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revkooks · 6 months

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“only bought this dress so you could take it off.” — jeon jungkook.

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: boyfriend!au, fluff, smut

warnings: pwp, it’s just pure smut i’m sorry, slightly insecure reader but she’s still a bad bitch, pussy eating, rough sex, dom jk, verrry subby reader, jk is aggressive in bed but it’s out of love, implied aftercare, unprotected sex, pet names, size difference, creampies, jk loves reader so much and constantly reassures her

word count: 2.7k

Dating somebody you considered to be out of your league wasn’t as easy as you thought it’d be, and although he was always there to reassure you, you still allowed those thoughts to consume you every so often.

You were more than grateful to have Jungkook, he knows how to comfort you and make you feel like the prettiest girl in the world, so why do you constantly let your insecurities get to you? Like now, you were currently trying on a new dress you’d bought after spending the day shopping for yourself. Your boyfriend’s been at work all day and you wanted to surprise him, yet it seems you’re having trouble doing so.

You let out a frustrated sigh, checking yourself out in the mirror with a visible frown on your face. You were far from ugly, in fact, you always receive compliments from strangers solely based on your appearance or how much of a perfect couple you and Jungkook make. They still had a hard time convincing you that he wasn’t out of your league though, he’s genuinely the hottest man you’ve ever laid your eyes on and you still can’t fathom the fact that you actually bagged him.

Your cheeks began to heat up just from thinking about him until you snapped out of your thoughts and checked the clock on your wall, your boyfriend was about to be home any minute now and you still felt unsatisfied with how you looked, even contemplating taking it off and disregarding the whole idea of surprising him completely.

But you thought about Jungkook, you knew he wouldn’t want that, you knew he’d kiss and worship your body the minute he walks through that door and your insecurities would go flying through the window. You didn’t dwell on it too much to suppress impulsively changing your mind, quickly applying your lip gloss to finish off your makeup look before making your way downstairs, cautious with your steps as you were wearing heels.

You situate yourself on the couch, occasionally fixing your hair or your posture as you wait patiently for him to arrive, and when he eventually does, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of anxiety take over you just by hearing that front door open.

It takes him a second to fully notice what you’re wearing as he’s already rambling about how exhausted he is from work and you’re relatively far away, though as he approaches you closer, he stops in his tracks and curses beneath his breath, loosening his tie slightly.

“Hi,” you mutter out gently, avoiding eye contact with him to resist seeing his reaction. “Hi?” Jungkook questions with a breathless chuckle, sitting beside you and causing the couch to dip from the added weight, licking his lips slowly and leaning closer into you, “Shit, baby, this all for me? How come you’re all dressed up, huh?” He whispers out, you glance at him and you can already tell he’s lusting upon you from his gaze, effortlessly making you feel small.

“I jus’ wanted to surprise you ‘cause you know, you’re always busy with work and stuff… you deserve something from me but I’m not gonna lie, I don’t know if I’m confident enough for this,” you mumble the last part, fumbling with the hem of your dress and unnoticeably pulling it down a little, doing anything to avoid Jungkook’s gaze until he stops you and cups your chin, now forcing you to look at him as he lifts your head up, pulling you into an unexpected kiss until he quickly backs away again.

“Y/N”, Jungkook rasps out, “You’re so fucking beautiful, the most stunning girl I’ve ever met. You don’t even have to do anything and you’ll have me on your knees for you, look…” he finishes before gently grabbing your hand and placing it atop his prominent bulge, you almost drool at the lewdness of his actions and feeling how hard he was underneath you. You caused that. “You got nothing to be insecure about, my girl, you’re a goddess and I’m gonna treat you like one right now. Will you let me?”

You nod vigorously while looking at him with pleading eyes, his words having an embarrassing effect on you as slick uncontrollably drips down your thighs. Jungkook takes it in his own will to lift you up and carry you upstairs to your shared bedroom, impatiently kicking the door open and shut before dropping you on the bed and instantly hovering above you, capturing your lips with his own once more.

Jungkook brushes his knee against your thigh before using it to separate both of them, wedging himself between your legs as he takes control of the kiss and eagerly meshes his lips with yours, practically smothering you with his mouth as you try to keep up by returning each and every rough, messy kiss, whining quietly once you feel him press himself against your clothed heat.

“Fuck,” he groans out as he pulls back, “you’re so fucking cute, you know that?” Jungkook curses, pressing open mouthed kisses against your jaw instead, traveling them further down to your neck and eventually collarbone as he leaves marks across every inch of your empty skin. Your body responds to every touch of his, weakly submitting to him and allowing him to paint you as his own, you couldn’t help but release needy whimpers and that only had Jungkook’s arousal growing.

He sits upright and unexpectedly tears the entire dress off your body, earning a surprised gasp out of you, “Kook!” you exclaimed to which he arched an eyebrow and shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, examining your naked body from above with a smug smirk, “What? ‘s why you bought it, right? For me to rip it off your body and fuck you afterwards?”

“Y-Yeah…” you trail off, gripping the bedsheets with force while watching him observantly as he continues plastering his wet kisses against your skin, only now he was coming dangerously close to your pussy that was still clothed, making you shiver in anticipation. “Want a taste of you first, sweetheart. You look too cute for me to not eat your little pussy tonight,” Jungkook mutters out as he coyly gazes up at you, you instinctively buck your hips closer towards his face but he has other plans, continuing to tease you by kissing along your inner thighs purely to hear those sweet, desperate moans of yours.

Jungkook takes his time with you until he eventually gives in and shoves your flimsy panties aside, you almost wanna cry out of embarrassment and bare your face into the pillows but he immediately shuts you out of your thoughts by diving in and licking a bold stripe across your clit, teasing it with the tip of his tongue as he laps it over the sensitive bud over and over again. Your breathing becomes uneven, pants and moans continuously slipping past your lips, the only words managing to leave them being his name and random curses.

“Kook, you… that feels so good, please, don’t stop,” you desperately whine out, he obliges and his pace never once wavers as his mouth envelops your entire cunt, tongue dipping between your wet folds and licking up any slick that dripped between, occasionally nudging his nose against your clit each time he bucked his head back up. He tests the waters and eagerly dips his tongue into your hole instead, your lips part and you involuntarily reach down to hold a tight grip to his head, curling your fingers through his perfect locks and pushing his head further into your cunt.

You can tell he likes this as he releases a deep groan, leaning into your touch before pulling his tongue back out and using it to continue lapping up any essence you produced, wrapping his lips around your clit and slightly hollowing his cheeks as he sucks harshly, shaking his head while doing so. You weren’t even sure how to react, you could already feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes out of pleasure and your orgasm was bubbling inside you, ready to release at any second.

Jungkook worked his tongue on your pussy perfectly, you were embarrassed by how quickly he had you crying underneath him just from his mouth, you know you’ll never get used to how skilled in bed he was but you weren’t complaining. “Cum on my face, sweetheart,” he briefly pulls back to moan out, diving back in and vigorously sucking on your clit, tongue swirling around the parts he could reach in order to pleasure as much of your pussy as possible.

His words were enough to have you unraveling before him, gripping his hair tightly as you release a particularly louder moan and embarrassingly squirt, juices landing on different parts of his face to which he drew back and cleaned up with his tongue, sighing out blissfully. “Best meal I’ve had in a while,” Jungkook teases with a cocky smirk, his hair all messy and lips swollen. your thighs were shaking and you hadn’t had enough time to come down from your intense orgasm before he was back hovering above you, cupping your cheek and kissing you again. You could taste yourself on his tongue and the thought made you whimper.

“I need you,” you shyly whispered out between kisses, he lifted his head back up to peer down at you, already fumbling with his belt and tearing the loose thing off. “Need me where, sweetheart?” You sigh in frustration at his teasing, trying not to focus too much on him tugging his pants and boxers down and presenting you with the sight of his hard cock in all its glory, instead looking at his face, biting your lip nervously. “Inside… inside me, please,” you say as you spread your legs apart a little further, showing yourself off to him.

You don’t know what it is about him but everything to do with Jungkook makes you feel shy and submissive, especially now with him on top of you, cock noticeably poking your thighs. He rasps out a triumphant chuckle and takes his cock in his hand, positioning the tip against your core before sliding it between your folds, teasingly slapping it against your clit. “Yeah? Need me in that tight pussy, princess?” He coos and slightly bucks his hips back and forth, you could feel yourself begin to tear up again, this time out of frustration and not pleasure. “Yes! Please, please, fuck me, Koo… oh.” You were unable to finish your sentence as he cuts you off and rudely shoves his fat cock into your pussy in one go, earning a loud moan from you and causing you to throw your head back against the pillow beneath you.

Jungkook’s already pounding you at a reckless pace, your hands come up to grab onto his thighs for support, digging your fingernails into his skin which causes him to hiss in pleasure and deliberately fuck into you harder, earning a plethora of continuous whines and desperate whimpers from you. “Feels so good, Kook, keep going… please, don’t stop,” you shakily moan out, shuddering each time he sloppily thrusts into you, your slick effortlessly coating his cock and creating a wetter slide after every stroke, creating a mess below you both.

His loud groans almost mask your lewd noises, echoing throughout the room loudly, the sound of the bed creaking and repetitively hitting the wall only increasing with how much he managed to increase his pace, bringing a hand up to your throat and securely wrapping his fingers around it. He gives it a light squeeze as he maintains his brutality on your cunt, plowing your wet pussy with all the stamina he had, sweat dripping from his forehead profusely as he clenches his jaw and curses beneath his breath, “Never letting you go, Y/N. You hear me? This pussy is mine, all mine, all it knows is my cock and it’ll stay that way forever.”

“Yours,” you submitted to him immediately, your reply coming out slightly faster than intended but you couldn’t help it, he was fucking you amazingly. His cock continuously punched in and out of your walls and his tip managed to reach your cervix on every inwards stroke, you gasped and tried to mutter something out but with his grip on your neck it was almost impossible. He listened to your prayers and removed his hand, resting it beside your head instead while the other hooks around your leg and lifts it up in the air, allowing his cock to enter you further.

“So fuckin’ tight and wet, love your pussy so much,” Jungkook slurs out and throws his head back in pleasure, a loud groan ripping from his throat as his cock twitches inside you, already pulsing in pleasure. You feel every vein and movement inside you and it has you drooling again, loosely dangling both of your legs around his waist, welcoming him in deeper.

Jungkook gazes back down at you with hooded eyes, you stare up at him coyly and try to maintain the eye contact though it’s difficult with how good he’s making you feel, you almost scrunch your eyes in pleasure, your mouth falling into an ‘o’ shape as moans slip past your lips nonstop. Your pussy clenches around him and that has him going wild, driving his cock into you forcefully and stretching you out with how thick he was, you tried to accommodate him, your cunt never fully getting used to his size.

“I-I love you, Kook,” you suddenly mumbled out, his dark expression turned soft for a second as he gradually slowed his pace, thrusts still remaining hard and deep, “I love you more, Y/N,” Jungkook breathes out with a less of a struggle than you, his sentences coming out almost perfect despite how much he was panting. He holds your leg for support and proceeds with his reckless pace from before, balls beginning to slap against your taint in tandem with his thrusts, your bodies colliding wildly. “Gonna cum, shit,” he says through slightly gritted teeth, focusing on nothing but solely you.

Jungkook reaches into the gap between you both and begins rubbing at your clit with two fingers furiously, you convulse and shake beneath him and your moans increase in volume with the added pleasure, his cock penetrating your walls and digits toying with your clit simultaneously. It was all too much for you… “Me too, ‘m cumming…”

“Let’s cum together,” Jungkook suggests between heavy breaths and continues stimulating your clit while rocking his hips into yours, grunting huskily with each time you’d tighten around him, only encouraging him to maintain his rough pace on your cunt. You noticed him shuddering until he eventually came to an abrupt stop, burying himself inside of you and painting your walls white with his cum, a prolonged moan leaving his lips as he does. The mere sight of him has your own orgasm hitting you like a truck, coming undone for the second time below him. You didn’t squirt but you still came just as hard as you did when he ate you out, but now you were completely worn out and too tired for anything else, it seemed like he was, too.

Jungkook collapsed on top of you, giving himself a minute before pulling out of you after his cock softened and he managed to collect himself. He instantly wraps an arm around you and tugs you into his warm embrace, attacking your face in kisses which made you giggle softly. “You mean so much to me, Y/N. You’re my everything and you always will be, you know that, right?” Your boyfriend suddenly says, you blush unwillingly and nod your head, resting against him tiredly. “I know… you are too,” you say through an exhausted hum.

He smiles lovingly, watching as you doze off. He nudges you gently and urges you to get up, “We gotta clean this mess up. Let’s go shower, hm?” Jungkook asks, you groan but you knew he was right. You allowed him to take you both out of the bedroom and to your bathroom, you both ended your night cuddled up together in bed, watching movies until you fell asleep.

You knew you didn’t have to worry about anything anymore as long as you had Jungkook by your side, and buying that dress was most definitely not a mistake… and it will be happening again.

#bts smut #jungkook smut #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bts smut #bts fanfic smut #jeon jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts jungkook fc

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toastedkiwi · 6 months

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Mr. Yeti

Summary: Chris finds you texting someone.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Sister!Reader, soon to be Travis Kelce x Silence!Reader

This is part two of Silence after TWO WHOLE YEARS.

Chris came into the living room. You’ve ventured out of his guest room and have planted yourself on the L shaped couch. You’ve got Dodger right next to you with his lion. The tv is on with cartoons playing but you’re not even paying attention. Your eyes are on your iPad as you type away with one finger messaging somebody somewhere. It’s been a week since you’ve been discharged from the hospital.

“Hey, want me to type for you?” Chris asked.

You flinched but eased when you saw it was him. He came around and sat down on the couch beside you. He saw your saw your screen a little clearer. At the top was Mr. Yeti.

“Who’s Mr. Yeti?” Chris asked.

You looked at him holding the ipad against your chest not allowing him to see the message exchange. He looked at you. You’re looking a lot better than you have. The swelling in your face especially has gone down. Your still a bit puffy around your jaw and lips but that’s understandable with your jaw being wired shut.

“Y/n… is it a boy?” he teased.

You tensed up. Chris smiled and put his arm around your shoulders. He pulled you into his side. You looked at him warily.

“It’s okay, ya know,” he said. “As long as there’s no funny business going on.”

You gave him a look that he knows all too well. He smirked.

“I’m your brother, Pooh, not your dad,” Chris said.

You let out a small hum.

“Lemme at least hold your iPad for you while you text this Yeti guy,” he said.

You shake your head no.

“Please. I won’t even read what you’re texting him,” he said. “I’ll just hold it for you because I know it’s not easy on trying to hold it with your broken hand.”

You grabbed him by his chin and moved his head to face the tv. He snorted at your actions. You then guided his hand to hold your iPad. You checked quickly to see his face. His eyes are currently on the tv— he’s going to seek a look at your messages because he is your older brother and wants to make sure things are going smoothly.

You unlocked the iPad and opened up your messages again. You’ve received two new ones from your buddy. You’re quick to type out a clever response. Chris managed to catch you smiling. He hasn’t seen a smile from you in years. He does miss it.

Chris did kiss the top of your head when he noticed you weren’t texting anymore. He looked to see if you’re asleep and you are. Your lips are parted letting your wires be shown. He took the chance and glanced at your screen. A majority of its pretty innocent.

He ended up turning it off for you and placing the iPad off to the side. He then made sure that you’re covered with the very soft blue blanket.

“Sleep tight, Pooh,” Chris whispered.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x silence!reader #silence!reader #travis kelce x silence!reader #chris evans x sister!reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans fanfic #travis kelce x evans!reader #travis kelce x reader

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disneeznuts · 1 year

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(tadashi hamada x reader)

Summary: knees brushing under the table

masterlist

————

Lectures were the worst part of college. You were absolutely certain of that.

No way anyone would want their professor, who sounds like Bette Midler, to drawl on and on for an hour about some chemical equation that could be explained in three steps.

