#^ that gets longer EVERY time. lmfao 💕

[saturdays--sun]

when as it is said "am i all that you never wanted? or has it been so long that you've forgotten? all we ever share are dial tones" and when gnash said "leave a message when no one else is near you, so no one else can hear you, tell me everything" and when waterparks said "you can call me on my phone, i'll run to you, you won't ever have to sleep alone" and when all time low said "i'll remember nights alone, waking up to dial tones, always found my greatest moments in the sound of your hello's" and when that kid said "call me when you're all alone, touch me through the dial tone" and when slayyyter said "every single night, he hits me up through the phone, i think that we're in love" and when waterparks also said "i said that you can call me, beep me if you want my skin" and when 100 gecs said "my boy's got his own ringtone, it's the only one i know, it's the only one i answer" and "i customize my ringtone, but it's always you, it's always you, it's always you, it's always you, it's always you, it was always you"

[zepskies]

I had such fun reading this over on Patreon, and now I'm excited to dive into this again Tumblr-side! 😍 The pining, the jealousy, the angst, the CRAVING.™️ 💕

lmao you got me right from the first line, Wayne. 😂 Dean's just discovering new things about himself in his 40s, isn't he?

But for years, Dean’s never entertained the craving for too long. He’s never listened to his head, heart, or gut when either of those things urged him to ask you out. After all, you deserved better than him, deserved more than the darkness he could offer, deserved a life where you got everything you ever wanted and more. He is sure, though, you don’t want him.

We've talked about this before, but for the love of God, Dean!!! What do you expect when she finally moves on from your dumb self-deprecating ass because you couldn't simply get your head out of said ass? (As a writer I totally eat up this Dean Angst, but as a reader I get why it frustrates TF out of people sometimes. 😂)

It's understandable from Dean though. Because of everything shitty that he's done, whether it had good intentions or not, it tracts that he wouldn't feel good enough. Therefore why would she possibly want him? 🥲

“Duh, obviously Sam’s Monica. He’s a complete neat freak. And Eileen’s fucking funny,” you’d postulated. “This is what I mean, though! Both of us are sloths! We can finally let chaos reign!” Welp, that hadn’t helped to lessen the craving at all. It had been downright whining then. His heart had only pounded louder, yearned more.

This still cracks me up loll. I love that you cast Eileen as Chandler in this situation, and totally agree that Sam's Monica, though perhaps not as anal. 😆

Drunk-you might have been evil in a mad but cute genius kind of way.

🥹🥹 I love her!! She's so cute lol.

If Sam’s showing signs of concern, it’s only because he knows too damn well how catastrophically Dean has failed and ruined any future with you by not communicating his craving. And now all there’s left is sulking and regretting. Then some more sulking and regretting. And oh, uh, more sulking and regretting till he drops for good, which is hopefully soon, considering the slow pace his life is currently going right now – just an agonizing crawl to the goddamn finish line. See? No need for worries. Dean’s absolutely and completely– “Fine.” Dean scoffs the word into his drink, his eyes flickering back to you. You’re making out now. Great.

(But I love how you did that transition from inner monologue to dialogue. Such a good writer tidbit. 😆🤌🏽)

But it’s good. It’s good you have someone. Someone who can give you everything. Everything you want. God knows Dean can’t give you that, can he? Not then. But now? Now he could, couldn’t he?

Of course this is the only way he can try to rationalize his jealousy and "missed opportunity." That's how you know he truly loves her, enough to try to let her go. 🥲 (Even if that doesn't work out so well later lmao)

Yeah, no, there’s no excuse. Dean’s the fucker, really.

💯💯💯

Honestly he did this to himself! At least he's self-aware. 😭

You’d still call him every few days to check up on him, but hearing your voice only turned the craving more violent, more needy. It was a whiny fucking bitch most days.

lmfao I mentioned this before, but I just really love how the Craving is a whole entity throughout this. Really solidifies the main theme. And I got a chance to listen to the Twenty One Pilots song while reading this time around. The lyrics "now I see intentions don't mean much" is really powerful when I read Dean here. 💙

“What d’you have to lose at this point, Dean?” Sam reiterates. This time, more forcefully. “This might be your last chance, man. You seriously wanna live with that regret for the rest of your life?” Well, Dean isn’t planing on sticking around for that much longer anyway. He’s sure a monster will get him one of these days on those solo hunts if he upped the recklessness enough and got a little more careless. But obviously, he doesn’t tell his little brother that. Sam would only unnecessarily worry again.

FUCK. This part hit me straight in the sad feels, where I just wanna wrap Dean up in a quilt and rub his sad self-deprecating alcoholic head.

“Be nicer. Try a little harder to get along with him. I really like this guy,” you’d said. 

loll of course he couldn't. 😅

A row of tattoos he’d gotten just for you that all read the same message: Fuck you. [...] Some days, it felt like you were dying inside.

First of all, this is so poetically put. And it's really gutting when we get the reader's side, because all she needed was just one inkling that Dean felt the same, that he cared about her (more than a best friend), and all she got for her caring was seeing Dean being his usual fuckboi self and cutting her into a thousand pieces every time. 🥲

And the way she just sinks to the floor after his "confession?" Powerful and understandable, honestly. He's totally levelling her world, turning it completely upside down (also she's drunk lol). She's so shaken up she can't even make it to a chair. And her anger at him is also so valid! I love how you mentioned on If I Stay about our HCs, with Dean waiting until the last second to make his move. It seems to be the threat of a proposal is the only way he gets off his ass in some cases. 🙄

“I swear to you, to anyone who will fucking listen… I won’t screw this up again. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. You wanna get married? Have kids? I’d do it right now with you. You wanna go see the world? Go skydiving? Then knock me out and drag me onto a plane. Just tell me. I’d give you everything I have, sweetheart.”

Talk about laying all his cards on the table! 😂 Ooh this is a romcom worthy speech--Dean Style, and I'd totally melt for this I'm not gonna lie. Especially how he's choking out the last part, giving everything he has of his heart with every word. 😭

The craving silenced everything else. It takes what it needs. It needs you. It needs him.

Paralleled with this:

You don’t wait. You don’t think. You give yourself fully to the craving. It’s a greedy bitch.

Also, "cataclysmic gluttony" it a top tier phrase. 😂👌🏽 (and later on - "an obscene soundtrack" 🤭)

But in between all the panty-dampening hotness that completely fucking melted me 🥵 I absolutely love these moments too:

You both still and know there’s no fucking way back now when your eyes meet. There’s only forward and more.

There’s only forward and more. -- That pretty much says it all with these two, doesn't it?

Naturally, all of this was a decision made by two completely sane people. Why would you do any of that? Talking is overrated. No, this clusterfuck was obviously the best choice.

lmfao I love your sense of humor & wit, Wayne. 🤣🤣 Lines like these are the perfect example^

But the morning after where Dean finds himself alone???

“I love you,” Dean whispered, his forehead resting against yours when he spilled into you, your walls still gripping him tight. “I love you, too,” you replied and could barely finish your answer before his lips claimed yours again.     No, you wouldn’t do that. It’s not the version of you he knows like the back of his hand. That’s not his best friend.

He’s all alone and realizes then that he’ll probably die this way – slipping pathetically in the bathroom with a disturbing alcohol level in his blood, his phone out of reach, lost somewhere between couch cushions. You or Sam will probably stumble upon his corpse weeks, maybe months later, and only find the flesh rotting from his bones.

This would make sense for Dean if he continues to be left to his own devices. 😭 I truly don't think he'd let a monster get him, but eventually his self-destruction would eat him alive in other more depressingly human ways. 💔

I'm glad that Sam keeps checking in on him though. God knows Dean needs it! 😭

He sits on the freezing floor by the foot of your bed like a sad pile of forgotten laundry. When his gaze lifts to you in the doorframe, his brow furrows a tiny bit as if not sure he’s seeing a ghost.

When I tell you this line gets me every time!! 😭😭😭 You just wanna gather up this sad pile of flannel and squeeze him tight. 💞

“Please, like you mean that.” You snort, giggling. Dean clicks his tongue, his cheeks reddening guiltily. “Anyways, that whole thing then led to a five-hour break-up talk.”

I mean yeah, she had been with this man for a year! If he hadn't seen any of the warning signs that her heart was divided, then he'd really need that closure after being betrayed this bad by her. 😭

...Something Dean clearly has no experience with lmao.

Most of all, it’s pure. It feels like the first kiss that isn’t controlled by the craving. It’s just love now.

Awwww I love this so much. 🥹 Doesn't mean that the craving isn't gonna rear it's head again lol, but I love that this moment was included. 💗

“You left a hickey on my dick. How about I repay the favor?”

🤣🤣🤣 Again:

And omg I CANNOT wait to see Dean join the Mile High club enroute to Hawaii loll. I can only imagine what you're brilliant mind is gonna come up with for that, but I am SO down for the ride.~

Congrats again for this beautiful masterpiece! No, Dean and reader weren't perfect. They're flawed and they made a mess here, but I still rooted for them hardcore because it's more than the craving.

"It's just love now."

The Craving

Summary: Everyone is moving forward, only Dean is standing still. Sam leaves the bunker first, but when he fears to lose you as well, he knows he finally has to do something. Because, after all, all he really craves is you.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: 18+ for language and smut, post S15, major angst, hurt, cheating, Reader x OMC (established), severe pining, jealousy, drinking, humor, idiots in love, friends to lovers, fluff

Word Count: 13.7k

Song Inspiration: The Craving (Jenna's Version) – twenty one pilots. Listen here! 🎶

Posten on Patreon March 1, 2025

A/N: Yay, finally this monster of a fic is here! There will be parts that hurt a lot, parts where you'll snort, parts where you might catch fire, and parts where you'll feel as fluffy as cotton candy. Hang in there 😉

Happy reading! 🩵

Main Masterlist || Dean Winchester Masterlist || Tag List

Dean’s not the jealous type. At least, he thinks he isn’t, considering he’s never really had opportunity to feel jealous before.

But then came you.

He knew he wanted to be with you – as in the one one – the minute Sam led you down the round, metal staircase after running into you during a hunt. Yup, it was instant. One of those “love at first sight” kinds of crap.

For quite some time, you’d been hunting on your own, but soon enough, you began to call the bunker your home and the brothers your family. And Dean would cockily smirk at you and throw flirtatious jokes your way all day long as if all he ever wanted was to simply get you for a drunk roll on the motel mattress and nothing more. But you crave more than a night of fun, not knowing he craves the same thing, too.

And it is more – more than a simple craving to kiss you, to touch you, or to fuck you. The craving wants to love you, to hold you, and to be with you endlessly, including all that other mushy, sappy shit that comes with it. And Dean’s not even sure it’s just all of that, either. Because all the craving ever screams is you. Nothing else.

You, you, you, you, you… 

You.

That’s all there is. And the more he has of you, the happier the craving is. The less he has of you… well, one gets the gist.

The craving is a feeling greater and stronger than the bloodlust he’s experienced during the Mark of Cain – not that he’s ever told anyone that out of fear of being called crazy. It is crazy.

Fucking crazy. 

Nonetheless, it’s true. The craving for you only grows stronger and more relentless every day, causes him to lose both appetite and sleep, and never leaves him in peace.

But for years, Dean’s never entertained the craving for too long. He’s never listened to his head, heart, or gut when either of those things urged him to ask you out. After all, you deserved better than him, deserved more than the darkness he could offer, deserved a life where you got everything you ever wanted and more.

He is sure, though, you don’t want him.

But then, finally, there was a dim, miniature, barely visible light at the end of his super dark tunnel full of horrors. Chuck was squashed, monsters were scarce, and retirement was on the near horizon.

Sam started bringing Eileen around more and going on dates and being all nauseously cute, while Dean watched Netflix, Disney+, Amazon Prime, and a whole lot of other subscription services Sam wasn’t happy about when he went through the household bills. The main takeaway, though, is: Dean was never bored.

Nope, not at all.

Besides, you were there, too. For some of it. At least for a while.

Not long after Sam’s “courting” began, his kid brother finally left the nest, and then only you and him remained.

“We’re kinda like full-on roommates now,” you’d said after Sam had grabbed his last box, and you had been entertaining Dean’s melancholic mood with whiskey in the kitchen.

Dean had only smiled into his glass. “We’ve been roommates for five years now.”

“Yeah, but we’re finally rid of Monica and Chandler. This is the Joey and Rachel era!” you announced with a slightly slurred speech and toasted to the occasion by drinking straight from the bottle.

Dean, of course, had found it fucking adorable and pressed his lips very hard against the rim of his glass upon his next sip, trying his best not to grab you and kiss you right then and there.

He’d already missed his fucking chance…

“Who’s Monica and who’s Chandler?” Dean had asked to distract himself from the craving.

“Duh, obviously Sam’s Monica. He’s a complete neat freak. And Eileen’s fucking funny,” you’d postulated. “This is what I mean, though! Both of us are sloths! We can finally let chaos reign!”

Welp, that hadn’t helped to lessen the craving at all. It had been downright whining then. His heart had only pounded louder, yearned more.

“What kinda mess were you thinking of, sweetheart?” Dean had flirtatiously and daringly asked – he still liked to test the water from time to time, although he knew the lake was frozen.

You had chided him with a partially amused look and then musingly sipped on the bottle. “Hmm, wanna throw wet paper towels against the wall?”

“Sure that’s a good idea? You know Sam’s coming by tomorrow morning to come pick up more boxes. I seriously think he’s taking the whole library with him,” Dean had joked.

“Even better! He’s gonna clean it up ‘cause he’s Monica!”

Drunk-you might have been evil in a mad but cute genius kind of way.

“No way!” Dean had scoffed it off, mostly to encourage you to carry on. He’d had feeling where this was heading.

“Oh, yeah? How much you wanna bet, Winchester?” You’d leaned forward with your elbows on the counter and a challenging look twinkling in your eyes.

And Dean had wanted nothing more than to bet a goddamn kiss. But he hadn’t been able to do that anymore, either. 

As Dean grinds his brain about all of this, he stares at the reason why from the dark corner booth of the bar. He watches you with a gigantic lump in his throat as you’re in someone else’s embrace, his grip white-knuckling around the tumbler of whiskey once more.

Dean’s greener than green eyes see it all. He sees the arms that tightly clasp your body from behind that aren’t his. He sees your laughs at jokes that he can’t hear. He sees the face nuzzling in your hair that he can’t feel. He sees the smiles you draw when kisses litter your neck, leaving fucking purple and blue permanent tattoos behind – and he can’t ink any of them.

Dean sees the fucking happiness shining in your eyes. He’s never seen you happier than this before. And not any of it is caused by him. Nope.

“Hey, you good?”

Sam slides back into the booth opposite him and draws Dean’s attention, finally steering the insatiable craving away from you. But Dean knows his little brother only asks because he’s worried about Dean’s declining state of mind, even though there is really no reason to. Sam’s exaggerating as per usual.

If Sam’s showing signs of concern, it’s only because he knows too damn well how catastrophically Dean has failed and ruined any future with you by not communicating his craving. And now all there’s left is sulking and regretting. Then some more sulking and regretting. And oh, uh, more sulking and regretting till he drops for good, which is hopefully soon, considering the slow pace his life is currently going right now – just an agonizing crawl to the goddamn finish line.

See? No need for worries. Dean’s absolutely and completely–

“Fine.” Dean scoffs the word into his drink, his eyes flickering back to you. You’re making out now. Great.

Your boyfriend’s hands drift to your asscheeks and palm them. Dean wants to drown in his whiskey.

But it’s good. It’s good you have someone. Someone who can give you everything. Everything you want. God knows Dean can’t give you that, can he? Not then. But now? Now he could, couldn’t he?

What’s he got going on right now that’s so dangerous?

The only things that can kill him these days are the greasy food, alcoholism, and sheer boredom. Cancer. ‘Cause that son of a bitch can get anyone. Maybe some freakish household accident – getting electrocuted by a faulty outlet, slipping in the shower, food poisoning, choking. Maybe even a fucking car runs him over when he’s simply crossing the street.

Well, now it just sounds like a list of things that angel-dick Gabriel would’ve done to him…

He’s already been through it all. What more could go wrong?

“Dean…” Sam’s giving him a pointed look that says, ‘I’ve known you all my life. Stop pretending and talk to me.’

