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certaimromance · 5 months ago

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𝜗𝜚 The Other Boy Next Door.

Spencer Reid x Neighbor!reader

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Summary: Spencer is focused on not hurting you and keeping a healthy distance, but his whole world is turned upside down when he hears a male voice in your apartment.

Words: 3,9k.

Warnings & Tags: this is part of a series, check the masterlist to make sure you are in the correct chapter. mention of jail, gun, violence, alzheimer, blood. references to what happened with maeve (no direct mention). painter!reader. post prison reid (with so much trauma). lack of communication. angst. english isn't my first language (sorry for my mistakes, be kind please).

Note: This chapter was veryyy difficult to write because I really wanted to show both points of view, and I killed myself researching the deeper consequences of three months of confinement to be realistic with Spencer😭 I hope this makes sense to you.

Most days in apartment 23 were lonely and very decadent.

Generally, Spencer Reid woke alone in a bed that felt far too large for one person, the sheets cool and undisturbed on one side. Coffee came first, a dark, bitter brew that filled the air with its sharp aroma. He would stand by the kitchen window, staring out at the skyline, lost in thoughts that circled endlessly but led nowhere. His medical books were always on the table, their spines cracked and pages marked with notes and highlighter strokes. He pored over them not out of passion but desperation, chasing elusive cures for his mother’s Alzheimer’s. The phone rested nearby, a constant reminder of his work, its silence pressing heavier with each passing hour.

When there was no call, which was really weird, he filled the void with repetition. He’d toast bread or fry eggs for a meager breakfast, then venture out to the coffee shop on the corner. The routine was painfully predictable: the same stale donuts, the same barista with the tired smile, the same seat by the window. Thirty-two minutes, start to finish, every time. If the phone didn’t ring even then, he’d wander aimlessly to the library, where the scent of old paper offered fleeting comfort, or return home to let classical music fill the otherwise suffocating quiet. He was always pleased to hear songs without lyrics that could further suffocate his brain. It was a nice way to wait to be needed.

But one day, the loop cracked. Midway through his meticulous routine, something—or rather someone—broke through the fog of his predictability. You moved in next door.

And then, all of a sudden, his quiet time between classical sonatas, coffee, and huge books was interrupted by your cat, and consequently, you. His whole routine changed right away. He no longer woke up alone in his bed because you and Mittens took up all the space that was left and more. He didn't just buy one coffee anymore; now he bought two, with an extra brownie that you loved. He didn't lock himself away to read non-stop because he had you to talk to and give him the support that no book could ever give him. He stopped listening to so much classical music because you liked watching him analyze the lyrics of your favorite songs. He stopped waiting for calls from work to feel useful because you always seemed to need him.

And he welcomed all the changes, because the biggest one was his favorite: you.

Everything about you captivated him from the moment he saw you hauling an absurd number of canvases into your apartment. You were unlike anyone he’d ever met. Your presence turned the once-sterile hallway into a place of possibility, where running into you felt like a small miracle. But what amazed him most was how you transformed his apartment, a place he once thought of as lonely and very decadent, into a home. It wasn’t just the way Mittens treated his space like her second domain or how your art supplies slowly began to infiltrate his coffee table. It was the warmth you brought with you, the way you made him feel seen and understood in a way he never had before.

But since Spencer was used to it, nothing good lasted. But since Spencer was used to it, he'd rather leave than be left behind again.

You two were almost like strangers now. The warmth that had once filled his days was gone, replaced by a hollow silence that lingered in every corner of his apartment. There were no more mornings waking up together, no shared cups of coffee, or lazy conversations about nothing and everything. Even your casual hallway encounters had dwindled into fleeting moments, a rushed “good morning” as you passed each other without meeting his eyes.

Now, his mornings were cold and solitary once again. He sat alone at the small kitchen table, the other chair pushed neatly against the wall as if to erase any memory of you. The second coffee cup he’d grown so used to buying stayed behind at the shop, and the barista didn’t even ask about the brownie anymore. Instead, he carried a single steaming cup back to his apartment, where it joined the growing pile of books that had reclaimed their place as his only companions.

He buried himself in his medical texts with a desperation that bordered on obsession, but even the words on the page couldn’t hold his attention. He visited his mother at the nursing home you had helped him find, but the comfort he once felt from knowing it was close had turned into an aching reminder of how involved you’d been in every part of his life. And to make things worse, the job that had always been his refuge was gone too. Temporarily suspended, he had nothing to distract him, no cases to pour himself into, and no purpose to latch onto. He was adrift, waiting for his boss to negotiate with the bureau, waiting for his life to have some semblance of meaning again.

This morning was no different from the others. A bleak repetition of what his life had been before you. Spencer sat on his couch with a cup of coffee that had already gone lukewarm. His fingers gripped the edges of an open book, but his eyes skimmed the words without processing them. The air in the apartment was heavy, stagnant, broken only by the soft, repetitive scrape of Mittens’ claws against the fabric of a cushion. The sound grated on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to shoo her away. In truth, he was grateful for the small disruption, even if it came from a cat that seemed to sense his turmoil.

But something changed this time. From the corner of his ear, a sound, a voice, pierced the thin walls of the place. It was not so loud, but it was unmistakable. A man's voice. Deep. Low. Tense. And from your apartment.

His body tensed, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His heart stopped for a few seconds. The voice was unfamiliar; he knew it wasn't one of his friends because he knew them all, but there was still something about it that made him uneasy. It was almost...harsh. The words, though distorted by distance, still had a tone that made Spencer catch his breath. It wasn't an argument, he didn't even hear your voice respond or even give the slightest sign that you were okay. It wasn't so loud, but the pressure of the voice, the possibilities behind it, didn't sit well with you. Especially since you were always reluctant to let anyone into your home.

At that moment, a deafening crash shattered the fragile stillness of the apartment. The sound reverberated through the walls, shaking picture frames and sending a cold jolt straight down his spine. It was the kind of noise that demanded attention, the kind that twisted in the pit of your stomach and told you that something was horribly wrong.

Then, silence.

No voices. No footsteps. Nothing.

It was the silence that gutted him most. His mind instantly spiraled into the worst-case scenarios. Blood pooling across the floor. Your voice screaming his name in pain, only to be silenced. The flicker of movement as someone fled the scene. He couldn’t stop the flood of images from invading his mind. They were vivid, visceral, and rooted in the darkest parts of his imagination.

The silence dragged him back to the nightmares. The ones he’d woken up to every night in that tiny, suffocating prison cell, his heart racing and his breath shallow. Nightmares of iron bars and shouts echoing down narrow corridors. Nightmares of blood in the courtyard, spilling from faceless bodies while the sun mocked him with its indifferent light. Nightmares of whispered threats and the press of a blade against his ribs. They had told him they’d hurt everyone he loved, and for months, he’d believed them.

He had learned survival then, how to block out the fear, how to guard his thoughts, how to endure. But the nights were a different story. He’d lie on that hard, narrow cot, willing his body to rest while his mind conjured the only thing that could keep him sane: the image of you. You smiling. Laughing. You safe. It was the only thing that had kept him alive in a place that wanted to devour him whole.

And now, this silence threatened to destroy that fragile illusion of safety.

Without even thinking, his hand went to the drawer where he kept his new pistol, and his fingers brushed the cold steel. He paused, thinking about how he never thought he would need it in a place like this, a safe apartment in a decent neighborhood, where the most dangerous thing that had ever happened was Mittens knocking over a vase or spilling his hot coffee. Yet now, everything felt wrong, the voice he’d heard earlier, the crash, the gnawing dread in his chest that whispered, you’re too late, for the second time.

His breathing quickened as his hand closed around the grip, pulling the gun from the drawer. The weight of the gun in his palm momentarily calmed him and made him feel in control again, but his mind was already racing, imagining the worst. What if something had happened to you? What if that voice was threatening you or, worse, trying to hurt you? What if that man had already hurt you and that's why your voice couldn't be heard? What if he failed you like he failed in the past? Spencer tightened his grip on the gun, his mind racing as his feet moved faster toward the half-open door of your apartment.