Your palm held your chin as drool almost slipped past your lips while you lightly dozed off. Even though the lecture was god awfully boring, you were grateful it was a big class so you could get away with checking out mentally.

For the most part anyway. (We don’t talk about the time she called on you while being in the middle of chowing down a bad if chips that you were most definitely not supposed to be eating.)

There was another component that added to your boredom however. Somebody was late.

Mr. Tadashi Hamada decided to stay up doing god knows what and sleep through his alarm today. The frantic text he sent you was proof of the incident as he rushed to explain his circumstance.

I lost track of time- blah blah I didn’t realize- yada yada ada.

Excuses for days he had. Though even if he was to miss half the class you did promise to catch him up on what he missed.

What were friends for?

…ha friends.

The door creaked, drawing most of the students attention to the entryway, where the man himself winced at the noise. A hushed ‘sorry’ passed his lips before he hurriedly went down the stairs. The teacher made a snide indirect comment as he plopped into his seat next to you.

With a lurch you were coherent once again.

“Morning sunshine,” Tadashi teased, leaning in close to you as he sat his bag down on to the floor. Humming gently you rubbed your eyes. Looking over you looked down to the teeth shining past his lips.

You never understood how they could be so white.

A hand went up to pull the baseball cap off his head as Tadashi used his other hand to tousle his hair. Puffing out his cheeks a much needed breath released from his lungs and he slouched back into his seat. The movable desk top was pushed down in front of him while his legs spreaded to a comfortable position.

Biting your lip you almost jumped at the contact his knee made to yours. The steady weight of it leaned against you but you made no move to remove it. If Tadashi didn’t want it there then he would remove it himself.

Tapping his nails on the wood the boy leaned over you, craning his neck to look at the notes you had written down. Wordlessly you picked up the book and handed it to him.

“Thanks,” he breathed out, reaching with his hand to take it, his fingers brushing against yours in the process. Another zing coursed through you. But you didn’t speak anything about it as Tadashi scanned over the words and your scribbles. A smile of slight amusement coming over his features as he looked at your doodles. However he frowned at a certain sentences.

Shifting closer his shoulder pressed against yours, holding open your notebook and pointing to the questionable phrase.

His words were slightly muffled as the feeling of warmth from his arm and knee burned through your body.

“Sorry what was that-,” you went to apologize but were cut off.

“Shhhhhh,” a rather irritated individual hushed whipping her head to look back at you. Another apology was voiced as you smiled uneasily.

“What did you mean when…” a quiet gasp left your lips when Tadashi’s breath was felt across your skin.

This was new. Tadashi has never been this touchy. He’s always been one to give simple high fives or fist bumps of gratitude. Or maybe a little side hug in the right occasion. But he’s never been practically cheek to cheek with you before.

But he’s just asking for some notes. Just asking some questions. Just asking for some help from a friend.

#tadashi hamada x reader #tadashi x reader #big hero 6 #big hero 6 x reader

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luveline · 2 years

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thinking about shy!reader joining hellfire for the first time and being really nervous and intimidated by eddie so he tries to make her feel better ❤️

i didn't know if it was supposed to be bf!eddie or not so i made it ambiguous like maybe you're in that limbo stage before ♡ shy!fem!reader | 0.7k words

You get there earlier than you should. The only person in the club room is Eddie, perched on the arm of his throne with a mass market paperback bent into a shape in one hand.

You knock awkwardly.

Eddie doesn't flinch. He drops the book and pulls his shirt away from his chest, a smile overtaking his pretty features as you walk into the middle of the room.

"I'm sorry I'm early," you say, eyes on his hand. His rings brush the wood of the long table as he meets you.

"Don't be, I was just perusing this lil' thing for campaign ideas to steal. Are you ready?"

You'd talked to him a couple times now about coming. This was the first you'd actually managed to bring yourself here, and only because Eddie had been so kind about it.

You look at the table and feel especially daunted. "Where… where does everybody sit? I don't want to take someone's seat," you say, your voice a weak whisper by the time you've finished.

Eddie clasps his own shoulder with one hand, the other at his elbow. "You can sit at the top by me."

Your eyes go wide. "Everyone will look at me."

"Everybody's too busy arguing about rolls and looking for their pencils or an eraser to bother, trust me." He takes a step toward you. "If you sit by me, I can keep an eye on you, yeah? Whisper hints at you."

"I don't wanna cheat."

"That's the spirit."

Eddie sits down heavily, slouches and stretches his legs out to one side. He's smiling that shark-tooth smile that intimidates and endears you with his hands flat to his abdomen, the tiniest sliver of midriff on display. You're so distracted by him that you almost forget your nerves. Almost.

"What are you so scared of?" he asks.

He nudges the chair closest to his with the bottom of a thick soled converse and you sit down gingerly, his foot between yours.

"Embarrassing myself," you admit.

"Like, not knowing what something means?"

"Yeah, but… I don't know. What if I make a bad decision? A stupid one."

"I make 'em all the time." You stare at him. "I'm not kidding around. I won't think far enough ahead, or I spend hours designing a room and somebody uses a conjuration spell for a rope and just - climbs right out." He shrugs. "Shit happens."

You try not to sulk too obviously. You want to believe him and adopt his nonchalance. "You know what you need?" he asks suddenly.

It feels like a trick question. "What?"

He pulls a black pen from between the pages of his dark bound notebook and gestures to your hand. You offer it, feel a shattering of pin pricks under the skin at his light touch, ink spreading with a ticklish coolness.

He draws a symbol you've never seen before, thumb pulling your skin taut. Your heart feels like a hummingbird fighting its way out of your chest unsuccessfully as you try not to think about how close he is or how he can probably smell your perfume. You can smell his cologne. Something sweet like bourbon vanilla hiding under a headier woody scent, maybe cedar of sandal.

"There," he mutters, setting the pen down with an even bigger smile than before. "Abracadabra, babe."

"What is it?" you ask.

Eddie looks you straight in the eye and leans back into the throne.

"A spell for courage," he says, chin lifted high, lips forming each word with flare.

The first lot of club members arrive.

By the time the sessions ended your cheeks ache from smiling. There's a lightness you hadn't expected to feel, though whether it's from the game or Eddie's little reassurances, his murmured check-ins or the toe of his shoe rubbing your ankle under the table, you don't know.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things #x reader #eddie munson fic

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mickules · 2 years

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The (After) Life of the Party by @metamatronic Chapter 16: 2 Birds

the winner of my fanfic contest, where I asked for folks' fic recs and their fave scenes and picked one at random to draw

All credit to @metamatronic head over to their blog to check out their fics and wonderful art! They've got a bunch of extra ghost au interactions, as well as just tons of great stuff in general!

---

“ Don’t ,” Mondo said. His voice sounded weak, and for once he didn’t care. “Please, Kyoudai, please. Just don’t go in.”

For a moment, Taka hesitated. Mondo held his breath, watching as the prefect’s hand hovered over the doorknob. Then, mechanically, Taka leaned back and checked his watch.

“Right on time,” he said with a twinge of relief, before grabbing the knob and pushing his way into the room. Mondo’s feet felt like bricks, but he followed.

For a moment, it looked like Taka was alone. Taka huffed, checking his watch and straightening up. No amount of white hair or fake curse words could change his thoughts on punctuality, it seemed. Mondo let out a choked laugh.

Maybe Hifumi chickened out , Mondo thought. Maybe the plan fell apart, or Chihiro got through to him. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But the hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and that unease in his stomach hadn’t settled. His eyes darted around the room, before catching the glint of glasses as a figure stepped out from behind the open door.

Hifumi was wielding a large hammer as he shuffled over to Taka. As he lifted the mallet over his head, Mondo let out a snarl and went in for a tackle.

As he phased through Hifumi, he heard the nasty crack behind him and felt his blood run cold.

Mondo fell to his knees at Taka’s body. He paid no attention as Hifumi let out a small noise of disbelief before shuffling out of the room. He watch Taka’s eyes flutter— he was still alive, he realized, bile rising in his throat.

“C’mon, somebody, anybody ,” he whispered, trying to will a witness to come through the door and help the man bleeding out on the floor.

Taka groaned, trying to push himself up before collapsing. Mondo watched as his hair slowly darkened back to its natural color. Mondo reached out, before recoiling. He was terrified that he would actually make contact, that he’d somehow drag Taka into this ethereal hell he and his other classmates were living in.

“Don’t die, just hang on. Someone’ll come, someone’s gotta come,” Mondo said. There was so much blood. It was just like Chihiro, just like Dai—

Mondo shook his head, trying to violently shake the thoughts out. He couldn’t do this, not again, not now.

Taka murmured something and Mondo snapped to attention.

“It’s okay, Taka, you’ll be okay. Just hold on,” Mondo said.

“Mon…do…” Taka’s voice was quiet as his eyes slowly fell shut. Mondo stomach twisted.

“No, no, no,” Mondo whispered frantically. Just as Mondo leaned in, something flew up with such force that it smacked his chin and sent him reeling backwards.

Sitting up and rubbing his chin, he looked over. He froze.

Taka was sitting up, rubbing his head and frowning deeply. His eyes opened before locking with Mondo’s. He stared for a quiet moment before the tears started.

“Mondo!” Taka shouted, tripping over his feet as he practically launched himself into Mondo’s arms. Taka buried his face in his shoulder, and he could feel his hands clutching onto the back of his jacket so tightly he thought it might rip. He was sobbing.

Mondo, for a brief moment, let himself be selfish. He wrapped his arms around Taka and squeezed. He’d never wanted this to happen, not to Taka, but there was a small, terrible part of him that was so thankful to at least get one more conversation with him. God, he’d missed him.

“What happened?” Taka asked, finally pulling away. “H-How are you here? I saw you…die.” He choked on that last word. Mondo stared at him, mouth agape.

“You, uh…You’re not…Um.” Mondo stuttered. Taka seemed to have noticed Mondo’s eyes flick briefly over his shoulder, and slowly turned.

Taka screamed.

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anarchy-and-piglins · 8 months

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"What happened?"

Techno almost flinched when the heavy wooden doors swung open and hit the wall. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the physician's needle digging into his shoulder. Moving too much while somebody was sewing up a large, bleeding gash in your body was not a smart thing to do.

Still, it was hard not to react when the king himself entered the room.

"The crown prince is completely unharmed, your majesty," the nurse tending to a few bandages on the other table was quick to say. She bowed her head at Phil. "He is resting up in his room, with his mother by his side. Somebody should have informed you-"

"They did," Phil said sharply. The nurse did hunch back beneath her king's furious gaze - even if the anger was not aimed at her directly. "I've already been to check on Wilbur, are you daft? I was asking about him."

"Your majesty," Techno said. He didn't know what he was going to do, anything to attempt to calm Phil down perhaps. It didn't matter, because the sound of his voice was enough to divert Phil's attention.

When those blue eyes fell on him, their expression turned soft. It was a change so rare and unfitting for one as Techno, it still made him swallow uneasily after all this time.

Phil reached out and the warm skin of his hand found Techno's wrist. "What happened?" he asked again.

"The poorest excuse for an assassination attempt I've ever seen," Techno said lightly. Then, more gravely, he lowered his chin to avoid the king's gaze. "The perpetrator did get away, I'm afraid." Techno had been a bit too busy dealing with the wound he got by bodily throwing himself between Wilbur and their attacker to give chase.

"Good," Phil said. Techno looked up at him - if only because even his status as the head of the royal guard did not give him the leniency not to look at royalty when they spoke. He was beneath their status.

Not that you'd be able to tell from the gentleness with which Phil cupped his cheek.

"You would have been much too merciful on them, mate. What do you call it? A knight's honor?"

Techno huffed. "A quick and clean death?"

"See, much too merciful for those who hurt what's mine," Phil said.

"Wilbur's unwounded," Techno said uncertainly. Phil's hand did not waver.

"I know." The king was always known to be benevolent, but the grin on his face then could not be described as anything but implacable. "Again, who said this was about Wilbur?"

(same AU as this one)

#technoblade #philza #dark sbi #shara writes

177 notes · View notes

heartbreakgrill · 7 months

Text

stiles stilinksi: breakable heaven; pt. 6, “i’m always waiting for you just to cut to the bone. it’s cool, that’s what i tell ‘em. no rules, in breakable heaven.”

a/n: angsty chapter for u. prepare to be frustrated and emo.

tagging: @ariianelle

stiles: i’m glad to know you. just wanted to tell you that.

y/n: :) that made my day, thank you

y/n: i’ve got to get to work, but i’ll text later :)

stiles: have a good shift!

stiles: not sure if you'll see this, but dad wanted to go out to dinner, so i guess i'll see you soon. try not to picture me naked when i'm ordering ;)

–

"y/n, finish up that table, then i'm cutting you. too many people on tonight, okay?"

y/n looked up from the pile of silverware she was wrapping. she was excited by her manager's words, so she smiled- though, in the restaurant business, false promises were often made. she was skeptical.

so, she asked,"really?" he nodded back at her before moving along. y/n was ecstatic.

it was a saturday night, and, usually, when she got off, it was nearly 11pm. she never liked going anywhere that late. so, getting out this early meant she could head over to danny's. her friends had texted in the groupchat about watching a movie. now, she could include herself in the plans, too.

y/n's table was waiting for their food still, so she went into the kitchen to check on it. luckily, it was all done. she loaded it all onto a tray, before balancing it on her palm, and taking it out into the dining room.

as she walked through the restaurant, y/n just so happened to lay eyes on none other than stiles stilinski and his dad, the sheriff. she nearly tripped over her own two feet at the sight. she clearly hadn’t gotten stiles’ text. he met her eye and smiled awkwardly, his hand waving in a small, shy manner. the sheriff was ordering his food, so he hadn’t noticed the interaction.

y/n smiled, half-heartedly, and unloaded the tray at her table. she was thrown off just a little. he seemed to do that to her, quite often- throw her off balance. "i'll be around if you need anything else, alrighty?" she glanced over at stiles a few times throughout her cadence, "okay, enjoy your food! thank you so much."

she bee-lined for the server station and dropped her tray off. then, looking back up, she met stiles’ gaze again. she felt tingly with anticipation, excitement, especially he met her gaze again and grinned.

he had a devilish quality to his smile. it was something about how his lips creased his cheeks, something about the glint in his dark eyes. it was mischievous and taunting.

y/n jerked her chin towards the back of the restaurant, where the bathrooms were. it was an empty area right now, even though it was a saturday, and offered them an out-of-view spot for a quick greeting. stiles nodded and excused himself from the table.

y/n leaned up against one of the booths, a confused, yet delighted expression on her face. she watched stiles round the corner, grinning, now, fingers nervously tugging on the sleeves of his hoodie. that smile made her heart beat quicker.

she hadn't seen him much this week because they were both busy- y/n studying and working, stiles fighting off the supernatural and struggling to keep himself sane.

of course, they'd still found time to see each other. like, on wednesday, when stiles came over after school. they had sex, and then he actually stayed. he stayed and held her until the sun set. and, they talked, though half asleep, about whatever came to mind- his mom, her plans for college. private things that only close friends- possibly more- would discuss. there was a moment where stiles felt so secure and trusting of her that he almost slipped, almost told her about everything with scott, lydia, everyone. but telling her meant dragging her into his mess.

and, she was becoming somebody he could not lose.

so he was still torn on that decision.

instead, he talked about his friends in a distant manner, one that left out any big plot lines. y/n still tried not to feel insecure when he brought up lydia. she noticed, when he revealed more and more, that stiles hung out with lydia a lot more than he hung out with y/n. it was a small detail that she shouldn’t have even lingered out in her head- but, especially since last sunday, y/n felt any and all defenses had fallen down. she was attached, so deeply now. she was reading between every line, analyzing every detail.

but, she couldn’t be mad about who he hung out with. she couldn’t feel jealous- even if she was- because it didn’t matter what feelings y/n had. that wasn’t what they had agreed. no matter how many of his sweet gestures and words, they had still not established any kind of relationship, label, anything.

he just wasn’t hers to lose.

eventually, that wednesday evening, the soft light and lowered volume of y/n's television hazily drew them to sleep. when they woke, it was 5am. school would start in just three hours. they headed, barely awake to be aware of themselves, to the front door- y/n adorned in stiles' lacrosse hoodie again. she didn't have enough consciousness to stop herself from hugging him goodbye.

or to even process the fact that he kissed her on the forehead.

later in the day, in the middle of english, the moment clicked in her brain. she couldn’t think about anything else for the rest of the week.

y/n wanted to tell danny about it- but he’d instill a fear in her, or maybe even a hope that wouldn’t bring any good. because, it was moments like that where y/n was sure she had him.

moments of tenderness, connection.

but, alas…

"i texted you," stiles kicked his shoe against the carpeting of the restaurant.

y/n raised her brows, "oh, yeah?"