But Dean doesn’t want to talk.

“‘M good,” he repeats and forces the tightest smile known to mankind. It not even closely reaches the soft crinkles around his green eyes.

“I just talked to Trey at the bar,” Sam says then and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth.

Dean wants to scoff at the name.

In fact, he’s tried his hardest to hate the guy, but it’s impossible. Trey’s charming and funny and kind. He’s also taller and broader and younger than the older Winchester, which only adds another painful thorn.

But the dude treats you with respect, holds open doors for you, and cares about your feelings and thoughts and dreams. He listens to you, consoles you when you’re sad, and comforts you when you’re lonely. He’s even tried to become friends with the brothers, knowing how much they mean to you. And most of all, he not only shows you how much he craves you, but he also tells you so every day.

Dean’s been there a few times when it happened. It was fucking sickening.

And sure, Dean could still worry that some civilian can’t take care of you and protect you the way he would, but the guy was a fucking Navy SEAL and a hunter of all things that go bump in the night. To top it all off, he’s now retired and owns a small carpentry in Michigan.

The dude’s fucking Jesus, and Dean knows he stands no chance. So, yeah, maybe he’s a little jealous of the guy.

He has everything Dean wants.

“There’s something you should know, Dean,” Sam continues when the older brother’s lost in his craving again and hasn’t said anything for a full minute.

“Hm, what?” Dean can tell by Sam’s tight expression and slightly furrowed brows that it’s not good. His heart is already constricting. It knows why.

It was almost a year ago, a few months after Chuck’s reign of playing Sims had ended, that Dean had finally gathered enough courage to ask you out (with a lot of pushing from Sam and Eileen). So, while you’d been out on a small, two-day-long ghost hunt on your own, Dean had prepared a whole speech in his head.

Hunts were not only rare these lonely days, but they were also kind of… meh. Mostly your friendly neighborhood Caspers. Since Sam had dipped out, Dean and you resorted to coin tosses, drawing straws and matches, and the occasional paper-rock-scissors.

Dean still sucks at it.

Which is why you went alone. And he wasn’t even worried, just grateful for some space to get his head straight. He’d surprise you with something… romantic when you got back. He wasn’t sure what yet.

But two days turned into three, four, five and six. You’d give him regular updates, assuring him you were safe, sane, and healthy. The hunt was done – you’d decided to take a quick vacation.

The scenery had been so inviting.

On day eight, he questioned if he should follow you. Maybe you’d been kidnapped and held against your will, and he’d been texting with your tormentor this whole time. He barely ever caught you on the phone, and if he did, it was only briefly and you were always out of breath.

Hiking. That had been your explanation.

Yes, Dean should’ve put two and two together at that point, but he just couldn’t see beyond his own craving. It left him blindsided, even though he knew damn well you hated walking through nature as much as he did.

On the evening of day eight, you then called and told him you were coming home. His heart had swelled in his chest at the word.

Dean was your home. That was all he had heard.

Late on day nine, you finally returned to the bunker. Dean had prepared a movie night in the cave – he’d picked your favorite, nothing fancy, just the way you like it. But by the end of it – when you’d lie snuggled against his side like you usually did with his arm wrapped around your middle – he’d tell you about the craving.

He’d tell you he was in love with you. That you were all he was ever thinking about. That he couldn’t get enough of you. That he craved you day and night. That he couldn’t stop.

“So, how was the hunt?” he’d asked as you both stood in the war room, and you’d placed your duffel bag down on the table. “And the vacation?”

Until then, Dean hadn’t really questioned it. He knows you like to catch a wave and ride it out. It’s one of the things he loves about you, always hoping you’ll drag him with you into the sunset at some point.

“I-, uh…” 

Dean had noted the subtle bite of your lower lip, the smile that was itching to break free underneath.

“I met someone,” you’d finally confessed.

Dean’s still sure those are the three most horrible words of the English language. Nothing has ever torn apart his heart more.

“Met someone, huh?” He had swallowed heavily but played it off with a teasing smile. “You’re not usually one for hook-ups…”

“I’m not,” you’d confirmed. The secretive smile that flashed across your lips almost killed him. “I-, uh, I think it might be more than that.”

“More, huh?”

“Yeah, more,” you’d said softly and bit your lip again. Your cheeks had been glowing. You’d been so fucking happy and yet tried to hide it from him to spare his feelings – not that you had a clue. You’d only known Dean hated change and strangers and abandonment.

“You, uh, wanna watch a movie with me?” he’d still tried. He’d been sure one night or one week with some stranger couldn’t trump what he had with you. If he said something now, maybe he could still turn it around.

“I’m honestly kinda beat. Raincheck?”

“Sure.” He’d nodded and forced a painful smile. Luckily, he knew how to hide his pain well. 

At first, Dean hoped the guy wouldn’t call you again. Sure, he’d hate to see you broken-hearted, but he’d be there to pick up the pieces. One by one. Dean could satiate your craving.

But perfect fucking Trey called you that same night. Asked if you got home safely. Oh, Dean wanted to be mad about it. How dare this fucker, right? But how?

‘Stop caring about the girl I pretended not to care about for fucking years?’ 

Yeah, no, there’s no excuse. Dean’s the fucker, really.

So, come next morning, Dean made sure all traces of his romantic plans were erased in the cave. You were none the wiser when you woke up.

Dean then resorted to waiting. And waiting and waiting and waiting. And he figured if he waited long enough, your relationship with fucking Steve Rogers would run its natural course. Something would happen. It was long distance after all and not that threatening.

Yet.

It started with rare, brief visits. You’d stay in Michigan or a hotel in Kansas City for a weekend every once in a while, and Dean’s craving could deal with the temporary separation from you, although it was far from happy.

Yeah, alright, it was being a suicidal dickhead. He even preferred you staying in Michigan over the idea of you fucking your brains out in the hot tub of some fancy hotel.

Well, shit, like he said: The craving was being a complete dick about it and clearly not taking it so well.

The expensive whiskey you got him for his 42nd birthday, though, always quieted it enough to pass out till Sunday evening when you’d return.

But a weekend slowly turned into a full week and then into a whole goddamn month. Now, you weren’t just fucking your brains out anymore but playing house. Somehow, that was even fucking worse. The craving protested and screamed inside of him, urging him to keep you close.

Closer. Closer. Closer.

You’d still call him every few days to check up on him, but hearing your voice only turned the craving more violent, more needy.

It was a whiny fucking bitch most days.

And now, well, you’re celebrating your first anniversary this fucking weekend. Your boyfriend has a whole goddamn romantic getaway planned. You’ve talked about it nonstop, looked forward to it for weeks.

Dean doesn’t know if he’s still waiting or if he’s given up. Feels a little like giving up.

His green eyes flick to you and Trey on the small dance floor of the dingy bar once again. Someone as breathtakingly beautiful as you is truly a juxtaposition in a place like this – in his life, really.

You have your arms locked tightly around your boyfriend’s neck, his hands enclose your hips as you sway to the rhythm of the live music. You laugh wholeheartedly and throw your head back. He runs his face through your hair and surely whispers something dirty into your ear the way your grasp tightens on him, too.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice snaps him out of his trance once more.

“Hmm, what?” Dean blinks at his little brother and sees the heartbreak shimmering in his hazel eyes. He knows it’s unavoidable by now.

“Look, uhm, Trey told me he was planing to propose to her this weekend.” Sam gets it out in one breath but then pauses. He watches his older brother closely as if Dean would break down at any second.

But Dean’s seen it coming for a while now. It’s been undeniable.

“He-, uh, he asked for our blessing.” Sam chuckles a little at the unnecessary gesture and scratches the mop of hair, but Dean can tell a part of his little brother feels honored at the consideration.

“You said no, right?!” Dean snaps too harshly, no control over the wild furrowing of his brow. The craving is taking over. It wants to fight. It wants to defend what’s his.

“Dean...” Sam frowns with a look that says the older Winchester was being ridiculous. “It’s not my place to give. That’s what I told him, too.”

“Good.” Dean huffs bitterly into his whiskey and empties the glass.

“I still told him we’d be happy for them, though,” Sam adds with reluctance and caution.

“Sam, c’mon, man!” Exasperatedly, Dean shakes his head. His glare is biting. “Bad day to play middle man! How about you’re on my side for once, huh? Pick your fucking battles, dude!”

“Dean, I’m always on your side,” Sam assures with that puppy dog look of his.

Dean scoffs at it. “Could’ve fooled me…”

But he knows Sam would give his soul to make this situation better for him. It’s just the alcohol and sadness talking. He has to let it out somewhere. Sam knows that, too.

“Maybe you should tell her,” his little brother suggests then, and Dean’s not even sure he’s heard him right because it’s so fucking insane.

“What, are you nuts?!”

“Just think about it,” Sam urges, nearly insists even. “Look, I know you’re scared she won’t feel the same way and reject you–“

“Duh.” Dean scoffs, wishing his tumbler would magically refill for this conversation.

“But if she says yes–,” Sam continues, “–you’ll lose her anyway. You know she won’t stay with you forever, right? I don’t think they’ll move into the bunker with you.”

And thank fucking God for that. Dean would probably hang himself in his room after three days of watching and hearing you honeymoon like newlyweds. Any chances Hell would take him back?

“Sam–“

“What d’you have to lose at this point, Dean?” Sam reiterates. This time, more forcefully. “This might be your last chance, man. You seriously wanna live with that regret for the rest of your life?”

Well, Dean isn’t planing on sticking around for that much longer anyway. He’s sure a monster will get him one of these days on those solo hunts if he upped the recklessness enough and got a little more careless. But obviously, he doesn’t tell his little brother that. Sam would only unnecessarily worry again.

Dean shakes his head once more, and it pains him to do so. “I-, I can’t, Sam. Can’t do it.”

“Dean–“

“I don’t wanna mess with her head, alright?” he finally says. His gaze drifts back to you; tears blur his vision and threaten to spill. “Look at her, man. She’s fucking happy. I don’t wanna ruin that for her.”

Sam lets out a deep sigh, his gaze flickering from you back to Dean. Then, he licks his lips, and Dean can tell his little brother just thought of a new argument to put forth. He really would’ve made a good lawyer.

“Listen, if that really messes with her head, then maybe she would’ve never been as happy with him to begin with,” Sam counters.

Admittedly, it’s a good theory. Dean almost buys it.

“Nah, it’s too late,” Dean brushes the sliver of hope away. He pulls out his wallet and slaps enough cash on the table to close his tab as he slides out of the booth. “I should go home.”

“Hey, are you guys leaving already?”

Suddenly, there you are, with a smile sparkling so bright Dean could confuse it for diamonds in the sky. His eyes then torturously follow your arm, down to your intertwined fingers and the tall man in tow behind you.

“Yeah, uh, kinda exhausted,” Dean says as casually as possible. He hopes you can’t see the torment in his heart.

“Oh, alright.” You nod, and Dean imagines even a hint of disappointment in your voice. The craving probably plays pretend to guard his heart.

You give him a hug goodbye and kiss his cheek. But your lips on his skin are only a quick fix for the craving. It wants more. It’s a beast that’s always ravenous and never satiated.

Leaving the bar hasn’t stopped Dean from drinking, however. He’s determined to drown his sorrows and continues to pour whiskey after whiskey, finding solace in his haze as he sulks and regrets at the kitchen island in the dark, empty bunker. He supposes he has to get used to that feeling – loneliness.

His mind’s still reeling, his skull functioning as a bathtub for cheap booze. He should probably switch to something more bubbly…

He snorts at his own joke, the sound echoing through the emptiness. Great, now he’s the weirdo hermit who laughs to himself.

Maybe Sam’s got a point. Maybe this is his last chance. There’s still a spark of hope – or so the craving believes.

And then, after two in the morning, you finally stagger home and tumble into the kitchen with a goofily drunk smile on your face that causes Dean’s breath to halt. His heart almost shoots out of his chest, wanting to jump straight into your warm embrace.

“Hey, you’re still up,” you say with a small yawn and round the corner to the island, grabbing yourself a glass of water by the sink. “Can’t sleep again, huh?”

It’s not unusual for you to find Dean roaming the bunker in the middle of the night like the ghosts he hunts. Most of the time, your strongest bonds were forged by the late-night, deep-talks you’d shared in here. You keep them close to your heart.

“Nah, not really,” Dean says casually and sips on his drink as if it were just a fluke – a one-time occurrence. But you know better than that.

“Is it about Sam?” you ask almost knowingly and watch Dean’s brow raise with his gaze.

Oh, that. He has completely forgotten about that – the whole reason they’ve gone out to celebrate tonight in the first place.

“Yeah, uh, was a lot tonight, y’know?” Dean deflects. He figures it’s at least a good excuse.

A soft smile spreads on your lips. “You’re gonna be an uncle, though. That’s gotta be exciting, right?”

You’re trying so hard to help him find the silver lining, to give him comfort and drag him out of his misery. But Dean’s sure he’s stuck at rock bottom.

“Yeah, ‘m happy for him,” Dean replies but doesn’t say more. Doesn’t say that he’s envious of his little brother, doesn’t say he craves the same thing, too.

“Dean,” you sigh his name and clasp his hand on the counter. Your touch burns his skin. The craving boils his blood. “I know you hate change, but it’s gonna be okay.”

“I’m sure it will, sweetheart,” Dean says but doesn’t mean it. He knows it’s not true. It won’t be okay without you. So, he forces a wry smile. It’s almost bitter. “Still got you, though, right?”

“Yeah, you got me,” you say softly and send him a smile. It doesn’t reach your eyes, however. Dean knows why.

“Thought you were spending the night out,” Dean notes then and disturbs the silence that has consumed the kitchen.

“Uh, Trey’s got an early flight,” you explain. “I’ll see him on the weekend, though. I suppose I’ll survive.”

Dean’s not sure he will, though, and doesn’t laugh at your joke.

At least, you barely ever bring your boyfriend around the bunker. You mostly spend the nights at a hotel whenever he comes to visit. Dean’s not entirely sure why. It might be the vibe he’s giving off when he’s near you two. You’ve had several talks with him about his attitude.

“Be nicer. Try a little harder to get along with him. I really like this guy,” you’d said. 

And Dean tried for your sake, even though he didn’t really mean it. Moreover, he got the strange sense that Trey knew Dean was harboring feelings for you and was nice enough not to rub it in, keeping his distance. Like Dean stated earlier: It was fucking impossible to hate the guy.

The dude was not nice enough to back off and let you go, though. Dean supposes that also means Trey is smarter than him, too. Awesome.

“You know, uhm…” You chew on your lip. Your heart begins to sting. “Trey asked me to move in with him. In… in Michigan.”

Dean’s silent for a beat. His ears are ringing as if a doctor had just told him he’s got prostate cancer and only a few months left to live. Honestly, it sounds more pleasant than this.

“Hmm,” Dean hums and takes a bigger gulp of his whiskey.

He refills once more, the glass and bottle only blurry shapes in his vision at this point. He ponders if there’s something stronger to numb his pain. Maybe it’s time to pick up a heroin addiction – die cool like Morrison and Cobain.

“Dean…”

You see the devastation on his face. You don’t want to hurt him, but you know him well enough to know that you do. What are you supposed to do, though? Sacrifice your whole happiness and future for his? Never expect to get anything in return? You couldn’t keep living like this.

“You’re my best friend. You know I’m not gonna leave you, right?”

“So, you’re staying?” His look is hopeful, and it kills you.

You swallow lightly. “Sure, yeah,” you say with a weak smile and shrug. “I’m not moving out tomorrow.”

The hope deflates, his face drops, and his look turns crestfallen.

“I’ll stay as long as you need me, okay? It’s no problem, I promise,” you add comfortingly. You know he hates being alone. “I’m sure Trey and I can do long distance a little while longer. I mean, it worked fine so far. Don’t worry, alright?”

Dean hears you. He doesn’t want to drag you down, keep you from living your life. He supposes he has to set you free now.

“Look, I’ll be fine, alright?” he states and forces a cool, carefree, lazy smile with the utmost sincerity – as much as he can find at least. It might have been the worst lie he ever told, and he told a lot of lies over the decades. “If you wanna move out, you should. Don’t take my feelings into account.”