With his body paralyzed with fear for you and his mind screaming for him to come in and make sure you were safe, the door creaked open just enough for him to see inside.

You were standing in the middle of the room, disheveled but unharmed. The sight of you, alive and unhurt, should have brought him relief, but instead, it only stirred confusion. The kitten-faced shirt he had given you for Christmas was wrinkled, your hair wild and unkempt, and faint streaks of dust and paint covered your hands. His eyes darted past you to the man beside the sink, leaning casually over the counter, focused on his work. The sink was dripping steadily, water pooling beneath the cracked faucet, and there, next to it, lay a jagged shard of broken glass on a rag. The man, dressed in worn work boots and a faded flannel shirt, was tinkering with a wrench, his brow furrowed in concentration as he replaced the faucet head.

Damn.

For the first time, Spencer Reid realized something. His instincts were wrong. His mind had misfired. His thoughts, clouded by the lingering darkness of his past and the fear, had led him to the wrong conclusion. For the first time.

The man’s voice broke the silence. “Good thing you called me when you did,” he said cheerfully. “Could’ve ended up with water damage if this had gone much longer. Would’ve been a real shame for your paintings.”

At the mention of your paintings, your most cherished works, your soul poured onto each canvas, your body tensed, a chill running through you. Instinctively, you turned toward the wall where they were propped, vibrant colors peeking out from behind the half-open door, but it wasn’t the paintings that caught your attention.

It was Spencer.

Your heart slammed in your chest as your eyes met his. His face was tight with something you couldn’t decipher, but your gaze was drawn inexorably to the thing in his hand. The weapon he was awkwardly attempting to hide beneath his jacket. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut, your pulse spiking with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and raw fear. It was like the world shifted on its axis, everything around you turning to static, muffled noise.

You couldn’t speak. Your mouth went dry, your throat constricting. No words could come, not while your mind raced, trying to make sense of this moment that felt like a nightmare, and yet, it was all too real.

The man, Mike, your neighbor, remained oblivious, still focused on the task at hand. “All set here,” he said with satisfaction, wiping his hands on a towel, his back still to Spencer. “Just keep an eye on it, and let me know if anything else leaks.”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to stay composed. “Yeah…thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Spencer shifted his weight, and you saw his hand, tight on the gun, pressing it awkwardly against his side in an attempt to hide it further. It only made things worse. His actions were clumsy, frantic even, as if he couldn’t decide whether to conceal it or confront you. And you saw it all, the frantic, fearful energy that was pulsing in the air between you. But what stung the most wasn’t just the weapon; it was the confusion in his eyes, the distance that had grown between you, and the unsettling realization that he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, tell you why he was here. Why did he have to carry that gun knowing that you had never even liked to be near the drawer where it was kept?

Mike, noticing a subtle shift in the atmosphere but not understanding its source, glanced at Spencer briefly, his expression faltering slightly as if sensing the subtle change. But he said nothing. He simply gathered his tools and offered an awkward, polite nod. “Well, I’ll let you get back to your day,” he said, too focused on his exit to feel the heaviness that hung in the air. “Always happy to help. Just call me if anything else comes up.”

You didn’t speak. You just moved, stepping forward with a forced smile that felt more like a mask, positioning yourself subtly between them. Your movement was calculated, deliberate, blocking Spencer, hiding the gun, trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy. “Will do,” you said, the words sounding like a brittle lie in your own ears. The brightness of your tone was a poor attempt to mask the tightness in your chest, the hurt you couldn’t quite articulate.

With a nod, he headed toward the door, giving you a wave as he left. “Have a good day!”

“You too,” you managed to reply, your voice thin and strained. You barely registered the words before you were practically ushering him out, closing the door swiftly behind him, the finality of the click of the latch echoing in the silence that enveloped the room.

After a moment, you turned slowly, your hand slipping from the doorknob. Your eyes met his, and the look on his face stopped you in your tracks. His expression was raw, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a thin line, his knuckles white where they clutched the gun now tucked awkwardly against his side. There was fear in his eyes, but also something else, something darker, harder that you never saw before.

“What,” you began, your voice shaking, “were you thinking?”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out. His chest heaved, breaths shallow and erratic. His mind, racing at full speed, tried to make sense of the words he needed to say, the ones that would make everything okay, the ones that would make you understand. But nothing fit. Nothing was enough to explain the panic that had taken hold of him, the fear that had driven him to do something he never would’ve imagined.

His gaze darted between your eyes and the gun still clenched in his hand, and a surge of self-loathing flooded him. He looked like a madman. He felt like a madman. His hand twitched, as if it were trying to pull the gun back, to shove it into the recesses of his mind where it belonged. But it was too late. He had already brought it into your life, into your apartment.

You took a cautious step toward him, each movement deliberate, careful. Like you were walking on glass, afraid that the slightest misstep would shatter everything between you. Your eyes flicked down to the gun, and your throat went dry. You swallowed hard, trying to push down the sick feeling in your stomach. “Put it down, please,” you said, your voice steady but thick with unspoken emotions.

For a moment, he didn’t move, his fingers tightening almost imperceptibly around the grip. Then, as if the weight of your words had finally broken through, he blinked and seemed to snap out of a trance. His gaze dropped to the gun in his hand, and a wave of something, shame, regret, maybe even self-loathing, washed over his face. Slowly, carefully, he moved to the table near the entrance and set the weapon down.

The sound of the metal meeting wood was louder than it should have been, echoing in the oppressive silence of your apartment. The sharp clink made you flinch involuntarily, your body tensing as if bracing for something that, thankfully, didn’t come.

“You brought that into my apartment,” you said finally, your voice low and trembling.

“I thought—” he began, but you didn’t let him finish.

“You thought what?” you interrupted sharply, spinning around to face him. Your eyes were blazing, the fury in them cutting through him like a blade. “That you could just storm in here with a gun? That this—” you gestured toward him, your hand shaking, “—was the right thing to do? Even when you know how I feel about…this stuff?”

He knew, of course he did. He knew how much you hated his work and all that it involved, even though you tried hard not to show it every time he told you about it. Spencer knew that anything to do with violence gave you nightmares that only his company and many cartoons could alleviate.

“I thought you were in danger,” he whispered, his voice quieter now but laced with desperation as he took a tentative step toward you. His hands rose slightly, palms outward, as though to show you he wasn’t a threat. He wasn’t trying to intimidate you. “I heard a man’s voice, and then I didn’t hear you at all. There was a crash, something breaking…and I—” His voice cracked, and he clenched his jaw, trying to stop the panic that clawed at him. “I didn’t know what was happening. I thought—God, I thought you were hurt.”

God.

He didn't usually say that word.

“You didn’t know because you didn’t ask.” The words shot out of you like arrows, and the sting was sharp. You took a step back, arms crossed tightly over your chest, trying to shield yourself from the wave of emotion crashing over you. “You didn’t call, you didn’t knock, you didn’t think.”

At that moment, Spencer wasn't sure if he was more hurt by your words or the fear that still haunted your gaze. It was almost as if you were afraid of him, his own mind told him. And it hurt, like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and your eyes narrowed as you stood there, fighting to regain control of your emotions. “If you weren’t ignoring me like the plague, you’d know that my apartment flooded a month ago. I’ve been trying to get the plumbing fixed, but I haven’t had the money until now. That’s what I was doing,” you said, your voice trembling but stronger now, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. “That’s why I had someone over today. He was fixing the leak. He’s just—he’s just a plumber, Spencer. He’s our neighbor from the fourth floor.”

His heart hammered in his chest, and for a moment, he just stood there, taking it all in, the weight of your words sinking into him like a stone. The irrational fear that had gripped him moments ago now seemed distant, almost laughable in the face of what he had just done.

He opened his mouth to apologize, but the words were stuck, tangled in the knot of regret and guilt in his throat.