"to warn you," he shrugged, "i didn't want you to think i was stalking you."

y/n replied with a giggle, "you'e one of the few people i'd be okay with stalking me."

stiles chuckled, glancing, up and down, at his shoes, cheekily. "listen, uh, i don't know what you're doing after this...but would you wanna hang? i know your parents are home, but my house is free. we wouldn't even have to slum it in the jeep. my dad has to go into the station.”

y/n straightened her back, perked up by the plans he was making. "yeah, that's actually...yeah. i'd love to."

screw watching a movie with her friends; she'd rather see stiles.

"i actually get off as soon as this table leaves. don't know if i told you, but my car's in the shop, so my mom has to come get me. would you mind picking me up from my house later?"

stiles glanced back at his dad. "yeah, uh," he met her eye, his smile morphing into something nervous, "that works. i know you've probably met my dad, but you should come over and say hi. he'd love it."

y/n's mouth dried out a little. she swallowed thickly, "oh, maybe. yeah. that would be nice." meeting his dad.

he wanted her to meet his dad.

that was, sure as hell, a clear sign of attachment.

"no pressure," stiles set his hands out in the air between them. "sorry if that was weird. i know that's not- that's not...yeah. just, forget it. i'll see you later? text me."

“wait,” y/n grabbed his forearm, “i want to.” she met his eyes. it was a firm decision on her part.

meeting stiles’ dad shifted things just a little bit further. she was growing more distressed about everything going on between them. she needed answers, but didn’t even know what questions to ask.

but, then stiles moved his hand, slid his arm up till his fingers were in hers, and she relaxed a little. “okay.”

she had to drop his hand when they turned the corner because y/n didn’t want to get in trouble with her boss. immediately, her skin was cold. stiles led her to their table in the back corner of the restaurant. she didn’t notice, but he flexed his fingers, feeling the ache of the loss of her in his hold.

“dad,” stiles patted his shoulder as they walked past the sheriff, settling, on their feet, across the table.

the sheriff looked up from his phone and immediately smiled, the expression morphing his face to look almost identical to his son. y/n grinned at the resemblance. “hey, who’s this?” the sheriff stood on his feet, and shook y/n’s hand heartily.

“i’m y/n, i’m-“ she glanced at stiles’, her smile dropping. what was she to him?

what was this to stiles? there was a question, finally.

“we go to school together,” stiles simply said. he didn’t know what to call it.

though he knew what he wanted to.

y/n tried not to give much depth to the statement stiles made. she knew as well as he did that there wasn’t much else he could say without blurring lines and throwing things off. she put a pin in it.

“well, it’s nice to meet you, sweetheart,” sheriff patted their joint hands with his other one.

y/n nodded, “you, too. i’ve heard a lot about you.”

sheriff shot stiles a look, “all good things, i hope?”

“always,” she assured him with a gentle laugh.

“how long you been working here?” sheriff proceeded to ask one of the basic questions all dads would inquire about.

“about two years. i was the hostess before i turned 18 a few months ago,” y/n explained, motioning to the entrance of the restaurant.

sheriff shoved his hands in his pockets, “oh, i recognize you now. me and the deputies used to grab food here a lot. things are a bit busier now, so that’s not really a possibility, anymore.”

“i remember that!” y/n nodded. “you’re a rowdy bunch!”

sheriff laughed, “oh, don’t i know it. they let you eat on shift? stiles, why don’t you buy this young lady some dinner?”

stiles raised his hands defensively, his dad’s tone a playful offense towards him. y/n set a hand on stiles’ wrist, laughing, “no, you’re okay! i get off soon, actually.”

“how soon? why don’t you join us?” sheriff continued. he probably wouldn’t leave the poor girl alone until he bought her something.

y/n glanced over at her table, who looked to already be finishing up. “probably here in, like, ten minutes?” she looked to stiles, to see if he’d permit the change of plans.

he shrugged, “don’t let him pressure you.” while y/n didn’t know what he was thinking, stiles was aware of the flustered feelings flurrying in his mind.

y/n giggled, rolling her eyes, “i’d love to join you guys. i’ll be back, okay?”

sheriff asked, before she could leave, “well, what’re ya eating?”

she thought for a moment, then gave him her usual food order. sheriff forced stiles to go find their waitress. y/n offered to lead him to the server station, where she was probably doing something.

“he likes you,” stiles murmured as he followed y/n. he pushed the sleeves of his jacket to his elbows, feeling warm for some reason.

y/n turned back to him with a smug expression, “i’m likable.”

stiles snorted, a light smile taking over his face. “you are.”

they shared a flickered look, for just a short moment. it was interrupted by y/n’s coworker, who had a question about something minuscule. she excused herself, smile now tightened by her lips.

the gaze they had exchanged soaked across their skin longer than it had lasted. the air between their eyes was heavy with anticipation and questioning.

still, confusion lingered.

but, dinner ended up being a lot of fun. they sat there for two hours, laughing, chatting about school, especially y/n’s plans for her future. the sheriff was quite interested in her education, like any good parent would be, and supportive of the dreams she shared.

y/n told them how she wanted to go to seattle, how she wanted to study psychology and one day become a forensic scientist. it was something silly that she was sometimes insecure to bring up with some, but the sheriff was fascinated.

stiles, however, was shocked by this. it was a piece of information he had yet to learn about her.

he watched her talk passionately about the subject, her eyes glazed over in excitement. sheriff told her a lot about the schooling process, since most of his deputies had gone to school for something like that. and, he’d been in the business a long time. he gave her helpful advice that she was more than grateful for.

the sheriff listened intently to y/n, but still noticed how his son’s eyes lit up with absolute adoration.

the entire evening was wonderful. it left both of them feeling full, happy.

y/n was nearly sure that, after this dinner, stiles would say something. he would do something. he’d confess that he wanted her in every way he could, he’d ask her to be his, and the fairytale ending would come. he had to.

oh, how wrong she would be.

later, after she went home, showered and changed into something a little more comfortable, y/n texted stiles that she was ready to leave. he replied, immediately, that he was on the way.

y/n waited patiently in the entryway of her house. she heard her parents upstairs, who were drinking wine and watching television. yesterday, they’d finally been able to go out to dinner as a family. she resented them, sometimes, for how little their presence was in her life. but, in moments like this, right now, she was just happy to listen to the distant muffle of their favorite show, to their laughter and love pouring down the hallway and stairs. she didn’t feel alone. the house didn’t feel empty. love felt like it was pricking at her fingertips.

stiles' headlights arched across the windows as he pulled into her driveway. y/n grabbed her bag- packed this time with overnight items, just in case what happened wednesday happened again. she at least hoped it would.

she locked the front door behind her. as she neared the jeep, stiles hopped out and walked around to open the passenger side for her.

y/n smiled up at him, happy to be standing so close to him again, "sorry my hair is wet still. i didn't have time to dry it."

stiles looked taken aback by her apology. he gently took the bag off her shoulder as he replied, "there's no reason to be sorry. you look...pretty, still."

she blushed, "thanks." she was now positive something was going to happen, something good. it filled her with the kind of energetic hope that gave her a head rush.

as she climbed into the jeep, her hair brushed near stiles' face. the smell of her shampoo was so prominent because she had just taken a shower. it made his knees weak.

stiles shut her door behind her, then went to his side of the car. he put her bag in the back seat.

carrying it, he realized that she was planning on spending the night.

this fact, combined with her smell, and the way she looked sitting in his jeep- it all brought elation to his already heightened mood.

tonight, he would tell her.

he would tell her everything. about scott, lydia, allison, isaac. about the supernatural, about the strange town they lived in.

he trusted her. he cared for her. and he could not protect her how he should if she didn’t know. (sure, he’d forced scott, lydia, and allison to each drjve by her house every once and a while to ensure things seemed calm. but that wasn’t good enough.)

most importantly, he was going to tell y/n of his feelings for her.

once they settled in at the stilinksi residence, stiles finally got to show y/n around his bedroom. this, he was most excited for. his room was a proper display of his personality, decorated by his life’s blood and growth.

y/n was mostly enamored by all of the red string he had pinned up in the walls, at the many piles of casework he probably should not have access to laying around his desk and floor. even though it was hectic, the layout made complete sense, because it was stiles. she felt like she was seeing a piece of his soul that he kept tucked away.

and he was- stiles didn’t usually have people over. just scott, lydia once or twice. she was special.

he’d been forced to clean up before she came, in order to hide away all of the evidence of the supernatural- like the pictures of dead bodies now stuffed underneath his bed. it was still messy, and he kept apologizing, breathlessly shoving things away. but, she didn’t mind. she told him to stop. stiles liked that y/n never really minded any of the things he thought were obvious flaws about himself.

soon after, they settled into his bed to watch a movie. y/n begrudgingly agreed to watch the first halloween, much to stiles delight. he nearly kissed her with excitement once she finally gave in to his badgering. y/n noticed this.

though they were watching a slasher film, it was peaceful. they leaned back against headboard, shoulder to shoulder. though they usually ached to touch one another, both were comfortable with the warmth radiating between their parallel bodies.

thirty minutes into the movie, though, his phone started buzzing, rapidly, with text message after text message. stiles didn’t even read the screen. he knew it would be scott or lydia with some dead end lead that he just didn’t want to follow right now. the week had been long. he needed to be human for two hours. he needed to bask in her radiance.

stiles turned it on silent, mumbling out an apology.

y/n,shrugged him off. at first, she didn’t think of anything. but, then, her skepticism started when, ten minutes later, he started checking his screen, with his phone tilted away from any prying eyes- her prying eyes.

“everything okay?” y/n shifted on the bed, crossing her arms over herself.

stiles flinched at the sound of her movement, worried she would glance over and see words that would probably send her running. lydia was messaging him about another dead body. throat slit. scott was also sending texts about the alpha pack. not anything a teenage girl would be too into.

“yep,” he set his phone down, accidentally loudly, on the bedside table. stiles tried to get comfortable, again, though now his heart was pumping with anxiety.

stiles reached out his hand and set it on her thigh. he glanced over at her, grinning. touching her helped draw him back down to earth. y/n met his look, relaxed a little, and leaned her shoulder into his.

stiles turned to her completely, then, gently took her face into his hands. he kissed her.

she responded immediately, arching her body up into his. y/n wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers into his hair, touching the side of his neck. she felt his heartbeat there. it was so fast. she just assumed it was because of making out with her, but it also because of the threat lingering in the air of beacon hills. as they continued to move against each other, he calmed down more and more.

stiles hand slid his other hand up her leg and around her hip, just under her shirt. his mind wandered, for just a moment, as to where his lacrosse hoodie that he had let her borrow was. then, an image of her, cradled in it, sleeping softly in her bed, flashed through his mind. the romantic thought intensified the passion in his touch. y/n felt the electricity burn hotter.

this time was so different than the rest. there was a tenderness in stiles, in his lips, that y/n hadn't ever felt before. it was fueled by something other than just lust, more than a want- it was a need. a need for her, like she was a drug, and he was an addict. she both sobered him up and brought him to the best high of his life. stiles felt it- the ache in his chest when she was away, the whole of it stitching back up in moments like this.

the encounter was borderline love-making.

after it was over, stiles tugged y/n into his arms, holding her closely to his chest. she let him pull her wherever he needed her to be, curling into his body easily.

he ran his fingers through her hair, gently brushing out tangles. the caresses nearly put her to sleep. then, stiles’ spoke, his voice low and close to her ear since his cheek was pressed against her head, “i’ll get up in a second and get you towel.”

she hummed in response, “can you grab me some water, too, please?” her mouth was dry.

stiles nodded, “anything, baby.”

it was just two words, barely an entire sentence, but it meant so much to her. it shocked her nervous system. woke her up.

and it solidified everything for the both of them.

y/n cleaned up once stiles got her a towel. then, he went down to the kitchen to grab her a water bottle as well. while he was gone, she slipped into another one of his hoodies. she sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling. she hadn’t noticed before, but stiles phone had continued to buzz. it broke her peace.

y/n looked at it. the phone stared back, dauntingly.

she shouldn’t- it wasn’t her place.

she wasn’t that type of girl.

she couldn’t let what sam had done to her be the baseline for every single relationship for the rest of her life. she couldn’t let his stupid decisions ruin her trust for every other guy she’d meet.

especially not stiles. he meant too much to her for sam’s mistakes to demand behaviors from her that would surely ruin it.

but, then it buzzed again. the taunting anxiety and fear washed over her.

what if he was like sam?

she had to know.

y/n looked around, ensuring she really was still alone in his bedroom. she reached out a hand that was beginning to shake and turned the phone over. it was screen down- another giant, waving, teasing red flag.

she retracted her hand like she’d touched a flame.

the screen was black. she stared, blankly, waiting for something to happen. it buzzed again, stirring the silence, lighting up the home screen, and she flinched. the picture behind the notifications was of stiles and his dad. the grin on stiles’ face almost made her smile. but, then, a series of texts popped up.

lydia: where are you????

lydia: need you

lydia: please

ten other texts sat beneath these. she didn’t need to open them.

they were ten texts from lydia.

ten texts in a row from lydia.

y/n’s throat felt tight. she quickly flipped the phone back over, stood from the bed, and started getting dressed, in her own clothes, this time. she was determined to get out of there as quick as she could. she texted danny in the process.

her shirt had landed on stiles desk. she picked it up, tugged it on like a layer of protection against everything. she noticed it had knocked over the picture frame stiles had on his desk. y/n touched it, carefully situating it upright. as she did so, y/n saw lydia’s signature on the back of the drawing.

tears welled up in her eyes.

of course she’d been right again.

stiles came back as soon as she started to pull her shoes on. he paused at the door, clutching her water between his whitening fingers. he was nervous from the pace at which she moved. his eyes followed her around the room as she collected her bag. he attempted to decipher her behavior. what had happened?

“hey,” he called out. she didn’t look up. she didn’t reply. “here’s your water.”

“danny’s coming to get me,” y/n murmured. she shouldered her bag, finally. it overflowing because her things were stuffed messily inside.

“what?” stiles stepped towards her, dark eyes and brows furrowing.

y/n barely met his stare before looking away, “he’ll give you your hoodie back.” she was afraid that if she looked for too long, she’d give in.

“i want you to keep it-“

“monday, probably.”

then, y/n walked right past him, out the door of his bedroom. he turned as she went through, wanting to stop her. but, stiles’ phone started ringing on the bedside table. her steps faltered. she glanced back. stiles glanced at his phone with a distant look. he quickly grabbed it, eliciting a sickened chuckle from her lips.

stiles was completely and utterly confused. he didn’t know what he’d down wrong.

he denied the call, but scrolled through the messages as he chased her down the stairs, hoping answers lay there. stiles was having trouble processing all of the information being thrown at him. he was overwhelmed.

but, from what he understood, he needed to get to the school. lydia was in trouble. he couldn’t ignore the problem this time. they needed his help.

before that, though, he needed to stop y/n. he needed to tell her everything. he still didn’t understand what he’d done to majorly fuck things up right now, to chase her away- but maybe telling her how he felt would help.

“y/n, let me take you home. we can- we can talk about things-“

“don’t,” she had reached the front door, and was ready to run. but, she had turned back to interrupt him as he stumbled over his words. she didn’t want to hear his pathetic excuses.