“Dean…”

Your heart stings. You can’t leave him like this. At the same time, you fight your own anger and push it down. If he really didn’t want you to leave, then why had he never done anything, said anything to make you stay? You’d waited years for him to see you, to take your hand, to love you and run toward the sunset with you. But he never did, not even when the big bads were all defeated and gone.

Instead, you watched him flirt with strange women in even stranger bars. You watched him lead them to his precious car with his hand on their backs (or their asses) and a wide, goofy, all-teeth grin on his punchable, freckled face. You watched him disappear for entire nights and return to the bunker, to the endless motels, in the mornings with his latest conquest’s marks on his skin.

A row of tattoos he’d gotten just for you that all read the same message: Fuck you.

And it fucking hurts every single time. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Sometimes, you thought you couldn’t take any more and would just grow numb to the pain. But you never did. It all mars your heart the same.

Some days, it felt like you were dying inside.

And then, after the hunting life slowed, you wanted to keep moving, explore what other wonders life had to offer aside from exterminating monsters and living underground. Sam felt the urge, too. So, you both set sail into the world – but Dean didn’t. He stood still at the docks.

“What’s going on with you?” You step closer, worry shimmering in your eyes. “I know it’s been hard on you since Sam’s moved out. But you’re the best guy I know. There’s great things out there for you, too. I just know it. Don’t give up hope now.”

Dean wants to scoff, cry, and laugh hysterically. He doesn’t look at you, just stares at the whiskey in his grasp.

“I’m in love with you.”

The words are out. Dean’s astonished they finally left his lips. He can’t quite believe it, even clasps his mouth with a hand and runs it across his face. It’s been his best guarded secret for so long. Someone should slap him. Where’s Sam when he needs him the most?

Dean downs the whiskey in his hand and looks up at you. He feels like he cursed you. You’re frozen in place, petrified by the spell he cast. But your lower lip and eyelids are quivering, so he supposes you’re still alive in there somewhere.

“Say something. Please... Anything,” he begs. He wants to drink more but fears you might think of him as a drunk, although he’s pretty sure you’re already aware. That train has left the station, so he might as well make its final destination his mouth.

On shaky legs, you grasp the edge of the counter for support. A “brace yourself, you might wanna sit down for this one” would’ve been greatly appreciated.

“I-, uh… I have to sit down,” you force the words out with a clear of your very dry fucking throat because you’re still rather speechless – and drunk.

Judging by the almost empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, so is Dean, it seems.

Dean heroically jumps from his seat to offer it to you but watches you simply lower to the cool tiles of the floor instead. You’d love nothing more than to lie there and curl in the fetal position right now.

Slowly, Dean crouches down and joins you, careful not to touch you, ignoring the craving’s persistent screams to do exactly that. His hands are shaking from holding back.

Your lips part and shut, your eyes are lost, your brows tremble as you try to understand and think of something to say. But your mind is overflowing. Your gaze stays fixed on the ground and the cracks in the grout between the old tiles.

“If this is some prank, Dean…”

You don’t really think he’s this cruel or moronic. You can always hope, though.

“It’s-, it’s not,” he assures you and tries not be offended. He knows you’re still processing. Besides, he may have overdone it with the pranks a little since Sam is gone. He's put that extra energy into you. “I’ve felt this way for a long time… Knew you were special the second I saw you… Knew I-… I loved you when we watched Shawshank Redemption together your first week here. Remember that? You quoted the whole movie. I guess, I-… I’ve been craving you since then.”

A fond smile flashes on his lips at the memory, but his jade green eyes flicker with insecurity.

You gasp for air and find your voice. “Why did you never say anything?”

“I-… I tried. Not hard enough, I guess.” He chuckles self-consciously, scratching the nape of his neck. But you don’t share his humor. “Last time I tried was when you told me you met–“

He stops himself from saying the name. His mouth twitches with a bitter taste. He doesn’t want to say the name you scream when you cum.

Oof, he wonders which of the many whiskeys was the one that has finally crossed the threshold to pathetic.

“I actually wanted to watch Shawshank Redemption with you that night when you came home, tell you then,” he continues, his tongue swiping over his chapped lips. It’s just his luck, isn’t it? He truly found out how unlucky he was once Chuck was gone. To think the guy actually protected him from some of it almost makes him scoff out loud. “But, uh…”

“I went to bed early,” you finish his thought.

He cocks a brow at you. A drop of resentment sneaks into his voice. “Did you, though? Your room’s right next to mine, sweetheart. I knew you were on the phone with–… I could hear you.”

You scoff darkly and stare straight into his eyes, and for the first time, Dean can see the real hurt in yours. Was he responsible for this?

“Yeah, trust me. I’ve been there,” you reply cynically.

Oh, Dean knows he has messed up.

“Why the fuck now, Dean? What’s changed, huh?” You rise from the floor and begin to frantically pace the kitchen. Dean follows you. “Is it because I told you I was leaving? What, you just decided now’s a good time?!”

“Look, uhm, Sam doesn’t want me to tell you this, but there’s something you should know, alright? I think you should know,” he insists but rubs a hand over his mouth. He knows he’s being selfish. He fucking knows he shouldn’t say it, shouldn’t tell you.

But he fucking wants you a lot more, cost what it will. He’d sell his goddamn soul all over again for you. The craving is not backing down now.

You look at him like he’s kidding. He must be. How could there be more?

“Your boyfriend’s gonna propose to you this weekend,” Dean tells you and slaps you right across the face with the news.

You think he might as well be joking and playing a prank on you again. His face is deadly serious, however, his green eyes dark, stern and unwavering. You can tell he hates the thought of it, the mere suggestion you could be someone else’s, and he’s probably stirred in that hatred all night. So, that’s what truly motivated his ship to leave the harbor.

“But–“ Dean pauses, considering his next words carefully, but his eyes remain fixed on you, drill into you. “But if there’s a chance you don’t want that, just a sliver… I-… I need to know, alright? I need to know if it could be me. I can’t let you go without knowing… without trying.”

You think you’re close to fainting. You feel lightheaded, dizzy. It’s too much. It’s all too fucking much.

“Are you fucking serious right now?! Why the fuck are you doing this to me? Why didn’t you say it earlier?” The tears of desperation sting your eyes as you shove at his chest. “Why didn’t you fucking move sooner?!”

It’s not a question as much as it is an accusation. Dean grabs your hands that still press against his chest and holds them still on his heart. His gaze locks with yours.

And then, Dean recognizes the familiar anger in your eyes. He knows it’s the craving. Not his, but yours.

For him.

“Do you love me?” he dares to ask. He might as well, considering this is the end and he’s putting all his cards on the table tonight. He knows he’ll lose you, so why not do it with a bang? Winchesters are known to go down swinging.

You fight for words. Your heart twists. “It’s too late,” you whisper, tears rolling down your hot cheeks freely.

“It’s not a no,” Dean says softly, his heart swelling a tiny bit more in his chest. It’s almost cute, like a little kid arguing about bedtime, asking for one more glass of water before he has to go down for good.

“It’s not a yes, either,” you counter quite spitefully. You can’t reward this behavior, can you? The man just took a wrecking ball to your life, to your current relationship, to your future – something you’ve carefully crafted and cared for and grown for close to a year.

A year.

And he thinks of this now? When you have one foot out the door? That’s when he fucking realizes?!

You’re furious and want to yell at him till you’re blue in the face. Mostly, though, you’re furious with yourself. Maybe you should’ve known, should’ve suspected. After all, you know him well. You know his insecurities and his deepest, darkest fantasies. What Sam has now, what you’re about to have – the apple pie life.

“So, it’s a… maybe?”

You want to sigh and pray heavenward. Is anyone listening to this? Hello?!

“Do you love him?”

This time, you sigh out loud. “You know I do.”

Your words are sharp, and you can tell that they sting. He flinches when you say them. But something weird tugs at you when you do.

“You love me, too?”

You’re silent for a moment. You don’t know if the truth makes it worse or better.

“I do,” you admit through more painful tears that blur your already hazy vision. His piercingly green eyes find you, and you note the soft, upward curve of his lips.

“You love me more?”

“Dean!”

Yeah, he was pushing it…

Pensively, his tongue swipes slowly over his upper lip before he tucks the lower one between his teeth. Then, he clicks his tongue when he’s thought of something to say, something to give him an advantage, anything.

You love him. There’s a chance.

“Look, it’s not too late, okay? If you wanna get out, just say the word,” Dean says. There’s urgency in the deep timbres of his voice. This is his last shot. He can’t keep watching from the window looking in as everyone eats dinner without him. He has to move.

“So, what? So I can live here with you and watch you hook up with strangers for eternity?” Frustratedly, you wipe the tears from your cheeks and look at him. You can tell your little comment caused a paper cut.

Bobbing his head, Dean rubs his lips with his fingers. He knows he deserves that snide comment. Those distractions from the craving certainly haven’t done him any favors.

“I get it. I screwed up. I came a little late to the party,” Dean admits. Tears threaten to drown the green in his eyes, but he fights to keep them behind the dam. He needs to get this out first. “But I’m here now. I’m yours. All yours. I’m not going anywhere,” he vows, and you believe him with your breaking heart. “I swear to you, to anyone who will fucking listen… I won’t screw this up again. Just tell me what you want, and I’ll give it to you. You wanna get married? Have kids? I’d do it right now with you. You wanna go see the world? Go skydiving? Then knock me out and drag me onto a plane. Just tell me. I’d give you everything I have, sweetheart.”

His voice chokes on the last few words, barely pushing them out. His heart roars; his lungs wring for air. Every muscle, every vein, every nerve feels like its being electrocuted. Tenses, twists, and constricts under the pressure of the craving.

You’re speechless, your mouth agape. You look at him, stare. You see the desperation, the pain, the fear, the need, the love, the craving. But you can’t think of anything to say. You don’t know what to do, except wait for an ice age to come and freeze you both in time, so you get more time to think.

“I-I-… I should go. I’ll stay at a motel,” you manage to say, your voice trembling like the rest of your body. You can’t feel your legs, your hands, or your head. Most of all, you can’t feel your heart.

You don’t have to say yes or no. You don’t have to make a decision right now – wasted and sleep-deprived. You do the smart thing, the wise thing, the right thing.

But why does it feel so wrong and stupid then?

“You’re leaving?” Dean’s disbelief seeps into every syllable. He can’t understand. He figured this would fix it.

“I’m sorry.” The sniffled apology is quiet as you try to push past him. His skin brushes yours. A wildfire inflames inside of you that vaporizes all tears and fears.

Dean feels it, too.

All rational thought dissipates from his mind then. He grabs hold of your arm and spins you flush against his warm and inviting body. His lips collide with yours – hungry, wild, and fervent.

The craving wins.

You don’t fight it. You melt into the kiss, into him, into feeling instead of thinking. You lick the whiskey from his tongue, drink till you’re drunk on him, and Dean savors the minty Mojitos he’s watched you sip all night.

Your hands don’t find a place, neither can his. There’s too much to discover, new territory you’re both unfamiliar with but always wanted to see, feel, explore. So, he roams your soft curves and you his taut muscles. Squeezing, scratching, trailing.

Your fingers card and tug at the soft hair in the nape of his neck, lock tightly around him as you push yourself closer. He groans and sends vibrations through you.

Dean’s grip on your hips is bruising as he molds you to his frame. He really tries to achieve the impossible here. He won’t let go now. This is it, and with that thought, he cages you between his body and the kitchen island.

The two of you never dare to break the kiss, knowing that if you gave yourselves enough time to think, you’d stop this madness and come to your senses. Neither of you wants that. Not really. Not now.

The craving silenced everything else. It takes what it needs. It needs you. It needs him.

You’ve wanted this for so long – him and you, exactly like this. And now, it’s all so wrong but so fucking right, too.

You whimper into his mouth, your core flooding with desperate need when you feel his growing dick strain against his jeans and press between your legs. Your fingers work on autopilot as they unbutton his flannel and slide it over his broad shoulders.

Dean tosses your top over your head, and your legs wrap around his middle. He hoists you into his arms, and you fling his shirt somewhere when he’s on the move. Your bra follows, landing in the hallway, a trail of clothes marking the path of sin through the bunker.

You’re not sure the two of you will make it to a room, any room, as Dean stops and bumps you against walls, only to ravage more parts of your skin. He bites, he marks, and he grips your flesh so roughly you’re sure you’ll be more than blue in the morning. You know he wants to leave his impression on every inch of you. You don’t stop him because, God have mercy, you want that, too.

You feel him everywhere and still crave fucking more.

And Dean somehow still seems to make it to room 11 because when your eyes blink open the next time, you suddenly find yourself there. Of course it’s there. He needs your impressions to haunt him, too – your noises inside his four walls, your indentations in his mattress, your scent on his pillow, your arousal soaking his sheets.

He wants to lower you to his bed, to the memory foam, but your legs unravel around his waist, bare feet landing on the floor.

You can’t remember when you kicked off your shoes, but Dean isn’t wearing his boots anymore either and only one sock, so you figure they’re somewhere in the bunker with the rest of your lost items.

Your lips leave his but not him. They lick, suck, and bite down the scruffy column of his throat, his solid and freckled chest, all the way down his softly defined abs as you fall to your knees in front of him like he’s an altar you’re about to worship at.

Your fingers hastily unbuckle belt and lower zipper, pushing jeans to his ankles. You don’t bother long with his boxers, still strapped around his knees when you free him and wrap a hand around his throbbing cock as if to shield it from the sudden chill that creeps along your own skin. You don’t even manage a full pump before your lips seal around his red and swollen head. You swallow him whole.

You don’t wait. You don’t think. You give yourself fully to the craving.

It’s a greedy bitch.

A “shit” escapes him when you welcome him into your hot mouth till he hits the back of your throat, the first word that cuts through the moans and heavy breathing since this cataclysmic gluttony began.

You don’t pull back. You stay, hold on. Your tongue massages the thick vein. Your moans vibrate around him and send shivers up his spine, tighten his balls. Your mouth fills with saliva till it threatens to drool out. Your hand can’t even fully grasp his thickness, thumb out of reach from your other fingertips. You haven’t even noticed how big he truly is till tears sting your eyes, and you feel the aches in your jaw from trying to accommodate all of him. Luckily, the burning alcohol numbs some of it.

You both still and know there’s no fucking way back now when your eyes meet. There’s only forward and more.

A massive hand reaches to cradle your head, brushes your hair from your face, massages your jaw, and caresses your chin. Fuck. You drool more and press your thighs together while your pussy whines around nothing.

You slowly pull back, suck with hollowed cheeks and swirl around his tip and dip into his slit. He leaks precum onto your tongue, a tang of salt and sweetness and Dean.

You’re sucking his cock. You’re sucking Dean's cock. You’re fucking sucking Dean Winchester’s fucking cock.

“Fuck, that mouth…” Dean’s hips buck in rhythm with your bobbing head. The fist in your hair tightens, tugs harder, deliciously stings your scalp.

You want him to spill down your throat. You want to taste and drink and swallow all of him.

But Dean’s got other ideas. He raises you back to your feet with a strong grip of your upper arms. You barely catch a breath before he claims your swollen and soaking lips, kisses you truly, madly, deeply. He licks the taste of him from your tongue, his dick standing spit-wet and aching by your belly.

“Dean,” you whimper against his lips, thighs rubbing together. You can feel your arousal dripping down. You need friction, you need to get rid of your goddamn jeans and underwear, you need him.

“‘M take care of you,” he mumbles and nods like agreeing to a decision he just made, and you know he doesn’t just mean your climax or your craving. He means he’ll take care of you forever. That’s the promise he’s just made.

His fingers toy with your waistband and pull down your zipper. He pushes you back and leads you till you lie back onto the mattress, feet dangling over the edge. He shimmies you out of your confining denim, and then he’s on you, hovering above, kneeling between your spread legs.

Dean leaves you with one blazing kiss on your lips, but, fuck, those tits. He’s had dreams about them, day and night – about groping and squeezing and burying his entire face in them. He can’t resist and bites and tongues and sucks, and by the time his hands get to them, pinch and roll and tweak your stiff nipples, his mouth descends down your tummy.

Plush lips passing below your belly button is the imaginary line when he decides to deliver your sinfully throbbing clit from its misery and slides a hand inside your panties.

Ugh, fucking God, his large hand covers your entire cunt.

