#take your cigarettes from its holder

[uranium]

this is still the craziest song ever....and she was born in 1959

[softly-and-suddenly]

Tom Lehrer’s Masochism Tango would do numbers on Tumblr

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part Five

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: The party is in full swing, everyone is having fun, until they're not. You let jealousy get the better of you, there's a mystery man and Dean is there to tug you right back into his arms... and bed.

Word Count: 5.6k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) Swearing, jealousy, mutual pinning, these two are idiots. A little cameo crossover 👀

AN: Welcome to Chapter five, the arrival at the party. Things are definitely starting to shift, whether they can actually make it through we'll have to see. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here

The party was at one of the most upscale venues in town—an old historic building that had been renovated into an elegant event space.

The second Dean stepped inside; his senses were overwhelmed.

The place reeked of money.

A massive chandelier hung in the centre of the grand ballroom, casting a golden glow over the polished marble floors. The walls were lined with intricate mouldings, and soft classical music played beneath the hum of conversation and clinking glasses.

Dean’s eyes immediately landed on the buffet.

And damn. They did not cheap out.

A long table was spread with an assortment of high-end appetisers—perfectly arranged charcuterie boards, little bite-sized hors d'oeuvres that looked too fancy to actually enjoy, and a seafood station with cocktail shrimp that Dean was definitely coming back for.

“Wow,” you murmured beside him, taking it all in. “Roman really went all out this year.”

Dean let out a low whistle. “Yeah, no kidding. Bet he blew half the budget just on the napkins.”

You snorted, shaking your head as you stepped further inside.

Dean followed, but not before grabbing two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. He handed one to you with a smirk.

“Might as well make the most of it.”

You took it, clinking your glass against his before taking a sip.

As you took in the beautifully decorated room, your gaze swept across the scene, but Dean’s? His drifted right back to you. Just for a second. Just long enough for that all-too-familiar flutter to stir in his stomach—the one he kept pretending didn’t mean anything.

“You made it!”

Dean’s gaze broke away just as a blur of red came barrelling toward you. Charlie. She pulled you into a hug first, then stepped back with a low whistle, eyes raking over you in pure admiration.

“Holy shit.”

Dean had thought the exact same thing the moment he saw you.

You waved her off, a bashful smile tugging at your lips as your cheeks warmed. “Oh, please. What about you?”

Charlie beamed, twirling slightly to show off her dark-green Gatsby-style gown, the sequins catching the light. A matching headband sat atop her perfectly curled red hair, pinned into an elegant bun.

“I know, right?” She grinned. “I figured if I’m coming to this thing, I might as well go all out. Look.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a long cigarette holder, playfully pinning it between her fingers like she belonged in the 1920s. “I don’t even smoke.” 

You couldn’t contain the snort that escaped you, Charlie giggling along too, before her attention flicked past you, her smirk widening.

“Oooh, look what the cat dragged in.” She eyed Dean up and down before giving an approving nod. “Damn, Winchester, you actually clean up nice.”

Dean huffed a chuckle and pulled her in for a quick hug. “S’good to see you, kiddo.”

And just like that, another reason why this complicated mess you’d gotten yourself into, reared its ugly head. Your friends weren’t just your friends. They were Dean’s, too. Your lives were so tangled together that if—or when—this thing between you inevitably crashed and burned, the fallout was gonna be devastating. 

Which is why you couldn’t let it. 

“No offence to the overpriced champagne, that’s probably worth half our rent,” Dean muttered, nodding toward the bar, “but I need something stronger.”

“Agreed,” you and Charlie said in unison.

You couldn’t help but let your eyes linger on Dean as he weaved his way through the crowd. He looked Goddamn edible. But the sensation of being watched made you shift uncomfortably. Turning back, you found Charlie’s sharp gaze locked onto you, her lips curling with curiosity.

“What?” you asked warily with a nervous chuckle.

Her smirk deepened. “Something happening here?” She gestured between you and Dean with a flick of her finger.

Your stomach lurched, and your grip tightened around your champagne flute. “What? No.” You shook your head, too fast, too defensive.

Charlie’s expression screamed bullshit.

“You know I call it when I see it,” she sing-songed, arms crossing over her chest.

Your mouth felt dry, and the bubbles from the champagne burned a little more than they should as you took another sip. With a sigh, you lowered your voice.

“Just… don’t say anything,” you muttered, glancing back toward the bar, where Dean was now getting served.

Charlie’s brows shot up; interest piqued. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

“We slept together,” you admitted quietly. “Multiple times, actually.”

Her jaw dropped. “For real?”

You nodded.

Her face lit up like you’d just handed her the best gossip of the year. “That’s amazing! It’s about damn time you two admitted—”

“We’re not together,” you cut in, before she could continue down that road, and her excitement dimmed, brows furrowing in confusion.

“We’re just… sleeping together,” you explained, trying to sound casual, as if your heart wasn’t in a vice just saying the words. “No strings, no expectations. We both agreed—”

Charlie scoffed. “You?” She pointed at you incredulously. “Miss ‘Hopeless Romantic’ agreed to a no-strings thing?”

You plastered on a smirk, covering the raw edges with bravado. “I’m the one who suggested it.”

Charlie didn’t look convinced. “You sure that’s what you want?” Her voice softened, her gaze knowing. You weren’t exactly the casual type. Sure, you’d dated, but it was never just for the sake of it. You always wanted something real.

But you just shrugged, still wearing that practiced smirk. “Dean’s not looking for a relationship, and neither am I right now. It works for us.”

Liar.

Charlie pressed her lips together, clearly holding back more opinions, but she let it drop. At least for now.

And when Dean returned, drinks in hand, she didn’t say a damn thing.

But the look she gave you said it all.

This was going to end in flames.

And tonight it was you being burned, because you were in hell.

After some casual conversation between the three of you, more drinks, and even a couple of twirls on the dance floor, you spent the latter half of the night watching the women from HR fawn over Dean like he was a prime cut of steak in a den of hungry wolves. And worst of all? He didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, he was currently leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with a woman you knew to be Carmen. She was nice enough—you’d exchanged a few polite greetings in the elevator—but that was about the extent of your interactions.

Your fingers tightened around your glass as you watched her laugh at something he said—too exaggerated, in your opinion. He wasn’t that funny. And then, as if things couldn’t get worse, her manicured hand squeezed his bicep. That was the last straw.

Charlie had abandoned you to use the restroom, leaving you with no distractions other than to sit and watch Dean practically fall in love with another woman right in front of you.

Okay, maybe you were being a bit dramatic. But he looked interested, and it made your stomach churn.

Deciding you’d tortured yourself enough, you pushed to your feet and manoeuvred through the crowd toward the bar. More alcohol seemed like the only logical solution.

Except, before you got there, you walked straight into someone solid.

“Oh—sorry,” you blurted, glancing up and took a pause when you were met with a pair of striking blue eyes.

“You’re alright.” His voice was smooth, paired with a friendly smile that only made him look more devastatingly handsome. He was about Dean’s height, maybe a little broader—the type of guy who looked like he worked out seven days a week. His sandy-blonde hair was short and styled, and his jawline was something out of a damn movie.

Hot damn.

“I, uh, don’t think I’ve seen you around before,” he mused, and you had to give your head a little shake to refocus.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you either.” You countered with a small smile. “Do you work for Roman?”

“I do—part of his security team.”

“Right.” You nodded. “Well, I’m about fifteen floors below where you’re probably stationed, so I guess it makes sense we haven’t crossed paths.” Roman enterprises was a fortress and you tended not to wonder often in fear of getting lost.

He chuckled in agreement. “I’m Steve, by the way.” He extended a hand, that easy-going smile still on his lips.

You slid your hand into his, warmth seeping into your fingers. His grip was firm but not overbearing.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself.

Steve’s smile deepened, like your name was the best thing he’d heard all night. And despite yourself, you swooned a little.

"You know, I've realised I don't really know a whole lotta people here," He chuckled with, what appeared to be, a nervous hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "Can I get you a drink? Maybe make a new friend?" He smiled shyly, his demeanour too sweet to come off as anything other than genuine.

You hesitated, your mind caught in a battle with itself. Steve seemed nice enough, but despite the storm brewing inside you from watching Dean with someone else, the last thing you wanted was to drag someone else into your mess. But then again, who said it had to be anything more than two colleagues getting to know each other?

Before you could even make up your mind, a warm, familiar hand settled against your lower back—possessive, grounding.

“There you are.”

Dean’s voice was low, tight, and when you turned, his green eyes weren’t on you. They were locked on Steve, sizing him up with suspicion. A tense, unspoken shift settled over the conversation.

“And you are?” Dean asked. To an outsider, his question might’ve sounded like casual curiosity, but you felt the rigid press of his body against yours, saw the tight clench of his jaw.

“Steve,” the blonde replied, offering his hand once again.

Dean took it, shaking firmly, his brow arching slightly. “You serve?”

Steve looked mildly surprised at the question but answered without hesitation. “Two tours in Iraq.” His posture straightened.

“My dad was a Marine,” Dean explained, his voice more neutral now. “Got used to military handshakes.”

Steve nodded in understanding.

Dean, however, wasted no time getting to his real point. “You mind if I borrow her?”

The question was phrased politely, but there was nothing optional about it. You glanced up at Dean with a frown, but his eyes never left Steve.

To his credit, Steve backed off with a friendly nod, though you swore you saw a flicker of disappointment in those piercing blue eyes. “Of course. It was nice meeting you,” he said, sending a small parting smile your way before disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he was gone, irritation bubbled up inside you. “What? You get bored flirting with the desperate housewives of HR and remember I exist?” you snapped, folding your arms across your chest.

Dean blinked at your hostility and then frowned. “I wasn’t flirting.”

You levelled him with a look.

He sighed. “Okay, maybe a little, but it was all innocent, I swear" He added at your disbelieving look. "It's not my fault you ditched me to schmooze with your boss.” He gestured vaguely toward the other end of the room with a huff.

“This is a company Christmas party, Dean. Of course i wasn’t going to ignore my boss when he asked me a question.”

Dean looked genuinely baffled. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t exactly having a great time. Those women are nuts.”

You snorted. “Didn’t look like you were having a bad time with Carmen.”

Dean frowned, as if trying to remember who that was. Then, realisation dawned. “Oh—her? Only because she seemed the most normal out of the bunch. Until she asked if I wanted to take her into the coat closet so she could ‘suck me off.’” He quoted with wide eyes.

You squeezed your eyes shut and shook your head.

Fucking HR.

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Look, I can be an ass, but I’m not a dick.” His voice softened slightly as he leaned down, waiting until your eyes met his. “I came here with you, and I intend to leave here with you.”

The warmth in his words settled deep in your chest, more powerful than you wanted to admit.

You were starting to sound like a broken record, but you’d never battled with your feelings this hard in your entire life. You felt like you were all over the place, an unsettling reminder of just how dangerous this thing with Dean was. But you were an idiot—hooked, unable to break free from the line he’d cast around your heart.

After a beat, Dean stepped closer, his presence calming the storm inside you, even if just for a moment.

“What do you say we get out of here?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His hand slid around your waist, his warm palm flattening against the small of your back as his other hand trailed slowly down your arm. “You’ve been driving me crazy in this dress all night.” His voice was husky, rough, his breath hot against your skin.

Your breath hitched when his teeth grazed your ear.

“What about Charlie?” you asked weakly.

“What about her?”

You both jumped apart to find Charlie standing there, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk on her lips.

Dean cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “We were, uh, just thinking of calling it a night.”

“Dean’s been traumatised by the HR department,” you added with a snicker.

Charlie’s smirk widened. “Ohhh, so you’re the ‘green-eyed hottie’ Janet was talking about in the restroom.” She tilted her head, as if piecing things together.

It was almost comical the way Dean’s eyes widened in fear.

Ignoring his discomfort, Charlie waggled her eyebrows. “Man, she wants to do some naughty things to you.”

Dean visibly shivered. Janet was thrice his age, twice divorced, and way too handsy for his liking.

You chuckled and patted his back in mock sympathy. “Want to grab a cab with us?” You directed at Charlie.

“Nah, you kids go on ahead. I’ve got myself a ride home.” Charlie smirked, glancing over your shoulder.

You followed her gaze and spotted Dorothy from marketing, who was smiling back at her.