“don’t what?” he was breathless. “what did i do? what are you talking about?”

y/n’s tears were spilling over her eyes. stiles frowned and reached out a hand. he needed to comfort her, needed to wipe away her tears. his fingers nearly touched her cheek. y/n snapped herself out of leaning into his wanting embrace. she slapped his hand away. stiles flinched back.

“i’m not fucking stupid. don’t play that game with me.”

stiles’ shoulders slouched. he clutched his phone, knuckles white. it continued buzzing. y/n looked down at it. she rolled her eyes and turned back towards the door. her hand clutched the doorknob.

“i’m not playing a game,” stiles stepped forward again, voice lowered from the fear that it would crack. “please, talk-“

y/n was about to turn back to face him, just to argue and fight him, but his phone started ringing. she did look up at him, just to give him an expectant glare, brows raised.

this would answer everything for her, if he took the call, if he chose lydia over her.

he stared back, juggling the device between his hands. stiles didn’t want to answer the phone call from lydia because that would end the fight. he would have to stand there and watch y/n walk out of the door. he needed to fix things with her before she left.

but, then, though the last call had ended, lydia started calling again.

stiles huffed, an apologetic look in his eyes as he answered, “hey, lydia- yeah, i’m on my way.”

he maintained sickening eye contact with her as he hung up the phone. a breath choked out of her throat. she turned on her heel, slammed the front door behind her back, just as danny pulled into the driveway.

stiles had seen this movie before, and he didn’t like the ending.

and, y/n had tried to change the ending this time around, but peter always lost wendy, and wendy had always had to leave neverland.

#derek x stiles #stiles stilinksi fanfiction #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles stilinski #stiles x lydia #stiles x reader #teen wolf #teen wolf stiles #teen wolf x reader

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katyawriteswhump · 3 months

Text

a deep and dreamless love (steddie love month, day 11)

For @steddielovemonth, day 11. 'Love is saving the last bite for them,' from (@acasualcrossfade) Thank you <3

Rating: M WC: 1,630 CW: blood drinking and mild horror. Tags: Vampire au, vampire Eddie, angst and whump with fluffy softness!

…

“You sure you can make it home all right?” Robin climbed out of Steve’s car and paused at the driver’s window. “It’s awfully dark already.”

“It’s cloudy, Robin! Cloudy daylight fries vampires as good as any July scorcher. Now get inside. Before you have to run and fall on your face.”

“Low blow, Dingus.” She curled her lip, muffled her overlong woolly scarf tight beneath her chin. “You know you can always crash h—"

“Robin! If you don’t quit yammering, we’ll BOTH end up as vamp juice-boxes.”

“If we’re gonna play that game, Shit-bird, don’t catch sight of your stupid hair in the rear-view mirror and start fiddling. Don’t wanna find your shrivelled body with my mail.”

“Hilarious. Get inside. Please?”

Steve waited to check she was safe indoors before driving off. He felt bad for being extra cranky, because she was right. He was running late. Their boss had made them stay for extra cleaning at the store, and thick clouds brooded low across an already darkening sky. However, crashing with Robin wasn’t an option.

She was safe now.

Eddie needed him more.

He drove fast, burning rubber round the corners. Nobody enforced speeding laws in Hawkins these days, not this close to sundown. He was halfway home, when the engine spluttered. Then clonked. He hit the break, thrashed at the gearbox. The BMW choked pathetically and conked out completely.

“No.” Steve flicked the ignition key. Nothing. “You gotta be kidding.”

He jumped out, opened the hood. Oil, water. Is the battery disconnected? He could hardly see in the dim light, plus he’d little faith in his basic car maintenance skills.

Especially with his damn stupid hands shaking.

He slammed down the lid, sprinted the hundred yards back to the nearest phone booth. He fumbled a coin into the slot and dialled.

It rang. Once, twice, three times, four times. Steve pushed sweaty hair from his eyes. “C’mon, Eddie, pick up! I really don’t wanna die, 'cos you’re moshing to Van Halen.”

The rings finally cut off: “Munson Mansion.”

“What took you?” Now Steve spoke, he realised he was practically hyperventilating. “I’m in serious shit. My car broke down.”

“Dammit, it’s dark already? Shiiiiit! Must’ve overslept. Okay, calm down.” Eddie sounded, if anything, even less calm than Steve. “Where are you?”

“C-corner of Mason and Sherman.”

“Hold tight, Sweetheart. I’m a comin’.”

Steve pulled the collar of his jacket up—redoubling the defences of the scarf he’d worn all day—and started swiftly back toward the car. The shadows of night slinked across the grey front lawns, swallowing up broken picket fences.

Then swallowing up Steve.

He considered running up a driveway, hammering on somebody’s door—a better option than hunkering down in the car, though only if someone let him in.

Too late.

A tall figure in a hoodie appeared as if from nowhere, and blocked Steve’s path. The vampire’s toothy grin flashed in the chilly twilight.

“It’s rude to sneak up on people." Steve squared his shoulders, battling to keep his voice low and steady. “You hear me, knucklehead?”

He reached into his jacket, gripping the wooden stake he always carried. Before he could line up any kind of aim, the vamp was on him, knocking the stake from his hand. He grabbed Steve by the front of his shirt, lifting him clean off the ground. Goddamn vampire super-strength! Steve kicked the bloodsucker on his leg. Hard. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even lose his grip.

“Payback time, Harrington.”

“What the—”

Steve attempted a punch, which fell short. He then registered the face behind the leering fangs. It was a football player, who’d graduated a couple of years before Steve.

“Chad Lloyd? Seriously? You’re not still pissed about—”

“You kissed my girlfriend, douchebag.”

“I was lifeguarding! I had no idea she was fake drowning till she shoved her tongue into my mouth. Gimme a break.”

Chad beamed, cheesier than ever. “Oh, I’m gonna break you, Harrington. Before or after I drink you dry.”

“Look, if you wanna keep a date, you really need to work on your one lin—”

He hurled Steve to the ground. Steve landed with a bruising, stunning thud. Then the vamp was upon him, rolling him over, ripping off his scarf and pulling down his collar. Steve kicked and struggled, though he’d almost no hope of escape.

“Hey, what’s this?” Chad tore away the neat dressing tucked under the side of Steve’s chin. “Guess I shouldn’t be surprised that slutty Steve Harrington is someone’s sloppy seconds.”

No. Not there! Nobody else drinks from there!

He rammed his knee up into the vamp’s happy-sacks. Then shoved the tender side of his wrist—and that throbbing latticework of veins—right in the sucker’s face.

Chad snarled, grabbed Steve’s arm, hoisted the whole of Steve upright with it. His freshly erupted fangs ripped deep into Steve’s wrist, and he chugged greedily.

Steve’s vision spotted. The usual woolly, sicky feeling swelled in his guts, fogged his brain. He slumped, helpless and terrified, against the vampire. Who just kept drinking.

Okay… I screwed up… Screwed up bad... I always tried so damn hard to save myself for you... Miss you already, Babe… Oh, Jesus!

He was unsure if he heard the distant roar of a motorcycle engine. Could’ve been the fading thunder of his own blood. Then the whoosh of a crossbow bolt gashed into his waning consciousness. Once more, the sidewalk flew up to meet him. He’d a vague notion that the vamp fell too, smacking down beside him.

Eddie’s worried face filled his vision. His heart squeezed sluggishly, aching with love, and the world disintegrated to nothingness.

…

“Steve? C’mon. Wake up. Please wake up.”

Steve’s eyes fluttered open. “Huh?”

“You’re back!” Eddie squeezed him tight. “You scared the crap outta me.”

This was nice. He’d never object to waking up in bed with his naked boyfriend, and half-naked himself. Apart from… Actually, not feeling so awesome.

Unsettling memories trickled back.

“How you doing?” asked Eddie. “That bastard drank waaaaay too—”

“M’fine.”

To be truthful, the whole right side of his body felt like it’d been slammed by a truck. He lifted his bandaged arm to drape around Eddie’s shoulders and struggled to disguise the effort.

“Nothing the usual routine won’t fix.” He smirked. “You know, water, spinach, lentils. Gourmet steak dinner with red wine.”

Eddie planted a sizzling kiss on Steve’s cool, sticky brow. “Only wish we could afford that for you, Sweetheart.”

“I’ll take sex for dessert. Plus we don’t have to pay for your food.”

Steve’s fingers had barely touched the fresh bandaging on his throat, before Eddie snatched them, kissed them, tucked them away again. “You’ve lost too much already.”

“But—”

“I can go a night without feeding, Baby.”

“If you skip dinner, you’ll be grouchy and pathetic in the morning.”

What Steve really wanted was to wrestle Eddie into submission. He’d tease and goad him into unleashing that vampire super-strength, grappling till Steve was the one pinned to the mattress and then...

Annoyingly, Steve was too feeble to even try and sit, so he sneered. “What happens if I’m dumb enough to get jumped again tomorrow? Or Robin, or Dustin, or any of the kids? As much as I hate to admit it, they need a tame vamp looking out for them, way more than they need me these days”

“Answers still ‘no way in Hell.’ Which I’m heading to for sure, but at least the music will be—”

“Don’t change the subject. Look, I nearly got my arm torn off offering that moron my wrist. All to save the best bite for you.”

Eddie stroked Steve’s hair. “Emotional blackmail ain’t gonna work tonight.”

Good job I’ve learned to play dirty.

This time, Steve ripped the dressing from his neck before Eddie could stop him, revealing the twin fang marks Eddie left last night.

And every night.

“What? Why!?! Don’t want…” Eddie flinched away. “I don’t like this, Stevie.”

Steve snaked his good arm up, threaded his fingers through Eddie’s lush tresses. He tugged Eddie down toward his throat.

As if on cue, a drop of hot blood trickled from the barely healed punctures. A groan shook through Eddie. He clamped onto Steve’s lifeblood, incisors piercing deep.

Steve bit his lip against a keening, desolate cry. Love didn’t only suck—it stung like a bitch, and the tide of Eddie’s hair smothered him. Still, the slip of Eddie’s tongue against his blood-slickened skin always flipped him out, in a not-entirely-bad way. From the corner of his eye, he strained to catch glimpses of Eddie drinking.

Gnnng! Too damn hot.

Soon, little stuttering gasps escaped him, as he teetered on a knife-edge. Damn, if Steve wasn’t already so shattered, so woozy, he’d be so up for sex after this…

…until he wasn’t. It hurt too much.

Eddie ripped himself free, jumped from the bed, and was gone.

Steve lay there, trembling violently, his blurry vision further misted with tears. Completely at Eddie’s mercy.

I’m safe. I'm safe.

Soon after he grew too weak to keep his eyes open, he sensed the skitter of featherlight fingertips. Eddie had returned to bandage him up again. Then Eddie gathered him into his arms and roused him with a tender kiss.

“Wasn’t so hard, was it?” mumbled Steve, lips moistened with his own blood.

“Holy shit, Stevie.” Eddie stuck out his tongue, kinda silly. His eyes shone with fear. “I’m a vampire. A goddamn evil, blood-sucking predator. One day, I might not be able to stop.”

“That’s bull.” No evil could overcome a nature as sweet and soft as yours. “I trust you.” I trust our love. Steve nuzzled into his favourite tattooed parts of Eddie’s chest.

I’ll save the last bite for you. Always.

He slipped away, warm and cherished in Eddie’s arms, and into a deep and dreamless sleep.

...

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3.)

#steddielovemonth #steddie fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington whump #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie fanfic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fanfic #steve harrington #eddie munson #eddie x steve #steddie ficlet #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things

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kitixie · 9 months

Text

Little Girl Gone (pt 5)

synopsis: You and Tommy cook dinner, and things get a little 'out of hand'.

warnings: some sexual content (18+)

tag list: @budugu, @ajmiila02, @filmtv2022, @cyphah, @ce1iat, @thenattitude, @globetrotter28, @tn22220-blog, @fudgethisyo, please let me know if you want to be tagged!

info: my apologies for not updating yesterday, my schedule is starting to pick back up, so updates may come every other day rather than every day, but we shall see. enjoy!

You watched Tommy as he stood over the stove, dropping the potatoes into boiling water. You were still chopping, but every once in a while you’d look over at him and just watch. You would admire the way his wide shoulders shifted as he turned, watch how his hands delicately moved, yet always had a purpose.

He had come to your house ready to cook, bringing along some potatoes and two steaks with him. How he knew that this was your favorite meal was beyond you, as you couldn’t recall ever mentioning it. Nonetheless, he came prepared. You had been helping cut up the potatoes while he worked on the steak, and then he took over cooking the potatoes as well. The two of you naturally shared the kitchen, it never felt too crowded, or like it was foreign; it seemed like it should always be like this.

“What’re you thinking, Love?” Tommy asked, looking toward you with a soft smile.

“I’m thinking about a lot of things, Tom. But I'm mostly thinking of how you knew this was my favorite meal?” You said, finally scratching the itch of curiosity.

“You mentioned it once before you went away, how you always loved steak and potatoes. I’ve just remembered,” he said, leaning his waist against the counter.

You gave a ‘hmph’, and nodded at him before turning around to continue your chopping. Once he could no longer see your face, a smile stretched across it. He remembered a passing comment from years ago, about your favorite meal. Out of all the things that go into his brain, from stresses, to jobs, to familial drama, he made space in his memories for you and your favorite meal.

“Ya know, Love,” Tommy said, coming behind you to rest his chin on your shoulder, “I’m the one who cooked this same meal that night you ate with Ada, Pol, and I.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder before returning to the stove to check the steak. If you could’ve blushed any harder, you would’ve.

*after dinner*

“Tommy, why do you remember my favorite meal?” You asked, this time it being you who turned your attention to him.

“Because, when you like someone, you hoard every bit of knowledge you can about them,” he replied nonchalantly, sitting your dishes into your sink.

“So you like me, aye?” You laughed, watching his fluid motions.

“I do, I have. For years, Y/N,” he said, turning to face you, “I’ve had my eye on ya since we were teenagers, but I was always older than you, or the both of us were always seeing somebody, or I was always scared.” He spoke, staring at the floor.

You took in what he was saying, but you could barely comprehend it. Tommy Shelby had fancied you for years? The words he said were what you had always dreamed of hearing from him, but you never imagined they’d actually come from his mouth. You watched his face, just staring, waiting. You didn’t know where to go from here, you had no idea what to say. You thought for a moment, trying to find words. After a moment, you spoke up.

“Tommy, if you wanted me, all you would’ve had to do is say the word. I’ve had my eye on you since I was sixteen, aye.” You said, pushing yourself off of the counter.

He straightened his posture when you did, both of you watching each other. You stood for a moment, and just felt. Felt your bare feet against your hardwood floor, felt your linen trousers brushing against your legs. Then, you decided you wanted to feel his lips against yours. Without giving yourself time to back out of it, you paced across the kitchen, and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Y/N…” Tommy trailed off, bringing his hands around your waist slowly.

“Tommy.” You looked into his eyes, and took in a deep breath.

You leaned forwards, mashing your lips to his slowly at first. His lips were warm and soft, and you could feel his small stubbled as your hands ran across his cheeks. He tilted his head, angling downwards, and began roaming his hands all over your back. He slipped his hands under your shirt, letting them rub over your lower back, all while still moving your lips together in a perfect harmony.

He broke the kiss and came to rest his forehead against yours. He stared into your eyes, still massaging his hands around your back. He took several deep breaths, before bringing his lips back to yours. This kiss was more passionate, faster than the first. He pressed into you hard, his large hands shifting your body even closer to his. He began to back you towards the counter, making sure that his hands found it before your back so that he didn’t pin you between himself and the wooden surface. He moved his hands down the back of your ass, lifting you to sit on the counter. He worked his way between your legs, as you wrapped them around his waist. You tangled your fingers in his hair, slightly tugging at it to adjust his head for a better angle. You felt his hands travel around to your front, running along your stomach, then upwards. He grabbed at your breasts, kneading them and running his hands over the sensitive buds.