You met his gaze, searching for something, anything, in his eyes that might show you he understood, that he truly realized how wrong he was. But all you saw was the same deep sorrow, the same painful awareness of the damage he had caused.

“I don’t know what you were thinking,” you whispered, your voice barely audible but cutting through the silence. “Or what happened these last three months that changed you so much.” You shook your head slowly, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But that wasn’t it. That’s not how you protect someone. That’s not how you show you care.”

The finality in your words hit him like a blow to the chest. Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, he looked truly broken. He stood there, vulnerable and raw, his lips parting as if to speak, but all that came out was a quiet, defeated whisper. “You’re right.”

His voice was barely above a breath, but it carried the weight of every ounce of regret he felt. “I don’t know how to do it. I don’t know how to protect you…or anyone.” His gaze dropped, his hand flexing at his side as if he didn’t know what to do with it. “I haven’t learned.” He exhaled sharply, a sound that was half a sigh and half a plea. “I’m sorry.”

And with that, he stepped forward, each movement slow and deliberate, as if he feared any sudden motion might shatter what little remained between you. His hand reached for the gun on the table, the clink of metal against wood echoing in the room like the final note of a requiem. You flinched at the sound, a subtle but unmistakable movement that made Spencer freeze in place. He saw it, the fear in your eyes, the way your body tensed, and it broke him in ways he didn’t know were possible.

Without another word, he tucked the gun securely away and turned toward the door. His steps were heavy, deliberate, like a man walking toward his own execution. He didn’t look back as he opened it, his silence saying more than words ever could. The door clicked shut behind him, the sound reverberating in the room, leaving you in a deafening, suffocating quiet.

You stood there, frozen in place, the weight of his absence crashing over you. Your chest ached, your mind racing with thoughts you couldn’t stop. For the first time, you weren’t sure if he was still the same man who had made you fall in love.

Because your Spencer would never have hidden a gun in his apartment, even when he was supposed to be suspended and without one. He would never have brought it to your home, especially after hearing you say a thousand times how scared you were of arms. And most of all, he wouldn’t have left the way he did now. He would have stayed. He would have held you, kissed your forehead, and asked for forgiveness a thousand times over until you knew, without a doubt, that he regretted every moment of his mistake.

But he hadn’t. And as the silence pressed down on you, you couldn’t help but wonder if the man you had loved was still there…or if he had already disappeared, piece by piece, in the last three months.

You certainly didn't know a lot of things.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #matthew gray gubler #mon’s fics ♡

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lilybug-02 · 10 months ago

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Moldycepts Bread Reference Sheets!?!

Moldycepts, better known as Moldy, is a peculiar little Bread critter. Despite their spooky (half-eaten) appearance, Moldy is very soft-spoken. They've been trying to find a cure for their "condition" for some time now, but their hazy memory and constant tiredness is quite detrimental to the progression. It's okay though, they take life in stride and enjoy hanging out with their friends. They/Them

I love taking this time to reflect on these little bread characters. I wanna give them some agency, and the thought of Moldy being a little scientist was cute!

Fairy Bread Reference✨ Toasty&Devil Bread Reference🦇

#ask stuff #bread #bread critters #bread creatures #art #my art #moldycepts #moldy bread #moldycepts reference sheet #moldy reference sheet #oc #oc reference #reference sheet

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simplyafountainpen · 2 months ago

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My Red Queen

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Male! Reaper!Reader x Grell Sutcliff

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: For the first time in years, Grell get a whole day off, and her beloved (Y/N) is determined to make it perfect.~

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Dom!Top!Reader, Sub!Bottom!Grell, soft sex, public sex/exhibition, Grell's privates referred to as cock and pussy

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝Grell x Male reader who treats her like a QUEEN please please please❞ - Anon

Waking up with Grell in the bed next to you wasn't uncommon, per say. Rather, it was unusual to have her in bed and not be forced to shake her awake and rush her out the house. And while you may have been a Reaper yourself, all with the same responsibilities, the difference was you actually took care of your work, allowing for days off, sick and vacation days - not that you'd ever have use for them. This was one of few rare days where Grell actually had a day to herself. A free day.

You nearly did shake Grell awake after a moment of silent staring, as coming to your senses so early in the morning was a struggle. Your eyes drifted to a window with sheer red curtains - Grell's design choice of course - and watched as dawn just barely peaked over the horizon in the distance. Your home was drenched in crimson color, various shades of red meeting your gaze as your bleary eyes scaned the room. Your tongue lapped at dry lips, eyes closing again. Your hand extended over her body, pulling her night-dress clad form closer to yourself, head over hers with her nose in your neck.

A few more minutes wouldn't hurt. She deserved it... sometimes, anyway.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

The sun had just come above the horizon, slighting you while Grell simply snuggled further into you embrace. You groaned, rolling onto your back, an arm laying over your eyes as you breathed. The red-head pressed herself even further into you while you blinked sleep from your eyes. You gazed at Grell while she slept, musing that this had probably been the longest she'd slept in a while. A grin crossed your face as you sat up, groaning and poping the tense muscles in your back. Grell - ever the light sleeper - whined out for you, hands making grabby motions towards you. A chuckle bubbled in your throat, as you smiled down at her. Gently, you picked up a pillow and placed it in her grip, watching as she squeezed it to her body with a huff. Before throwing the sheets off yourself, you leaned down and pressed a light kiss to her forehead.

Silently you slipped from the bed - rearranging the sheets and smoothing them out - and stalked to the kitchen. Slippered feet padded across wooded floors as you slowly took out eggs to fry and bread to toast. Ham was first on the stove, followed closely by bacon as you began the toasting process. You plated your meats and bread while taking out a pan to make oatmeal porridge to finish the meal, begining the mixing as you cracked eggs over open heat. The eggs were laid on the toast delicately, porridge made and served in a bowl with a smaller bowl of fruit on the side. A glass of milk finished the meal, moving it all close a small serving trolley you had bought a long while ago, dusty from lack of use.

You cleaned it off with a rag, taking time to get all the crevices before moving the large breakfast onto its surface. With pep in your step and a hum in your throat you made your way back to the bedroom, mapping out the rest of the day in your head. Date activities flew through your mind as you pushed the door open.

The trolleys wheels squeaked as you parked next to the bed, Grell still sound asleep though the pillow was long abandoned. You sat next to her, bed caving under your weight, and laid over her. She jolted under your weight, immediately squirming and flailing under you. You giggled as she cried out, her hands finding her way from under the sheets and slapping lightly across your face. You raised up slowly, wacthing her struggle her way from beneath the many layers you each slept under.

"Ungh?!- W-what are you doing?!-" Grell's rant was cut short when her gaze swept over to the trolley. Her already opened mouth dropped further, and her hands rubbed at her eyes is shock.

"Is this... did you..? Darling, is this for me?" You smiled at her, leaning your head onto her shoulder with a nuzzle.

"Mhm. Good morning, my Rose." An arm wrapped around her waist, the other reaching over to the nightstand to pick up her glasses. Once in hand, you adjusted your seating and placed a hand on her chin. With a smile, your carefully flicked open the glasses and slipped them on, then booping her nose, and finishing it with a kiss on the lips.

Before it could go too far, you pulled back with a smile, eyes widened.

"When you finish, get dressed. I have the perfect date planned."

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

You finished up preparations just as Grell walked out, dressed in a brand new bustle dress. You grinned, collecting the basket and throwing the large blanket you had pulled out over your shoulder, and made your way over to her. You moved the basket to one hand, the other then wrapped around her waist. Slowly you rocked her and yourself around, sweeping the two of your closer to the front door while humming.

"Is that a new lipstick as well?" You asked. Grell looked at you and smiled, flashing you her sharp teeth.

"You noticed? I figured if I was going to finally put this gown to use I might as well go all out, Darling." She chirped, puckering her lips and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. A hum was your response, readjusting your grip on the items in hand.

