapestry he shrewd so unintentionally and patch it up. Most of those things must be in your head anyway, and if they aren't… Well. He will love you that deeply again, right? Right? It’s an echo. Right.

Tomorrow you’ll try again. In the name of love, condepedency, or whatever it is. Sit and watch him.

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207 notes • Posted 2021-01-20 00:26:00 GMT

#2

Dating Dean Winchester Would Include:

He's always touching you

When he was younger, it used to be his arm on your shoulders or around your waistline

And he'd grab your ass all the time (s1 Dean come back please)

As he grows old, it's usually more singele

A hand on your back as you walk, a squeeze on your hand/thigh under the table

He stops calling you sweetheart as your relationship gets more serious, optating for your nickname instead

He'll still call you sweetheart of he is being sarcastic or you two are fighting

You love to play with his hair

Sometimes, you are reading a book and he'll come around and lay his head on your lap

He looks at you when you aren't looking

Kissing his freckles

You like to grab his butt (he always jumps surprised)

And he slaps yours occasionally

Sam: Come on, don't you guys picture leaving this life one day?

Y/N: I can't see myself doing anything other than this.

Dean: You can't teach an old dog new tricks, Sammy. Especially if he's fucking good at the ol' ones.

Sam: Okay, I know but-- You both understand the life. You could settle down.

Dean: We have a house--

Sam: A bunker.

Dean: We have a house. We work. Sounds like a pretty settled down life.

Y/N: We are basically married in a hunter way.

Which gets the idea of marriage in Dean's head

You insist on the beach

Temple kisses

He allows you to steal his fries everytime

You can't cook, but Dean can

And you love his meals

You go jogging with Sam

You usually sit on Dean's lap a lot

He isn't complaining

If anything, the certain poking against your butt is pointing at anything but a complain

You don't wear his shirts daily, only after sex

Dean is so easily jealous

You read fanfics about the boys sometimes

Y/N: Wow, they really hate me.

Dean: Who?

Y/N: Your fans. But as far as I've read, they hate most women you guys get with.

You having a very serious discussion about who portray you and them in a movie about the Supernatural books

You actually love impala trips, but never cared much about driving

It's more about Dean driving with his hand on your thigh, and you enjoying the fast wind

You always sing Taylor Swift and AC/DC during these trips

And so does Dean, even though he will deny until his last death

You absolutely enjoy the restaurants you and the guys come across along the way, always choosing something to eat and to rate with Dean since your both have a list of the best cheap restaurants in the country

He never gets violent with you. Dean has his share of bursting out of anger, but not with you

Screaming of course, but then you'd too

He's used to let his angry through, but you have a sharper tongue that is like a gun

You two always make it up and work it out

Even if sometimes it's hard. Dean isn't much into talking about his emotion, and you're all about that.

You him massages after rough hunts

You hate guns, but you always get turned on as Dean picks one up

You also don't let him put one under your pillows because no thanks

Just a knife

He always goes for your touch

You started liking whiskey because his kisses tasted that

You and Dean love Halloween, unlike Sammy

MATCHING COSTUMES

Agreeing on not having kids because of the life

You weren't the motherly kind anyway

But you knew Dean was, which breaks your heart a bit

And makes you a little calmer as you two think you're pregnant

It was just a cheap burrito acting up

Thank God

And 4/10 on the Marcos's burritos for that

You always snuggle up to him

Dean isn't the most romantic guy in the world, and you like that

But when you two are alone in moments of vulnerability, he says certain things that have value for the rest of your life

And about sexy times: He's a boob man

Loves 69

New sexual experiences are always welcome

Roleplay? Yes, please

Just don't bring up pain

He will play sub or dom, anything to please you

Dean Winchester is his name, eating pussy is his game

He never forgets any special dates

You keep a calendar tbh

Back then he was still learning how to watch horror movies without being triggered for certain memories of the underworld, you used to pretend you were scared and hold him tight

He knows you weren't scared, you know he knows

It's good anyway, it helps

Anything with you always help to ease Dean's mind

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242 notes • Posted 2021-12-04 17:39:32 GMT

#1

Desire

Pairing: Dean Winchester x sister!reader

Summary: Dean's deepest desire is you, his little sister. He keeps it in secret, but the truth does appear.