“If you want me to stop, Y/N, just say something. Alright, Love,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours.

‘Don’t stop, Thomas. Don’t stop, ever.” You laughed, bringing his lips back to yours.

You sat on the counter, with Tommy’s lips moving harshly against yours, as his hands traveled all over your body. Your face, your breasts, your legs, he had his hands everywhere. He slowly inched his hands towards your inner thigh, letting his long fingers graze over your center through your pants.

“Do you want me to take them off, Tommy?” You asked, almost breathless.

“No, not yet.” He said, bringing your lips back together.

He kept his mouth on yours, moving together. Your kissing and touching lasted for several more minutes before he pulled away. He held your face in his hands, and a large smile crawled across your face. He smiled back at you, and you began to giggle. He made you feel like a schoolgirl who just got her first kiss on the playground, made you feel like a fish who had just been returned to water.

"Y/N, I've got to go. I promise I'll be back, but I've got some business to tend to, Love." Tommy spoke, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

"Okay, Tommy. Be careful, I lo-," you paused, "Just be careful." You sheepishly nodded at him, as he headed out of your front door.

#thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby x y/n #tommy shelby fic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby fic #tommy shelby

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autisticlancemcclain · 8 months

Text

The phone rings, and rings, and rings, and Keith swishes the wine in his glass and lets it. He doesn’t count the minutes but he feels the stretch. He waits and listens until the rings seem to thin out, until they sound muddled and far away, until they finally pause, until there is a click in place if the incessant bells, until there is a break in the pattern that narrows Keith’s attention back to the sound.

“…Hello?” A pause, a beat, a moment. “Hi? Hello?”

Keith doesn’t answer. He knows this sound, this sequence of sentences, more intimately than anything else in the world. He hears this in his sleep.

He takes another sip of his wine, swallowing slowly, and for the first time he feels it go all the way down, imagines the way it splashes into his stomach to join the rest of the bottle, swishing and gurgling like a water skin.

“Can you hear me? Hello?” There’s a peculiar quality to voicemail Lance’s voice; a strain, almost, the feeling of holding back. Keith counts the seconds, one finger at a time.

Exactly four and a half seconds later, right in cue, is breathless laughter; muffled, as if Lance has attempted to hold the phone away from him. It doesn’t work very well, and the sound of his wheezy giggling takes up all the air in Keith’s lungs.

“Gotcha!” voicemail Lance crows, gleeful and corny and clear. “This is my voicemail. I’m terrible at checking it, honestly, so just call later, okay?”

Keith had not dialled Lance’s number with a plan. There was no goal in mind. There was nothing in his mind, actually; his fingers had worked without his explicit permission and by the time he caught up with them he was too far gone to stop.

But now he downs the last of his wine in one go, hoping to wash down the massive lump in his throat, and tosses the phone carelessly somewhere beside him. He hears it bounce and breathes for a moment before speaking.

“You know what your goddamn problem is, McClain?” he says, and his voice is slurred slightly and drawling like it does when he’s drunk but he’s not drunk so he doesn’t care. He doesn’t wait for an answer before continuing, because there won’t be one. “You are too fucking endearing.”

Now he waits, although there’s no point in it. That or he runs out of steam.

His next words are softer, dulled.

“You are so convinced you’re annoying,” he sighs. Nothing he says is at all legible. “You delight in it, actually. Nothing makes you grin harder than when you’re sure you’re pissing somebody off.”

Without thinking Keith smiles, too, at the thought of it. He realises then that it’s hard, that his chin trembles too much to curve his lips right. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and he gags at the salty bitterness of it.

“But you’re just…you’re so goddamn bad at it.” It’s mean and he knows it is and he lets the sentiment draw out and linger. “You do stupid shit like pretend your voicemail isn’t a voicemail and no one is ever mad. Never. They can groan and roll their eyes all the goddamn want and it don’t mean a damn thing, McClain, you fucker, because you wrap your fingers ‘round peoples’ hearts and grip and squeeze and stay put like the fuckin’ parasite you are. No one hates your voicemail. Nobody.”

His voice cracks on the final syllable and he refuses to let himself cry but something escapes his throat anyway, a garbled mess if a sound, the sound a bullfrog makes as a heron shoves it down his throat. A bitter resignation kind of sound, a giving up kind of sound. Vaguely Keith registers the sound of a thump and a cracking pain in his skull. When he opens his eyes again he’s staring at the ceiling.

“Look at me,” he says, and his voice is hoarse and torn and rough as desert sand. “Look at what I fuckin’ do to myself. Can’t even blame you right, McClain, ‘cause it would be a goddamn lie.”

He registers at this point that there’s no way the voicemail is still recording. Good. He doesn’t care.

“You’re the only phone number I got memorized,” he confesses. “Sometimes I call when I know you won’t answer from a phone that ain’t mine. I got a burner phone, you know. ‘Sposed to be for when I run away but I only use it to call you and hear you pretend to answer.”

The massive lump is back in his throat and the wine makes his eyelids heavy. He doesn’t fight either.

“You have endeared me heart and soul, Lance, and I will never forgive you for it.”

His voice tapers off ‘til there’s no sound left to it.

“‘M sorry.”

The last thing he registers is a click, and the grating sound of a phone being left off the hook.

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jksprincess10 · 10 months

Text

Cardigan || Joel Miller x reader

Summary: You’re lost in the memories of your intense relationship with your dad’s boss when you find a significant object.

CW: Age gap relationship (Joel is 50, reader is in her 20s), alcohol, weed, daddy issues, angst, breakup, flirting, teasing, daddy kink, dirty talk, bj, swallowing, unprotected pv, masturbation

Here it is ! My frist fic for the Folklore anthology!

And when I felt like I was an old cardigan Under someone's bed You put me on and said I was your favorite

Your childhood bedroom was almost all packed-up, boxes piled up in different corners. You were thrilled to have your own place and have your own big girl job, without the constant weight of your dad’s indifference.

You only had to check under the bed to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything. Your hands found the hard shape of a box. You pulled it out and opened it. Inside, a somewhat ordinary flannel shirt was neatly folded. You took it between your fingers, traced a few lines on the dark green fabric, and you held it against your face to smell the memories of a man. Cologne, maybe a slight scent of weed you had smoked that night.

His name echoed in your mind, and you felt the tears prickling your eyes.

But I knew you Dancin' in your Levi's Drunk under a streetlight, I I knew you Hand under my sweatshirt Baby, kiss it better, I

The bar was swarming with drunk guys from the company your dad worked for. His boss, Mr. Miller, was equally drunk. His shirt was loosened up somewhere along the way, his tie hanging pathetically around his neck. You were busy looking at him, while your father was showing you off like a trophy, raving about your accomplishments in college. When in reality, he didn’t care at all.

“She’s such a smart cookie, isn’t she.”

Your dad’s voice got drowned in the ambient music. You were just hoping Mr. Miller would notice you. Would call you smart. And good. And pretty. But he was busy, everyone around was asking for his attention.

“I’m gonna get some air for a bit, dad.” You excused yourself awkwardly as the men he was talking to were looking at you like fresh meat.

You passed through the bar’s sweaty bodies until you were gratified with the cool air from the starless night. You sat down in the alleyway separating the bar from another one, and you rummaged through your purse to find some relief. You took the rolled joint between your fingers and lit it up, your lips pulling on the herb until you exhaled shakily.

After a few generous puffs, you panicked when you heard somebody coming your way. When the person got closer, you recognized Mr. Miller’s broad silhouette under the streetlights.

His irises behind his thick-framed glasses weren’t deceiving him; his employee’s angelic daughter was hiding to smoke weed. He got closer, and the scent of his masculine cologne filled your nose.

“Oh shit, what do we have here…” He chuckled.

“Don’t tell dad.” You mumbled and offered him the joint. He took it between his thick fingers and smoked for a bit, before giving it back to you. “Just had to get out… Can’t stand the way he shows me around.”

You didn’t know why you were telling him all of this, but he had this fatherly aura to him, and you craved an older man’s reassurance.

“So, you ain’t havin’ fun, sweetheart?”

You didn’t know if it was the drugs or your nickname, but your mind felt blurrier when he called you like that.

“Now, I am.” You smirked.

You didn’t know if you were imagining things, but you saw a devilish sparkle in his dark eyes.

“Why’s that?”

“I don’t know, I finally have my dad’s boss attention.” You shrugged and stepped on your finish joint bud, ashes disappearing in the grey concrete. “You’re hot, Mr. Miller.”

His cheeks were red – a mix between alcohol consumption and shyness.

“Are you drunk, findin’ an old man like me hot?”

“Barely.” You said.

But, he was drunk when his figure hovered over yours and his fingers grabbed on to your chin to lift it up.

“You’re playin’ dangerous games, sweetheart.”

“I know.” You pulled on his blue button-up shirt to bring him closer, and crashed your lips against his. They were surprisingly soft, and his breath was minty with a hint of beer. His tongue invaded your mouth, as his calloused hard-working hands were sliding under your shirt to feel your shivering skin.

The party ended with you running away to Mr. Miller’s house with an excuse that “a friend was picking you up and getting you home” – although, “house” wasn’t giving it justice. It was more like a modern mansion.

“You live here alone?” You asked as you took in the sight of the entryway.

“Yes, my daughter Sarah moved away for college. ”

So, his daughter was around your age.

“You want something to drink, sweetheart?”

“Just water, please.”

You sat down in the spacious living room while waiting for him.

“Thank you, Mr Miller.” You said as he gave you the glass.

“Just call me Joel.” He said as he drank from his own glass.

“Okay, Joel.” You tasted the name on your tongue, and he imagined how he could make you whimper his name for the rest of the night.

“Why don’t we pickup where we left off?” He asked after clearing his throat.

You laughed, and cradled his spread thighs, feeling the impressive tent in his pants under you. With your lips pressed against his, you thrusted your hips against his to get some friction.

“Don’t tease me, M’too old for this, sweetheart.” He whispered against the skin of your neck, his hands taking place under your shirt once again.

“How old?” You asked as you melted into his touch.

“50.”

“Fuck.” You couldn’t hide your reaction. His hands went up slowly, feeling your breasts through your bra.

“You like that, sweetheart? You wanna get fucked by a man old enough to be your dad?”

“Yes.” You whimpered breathlessly.

He squeezed your breasts roughly, before peeling off your shirt. Your fingers hastily undid the rest of his halfway undone shirt. You slowly slid down his body until your knees met the fluffy decorative carpet in the living room. You undid his suit pants, and pulled them down a bit. You could already see a wet spot on the fabric of his boxers. You leaned down a pressed a kiss there, that was met with a deep grunt.

“Can I suck it, daddy?”

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart, you’re somethin’ else. Go ahead.”

His big hand laid on your head as you pulled down his boxers, letting his dick spring out freely. It was beautifully thick, and the head of it was already leaking. You kitten licked the head, drinking in every drop of precum you could find. He cursed under his breath, as you took in what you could fit in your mouth. You held the base between the circle of your fingers, pumping it slowly between your lips.

“Fuck. You’re so good.”

The praise made you moan around him, vibrations of your voice giving him more sensation. Encouraged by his hand on your head, you slid your mouth up and down at a faster rhythm.

“You want me to cum in your mouth, sweetheart?” He asked as he looked down at you through his glasses. As an answer, you kept going until your jaw was sore.

Finally, you felt him twitch between your lips and shots of cum filled your throat. You let him go, and sat back on his thighs. “So good, baby.” He said as he kissed you softly.

His hand sneaked under your skirt, feeling your wetness through your underwear.

“I’ll have to do somethin’ about this.”

“Please, daddy.” You begged.

To kiss in cars and downtown bars Was all we needed You drew stars around my scars But now I'm bleedin'

After that night, even with the two of you sobered up, you found ways to see each other. You’d sneak around, go to fancy bars or restaurants your dad couldn’t afford. You’d kiss in his fancy truck. He was always a nice, gentle lover. But you could tell that your differences sometimes weighted on him.

He was tired that night, resting on the make-shift bed he installed in the box of his truck while you two looked at the stars. But you were restless, energy flowing through your young veins.

“Joel, I know you’re tired…” The name always felt wrong on your tongue, too intimate.

Joel took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Hmmm? What’s goin’ on, sweetheart?”

“I want you. You don’t have to do anything.” To punctuate your words, you kissed his scruffy jaw, the tense skin of his throat. “Let me take care of it – I just… Just need to get off on your dick, please.”

“You’re too generous with me.” He smiled, almost sleepily. “Use me baby. Always yours to use.” He said as he put his glasses back on, the thick black frames framing his beautiful eyes.

“Thank you.” You said breathlessly.

Around him, you always wore dresses or skirts for easier access; the nature of your relationship was pretty clear. While he relaxed beside you, you got yourself ready for him, your fingers crossing the barrier of your panties. Joel was looking at you, his hand stroking himself lazily through his pants. After wetness gushed around your fingers, you felt like you were ready. Joel barely undid his pants, just enough to pop his cock out.

With your panties slipped to the side, you sat on him, your back facing him. His strong hands took place on your hips, holding you while you lined his cock with your hole. When you felt comfortable, you bounced on him slowly. Behind you, you could hear his soft grunts. You used him like this until you met your own high, and kept going with more fervor until he spilled his seed between your walls.

I knew you Leavin' like a father Running like water, I And when you are young, they assume you know nothing

“We can’t keep going like this, sweetheart.”

He wasn’t his usual self; crinkles of worries distorted his face.

“…Why?” You stopped in your tracks and sat on his couch so you wouldn’t fall.

“You deserve someone who can fully commit. You deserve someone young, with whom you can experience life.” You felt the weight of him beside you, and on instinct, his arm wrapped around your shoulders. You knew the exact moment your heart broke. “You have so much to learn.”

You pushed him away. “Stop treating me like a child, Joel.”

“Either way, sweetheart. This can’t work. It’s better to stop before you get too attached. M’sorry.”

You got up. “You should’ve indulged in my fantasies in the first place when you knew it couldn’t work.”

“You’re right. T’was wrong.”

You stopped listening after this. The walk to your car felt like a fever dream, and finally, when you were in front of your wheel, you let the tears fall. You thought he would stay. You thought he would care. More than your dad.

But he left.

But I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss I knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs The smell of smoke would hang around this long 'Cause I knew everything when I was young I knew I'd curse you for the longest time

You were sitting in your backyard, staring up at the sky. Smoke filled your lungs. You breathed out like a dragon. You coughed until you felt a burning sensation, and then, pleasant emptiness. The smoke was the last reminder of the ghost of your relationship with Joel.

taglist: @wannab-urs @atinylittlepain @bearsbeetsbeskar @serenaxpedro @casa-boiardi @rav3n-pascal22 @dinsdjrn @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @johnwatsn @amanitacowboy @leeeesahhh @isitmelookin4u @javiscigarette @mrsyixingunicorn10 @sugarspiceanthrax @orphanbird95 @space-cowboy-like-me @tuquoquebrute @rsquared31 @morning-star-joy @canseethebrushstrokes @atremises @sstarboy777 @undrthelights @butiknewyoudlinger @dayrdreaming @disassociation-daydreams @joelsversion @ginger-swag-rapunzel @mydailyhyperfixations @diamndx @mingiast @kdogreads @blxsphemy7 @marchai @littlevenicebitch69 @ghostofbrock @iwrotethissky @ladynightingale @jksprincess10 @swiftispunk @pr0ximamidnight @beskarandblasters

#Joel miller #joel miller smut #folklore anthology #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x yn #joel miller x afab reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #dbf!joel #dad's boss!joel #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x female reader

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smuttyfantasyfics · 2 months

Text

Deal, My Little Whore?

Pairing / Dark! Dad’s Best Friend x Reader

Warnings / Non-Con, Drug Use, Reader calls Javi Tio (uncle) (Let me know if I missed any!!)

You don’t know how it happened. Your dad had warned you about these men, told you about the work he had done to keep the streets safe. His partner had warned you about them too, Javier Peña had taught you how to defend yourself if you ever had to.