"Well then, I believe that is everything my Rose. Are you ready to depart?" You held an elbow out for Grell and she chuckled - her crimson hair sweeping with you both - while slipping her own elbow into the crook of your own. You smiled at her while continuing to slowly move your swaying bodies to the door.

"I want to know where we are going-" "Not a chance, Rose." You hushed. Lips pressed to hers to silence any complaints about to leave her mouth with a smile. You pulled back and she whined, weakly punching your chest in jest.

“Come, my Rose.” She glared at you, her expression slowly melting into a smile. Grell allowed you to guide her to the door, your free arm holding the door open and allowing her out first with a cheesy grin. Without any more hesitation, you both exited the home and out into the surrounding forest, your steps filled with a purpose.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

“Darling this is… wow…”

You had left Grell to marvel at the sight of the surrounding clearing. While you carefully made your way to the center of the flower field you both stood in, she gently ran her manicured hands through the many different kinds of flora that made up the clearing.

You whistled as you walked, finally making it to the center of the flowers to an even smaller clearing, setting down the large blanket and basket you had brought. While you set up everything, your gaze landed on her as she marveled, a small smile finding its way to your face.

“… How did you find this place?” Her voice broke the serene silence. You looked up from unpacking and chuckled.

“Well, it was actually a death that brought me here.” You answered. Grell looked over at you with a confused - but interested - look.

“A death?” She questioned as she moved closer, wading through the sea of flowers.

“Yes! Its quite silly, actually. The poor lad had a run in with a wolf - no idea what drew him out here or why, but he put up quite the fight! Had more stamina than I would’ve initially expected. Ran right through here, got him in this lovely little area. I’m sure you would have loved to see the flowers painted in his blood and gore, my Rose.” You gently placed the small vase with a single rose in the middle of the set up and beamed.

Grell made her way and stood silently beside you, clasping her hands over her mouth. Tears glossed her eyes before she leaped at you, tearing a yelp from you. Her arms squeezed the air out of your lungs, resulting in a loud weaze from your while she lightly cried into your chest. Your hands wrapped around her, one landing on her head to lightly rub at her scalp.

“Oh, this is simply amazing Darling! Why, I can’t think of the last time someone put in so much effort for me. Ah, I’m on the verge of dying from joy!” Her voice muffled into your chest, her head slowly rose from the valley of your heart and her chin found its way to your collar bones.

“You… you are simply amazing, Darling.” Her voice was a tad shaky when she spoke, lips trembling with a smile. You kissed her forehead and massaged her head.

“It’s you that’s amazing, Rose.” You responded. Grell smiled harder - if at all possible - and squeezed you tighter. You hugged her tighter in response then looked towards the picnic basket not yet unpacked then back towards Grell.

“If you would let me go, Dear, so I may get the food out..?” She stared at you, huffed, then nodded. Her arms slowly unwound themselves from around your body. You chuckled at her downcast expression from letting you go as you moved towards the basket. You completely missed the lovestruck eyes she gave you when your back turned.

Behind you, Grell stared at your back as you moved small sandwiches and thermoses from out of the basket, humming all the while. The only thoughts going through her mind were how could someone like her ever have ended up with someone like you. Her hand rose to her chest as she thought, expression softening and lashes fluttering, even if you couldn’t see it.

Happiness. That was what she felt when with you. Happiness and some semblance of belonging. Love. Like she was cared for. Things she had longed for far too long and now that she had them… she couldn’t understand how you could just give them to her so willingly-

“And… finished! Now, my Rose, would you like to eat?” Your voice snapped her from her thoughts, staring at the spread before the both of you, all carefully prepared by you - a slanted grin plastered on your face, hands open and ready to hug her tight.

“… Yes. I think I am.”

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

Grell's moans filled the air as she held your face against her weeping cunt, the noises mixing with the noisy sounds of you messily laping up her juices as best you could, trying to not let a drop go to waste.

Grell laid on her back, skirt and petticoat slipped up her thighs and leps clenched around your head - you were laid on your stomach, head snuggly nestled in her heat. Her glasses were fogged as she moaned out. One of her hands grasped at the grass beneath her fingers, plucking a few tuffs from the earth. Her other hand buried itself in your hair, keeping you pressed to her mound.

You moaned into her cunt, savoring her flavor as it melted on your tongue. Grell's moans increased in volume as you futher burried yourself in in her heat. Slowly you lifted your head and simply stared into her own half-lidded eyes, licking your slick covered lips.

Grell panted, swallowing harshly. Her grip on the ground lessened as she propped herself up on elbows. Her lips upturned into a small smile and her hand that nestled in your hair gently combed through.

"Oh Darling..." she sighed, her other hand came to her face and gently rubbed under her glasses. You shifted, lifting from her sex and crawling on top of her. Your hands found there way to the sides of her face and lifted the glasses from her eyes, revealing cystaline tears that streamed down her face.

"Rose?" You whispered. Grell gasped and her breath stuttered. She fell back onto her back and continued to wipe at her eyes.

You hummed and gently wrapped your hands around her wrists, lifting her arms and staring into her wattering eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she sniffed. Silently you shuffled off her and sat on her side - still holding her wrists - and gently pulled her upwards into your lap. You let go of her and slowly ghosted hands down her torso, then waist, and finally reached her hips where you pulled up her drawers and began to fix her skirt.

"What's wrong, my Rose?" Grell sniffed and more tears rolled down her face. Her warms wrapped around your neck.

"Its just. Well. I suppose it has been... a while. Since someone has held me so... lovingly." She muttered, pushing her face into your chest. You hummed, adjusting her so you were sitting with legs crossed with her in the valley between those legs.

"Well of course I would, Rose," you spoke while kneading her legs, "I don't think I could find a reason why not. You are the best thing that has ever happened to me." You spoke with a sincerity that caused Grell to move her gaze from your chest to your eyes. Her own were still watery, mascera lightly running down her cheeks. She bit her lip and looked down.

"How did I ever find a man like you?" She mused. She let go of her lip to smile, before it immediately dropped down into a frown. Her breathing became shakey again.

"I just can't understand it... How could someone so... you! Ever find anything in me? We're leagues apart and no one ever wants me without something in return and it just leaves me so... confused-" You cupped her chin and pressed your lips to her forehead then moved your own forehead to hers.

"I don't much care for any of that speech, Rose. Not from the most beautiful, confident and outspoken woman I know. Even if that last one gets us in a bit of trouble at times..." You chuckled. Grell stared into your eyes - chartreuse into chartreuse - and started sobbing into your arms. You quickly wrapped around her and squeezed her into your chest, fretting over your words and wondering if you said something wrong, about to ask before Grell began to shout-

"YOU'RE THE MOST PERFECT MAN EVER!! NO OTHER MAN COMPARES AND I LOVE YOU SO MUCH!! OOHHH MY DARLING BOY I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU!!" Her sudden declaration echoed through the forest, birds that had been startled took to the sky and in the distanc you could hear deer scamper away.

Grells hands readjusted themselves to grip at your shirt, pulling you down and smashing her lips into yours. Your eyes widened, before shutting. Your arms squeezed her waist as you broke away.

She looked up at you, stars practically in her eyes. You smiled down at her. She began to giggle and you followed suit, the two of you falling on your sides into the grass. You thumbed Grell's cheek and wiped the smudged mascera away. The two of you stared into each others eyes, chuckles turning airy as the forest breeze brushed over you.

"How did I end up with such a woman like you?" You whispered. Grell smiled and pressed against you.

"I'm not sure. Nor am I to how I recieved a man such as yourself. Though, whatever I did, I'd do it again in a heartbeat." You pressed your lips to her in a quick peck.

"As would I, Rose." You both stared at each other before Grell looked down at her waist and legs then back at you.

"You could start by carrying me home. I can't feel anything below my waist, Darling." You grinned and snickered.

"Of course, My Rose."