A/N: I made it exactly 500 words long! I wanted to make it dirtier but DRABBLE! Anyway, this one for @little-diable ​’s 8.4k event. What an impressive milestone, honey! Congrats. I’d like to tag @negans-lucille-tblr ​, who inspired me to start writing this sort of fics. It’s my first time posting something like this and my 1000th post. W o w. Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: dirty talk, jealous!Dean, incest/wincest aka Dean x Sister!Reader

Dean Winchester is sick in a biblical sense.

He was never one for the religious worshipping and stolen faith, but the green-eyed hunter can’t deny how tarnished with sin his heart is. Most people grow up and then become stained with red, but that woe is his birthright: burrowed under his skin like blood itself.

Actually, blood’s the entire problem.

Dean shouldn’t look at his sister like this. He’s supposed to look out for you and Sam, all he was taught how to do. Yet, desire keeps sneaking in like an unwelcome guest or a robber towards the only woman he should never, ever touch like a man. Therefore, he swallows some alcoholic gulps and forgets, attempting to be someone who might doesn’t deserve to go to hell - who doesn’t have wet dreams about fucking his sister senseless in a road motel.

He isn’t like Sammy, having to ingest demon blood to turn bad. He isn’t like you, with insufferable altruistic beliefs. Mostly, Dean feels like he’s the family’s tophet: that forgotten place near Jerusalem, beside the promised land of happiness, which had nothing to do with beatitude at all. He’s so near to you and Sam, good people who deserve protection, yet he isn’t sacred as his siblings.

The only secret the righteous man’d die to keep. Unfortunately and fearfully, perhaps even faithfully, the nefarious words are burning on his tongue.

‘’What do you think you were doing?’’

‘’I could ask you the same thing!’’ Dean says with sarcasm, easily getting on your nerves. ‘’What if that man tried to--’’

A knife’s put to shame with your word’s cut: ‘’I wanted him, Dean.’’

‘’He was an idiot.’’ He huffs.

You scoff humourless. ‘’So, you break his nose?’’

‘’He had it coming.’’

‘’I can defend myself!’’

‘’Not the point.’’

‘’What’s your point? You always fuck those girls!’’ You exclaim in frustration.

Dean groans through his teeth, how you say fuck making his cock twich. ‘’Stop.’’

‘’I’m not some blushing virgin.’’

He’s your older brother. He shouldn’t get jealous at the mere mention of other men touching you.

‘’Seriously. Quit it.’’

Yet, there he’s, using all the strength not to show you who you belong to.

‘’Stop being overprotective.’’

His fist closes. Torture would be easier.

‘’Y/N.’’

‘’If I wanna go and fuck someone, then I’ll.’’

Enough. An animalistic sound leaves Dean’s lip as he rushes to you, pushing you to the wall, his body pressed against yours in a way a big brother never should. The eldest Winchester’s hungry mouth presses on yours, deep down terrorized and suddenly feeling bulletproof in this lovely sacrilege when you kiss him back. A blasphemy that not even the bible would mention, and he’s savoring every second. Hands holding you closer, knee between your legs. What a disgusting, dirty nature. So good, so hot. 

‘’You are mine.’’ Dean murmurs against your swollen lips.

He can’t wait to stuff his little sister with his cock, taste your pussy until you’ve no doubt about that.

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389 notes • Posted 2021-04-07 00:42:08 GMT

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Hush

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2LomhV8

by the_bird_queen

Silence shall travel in a vacuum if we command it to. ——— Mairon has been alone for too long. Now he is in the emptiest place in the world, and all has failed, but it is not the end.

Words: 569, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Sauron | Mairon, Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor

Relationships: Morgoth Bauglir | Melkor/Sauron | Mairon

Additional Tags: Fluff, Angst

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