Your dad and Javier had been working together for as long as you could remember, best friends and the best team, he was your tio, though he wasn’t related to you he’d been in your life for so long.

So how did you have these two men in your life, both of whom made you aware of the dangers of their world and somehow you still ended up here.

You sniffed hard, barely even flinching anymore at the feeling of coke up your nose. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t come here again, everyone knew Escobar ran this place, you knew your dad and Javier had been trying to find it for months.

And yet here you were again.

The place was packed and you were wasted, the coke entering your system wasn’t even necessary at this point but you couldn’t say no. You were aware of the hands on your hips, aware of the cock against your ass and yet you were too high and too drunk to push him away.

You didn’t care enough to push him away either, the more coke you did the more you wanted a quick fuck. Three months ago you wouldn’t have dared to fuck somebody you didn’t know, no feelings involved, no dates to lead up to it.

That was before you met Vanessa and you were introduced to this life. By the time you had known she was one of Escobar’s girls you were too far in, night after night she took you out, held the coke under your nose and the booze to your mouth.

You moaned as you felt the hand on your hip slip under your skirt, fingers moving your panties and rubbing across your wet pussy. You reached back, freeing the man’s cock from his pants, not caring that you were stood in the middle of the club, not caring that people could see you. You guided the man’s cock to your pussy and moaned loudly as he slammed his cock into you.

To your left you saw movement and turned to see Vanessa grinning at you as she lifted a key to your nose, a line of coke ready for you. As the man continued slamming to you, you leaned forward and took the coke from her, snorting it into your system and feeling a rush straight away.

You barely remembered getting home that night, coked out of your mind with cum between your legs. You were shocked that you’d been able to hide this from your dad and Javier but then again they had been busy in the office lately. Escobar was keeping them too busy to pay you much attention.

And that’s how it went for months, every night you’d find yourself in the club, unable to say how much coke you’d taken, barely able to walk, wetter than ever taking whatever cock was closest.

You were bound to slip up at some point.

“Out all night?” Javier asked as you walked into the kitchen, catching you off guard.

“Tio,” you gasped, thighs tightening as you felt warm cum pooling against your panties and hating being in such a state around him. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Got sent home, thought I’d check on you.” Javier told you, frowning as he ran his eye up and down your body. “Good thing I did.”

“I’m fine, tio.” You insisted, forcing your feet to move as you tried to walk to your room.

Javier was having none of it though, standing in front of you he grabbed your chin in between his fingers and forced you to look at him.

“The fuck is this shit, Y/N?” He demanded, his other hand coming up to rub at your nose, your heart in your throat as you saw little specks of coke on his finger. “You’re fucking high?”

“M’sorry Javi.” You pleaded with him, hating that disappointed look on his face.

“You’re sorry?!” He spat and you barely suppressed a cry as he grabbed your arm and dug his fingers into you. “Have you learnt nothing, you stupid, stupid little girl!”

“Javi.” You whimpered, the booze and coke a deadly combination in this situation as you tried to think of how to get out of it.

“You watched me and your dad kill ourselves to stop Escobar and you’re what? You his little whore now?!” Javier shouted, forcing you against the wall and you cried as you slammed into it.

“Not his whore, tio.” You whined, head falling against the wall as you looked at Javier through half lidded eyes.

“Yeah?” Javier asked and you went to nod before he cut you off, his hand roughly cupping your pussy causing your eyes to fly open. “What’s this then? You sure look like some little whore with a pussy full of cum.”

“Tio,” you gasped, frozen at his rough hold. “M’sorry, Javi, please I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” He spat, grabbing your arm again and throwing you against the counter, your chest digging into it. “Bebita, you will be sorry.”

Before you could catch your next breath, you were crying out. Javier’s hand slapped painfully hard against your ass causing you to let out a loud cry, tears filling your eyes instantly.

“Tio,” you began but your pleas were cut off by a stinging slap that echoed around the room.

“This is what you want, huh? To be filled with coke and cum and treated like a whore?” Javier spat, his hand coming down again and again on your ass as tears made their way down your cheeks. “Look at you, such a pathetic little bitch.”

His words had you crying harder, a mess of apologies leaving your lips but it was no use.

“Look at this shit,” Javier snarled as he finally gave your ass a break to shove your panties down, his fingers dragging harshly across your pussy as he collected a handful of cum. “My little girl, so smart, so fucking clever, and she throws that away for some pathetic cock.”

Javier turned you around, pressing himself against you to hold you in place. You went to open your mouth, went to beg and plead with him but before any words could come out Javier had shoved his fingers inside your mouth, the taste of your cum mixed with a strangers forced into your mouth, choking you as Javier forced his fingers as far in as they’d go.

“That’s what you want isn’t it, you little whore.” Javier mocked, forcing you to taste the cum before he pulled his fingers out.

“Tio, please, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.” You promised but Javier was beyond listening.

You gasped as his fingers wrapped tightly around your throat, your airways suddenly cut off and you couldn’t do more than let out a few choked panicked noises.

Javier didn’t care though, his little girl has disappointed him. Gone was that promising smart kid and instead he was left with a coke hungry little whore.

Javier didn’t let up on your neck as his other hand freed his hard cock from his tight jeans, thankful he regularly chose to forgo underwear. He wasted no time in shoving the length of his cock into your pussy, groaning at the tight warmth that encompassed him.

Your eyes were wide, shaking your head as little as you could as tears fell down.

“No?” Javier asked with a laugh in his tone. “No baby girl, you don’t get to say no, you’re just a little whore now, aren’t you?”

Javier slammed into you with no mercy, finally letting you breathe and listened to the sounds of your cries and begs as he fucked you.

“Tio, please, m’sorry!” You repeated over and over again despite the fact your pussy was soaking wet.

Javier ignored you, fucking his whole length into you and letting your cries carry him over the edge until he was filling you up with his cum causing you to let out a choked sob.

“You ever think of letting anyone else cum in my pussy again and I’ll hand you over to the DEA myself, you hear me?” Javier threatened and you stared at him wide eyed in disbelief. “Can’t do it, you coke hungry little whore?”

You hated to admit it but he was right, you’d been on coke for months now, taking it every day. You needed it.

“You want coke, baby?” Javier asked, his voice softer than it had any reason to be considering his cock was still inside you.

“You can have all the coke you want but this pussy,” he told you, emphasising his words by thrusting deep inside you causing you to cry. “But this pussy is mine, we got a deal, my little whore?”

More tears fell from your eyes, wondering how you’d ended up here. It would have been unthinkable months ago, you never would have imagined Javier, the man who had been in your life for as long as you could remember, the man who you called tio, to put you in this position, to not help you but instead use your problem to do this to you.

When had he changed so much?

When had you changed so much?

“Deal, Javi.”

#javier pena #narcos #javier peña #dark javier pena #dark narcos #dark javier peña #dark fic #javier pena x reader #narcos x reader #javier peña x reader #dark narcos x reader

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marlynnofmany · 1 year

Text

Bargains at the Space Market

This was, by far, the sleaziest place we’d stopped for supplies. At least while I’d been part of the crew. For all I knew, the upstanding little courier starship had visited some real dives under previous leadership, but Captain Sunlight was both respectable and smart.

I wondered whose idea it was to stop at this freewheeling anarchy market, set up on an asteroid that somebody had installed a gravity generator on. There was an atmosphere too, and a wide variety of stalls on this mile-long hunk of rock, but not much in the way of oversight.

I saw two different fistfights in progress among the other ships while we exited onto the landing pad.

“Okay,” announced Captain Sunlight, standing as tall as she could — which wasn’t much, lizardy little thing that she was, but she looked dignified — “Mimi, Blip, and Blop, come with me. Trrili, take one or two others with you. Anyone else object to staying to guard the ship?”

There was a hearty chorus of no’s. Zhee turned a faceted eye on the pair of bystanders walking a little too close, clicking his pincher arms at them until they scooted away. In the distance, something that looked like fireworks colored the sky.

A polite claw tapped my elbow.

“Want to come with?” asked Coals, the Heatseeker with dull red scales. He was both shorter and stockier than the captain, and more importantly, he was good friends with Trrili. “It’s a pretty interesting place; I’ve been here once before.”

“How safe is it?” I asked, wanting to be convinced. There were some bizarre things for sale in the stalls visible from here.

“Should be fine as long as we’re careful,” he said. “Especially with her around.” He lifted his chin towards the insectile horror that loomed over him.

Trrili loved looming. “Yessss,” she said. “Essspessssially with me.” She flexed her own pinchers, glossy black to Zhee’s purple, and chuckled darkly. The red patterns on her carapace were especially vivid in the light of the nearby sun.

I smiled. Trrili was terrifying, but she was our terrifying. “Sure. I’d love to come.”

Coals aimed a claw in the opposite direction of the one that Captain Sunlight was looking towards. “Pretty sure I saw some Earth animals for sale as we landed.”

“Oh, well why didn’t you say so?” I asked. “Lead the way!”

We checked in with the captain, promised to be careful, and were off. I had some interplanetary credits in my pocket that I didn’t really plan on spending, but it was good to be prepared.

I also had a mini stun gun in a different pocket.

This place was just as chaotic as I’d expected, like an alien farmer’s market with a distinct lowlife element. Here was a humanoid selling pottery that glowed; there was a tentacle alien selling food that moved; over there was a would-be pickpocket getting the tar beaten out of them by a large hairy whatsit. A hand appeared around the corner of another stall to grab a power cell and disappear.

I kept my own hands close to my pockets, wishing I’d worn something with zipper pouches.

“Ah,” said Trrili. “There is the media.” She didn’t bother hissing in normal conversation, but as she led us over to a booth lined with shelves and run by small individuals, I fully expected the intimidation to come out soon.

Just before we reached it, Coals rapped a knuckle on her foreleg. “Hey. We’ll be at the end of the row. See?” He pointed.

“Yessss,” Trrili agreed.

With a nod, Coals left her to her bargaining, and waved me onward. I was a little concerned about this, but the end of the row wasn’t far. We could yell for her to come charging over if need be.

“See those guys in the solar ponchos?” Coals asked. He didn’t need to point.

I squinted. “Hard not to.” The clothes that the two plant-like people wore weren’t as bright as the actual sun, but they sure were unpleasant to look at. The other shopkeepers were giving them some distance, leaving space between their little cart and the proper stalls. Aside from the eye-searing fashion, they had ropy green limbs and faces like rose blossoms that wanted to be mandibles. Fleshy maroon, sharptoothed mouth in the middle, at least half a dozen eyes scattered throughout. More than a little creepy.

“I was watching with the mag lens earlier,” Coals said. “With the classification setting. They’ve got the Earth animals.” He was watching my face as he said it.

The series of expressions that I went through were probably interesting to see as I got a proper look at what was on that cart.

Earth animals, yay! Which ones? Those look like fishbowls. But there’s no water inside, just … fur? Are those cats shoved in fishbowls??

I felt my face grow stony. “Coals,” I said. “Who do we report animal cruelty to around here?” One of the plant guys was waving a bowl around, shouting about potted predators. A passerby turned him down, and he yelled an insult after them.

“Uh, nobody.”

I watched the guy hold up a different one and say something about food paste squeezed in through the lid. When he flipped the cap to demonstrate, piteous mewling filtered out. “What about theft?” I asked.

“Also no.”

“Good,” I said, voice flat. “Go get Trrili, then help me steal these.”

* * *

It took less convincing than I thought. Trrili already had her selection of media in a bag slung behind her, and she chuckled evilly. Coals cracked his knuckles and talked strategy. Then we went for it.

“Hello,” I said, approaching the sellers alone. “How many of these do you have?”

“Everything on this cart,” said the taller one with the bigger blossom head. “Limited supply, very valuable; get them before they’re gone.” He picked up a fishbowl full of gray fur, turning it like a fine art appreciator. A tiny face with big eyes peered out, meowing silently. Stars, these were kittens.

“You don’t have a source for more?” I asked, trying to sound unimpressed.

“These are very exotic, from a far away planet,” he said.

The shorter one bent to pull a big bowl from the bottom shelf of the cart. “Perhaps we can interest you in a larger model? It’s one of a kind.”

That’s the mother cat. Good. I straightened up. “I’ll take all of them,” I said. “Every one you have.”

The sleazy pair chortled and fawned and named a price that could have bought a single-seater spaceship.

I pulled out my tiny stun gun and aimed it at the tall one. “No. I’ll just be taking them.”

They of course laughed at me, and pulled out their own weapons, which Coals had spotted and identified through the holsters. These were also stun guns, but a bigger and more painful model that put mine to shame.

They weren’t, however, very effective on people with exoskeletons.

Trrili leapt out from behind the nearest stall, crossing the distance in a heartbeat of flashing black-and-red limbs, then reared up to stand over them with her pinchers flared, shrieking at earsplitting volume.

I’d already ducked to the side, so while they stumbled back and aimed, I got a great view of Coals jumping forward to grab their stupid ponchos and yank them off their feet.

One of them shot Trrili in the foreleg, making her hiss a little, but the other didn’t even manage that. And before I could use my little peashooter, Coals had tackled them and wrestled the guns from both. With an oversized stun gun in each hand, he got to his feet and aimed at the pair, just daring them to try something, like the three-foot-tall badass he was.

“What did we do to you??” asked the tall one, rubbing his wrist but otherwise holding still.

“Yeah, how did we piss you off?” the smaller one demanded, eyes locked on Trrili.

I stepped forward with anger in my voice. “You didn’t offend either of them,” I said. “You offended me.” At their baffled silence, I continued. “Where did you get these animals? And what makes you think it’s okay to keep them contained like that?”

They both answered at once, and neither was terribly helpful. Some space trader somewhere. They didn’t even know where the cats were from.

“They’re from my planet,” I informed them. “And they should never be treated like this. Any human can tell you that.”

Their answer was just mumbling that sounded like “Yeah, okay.”

“Have you ever met a human before?” I asked, stepping closer. I leaned in. “My people eat things that look like you.”

They held very still, and didn’t object when Trrili pulled their cart away. Coals stepped back to follow, stun guns still aimed.

I put mine back in my pocket and gave them a final glare. “Do not try this again,” I said. “Or I will know.” I turned on my heel and followed Trrili, with Coals bringing up the rear. He kept the guns.

Shopkeepers and bystanders watched in curiosity, but none seemed particularly bothered by any of that. I heard what sounded distinctly like laughter. As we walked away, the hustle and bustle that had quieted a bit gradually resumed its normal volume.

I took the cart handle from Trrili. “Thank you both.”

Trrili chuckled. “My pleassurrrre.”

“Yeah, happy to help,” Coals said, moving up to walk alongside. He looked over the half dozen bowls that were rattling a bit, though I tried to pull the janky cart smoothly. “When you said you’d know…”

I held my chin up. “As far as they can tell, I will,” I said. “Any psychic abilities on the part of humans is for them to worry about.”

Coals laughed quietly and found the safety settings for the stun guns, saying nothing.

We got the cart into the ship without any objection from the crewmates we passed, though there was a fair amount of curiosity. Trrili and Coals stopped to tell the story in the lounge while I made a beeline for the medbay.

“I require use of your scanners,” I told Eggskin, who was understandably surprised. But at the sight of the cats, they wasted no time in bringing out everything required for a full checkup. I made sure to scan for contagion first, cart and all. I certainly didn’t trust those sleazeballs to be sanitary.

“All clear,” Eggskin said. They pulled gloves on over yellow-green scales. “Do we have spare carrying crates in the storage hold?”

“Oh, good point. We should put the family together.” I opened the door and leaned into the hallway. “Hey, Mur! Could you please bring a mid-size carrying crate? It’s urgent.”

Mur had been going a different direction, but he turned readily on dark blue tentacles with a “Sure thing.”

“Thank you!” I called after him.

He was back in no time with the crate, an ideal size for us to put Mama Cat into after her scan. She was dehydrated, but didn’t show any signs of having been in there long. Good. A bit of proper food and a reunion ought to be just the thing.