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: Finally, it does feel good to be writing again. I hope I am able to keep my inspiration high for a long while, I would much enjoy cleaning my drafts.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @simplyafountainpen. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

#⸸⚜/ᐠ - ˕ -マ‧˚꒰��꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓓𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝓲𝓼 𝓢𝓮𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓭 #⸸⚜ฅ/ᐠ˶> ﻌ<˶ᐟ\ฅ‧˚꒰🐾꒱༘⋆✄┈┈┈┈ 𝓜𝓪𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻'𝓼 𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽𝓼 #x male reader #male reader #top male reader #grell sutcliff #grell sutcliff x reader #black butler #grell black butler

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ggirlthatgotaway · 5 months ago

Text

Not Cold Any Longer (modern au)

summary: Aemond is that guy you’ve known since you were kids, the one you’ve never talked to and that had gotten fucking weird. But you end up becoming friends, and you find out that not only he’s right about your shit boyfriend, but also that he’s a fucking ride that can keep you boiling hot all the time.

trigger warning: explicit language, mention of useless men, mention of Franz Ferdinand, sexual content, name calling, choking, slapping, loving, maybe other things.

word count: 6.2k

note: Aemond is not hotd-Aemond but the FontainesDC-hottie-freak (fuck me<3) . also english is my 3rd language and i haven’t written a complete smut since i was 13 (read, don’t judge) so yeah do tell me what you think

-💎

The cold air of the night was hitting your face, and it stung your skin despite your best efforts to hide it in the collar of your jacket. You didn’t want to go back home, you wanted to keep walking, to go to him.

From your house to his, there was a six-minute drive, which meant a forty-five-minute walk for someone who walked quickly. Perfect, you thought to yourself as you glanced around the dark street, not a sound to be heard.

Your mind raced back to earlier that day, to the reason why you were walking to his house. His words replayed in your mind over and over: “Don’t you fuckin’ understand?! Really?” he had shouted, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, but a hint of sadness was lacing them. He had tried to hide it, as always, like the rest of his emotions.

He had already told you that you were able to understand him despite his precautions- “I don’t fancy how ye keep readin’ me mind, love.” he had said with a soft grin and happy eyes. But that was a completely different circumstance; it was something light, about why he had started inviting you to gigs instead of bringing his friend, Sal.

Anyway, him telling you that you didn’t understand had your heart twisting in pain, both when those words had left his mouth and when you thought about them again.

He had gotten angry because of what you’d told him had happened with Ed, your boyfriend. His eyes had widened when you told him he’d left you waiting for an hour yesterday, because he ‘got distracted with his friends, and forgot to pick you up from your shift’. It was your anniversary.

But that wasn’t why Aemond had shouted to you that you didn’t understand- that came after. Earlier today, your phone had rang with his call: he had told you he was nearby, that his Ma had asked him to buy some bread before leaving for her shift, and if you minded if he stayed over a bit.

Spending time with him had become the highlight of your day recently, so a smile had curved your lips as you told him yes. He had arrived with a CD in his hands, “I know you like this shit.” he told you then, showing you the new album by Franz Ferdinand you had been planning to buy for weeks now.

You had gasped, and started covering his cheeks with kisses despite his half-hearted efforts to get away from your grip- half-hearted because his arm had already sneaked to hold your waist. “You’re mental.” you had told him with wide eyes, but he had just tutted and shrugged, leaving the CD on your desk and throwing himself on your bed.

“How did it go with the eejit?” he had asked you then, referring to Ed and your anniversary. His arm had been covering his eyes, but he took it away and looked at you when you hadn’t answered. “What did he do?” he had asked with a sigh.

You had briefly glanced at him before letting your gaze fall on the white and burgundy sheets of your bed. He wasn’t one who let go of this kind of things- not with you, at least- and you had known an answer was necessary if you weren’t planning on having him shut up and stare into your eyes for three hours.

So you had sighed heavily and brought your eyes back on his, “He didn’t show up.”

At your words, he had looked like he had stopped breathing. Then, he’d sunken his teeth into his lips, closed his eyes and let out a low and deep breath. “You’re aware he’s still breathing because you want him to?”

His eyes had opened again, and he’d directed them to you, waiting for your answer. When you’d nodded, he had continued: “Changed your mind?” he’d asked you, his tone slightly pleading, with a hint of hope. But you’d shaken your head.

You had seen his eyes closing again, and he’s let out another deep breath. “What did you do, then?”

“I walked.”

Silence had filled the air between you two once again, until he’d straightened up and sat on the edge of your bed. He had ran a hand on his face and settled his elbows on his knees, “You walked… Didn’t call me?”

“It’s just a ten minute walk.” you had tried to explain with a shake of your head, but he had stopped you.

“And now your throat aches.”

You had bitten the inside of your cheek at that. You were always cold, always wore two pairs of trousers to go to school, always had as many blankets as possible on your bed. Aemond knew, and each time you stepped foot into his house he had the kettle on, and the blanket that held the most warmth was folded and waiting on the couch, and he asked you right away if you wanted that ugly but incredibly warm sweater he never wore.

“It doesn’t.” you had told him, and it was true, because you were still healing from the last time you had the flue, and your antibodies were still strong.

“Mh.” he had said, nodding. You had never seen anger simmering quite as much as it did in him in that moment. “Why don’t you fucking leave him, mh? Still fuckin’ think he deserves you?” he had said, his voice rising at every word. “I’m genuinely curious, love- tell me.”

“Aemond…” you had said, interrupting yourself with a sigh. He had got up from the bed and walked over to the window, leaning his hands on the ledge. “I like him when he’s with me.”

“Well, that’s a fucking pathetic thing to say.” he had told you before turning around, his eyes as hard as ice, “That’s because you can’t find a bloody nice thing to say ‘bout him.”

“He’s still me boyfriend, though-“ you had tried to say before his shouts filled the room.

“And he shouldn’t fuckin’ be! It’s your fault he still is,” he had said, pointing a finger in your direction, “and it makes me fucking mental just thinking about it.”

“Then don’t, Aemond! It’s none of your fucking business!” you had tried to retort, but you had told it to yourself how daft your words had sounded, since it was Aemond the one always available to listen to you yap about how shite Ed made you feel while barely containing tears in your eyes.

“Shut up, don’t even fucking play this card with me!” he had yelled at you before taking a deep breath and pushing his black hair out of his face. That still hadn’t tamed the tone of his voice when he’d spoken again, “Don’t you fuckin’ understand?! Really?!” his eyes had been wide as he looked at you with a hint of desperation in hie voice, a hand held out to you in hope.

But your brows had furrowed, and your eyes had expressed nothing but confusion as you’d looked at him.

His hand had fallen and slapped his thigh, “Leave him, or don’t fucking talk to me again.”

He had walked away then, leaving you with wide eyes and the security that those words weren’t what he had been thinking about when he had told you that you didn’t understand.

And you admitted it to yourself as you walked to Aemond’s house at midnight, with the freezing cold of February seeping into your bones, that you might have waited a bit much to act on whatever you needed to act on.

But you did pat yourself on the shoulder for the strong punch you’d landed on Ed’s nose about an hour ago- which, in all honesty, was something you’d learnt from Aemond and the lessons he gave you so you could ‘have a wee chance to survive if they attacked you on the street’, if someone was to say it with his words.

After you had exited Ed’s house, a mischievous grin plastered on your lips, your thoughts had gone to Aemond right away, thinking about his laugh when you would have told him what you’d done. Your smile had fallen.

But it was fine, you told yourself as you walked faster in the dark night, because you were going to fix everything.

The truth was, you had never felt quite as empty as you did when Aemond had left your room that evening. And you had already known there that you needed to go to Ed’s and leave him- which you realised hurt your hand way more than it did your heart.

Aemond was right. Fucking Aemond Targaryen, the lad that wanted to talk to nobody at school except for you and Sal Quinn, the one that wanted no glimpse of a relationship, was right.

You needed to walk faster.

You took out your phone and flipped it open, pondering on whether or not to call him and ask him to pick you up on the street where Mae Allbrook lived. Realising that would have needed to stay still for at least three minutes as you waited for him, you flipped your phone closed and put it back into the pocket of your jeans.