Turning back to her with a knowing grin, you nudged Charlie playfully. “Look at you, player.”

She swatted your hand away with a laugh, and then you pulled her in for a quick hug. “I’ll see you after the holidays.”

Charlie squeezed you back before turning to Dean. “Of course. See you later, bitches.” She flashed Spock’s signature salute before disappearing back into the crowd.

By the time you returned home, you were beat. Socialising in large groups wasn’t your forte and the night had been a roller coaster of emotions from start to finish.

Dean followed you inside, the silence from the cab ride stretching between you. But beneath it, a flicker of heat still simmered, unspoken yet undeniable. The weight of his gaze burned against your skin, heated and roaming, darkened with something primal.

You barely had time to breathe before he stepped into your space, backing you up until your shoulders met the wall in the foyer. Your pulse stuttered, shallow breaths mingling in the charged air between you as he braced a hand beside your head, leaning in close—so close his breath ghosted over your lips, warm and teasing.

“You have any idea what you do to me?” His voice was rough, hushed, wrecked. His eyes locked onto yours, intense and devouring, before they flickered down to your parted lips.

The heat between you coiled tighter.

“Thinkin’ I’d rather fuck someone else,” he rasped, his mouth brushing against your jaw, then lower, his breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your throat, “when you’re right here, lookin’ like this.”

Your body arched instinctively as his lips found the rapid pulse at your neck, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss that sent a shiver through you. His hands found your waist, fingertips pressing in just enough to ground you, to claim.

The scent of you filled his senses, sweet and intoxicating, and for a moment, he just breathed you in, savouring every second, every sharp inhale, every tremble.

“Dean.” Your voice was a whisper, wrecked and needy, and that was all it took.

A growl rumbled low in his throat as his hands slid up, cupping your face as his lips crashed into yours—hungry, desperate.

Your hands fisted the lapels of his suit jacket, simultaneously pulling him closer and using him as something to keep you upright. He groaned into your mouth, deep and raw, before shrugging out of it. The soft fabric pooled onto the floor as his fingers worked at his tie. His gaze never left yours as he slipped it free, the silk sliding through his fingers with an easy grace.

Then, with a smirk laced with something deeper—reverence, need—he reached for your wrists, lifting them above your head. You gasped, breath hitching as he looped the tie around them, binding them together with a care that sent a shiver down your spine.

“Trust me?” he murmured, voice rough yet achingly soft.

You swallowed hard, nodding, and he rewarded you with a slow, lingering kiss. Then, shifting your arms around his neck, he lifted you, strong hands supporting you as if you weighed nothing. Your heart pounded against your ribs as he carried you to your room, bridal-style, his gaze hooded as he laid you down onto the bed.

Dean hovered over you for a moment, drinking you in, his expression softer now, full of something raw and unspoken. His fingers traced down your arms after lifting them above your head, and then over your ribs, as if memorising every inch of you.

“You are…” he shook his head, almost in disbelief. “God, you’re beautiful.”

He knelt at the edge of the bed, his hands finding your ankles, lifting one delicate foot. With careful precision, he slipped off your heel, pressing a warm kiss to the inside of your ankle before trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses up the curve of your calf. He took his time, savouring, breathing you in before repeating the same attentive worship on the other leg, drawing soft sighs from you with every touch.

By the time his lips reached your knee, your thighs trembled, anticipation coiling thick in the air. His hands slid up, skimming over the fabric of your dress before gently pushing it higher. His breath stuttered when he caught sight of the red lace hugging your hips, his fingers tracing along the delicate fabric with raw hunger.

A deep groan rumbled in his chest as he lowered his head, brushing his lips over you through the lace. The heat of his breath sent a shudder through your body, and when he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the dampening fabric, a gasp escaped your lips.

“Oh, fuck.” You panted.

Your hips lifted instinctively, searching for more, but he took his time, savouring the way you writhed beneath him. His fingers then hooked into the waistband, peeling the lace down your thighs with aching slowness. He kissed each inch of newly bared skin, pressing his lips to your hip, your inner thigh, before finally settling between your legs.

His eyes flicked up to meet yours, something dark and wicked flickering in their depths. “Keep ’em there, baby,” he murmured, nodding toward your bound hands still obediently resting above you. You nodded, biting your lip, your cheeks flushed, breath coming in heavy with anticipation.

And only then, with the lightest brush of his tongue, did he taste you—his eyes fluttering shut like he was savoring the most decadent thing he’d ever had.

Your fingers curled into fists, silk tightening around your wrists as your back arched off the bed. His mouth moved slowly at first, deliberate, savoring every sound you made like a man starved. He groaned against you, the deep, satisfied rumble vibrating through your core, as if he could do this forever.

And then, suddenly, he pulled away. You whined at the loss, but Dean’s gaze was alight with something new—a desire, a thought, a wicked idea that was his alone in that moment. He kneeled beside you, rolling up his sleeve with slow precision before running his warm, calloused palm up your inner thigh. Higher and higher, until his fingers traced along the seam of your soaked pussy.

You moaned, hips shifting instinctively toward his touch, desperate for more. But then he stilled. His thumb lazily stroked your skin as his gaze found yours, dark and unreadable. “I wanna try something,” he husked, voice thick, rough like gravel. His eyes burned into you. “You trust me, sweetheart?”

It was the second time that night he’d asked, and once again, your breathless “yes” came without hesitation—because you did. More than anything.

His pupils dilated, his Adam’s apple bobbed with a slow, deliberate swallow, and then—finally—he eased a finger inside you, achingly slow, curling it just right. Your breath hitched, thoughts dissolving into pure sensation. And when he pressed another in alongside it, stretching you, filling you, working a steady rhythm, your body clenched around him, lost in the intoxicating pleasure only he could give.

“So fucking tight. So wet,” he groaned, voice thick with lust, his darkened gaze locked on the way his fingers disappeared inside you.

His free hand slid up your stomach, palm pressing down just above your mound—grounding you, holding you in place as his movements grew relentless. The wet, obscene sounds of your arousal filled the room, each slick thrust of his fingers working you open, drawing you closer to something deeper, something more intense than before.

A new sensation coiled low in your belly—hot, insistent, unfamiliar. Your brows furrowed, uncertainty flickering through the haze of pleasure, yet your body chased it desperately, caught in the war between holding on and—

“Let go,” he murmured, his voice rough, but beneath the command, there was something else. Something deeper than lust. Devotion. “I’ve got you.”

A sharp cry ripped from your lips as his thumb found your clit, circling, teasing, pushing you past the edge. The pleasure built—stronger, overwhelming, impossible to fight. Your body tensed, the sensation cresting into something too big to contain, and then, with one final flick of his fingers—

You shattered.

A gasp tore from your throat as your release gushed from you, pleasure crashing through every nerve, leaving you trembling and wrecked beneath him. Dean groaned, a deep, guttural sound, his grip tightening as he worked you through it, his hand and arm drenched in your pleasure. He watched you fall apart like it was the most breathtaking thing he’d ever seen.

And when you finally slumped against the sheets, spent and shaking, he leaned down, brushing a kiss over your quivering stomach. His lips curled into a soft, satisfied smile as he made his way up your body, pressing slow, reverent kisses along your skin before claiming your lips in a deep, lingering kiss—one that felt like more than just pleasure. Like worship.

“Holy shit.” You gasped as you broke apart, chest heaving, body still trembling in the aftermath. “I’ve never done that before.” A breathless chuckle left your lips, but when your gaze flickered down to the large, dark wet spot on the sheets, embarrassment flared hot across your cheeks.

Dean groaned, low and appreciative, pressing a kiss to your jaw before nipping at your neck. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His voice was rough with awe, and before you could dwell on your shyness, he was coaxing that fire right back to life.

He settled over you, not even caring about the dampness soaking through his trousers as he rocked against you, grinding his hard length against your bare, oversensitive core. The rough fabric, straining against his arousal, created delicious friction that made you gasp, hips tilting instinctively to chase more.

“Dean, please,” you begged, arms looping around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair as his mouth sealed over one of your hardened nipples through your dress. The teasing drag of his teeth sent a shiver down your spine, but just as quickly as he started, he pulled away. His green eyes burned into yours as he ran his hands up the length of your arms, lifting them once again above your head.

You sighed in frustration—until his lips were on yours again, kissing you slow and deep, stealing the air from your lungs as he expertly undid the knot around your wrists. The moment you were free, your hands were on him—fisting his hair, deepening the kiss, tugging impatiently at his shirt. A silent plea.

He took the hint. Sitting back on his haunches, he made quick work of the buttons, slipping the fabric from his shoulders. You barely gave yourself a moment to admire the sight before you were sitting up, hands moving to his belt and zipper with urgency.

Dean stood from the bed, shoving his pants and boxers down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and aching, the tip glistening with precum.

Your mouth watered. A fresh wave of heat pooled between your thighs. Fuck.

Shuffling to your knees, you moved to the edge of the bed, hands trailing reverently down his stomach as you pressed your lips to his. One hand wrapped around his length, your grip firm but teasing as you pumped him slowly.

“Shit.” He exhaled sharply, head dropping to your shoulder as he let himself feel, his body shuddering beneath your touch.

His cock twitched in your grasp, his skin hot, his breath uneven as your strokes grew bolder. “Can I taste you?” you murmured against his skin, voice soft but dripping with want.

Dean shivered. Straightening, his hand cupped your jaw, thumb ghosting over your bottom lip before you parted your lips for him, sucking the digit into your mouth. You held his gaze as you swirled your tongue around the pad of his thumb, and his breath hitched, nostrils flaring as his cock throbbed in your grasp.

His voice was hoarse, full of raw hunger. “Fuck, yeah.”

A triumphant grin tugged at your lips as you began your descent, kissing down the column of his throat, over his chest, lingering at the hard ridges of his abdomen. His muscles tensed beneath your lips, twitching slightly as you traced the sharp definition with your tongue.

By the time you reached your destination, you were lying on your stomach, feet kicked up behind you in an almost innocent contrast to what you were about to do. Your hands glided over his length once more, appreciating the heat, the weight of him in your palms.

Dean groaned, his head tipping back, fingers flexing at his sides as if resisting the urge to touch you.

And then—without warning—you took him into your mouth.

“Jesus—fuck!” He choked on air, his hips jerking instinctively, his body betraying him as he twitched against your tongue. His muscles went rigid, thighs trembling as you guided him deeper into the wet heat of your mouth.

You hummed in satisfaction, sending vibrations down his length, and his hands finally found their way to your hair, tangling in the strands with a strangled moan.

Dean’s grip in your hair tightened, his breathing ragged, his control hanging by a thread. He groaned, head tilting back as he fought the overwhelming pleasure, but you didn’t let up. The slow drag of your lips, the way your tongue teased him—it was too much. His hips jerked instinctively, pushing deeper into your mouth, and a strangled moan ripped from his throat.

“Shit—wait, sweetheart—” His voice was rough, breaking apart with every shaky inhale. His hand trembled where it cradled your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as if he wanted to savour the moment, but he was losing himself too fast. “Fuck, I need you to—”

His restraint snapped. In one fluid motion, he pulled you off him, his chest heaving from being so close to the brink and denying it.

You sat up, wiping the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand, satisfaction glinting in your eyes.

“That good, huh?” you teased, voice breathless, sultry.

Dean’s nostrils flared, his gaze dark and hungry, his jaw clenching—then suddenly, his mouth crashed against yours. The kiss was desperate, messy, his tongue claiming yours with the same hunger that had his hands roaming over your body.

His grip was everywhere—your waist, your breasts, your ass—before he spun you, pressing you back down onto your stomach.

Your cheek met the sheets, your body arching instinctively as his weight covered you. His chest was hot and solid against your back, his breath ragged at your ear as his hands smoothed down your sides—slow, deliberate, possessive.

“Fuck, baby…” He groaned, trailing his lips over your shoulder, his teeth scraping your skin before his palms slid over your hips, over your ass, spreading you open. He exhaled a harsh, shaky breath, his restraint hanging by a thread.

“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he rasped, as he ran the tip of his cock through your slick seam, teasing—just for a second—before he pressed forward, sinking inside in one long, devastating thrust.

Your mouth fell open on a sharp, breathless moan, your fingers clawing at the sheets as he filled you, stretching you perfectly.