He could make you come with his fucking pinky alone by the sheer size and girth of his digits, you’re sure. You’ve observed their length and thickness over the years often enough, mostly from the backseat of Baby when he drives, always careful not to get caught in your shameful leering, always wondering what they’d feel like curling inside of you. And God, the things he does with those ten weapons while they linger on the steering wheel drive you insane with wanton need during most trips. Even short ones to the grocery store have become a solid method of torture for you.

And you know they could reach that spongey, sensitive spot inside of you oh-so easily. But it’s his middle and pointer finger that glide through your drenched folds first.

Dean hums against your skin, right by your hip bone. Oh God, he fucking hums and groans – deep and rich and desperate. Desperate for you.

He steals a glance at your face, your beautifully contorted face of glowing pleasure, and he flashes you an appreciative smile of surprise, like he hadn’t fucking anticipated you being so wet for him – so ready.

All you manage is barely a nod before your eyes roll back into your head. You don’t have the energy to argue about his weird insecurities right now. And yes, they are weird, considering how the guy looks, but it’s more than just the mesmerizingly green eyes that cause you to feel lost among tall pines, the faint and golden freckles that dance on his skin, twinkling from the tip of his nose down to soft dips and dents of his chest, or the way his smile carries you home like the beam of a lighthouse without fail each time you’re lost.

No, it’s the things you can’t (and he can’t) see in a mirror that award him the title of the greatest man who ever lived. It’s the kindness, it’s the sweetness, it’s the caring. It’s his heart of gold, his courage, and his warmth.

So, how come Dean can’t ever see any of that? You always could because you’ve loved him since he laughed through your Shawshank quotes that very first week.

And now… Fuck.

Not even the inebriated double-vision makes up for the amount of hands and fingers and mouths and tongues you feel on you. How does he do that? Are there six of them or just the two you see?

Your head is spinning. You don’t know up from down anymore; it’s all one blurry swirl. Is it sideways?

But you know where you are and you can count again when his tongue dives into your channel and his lips seal around your bundle of nerves and fucking suck hard.

A taste of your own medicine, you’re sure.

You cry out at the intensity and almost come right there, especially with his delighted chuckles against your center, but you actually come when two of those long, thick, admirable fingers spreads your tight walls. He manages three or four pumps maximum before you fall apart at his mercy.

You scream his name as your frame shakes, and he kisses your pulsing center softly as if to soothe your aches. But as his heavy erection presses against the inside of your thigh, you know you want more.

The craving never stops.

Heaving chest meeting his, his glistening lips lower upon yours, and your tongue tastes what his did just seconds ago. He hovers above, his nose nudging your cheek forcing your eyes to open, encountering an insecure glint in his gaze.

“You sure about this?” His voice is so quiet, so raspy, the words are almost inaudible as if he doesn’t want to say them at all because he’s afraid of the answer.

Luckily, so are you.

In the darkest, most isolated depths of your mind, there’s still someone else. A guy you claim to love, and yet, you’ve tied his hands with ropes, muzzled him with duct tape, locked him in a dungeon, and somehow found your way into Dean’s bed. Your best friend and roommate Dean.

Yeah, no, there’s no excuse, no justification. But there’s no way back, either. What’s done is done. You’ve already done unspeakable things to each other – all of them rule-breaking. Sucking his cock? Fully your idea! God knows Dean surely didn’t fall dick-first into your mouth.

No, you want this. And moreover, you need to see it through.

Life isn’t just black and white, is it? It’s not a straight road. There’s sharp curves, and hunters are known to ignore the odd dangerous bend symbol.

So you kiss him deep and hard, because your answer would’ve been a shallow and soft uncertainty. You don’t know if it’s right, you assume it’s not, but you follow the craving and cave to its needs.

It needs Dean. Not anyone else. Dean. Not Dean Martin or James Dean, no. Dean Winchester.

Your hand snakes between heated and damp bodies and wraps around the forbidden fruit, lets his cockhead catch at your more-than-ready entrance.

Is it really all Eve’s fault? Probably. Now, though, it’s very much on Adam.

Dean pushes in.

Well, they call it a sin for a reason. The craving clearly doesn’t give a fuck, though.

When his tip taps your cervix, you gasp. Your pussy clenches around him, he groans into your neck, and you moan at that little jitter that runs through his body.

He kisses a path down to your tits as he slowly pulls out to his dickhead and thrusts back into you. Fuck. And well, from there on out, it all blends into a foggy whirl of limbs, bodily fluids, and an obscene soundtrack.

It all comes slowly back, however, when you wake in the morning. You feel the remnants of a wild night, the sheer soreness between your thighs, instantly.

You remember it started slow and tender when your eyes finally flutter open barely a few hours later, just at the break of dawn. It started with good, ol’ missionary – the ‘getting to know each other’ phase. You both learned what made the other tick, while his cock moved pleasantly inside of you like calm ocean waves, whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears.

When you carefully slide out under his arm for a simple pee break, panic begins to creep in, recalling how you eventually rolled him onto his back and rode him like his goddamn name was Larry. Shit.

And Dean loved it. His freckled face and the huge grin, staring up at you in awe, is branded into your mind. There’s no way to unsee it now.

As you collect clothes strewn throughout the bunker like they are scavenger hunt items, you remember how things took a turn for the worse then – or for the better, depending one’s perspective on the subject, you suppose.

Eventually, you found your way onto all fours, Dean giving his goddamn everything behind you, pounding relentlessly into you with a bruising grip on your flesh.

Your fingers subconsciously touch your hips, your eyes follow and see bruises there. You hurry into the bathroom, glimpse at the mirror, and immediately see more. They’re everywhere – your throat, your collarbone, your tits, your waist, hips, arms, and thighs. Oh shit, even your ass got some.

There’s no way of hiding a sin this big.

You came five times. You fucking remember that. Never happened with anyone before, either.

Fucking asshole…

With a sobering (but heavily hungover) mind, your anger at your roommate returns. Why did he have to do it this way? Why put you in this awful position in the first place? Did he have to wait till you both were close to blackout drunk and an almost engagement to someone else?

No discussion of anything. No feelings. No future. No plans. No protection. No checking in. No responsibility. No sobriety. No brains.

Naturally, all of this was a decision made by two completely sane people. Why would you do any of that? Talking is overrated. No, this clusterfuck was obviously the best choice.

Shit, shit, shit…

Beating hearts in their purest form. That was there.

You remember how he looked at you, both spent, lying next to each other with your heads by the foot of the bed, feet resting where pillows go. No clue where they went.

His smile was so warm and happy, fingers still caressing skin and never losing touch. You gazed and smiled at each other like idiots till your eyes closed, knowing without words that this was forever now.

Dean still wakes up alone that morning.

Oh, his goddamn brain is buzzing. Without opening his eyes, Dean twists his face into the darkness of his mattress, hands searching for the pillow underneath his head.

Wait… Where is his fucking pillow?

His brow furrows slightly, his head pounding louder as if to try to rattle him awake and alert him to something. If he could only remember what that something is…

The only reason he’s somewhat awake is because his own snore woke him up after he almost choked on his damn spit. God, what a night. He probably should make a mental note to drink less. Those hangovers aren’t getting easier to handle with progressing age.

Little goosebumps spread on his skin when a soft, cool breeze hits the exposed parts of his body. Something is odd, though. Why is it so damn cold? And why is his blanket only barely covering his bottom half?

And why the fuck is he naked? He’s not usually a birthday suit sleeper. A purple nightgown, a shirt and boxers, maybe even a pair of sweats, sure, but he only ever sleeps naked when he’s had se–

Shit!

Dean jolts up in bed, pupils wide and head swirling. He stretches his heavy and tired eyes with strain, forcing them to stay open. Jesus, he feels like a truck ran over him, only realizing then that said truck carried your goddamn license plates.

Shaking his head vigorously, he tries to find his orientation. He almost thinks he’s in a different room before realizing he’s slept upside down in his own bed. He rolls onto his back and sits up, blinking his eyes awake a little further.

The whole night comes crashing back to him then, but he starts to doubt the realness of it all when he can’t find you next to him. There’s just an empty spot.

Looking for evidence, he scans the room. He only finds some of his own clothes strewn across the floor, but none of yours till he feels something tangled around his ankle. Are those his boxers?

Nope! That’s your underwear. How did it get– Never mind. There are more important things to figure out now. First and foremost, where the hell are you?

With a groan, he swings his legs off the bed, bare feet landing on the cold ground. He runs a palm through his hair and rubs his face, even patting his own cheeks to wake up more. His head is fucking killing him. But it’s not the only thing aching.

Lifting the sheet slightly from his lap, he takes a quick peek. Oh, poor guy’s been certainly through a lot last night. Is that a bruise? How did that ha– Nope, never mind that, either. He’s surprised at his own stamina, though. A guy his age? Drunk? He mentally pats himself on the back for it, although he knows the craving did most of the work for him.

Nonetheless, his pride is quickly overshadowed by your absence.

His hand grabs his watch on the nightstand. Almost noon.

Well, your French leave makes a little more sense now. You probably had to pee. His own bladder feels goddamn full, the bottle of whiskey finally finding its exit again. His stomach is growling, too. Maybe you were hungry? Dean knows you practically wake up starving every morning and are unbearable till he stuffs that first stripe of bacon into your mouth.

However, he notices the eerie quiet of the bunker. There’s no smell of awaiting breakfast in the kitchen wafting down the long hallways. There are no sounds of clattering dishes, clinking cutlery, a running shower, or the flush of a toilet.

Silence.

And if you really got up for a bathroom and food break, why are your jeans gone? He knows he took them off in this room and not anywhere else. A perfectly fine and fresh flannel is hung over the chair by his small desk.

Not to complain, but wouldn’t it have been easier if you’d just thrown that one on instead of forcing yourself back into something skin-tight?

Dean’s not a complete idiot, however. He knows those aren’t good signs, and his chest starts to constrict, squeezing the air from his lungs. His mind races, green and red eyes flickering around desperately for answers.

You wouldn’t leave like that, would you? Not after–

“I love you,” Dean whispered, his forehead resting against yours when he spilled into you, your walls still gripping him tight.

“I love you, too,” you replied and could barely finish your answer before his lips claimed yours again.    

No, you wouldn’t do that. It’s not the version of you he knows like the back of his hand. That’s not his best friend.

But then, his stomach overflows with guilt, the hows and whys of the night seeping into every corner of his mind and settling in his bones.

Fuck.

Oh, there had to have been another way, right? He shouldn’t have done what he did, shouldn’t have given into the craving so recklessly. He knew it was wrong. Everything was wrong. This was never supposed to happen this way.

It was supposed to be magical and memorable. The start of something great.

It still was for Dean, although your disappearance makes him unsure. Maybe it wasn’t all that magical for you.

Dean kissed you, which was a forgivable offense. And sure, you kissed him back. But was either of you in the right state of mind? Probably not.

And Dean knows he should’ve stopped it all there, should’ve slowed down, looked at you, and talked to you about it. About next steps, futures, plans. None of that happened.

Last night, after his confession, he could see you needed time to think, a night to sleep it over, gather your bearings with a sober mind. But Dean was scared of letting go. What would he have done if you hadn’t come back? But he didn’t listen to the warning.

The craving didn’t want to risk losing you and clearly didn’t give a damn about consequences.

But Dean does. He cares a fucking lot. And moreover, now he has to live with the damn consequences of its actions and not the stupid craving.

Right now, it’s achingly empty. Dean knows it means you’re not around.

Still, he rises from the bed and starts to pad down the hallways of the bunker in search of you. He needs to talk to you, find you, do whatever it takes to fix this mess. He wants to call you, but his phone is missing, too.

It happens sometimes. Usually, either you or Sam call him to find it, but no one’s here anymore. He’s all alone and realizes then that he’ll probably die this way – slipping pathetically in the bathroom with a disturbing alcohol level in his blood, his phone out of reach, lost somewhere between couch cushions. You or Sam will probably stumble upon his corpse weeks, maybe months later, and only find the flesh rotting from his bones.

Yup, he’s sure that’s it. Lovely end to a shitty life.

With a deep sigh stuck in his throat, Dean follows the path of destruction, a trail of lost clothing items leading him toward the kitchen before he picks up your bra from the floor.

He stops in his tracks when he hears the heavy thud of the garage door. His heart sings in relief. Food run! You probably went to fetch breakfast. Yeah, that must be it.

“Dean? Y/N?”

Sam.

Dean’s shoulders slump, the hopeful smile on his face faltering. He rubs his mouth with his fingers, his mind spinning. Not a minute later, Sam rounds the corner and meets him in front of the kitchen.

“Dean?” Sam then freezes and instantly squeezes his eyes shut, shaking his head exasperatedly. “Dude! Why are you naked?!”

“Oh.” Dean blushes with a slight fluster, but his usual shameless grin is missing. He’s too fucking depressed for a witty response. “Hang on.”

Even Sam notices the tension and somber atmosphere when he hears Dean plodding back to his room, but he chalks it off to last night’s news. He slowly opens his hazel eyes and takes a quick scan of the kitchen.

Empty bottle of whiskey on the counter, flannel on the floor, boots in the hallway.

But wait… Is that one of your shoes?

Dean then comes back in a pair of gray sweats and a black henley, still carrying your bra in his hand as if it would help him find you like a dowsing rod.

“Rough night?” Sam quirks a brow at his older brother, a small smile of amusement on his face. It’s not the first time he found Dean like this, after all.

“Good night. Rough morning,” the older Winchester replies soberly.

“Dude, what happened? When did you have time to meet a hook-up after I drove you home last night?” Sam creases his brow, but the sinking feeling in his gut already confirms it. He knows those are your shoes, just like he knows that’s your bra in his brother’s hand. Sam’s been your laundry buddy for close to five years.

“I-I… I slept with her, Sam,” Dean confesses and claps his mouth like he’s done the last time he’s confessed something. He expects it to go about the same.

But Sam surprises him with calmness. “Yeah, I-I figured,” he admits, nodding, and takes another glimpse down the hall behind Dean. “Where is she? Still sleeping? Did she break up with Trey?”

Dean’s mouth opens and closes. Leave it to Sam to dive right into the uncomfortableness. Solely mentioning the name burns a hole into his heart. What if you went back to him?

“No, uh, I don’t know where she is. I just woke up,” Dean says slowly and licks his chapped lips. “I-… I think she left. For good. I think she-… you know.”

Dean swallows the thick lump in his dry throat, while Sam sits with the information for a minute.

“Dean, why–“ Sam shakes his head, collecting his thoughts. “Why didn’t you guys just talk? I mean, what happened?”

“Oh, yeah, great idea, Sammy!” Dean scoffs with a voice full of bark. “You think I haven’t thought about that? Does anything about this look planned to you? I mean, hell! You’re the one who told me to use my last chance and tell her in the first place!”

“I didn’t mean this,” Sam counters, exasperated. “I meant, use your mouth, idiot, not your–“ He frowns when he notices the rising smirk on his older brother’s face. “Dude, don’t even say it.”

“Fine.” Dean rolls his eyes a little and sighs. “Look, I need to find her and talk to her. Can you call my cell? I lost it somewhere.”

“Dude, again?”

“Just-… Would you call?” Dean massages his aching temples.

“You know, my worst nightmare is finding you dead down here one day, just rotting away,” Sam mutters wryly as he makes the call.

“Yeah, you and me both,” is all Dean says.

His ears then pick up the faint buzzing noises of his phone, only growing louder as the brothers follow it all the way to the library. His cell rests neatly on the wooden table, but he knows he hasn’t put it there.

Besides, underneath it is a folded piece of yellow, legal-pad paper that smells like you.

Dean grabs both phone and letter, his eyes fixing on the only two words there. The corners of his mouth quirk to a faint smile, but it’s sad in nature. He’s only laughing to cope with the loss of you. His black soul is rejoicing – it’s been right all along. Hallelujah!

I’m sorry.

You’re sorry. But Dean doesn’t know for what exactly. For sleeping with him? For telling him you loved him? For leaving?

Or is it all of the above?

“What does it say?” Sam’s voice keeps him from jumping straight into a spiral of sorrow.

“That she left,” Dean replies and crumples the paper in his hand, tossing it on the floor.

He tries calling you, but there’s no answer. And even when Sam tries, you don’t pick up.