You definitely didn’t do it because Aemond would have screamed at you for the entire ride back to his house- or better yet, for the ride and for the ten minutes he’d spend heating your hands up by rubbing them between his.

No, it was better to make your grand entrance at his house and have him freak out there, while you sat in front of the fire in his living room.

You let out a sigh when you saw the old, ruined red car, weakly lit by the nearby light pole. You almost ran to the door and jumped over the low gate, before taking out your phone again.

“Aemond,” you said when he answered. You heard the sigh he let out, and you understood how affected he, too, was about what had happened earlier that day. “I’m outside.”

He didn’t close the call after those words left your mouth, but you heard a stomp, and understood that he hadn’t even closed the call before launching himself off his bed and running downstairs.

The front door swung open in front of you, making your hair fly in front of your face. He didn’t wait for you to step inside, deciding instead to take matters into his own hands and grab your jacket to pull you in roughly.

Before you knew, he was muttering to himself behind you, his hands passing over your thighs over and over to heat them up. “You feel your hands yet?” he asked gruffly, not even trying to hide how he still remembered your last conversation word by word.

You nodded and said, “I’m not that cold.” but he tutted and shook his head, not believing a word. “Care to tell me the fuck you’re doing?” he finally asked.

“Apologising.” you answered after some seconds, slightly distracted by the way his wide palms transferred heat into the skin of your thighs. “You were right.”

You turned your head to look at him behind you, and he let out a sigh, stilling his movements and leaving his hands on the top of your legs. He threatened to move them to your hips, his movements slow and unsure, before his warm palms left your body and he got up on his feet, making you look at him from the floor, “I’m tired. Tell me if I have to bring you home or you crash here.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, getting up from the floor and grabbing your own arm with a hand. “Can I stay over?”

You saw the hesitation in his eyes as they met yours, but then he nodded towards the stairs, and you followed him to his room.

“Change.” he told you with an assertive tone once you reached his room, putting a hand in his wardrobe and throwing that ugly sweater and a pair of sweatpants at you.

You pressed your lips together to stifle a grin at his annoyed actions. But as you went to the bathroom to change, you couldn’t help but think about what his expression would be like when you finally told him.

His room was always quite dark and warm, and the dim light that came from the tank he kept Vhagar in made everything seem blue.

You approached him slowly, nibbling at the skin inside your lower lip as his eyes went from the ash tray set on his nightstand to you.

You could see the smoke of his Benson and Hedges coming out of his nose and going upwards. “Come here.” he said then, slightly defeated, but only half-heartedly.

So you climbed onto his bed and he reached out with a hand to touch your waist. “Still cold…” he muttered to himself before deciding to bring you closer to him.

He put off his cigarette on the ashtray and held you with his arms wrapped around you, a hand on the curve of your hip. “I’m sorry.” you told him, looking in his blue eyes you couldn’t quite see.

He didn’t say anything about your apology, but you felt his hand twitch on your hip. “What did you think you were doing, walking alone at this time?”

His features were lightened by those soft blue hues, making the sharp angles of his face even more so. You raised your hand and trailed your finger on his cheekbone. His skin was hot, and you felt him stop breathing at your touch. Your hand dropped back on the bed, “I left him.”

You started to worry when you didn’t see him starting to breathe again, but then he talked, “You’re not lying?”

When you shook your head in no, his hand tightened on your hip drastically. “Fuckin’ finally.” he said, letting out a deep breath. “What did he do?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug, “He just sat there, holding his nose after I punched him.”

You saw Aemond’s eyes widen, and the corners of his mouth curled up until they formed a wide grin. He started laughing, his chest shaking as he shook his head. “Wonderful woman…” he muttered, leaning his mouth on your shoulder, making goosebumps spread wildly on your skin.

He started caressing your hip then, going dangerously close to your arse as he always did. But still, what you felt was a deep sense of peace there: at his house, in his arms, surrounded by the smell of smoke and green tea that clung to his skin.

You’d known each other since you were kids, since way before he had started dying his hair black and got into the metal music he had definitely been listening to before you called him.

But you had never really talked until four months ago. You had your friends, he had his, all outside of school, and you both had never bothered trying to talk. It had all changed in a matter of days after an English Literature project.

It felt weird when you thought about it, trusting someone the way you did him after so few time, even if you’d known him for ever, because you’d never really talked.

“You know I love you, right?” you said then. It was out of the blue, really, but you couldn’t help it.

Those three words seemed to hit him more than you intended them to. He paused the movement of his hand on your hips and cleared his throat, straightening himself slightly. He still didn’t answer, though, but simply sighed and left a kiss on your forehead.

“I don’t care about you saying it back: I just want you to know I love you.” you said hurriedly but calmly, distancing yourself slightly to look at him, finally able to do it properly since your eyes adjusted to the dark.

He let out a snorted laugh at your words, and shook his head. “D’you think I don’t love you?” he asked you, his voice low and husky. His grip on your hip tugged you close so you were sitting on top of him, “That’s not the problem, princess.”

“I don’t understand-“ you tried to argue, but he laughed again, interrupting you.

“You do, love… You do.” he said before leaning close to your ear. His nose brushed against your earlobe, his lips against your jaw as his breath ghosted your skin and he murmured lowly, “You got me wrapped around your finger... Got me doing whatever you want me to.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Your hand was gripping his shoulder and your nails were definitely digging in his skin through his sweater, but he didn’t seem to mind.

“And now…” he whispered , interrupting himself to let out an unironic laugh and shaking his head. “Now you’re sitting on my lap, pretending not to notice how fucking hard my cock is for you.”

You were breathing fast, so fast you felt the blood pumping in your ears, and his words did nothing to quell that. His smirk remained on his lips as he brought his cold blue eyes back to yours.

He tilted his head to the side, a strand of his dark, dyed hair falling over his eyes. “What do you plan on doing about it, then?” he asked, the teasing tone still present. But the way his eyes darkened, the way his grip on your hip tightened, told a different story.

Was it real what he’d said? That he loved you, craved you so much that his cock was rock hard after barely five minutes of you sitting on him?

“About…” you said, pressing your lips together, trying to gather the courage to complete the sentence. You found it when the corner of his mouth quirked up again and both his hands found their way to your arse, squeezing it and pulling you flush against him. The action made you let out a small sigh, but you decided not to let yourself fear him, so you raised a hand and brought the strand of black hair away from his face. “What do I plan on doing about your cock?” you said in a whisper.

His mouth curved into a smirk and he breathed out another laugh due to your words. He was usually the dirty one, even if you still didn’t exactly know how dirty he was. “Yeah, ‘bout that…” he confirmed with two slight nods of his head. “Now that you’re fully aware of what you do to me.” he added, letting out a deep breath.

One hand remained firm on your arse, keeping you right where he wanted you, while the other moved up to your face. He traced the line of your jaw with his thumb, feeling the softness of your skin and the pulse quickening beneath it. In that moment, all the cold you had felt as you had walked to his house for forty minutes was completely forgotten, disappeared in your mind like ash after a breath.

“What do you think I should do?” you asked, swallowing harshly. You suddenly felt stupid for the question, and you did even more when he snorted out another laugh.

He leaned forward, his lips dangerously close to your ear. "Why don't ye use your imagination, Princess?" he whispered huskily. The hand on your face slid back, cupping your cheek as his thumb continued to brush against your lower lip.

“Okay…” you whispered out in a breath as you nodded. Then you slowly leaned into the brief distance that separated you two, brushing your lips against his before pressing them into a kiss.

It was rushed, definitely stupid, but you wanted to try and see how it felt. His lips had always looked rough to you, chipped and bloodied in winter, but now, against yours, they were soft, boiling hot, sweet and incredibly inviting.

His hand tightened its grip on your arse, pulling you even closer to his body as his other hand tangled itself in your hair, angling your head for better access to your mouth.

His kiss was even gentle, which surprised you, but more than anything it made you want more. When his grip on your hair tightened and pulled on it just enough to make you wet but not enough to hurt excessively, a moan came up your throat and overturned into his mouth.

