#bleachedduck

[bleachedduck]

 ♰ NATURAL BLOOD-STAINED BLOND. ♰

۶ৎ ๋࣭⭑. +18 MDNI.

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader.

synopsis: it's just a drabble of dean being needy and vulnerable and feeling guilty (what a novelty). very short.

warnings: slightly explicit mentions of sexual activity. a little bit unsanitary i think... sorry, it's for the plot. mentions of blood and butchery.

notes: 1. i sneaked some jeff buckley in this. 2. i was going to use this ethel's title for something else but i think it's fitting?? i kind of like the way it turned out 3. this is the first thing i ever publish when it comes to fanfiction, and it's kinda shitty but i really wanted to upload something related to spn, and english isn't my first language, so pretty pleaseeeee with a cherry on top and whipped cream be nice!! 🤍

He always held you against his very skin, rarely allowing any other layer to get in between the two of you.

He kissed you like he bit into an apple, greedy, his tongue lapping and collecting before it slides back against yours, invading your mouth.

Clinical curiosity. He touched you; your hair, your head, every limb, your temples, your torso, everywhere, like his only purpose at that moment was to fuse himself inside your bones.

Exploring. His fingers, having studied you even before they were anywhere near you, always spreading and pressing and pumping, in and out, dispersing the warm coat of arousal, up and down, almost brutally. He didn't mind being a little rough, it didn't matter, since he was going to kiss it better right after. Slow, wet, breathy, dirty, needy.

He needed this. Needed you. Needed to look forward to this to stop himself from losing his temper against anyone that as much as simply smiled too wide in his presence before he could be alone with you.

The aftermath of every hunt, every single one seemingly leaving a deeper dent than the other, always led him to the blissfully state of however he found you when he came back to the motel room.

He needed to find solace in the plushness of your arms, cozy and wrapping around him so well even if you couldn't take in the entirety of his broadness. In almost every other way.

He needed to feel your legs wrapped around his hips and he pushed in and out of your gummy insides, coated with the slick he barely had to work on. You were always waiting for him like this.

Burying his face in the crook of your neck, sucking and biting the skin there, trying to muffle the small mewls crawling their way up his throat, and they eventually always poured down into your mouth, finding his way back to your lips. Teeth, tongues, spit.

His way of telling you that he was sorry, for everything, and for everyone. For touching you after having sliced and carved his anger into some creature, masking his wanting for violence with the word justice, slivers of dry blood he hadn't managed to scrub off under his nails.

Murmuring nonsense into your ear when he's about to come, a bunch of 'wanna stay here, inside of you, please's, or 'you always make me feel so good, you're always so good to me, i don't deserve this's, and 'please tell me we're alright's.

Squeezing you in his arms as you squeeze your walls around him inside of you, both of you coming, and you wipe the humidity under his eyes, kissing his face and letting him rest limp against your body.

And he knows you'll always trail behind, and that's everything he's ever held onto. The only thing he allows himself to keep.

divider by @/cursed-carmine. ☺︎

[bleachedduck]

"When you least expect it, nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot. Just remember I’m here. Right now, you may not want to feel anything. Maybe you’ll never want to feel anything. And, maybe it’s not to me you want to speak about these things, but I feel something you obviously did.

Look, you had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you.

In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away, or pray that their sons land on their feet. But I am not such a parent. We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster that we go bankrupt by the age of 30 and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything—what a waste!

And I’ll say one more thing… it’ll clear the air. I may have come close, but I never have what you two have. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business. Just remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once, and before you know it, your heart’s worn out. And as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there’s sorrow, pain; don’t kill it, and with it, the joy you’ve felt."

—Call Me By Your Name, by André Aciman, 2007. (Pictures from the movie adaptation directed by Luca Guadagnino, 2018).

(extended version cause there's no humanly possible way i'm ever getting over this ever)

[bleachedduck]

[bleachedduck]

we're getting older. soon enough we'll move out to a new empty place. it doesn't matter how much colorful furniture you buy to fill the corners, it's always gonna look plain. that kind of voiding lame. the walls won't be stained with tears, sweat or cristal slivers. it won't be the same.

now you moved. your new house it's like an open mouth, the maw of the wolf. terrifying. the dim mediocre light greets you with mockery, kicking you out so you can flee back to your childhood home.

what will you do now that you know how soon is now?

—bleachedduck, it'll be soon enough.