“Voicemail again,” Sam says after his third try and clears his throat with lacking subtleness. “She-, uh, she probably forgot to charge it again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s it…” Dean pats his little brother’s shoulder as he saunters past him.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“Look, I just wanna be alone right now,” Dean says, his voice laden with emotion he tries to hold back. “I’ve got a raging headache, I smell like a liquor store…”

“Yeah, uh, sure.” Sam nods with understanding. He knows Dean’s shutting down now. “Can I do anything?”

“Yeah, leave,” Dean huffs bitterly, the door to his room slamming shut soon after.

The bunker is cold and dark when you trudge down the metal steps.

There’s just blackness, not a light on except for a small table lamp in the library. Your gaze lands on the giant table, both phone and your note gone. You know he must’ve found it by now; you assumed he would’ve.

Still, your heart cracks at the thought.

You should’ve been clearer with your message. But there was no time, and your head had been spinning. Now, though, the craving’s gone.

There’s finally clarity.

It replaces the feverish longing. It tells you exactly what your heart needs – Dean. Not in a carnal, all-consuming way but in the purest form of love. He’s the air you breathe.

You find the door of his room ajar, but it’s dark inside, too – and empty. You’ve checked the garage, though, and saw Baby parked in her usual spot, so you know its green-eyed owner can’t be far.

And of all places he could’ve been – the shooting range to take his anger out, the kitchen to eat his feelings, or the cave to drown his sorrows – you find him in your room.

He sits on the freezing floor by the foot of your bed like a sad pile of forgotten laundry. When his gaze lifts to you in the doorframe, his brow furrows a tiny bit as if not sure he’s seeing a ghost.

“Hey,” you say softly, your voice close to a croak, but Dean averts his eyes as if seeing you pains him. And, well, that pains you.

“You-, uh, you forgot something?” He clears his throat to clear his feelings and seem casual. You don’t know who he thinks he’s fooling with that mask – again, sadly sitting on the floor in your room – but it sure ain’t you.

“Yeah, you,” you reply, a faint smile curving your lips. You step closer and kneel down in front of him, cupping his confused face in your palms as you brush your lips tentatively against his.

“I-… I don’t understand,” Dean says, the surprise still visible in the wrinkles of his brow when you pull back an inch. “Look, if you’ve changed your mind again–“

“No, Dean…” You shake your head and kiss the creases on his forehead. “I never changed my mind, okay? I meant what I said last night. I love you.”

His mouth is agape for a heartbeat, knitted brow ironing out with realization. “So, you’re staying?”

“Yeah. It's you. No contest.” You smile softly, the happiness in your veins almost forcing you to beam, but your other half doesn’t seem to be quite there yet.

“Then why did you leave?”

With a heavy sigh, you slump back against the footboard, taking a seat next to him. “I know. I’m sorry. I panicked when I woke up,” you explain. “I just-… I had to end it, you know?”

Dean’s brow raises with understanding. Oh.

“You broke up with him?”

You nod, swallowing. It hasn’t exactly been a fun day for you, either.

“I went to his hotel, but he’d already checked out. So, I went to the airport, but his flight was gone too,” you tell him. “I wanted to call you, but I forgot to charge my phone. My battery was dead.”

Dammit. Of course Sam was right.

“And, uhm, that’s when I bought a ticket and flew there.”

“You flew to Michigan?!”

Well, of all the scenarios that swirled around his head the past twenty-four hours, this hadn’t exactly been one of them. Sure, he’d buy you going after your boyfriend to be with him, but to break up with him?

“Wouldn’t a text done it?”

“Dean!” Gasping, you slap his arm scoldingly. “I know you don’t mean that. Look, I had to, okay? The guy wanted to propose to me, the least I could do is be honest and face him. I didn’t want to start something… new without ending it first, you know? Not that any of this was good, to begin with…”

Dean lifts a brow, pursing his lips. “So, last night wasn’t… good?”

You fix him with a glare. “Not the point, dude!” You shake your head at him. “Look, last night was–… You were–… It was–“

“Magical?” Dean offers with a small, puckish smile.

“Sure,” you relent, smiling internally at his childishness. Or is it cute? “I just meant it wasn’t ideal.”

“Yeah, uhm, I know. I’m sorry. Really. I am,” Dean says and meets your eyes. “So, did you tell him? About… you know?”

You exhale a long sigh. “Well, I didn’t want to. Not because I’m a coward and didn’t want to face the consequences, I just figured I was already cutting a wound. No need to pour salt into it, right?”

“Makes sense,” Dean agrees quietly.

“Yeah, well, that plan kinda went out the window thanks to your artwork on my neck,” you mutter a bit reproachfully, but a small smile still flashes on your lips. You know damn well he made it a point last night to mark you.

“Right, yeah. Sorry ‘bout that, too,” he says and clears his throat, but it’s the apology he doesn’t really mean. He’s not even a little bit sorry about that. The only thing he feels sorry for is making you go through all of that.

“Please, like you mean that.” You snort, giggling. Dean clicks his tongue, his cheeks reddening guiltily. “Anyways, that whole thing then led to a five-hour break-up talk.”

“Five hours?!” Dean wildly furrows his brow. “What’s taking so long? I mean, you tell them you don’t love them, and you leave.”

You frown slightly and deadpan, “Right, forgot you’re the relationship expert. Have you ever actually broken up with someone?”

Well… Cassie broke it off with him. Lisa, too. But to be fair, both of those break-ups combined didn’t last more than ten minutes – tops.

“Thought so.” You smirk winningly.

“Alright, congrats. You’re a saint,” Dean huffs jokingly.

“Hardly,” you scoff and find his gaze. “Dean, I still cheated. That’s not a good thing.”

“No, I know. But–“

“You know I wouldn’t do that to you, right?”

Stumped, Dean arches an eyebrow. “Yeah, of course not. Wait, is that something you’re actually worried about? That I would think that?”

You meekly shrug your shoulders, playing with your fingers in your lap. “Well, yeah…”

Dean wets his lips for a brief moment of contemplation before his palm cups the back of your head and pulls you to him for a searing kiss. It’s deep and soft and hungry all the same. Most of all, it’s pure. It feels like the first kiss that isn’t controlled by the craving.

It’s just love now.

“I love you,” Dean says breathlessly as soon as he draws back from your lips, offering you one of his charming smiles full of mischief. He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “And I know, alright? Don’t you worry about that.”

You nod and claim his lips again.

“So, uh, what d’you say? Wanna hit Vegas tomorrow? Stop by a chapel?” Dean suggests, causing your brow to raise significantly.

“Oh, you were actually serious about that?”

Dean chuckles. Yeah, he wouldn’t have necessarily believed him either, but it’s still true. He’s not even a little bit afraid of the commitment. In fact, he craves it.

“Yeah, I was. Meant every word I said,” he confirms with a big grin. “You wanna get married? We’ll do it. Hell, anything you want, just tell me, and I make it happen, sweetheart.”

“Huh… Anything?” A tiny smirk curves your lips.

Dean sighs playfully and rolls his eyes. “Jesus, stepped right into that one, didn’t I? So, you wanna get married? What is it? Atlantic City? You know that place is a shithole, right? Even Jersey thinks so…”

“No, Dean, nothing like that.” You laugh, shaking your head with pink cheeks. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not sure I wanna get married.”

Dean nods, rubbing his chin with his fingers. “Okay, just figured you’d-, you know, since…”

“No, I mean, I would’ve said yes.”

“Huh.” Dean scratches the back of his head a little too anxiously. “Gotta say, kinda hard not to take it the wrong way here.”

You stifle a chuckle. “I promise it’s not that. I’d marry you in a heartbeat, okay? I’m just telling you it’s not a priority. You wanna get married tomorrow, we’ll get married. What d’you want? Elvis? You know they do weddings without him there too, right? I heard they even have a drive-through chapel. We could get married in the Impala.”

Dean blinks at you for a minute before he shakes his head clear. “Okay, first of all, love that idea. Second… you know, maybe you’re right. Let’s slow down a little. I don’t wanna go on a first date with my wife.”

You laugh, nodding. “Kinda my point.”

“Alright, what d’you wanna do, huh? We could look for a place topside, like Sammy and Eileen,” Dean proposes, but you wrinkle your nose.

“I don’t wanna leave the bunker,” you state. “Do you know how much rent we’d pay for a place this size topside?”

Dean chuckles a little. “We could downsize, you know? I mean, it’s just the two of us.”

“Yeah, but where would we play hall ball? Do I need to remind you this place has a bowling alley and a shooting range? I can’t downsize. I’m used to luxury now.”

A deep laugh rumbles through Dean’s chest at that, remembering only more reasons why he loves you – why you’re the one. “Alright, we’ll stay, princess.”

“Look, all I want is to be with you and have fun adventures. We’re pretty good at that, you know?” you tell him with a teasing smile, seeing Dean nod in agreement. “So… how serious were you about me knocking you out and dragging you on a plane?”

Groaning, Dean throws his head back, pounding it softly against the wooden bed frame. “Oh, c’mon! You sure I can’t just knock you up? We do have enough rooms for a couple of ‘em…”

You snort a laugh at his theatrical reaction. “A, I’m sure. And B, how’s that slowing down, huh? Besides, I already booked the tickets. Our plane leaves tomorrow at eight. Pack your bathing suit ‘cause we’re going to Hawaii.”

Slinging your arms around his shoulders, you peck his scruffy cheek, while Dean rubs a palm across his face, but he can hardly hide the smile underneath it, although his heart is fluttering quite nervously.

“Okay, let’s do it, I guess. Better call Sam for a strong spell to knock me out, though.” Dean laughs a little.

“How about we just go to the pharmacy before we pull out the hex bags, huh?” you suggest gently, smiling in amusement. Only a Winchester would propose such a ridiculous thing. “And you also have me by your side, okay? I think it’s about time Dean Winchester joins the mile high club, don’t you?”

Dean purses his lips but can’t stop the smirk from splitting his cheeks. “Well, speaking of–“ He cradles your head and leans closer, gently pushing you down till your back touches the floor and your giggles fill the room. “You left a hickey on my dick. How about I repay the favor?”

Without another word, his lips find yours, and you cave to craving once more. Dean hopes he can satiate it for the rest of his life.

Quite a ride, but we got to our HEA 😜💕 Let me know all your precious thoughts. Feedback is very appreciated!

I've already written a follow-up one-shot for these two and may have been thinking of a Hawaii-themed miniseries (after all, the Winchesters never hunted in that state, so there surely might be something supernatural there 😉)

🚀 Join Patreon for more stories & read ahead on current series

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @little-diable @kr804573

[1d1195]

sam you are the sweetest person in the world actually, thank you so much🫶

STEAL MY GIRL MUSIC VIDEO IS SUCH A NICHE THING I FEEL LIKE ITS ALMOST AN INSIDE JOKE it’s sooooo funny every time i watch it i’m just laughing SO REAL WITH LOUIS AND THE CHIMP i remember watching it for the first time and seeing harry in the fucking trench coat and genuinely getting worried like “hmmm it’s too hot for that, hope he’s okay😕” BABHSHAHAHAHAHA zayn and the sumo wrestlers ALWAYS gets me

IM ACTUALLY LAUGHING SOOOO HARD AT THE "SAMANTHA -🎶" YOU GET ME😭😭 i think i read all dolcezza like the same week you posted the last part, and it’s a good thing i did cause ooooo girl….😮‍💨😮‍💨you woulda drove me crazy

I THINK I SAID THIS ONCE BUT IM NOT SURE AND IF I DID IT WAS A LONG TIME AGO BUTTTT THE SERIES THAT BROUGHT ME TO YOUR PAGE WAS ACTUALLY MADE TO BE🥹🥹🥹🥹 and i came from PART 1 !!!!! (ironic considering my aversion to waiting lol) i tuned in every week to read the new part and back then you were updating on sundays and i stg i would get soooo giddy (i was in SHAMBLESSS between chapters having to wait a week😭) and yea…after that series ive been stuck here like a leech LMAO

on the topic of waiting on chapters i started traditional like right after you’d posted the second to last chapter and O.M.G. AHAHAHAH ITS SO FUNNY LOOKING BACK BUT I WAS ACTUALLY GLUEDDD TO MY PHONE👀👀 WAITING FOR THE NEXT PART CAUSE THEY HAD GOT IN THAT FIGHT AND I WAS SOOO HOOKED and then i woke up one morning and it was out, guess how i spent my breakfast & coffee time😭

i’m just rambling at this point BUT YES !!! YOU NEED TO KNOW HOW APPRECIATED YOU ARE !!! i remember back then i wasn’t doing the best and lots of things were changing but i always looked forward to reading the newest chapter. i read in one of your recent asks about how you decide what you write based on engagement (which makes total sense) but you feel like you get a lot of non-interacting readers. this is true and it really sucks but i guess it’s the reality of posting on a website like this. however, i will gladly take the time to say what they won’t and AHHHH SAM YOURE AN AMAZING WRITER I LOVE YOU THANK YOU FOR FEEDING US YOU MATTER SOOOO MUCH MORE THAN YOU KNOW 💕💕💕💕💘💘💘💘💘💝💝💝💝💝💖💖💖💖💖💖💗💗💗💗💗💗

i cried while finished “Love & Other Words” 😪omg i didn’t see that coming but it was SOOOO. GOOD. like….i sat and stared at the book with a small smile after i finished it kind of good. i will DEF been rereading that I LOVE THEM😭😭 THAT SCENE WHERE HE SAID “I’ll take anything you give me. Is that pathetic?” I SCREAMED they’re so precious and i looooveddd the way it was written!!! i just sped through it and i love when books feel like that

it has also been storming here, like so bad the electricity went out a few weeks ago and if u go out when it’s sunny you will melt. not a fan of summer right now🙄 SO happy to hear you’re feeling more relaxed, hopefully that stays till at least the end of summer. pasta is yummy !! i like my pasta dishes w a lotttttaaaa cheese :)) ive been boring too, dw. just a lotta reading on my end cause i am notttt in the mood to talk to anyone lately, vry antisocial (i also started my period last night ??? maybe that why lmfao😭)

sorry for this behemoth of an ask, thank you for chatting HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY LOVE YOU <33333333

~🎶

I DREAM about Harry in that trench coat. A fashion icon. I love him so much in that (and everything). I totally forgot all about the sumo wrestler piece of it I was so focused on the chimp and Louis. Louis' smile in that is my FAVORITE thing in the world. It was SO pure.

hehehehehe well, I'm happy to report that Part II of Most will be up tomorrow afternoon. She's longer than I thought I could do but here we are. After writing it, I think Part 1 and Part 2 would be a good read. I don't think it will drive you crazy the way Dolcezza would have drove you crazy.

OMG. I apologize if you DID say it, but I feel like this is new information to me. I'm so so sorry if I forgot. BUT STILL. I haven't thought about Made to Be in a REALLY long time 😭 I loved it for so long after I finished writing it. It was a huge part of my life. You've been here for a while, that's so cute and nice to hear 💕 I'm so glad you liked it

You are so so sweet. I am so grateful for you compliments.

IS THAT PATHETIC made me want to SCREAM too. I love Elliot so goddamn much I could CRY. He is my ideal man. My new story is Love & Other Words coded for sure 🙈 I didn't mean for it to happen but then I think I told you I got it back from letting my sister borrow it and I couldn't stop rereading the whole "I'm pathetic part" like OMG I'm 😭😭 so distraught about it STILL. Everything about that book is perfect.