He pulled away before capturing your lower lip between his teeth and letting it go. His hand slapped your arse, making you jolt forward and making him laugh. “Slut.” he muttered, closing the distance between you two again.

You let out a chuckle against his lips, and started grinding your hips against his. Right away, he groaned and pulled you closer still, eagerly helping you with your movements.

His other hand moved from your cheek to your neck, fingers gripping gently but firmly. "Is that what you want, princess?" he growled, breaking the kiss briefly to let you breathe. His eyes bore into yours, dark with lust. "You want to feel me inside you?" he asked, voice strained and husky.

You were slightly startled by his hand around your throat, by his thumb stroking your pulse point like it was the most fragile and precious thing in his world. You bit your lower lip and your hands wrapped around the wrist of the hand that was holding you, which made his lips part in what looked like feral hunger, before nodding.

Your response was everything he needed to hear. His hand on your neck tightened slightly as he claimed your mouth once more, kissing you harder. His hips thrust upward, pushing his erection against your core, as if to emphasize his words. He let go of your hair, his hand trailing down your back until it reached your waist.

His lips moved from your mouth to your jaw, nipping at your skin before tracing a scorching path down to your neck. He loved the way you moaned when he bit you there, and he did so again, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. "Fuck…" he breathed against your skin, his fingers digging into your waist. He seemed to need to feel you, to make sure this whole thing was real. "Use your words, Princess."

A whine escaped your lips before you were able to reply, and you felt completely daft other then drenched between your thighs. “Yes,” you said, your words like a plea, “I want you inside of me.”

His eyes bore in yours for two seconds before he pushed you off him, making you land on your hands on the mattress. He pulled himself up, standing on his knees on the bed, “Take your clothes off.” he ordered with a nod of his head as he stared down at you, his tone leaving no space for arguing.

With a heavy chest, mouth parted and eyes wide, you complied. You unzipped his black jumper, trying not to be clumsy as you slipped it off your arms.

Still, Aemond seemed unable to wait, because he quickly threw the jumper off the bed before his fingers found the bow you tied to the string of his sweatpants.

He undid it as you took your shirt off. “How many fuckin’ pair of trousers you’ve got on?!” he growled, both bothered and amused when he found a pair of leggings under the sweats.

You let out a chuckle as he did the same, shaking his head as he pulled the first layer of fabric off roughly, before doing the same with the second.

He stopped when you were left with only your underwear, and he stared bluntly, pressing his lips together as his chest raised and fell heavily.

You moved your right leg to brush its calf against his clothed thigh, your eyes on his. His hissed in a breath, his hand gripping your thigh like he wanted to rip off the meat to eat it. “It’s your turn.” you whispered as you let your leg wander higher.

The action gained you his grip to tighten and a slap to be delivered to your thigh. But he complied, pulling his t-shirt off from the collar and blindly throwing it somewhere before pulling down his trousers.

He put a hand on your knee and settled between your thighs, crushing his mouth against yours once again. The roughness of Aemond's touch sent sparks flying across your skin, igniting a fire within you that burned out of control. He pressed you further into the mattress, his body aligning perfectly with yours. You could feel every inch of his bare torso, each ripple of muscle and scar, his heat enveloping you like a living flame.

His grip on your thigh loosened and his fingers went up until they reached you inner thigh, teasing you as if he wasn’t dying for it. You whined against his mouth, squirming under his touch.

He chuckled against your mouth, and he gave into your desires in a matter of seconds, sliding his hand inside your drenched knickers and exploring your folds. He breathed heavily on your wet lips after he had to break the kiss. He looked at you as he slipped a finger inside, and watched intently as your face contorted in pleasure.

“Think, Princess…” he drawled, his lips brushing against yours before doing the same on your cheek. He added another finger, making you let out a moan. “Think of each touch I give you tonight…”

He stopped his movements temporarily, taking his fingers out and making you gasp, to grab the sides of your knickers and pull them down and off roughly.

His mouth reached your neck while his fingers found your cunt once again, entering you in such a beautiful way your eyes rolled back. He started pumping his fingers in and out roughly, making your breath catch in your throat before it came out in a broken scream.

“Think of this, and then back at that fuckin’ halfwit that you let inside this beautiful cunt.”

Your wetness was completely coating his fingers at that point, and he seemed to enjoy it like nothing else, or so it seemed as you looked at him through half-closed eyelids.

He continued his assault, his thumb pressing against your clit, rubbing circular motions on it, as his lips left kisses, hot and wet, on the skin of your neck. They made you remember how his hand felt wrapped around your throat, and you found yourself craving it once again.

The memory and the sensations he was giving you only fuelled your wetness, and your orgasm drew closer. “Aemond…” you breathed out, your cunt clenching desperately around his fingers.

Just as if he was reading your mind, his lips left the soft skin of your neck to leave space for his free hand. You let out an embarrassing whimper when his fingers wrapped securely under your jaw.

“I think you’re liking it too much…” Aemond groaned, his voice husky and gravel as his fingers worked restlessly inside your pussy. “I should stop.”

Your hand found the wrist of the hand that was holding your neck when those words left his mouth, and you let out an irritated moan, kicking his side with a trembling leg.

He let out a small laugh, his pupils so dilated that his eyes appeared black. Aemond’s fingers went faster, making you let out a strangled yell as your eyes stayed fixed on his.

Your legs threatened to close, but he avoided it by getting closer, his breath now ghosting over your face. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” he groaned, crushing your lips against his as your pussy spasmed around his long fingers.

He kept them there after you climaxed, slowing the movements of his fingers progressively before sliding them out. He brought them to his lips like an instinctive motion.

He groaned at the sight of your flushed face, your eyes glazed with pleasure, and the way your body still trembled from the orgasm he'd given you, and definitely even for the taste of you he was licking from his fingers. You bet he loved reducing you to this state - wanting, needing, begging for him.

"Fuck," he breathed out, getting off the bed and taking off his boxers. His cock was hard, veiny, and you found yourself thinking of it inside you, stretching you out while you felt every singe thing he wished you to.

He opened the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out a condom, opening the plastic with his teeth and discarding both the useless pieces carelessly on the floor. He slid it on, barely looking at what he was doing before he nodded at you, “Take that shit off.”

You furrowed your brows and looked down, noticing you still had your bra on. You were still breathing heavily, but you quickly did as he’d asked.

He moved back on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight as he approached you with hunger. He was like a madman- you had never seen him like this before.

He kissed you again, hooking his hand under your right knee and folding its leg over the other. It provided him with the perfect view of your ass and face, and it seemed to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen as he broke the kiss to take a look at you.

One hand found the top of your thigh while he used the other to hold himself up on the mattress. He leaned down and wrapped his lips around your nipple, making your hand fly to his hair and a gasp escape your throat.

His hand left your thigh and went to his cock, guiding it to your pussy. He teased your already tender flesh with his tip, making you both groan.

His mouth disclosed around your nipple and he lied his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck…” he breathed out once again, shaking his head before straightening up.

His hand went back to your thigh, and he ground himself against you. His head rolled back and his eyes closed at the contact, his mouth fell agape.

And you, with his cock almost inside you and his hand pinning your body to his will, couldn’t help but look at him: at the sweat that clung to his body, at his long hair you craved to pull, at his fingers that had just made you cum like nobody ever did.

When he opened his eyes again, they locked on yours right away, staring down at you. Then, he thrust inside you in one, swift and steady motion, filling you up with his cock just like you wanted him to. You weren’t cold any longer.

You didn’t try to conceal the scream if pure pleasure that escaped your lips at his motion, and he didn’t hide his. “Shit, Aemond!” you moaned, brows furrowed as you looked up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that…” he grunted, punctuating his phrase with a thrust, making your body jolt forward despite the way his hand was holding you tightly. “I’m already trying not to cum.”