“Oh—oh my God—Dean—”

A low, feral sound vibrated from his chest as he bottomed out, his body flush against yours, pressing you into the mattress.

And he didn’t hold back. 

He fucked you hard, the force of his thrusts driving you into the mattress, his hips slamming against yours, skin meeting skin in a sinful symphony.

“Jesus—” Dean groaned, his forehead pressing between your shoulder blades, his arms trembling as he caged you beneath him.

Your teeth sank into the fabric beneath you, muffling your cries as he pressed down, his weight anchoring you, moulding you into the mattress. The feeling of him inside you—deep, unrelenting—had your body trembling, pleasure coiling tight in your core.

His fingers sought yours, interlocking as he braced himself above you, his other hand gripping your hip, holding you close as if letting go wasn’t an option. The slick sound of skin against skin, the quiet whimpers, the desperate gasps—all of it built into something overwhelming, something unstoppable.

“Come on, baby,” he groaned, his lips ghosting over your ear, his hand sliding between your bodies, fingers finding your clit. “I can feel it—so close—come for me.”

The second his fingers swiped over you, pleasure slammed into you like a tidal wave, dragging you under. A sharp, broken cry tore from your lips, your body seizing, trembling, your walls pulsing tight around him as you shattered.

“Fuck—” Dean choked out, his rhythm faltering as you milked him, his grip on your hand tightening, his body trembling above you. With a ragged, shuddering groan, he buried himself deep, spilling inside you, his breath hot and uneven against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you moved—just tangled limbs, heavy breaths, and the aftershocks still rippling through you both. Dean pressed his forehead between your shoulder blades, placing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your damp skin as he tried to catch his breath.

Eventually, you groaned at the weight pinning you down, and Dean carefully pulled out of you, rolling to your side, blowing out a breath. His racing heart was still on the come-down, his sweat-slick skin sticking to the sheets beneath him.

You felt weightless, like your limbs were made of jelly as you remained sprawled out on your stomach. Dean turned his head to you, an amused, proud smirk tugging at his lips.

“You good, sweetheart?” he hummed, then thwarted your butt cheek with a light smack, making you jump and gasp.

You lifted your head, sweeping your hair out of your face, looking thoroughly wrecked—hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red, the smear of your lipstick only adding to the effect. It was a look he secretly stashed away as one of his favourites on you.

“I don’t think I can walk,” you huffed, a giggle escaping as you tried to move your legs. Dean watched your half-hearted attempt, barely lifting your foot an inch before snickering.

“Hey, it’s not funny,” you protested, swatting his chest. He flinched but didn’t stop laughing. “I can’t sleep in these sheets,” you grimaced, feeling the dampness beneath you.

“It’s fine, you can sleep in my bed.” He suggested casually. You paused. Sleeping together, as in actually sleeping, wasn’t part of the arrangement. It was too intimate. The first night you’d slept together didn’t count, you’d both passed out. 

However, this time you could chose, and your heart was screaming at you to say yes, which is why you knew you should say no. 

“I can hear you thinking." Dean hummed and looked at you with a knowing smile. “Look, considered it a small clause, sleeping together after sex is just part of the aftercare; in this case, paralysis.” Dean bit his lip to contain his laughter, but it was no use at the deadpan look you gave him. 

“You’re actually a loser, you know that?” you muttered, shaking your head. You attempted to rise again, but your lower half wasn’t cooperating, so you flopped back down, frustrated.

“C’mon,” he said, calming down a bit, “It’s just for tonight. Then tomorrow you can wash your sheets, and presto.”

Just because it made sense didn’t mean you had to like it.

“Okay, fine,” you relented, missing the wide grin spreading across his face as he sat up. He helped you roll over and then scooped you into his arms effortlessly, just like when he’d carried you in here earlier.

You tried not to look at him on the way to his room, tried not to notice how his body felt against yours. He settled you at the end of the bed and grabbed one of his shirts for you to wear. For once, you didn’t argue. The change in temperature between rooms was stark, instantly pebbling your skin.

Dean also slipped on a pair of sweats, and you had a feeling he picked the grey ones on purpose. He then went into the bathroom, coming back with a washcloth so you could clean yourself up a little. That you were grateful for. You then tossed it into his hamper and let him help you under the covers. 

“Thanks.” You muttered softly, and Dean smiled down at you before walking over to the other side and settling in himself. 

He kept his distance, something you were both grateful for, but also hated.

The space between you felt like a void, the warmth of his body just out of reach. It was ridiculous—you were just tangled up in the most intimate way possible, and now you were suddenly hyperaware of the gap between you.

Dean lay on his back, one arm tucked beneath his head, staring up at the ceiling. His breathing had evened out, but you knew he wasn’t asleep yet. You weren’t either. You were too busy thinking, overanalysing.

You turned your head slightly, stealing a glance at him. The dim light from the hallway cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the freckles on his nose. He looked—peaceful. More peaceful than you’d seen him in a long time.

Something tightened in your chest.

You sighed, rolling onto your side, trying to ignore the pull in your stomach, but Dean must have noticed because his head turned toward you, eyes lidded but alert.

“Can’t sleep?” His voice was raspy, deep from exhaustion.

You hesitated before answering. “No.”

Dean was quiet for a moment, then, without a word, he lifted his arm in silent invitation. You should’ve said no, should’ve turned over and forced yourself to sleep. But your body betrayed you, dragging yourself closer until you could rest your head against his shoulder, his warmth seeping into you instantly.

His arm curled around you naturally, fingers tracing absentminded circles against your arm. You could hear his heartbeat, slow and steady beneath your ear.

“This doesn’t mean anything,” you whispered, more for yourself than him.

Dean let out a small huff of laughter. “No. Of course not”

And when sleep finally came, it found you tangled up in him, your fingers resting over his heart, his arm holding you like he didn’t plan on letting go anytime soon.

AN: So how did you feel about the continuation? Did I surprise you? Did you think it'd be all angsty? 👀 Maybe there's still time for that... 🫣 Also I'm curious to see who you think Steve was based off... 😜And as always feedback is much appreciated 💕

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

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Next Time...

Dean sidled up next to you as you began resetting the table for the next game, leaning in close enough that you felt the heat of him at your back, the scent of his cologne—spicy, with deep, woody undertones—wrapping around you. “I didn’t take you for a dirty player, Singer,” he murmured, his voice a low rasp against your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, but you masked it with a smirk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You kept your tone coy as you finished racking up the balls, then turned to squeeze past him, pressing your ass just a little more firmly against his front. The low sound he made—half a groan, half a curse—was deeply, deeply satisfying. You didn’t turn around as you sauntered off toward the bar, but you didn’t need to. You knew damn well he was watching, that he was still standing there, fists flexing at his sides, teeth clenched.

[teddybeartoji]

彡 HE'S ANNOYING AND BEAUTIFUL AND HE'S GOING TO RUIN YOUR FUCKING DAY

☆. contains: satoru gojo x gn!reader; con-artists au, crack, he's stupid, he also has a massive fucking crush on you (and you're no better btw), reader smokes a cigarette gasp!! oh and reader is wearing a suit wc: 2.2k

+ a few hours later...

the spring sun warms your skin as sit on a little bench on top of the hill that overlooks your destination. a castle – it's fancy, fanciest you've ever seen. it's fucking massive and you can't help but wonder, how it would feel to sprint through the long beautiful hallways of the place...

way too many super cars are lined up in front of it and their various colors are making your eyes hurt. people in stunning dresses and equally stunning suits spill out of the machines and they laugh and roar, smoke blowing from their noses and lips as they flex their expensive pipes and cigarette holders. bald men with terrible mustaches flood your vision and you decide that you've had enough for the moment and let your head fall back. this is your last chance to recharge before the work begins.

digging in your inner suit pocket, you pull out a silver cigarette case with a beautiful engraving on it. memories reside in the little crevices of the art and the thoughts make a sentimental (albeit an annoying one. you'd never do this in front of him.) smile tug at the corners of your lips. the tiny machine was part of a set, a gift for you.

you try not to think about that for too long.

patting the side of your upper thigh, you dig out a lighter. it's just a plastic one; it's old as hell and it has definitely seen better days. but despite its tired look, you still consider it a friend, a partner, a helping hand.

you grab a cig from the box and place it between your lips before pocket the case again. the lighter is warm in your hands as you stare at the design on it. swirls and lines run all across the silver, dancing and merging together. a lot of memories are buried in the cracks of them and a sentimental smile tugs on the corners of your lips.

click! click! click!

perhaps today is the day you'll lay it to rest. there's no fire, no heat, but you're not mad. the cigarette hangs from your lips and you let out a sigh. you lean back onto your hand and close your eyes; if you won't get your final energy boost from nicotine, the sun will have to do it.

a gust of wind brushes over your skin, it cards through your hair and you feel alive. the laughter from down below finds it way up to you and it makes you crack a grin yourself – these rich pricks won't know what hit them. this'll be an easy job, no sweat. in and out, it'll only take a few hours tops if everything goes without a hitc—

click!

time slows.

cracking open an eye, you watch the stick catch fire.

engravings in silver – a perfect match to the ones on the case that's hiding comfortably in your chest pocket. right beside your heart. pale, slender fingers and manicured nails, a perfectly fitted sleeve – it's him. trailing up his arm with your eye, his cologne fills your nostrils and you realize that he's standing way closer than you thought.

it takes a mere two seconds and you craning your neck to meet his eyes. they match the clear sky, the only difference being that while birds twirl and dance in the blue ocean up above your heads, little stars twinkle in his.

satoru gojo.

and his stupid fucking smile.

you hate him.

he snaps the little silver machine shut before placing it back into his pocket with one swift move. his pearly white teeth shine under the blinding sun and the sight of his dimples makes your stomach churn. silly butterflies.

staring up at him, you hollow your cheeks and breathe in the smoke. it travels through your mouth and makes its way deep into your lungs. he's patient. the grey fog fills your organs and you let it simmer before letting out out again. you blow it at him but he doesn't budge; your eyes look so pretty in this light. he watches your lips curl into a pretty little smirk and then he's already being blessed with your saccharine voice. "gojo."

he does a dramatic bow as he stands before you – his one hand behind his back and the other on his heart. "my beloved."

the hum and the eye roll you award him with warm his insides. he straightens his spine and locks both his hands behind him, almost making him look like an innocent, virtuous person. it's that charming smile of his that's able to save him from just about everything. his ability to bare his teeth in the most endearing way pisses you off.

it really fucking does.

he twirls on his heel and the gentle gust of wind ruffles his snowy hair. he eyes the castle below and the little ant-people that buzz in front of it.

"you got an invite?" he asks in a sing-song voice. he seems excited. that's a bad thing for you. he will ruin your plans, you already know it.

"i did not."

you don't need to see his face to know that his smile has stretched even wider. you hate it. he quirps a little "hm" before spinning back around. his hand dips into his inner suit pocket and returns with an ivory envelope. his eyelashes flutter shut as he dramatically fans his face with it.

you hate him.

"that's too bad. they have this cool new system – they give you a keycard. they check it at the door, of course, but after that you can just go wild with it." he paces around in front of you while you just inhale the smoke back into your lungs as a way to alleviate the fact that he's going to ramble about a fucking key card. "there are tiers, you see. the smaller guys just get to use it as the invite while others..."

he turns to you with a big grin. "can actually open some super secret doors."

he flicks the envelope just to show it off some more and you wish you could suffocate him with the cigarette smoke. or maybe you should just push him off this damn hill instead.

"not that you would know anything about it though..." his words trail off as his eyes snake their way up from the ground and to your pretty face.

"and you're one of the big guys then, i presume?"

your remark is like water off a duck's back. it's the exact opposite actually – it only eggs him on. he watches the smoke slip from between your lips as you try to bite him back, he watches your chest fall; you look handsome in your suit. he's never seen you in an outfit like this - sure, he's seen you in some fancy fits before but this... takes the crown for sure.

you almost look like you belong here, though he skeptical on whether you'd think of that as a compliment or not. he doesn't say it, opting for something else.

"you look good– "

"you look good."

damn.

you blink up at him, he blinks down on you. he fiddles with his fingers behind his back and he bites back the comment he wants to make about you complimenting him, about you two speaking at the same time. something about being partners, something-something.

he does look good.

he's also wearing a gorgeous black suit on top of a pearly white shirt and a matching black bowtie adorns his neck, and it looks like he did try to style his hair just a little, but you know him – you know he likes it when the wind messes it up. he always says it makes him look more rugged.

you assume he doesn't know what the word means.

silence falls upon the two of you, engulfing you in this comfortable little bubble. your lips wrap around the cigarette again and he pockets the envelope in his hand.