I am summer's least favorite fan. The heat makes me so sticky and gross feeling. Also, I don't look good in summer clothes (or I feel gross about myself, whatever) ANYWAY. I love a good antisocial mood tbh. I feel so obligated to be on and around everyone all the time. And what's worse is I let myself be available. I JUST started getting better at not checking my work email outside of work hours. My sister and mom need me LITERALLY all the time. My bf and I are home at the same time so I just never get a MINUTE to myself. I have to like hide in my own apartment to get any alone time. So yeah. I can't get my brain to shut off lately to read but I've been doing some hard work on the writing here so I'm hoping that will help--also been doing a GREAT job binging TV. I think I just want to keep reading romance stuff and not all the like "interesting" books I've bought and haven't read 😭 It's the only way I'm going to get through this bookshelf of mine 😂

I love the chatting and the long asks so no need to apologize or thank me. I hope you have a fantastic Monday! LOVE YOU SO MUCH 💕

xoxo

[20cm]

♡ megbias highlight reel — heart boys, if you will . for meg @slowrabbitpd , happy birthday . ♡

[slasherwife]

Michael with an s/o who never smiles/laughs and his reaction to seeing/hearing her smile/laugh for the first time? Sorry for any writing mistakes, english isn't my first language.

awh don’t worry bae i gotchu 🥹💝this is so much longer than i thought it would be LMFAO

Michael seeing his stoic partner smile for the first time

summary you are michael’s myers partner, mannerisms of stoicness so similar to his own—living in an abandoned shack off an abandoned road💕 he finally let you get a tv and something on your baking show makes you laugh and michael witnesses the event unfold 😍💕

warnings mentions of sex w michael 💞

you fit him like a glove. stoic man loves his stoic partner🥰 in a way that ties him so close to you, is that you two are so similar. you guys aren’t exactly alike in every way of course, in that case you two would be more different then alike. It’s your mannerisms that are identical.

it was late one night, when everything is quiet and you both are minding your own business in the shared small home off an abandoned road. the cicadas and crickets are singing outside, and michael is in the kitchen cleaning off his clothes in the sink since there’s no washing machine. his stiff, pencil straight back was facing you.

it was one of the first few nights that you had bought a tv. for the first year of living with michael, you had no electricity. only lanterns during the night due to the cost of getting the abandoned shack up and running again. you worked a 9-5, 5 days a week at the local mart, and scrounged up enough money to buy some generators and a tv.

michael didn’t want a tv, and it took a while to convince him. it wasn’t clear to you why he didn’t want one, but you could make out a little from his broken sign language (that you made him learn LMFAO), that it made too much noise. he didn’t like it. however you pleaded and persuaded him into letting you buy one, and he caved in. he didn’t like arguing with you.

there weren’t a lot of channels at all, but this one particular junior baking show you thoroughly enjoyed. you liked keeping up with it every night. when you came home from work, you entered the door to michael waiting for you, and embracing him tightly, breathing in your scent heavily, face in your neck as he pulled you gently to the bedroom for some long awaited cuddles. (and doesn’t mind indulging you in some hot fucking after work either)👏💞

then you’d retire to the couch in the main living and turn on your baking show😊. this episode was particularly endearing, though your facial muscles didn’t so much as twitch at the emotional loss of two more members, as they were about to be eliminated from the baking challenge. michael was in the kitchen, when he turned to face you and walk towards you.

michael doesn’t know what caused your facial muscles to pull up into a bright and soulful smile, but he would like to personally meet them and thank them in his own way, for giving him such a wonderful sight. he didn’t know such views could make him want to fall to his knees🥹💕it was just so shocking.

for all he knew, your face could have been tied with thread back to prevent any emotion being seen. it was a wave of pure satisfaction that washed over him, seeing something come out from your soul that showed of emotion. in a way, the stoic manners you had frustrated him in a delicious way. why didn’t you ever give anything?

but now you did, you gave him something. and he wants to see it every day now almost. he likes it when you show what your feeling, but he loves you for the stoic beauty that he fell in love with😭💕.

you look over at him, the ghost of a smile still on your face. his eyes glassed over with something you’ve never seen before. and he just stares at you. his staring doesn’t faze you at all anymore, he stares at you all the time when you sleep so this is pretty much nothing 😂💗 but his gaze was so soft. you blushed, knowing that you had smiled in front of him.

michael is so glad he let you get this tv💕💕

[zepskies]

I was so happy to read a sequel story for Long As I Can See The Light!!

Russell and you had been together for five and a half months, and each time he left you found yourself wanting more.  More of him and more time. It was frustrating to be with a man who had a job that would pull him out of your arms as quickly as he’d appeared and leave your bed cold once more. 

God YES. This is the same idea I've explored in my sequel fics to ESC. It's the idea of wanting more time with a man who by necessity of his job, has to pop in and out of your life. As endearing as Russell is, that would be such a difficult obstacle to overcome in a new relationship.

Those last few years of your marriage were frustrating and did little to boost your self-esteem. Especially when your husband made you think you were annoying him and made you feel stupid for wanting more.  With Russell there was no such thing. When the two of you started dating and Russell realized exactly what your husband had done to you, he'd spent every waking moment making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. He listened to you, understood you, and did more for you than your husband had done in all the years that you'd been married.

Ugh I'm so glad she's got a man in her life that actually loves her and considers her the way she deserves. And if you ever write more of these two I would love to see this exploration of how Russell helps her feel beautiful and appreciated again. 💕

You loved your boyfriend to bits, but you hated how stubborn he was sometimes.

*snorts* yeah, like a mule, I'd imagine. 😆 But there's something so endearing about Russ wanting and insisting on fixing things around the house for her. Though of course I sympathize with her side of things. She just wants a nice healthy piece of her man. The showerhead can wait! 😏

Maybe I should try a different approach. “Rus.” You say sweetly, putting both of your hands on his stomach. Russell’s familiar green eyes flick to your hands as you begin to move them up the wet t-shirt. “When you showed up today I thought we’d be doing something a little different with our time.”  Russell swallows. “Baby-” “And the longer you stay in here-” You breathe taking a step forward as you continue to move your hands up, tracing the hardened muscles beneath your palms. “The less time we have together.” You gently press a kiss to the space where his shirt meets the base of his neck and you can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows again. 

Oh how I cackled! 😝 She's playing dirty and I love it lmao! Girl get him!

He groans. “I really want to do this for you, but you’re making it kinda hard-“  “Really?” You mutter nipping along his jaw. “That’s what I’m making hard?”

💀💀 Get himmmmm!

“I could tell.” He smirks. “Maybe your shower head would last a little longer if you didn't wear it out." Russell sends you a salacious wink that makes you blush bright red.

LMFAO. Okay, Russ took me out with that one. The audacity. 🤣🤣

Side note: but I love the word "salacious," especially because it fits so well with most Jackles characters. lol

Omg yay he's moving in!! That's a big step and I love that for them.

Not when he’d taught you that each blemish or curve you once cursed was something that could make him lose his last shred of self control and in turn, make Russell lose himself in everything you were. 

Girl Yessss - I love the body positivity in this storyverse so damn much. Thank you for continuing this giving me more Russell goodness, I really enjoy how you write him! 💜

It's Not A Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: “Is that supposed to be leaking?”

Requested by: @luci-in-trenchcoats

Summary:  When your boyfriend comes into town to surprise you one weekend, you thought that you’d spend it together, turns out he has other plans. Reader is a single mom and is the niece of Teddi and Velma. Reader is described as curvy. (Technically takes place in my Long As I Can See The Light Universe, but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Tropes: Established Relationship

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because I made it more spicy than I meant it to, References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Cursing, Kissing, Idiots who love each other lots. I think that's everything?

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Tracker Masterlist

A/N: Alright, y'all this is my first fic written for my prompt celebration requested by the wonderful @luci-in-trenchcoats 😊 ENJOY!

You took another long sip of coffee from your favorite hand-painted "World's Best Mom Mug" and tried to block out the symphony of the colorful curse words and banging coming from your upstairs master bathroom.

When your boyfriend showed up this morning out of the blue to surprise you, this was not what you expected to be doing. Well, his appearance was a surprise to you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that your Aunt Teddi and her wife Velma had gotten a heads up that Russell was coming. They'd shown up about an hour before Russell had to take your son and daughter for a movie and a sleepover at their house.

But the bigger surprise was your current dilemma.

You'd expected to be tangled up with Russell in bed for hours trying to convince him to never leave you again, not be waiting downstairs while he tried to install a new shower head in your master bathroom.

You only blamed yourself.

You'd let it slip that the water pressure wasn't quite right and something that you'd thought would take a plumber twenty minutes had turned into an all day affair for Russell. 

Instead of taking you to bed, Russell had dragged you out to his car and to the nearest hardware store where he let you pick out a new shower head and where he got supplies, all the while you told him that he didn't need to, and Russell only kissed away the frown on your lips leaving you wanting more.

You always wanted more.

Russell and you had been together for five and a half months, and each time he left you found yourself wanting more. 

More of him and more time.

It was frustrating to be with a man who had a job that would pull him out of your arms as quickly as he’d appeared and leave your bed cold once more. 

It had been cold before and you didn’t want to go back to that. Didn’t want to be reminded of the cold bed over the final years of your marriage when your husband’s favorite phrases echoed through your bedroom after you put your children to bed:

“I’m tired” and “Not tonight baby, I have to work.”

Those last few years of your marriage were frustrating and did little to boost your self-esteem. Especially when your husband made you think you were annoying him and made you feel stupid for wanting more. 

With Russell there was no such thing.

When the two of you started dating and Russell realized exactly what your husband had done to you, he'd spent every waking moment making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. He listened to you, understood you, and did more for you than your husband had done in all the years that you'd been married.

But each time he left, Russell always took a little bit of yourself with him. You didn't sleep well when he was gone doing God knows what, God knows where, only that when he finally called or showed up to tell you he was okay, you didn't let go of him for hours.

There's another loud bang followed by a string of curses that make you sigh into your mug.

For fucks sake, that stupid showerhead is getting more action than I am.

You loved your boyfriend to bits, but you hated how stubborn he was sometimes.

You straighten up from where you lounged against the countertop in your kitchen, taking one more sip of coffee, before you make the trek through your living room and up the stairs towards your bedroom. 

This wasn't the first time that Russell fixed something in your home. He liked it when you made him a list of things to do when he visited, things like cleaning the gutters, nailing down the front step that always caught underfoot, mowing the lawn, etc. Things that Russell wanted to do for you because he knew how busy you got at work and with your children.

It made you love him more, because you’d never met someone so selfless before. 

When you enter the bathroom, Russell is standing in your shower, just inside the large glass double doors, soaking wet, and holding a wrench.

His usual easy smile has slipped into a frustrated frown while he stares at the bright silver shower head hanging on the wall. 

“I see things are going well.” You snort out a laugh, admiring the scene before you. 

Russell’s dark hair drips forward in lazy strands against his cheeks, his t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, catching in the dips and curves of your boyfriend’s muscular torso, and his usual blue jeans are stained a dark navy. The edge of his t-shirt pulls up from the top of his jeans with the stretch of his arms, giving you a view of the delicious stripe of skin just below his belly button.

For the love of french toast, the guy could win a wet t-shirt contest without batting one of those ridiculously perfect eyelashes of his.

At this point you were still trying to figure out how the hell you landed this man and why the hell he kept coming back for more of you.

“Smooth as silk.” Russell gives you a lazy smile that makes you feel like butter on a pile of buttermilk biscuits. “I just finished.”

 “Really?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Huh.” You take a step closer to admire his handiwork, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghost along the side of your face, making goosebumps trail over your skin. All it does is remind you of what the two of you could be doing instead of standing inside of your walk-in shower fully clothed and the things the two of you had done in this very shower the last time he was in town.  

"Is that supposed to be leaking?" You ask, pointing to the place where the plate of the shower head fastens to the wall and where there is a trickle of water dancing down the white subway tile backsplash.

"Oh shit." Russell sighs, his shoulders drooping when he notices the stream. “I can fix that."

You note his sheepish smile. “Rus, please let me call a plumber. You’ve been up here for two hours!” 

“No way! They overcharge you and it’s what I’m here for!” He argues.

Maybe I should try a different approach.

“Rus.” You say sweetly, putting both of your hands on his stomach. Russell’s familiar green eyes flick to your hands as you begin to move them up the wet t-shirt. “When you showed up today I thought we’d be doing something a little different with our time.” 

Russell swallows. “Baby-”

“And the longer you stay in here-” You breathe taking a step forward as you continue to move your hands up, tracing the hardened muscles beneath your palms. “The less time we have together.” You gently press a kiss to the space where his shirt meets the base of his neck and you can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows again. 

“I-” He tries again, but you feel his hands come down to the curve of your hips to ground himself there. 

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You murmur into his skin, pressing your chest against his as your hands work up to the back of his neck. The water from his clothes soaks into yours, but you’re not cold. 

“You’re fighting dirty.” He half groans, but you don’t feel bad. Judging by the way his hands have begun to squeeze your hips and pull you tighter against him, Russell was enjoying this as much as you were. 

“But it always works.” You purr against his throat with a smirk. 

“Fuck, baby I-“ 

“Yeah?” 

Your smirk grows the more you tease him. By now you could feel your own heartbeat thudding in your chest calling out to his and despite how cold Russell’s wet clothes are, heat was dancing along your skin. 

“I really want-“ There’s a grit along Russell’s voice, as if he’s trying to hold on to some shred of self-control.

You loved that you were able to do this to him, it made you feel powerful and sexy. Two things that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Hmm?” You moan softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while your lips continue their path along his skin.

He groans. “I really want to do this for you, but you’re making it kinda hard-“ 

“Really?” You mutter nipping along his jaw. “That’s what I’m making hard?”

Russell pulls back from you, holding your wrists in his large hands. But he looks far from angry. His green eyes flash a darkened pine, and dance with mischief. “Baby, trust me. There is nothing more that I want to do than show you how much I missed you.” 

“Then why-" You begin to say.

“Because I know that the second I do that, we’re not going to do anything else the rest of the time I’m here. And I want to do this for you.” Russell’s eyes shift a little lighter. He releases your wrists and cups your cheek with his large hand. You can see the love you have for Russell reflected back at you in his gaze

You sigh again a little disappointed. Today really wasn’t going the way you wanted it to.  “But I missed you.” 

“I could tell.” He smirks. “Maybe your shower head would last a little longer if you didn't wear it out." Russell sends you a salacious wink that makes you blush bright red.

“Shut up!” You slap him on the shoulder, cheeks flaming. 

Russell only smirks wider at you. “You know… I’ve got a solution for that.”

“Oh do you?” You ask innocently. 

Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

Russell hesitates, his hand still stroking your cheek softly. "I could move in."

It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say.

“See I've been thinking about this for a bit." Russell  clears his throat. “I know you can’t move because of the kids but... I want to be here in your life. I hate leaving you and each time I get done with a job I always find myself driving back to you. I don't want to be anywhere else.”

Your mouth is still open in shock, eyes wide. You couldn’t find the ability to speak.

In the months that followed your divorce you’d been on a couple of dates before you met Russell, where the mere mention of your kids sent your dates scuttling into the shadows or back to whatever swamp they crawled out of, but here, standing in front of you was a man who didn’t just want you, he wanted you, and he wanted your children. 

It was a combination that you thought you’d never find, and then you’d met Russell. A man who not only loved you, he made you feel beautiful, alive, happy, and seen in a way that you hadn’t been in years. 

Not to mention that both of your children absolutely loved Russell, and he did a good job of scaring off your skeevy ex who refused to come around whenever Russell was in town because the last time Russell had broken his nose and threatened other bodily harm.

Russell’s soft smile drops a little the longer you remain silent. “But if you think that’s a bad idea or if you think it’s too fast-”

You pull him down to you for the searing kiss that you’d wanted all day long, feeling the drag of his beard against your soft skin, and the warm pillow of his lips moving in tandem with yours. 

His hands run along the curves of your body, trailing fire in their wake, the same curves that you’d hidden under long cardigans and oversized clothes, the ones that you cursed each time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. But not since you’d met Russell. 

Not when he’d taught you that each blemish or curve you once cursed was something that could make him lose his last shred of self control and in turn, make Russell lose himself in everything you were. 

“It’s not too fast! I hate when you leave. I hate waking up in my bed each morning and not having you there holding me. ” You breathe before you kiss him again, soaking in everything that is Russell as you do. The roughness of his hands pushing up the shirt hung low on your hips, the smell of mint and gunmetal, the taste of the coffee he had this morning, and gentle drag of his wet hair against your cheeks that dip between the two of your faces when you kiss. “I want you here with me all the time.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Russell smiles so wide you can feel the click of his teeth against yours when he pulls you back in for a kiss. 

“Wait.” You smirk, leaning your forehead against his, your hands gently cupping his bearded cheeks. "If I say yes, I have one condition."

"Anything."

"Please let me call a plumber."

Russell rolls his eyes at you, but squeezes you tighter against him, green eyes flashing with mischief. “Not a chance baby.”