His words made you cheeks heat up and a grin spread on your lips as he began to thrust inside you. Your head fell back onto the pillow, feeling every vein on his cock despite the latex separating you- maybe you were fooling yourself, but you were fine with it.

Aemond’s thrusts left you both breathless, and filled the room with the sound of skin meeting skin in perfectly rough motions.

Nothing had ever felt as good as the feeling of him inside you, and the way you squirmed and gasped beneath him made him understand that perfectly, other than making you feel like a pathetic whore.

His hand on your thigh was leaving red marks that had the shape of his fingers, and you loved it. “Please… Harder.” you found yourself begging, and he complied.

His hand left your thigh, gave your ass a firm slap before balling into a fist and pressing into the mattress to hold him up. His other hand reached your hair and grabbed a fistful, twisting it between his fingers before tugging on it sharply, making you yelp and arch your back.

“You asked for it, pretty girl.” he said with a wicked grin, pounding into your with more force than before. His hips collided against the skin of your ass he’d just slapped, making it even redder.

In response, your hand wrapped around his arm and your nails dug into the fair skin, making him grunt and pull even harder on your hair.

He fucked you harder as a form of punishment which he knew would only make things better for both of you. “Look at me, Princess.” Aemond breathed out the order, his chest heaving and his mouth open.

When you did, he let out an uncontrolled moan and gave you a particularly hard thrust, “Who owns you now, mh?”

The dirty talk, the rough treatment - it all fueled your desire, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. That’s why your lips curved into a grin.

But he wasn’t playing, because his fist opened and he slapped your ass again, “Answer.” he ordered. There, you understood it was all about pleading you to tell him, to reassure him, that Ed was gone from your mind, that he was the one inhabiting it.

“You do.”

At your words, and your burning eyes that accompanied them, Aemond grinned, turning you onto your stomach and pulling you ass up, all without exiting your tight heat.

He pushed your hips down until your chest pressed down on the soft comforter, and he started pounding again.

The change of position made your mind go blank, and your eyes almost saw white for how deep he reached.

He leaned in, still slamming into your with from behind like wild animal- his grin gone. “Who owns you, Princess?” he asked you again with the most guttural voice you’d ever heard coming from him.

“You!” you screamed with the few air and fewer focus the new position left you, as you felt your second orgasm approach like a storm above a deep sea.

“Good girl.” Aemond breathed out, his thrusts becoming erratic and his grip tightening as he let out a loud moan. His pace quickened, his breathing turned even more ragged, and you could feel him as he started losing control.

“Aemond!” you yelled, your voice slightly muffled by the pillow pressed against your cheek.

Hearing you scream his name, seeing the pleasure on your face, sent Aemond made him go even more mental than before: he pounded into you harder, faster, the bed rocking underneath the ferocity of his movements.

And your vision narrowed, your thoughts filled only with images of him and the feeling of his cock pounding restlessly inside you as your cunt clamped down around his cock, like you wanted him stretching you wider, breaking you even more.

The sensation of your second orgasm hitting you sent him over the edge, and with few powerful thrusts and a low growl, he came, filling the condom up to the brim.

Spent, he let himself fall on the bed, careful not to hurt you as he pulled out and wrapped his arms around your waist, making your back press against his chest.

He buried his face into your neck, breathing heavily. You bit your lip hard, trying to calm down and speak, “You were slightly better than Ed.”

You felt him let out a breathed laugh against your neck, but that didn’t save you from the slap he gave your ass. “Shut up.”

You jolted forward but chuckled. Then freed yourself from his embrace, making him frown and lock his eyes on you.

You scooted down, enjoying his confused expression and showing it with a grin, until you lied with your chest on his legs.

You pulled the used condom off his still-hard cock with a wicked gleam in your eyes. You revelled in the way his breath caught in his throat at your actions, and even more so when his mouth opened in pleasure as you started cleaning him off his cum with your tongue.

His hand went to your hair, holding the side of your face as you looked up at the desperate look for more in his eyes.

“Shit…” he breathed out raggedly. “You’re such a slut…”

You grinned, and started trailing kisses up his stomach and to his neck until you sat on top of him again. You cupped his cheek in your hand and kissed him, aware of how he could taste himself on your tongue.

His arms held you tight against his warm chest, his forehead against yours as you broke the kiss, and you couldn’t help but think about how many months you had thrown at the wind when you could have been in his bed, warm and…

“I love you.”

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krystella-shifts · 5 months ago

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All things˚˖𓍢ִ໋🌟₊˚ʚ 🌸 ₊˚ Visualisation˚˖𓍢ִ໋₊˚ʚ₊˚

Visualisation whether you're using it for shifting , manifesting, or to distract yourself while inducing the void state. It doesn't matter if you're manifesting LOVE, MONEY, FAME. or wtv This post will help ya

This will make visualisation much more effortless and fun instead of stressful and forceful

Struggling with visualisation? Here's why:

If you're the perfectionist type of person, you're probably overthinking it, trying to make it perfect, "this exactly greenish-blue curtain with white flowers pattern is spread 57% beside my window", visualising EVERY detail, like your subconscious will get it wrong if you don't or something. is someone holding a gun to your head 😭 like calm down, You're supposed to relax, let yourself, your mind freely play around with it! YOUR MIND KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT YOU WANT. Trust yourself.

When you let your mind be free, let it play around you might even get ideas and clarity! For example, like when I let my mind wander I got a better idea of how I want one of my DR bedroom to be, i didn't thought about curtains and plants but my mind suddenly showed my the image and it was SO PERFECT AJAJSH like yes bish that's exactly what I want! So I got this idea because I wasn't forcing anything, any picture. So your mind knows even better.

⟡☾How to make your visualization better☽⟡

So, you’re trying to visualize your dream life, but the image keeps going blurry like a bad WiFi connection? Don’t worry, bestie I got you. 😔💅🏻 Here’s how to level up your visualization game so your manifestations hit different.

• Details?

It's definitely better to visualise in details like for shifting, the colour of the walls, the feel of the sheets. and for manifesting, if you're manifesting df let's say, visualising looking in the mirror, your lips shape, etc. But you don't have to cuz there's no right or wrong way. You should do what works for you the best. Don't put pressure on yourself.

If someone has trouble seeing the image with details, it's okay to not worry about the details, you can use other senses, like how it feels, smells. That brings me to our next pointtt

• Engage all your senses (Because Your Brain is Dramatic Like That)

If you can’t see the image clearly, FEEL it, get THE FEELS. Hear it. Smell it. Taste it (only if applicable, pls🫢😭).

Don’t just see it—feel the emotions, hear the sounds, smell the scents, and touch the textures, that it feels SUPER real.

Example: If manifesting money, imagine holding crisp bills, hearing them rustle, and feeling the excitement. (I can smell it rn 😤💸 all this bread so yummy yeah)

• Can't hold the image?

use motion not just still images. (cuz I wanna see it in 3d, in motion), It used to happen to me too, i picture something and it start to fade or get blurry. But in that case i realised it's easier to hold it if it's a moving scene, like a scenario. Instead of holding a still image, visualise a small scene. Static images fade, but movement keeps them alive. Movement makes it real. ✨

• Embody the Feeling NOW

Don’t just think about it—feel like it’s already yours. (Spoiler alert: it is). 🥚🥚ample, If u r manifesting confidence, being a pretty little risky baddie, visualize yourself walking tall, speaking smoothly, and radiating certainty. 🤌🏻✨

• Repeat & Reinforce

Wonder why sats work so well? Visualization is most effective when done consistently. Try visualizing for a few minutes every morning or before bed when your mind is most receptive. so like my girl says it, DON'T STOP AND JUST REPLAY, REPLAY-AY - iykyk,iyk,lmk cuz Lee know >:)

I feel i ATE with this one. I hope this helps you pookie!!~ (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ lmk and remember ALL THE GIRLS ARE GIRLING GIRLING (the amount of kpop refrences in this post MUHAHAH) if you get all the references ily

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deanbrainrotwritings · 2 years ago

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— GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.

What a funny thing.

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward.

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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