"y'think so?"

he asks for praise so nonchalantly that you almost give in. "...maybe."

satoru's chest puff up and his eyes light up even more than ever – you regret your decision to tell him that. his lips part but you don't give him a chance to tease you any further.

you shake the cigarette butt before pushing yourself off the bench. satoru observes you, always so excited about everything you do. he can't tear his eyes from you. placing the cig back between your lips, you approach the man in front of you in a confident stride.

without locking eyes with him, you take your place a little bit too close in front of him and casually reach for his tie. satoru's breath hitches at the sudden proximity but he doesn't back away. you tug at the edges of it, your eyebrows furrowing in the process. you look cute, all concentrated and everything. his smile makes its way back onto his lips as he stares at you and his hands twitch at his sides.

smoke dances in the air as you take your time to fix his tie; the sun melts the two of you together as the silence settles around you again. the breeze plays with his hair some more, it grazes the apples of your cheeks and it's refreshing. this feels like the old times.

"smoking kills, you know."

his voice is barely above a whisper and you snort at him. "so do cars, dipshit."

"hm, douche."

you send a sharp glare at him and he doesn't even try to hold his ever-growing grin. the stupid fucking butterflies in your stomach are making you sick. he's about to say something ridiculous again, so you rush to give his earlobe a gentle-not-so-gentle tug. you laugh at the way he winces and the way his skin turns a dark shade of pink in a matter of seconds; it manages to bloom all over his ears and the apples of his cheeks before he decides to swat your hand away.

your eyes and the tingling pain in his ear are enough to distract him from your wandering hands. skilled fingers dip under the front of his suit jacket as you lean forward to whisper to him. "it's touché."

his eyes glue themselves onto the cigarette in your mouth, between your pretty lips, giving you more than enough time to swipe the envelope from his chest pocket with ease.

"right..."

dusting off some imaginary dust from his shoulder, you cock your head to the side and take the cigarette from your lips while giving him another good look. how could you not? despite his god-awful personality and his tendency to screw up every single one of your plans in one way or another – he's the most beautiful man you've ever seen. from this angle you could count the freckles that are scattered across his nose and cheeks, hell – you could count his damn eyelashes if you really wanted to.

(you kind of do.)

while he's being bewitched by you and your eyes and your perfume and the damn smoking stick in your hand, you hide the envelope behind your back. you make use of the promiximity between you two, your own body concealing the movement of you tucking the thing under your own suit jacket and into the waistband of your pants. you're here to steal afterall.

satoru rubs his ear and feigns a pout. it's the fakest one you've seen yet, but then a dopey smile makes it's way onto his lips and for a second you think that your plan didn't work, that he felt it, that he saw it—

"you know... if you wanted satoru to just get you an invite, you should've just said so, sweetheart."

...

you stare at him with a blank face and he shines right back at you. he plucks the cigarette from your hand and throws it to the ground, stomping on the thing, he puts out the light with the heel of his foot.

"but... since you didn't ask for it, since you didn't ask for satoru's help... you'll have to find your own way in, yeah?" he's way too smug, too arrongant and the only thing that's making you feel better is the thought of him being shut out from the party because he doesn't have the invite. anymore.

"stop referring to yourself in third person, it makes you look stupid."

"you don't think i look stupid in the first place then?"

.............

you can't wait for this day to be over.

"alright. go now. run along, little prince." you give his shoulder a shove but he refuses to back away, leaning closer a little instead.

"are you gonna be okay out here, hm? all alone? no keycard or nothing?"

even his breath smells good. you want to punch him.

"don't worry about me, gojo. i'm sure i'll figure something out."

"ahh! you always do! and that's why you're the greatest, baby!" wincing at the volume of his tone, you clench your jaw and press your teeth together. satoru loves it when you do that. "don't take too long, okay? i'll miss you."

he offers you another fake pout and turns around on his heel, but not before giving you a wink. he looks over his shoulder for the last time and...

"don't forget to throw away the cig! littering isn't sexy!"

he's so overbearingly annoying and he will so ruin your fucking plans.

[leighsartworks216]

Scar Tissue

Sylus x gn!Reader

Eyyyyy @comatosebunny09 I finally finished it >:3

Based on this post

Title from "Scar Tissue" by Red Hot Chili Peppers

Warnings: cuddling, early relationship, intimacy, injury, guns, knives, semi-nudity

Word Count: 2,421

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

The Raven Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Speak.”

The generic carpet muffles his footfalls as he crosses the room to the oversized floor to ceiling windows that peer out over Chansia City. You follow behind him until you get to the dresser, lined neatly with your clothes.

The hotel is very nice, especially high up here in the presidential suite. Though, you haven’t had much time to actually enjoy it. You got here yesterday, and it feels like all you’ve had time for is sleeping and getting dressed. It’s all been meetings, deals and exchanges otherwise. The only reason you’re back here at all is to change clothes to go to dinner with another client.

Sylus sighs, irritation painting his face with a scowl. You can just barely hear Luke’s voice on the other end. They’ve been holding down the N109 Zone in Sylus’s absence. “More petty land grabs?”

“Nah, from what we’ve heard it sounds like an affair came to light and now they’re duking it out to win their love.”

You snicker as you pull out a clean shirt. You turn and drop it on the bed, back to Sylus as you take off your shirt, bloody and torn from your earlier meeting. He turns to shoot you a half-amused half-annoyed glance over his shoulder. “Have Mephisto-”

But the words get stuck in his throat. Time seems to slow down as he stares at the bare expanse of your back. Your skin looks like a well-used cutting board. Scar after scar, criss-crossing over each other, fundamentally altering the appearance of your flesh for years to come.

He can pinpoint which were from missions he’d sent you on. Jobs that put you in the line of fire, where you had to fight your way out to survive, where someone got a surprise jump on you.

Others are completely foreign. Cuts and bullet wounds and burn marks, all unfamiliar to him. What secrets from your past do you keep locked away from him? How safe are you from the ones that hurt you? Would you ever tell him if something was wrong? If something cropped up from back then, from a time he’d never know enough of? Perhaps not.

Somehow, the former was worse. Knowing he was the one that sent you into trouble. Or those damn injuries you earned from taking a hit intended for him. Being the root cause for your pain aches more than never knowing the damage you incurred before.

You slip your shirt on, hiding the marks from view, and peek over your shoulder at him, confused by his silence. Time speeds back up.

He schools his features into something neutral, hiding the regret and hurt, and burying it deep down within him. He looks out the windows once more. Luke asks if he’s alright. Sylus ignores it, speaking as if nothing ever happened.

-

Dinner was dull, for the most part. The client didn’t seem to understand that you weren’t there for conversation, repeatedly prompting you to answer questions. You’d have signaled Sylus to put the man in his place, but it was all too amusing to see him flounder.

“What kind of gun do you use?” You’d slipped it from its holder mid sip of wine and dropped it onto the table with a heavy thud. That’d taken him by surprise. He recovered quickly enough, spewing off facts about the make and model that you already knew.

“Has it been modified?” You broke it down and separated the parts that had been replaced or enhanced. He’d curiously reached out to inspect them, but you put it back together before he could touch anything. He paused, but put on a slightly strained, polite smile as he awkwardly sat back in his chair.

“How good is your aim?” You shot the end of his cigarette when he went to tap the ashes into a dish, scaring him so bad he shook the entire table and had to rapidly keep his drink from tipping into his lap.

He seemed content to leave you be after that.

You fall back into the bed, arms spread out wide and still in your dinner attire. Sylus chuckles. “Have fun?” he teases. He sits down beside you, leaning on his arm with an amused grin.

You shoot an unimpressed glare his way. Fabric rustles as you slide your hand along the bed to hold his arm, caressing the tensed muscles of his forearm. “Don’t worry, you can make it up to me.”

His grin turns into a salacious smirk. You smack his bicep. “Not like that.”

“You don’t know what I was going to suggest.” Nonetheless, he kicks off his shoes by the side of the bed and lays down beside you. With one hand acting as a pillow, the other rests comfortably on your stomach. You wrap your arm around his neck to play with his hair. Content, you close your eyes.

The last vestiges of the sun filter through the window. Combined with the few lights in the room, you look… peaceful. It’s starting to become a common sight, and he takes great pleasure in being the one allowed to witness it. These times when you trust him enough to relax. When you stop listening out for the slightest hint of danger. When your body releases the tension constantly preparing your body for an attack. It’s a privilege. He hopes never to take it for granted.

Your fingers flit lazily through his hair. His body still tenses on the onset of your touch. His natural instinct yells for him to pull away, go on the defensive, protect himself. It’s always a battle to fight against them and allow himself to completely trust someone. As this - cuddling together, the small moments of physical intimacy and skinship - become the normal, the fight gets easier and easier.

He wonders if that same defensive instinct wars on in your head when he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt. The first brush of his fingers on your flesh, the flinch of muscle away from the contact, that eases back into his touch after a pause. If it does, you say nothing of it. Rather, when your stomach flinches away, you tug on his hair. An equal exchange. And perhaps a reminder of the lengths you have both gone to expose yourselves to each other.

Calloused fingertips dance across your belly, hidden by the fabric of your shirt. Soft ridges and toughened skin of layers of damage done across the years. His mind is shot back to the thoughts he had earlier. You can feel the shift in his touch. The way his fingers lift to barely ghost over your skin, as though you’re as thin and fragile as wet tissue paper. You open your eyes to watch him.

His face is stern. Like when discussing a difficult deal, his brow is furrowed and his eyes are dark. He slowly pushes up the shirt until it rests in a rumpled heap around the bottom of your ribcage. The shift in your breathing latches on at the edge of his senses. Just as with your back, scar after scar decorates your skin. But one stands out from the rest.

Along the line of your hip is a cut. It’s shallow. The skin it tore apart is irritated from lack of care and not having a moment to rest properly.

That’s his fault, too. Dragging you out to a dinner you didn’t really want to go to instead of giving you the opportunity to sleep and heal. Technically, you’re his bodyguard - his guard dog, always by his side, defending him from anyone who you deem a threat. Yet, he’s discomfited by just how quickly you step in to protect him. That’s what this scar is the result of.

The meeting this morning. A fight broke out. He was aiming a gun at the other group leader. One of their lackeys came up from the side with a knife. And you got hit. It had bled, but you’d brushed him off so easily when he mentioned it. You weren’t doubled over, nor were you in a rush to patch it up, so he trusted your judgement. Without a second thought.

Fortunately, your judgement is dependable. All it really needs is a bandage to keep the skin together and bacteria out while it heals, and yet he doesn’t get up. He doesn’t move. All he does is trace alongside it, feeling how it becomes intertwined with the scars before it.

“You need to take better care of yourself,” he says, but the tone of his voice is odd. Teasing, edged with something raw. Something more vulnerable. Something that you two have been dancing around for weeks. “Tell me the next time you’re hurt. I’ll patch you up.”

You brush the hair from his face. His red eyes shift first to the bunched up fabric of your shirt, then to yours. His eyes are soft. The deep maroon of before has melted into a bloody crimson.

“I can patch myself up.”

He scoffs with a smirk and the slight tilt of his head. “I wasn’t asking, sweetie.”

You quirk a brow up at him. “Does it bother you?”

“Yeah,” he agrees readily.

Your fingers falter. He brushes his thumb more firmly along the edge of the cut, still light enough that it doesn’t hurt, but with enough force that it no longer feels like he’s treating you like something fragile.

You frown at him, tapping three times at the base of his skull, a silent request for more information. He pushes himself up onto his elbow. It should be salacious, even intimidating, for him to hover over you like this. But it’s not.

His eyes follow his hand as he traces other marks on your belly. A bullet entrance wound here, a Wanderer’s blade there. The ones he caresses are newer. They haven’t yet faded into your skin. Of all of them, he’d only helped treat one or two. Some, he never even knew about, but he could trace back to when, what mission, they were received from.

“How many of these are from protecting me?” he asks lowly. “You do realize I can heal from all of these much faster than you can, don’t you, sweetie?”

You tilt your head. “It bothers you… that I do my job?”