When we put the first kitten in with her, the purring was so loud it brought tears to my eyes. Eggskin and I wasted no time in checking the others. They were all okay. Not even any fleas.

I was talking with Eggskin about where to keep them for the time being when the door opened to let Captain Sunlight in. A curious crowd waited in the hall.

I stood at attention. “I’m not apologizing,” I said over the tiny kitten mews.

She shook her head. “No, I don’t expect you to. Are you hoping to keep them onboard, though?”

I shook my head. “I’m sure I can find a home for them at the next space station. Anywhere with a lot of humans, really. These are little cuties, and the mom didn’t even hiss at me, so she ought to raise them to be friendly.”

Captain Sunlight nodded. “All right, then. How about you keep them in your quarters as soon as they’re clear to leave the medical bay?”

“Yes, I was thinking that would be best,” I said. “I’ll just have to be careful opening the door. Maybe I can rig a net as a barrier that I can step over, to at least slow them down.”

“I’ll leave you to figure out how to keep them from roaming the halls,” she said. “Or the engine room, or the cockpit.”

“Yes. I will.”

She left it at that, and opened the door to shoo people away from the convalescing animals. The cart was already out there with the empty bowls and the food paste that would be going in the kitchen trash.

I saw Paint rummaging around the miscellaneous junk on the lowest shelf, which I hadn’t bothered to touch. Her orange tail straightened with excitement. “Hey, there’s money in here!”

I winced. Captain Sunlight gave me an unreadable look.

I felt bad about it, but then I looked down at the kittens tumbling over their mother, each getting licked in turn, and the feeling vanished.

“We can buy cat food with that,” I said.

The captain nodded. “Of course.” Then she sighed. “Mimi is going to be insufferable. First we find a replacement hoverbike after all, now this.”

A gruff voice called from down the hall, “Told you it was a good idea to stop there!”

I grinned. “The cats thank you!”

A toothpaste-green octopus head popped into the doorway. “Name one after me,” said Mimi, waving a tentacle.