A/N: It was so fun to write this prompt and also to come back to these two! Thank you so much @luci-in-trenchcoats for requesting this one 🥰 If anyone else would like to ask me a prompt for my prompt celebration, here is the post:

Prompt Celebration

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always appreciated 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

@yvonneeeee

[pedrito-friskito]

pedro on his knees for you BYE. - 🐠

oh it’s like that

oh it’s like THAT

my brain really said PERO TOVAR and then my brain also said ass-play??? so how’s that for a warning LMFAO this got away from me but I am 👁🫦👁

🔥friday night fever!🔥

gif by my bby @pedropascalsx 💕

He’s not supposed to love you.

Tovar knows that. It goes against everything he is, everything you are. The royal blood running through your veins is no match for the bastard crimson running through his. You’re high-born, a noble lady that belongs in court, the heir to a large castle and a larger piece of land filled with people who hang off your every word. You’re everything he’s not. You’re soft edges and skirts of silk and a voice like honey, where he’s rough hands and studded leather and a too-gruff tone. 

He’d come upon you by accident, travelling through your lands with the other mercenaries. He was simply in the right place at the right time, drawing his sword to chase off the bandits that were hellbent on taking the lives of you and your family. Tovar had received a decent sized gash in the fight, and after insisting he and his cohorts spend the night in the castle as thanks for their efforts, you insisted on attending to his wounds yourself.

Your hands were gentle and quick, soothing his pain away with soft touches and some of the best wine he’d ever tasted. You murmured to him as you tended to him, offering stories of your lands, your families, asking him for stories of his own.

Drunk off your presence, the scent of you and the rich heaviness of the wine on his tongue, you’d moved closer and closer until he could feel the warmth of your breath on his face. He still wasn’t sure if it was you who’d kissed him first or the other way around, but before he knew it, he was on his knees at the foot of your bed, your silky thighs hooked around his ears and his tongue buried deep in your cunt.

The next morning had him back on his horse, his saddlebags filled with enough food to last him a month and a scrap of fabric from your wardrobe tucked into his chest plate. He promised to come back, to pass through your lands the next time he journeyed close enough, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t plot the path back to you purposefully.

You’re forbidden fruit, but Pero Tovar is a hungry man, and you’re always more than happy to let him eat his fill.

And you’re promised to some ridiculous man who will try to order you around for the rest of your days, feeding off your money and your body until you’re a shell of what you once were. What you are now.

Tovar can’t have that, can’t let that happen. Refuses to standby and watch it become your fate. This journey had been a hard one, pushing him to his limits, and as soon as the towers of your castle came into view, Tovar knew this would be the last time he would leave you. Betrothals and blood status be damned.

And the look on your face, when he rode through the gates. He’d been gone longer than planned — the weather in the mountains to the north of your land was less than easy to get through — with no way to reach you, and knowing just how your pretty little mind liked to work, Tovar knew you were imagining the worst. So the elation, the relief, the bliss etched into your features, the way you’d sprinted down the stone steps to greet him in the courtyard, it cemented the choice in his mind. He couldn’t leave you, not again, not ever.

Tovar kissed you right there in the castle courtyard, gathering you into his arms, skirts and all. People stared and whispered and pointed, but he didn’t care. And clearly, neither did you, the way you kissed him back, sucking on his bottom lip and letting your tongue dive past his teeth. “You were gone too long,” you murmured into his mouth. “I imagined the worst.” Another kiss, and Tovar’s arms tightened around your waist. “I feared I’d never see you again.”

“I will always return to you, mi corazón,” he purred, grinning like a cat when you started to drag him inside, up the familiar path he knew lead to your chambers. Unable to help himself, he pulled you close on the staircase, pushing his face into the curve of your breast, nipping along your collar and savouring the way it pebbled at his attention. “In fact, I may never leave you again.”

You’d skittered up the rest of the steps together after that, stealing touches and kisses all the way to the large wooden doors the lead to your chambers. Once inside, Tovar became a man possessed, the scent of you amplified in your rooms, lingering on every surface. Your back thudded against the door when he pressed you against it, palms skimming over the bodice of your dress.

It’s where he finds himself now, fingering the lace and beads trimming the swell of your breast. His other hand has made a home in your hair, and he’s tasting your mouth with every fibre of his being. Gods above, he’d missed you more than he’d even known he was capable of, every nerve in his body standing at attention at the feel of your skin, the softness of your mouth.

You groan as he ruts his hips against yours, cock straining against his leathers, but he has other things on his mind before he slides inside your welcoming warmth. There are more pressing matters. “Let me taste you,” he murmurs, one hand falling and pulling your skirt up, baring your leg to your knee. He curls his hand around the joint, pulling your thigh high on his hip. “It’s been too long.”

“Please, Pero,” you whisper, and it sends a chill down his spine to hear his given name on your lips.

He doesn’t have the patience to take you to the bed across the room, so he sinks to his knees right there before you. His joints groan in protest — he’s not as young as he once was — but he doesn’t care, gathering the hem of your skirts in the hand not holding your knee and hiking them high. His mouth starts to water when he finds you bare beneath the fabric, your cunt already dripping, thighs shining with your arousal. Before he can dive in, however, your hands find his cheeks, tilting his head up to look at you, your eyes bright and shining down at him. Your thumb traces the half of his scar that mars his cheek, the touch reverent.

“I missed you, Pero Tovar,” you say, and his heart races in his chest. “Did you mean it, when you said you’d never leave me again?”

“Yes, corazón,” he replies, the words quick to fall from his lips, a confession if there ever was one. “If you’ll have me, I’ll never leave your side again as long as I have breath in my lungs and blood in my veins.” He can’t help himself now, and leans forward, still holding your gaze, and drags his tongue through your folds, the dewy sweetness of you nearly making his eyes roll back. Tovar wants to devour you, but he resists, pulling back to press a chaste kiss to the top of your thigh. He tilts his head back again, leaning into your palm. “Truly.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, your back arching against the wooden door, and Tovar can no longer help himself.

“Gods above,” you moan out as his mouth covers you. He pulls your knee wide, opening you to him, every inch of you on display, and he has the perfect vantage point. The tip of his tongue curls just inside your entrance, collecting your wetness before he’s dragging it up, finding that perfect little bundle of nerves and sucking it between his lips. You’re the best thing he’s ever tasted, well and truly, and coupled with the noises falling from your throat, he almost thinks he’s died and gone to heaven. This has to be heaven, or the closest thing to it.

Your knee bends over his shoulder, and he lets his hand ride back up your thigh, following the curve of your ass and digging his fingers into the meat of your cheek. He wants to bite you there — he’s done it before. He needs to taste every inch of you.

Every inch.

The idea sparks quickly in his mind, turning to a raging wildfire before he can even realize what’s happening. He pulls his face from your cunt, giving you one last long lave before he’s dropping your skirts and rising to his feet. You’re heaving breaths, your chest straining against the bodice of your gown, and Tovar grabs your face in his hands like you’d done to him, kissing you rough as he spins you, walks you across the room to the bed.

When he turns you again, your back pressed to his front, the way you murmur his name has him rutting against you, his cock sliding against the cleft of your ass, through all the layers of fabric separating you two. “I want to taste you everywhere, corazón,” he says softly, one arm slung around your waist, the other roving your chest, squeezing at your breasts. He sees your brow crease. “Everywhere.”

You catch on when he bends you forward slowly, planting your hands on the mattress as he starts to kiss his way down your back. His knees hit the floor once more and he drags your skirts up again and over your hips, using his shoulder against your thigh to spread your legs. You’re still dripping, and he can’t stop himself from prodding his tongue against your entrance, letting it slide inside you for a moment before he pulls back and kisses the soft roundness of your cheek.

“Pero,” you breathe out, the sound music to his ears.

He pushes your legs wider, kissing his way down one thigh before switching to the other side and moving back up. He tastes your cunt again, fingers digging into your flesh, but when his tongue drags higher, flickering over the tight ring of muscle between your cheeks, you slump forward, absolutely moaning with pleasure, your arms giving out as you topple into the blankets and furs.

Tovar pushes two fingers into his mouth, tongue dragging between his knuckles before he presses them against you, circling your entrance before he’s pushing knuckle-deep. You keen into the blankets, fisting them in your hands, and your hips push back against his face as he lets his tongue flicker over your ass once more. His other hand squeezes your cheek, fingers digging in as he fucks you with his fingers and devours you.

He gets sloppy, and your sounds grow erratic, gasping breaths and stuttered moans as you keep pushing against him, your hips chasing his movements, some kind of rhythm to bring you your pleasure. His tongue is everywhere, just as he’d said, dipping in with his fingers and dragging up over your hole. The taste of you is euphoric, and when he feels you start to tighten around his fingers, your body clenching and your muscles spasming, he only doubles his efforts.

You taste even sweeter when you cum.

The moan that falls out of you is caught somewhere between a howl and a scream, echoing off the walls of your chambers. He’s never felt you this tight, never made you cum this hard, and Tovar savours every moment of it, licking up every drop you have to offer. Your thighs quake and he thinks he hears his name falling from your lips somewhere between your panted breaths. 

He goes to lick at you again, truly trying to wring every last drop of pleasure from your body, but your hand shoots back, knotting in his hair, keeping him away. “Too much, Pero,” you murmur, your voice dripping with exhaustion. “That was…” You trail off, slumping back into the blankets, your sentence left unfinished.

Tovar kisses the backs of your thighs before pulling away from you, letting your skirts sift down over your legs. Carefully, he lifts you entirely onto the bed, settling himself beside you. Your eyes are fluttering, chest heaving with each breath and he gathers you into his arms until your head is laying on his shoulder, your hand settling over his heart.

“You truly are the sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted, corazón,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “The sweetest thing I’ve ever loved.”

You simper a little laugh, cuddling closer to him. “Loved?”

“Loved.”

You tilt your head back to kiss his scruff-lined jaw. “What a thing it is,” you murmur into his skin, “to love, and be loved in return.”

Pero Tovar stays true to his word. He never leaves your side again.

—————

I have a taglist! if you’d like to be tagged in future works, please fill out this form!💕

pero tovar tags: @iamskyereads @ancientbeing10 @woomen23 @plutoneu @pedropascalsx @allfoolsinluv @bluestuesday @i-simp-much @trickstersp8 @kirsteng42 @lovesbiggerthanpride @beskarprincessjenny @loonymagizoologist @greeneyedblondie44 @tanzthompson @mswarriorbabe80 @vickytogisa @dead-pool-simp @ruhro7 @thevoiceinyourheadx @littlemisspascal @mrssarahpaulsooonn @pastafossa @boliv-jenta @iccedays @detectivecarisi-1

[aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman]

I'm looking at vaxx stuff on here, and your like the only person who isn't writing 'get your damn vaxx!!' i hope your family does okay - and its refreshing to see more... normalness i guess.

Thank you 💕 Honestly, I didn’t even say not to get it lmao all I did is say that vaccine mandates are absurd and authoritarian and that people should have a personal choice as to whether or not they get the shot.

And apparently that’s still controversial bc I lost a lot of longtime mutuals jfl. Idc tho bc I don’t want to associate with people who are totalitarian anyways. My life doesn’t revolve around social media and I’ll continue to speak up for what is right, regardless if it makes me popular or not. I’m sorry but it’s not ok to violate people’s consent and force them to get the covid vaccine with force and blackmail. Many have had terrible side effects, and I’ve seen it firsthand on my family. This is cult like behaviour to silence criticism and to blindly follow the government. It’s scary AF how everyone is suddenly a used car salesman about Pfizer lmfao

If 10 years down the line there’s some horrible side effect who’s gonna be responsible? Are all the virtue signaling psychopaths online going to pay out injured people? No, they’re going to continue hating on anyone who criticizes the govt bc it helps them get followers. We no longer have the freedom to say “no,” and unless we follow the herd we will be ostracized and hated. I’m just lucky I have nothing to lose and idgaf so I will always stand up for the freedom of myself and other people.

I respect every individual’s decision. If they want to take 100 doses of the covid vaccine, that’s ok and that’s on them. But once they start threatening and bullying others, making people lose their jobs, reputations, and livelihoods, it’s time to speak up. If y’all agree with me speak up too and don’t be afraid to do so. We’re not bad people or insane because we have a degree of healthy skepticism.

[open-me-careful1y]

hiii to whoever is still active on here,

It won’t be too shocking to hear that I’ve moved on from her and this blog lmao, my life has changed significantly since the last time I posted. I’m in uni now so I am… not the same bitch I was a year ago 😭 (it feels so weird to write that bc I remember stalking tcc accounts and seeing that they wrote something like what I just did and thinking.. ‘that could never be me….’)

I did go back to visit my high school a few months back in about feb (?) I think and I saw her, caught up with her and just chatted for a while. She gave me a hug and her phone number, although we don’t text very much and when we do it’s quite brief. But yeah it just feels so weird that all it took was for me to graduate and step into the real world to finally get over this woman lmfao. I still think she’s beautiful don’t get me wrong and I do miss her but platonically, for once…!

So I suppose you can’t expect anymore posts from me, although I may come back to do the occasional lurk every once in a while. I will miss this community, we’re all a bit fucked but there was definitely a nice sense of unity in that … 😭

I still treasure some of my pieces I wrote about her and will continue to feel proud of my work, even if I can no longer relate to it. Who knows, maybe one day I will use this page to just post my general writing/poetry about anything.

I hope you guys are well and good luck to you all <3 💖💓💞💕💝💗

[quillandink333]

i have been summoned.

So! What are your prime love languages, and what are Kazuma's? How do you accommodate to both?

ily quill <3

This is one of those questions that’s gotten harder and harder to answer the longer I’ve known him hdghishgj uhm…

Honestly he seems to enjoy spoiling me in all kinds of ways nowadays 💕 He loves buying/making me cute outfits/accessories, and he’s always been suuuper indulgent when it comes to physical affection, and every time I show him something I’m working on he gushes to no end about how “talented” and “amazing” I am as if I could ever compare to him… He’s also mentioned that he really likes doing things for me like cooking and driving me to and from his place and helping me shower (tho more often than not my showers end up taking even longer bc of him lmfao) and Idk about the quality but we do spend a LOT of time together including both parallel play and perpendicular play if you will

Of course I’ll take his love in whatever form he wants to give it to me, but ngl sometimes it can get kinda overwhelming trying to keep up with it all… He tells me not to worry about returning every little gesture of his tho, he says just accepting the love he gives me is enough 🥺 But obviously that isn’t gonna stop me from showing him how much I love him in the ways that are more natural to me too, like telling him how beautiful he is and reminding him to take mental health breaks and drawing/writing about him and smothering him with kisses and cuddles every chance I get~

[1d1195]

i am excited !! the bride is one of my oldest friends, we’ve known each other since we were babies and im super psyched for her, what im gonna wear well…😭 i got this superrrr gorgeous dress which was like moss green with pinkish flowers on the bodice and it had a corset and it was just so pretty, totally giving forest fairy princess, right ?? IT CAME BROKEN D: it was missing a strap ?? (it was NOT a strapless dress😭, it literally had one side with the strap intact and the other was just…gone) returned it ofc and i have a different dress coming in the mail so i’ll let you know how that looks when it gets here

no bc ten in ONE year is a LOT i don’t blame you at all i think id quit them altogether if it got that far LMFAO

summer school sounds like a blast tbh, it seems way more chill than ur average school day and i think summer at a beach is SO awesome, i hope u have a great time !!! honestly i have nothing planned except the wedding so far haha so honestly i don’t really know ?? i don’t work at the moment so until school starts im pretty free. this is actually my first time going back in a hot minute, my family traveled a lot when i was growing up (they’re both immigrants so we’d go back and visit family n stuff) and it kind of messed with my school and during one of our longer trips (a couple of years) when we came back to the states i just never went back and finished so now im trying to go back and get my GED (long overdue lmao) !! i always really loved school and ive been dreaming of going back since i stopped (can you say nerd🤣) but i am kind of scared to go back when ive been out of the game for so long😭 but hopefully it’ll be okay !

if all goes well after that, i have no clue what id like to major in. i feel like the kinds of things im interested in people wouldnt necessarily approve of yk ?? id love to major in something like psychology or english but those are the degrees i ALWAYS see people making fun of and calling pointless💔😭 who even knows if I’ll make it that far though ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

hope you’re doing amazing !!

~🎶

I'm sure your new dress is just as pretty but the green and floral fairy look sounds so pretty! I'm sorry it didn't come in tact, that's the WORST.