He chuckles, but the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “You could stand to be a little less efficient at it.”

The world falls quiet. The sun disappears, leaving darkness in her wake. The orange glow of the hotel lamps forms mountains and valleys along your skin. You study him, searching for answers.

Over your lifetime struggling to survive, you’d gotten good at reading people, Sylus included. Of course, he had broken your assumptions and expectations. If he hadn’t, you’d never have let him get so close. Never have allowed him to touch you like this, see your skin like this.

Right now, you can’t understand him.

He hired you to be his bodyguard, to protect him. To be his own personal shield when shit hits the fan. But he doesn’t want you to? A lingering fear in your mind worries for the end of your partnership. Would he really touch you like this if he wanted to fire you? Besides, when you made the damn deal, he said only you would have the power to call it off. He wasn’t someone to go against his word.

You drop your hand from his hair. His eyes snap to you, a flicker of fear that is snuffed out when you touch his chest. He’s still wearing his nice dress shirt, jacket discarded elsewhere. You play with one of the buttons. “How many times have you stepped in to protect me?” you ask.

Countless times. More and more frequently.

“Do you let any of them scar?”

He slowly shakes his head. It’s always second nature for him to use his Evol to take care of any and all injuries. Anything that could scar is gone before he has a chance to think about it, so long as he’s in the right conditions to use it.

“Then you can’t understand.”

He hums. “Enlighten me.”

You grin. Gliding your hand from his chest, down his arm, you hold the back of his where it rests on your stomach. It doesn’t take much effort to guide him. He watches, feels the scars that scrape by, as you bring it back back down to your hip, until his palm rests over the cut. It will heal within a couple of weeks, probably less. Once it’s healed, it will scar over. Once it scars over, it will be nothing more than a lasting memory embedded in your skin.

“They’re badges,” you say quietly. When he looks back up at you, you’re watching his hand, trailing your fingertips over the veins that decorate them. “I earned them from protecting you.”

So why would I not want them?

It goes unsaid, but he catches it anyway in the gentle reverence of your carress, the quirk of your brow when you look at him wordlessly asking if he can understand now. It doesn’t need to be said.

He slips his hand out from under yours. The bed shifts with his weight as he turns and gets up. You feel the loss immediately. It’s easy to hide the disappointment, but it churns over in your gut, more distinctly than you’ve ever felt it before, as he disappears around the corner of the wall. Did he really hate them so much?

He returns a minute later when you’re considering fixing your shirt with a medkit in hand. He sits on his knees, sets the kit down beside your body, and opens it up to get what he needs. The disinfectant stings as he wipes it along the cut, but you hardly feel it when he just looks so beautiful. So focused on taking care of you.

“Tell me when you're hurt,” he reminds you. He unspools a length of gauze and wraps it around your midsection securely. He glances at you with a slight grin as he grabs a roll of bandages from the kit. “They won’t scar well if they get infected first.”

A week later, you’re the one patching him up. He sits calmly on the couch as you draw a needle through the skin of his bicep. It’s just a knife wound. Earned from stepping in to protect you.

He can’t wait to see the scar.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip

[somanyratsinthewalls]

Yellow- Sanji PROMPTS! "Show me how to touch you." "You're so wet, for me, love?"

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Female Reader

Summary: Sanji is so into you until he's not. It pisses you the fuck off. What is his deal?

WC: 3200

Content Warnings: WEIRD COMMUNICATION ISSUES! I promise Sanji isn’t manipulative, she was def into him from the jump. P IN V SEX! Unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk and praise.

Tag List: @dreamcastgirl99 This one is for you too :)

— — 

From the day you met the Straw Hat Pirates, you knew that Sanji was a flirt. 

Okay… maybe that was a bit under-stated…

He was a desperate, horny, hopelessly romantic, slightly-perverted-yet-chivalrous sap of a man. 

He wasn’t your type and you were too cruel to lead him on so you set him straight very quickly after you joined Luffy’s crew on the high seas. You were always fast to shoot him down on his every attempt to shower you in affection every time you wore a low cut top. 

“Y/n! You look absolutely breathtaking this afternoon, is that a new blouse? The color really compliments your eyes. Can I get you something to eat? A drink, perhaps?” Sanji would fuss and fawn over you, much to your annoyance. 

“Down boy, I have no interest in getting your drool on my shirt. Buzz off, respectfully.” You gave Sanji a warning glare while pushing past him to join the other ladies to lounge underneath the tangerine trees. 

— — 

You had never had a problem rejecting Sanji’s advances until the time he caught you alone in the kitchen one morning. 

You had woken up before dawn naturally and couldn’t fall back asleep so you decided to get a quick workout in up in the crow’s nest before Zoro was awake to fill the space with his crass behavior and signature musk. You throw on a plain black pair of leggings with a sports bra and some sneakers, then toss your hair up in a high ponytail. You set off from your room and headed up to the crow’s nest as the sun was starting to make its sleepy ascent into the starlit sky. 

After you finished working out, you wiped the sweat off your skin with a towel and throw it over your shoulder to head to the galley. Daylight had broken but it was still quite early. You could only hear the call of the gulls and the soft crash of waves against the sides of the ship. 

You enter the galley and find it quiet and empty. You trot softly towards the cabinets and pull down a glass. You open the fridge and pull out the carafe of water to pour yourself a glass. After stowing the carafe you bring the glass to your lips and take several deep gulps. You finally finish the cup and grab the towel on your shoulder to wipe any water or remaining sweat from your face. As you ruffle your face in the towel you hear the galley door swing open. 

“Oh, y/n! Good morning! I didn’t expect anyone up this early.” 

Your nose was filled with the scent of strong cologne and menthol cigarettes. 

You look up, towel in hand. 

“Hey Sanji. Sorry, didn’t mean to spook you, I just couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d get a workout in before Zoro stinks up the place with his gross pits.” You respond with a soft, mischievous smile. 

Sanji chuckles. 

“You’d think he was allergic to soap.” Sanji starts preparing breakfast by grabbing some pots from the hanger and the pot holders from the counter. “Hey I heard the island we’re hitting soon is super famous for their seafood. I was thinking we could try and find a nice restaurant when we get there!” Sanji cranes his head up for a moment to look at you while he chops a bunch of spring onions. 

“Yeah that sounds good, I’m down. It’ll give you a chance to sit down and eat for once.” You say and toss your sweat towel back over your shoulder. “And I’m sure Luffy and Zoro wouldn’t object to going anywhere with food and booze.” You laugh and move to head back to your room. 

“Oh, no, I was actually thinking just you and I could go.” Sanji says, seasoning the scrambled eggs he was deftly cooking on the stove. “You know, like a date?” 

His words didn’t carry the lilting, dreamy tone that they usually did when he fawned over you in front of the other crew members. They lacked the silly, dramatic intonation that they had when he complimented Nami’s bikini or Robin’s new haircut. Why was he so… casual?

You turn back around on your heels. You cock your head. 

“You’re… asking me… on a date?” You say with a raised eyebrow. 

“Yes.” Sanji looks up from his cooking and smiles at you shyly. 

“…A real date?” You question further. 

“Yes.” He says with a breathy chuckle. 

“… Why?” You narrow your eyes in confusion. 

“Well, because I like you.” Sanji smiles and turns the stove off. He takes a step towards you and leans his hip up against the counter. You meet his eyes… “I really, like you actually. And I’d like to take you out on a proper date. So… what do you say?” He says with raised, curly eyebrows. 

“No.” You respond immediately. 

There was a silence. 

Sanji smiles again.

“Alright.” He turns the oven on and continues to prepare the crew’s breakfast. 

You were not expecting to be met with that answer. You were shocked. He didn’t prod, protest, plead… anything at all! He simply accepted your rejection and is now toasting bread like nothing happened? You turn back and head towards the door to return to your room but your curiosity got the better of you. You whip back around. 

“What do you mean, ‘alright’?” You ask with furrowed brows and a confused tilt of your head. 

“I mean, ‘alright’, as in ‘it’s alright you don’t want to go on a date with me.’” Sanji laughs a bit. “Sorry y/n I guess I should have made it more clear! Do you want a cup of coffee before you go?”

“I guess I just.. never mind. No thanks, Sanji. I’m going to try and go back to sleep for another hour or so.” You reply. 

“Ah, well sweet dreams, then!” He gives you a friendly nod and you return it before you finally make it out of the galley. Once you get back to your room, you hopped into bed and shoved Sanji’s weird proposition out of your mind. 

— — 

3 Days Later 

— — 

You came back from exploring the island ready to grab your towel and head to the bathroom to wash-up for bed. You flop your sword onto the armchair by your bedroom door and strip yourself of your dirt and blood stained clothing, tossing it into a pile on the floor. 

As you turn to pick up a towel from the hanger on your closet door, you notice something foreign on your vanity, something you haven’t noticed before…

It was a blue vase filled with yellow daisies… your favorite flower. 

The sleek, trim blue vase with the protrusion of fluffy flowers at the top couldn’t help but jog your memory of a certain someone… 

Sanji must have left these for you. 

That fucking love-sick moron… But you were too tired to care or form a thought about his romantic gesture. 

You wrap a towel around your tired body and head to the bathroom to shower. You push open the wooden door to the bathrooms expecting to be alone, but jump when you see a shirtless blonde man at the counter brushing his teeth. 

“Mmph?”

He sucks in water from the tap and swirls it around his mouth. 

“I’m not going to date you.” You state plainly. 

Sanji spits the water into the sink. 

“I know.” He reaches for a washcloth to wipe his mouth. 

“Then why are you leaving flowers in my room?” You ask, accusatorially. 

“Because I like you. I like doing things for you.” Sanji smiles at you and throws a white cotton shirt over his head and moves to exit the bathroom to give you your privacy. “I don’t need an anterior motive.”

“But I told you I will literally never be with you… ever… So this is pointless.” You scowl and cross your arms. 

“Okay.” Sanji replies with an even brighter smile. “Sleep well, Y/n, it was a long day.” 

Sanji brushes past you politely and exits the bathroom. 

“I-“ 

Before you could respond, you were alone. 

— — 

You were laid on a beach chair in between your two best friends catching some rays on the deck of the bow of the Sunny. Robin was nose deep in a textbook while Nami slathered sunscreen across her porcelain skin. 

You sit up. 

“Can I ask you guys something?” You inquire, pulling your sunglasses up over your head. 

“What’s up?” Nami responds. 

“Has Sanji ever asked you out on a date?” You ask. 

“Are you kidding me, y/n? All he does is tell me how beautiful and rapturous I am… that’s just how he is. You haven’t seriously just noticed this now, have you?!” Nami laughs back at you. 

“No no… I mean has he ever like, asked you to dinner? Drinks? Alone?” You press further. “Like, a real date?”

Robin closes her book. 

“You know, now that you mention it, no.” He looks in your direction, her blue eyes showing some sort of curiosity. “I thought it was because he knows I’m spoken for… what about you, Nami? You’re very single, has he asked you out?”

“I mean, no I guess not…” Nami responds. “Why do you ask?” 

“Well…. He asked me out.. on a date… a week or so ago…” You reply sheepishly. 

“That’s… odd…” Robin peruses the situation. 

— — 

4 Days Later 

— — 

“You’re being weird.” Nami’s shrill voice snaps you back to reality. 

“Hmm?” You respond, clearly not paying attention. 

“See? You were totally out of it during dinner. Are you feeling okay?” Nami presses further. “You seem… irritated.” 

“I… I don’t know…” You fumble for words. Sanji had made your favorite meal for dinner, and said nothing about it. He made no grand showing of trying to impress you, just simply laid out a three course meal of all of your favorite dishes and retreated back to the kitchen. “I think I’m just tired.” 

“Well, go to bed then.” Robin chimes in. “Who knows what tomorrow may bring.”

You glance towards the galley door before looking back at your friends. 

“I think I’m going to grab another drink, a nightcap. I’m not tired yet. I’ll see you girls in the morning.” You smile before heading off to the kitchen. What you didn’t notice was the knowing glances exchanged between Nami and Robin. 

You push the doors to the galley open, swiftly locking them behind you. 

“Oh y/n, can I get you more wine? I just-“ Sanji looks back at you from the sink. 

“What the hell are you doing?” You ask, angrily. 