I grinned wider. “I think that’s a great name for a cat.”

~~~

The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!

#tw animal abuse #gonna say that up front #but it'll be okay; promise #tw animal cruelty #cats #inspired by a hoax that I believed as a kid #good news: it doesn't really exist and in this story it's stopped pronto #just fyi #my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy

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talltalesandbedtimestories · 10 months

Text

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

Characters/Pairing: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Dean x Female Reader

Summary: It's supposed to be a simple case. A little undercover. A little burglary. A little spell. Dash of salt and burn. No muss, no fuss. So, why the hell are you getting these uncontrollable thoughts about Dean's... hands?

Word Count: 10,300

Tags: Hand & Finger Kink, Dean Winchester is a Scoundrel, Dean gets a Manicure, Fluff and Humor, Shameless Smut of the Finger Variety, Dean Winchester Talks Dirty

Notes: Because Jensen just can’t keep his hands to himself. See notes on AO3 for the offender/crime in question.

A persistent tapping on your bedroom door awakens you. It could be late evening or early morning in the windowless bunker.

Before you can check your phone for the actual time, Dean’s voice calls your name from the other side of the door.

You groan. Whatever time it is, it’s not ‘wakey wakey eggs and bakey’ time. “What?”

“Got word from Sam. He’s figured out what’s been killing the inmates in NSP.”

You sit up and feel for the lamp switch. After a turn and snick , you mumble, “Let there be light.” Your voice raises in answer to Dean. “That’s great.”

“Well, not that great.” The conversation is still happening through the closed door. “Sam figures it’s a ghost of a prisoner that died behind bars in 1870.”

“Why not great? Did you want more of a challenge? Ghosts are a milk run.”

You can hear the dramatic sigh, picture the tilt back and forth of his head, and the way his mouth mimics either you or Sam when the sarcasm leans on the excessive. Which is kind of ironic coming from the King of Snark. “Can I come in? You decent?”

“Yes.”

It’s definitely the middle of the night when you get a look at him. Dean’s hair is mussed. There are cheek and chin creases from scuba pillow diving when he sleeps on his stomach. “You got something formal to wear?”

“Huh?”

“A gown, dress, something promish or wedding worthy?”

“Promish?” That question reply to his question earns you a broad stance with hands on hips like a superhero as Dean stares you down. You twirl both hands around to remind him of the non-existent storage space in the bunker. Which should not be a thing in such a huge fortress where men dressed in three piece suits on the daily. “Sure. I have a whole rack of them hanging in my walk-in closet.”

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, smart ass. Well, we’re gonna have to go do this thing in less than twenty-four hours that needs you in a dress and me in a tux.”

You suck in your lips and try not to laugh at how pissed Dean appears at the thought.

“It’s a charity fundraiser in Lincoln,” he continues. “We have to act like a couple of out-of-state spenders with deep pockets to get our hands on the Hand of Glory that belonged to this ghost.”

“What about Sam? I bet he’d look much better in a dress than I would.”

Dean shrugs. “He’s got the hair for it. But we can’t risk somebody making him.”

Of course. The one time Sam goes investigating on his own. He posed as an FBI agent and poked around too many people.

You and Dean are going to have to go shopping. The all-out kind. Max out a stolen credit card at the mall kind.

Dean is gonna be miserable. You can’t wait. Grumpy Dean, for some reason, is very entertaining.

“How about you in the dress and me in the tux?” you offer.

“I don’t have the legs for it.” Dean shakes his head. “Get a few more hours of sleep. Gonna be a busy day.”

You’ve been around Sam and Dean for a long time. Long enough to have gotten a little numb and even blase regarding certain things.

The dangers of a hunt. The stench of death. The amount of blood a beheaded vamp body can ooze.

As you tick the tasks off for the heist with a trip to a dress shop earlier and currently helping Dean pick out a tux, another thing you’ve become indifferent to smacks you right in the goddamn face.

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

You were talking with the owner of the suit store when Dean parted the curtains of the fitting booth he’d been in for five minutes.

And there it was, dressed to the nines, cutting a fine figure in a black tuxedo.

The plain as day fact of how unfucking-believably gorgeous Dean Winchester is.

Stephen, well-dressed and highly animated, claps hands in front of his face. “Oh. Wow, that is, it’s like you stepped right off the cover of GQ magazine,” he gushes at Dean. “Turn around, turn around.”

Dean blushes, spins on his heels, and averts your and Stephen’s gaze. You’re glad because you can feel the warmth racing over your own cheeks.

“Sir, that is screaming perfection. I don’t even think it needs to be taken in. It’s like a second skin.” You’d think Stephen was buttering him up for a sale if he was overexaggerating. But, he wasn’t.

“Well, good, cause it’s not like we’ve got time for a tailor,” Dean huffs. Then, you hear, “You’re awfully quiet. What do you think?”

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

After Dean swipes the key card, he steps aside and lets you pass the threshold first.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

The suite is swanky. No motels for you on this trip. You’ve got to keep up appearances, after all.

Windows that meet the ceiling give you a sweet view of downtown Lincoln. It’s not the New York skyline, but everything looks impressive from a higher vantage.

Dean pushes the squeaky luggage cart. The door clicks closed solidly behind him. “Alright. We got a few hours to get ourselves presentable. Then we head on over to the Sheldon Museum of Art.” He hangs the garment bags containing his tux and your dress in the closet. The duffle bags each get a chuck onto the king-size bed.

You nod at the reminder. Sam will be at the fundraiser as well. Between the ruse of you and Dean as the wealthy Mitchums from Kansas and Sam’s Agent Dion, you’re confident the case will be resolved before another not-so-innocent victim dies. “Too bad we can’t really enjoy a stay at a place like this.”

“Eh, overpriced. I can’t wait to get home to the bunker. It’s a lot nicer.” He rolls the cart back toward the door. “I’ll be back in a few.”

He’s gone before you can quibble with Dean over your and his idea of luxury. But yours does have windows, excessive amounts of pillows, and room service.

Dean returns to find you’ve commandeered the entire vanity counter with makeup. He chuckles. “Never seen you put any of this crap on before. Do you even know how?”

“Asshole.” You thwack his tummy, but clenched stomach muscles anticipated the retaliation. “I’ll wear makeup for this case out of necessity. I don’t believe in going into debt to keep up with the latest beauty trend. This stuff costs a fortune.”

Dean picks up a packet of press-on nails and looks at the price tag. “Well, hopefully, it’s all worth it.”

As Dean inspects your haul, you notice the dirt under his own nails. “Your hands,” you state.

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows. He puts down the box and stares at his fingers.

“Those aren’t the hands of a millionaire.”

He smiles. “I’ve got a great rags to riches story I can use. You see, one day I was shootin’ at some food, and up for the ground came a bubblin’...”

“Ooor, you can look the part.” You cut off his recounting of how the Beverly Hillbillies came to be and sweep a hand in his direction. “Hurry up and shower. I’ll do your nails.”

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

“Relax. Just gonna tidy them up. No polish. Although there’s nothing wrong with a little color on a guy’s nails. But maybe not for this event. We don’t need you to stand out too much.” You think about how he looked in that tux and realize how much he will stand out already at least in your mind. He’s still blinking at you, processing what’s about to happen. “Well, hurry up, Jeb. That oil ain’t gonna find itself.”

You gulp at the sight of a freshly scrubbed, washed, towel-dried Dean. It shouldn’t be affecting you like this. You’ve seen him just out of a shower with his white t-shirt and sweatpants when you’ve been hunting on the road.

Maybe it’s the change of scenery. No motel. No mildew smells. No obnoxiously loud wallpaper to mask the soot and stains. No revving engines or wheels peeling right outside the door. None of the things that usually overwhelm and distract your senses.

His entire face is scrunched up in confused awe. Tools are neatly lined atop a towel on the small island by the kitchenette. Not the usual gun-cleaning ones, though. You clear your throat and pat the breakfast stool beside your seated frame.

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

A gimme gesture requests his left hand. He provides it, resting his fingers over the bridge of support yours creates. You try not to flinch in surprise at the warmth and weight. It’s not like you’ve never touched him before. But, you’ve never had the opportunity for contact to linger.

You lean down and in, lifting his fingers in inspection and deciding your plan of attack. Damn. They’re, well, you wonder how you haven’t noticed how big they are. His entire hand dwarfs yours in comparison. Dean’s a big dude. He is not as tall as Sam, but considering they’re both over six feet, you shouldn’t be surprised that his digits are substantial. You picture Sam’s hands in your mind’s eye in the usual situations. Tapping away on a keyboard. Flipping through their dad’s journal pages or some gigantic volume of lore in the bunker. Those fingers are long, but their slender and taut, proportionate to Sam’s body type and size. Jolly Green Giant size.

Dean’s? Well, it’s not that they don’t match Dean. They’re beefy, thick, and solid. All the things Dean is. But they’re more like a jumbo sausage sandwich than a hot dog that’s a little too big for the bun. Even the width of his palm seems way above average.

“What’s wrong?” Dean’s question calls out and you wonder how long you’ve been staring at his freaking hands.

“Nothing,” you mumble.

You get to work, using a nail brush that’s been soaking in a bowl of warm, sudsy water. A sturdy grip wraps around two of Dean’s fingers - it’s all you can comfortably manage - and the bristles scrub back and forth in quick passes.

Dean chortles. His fingers pull back slightly. The look on his face is one of surprise. You grin and ask, “Did that tickle?”

He snorts. “What? No. I’m not ticklish.”

“Mm-hmm.” You tug his fingers toward the brush. “Hold still then.” You continue the process. Dip the brush in the water bowl. Play Dean’s fingers like a washboard. And you delight in how his jaw clenches and body squirms. He does an adorable shimmy shake that starts at the shoulders and ends with an ass cha-cha. But you only let the torture go on for a minute or two. “Okay. Give them another wash. Then we’ll clip ‘em, file and buff, and these nails will scream private prep school and ivy league polo.”

He rises. “As long as there’s no more brushing.” He punctuates how serious he is about that with one of those fingers right at your mouth.

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

For someone who was uncertain about the thought of a manicure earlier, Dean is back in a hurry to continue the process. You exaggeratedly shake the nail brush out of the soapy water bowl and softball it into the stainless steel sink a yard away. It clangs about like a noon bell. You raise both hands, “I’m unarmed.”

He snickers, “Not so sure.” He skirts his gaze over the remaining items. “Sharp and stabby things.”

“You have used clippers before. You’re not an actual Cro-Magnon that drags knuckles on the ground and runs nails along some flint.” You grab one stool and carry it to the other side of the island, settling into position for the next step. “Sit and stop acting like a baby.”

“Damn,” he murmurs, following orders and taking his seat from before.

“Hands,” you request.

He harrumphs and splays his fingers atop the terry towel, like a cat stretching and digging in with their claws. His hands are creamy colored and speckled pink from the washing and scrubbing. Ten digits tap along the cloth in wait. And you stare, longer than you should.

What in the holy hell is going on? They’re fingers for chrissakes. The same fingers you’ve seen on Dean all the time, day after day in the bunker or in the car or on a hunt. It’s not like he got a hand transplant or something.

“Come on, Madge.” Dean snaps two of those fingers together. “This is where you’re supposed to tell me I was soaking in it.”

“Huh?”

He rolls his eyes. “Softens hands while you do the dishes?” He adds to the dramatics and unhinges his jaw. “Come on, we’re the same age. You gotta remember that commercial? Palmolive?”

“Oh, right.” You feign recollection, inhale to steady yourself and grab his left hand. It’s down to business time. “I’ve only lost five of my last six clients. Nothing to worry about.”

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

“I am. Apparently you could learn a thing or two from me. The first? A punchline isn’t funny if you have to explain it.”

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

“Maybe come at me with ‘your face is a punchline’?” you suggest.

His lids blink in confusion. “It’s not, though.”

For some reason that shuts you both up.

You spend the next minutes manipulating each of Dean’s fingers, one by one in your palm as you clip. Tick, tick, tick. You give the nails a nice straight edge and round out the sides. His nails are stumpy, boxy and twice the width of yours. His skin is calloused, toughened in the spots you expect. From the thousands of hours he’s gripped Baby’s steering wheel, handled a shotgun, cranked a wrench, slid into the trigger of his Colt. But they are soft in other spots. The patterns of lines criss crossing and connecting like a terrain map enthrall you.

He’s quiet. Watching you work. You’ve forgotten to be mouthy for this bit. It’s hard to focus on anything but this and his breathing. You’ve forgotten the basic steps of inhaling and exhaling.

It’s when you’ve moved on to filing that Dean remembers how to word. “You’re good at this.”

“I should be,” you croak out then clear your throat. “I did my older sister’s nails all the time growing up.”

“Hm, I guess Sammy didn’t get the little brother memo about doing my nails.”

I grin up at him. “Maybe you should have had him watch that Palmolive commercial.”

His laugh is soft. His eyes gleam with that hint of mischief he dons when there is no imminent threat. When life is as close to normal as possible. You wonder what it would be like to take those hands and place them around your waist. Guide him to hold you steady, secure.

He opens his mouth, stops to lick his top lip.

It’s taking everything in your power to not catapult over the island and slam your lips against his.

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.

Two hours later, you and Sam wait outside the St. Charbel Chapel in Calvary Catholic Cemetery. It’s the closest church and holy ground from the museum Sam had found in his research.

A fire truck zooms down a nearby street, siren wailing.

You wait for Dean.

Things had not gone according to plan.

At the fundraiser, Sam got cornered near the crudités by a Lancaster County Sheriff’s Office deputy. From what you overheard, Sam’s cover had been blown. He was in imminent danger of being arrested by Deputy Dickens for impersonating a federal agent. Dean was off in one of the acquisition storage rooms searching for the Hand of Glory.

You all were SOL.

You did what any hunter interested in self-preservation would do. Walked over to the nearest fire alarm and inconspicuously pulled the lever. Alarms went off. In the chaos of disgruntled partygoers filing out of the building, Sam dropped the deputy to the ground with a combo shoulder check and leg sweep. You were down on the floor in a flash, asking the lawman if he was alright. Before he could reply, you held a handkerchief doused with your travel-size bottle of chloroform to his mouth and nose. A clutch could only hold so much—such an inconvenience.

Sam pushed the passed-out deputy under the appetizer station’s floor-length tablecloth. You both did a hurried power walk past the crowd gathered in front of the museum. Sam tried his best to slow down his stride enough for you to keep up wearing heels. At least you only had four blocks to cover to end up at the cemetery, the agreed-upon meetup location.

You pace in wait. “He’ll be here,” Sam states with conviction.

You never want to leave a man behind. Especially not Dean.

Sure enough, Dean’s shadowed figure jogs up the cemetery walk in the dark minutes later. You recognize his panting first.

Sam shines a light in Dean’s direction. He’s a bit disheveled from whatever he had to do to skip out of the museum undetected. The hair, styled in a neat part earlier, is now askew.

“Guessing I have you two to thank for having to hop out a bathroom window and into thorny rose bushes.”

You shrug. “Sam was about to get handcuffed.”

Dean ponders for a moment. “Context is important to determine whether that’s good or bad for Sam.”

“Dean, come on, did you get it?” Sam asks with an impatient wave of his hand.

Dean pulls a handkerchief from his pocket and flaps it open with a wrist snap. He pulls out a gnarled, desiccated object under his jacket's lapel. “I did get it, using my five-finger discount.”

The burning ritual had at least gone smoother than the rest of the evening. Sam dropped the two of you around the back of the hotel in his rental car. You both had left Baby in the connected garage and taken a cab to the museum.

“See you all at the bunker.” He smiles, energized, and pumped from a successful hunt. He’s glowing and adorable. You realize you have gotta dial back the internal ogling of your hunting partners and quick or it’s gonna get all kinds of uncomfortable in your head.

“See ya, Sammy.” Dean grins and salutes.

“Don’t take too long to get out of town.” Sam advises, flicks his bangs out of his eye line with a shampoo commercial head whip, then peels off with a wave.

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

The ride up the elevator starts quiet. You spend the time zoning out and staring at the tapered triangle of shoulder and back that makes up Dean’s tuxedo jacket.

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

“You looked really good tonight,” Dean murmurs. You catch his gaze in the door’s reflective surface. “I mean,” he clears his throat, “you still look really good. I never got the chance to tell ya earlier.”

The attention straightens your posture. You adjust the spaghetti strap of your little black dress. “Thanks.” It’s all you can think of to respond. You tear your focus away from the eye crinkles, now the newest sexy thing you’ve failed to notice. It’s safer to inspect the corners of the floor for dust. The small enclosed space heats due to Dean Winchester occupying it.

The elevator dings and you hold in a sigh of relief. You exit first, then halt so he leads. You trail behind him in silence to the room. He opens the door. Your steps scoot past his body.

“Got time to change?” Hopeful, you’re already rifling through your duffel for your jeans and flannel.

“Sam’s right. We should probably bolt.”

You groan.

“Let’s put some miles between us and Lincoln.” It’s not really a suggestion.

“Fine.” You give in, knowing he’s right.

You aren’t tired on the drive back. The sense of accomplishment after a successful case turns most hunters into live wires, you included.

You and Dean have been chatting about the hunt. The lackluster food at the fundraiser. Sam’s impressive Latin skills. An apparent millionaire whose breath stunk like a month old convenience store burrito. And you knew what one of those smelled like from unfortunate firsthand experience. The conversation switches to some repairs that need to be done around the bunker. A casserole recipe on Pinterest you want to try. Who’s going to get the treat of washing all the MOL classic cars in the garage. The topics pogo all over the place. You love these moments with the brothers.

You’re an hour and some change out from Lincoln, halfway to Lebanon, when Dean has an idea.

His finger wags at a mile marker. “There’s a decent bar in Bruning. Wanna grab a drink to celebrate?”

You stare at his unbuttoned tux jacket, then your dress. “Like this?”

“Sure. Why not?” It’s not really a question as he takes the exit.

You drew the line at wearing heels in the bar. Dean grabbed your worn cowboy boots from Baby’s trunk. He leaned against the car beside your open passenger door. You tugged on boots, leaned forward, giving any passersby a free show down the front of your dress. Arms folded, Dean scowled and puffed out his chest to any male who dared to glance in your direction.

A minute later you both entered the bar and did the usual routine without speaking. Head to respective bathrooms. Clean up and make yourselves respectable looking. But as you blotted your foundation and appreciated the staying power of your makeup in the mirror - okay, maybe that setting spray was worth the price - you considered who you were making yourself respectable for?

It’s not like either one of you were expecting to get lucky tonight. The bunker was less than two hours away. No one was gonna pick up a local and take them back to their motel room.

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

So, that left only you and Dean freshening up for… each other?

You scoffed at the ridiculous idea, ran fingers through your hair.

A drink. One drink. To celebrate a job well done.

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

You’ve played darts for an hour. Dean’s on his third whiskey. You’ve downed four fruity rum concoctions, mainly because you loved hearing Dean order the drink.

Entertainment was the least he could do after beating you for the sixth time.

The waitress stops at your high top and grabs the empty plates and glasses. “What else can I get you two?”

Dean clutches a dart, deep in focus, squinting at the target board. “You wanna nother Bahama Mama?”

You suppress a giggle and smile at the waitress. “Just more water. Thanks.”

“We should probably load up on the grease before we head home.” Dean peers at the waitress over a shoulder. “Maybe some fries, darlin’, to go along with one last shot of whiskey?”

“Sure thing, sugar.” She smiles, then waits for Dean to turn around before eyeing his backside in approval. With a grin, she taps your bare forearm. “Lucky you,” she whispers.

You are lucky. But not for the reason the waitress thinks. Being around Sam and Dean means safety and security. The eye candy is merely a bonus. One you are debating if you should indulge in more often or continue to restrict your caloric intake.

After all, there’s nothing wrong with appreciating a work of art.

Dean had flung his necktie in Baby’s backseat and unbuttoned his collar during the drive. The casual way he now wore the tux was even more attractive. “Probably a good idea if you lay off the alcohol. It’s definitely affecting your game tonight.” He grins.

You lean your heavy weighted head against a palm for support. “Yeah, must b’it,” you slur, more than you like. Your gaze zones in on his fingers gripping the dart. Those damn fingers have been a distraction all night. He has to be unaware he’s sabotaging any ability to focus. Dean is an outright flirt with his targets. You’ve seen him lay on the charm thick and sticky the same way he slaps peanut butter and jelly on white bread. Subtlety has never been his thing.

Speaking of targets. The dart launches out of his hand and lands dead center. “That’s what I’m talkin’ bout.” Dean performs the ka-ching motion for what feels like the hundredth time that night. Normally, it’s annoying, but you battle your lids open to stare at his clenched fist in awe. Again. He slides onto the bar stool and inspects you with a concerned smile. “You usually drink me under the table. Sure you’re okay?”

“Fine.” You hum.

The waitress whizzes by and deposits Dean’s shot and a basket of fries. Dean’s voice floats in the air expressing his thanks to, you think he says, Linda. Then a pointed order hits you right in the face. “Hey, eat something. I ain’t carrying you to the car like some swoony duchess on those shows you binge.”

“They’ve got carriages, not cars.” You blink over and over and straighten up. A handful of fries fill your mouth. Your brain hasn’t caught up in time to tell you to shut up and chew. “Yud make a ghood ake.”

“What?” Dean smiles at you like he’s happened across his favorite Scooby-Doo episode while channel surfing.

You gulp down the gluey mashed goodness. “You’d make a good rake.”

“What’s that? Some kind of man servant? I was a handmaiden once.” He indulges in some of the fries before you eat them all. Those fingers push them past his lips.

“No. A rake’s-” You huff at the gall when he attentively licks the grease off his thumb. His tongue is quite, um, “Nimble.”

He frowns, obviously confused. “A rake’s nimble?”

You shake out the cobwebs in your brain, tripping you up with a collision of thoughts. “A rake’s a ladies’ man,” you mutter.

His spine stiffens, shoulders pop back in pride. “I do try to please the ladies every chance I get.”

“We are all well aware.” More fries thankfully save you from saying anything that may humiliate.

“Guess those aren’t your favorite characters. You probably like the stuffy types that are all serious, with their noses up in the air or stuck in a book.”

You shrug. “Nah, I go for the rogues.”

One of Dean’s brows quirk up. “The dangerous type?” One side of his mouth lifts as well.

“Yeah, a scoundrel. You know, the one you can’t quite figure out. They’ve got this bad reputation or some sordid past. But, they go after what they want. Take what they want.” You hum again and close your eyes. You can still see Dean’s grin in your mind’s eye.

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

You freeze. Eyes still closed. He didn’t just… did he?

“I mean. It’d be all kinds of wrong. Me going for something I wanted, damn the consequences.”

You inhale and grip the curve of the table top. You open your eyes to find him sipping at his whiskey. “Don’t fuck with me,” you whisper.

He gives you a toe curling smile now. The glass clinks onto the table. “I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I’m not your type.”

“I-wh-” It’s too late. You’ve never been on the receiving end of what is most definitely Dean Winchester flirting. “What makes you think that?”

He leans in. His breath meets your inhale and you take in all the spice and warmth. “I wouldn’t do a thing to mess this up. Not unless, you know, I knew.”

You nod, dumbstruck. “Yeah, that makes sense. I mean, yeah.” A whoosh of fatigue makes your head spin.

Dean smiles. “We live together, hunt together. Packed like sardines together twenty-four seven sometimes. Wouldn’t want to mess any of that up. Unless I knew, you know?”

“Knew what?” Your chin drops to your chest despite your best efforts. The weight of your body gets ready to do a face plant on the table top. You squish your lids shut tight and groan in horror at the inevitable.

But, Dean is there to save you. Again. His fingers swoop in to cradle your jaw and lift up your head. The embarrassment and alcohol finally overtake you. As you fade, you hear, “Maybe I’ll tell you when you’ll remember the answer.”

You woke up in your bed, back at the bunker. Again, with no idea if it was morning or night. No idea how much time had passed since…

You spring upright to sit. And, yeah, that was a mistake. Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry and tacky. Your stomach feels like it got turned upside down. Not that much time has passed since…

You groan and lay back down, slow and gentle. You piece the last snippets of memory together.

You stare up at the ceiling, grateful for the darkness. You want it to suck you up whole.

Did you pass out in the middle of Dean hitting on you? Did Dean end up swooping you up and putting you in the Impala? Driving you home passed out in the back seat - or God forbid the front passenger seat with you lolling about, mouth probably open and drooling - then carrying you throughout the bunker to your bedroom? Did he…?

You pat your chest and feel the spaghetti straps and silky fabric of your little black dress. You sigh. He had taken pity on you and only stripped you of your cowboy boots.

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

“Oh no.” You pull the blanket over your head, mortified. You don’t think you can face him.

But it’s not Dean that says your name. It’s Sam.

“You alright? I heard you… uh… moaning.”

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

You think you hear Sam snicker. “Dean said you outpaced him by a mile. In darts and drinks.”

That makes you pause to recall. No, you definitely don’t think any of that’s accurate.

“He made some breakfast before he went out, if you’re hungry.”

Great, he can’t bear to face you, either. “Thanks, Sam.”

“If you’re up for it later, I could use some assistance researching.”

You take a measured breath to quell the nausea. “I’ll let you know.”

You’d chewed some aspirin and drank glass after glass of water from the sink in your room and somehow passed out for a few more hours.

You drag yourself out of bed around noon and shower in an effort to resemble something close to human. The stomach growls lead you to the bunker kitchen. At first, you smile at the plate of pancakes Dean covered with a clean kitchen towel for you. A frown follows at the odd shape of them. They aren’t his usual silver dollar pancakes stacked six high.

You tilt your head, attempting to figure out what Buttermilk Banksy was trying to create. The two pancakes, side by side on a large plate, obviously started out as circles. But then, four long tendrils were added along the top of each and a little offshoot one on the side. A turkey? Why the hell would Dean make turkeys? It wasn’t anywhere near Thanksgiving time.

“‘Bout time, sleepy head.” Dean’s voice wafts in from the doorway. He strolls in without a care in the world. There’s no hesitancy to lock eyes with you. Which is good. That has to mean you didn’t make more of a fool of yourself than you remember. He tugs on the fridge door. “Do you want something else or those pancakes enough?” He’s asking the interior of the refrigerator more than you, his head circling the shelves. “Was gonna pile on the grease but thought you might need to take it easy after last night.”

“No, this is great. Thank you.” You keep your voice low, hoping he’ll get the hint and not make too much noise.

He seems to, clicking the door shut softly after grabbing a cold slice of pizza. “Oh, I thought we’d do a movie night in the Dean cave. I bought angus ground beef for burgers. I’ll make some potato wedges. Grabbed your favorite microwave popcorn, movie theater butter.”

The menu, miraculously, doesn’t make your stomach lurch into panicked somersaults. “None of that sounds Sam approved.”

“He’s got that author signing book store thing in Stockton tonight.”

Oh, right. You’d forgotten for a moment how excited Sam was to listen to some guy read a chapter from his book on the evils of the Federalist Society.

“Think you’ll be up for it?” Dean asks, brows raised hopeful.

You smile. “I think I will.”

“Good.” He captures a third of the pizza slice in one bite. After four chews and a swallow he finishes with, “I’ll go easy on you.” The grin he flashes catches you off guard. It’s that one that if Sam saw it, he’d suspect you and Dean had a secret.

Problem was, you didn’t know what the secret was.

“We got weapons to clean in an hour. No matter what Sam says about research.” Dean taps the door sill on the way out of the kitchen. “Meet you in the library. Don’t be late.” He disappears.

You stare down at your breakfast, which is now technically lunch, and a queasy feeling erupts. But not from the hangover or the thought of eating.

The pancakes Dean made. You think you know what the shapes are now.

A pair of hands.

Time in the library with Sam and Dean is pure torture.

You’re sat equidistant between the two of them, in the middle of one of the long massive wooden tables. Sam is on one end, flipping through page after page of a volume on corporal punishment. He’s trying to work out an easy cheat sheet - a work flow chart - that you all can use in the future. If you can identify what crime someone was charged with committing way back when, you’d have a better idea of the dismembered mummified appendage to track.

Dean occupies the other head of the table. A worn cloth laid out in front of him, all manner of weapons lined in a neat row atop it, awaiting his hands.

His hands. God, you hope the pancakes were merely a cheeky, inside joke on Dean’s part. Maybe it was a reminder about your insistence on the manicure. Or the friggin’ Palmolive commercial that, thanks Dean, you can’t get out of your head either. Because now all you can think about is Dean’s massive fingers dipped in a teeny tiny glass bowl filled with sudsy dish detergent.

Between Sam’s page turns and Dean’s clink of weapons your brain can’t settle or calm down. You’re also trying to appease both hunters. You’re reading through a book on your right and sharpening a machete on your left.

“That jugglin’ act might leave you with more than a paper cut if you aren’t careful,” Dean chides.

You swallow down the urge to quip something back. It’s only when the whetstone clears the curve of the machete and halts at the tip that you tear your gaze from the task and stare at Dean. “I can handle it.”

He smirks. “Oh, I’m sure you can HANDle it.” He shrugs. “Just wouldn’t want you to lose a FINGER.”

“How about you quit distracting her? She’s doing you a favor.” Sam’s brows lift pointedly at Dean. “And besides, why do you insist on cleaning weapons here when you could literally be doing it anywhere else in the bunker?”

Dean curls up the fakest smile at Sam. “Cause I love your company.”

The boys settle after a few more grunts and scoffs at each other. You plunge nose deep into lore and wish the pages were waves pulling you out to sea.

There’s no way Dean’s emphasis on “hand” and “finger” were accidental. Dean’s pretty intuitive. But you are a pretty good actor in your own right when you need to be. However, there’s still a chance that you said or did something when you were too intoxicated to remember.

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady.

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.”

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other.

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.”

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

#dean x reader #dean winchester smut #female reader #dean x you #spn fanfic

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