I'm so sick of weddings tbh. And bridal showers. And baby showers. I'm probs just bitter because I won't be having any of it, but ya know. I've enjoyed every wedding and shower that I've been too. They're all cute and fun but I simply cannot afford this anymore. I'm saying no to my first wedding invite in years--it's too far away and as much as I would love to make a trip of it, I can't do it. It's too much for my stress addled mind.

Learning isn't linear and if it's time to get your GED now, then it truly doesn't matter. That's amazing you're going back and it's awesome that you're interested in it! You're going to do amazing (also if you have any math questions let me know, I love math lol) I'm sure you'll settle right back into things as soon as you get back in the classroom. You're going to do so well, it's amazing you're doing this for yourself. I think it's huge and important and I love that for you! You're talking to Miss Nerd herself over here. There's no such thing! I love school much I chose to teach so I didn't need to leave! There's nothing wrong with enjoying school anymore than not enjoying school. Some people love it, some people don't. I'm happy for you!!! 💕

You gotta do what you like. Psych and English are great choices. They're interesting to you and that's what matters most. You'll figure the rest out as you go along! I would love to go back to school and be a full time student and just collect degrees like Pokemon cards. I would love a psych degree. I think I would be a good therapist lol. Anything you decide to do is not pointless. People that say stuff like that are unhappy with their own lives because they chose to follow something they weren't passionate about. I can relate as you don't know how many people tell me I should have done more than be a teacher and "those who can't do, teach" which is like a knife to my heart every time I hear it. But even if I WERE to placate the idea and agree for two seconds that some degrees are "pointless" someone has to do the job required of those degrees. So how pointless is it really? English and Psych are so important for mental health fields, creative fields, just general societal norms. There's a reason every college student has to take English 101 and Psych classes for anything they pursue.

I hope that doesn't sound offensive. It's meant to sound more like "it's not pointless, in fact it's so pointed, you have to do it because that's what you want and that's more than enough."

HEY I GOT A NEW SONG FOR US. I was watching a show on Netflix and it hit me like a truck! PIRATE RADIO* Jean Dawson I don't know how to describe it, it's just like this romantic/whimsical song. I hope you'll know what I mean if you decide to listen to it!

Hope you're having a good start to your week! 💕💕

xoxo

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Wow this was such a surprise! I had no idea you were reading this today LMAO 🔮😉

God YES. This is the same idea I've explored in my sequel fics to ESC. It's the idea of wanting more time with a man who by necessity of his job, has to pop in and out of your life. As endearing as Russell is, that would be such a difficult obstacle to overcome in a new relationship.

Exactly! I think that it would be frustrating and a little bit sad to be in a long distance relationship especially with Russell, because he has a dangerous job and there are parts of it that he'd probably want to keep from you. I don't want to think that you couldn't rely on Russell, but I think there would be a little bit of disappointment when he couldn't make it back to you because there were complications or him having to leave suddenly for an emergency. It's funny because it kinda reminds me of how it would be to date Dean if you weren't a hunter and he was. I still need to read Every Second Counts! I'm going to add that to my tbr, which is getting longer every day 😅

Ugh I'm so glad she's got a man in her life that actually loves her and considers her the way she deserves. And if you ever write more of these two I would love to see this exploration of how Russell helps her feel beautiful and appreciated again. 💕

I know! This reader really deserves it, especially from what we all saw with her ex-husband 😒 But I really do want to make a series with these two because it would be really wonderful to show how Russell treats her so differently than any other man she's had in her life and does make her feel "beautiful and appreciated again." I feel like it would also kinda be like what you did with the reader in Midnight Espresso 💗

*snorts* yeah, like a mule, I'd imagine. 😆 But there's something so endearing about Russ wanting and insisting on fixing things around the house for her. Though of course I sympathize with her side of things. She just wants a nice healthy piece of her man. The showerhead can wait! 😏

I am obsessed with fix-it Russell! Imagining him getting his large hands dirty for me, working around the house WHEW🥵! And I can imagine him thinking of all the things this reader does at work and for her kids and him just wanting to make her life easier for when he's not there 🥹 But oh yeah, no, she likes when he fixes things but she really missed him (I would too tbh).

Oh how I cackled! 😝 She's playing dirty and I love it lmao! Girl get him!

She knows just how to work her man 😉 She will go to any level to get what she wants 👀 I don't judge her for that because it's what we all want lol.

💀💀 Get himmmmm!

Man does not know what hit him 😂

LMFAO. Okay, Russ took me out with that one. The audacity. 🤣🤣 Side note: but I love the word "salacious," especially because it fits so well with most Jackles characters. lol

It's a little bit of payback for her making him all hot and bothered 🤣 And oh yeah, I was really proud of that descriptor because we all know Ben or Dean would be throwing around some "salacious" winks 😉

Omg yay he's moving in!! That's a big step and I love that for them.

Yes! It's another step in the right direction to give Russell a more permanent place in her life and her in his! 🤗 Plus I like to think that she's the kind of person that would hate that Russell is more nomadic, doesn't have a place to call home, and that he doesn't eat a home cooked meal.

Girl Yessss - I love the body positivity in this storyverse so damn much. Thank you for continuing this giving me more Russell goodness, I really enjoy how you write him! 💜

Aww thank you so much my lovely friend 🤗 I'm so happy you enjoyed it! I really love this reader and Russell and I'm hoping that I'll get to write out more of their story and build their relationship more between this fic and Long As I Can See the Light soon! ❤️

It's Not A Wet T-Shirt Contest

Pairing: Russell Shaw x f!reader, Reader POV

Prompt: “Is that supposed to be leaking?”

Requested by: @luci-in-trenchcoats

Summary:  When your boyfriend comes into town to surprise you one weekend, you thought that you’d spend it together, turns out he has other plans. Reader is a single mom and is the niece of Teddi and Velma. Reader is described as curvy. (Technically takes place in my Long As I Can See The Light Universe, but can be read as a stand-alone.)

Tropes: Established Relationship

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because I made it more spicy than I meant it to, References to Sex, Sexual innuendo, Little bit of self-deprecating thought (reader), Cursing, Kissing, Idiots who love each other lots. I think that's everything?

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n if any. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Tracker Masterlist

A/N: Alright, y'all this is my first fic written for my prompt celebration requested by the wonderful @luci-in-trenchcoats 😊 ENJOY!

You took another long sip of coffee from your favorite hand-painted "World's Best Mom Mug" and tried to block out the symphony of the colorful curse words and banging coming from your upstairs master bathroom.

When your boyfriend showed up this morning out of the blue to surprise you, this was not what you expected to be doing. Well, his appearance was a surprise to you, but you had a sneaking suspicion that your Aunt Teddi and her wife Velma had gotten a heads up that Russell was coming. They'd shown up about an hour before Russell had to take your son and daughter for a movie and a sleepover at their house.

But the bigger surprise was your current dilemma.

You'd expected to be tangled up with Russell in bed for hours trying to convince him to never leave you again, not be waiting downstairs while he tried to install a new shower head in your master bathroom.

You only blamed yourself.

You'd let it slip that the water pressure wasn't quite right and something that you'd thought would take a plumber twenty minutes had turned into an all day affair for Russell. 

Instead of taking you to bed, Russell had dragged you out to his car and to the nearest hardware store where he let you pick out a new shower head and where he got supplies, all the while you told him that he didn't need to, and Russell only kissed away the frown on your lips leaving you wanting more.

You always wanted more.

Russell and you had been together for five and a half months, and each time he left you found yourself wanting more. 

More of him and more time.

It was frustrating to be with a man who had a job that would pull him out of your arms as quickly as he’d appeared and leave your bed cold once more. 

It had been cold before and you didn’t want to go back to that. Didn’t want to be reminded of the cold bed over the final years of your marriage when your husband’s favorite phrases echoed through your bedroom after you put your children to bed:

“I’m tired” and “Not tonight baby, I have to work.”

Those last few years of your marriage were frustrating and did little to boost your self-esteem. Especially when your husband made you think you were annoying him and made you feel stupid for wanting more. 

With Russell there was no such thing.

When the two of you started dating and Russell realized exactly what your husband had done to you, he'd spent every waking moment making you feel more beautiful than you ever had. He listened to you, understood you, and did more for you than your husband had done in all the years that you'd been married.

But each time he left, Russell always took a little bit of yourself with him. You didn't sleep well when he was gone doing God knows what, God knows where, only that when he finally called or showed up to tell you he was okay, you didn't let go of him for hours.

There's another loud bang followed by a string of curses that make you sigh into your mug.

For fucks sake, that stupid showerhead is getting more action than I am.

You loved your boyfriend to bits, but you hated how stubborn he was sometimes.

You straighten up from where you lounged against the countertop in your kitchen, taking one more sip of coffee, before you make the trek through your living room and up the stairs towards your bedroom. 

This wasn't the first time that Russell fixed something in your home. He liked it when you made him a list of things to do when he visited, things like cleaning the gutters, nailing down the front step that always caught underfoot, mowing the lawn, etc. Things that Russell wanted to do for you because he knew how busy you got at work and with your children.

It made you love him more, because you’d never met someone so selfless before. 

When you enter the bathroom, Russell is standing in your shower, just inside the large glass double doors, soaking wet, and holding a wrench.

His usual easy smile has slipped into a frustrated frown while he stares at the bright silver shower head hanging on the wall. 

“I see things are going well.” You snort out a laugh, admiring the scene before you. 

Russell’s dark hair drips forward in lazy strands against his cheeks, his t-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin, catching in the dips and curves of your boyfriend’s muscular torso, and his usual blue jeans are stained a dark navy. The edge of his t-shirt pulls up from the top of his jeans with the stretch of his arms, giving you a view of the delicious stripe of skin just below his belly button.

For the love of french toast, the guy could win a wet t-shirt contest without batting one of those ridiculously perfect eyelashes of his.

At this point you were still trying to figure out how the hell you landed this man and why the hell he kept coming back for more of you.

“Smooth as silk.” Russell gives you a lazy smile that makes you feel like butter on a pile of buttermilk biscuits. “I just finished.”

 “Really?” 

“Mhmm.”

“Huh.” You take a step closer to admire his handiwork, so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath ghost along the side of your face, making goosebumps trail over your skin. All it does is remind you of what the two of you could be doing instead of standing inside of your walk-in shower fully clothed and the things the two of you had done in this very shower the last time he was in town.  

"Is that supposed to be leaking?" You ask, pointing to the place where the plate of the shower head fastens to the wall and where there is a trickle of water dancing down the white subway tile backsplash.

"Oh shit." Russell sighs, his shoulders drooping when he notices the stream. “I can fix that."

You note his sheepish smile. “Rus, please let me call a plumber. You’ve been up here for two hours!” 

“No way! They overcharge you and it’s what I’m here for!” He argues.

Maybe I should try a different approach.

“Rus.” You say sweetly, putting both of your hands on his stomach. Russell’s familiar green eyes flick to your hands as you begin to move them up the wet t-shirt. “When you showed up today I thought we’d be doing something a little different with our time.” 

Russell swallows. “Baby-”

“And the longer you stay in here-” You breathe taking a step forward as you continue to move your hands up, tracing the hardened muscles beneath your palms. “The less time we have together.” You gently press a kiss to the space where his shirt meets the base of his neck and you can feel the bob of his throat as he swallows again. 

“I-” He tries again, but you feel his hands come down to the curve of your hips to ground himself there. 

“Don’t you want to spend time with me?” You murmur into his skin, pressing your chest against his as your hands work up to the back of his neck. The water from his clothes soaks into yours, but you’re not cold. 

“You’re fighting dirty.” He half groans, but you don’t feel bad. Judging by the way his hands have begun to squeeze your hips and pull you tighter against him, Russell was enjoying this as much as you were. 

“But it always works.” You purr against his throat with a smirk. 

“Fuck, baby I-“ 

“Yeah?” 

Your smirk grows the more you tease him. By now you could feel your own heartbeat thudding in your chest calling out to his and despite how cold Russell’s wet clothes are, heat was dancing along your skin. 

“I really want-“ There’s a grit along Russell’s voice, as if he’s trying to hold on to some shred of self-control.

You loved that you were able to do this to him, it made you feel powerful and sexy. Two things that you hadn’t felt in a long time. 

“Hmm?” You moan softly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck while your lips continue their path along his skin.

He groans. “I really want to do this for you, but you’re making it kinda hard-“ 

“Really?” You mutter nipping along his jaw. “That’s what I’m making hard?”

Russell pulls back from you, holding your wrists in his large hands. But he looks far from angry. His green eyes flash a darkened pine, and dance with mischief. “Baby, trust me. There is nothing more that I want to do than show you how much I missed you.” 

“Then why-" You begin to say.

“Because I know that the second I do that, we’re not going to do anything else the rest of the time I’m here. And I want to do this for you.” Russell’s eyes shift a little lighter. He releases your wrists and cups your cheek with his large hand. You can see the love you have for Russell reflected back at you in his gaze

You sigh again a little disappointed. Today really wasn’t going the way you wanted it to.  “But I missed you.” 

“I could tell.” He smirks. “Maybe your shower head would last a little longer if you didn't wear it out." Russell sends you a salacious wink that makes you blush bright red.

“Shut up!” You slap him on the shoulder, cheeks flaming. 

Russell only smirks wider at you. “You know… I’ve got a solution for that.”

“Oh do you?” You ask innocently. 

Finally, we’re getting somewhere.

Russell hesitates, his hand still stroking your cheek softly. "I could move in."

It was the last thing that you were expecting him to say.

“See I've been thinking about this for a bit." Russell  clears his throat. “I know you can’t move because of the kids but... I want to be here in your life. I hate leaving you and each time I get done with a job I always find myself driving back to you. I don't want to be anywhere else.”

Your mouth is still open in shock, eyes wide. You couldn’t find the ability to speak.

In the months that followed your divorce you’d been on a couple of dates before you met Russell, where the mere mention of your kids sent your dates scuttling into the shadows or back to whatever swamp they crawled out of, but here, standing in front of you was a man who didn’t just want you, he wanted you, and he wanted your children. 

It was a combination that you thought you’d never find, and then you’d met Russell. A man who not only loved you, he made you feel beautiful, alive, happy, and seen in a way that you hadn’t been in years. 

Not to mention that both of your children absolutely loved Russell, and he did a good job of scaring off your skeevy ex who refused to come around whenever Russell was in town because the last time Russell had broken his nose and threatened other bodily harm.

Russell’s soft smile drops a little the longer you remain silent. “But if you think that’s a bad idea or if you think it’s too fast-”

You pull him down to you for the searing kiss that you’d wanted all day long, feeling the drag of his beard against your soft skin, and the warm pillow of his lips moving in tandem with yours. 

His hands run along the curves of your body, trailing fire in their wake, the same curves that you’d hidden under long cardigans and oversized clothes, the ones that you cursed each time you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. But not since you’d met Russell. 

Not when he’d taught you that each blemish or curve you once cursed was something that could make him lose his last shred of self control and in turn, make Russell lose himself in everything you were. 

“It’s not too fast! I hate when you leave. I hate waking up in my bed each morning and not having you there holding me. ” You breathe before you kiss him again, soaking in everything that is Russell as you do. The roughness of his hands pushing up the shirt hung low on your hips, the smell of mint and gunmetal, the taste of the coffee he had this morning, and gentle drag of his wet hair against your cheeks that dip between the two of your faces when you kiss. “I want you here with me all the time.”

“Then I’ll stay.” Russell smiles so wide you can feel the click of his teeth against yours when he pulls you back in for a kiss. 

“Wait.” You smirk, leaning your forehead against his, your hands gently cupping his bearded cheeks. "If I say yes, I have one condition."

"Anything."

"Please let me call a plumber."

Russell rolls his eyes at you, but squeezes you tighter against him, green eyes flashing with mischief. “Not a chance baby.”

A/N: It was so fun to write this prompt and also to come back to these two! Thank you so much @luci-in-trenchcoats for requesting this one 🥰 If anyone else would like to ask me a prompt for my prompt celebration, here is the post:

Prompt Celebration

As always, thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, comments, and likes are not required, but are always appreciated 😊

Taglist:

@roseblue373 @livya99 @mrsjenniferwinchester @zepskies @louisanalady

@yvonneeeee