“I’m not sure what you-“ 

“Leaving me flowers? Asking me out? Cooking my favorite things? I’ve already told you I won’t date you!” You shout, storming up to the cook. 

“I know.” 

“Then would you stop fucking trying to get me to go out with you?!” You ask, getting even more irate. 

“I asked you out, you said no, and I said alright. I haven’t brought it up since.” Sanji says while casually drying a plate from the sink. 

You were fuming. 

“Yeah okay?! But you-!” You stomp, frustrated, fist balled at your side. “And you just-! But you keep-!” You stomp again. “Ugh!” 

Sanji puts away the dishes and steps towards you, giving you his full attention as he tosses his dish rag against the side of the sink. 

“Y/n, is there something wrong?” He asked with a raised, curly eyebrow. 

“Yes!” You shout immediately. “You say you want me but you’ve left it at that! You haven’t asked again in days! If anything you’ve been avoiding me! All I get is extravagant meals and flower arrangements!” You huff out. 

There’s a silence. Sanji cocks his head. 

“So… I asked you out… you said no… and you’re upset that I respected your rejection?” The blonde cook asks, confused. “What exactly have I done wrong here?” 

“I… I don’t-“ You throw your hands down at your sides. “I don’t know!”

“Well…” Sanji steps towards you, mere inches away from each other now. “What did you want from me?”

You could smell the amber of his cologne and the remnants of nicotine from his suit jacket at this distance. You tried to form a response but his broad shoulders engulfed your smaller frame as he approached you and you felt dwarfed in comparison… 

“I…” 

“Tell me…” Sanji places a gently hand on your waist and pulls you into him. “Is this alright, y/n?” Sanji asks as he uses his other hand to tilt your chin up so you can meet his eye line. You chest was flush with his and your heart fluttered in your chest… oh my god you really wanted this, didn’t you? That’s why you came in here… you wanted him to prove it to you… 

“Yes…” You whisper, your lips so close to Sanji’s now, your eyelids hooded and dazed. 

Sanji wastes no time after your consent to press his mouth to yours. 

His lips are soft and gently as he moves them carefully agains yours, making sure to take note of which maneuvers make you gasp and cling to him further as you kiss. 

“Oh-!” You yelp as Sanji grips your waist and pulls you up to sit you on the kitchen counter. He remained standing as he pulled your sweatpants down and discarded them to the floor. Sanji’s nimble fingers play up your slit over your panties and he smiles against your lips. 

“So wet… for me, love?” He asks, feeling the wetness seeping through your cotton undergarments. 

“Y-yes…” You gasp out, so desperate to feel more of his touch against your body. 

Sanji smirks and pulls your panties down to let them join your pants on the wooden floor of the kitchen.  He doesn’t even stand back up, Sanji kneels against the counter so that he’s face to face with your dripping sex. 

“So fucking gorgeous…” Sanji murmurs before he dives in between your legs. 

You yelp as you feel his expert tongue slither between your folds and find your clit with ease. Once he reaches your sensitive pearl with his wet muscle you moan out and grip his blonde locks with both hands. 

“Yes, there it is. Show me how to touch you…” He encourages you to guide him to help you reach your climax. 

“Oh my gods… Sanji…shit-“ You pull and yank on his hair, letting his goatee get saturated in your sticky fluids as he suckles on your clit. “Don’t stop, there-“ You keep bucking your pelvis up involuntarily into his hungry mouth. 

“Mph…… more baby… come on, give me more..” Sanji drunkenly slurs against your sex as he urges you to spill your release onto him. 

“Ah-!” You hit your peak as you push Sanji’s head further into you, relishing in the soft suckling of his supple lips and experienced tongue. Your cunt spasms and your slick coats Sanji’s face. 

You let your body relax for a few moments against the cold tile countertop before you feel yourself being lifted in Sanji’s strong arms. 

“Come here…” Sanji is suddenly laying you down on the dining room table, the perfect height for him to strip his clothing and feel his naked body against yours. He leans over you and you claw your nails down his chest. 

Sanji presses his lips to yours, sinking his tongue into your mouth and exploring it like he’d never get the chance to again. You moan loudly in response. 

You feel the hot, leaking tip of Sanji’s thick cock prodding at your weeping entrance. You whimper. 

“Please, I want it…” You whisper to the blonde man hovering over you. “Fuck me.” You grip the hairs at the back of Sanji’s neck tightly. 

He presses into you, the two of you groan in unison. 

Sanji’s arm holds him up against the dining table and he uses the other to grip your hip, pushing himself into you as far as he could possibly go… you squirm and whine as his tip kisses your cervix. 

“Sanjiiii-“ You whimper. 

“Yes… ma belle… tell me, how does it feel?” Sanji coos as he pulls out just enough to tease you. 

“S-so good! More!” You claw at your lover’s shoulders and jerk your hips upwards to goad him into fucking you harder. 

Sanji wordlessly replies to your plea by thrusting himself back into you with force. You smile stupidly. 

“Yes!” You cry out as his hips meet yours. “There!” You gasp and he nudges against the soft, gummy spot inside of you that makes your head spin. 

Sanji grips your hips with both hands and starts plowing hard into you, so hard that your tits begin to bounce as your body is thrown back and forth against the dining room table. 

“Ma ange, my sweetheart… how pretty you look like this…” Sanji coos as he brings a soft, un-marred hand up to your cheek to stroke it softly. “I can tell you’re about to cum… could you do that again for me?” He never falters in his thrusts as he brings his other hand to your center where his thumb caressed your clit gently. You feel yourself being coaxed back into another climax and let it wash over you.. 

“Fuck- Sanji!” You cry out and throw your head back as you cum for the second time this evening. 

“There it is, my love… so perfect…” 

You feel the grip on your waist tighten and notice Sanji’s breathing quicken. 

“Where-“ 

“Inside me.” 

“You’re su-“

“Need it!” You grip your nails into Sanji’s lower back and press him into you, encouraging him to fill you up. 

“Ah-!”

You feel hot ropes of spend hit your wet cavern and you sigh out in relief. You were satisfied from your orgasms, but having Sanji fill you was the push you needed to enter complete bliss. 

Sweat drips from Sanij’s brow onto your chest as he recovers from his climax. 

You come to and wrap your arms around his neck to pull him close to you. 

“My darling…” Sanji says as he nuzzles the middle of your breasts. 

“Yes?” You respond, without thinking. 

Sanji leans back up, hiking you up in his arms in the process. You let out a yelp. 

“Dinner tomorrow night?” He asks, pushing your bangs from your sweaty forehead. 

You laugh. 

“Can you ask me when our clothes are back on?”

— — 

[desos-records]

All-Caste & al Ghuls

Red Hood One-Shot

Thank you for the request!: Can I request a fic where Constantine needs Jason's help on something and everybody but Damian is confused because "What do you mean Jason is the last of the All-Cast? What do you mean he's the holder of the All-Blades? What do you mean he knows magic and occult and Damian? Why are you not shocked by this!?!" [@your-lovely-bird]

Word Count: 1,033

-

"I need your help."

John Constantine stood in the middle of the Batcave looking like a drowned cat, blood that wasn't his dripping off his coat and pooling on the concrete floor. The door to the House of Mystery had appeared out of thin air just long enough for him to step through and interrupt their post-patrol debriefing. Jason almost welcomed it, but strange attacks were on a steep rise even by Gotham standards and the family had closed ranks in response.

With Constantine, it could only mean one thing.

"It will have to wait," Bruce said. His voice bent with exhaustion. Only a moment ago, he'd been mid-argument with Damian about his sword again and clearly ready to go all twelve rounds about it.

"No one's talking to you, sweetheart." John didn't give his usual shit-eating grin, didn't even look at him. Because he was looking right at Jason.

"Considering you look like the fourth circle of Hell, I bet you do," Jason said, crossing his arms.

The room seemed to tilt as the family turned its attention on him. The bats squeaked high up in the darkness. The computer banks hummed. Steph popped a bubble of gum.

"How do you know him?" Bruce asked, voice heavy and inevitable as gravity, but Jason didn't bother to answer him.

"You know I wouldn't be here if it weren't your worst nightmare," John said and his sincerity worried Jason more than anything.

Then he gestured towards Damian, whose eyes went wide. 

His youth gave his fear away and, for a moment, Jason saw the infant Talia handed to him, the toddler whose first steps were towards him, the child he still protected whether his parents knew it or not. He rooted himself to the ground to keep from going over to him. They'd agreed back in Nanda Parbat, they each had a journey to take on their own. No one would know unless Damian wanted it known. 

"It is time they knew the truth, brother," he said.

So formal, even in Arabic. Damian hadn't always been like that. Jason remembered.

He took a breath, then pulled off his helmet. "Alright, John, I'll bite. What is it?"

"Whoa, hey, no." Dick raised a hand. "Someone want to fill us in on what the hell is going on? Who even is this guy, B?"

Now, John cracked a smile and aimed it right at Bruce. "As much as I'd love to watch you talk your way out of this one, love, I don't—"

"How do you know my sons?" Bruce demanded, not even trying to hide the growl.

John rolled his eyes and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one with a little flame on the end of his finger, took a pull, and used it to point at Jason. "He's the last of the All-Caste. And they're both grandsons of a magical warlord who calls himself The Demon's Head. I thought you were supposed to be a detective."

Alfred strode over and plucked the cigarette right out of his mouth. "I think not," he said, curtly, then held out his hand for the pack.

"Posh bugger," John muttered, but gave up the cigarettes without a fight. 

"Indeed."

Dick rounded on Jason. "The All-Caste? Any chance that's a band and not a cult?"

"And since when are you Ra's al Ghul's grandson?" Tim spun his bo staff absently and scoffed.

"It's an honorific. Talia needed someone to look after Damian. And it's not a cult."

"You knew about Damian?"

John stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "Practically raised him as I understand it. But it's those magic blades of yours I'm after at present, so can we just—"

"There's magic blades too?"

Going on a weekend trip to help John fight demons suddenly sounded more like a vacation to Jason. He sighed, mentally tallying how much occult equipment he had left in his safe houses, how much of it he might need to pack, and how he might be able to persuade Damian to not follow him. 

"Well, I would show you," he said, "but they can only form in the presence of pure evil, so…"

"What, like… demons?"

"Look at that. They can be taught." John sucked on his teeth. "I've so enjoyed this episode of Family Ties, Jase, but you know Hell waits for no man."

"I have a stop to make," Jason said, already striding forward to join John, who raised his hand, ready to snap his fingers.

"'Course you do, mate."

Then Damian ran towards him with a hand on his sword hilt, making him pause. "I will join you!"

Jason pointed at him. "No, you absolutely will not."

"I'm perfectly capable of—"

"I said no."

"But I've trained—"

"I don't give a damn. It's my job to protect you from this. Your job is to protect Gotham now, to protect them while I'm gone." He gestured to the rest of the family.

Damian scowled, bristling with the sharp posture inherited from Talia. "Using my sense of duty against me is an unfair argument, brother."

"Stay here. We'll talk about it when I get back." As John summoned the door to the House of Mystery, Jason turned to Bruce—he seemed to have short-circuited somewhere underneath his cowl, mysterious blue smoke should've been pouring out of his ears—and told him, in English, "Nail his feet to the floor if you have to."

Suddenly, Bruce came back online. "Jason, wait."

"Don't even try it, B. I know what you're going to say—"

"No, you don't." Bruce pressed a button and a drawer opened up in one of the supply cabinets. He pulled something out and tossed it over.

Jason caught it easily, turning it over in his palm. The disk weighed down Jason's hand and the old, pitted metal had a circular symbol carved into it, almost like one of John's spells. He recognized it.

"You might find it useful," Bruce said.

Stunned, he found himself saying, "Thank you," as the door opened, the cloying incense smell of the House of Mystery already pulling at him.

One of these days, he and the old man would stop surprising each other.

[novashelby]

Let Her Eat Cake- Tatiana Petrovna x F!Reader

Pairing: Tatiana Petrovna x F!reader Warnings: Politics. D/S, non-con, dubcon, pet play, food play. Degrading language.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Summary: In 1917, the Bolsheviks were making their moves and the higher society of Russia are finding themselves pushed. Tatiana, unlike many, doesn't really feel a push of worry. The only thing she cares about is keeping her Bolshevik pet at her side...licking cake from her breasts. Tatiana has no shame when it comes to sex and dominance.

Please enjoy! WLW content is highly underappreciated in our fandom.

So, please, I ask more than ever that you REBLOG and COMMENT! I will start blocking spam likers. :)

People rushed around them, packing everything they could in suitcases and crates. Time was surely of the essence as they were practically being chased from Russia. But the Duchess rested, calm, with no inkling of the world’s stress. That’s how she was. Psychopathetic, probably preferring that the world around her was burning. More exciting than the mundane. She leaned back in the velvet chair, her eyes circling around the room, clearly bored. Her delicate fingers that never had to work so hard a day in their life reach for a special bell with a red bow. She dangled it, the bell calling her. Tatiana shook it once, twice, thrice…and waited, her eyes staring at the grandfather clock.

She had only a little window to be at Tatiana’s feet, kneeled and head lowered, or the Duchess would give a punishment. The bell was heard from the drawing room, and her head snapped to a set of white double doors trimmed with gold. And like a dog, she walked through them and kneeled at her owner’s feet. Of course, averting all eye contact. Tatiana clicked her tongue, leaning forward, cupping her pet’s chin. 

“Look at me,” she demanded, but her voice even, never having to raise it. Her pet shyly looked up, with rosy pouty lips. Tatiana tickled under her chin, her mouth curling in an upward smirk. “You must be so scared.” Her pet’s eyes shifted along the room, watching every one, but them fuss about the move. Settling, she nodded, feeling just a bit curious. Tatiana brushed her knuckles along her pet’s cheeks, cooing almost mockingly, pushing out her bottom lip. She clicked her tongue, leaning back, grabbing her black cigarette holder that already cradled a burning smoke. She flicked the hanging ash before pressing it against her lips, taking a deep inhale. Her pet watched as she held it for one, two, three before leaning down, her lips just hovering over hers. Coiling her lips in a perfect “O”, she exhaled a streamed smoke, allowing it to engulf her little one. Taking great joy, watching how she closed her eyes, breathing in all she could. “Good girl,” Tatiana said, tapping her cheek before putting down the smoke.

“Thank you, mistress,” she whispered, averting her eye contact once more. 

“But I don’t think you have much to worry about in that head of yours,” she said, and her pet couldn’t help but snap her head to look at her mistress. Tatiana lost character, dropped facade, just for a moment to offer an ounce of a genuine smile. “You will come to Crimea with me.”

She felt a butterfly hatch from its cocoon in the pit of her stomach, fluttering around as heat raised to her cheeks. “Mistress….”

Tatiana lost her eye contact, sighing as she reached for her smoke. She watched the last hanging painting of her great Grandmother. It dangled on the wall like a memory of once was, but never will be. “I couldn’t leave you here with…,” she paused, circling her finger. “Savages.” Tatiana slowly glanced at her fingers, watching them clench lightly. A small smirk pulled up at the corner of her lip and Tatiana snorted. “My little revolutionist….”

Her pet sighed, sitting up, her body clearly tensed. But she tried to remove herself from the topic by asking, “and when do we leave for Crimea?”

“I thought I had fucked that out of you,” Tatiana said, ignoring the younger one’s question. “All your little ideologies and aspirations. Hm? And here you are, under my care, still dreaming about a Bolsheviks’ cock while you sleep in my silks.” Her pet’s mouth went dry, the butterfly dying and tainting her deep gut. She tried to avoid Tatiana’s eyes, but the Grand Duchess grabbed her jaw, nails digging into her sensitive flesh. Her dark eyes bore into hers. “As you eat more food a day than some children eat a week. And nevermind the perfumes, jewels, and lip rouges I adorn you in-”

“Mistress,” she said, closing her eyes. “I didn’t-”

“And what do you think would happen, hm? If they came through our doors right now,” she hissed. “They’d slaughter you faster than a pig on Easter. Even if you got your mouth open, legs spread faster than they could draw their guns.” Tatiana released her, her face scrunching as if she touched dirt. “And to think of the special treatment I give you of all servants.” 

“Mistress, I didn’t mean to insult your generous givings-”

“I saved you,” she continued, reaching for a tea fork, roughly spreading the frosting along the plate. “After your father spit on my family’s name for years in his pathetic paper—but now look at you, I spit in your mouth as you beg on your knees. How poetic.”  Tatiana froze for a moment before her eyes flickered to the cake.

“Forgive me,” the pet whispered, sinking into submission, bowing her head. Tatiana hummed lazily, scooping some on her finger. Her pet watched as she balanced the blob of frosting on her fingers, bringing it to her quivering, nervous lips. The sweet teased at her nose, begging to be licked. 

Tatiana snorted. “Aren’t I being so sweet to you?”

 “Yes, mistress,” she said, promptly. “The most generous.”

“Name another whore so lucky-”

“There are none so lucky,” she whispered, waiting for Tatiana to give her the nod.

“Go on,” she said as if it was such a gift. “Greedy little one…clean my fingers.”

She darted out her tongue, swirled it around the sweetness before taking Tatiana’s fingers in her mouth, sucking just as her mistress taught her. Her eyes got heavy, hooded and drunk, as she bobbed up and down, moaning before ending with a pop. “Thank you, mistress,” she gasped, catching her breath. Tatiana didn’t break a smile, wanting her little toy to feel completely soaked in guilt. 

Tatiana tapped her cheek. “Watch. Admire. Desire.” Her fingers landed on the tie of her silk robe, teasing. “Maybe a little envy. Hm? Do you envy me? My beauty.” Tatiana laughed as her pet nodded, shamefully. “No. Don’t.” Her robe fell undone, sliding seductively down her shoulders. She wore a simple, yet beautiful, night slip. Her pet’s eyes glanced over the lace trimming bordering her breasts. “I bet you’re so hungry.”

Between her breasts, Tatiana spread a generous helping of the vanilla cake and leaned forehead. Her pet sat up, meeting her breasts with her lips, kissing before licking up every bit. Her mouth is a little messy, the sweetness seeping in. Tatiana ran her fingers through her pet’s hair that cascaded down her back. “And I missed your feeding this morning. How neglectful of me.” Her other hand reached up, teasing along the hem of lace over her breasts before pulling down, exposing her tits. Her hardened nippled begged for her pet to lick at it, but she waited patiently. Tatiana took some frosting from the plate and wiped it over her nipple, giving a throaty, evil chuckle. “Go on, sweetheart.”

Her pet greedily took Tatiana’s nipple in her mouth, whimpering in need as she sucked on it, feeling at home; warm and blessed. Tatiana cradled her gentle, gasping slightly as her tongue swirled along her nipple. Her pet sucked and pulled at her nipple before letting it go, eyes fluttering up. The corners of her mouth were red and wet. Tatiana cupped her cheek for a second before taking out her other breast, dabbing it with a little frosting in the process. Just like the other nipple, she took it in her mouth, suckling like it was her last meal. Tatiana rolled her head back, her eyes closing, enjoying the feeling of the tongue taking over her, making sure to clean up every last bit. Her pet sucked, rolling her nipple between her lips.

“Good girl,” Tatiana whimpered, allowing her legs to relax and fall open. “I know it must not be so easy for you.” Tatiana held the back of her head with a strong grip, keeping her in place, enjoying how her whimpers felt against her chest. “Perhaps mommy didn’t train you hard enough, allowing your head to wander so much—perhaps making you watch your brother get whipped until he pissed himself did nothing for your breakage….” 

She instantly fought against Tatiana, but she kept her there, chuckling. “But now, I think he’s in Siberia; cold and shivering, possibly dead.” Tatiana moaned as her pet tried oh so hard to get off her breast. She nipped Tatiana’s nipple which only awarded her a long, throaty moaning ending with a chuckle. “Good girl, you know how your mistress likes it when you’re rough….” When Tatiana let her go, her cheeks were a bright red. It took a bit in her to not let her emotions get to her. Tatiana dipped her finger in the frosting one last time. “C’mere, come back.” Hesitantly, she leaned in and sucked it off Tatiana’s finger. “It is too bad, you know? That your brother never got to see the fruits of his labor, and that you, his sister, is enjoying cake from the Duchess.” She motioned for her to sit on her lap, which she did, struggling to argue these days. Sitting on her mistress' lap, she closed her eyes and took in a deep breath as Tatiana’s hand rested on her inner thigh. In her ear, Tatiana whispered, “but I’ll set you free from all those memories, darling. It may take me years, but I won’t stop. I won’t give up on you…on us. Not until I have you how I want you.” Her hand hiked higher, squeezing, enjoying how her little pet’s body shook against hers. “An empty shell that just drools and begs, and drops at all my commands.”

“And when do we leave for Crimea?” her pet asked, staring off to the wall.

Tatiana pinched her chin and made her look at her. “You don’t need to think. Do you believe your life will be any different there? All you need to know is what I tell you.” Her pet swallowed. “In Crimea, you will be my little pet. When we go to Constantinople, you will be my little pet. And, when we go to Vienna, Paris, London…can you guess?”

Her bottom lip quivered. “I will be your pet.”

“Good job!” Tatiana laughed, proud, her arms snaking around the girl, holding her so close. “My pet should not have to ask so many questions, then.” Her lips pressed against her temple, lingering before saying, “and if you think of escaping, just remember…the Bolsheviks don’t like little whores who find warmth in the breasts of Grand Duchesses.”

[fuck-customers]

I think every cashier knows about sticky coins, straight from customers’ cars’ drink holders. I had a guy paying for a drink and pack of cigarettes entirely with sticky coins. Whatever, gross but I can always wash them off and wash my hands when he leaves. Except he notices me grimacing as I count his change, and goes “Oh here let me help with that”, sweeps the change off the counter and POURS IT ALL INTO HIS MOUTH. Swishes them around like mouth wash, then spits them back into his hand and offers them to me.

I just. Stared at him in stunned silence. He looked proud of himself at first and then started getting embarrassed when I silently stared at him. Having no idea what to say. After a minute he was like “Do.. you got a sink I could wash these off in?” And I just wordlessly pointed to the bathroom. My coworker saw the whole thing and offered to take over when he came out (looking sheepish and swearing up and down he washed the coins with soap thoroughly and dried them off too)

I just. In WHAT universe do you think its a good idea to shove money in your mouth to “clean” it and then expect someone to take it from you still wet with your spit???

Posted by admin Rodney.

[dilfartist]

Lady dimitrescue x fem reader? I'll go w anything 👀

Replacement

Word count; 891

TW; mentions of death, blood mentioned, vampire things, not very yandere but there was an attempt.

A maids sent to Lady Dimitrescu’s chambers was a death sentence.

All maids knew this unspoken rule. Many walked on eggshells, dreading being dispatched to the Mistress’s room. You followed their footsteps, tip-toeing around the eggshells they’d walk on: If another maid cleaned in a way one of the young Dimitrescu disapproved of, you’d do the opposite to have their favor.

However, not even you can avoid calamity. Now, you saunter through empty halls, your heart throbbing in your chest with every step. The aches in your chest caused your anxiety to spike. If your mistress didn’t kill you, your heart exploding in your chest would.

You weren’t the perpetrator, yet the crime had been pinned on you. Your only fault was being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

During the night, it is expected of maids to participate in a cleaning task before they proceed to their headquarters. Your task this night: cleaning the kitchen. You went to the kitchen wielding a mop, spray, and a few multicolored rags.

Inside the kitchen stood two other maids. They giggled together, one clutching a wine bottle, the other holding a glass full to her lips. It was clear they had been drinking. You could care less, so you simply passed by them and began to clean the mess they created.

They merely glanced at you, then returned to their drinking. For a while, the kitchen filled with laughter and playful hushes. Then suddenly, it was quiet.

“She did it!”

Now, both women stood up, hands by their sides, and the wine bottles elsewhere.

The accusation reverbed throughout the silent kitchen. You stood still in place, your whole body began quivering like a leaf caught in the autumn winds. Your mind urged you to deny the accusal sputtered from the lips of the two lying witches responsible for your expected demise, but your lips forbade your commands to move.

One of the three daughters of Lady Dimitrescu, Cassandra, to be exact, watched the scene unfold, calm compared to the others in the situation. Identical to her mother, she stood tall, just as intimidating despite the unmistakable difference in height. Still, her presence alone caused the tingle of fear to spread throughout your body.

Cassandra tilts her head, almost like a small child, a smile spreading across her blood-caked lips. “Really?” she inquired playfully.

“Yes, ma'am! We came in to clean the kitchen and found her with the bottle in her hands.” The maid’s hands shook as she choked out the rest of her tale. “L-Look! She even has stains on them!”

Lo and behold: marron taints both your maid attire and hands. However, it wasn’t due to you sneaking wine but instead from cleaning the bottles scattered around the floor.

“Ah, I see,” Casandra noted. She began to circle around you like a predator ready to pounce on its prey. “Mother won’t be too happy. Our wine is valuable.” she slightly sang the last part. It disturbed you.

You stood in front of the entrance to your mistress’s chambers. You could almost hear Casandra’s words reverberating in your head. Raising a shaky hand, your hand gently thumped against one of the doors.

“Enter.” a posh voice called out.

Entering as told, you were a church mouse and barely made a noise. Alicia sat in her armchair adjacent to her bed, facing the fireplace as embers aroused and the wood crackled and popped! Smoke slithered into the air from her lengthy cigarette holder, Alicia taking a long huff before exempting the smoke through her nose.

“My lady,” you attempted to speak up, only to sound like a meek child. Bowing your head, you stared at your shoes.

The stitches were a lovely pattern- had you ever noticed such a minor detail before? And the leather needed a shine-.

“I’ve been told you’ve tampered with my wine. Is that so?” Her voice carried an authority that made your hands clammy. You licked your bottom lip, eyes traveling to the wood floors. “Look at me when I speak to you.” She stood from her chair, inching closer as her eyes pierced yours. Her voice boomed with her command.

“I-I...” your voice trembled, “the other maids are responsible.”

“Is that so? Then why are your hands stained.” her last words were said short and with emphasis.

This was it. You thought. You’d die in this castle from your mistress, and you hadn’t done anything to deserve such a fate.

“Come.” She demanded.

Your body moved before you could think right. Your legs wobbled as you followed Alicia's command. “I will take back what you’ve stolen.”

Alicia closes the distance between you in one stride. She snatches the back of your maid attire. In an instant, you dangle in the air, Alicia now face to face with you. Her other hand reaches your chin and angles it. Showing the preferred side.

She quickly latches her fangs into your neck like two needles. Her fangs begin to spill blood into the opening of her mouth, the warm liquid flowing down her tongue.

After she takes her fill, she drops you to the ground. She laps at the remaining blood coating her dark lips, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

“Your blood is too good to go to waste,” Alicia states with fulfillment. “I think I’ll keep you for a while.”

[latenightsundayblues]

Bash in my brain

And make me scream with pain

Then kick me once again

And say we'll never part

I know too well

I'm underneath your spell

So, darling, if you smell

Something burning, it's my heart

'Scuse me!

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Masochism Tango

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Take your cigarette from its holder

And burn your initials in my shoulder

Fracture my spine

And swear that you're mine

As we dance to the Maso-chism Tango

The Masochism Tango

I find it so interesting when people choose to personify Soldier's shovel and explore his toxic dependant relationship with said humanized object.

Inspired by Fall behind -Lady Shockbox on fanfiction.net

[dreamwreaver]

im so sad alastor didnt get to see charlies demon form bcs i feel like he would hve been at least a little 😳 about it

like she literally transformed in a circle of hellfire w a scream of the fucking damned but she STABBED adam with her trident, and dont even get me started on that thing her arm did when adam tried to hit lucifer

The real reason Alastor was taken out of the fight before that because there's absolutely no way they could deny Al's Charliesexuality if they hadn't. Forget a tent. Mans would have been pitching an entire big top if he'd caught sight of her in anything resembling her true demon form.

If Charlie were to ever stab him he'd likely consider it foreplay. When I say Tom Lehrer's Masochism Tango gives me charlastor vibes I mean it. Listen to just one set of lyrics;

"Take your cigarette from its holder/ and burn your initials in my shoulder/ fracture my spine/ and swear that you're mine!"

Highly recommend listening to it, just on principle because Tom Lehrer is a blessing but also because vibes. As for the arm thing, I believe that's a reference to Proto-Charlie's design where she had a full arm at all times in some sort of Hellboyesque magma formation. It was a cool concept and I'm glad Viv and the team found a way to still work it in.

[voxsremotec0ck]

What's even better then reader secretly doming all the vees? All the vees secretly trying to get reader to dom them.

(Veader hanging out with all of them at night)

Velvette: Can you believe that some bitchboy thought he could manhandle me? Like can't they see this outfit is for stepping on people, not to be stepped on? Hashtag AreYouBlind?

Valentino: I understand all too well. The new bitch thought that bring out handcuffs that she could top, so I had to remind her of her place.

Vox: Yeah, just had to 'fire' the star of my latest show. He thought that being bigger and broader than me ment he should be 'in charge'. You know how it is, right Veader?

(Veader flashbacking to that morning)

Flashback!Velvette: (wearing a skimpy outfit) Hey Veader~ Look at the new outfit I just released. It's sooo trashy~ I can't believe how well its selling! I look like a bratty succubus, just begging for someone to put me in my place and feed me their lust! Does this look make you want to feed me your lust? I'd like an 'honest opinion' from you~ ...Where are you going Veader? Doesn't these pigtails atleast my hair look pullable?!

(Veader flashbacking to that noon)

Flashback!Valentino: (half under the table) Oh hey there Veader~ I dropped my cigarette holder and it rolled under the coach. I tried to get it but now I'm stuck! Maybe if you grab my hips, you could pull me out~ ...Where are you going Veader? Come back! I actually think I really am stuck.

(Veader flashbacking to that evening)

Flashback!Vox: (Tied up by tons of computer wires) H-Hey Veader. I don't know what happened but I appear to be a little tied up now. I got my legs free but I can barely move my arms! Everytime I move it just gets more tangled! It's getting pretty tight~ Maybe you could help me out~ W-where are you going Veader? No seriously, get back here. Please, this will take hours to sort out!

Veader (in the present): I have no idea what ya'll are on about.

Veader looking at them all like “I know what you are”

VELVETTE LET ME SEE YOUR OUTFIT PLEASE I BET YOU LOOK SO PRETTY AND YOUR PIGTAILS ARE PERFECT HANDLEBARS DW

VOX HOLD ON BEFORE I GET YOU DOWN LET ME JUST SUCK YOUR DICK REAL QUICK

Valentino… I hope the couch breaks and crushes you tbh sorry not sorry

[jaycegonewild]

Viktor manages his pain in various ways: braces, ointments, stretches, medicine, and smoking. It's a roulette wheel he often spins when he's delirious and shaking from the pain.

His episodes leading to a swimming vision, splitting headache, and aching limbs. If he was any other man, he'd take the easiest route and wallow in his own pity about his condition and rest as everyone else tells him to do.

But, no. He is Viktor, cofounder of Hextech.

So, he sighs from the deepest caverns of his scarred lungs and carries on.

Today, Jayce finds him smoking from his spindly cigarette holder while parsing out the new line of runes for their projects on his stool in front of the chalkboard. He takes a long drag from it, as his eyes dart from left to right, and exhales when he writes the next clause of runes with a shaking hand. The new blend helps with the splitting sensation he feels in his major joints but doesn't erase the more physiological effects like the tremors. Eh, its one or the other.

Jayce stays quiet at the threshold of their lab as the smoke wafts from Viktor. It's actually quite.... beautiful.

The spiced smoke curves around Viktor's lithe fingers and form, forming a lazy ring above him.

"Jayce, If you're going to gawk like I'm some merchandise in the window, at least buy me first."

Viktor spins around in his stool, using his good leg to push from the floor while his braced leg rests on the foothold. His braces shining as it catches the stray rays of light from the window as he spins. He quirks an eyebrow with a small smirk that reveals his snaggletooth, revelling in Jayce's gaze.

This blend must be doing something if he has the mood for toying with Jayce while suffering his flareup.

While Jayce stands there caught red-handed, Viktor takes another lazy drag from his pipe while keeping his eyes on him. Jayce blubbers once Viktor moves, " Ha Ha, but you're not some appliance or dress in the window. How can I buy you?"

Viktor blows a smoke ring to Jayce, not choosing to pick on the fact he's actually missing the racy undertone of his joke or avoiding it. He chuckles, "Nevermind that, where's the breakfast you promised me?"

Jayce chuckles too. He joins Viktor in front of the chalkboard and places a steaming paperbag on the table beside him. He watches with rapt attention as Viktor joyfully pulls out the egg tarts and pastries. The pipe lays beside him on the ledge of the board, smouldering behind Viktor's hunched back as he eats.

Jayce notes the chaotic way the smoke forms in the air. He never knew how pretty chaos could be. Hextech was all about taming the raw nature of the Arcane with his runes.

"Never knew you smoked." He regards the pipe with a flick of his eyes.

Viktor glaces at him mid-bite into his buttery roll. He chews before replying," What? Can't a man gain some peace from his daily torture?"

Jayce picks up his journal to start his morning entry for today's planned experiments.

"Hm, I thought alcohol would be more your thing. Downing a shot to save time, that sort of thing."

Jayce looks back at Viktor, who is now sucking the leftover custard from his fingers from the oversized eggtarts he bought him.

"Nursing a cigarette between your lips feels more like something the councilors do than you." He continues.

Viktor rewards him with a lopsided smile and an eyeroll. "Well, I'm feeling like playing with my vices today," his smile drops and Jayce sees the tension lines of pain in his face," It's strong today, unfortunately."

Jayce shoots back a bittersweet smile, while he'd prefer Viktor not do anything that could make his condition worse, no amount of effort could stop the inevitable nature of Viktor's pain. A cigarette or a risky pill isn't going to kill him, or so he says.

So, Jayce shoves all those ugly worries aside to plant a hand on Viktor's shoulder.

"We'll do this together."

[riya-kaur]

calum thomas hood

summary: everyone knows about the crush you and calum have on each other, but still, the two off you brush it off. calum thinks hiding his feelings by acting differently will help him get over you, but it doesn't.

cw! swearing!

eight years.

part two!

december had quickly approached by, which meant soon it would be everyone's favourite holiday: christmas.

this year, you had decided to tag along to a ski retreat with ashton, mali-koa, and your absolute favourite person in the world- calum hood.

you had first heard about this weekend trip on thanksgiving, when everyone had gathered round michael's to celebrate his newborns' first thanksgiving.

after your interest was peaked, you decided to ask if you could tag along, and ashton and mali jumped with joy accepting, whereas calum stayed stone-cold.

so nearly a month had passed, the car that was parked outside your house, honking impatiently.

"fuck" you muttered as you sat on your suitcase, hoping to press down some of the weight. your hands pulled at the zipper, you let out a sigh as you continued to tug on it.

"you're gonna break it" a deep, familiar voice says from behind you. you turn your head, meeting calum's soft eyes as he leant against the door frame with a cigarette in his hand.

"can you make yourself useful then, and help?" you sneer as you throw your hands up in the air. calum chuckles before he walks past you. his steps stop once he reaches your window. he takes his cigarette from between his lips and burns it out before tossing it outside.

"move" he nods his head to the side.

you sigh as you stand up from the suitcase, taking the same position on your bed.

your eyes observe calum as he kneels down beside your suitcase, "you sure there's nothing you can avoid taking?" he asks as you he lifts up the top of the case.

your eyes fall onto calum as he lingers a stare on your clothing that lay at the top; swimsuits and your underwear.

flustered, you reach over and shut the top of the case, "nope"

calum shakes his head before muttering something under his breath. he places a heavy hand on the top of the case, forcefully pushing down as his other hand found the zipper. in a swift movement, his hand pulls around the case, zipping it close.

"easy" calum retorts. he stands up and lifts the suitcase up onto its' wheels, "can we go now?" he asks, you nod before thanking him. the two of you make your way out of your house, and you lock it from the outside before catching up to calum.

he sets your suitcase in the trunk before the two of you take a seat in his car.

the journey to the resort was a quiet one. you tried lightening the mood by humming along to the radio, but once you saw calum giving you a glance, you settled your lips in between your lips, feeling embarrassed.

the only talking he did throughout the drive was when mali, his sister had rang him. letting him know that her and ashton had bought the food shop and had made it to the cabin you were all staying at.

what had felt like hours, the two of you had finally arrived.

"what took you guys so long?" mali exclaims, opening up the front door wide. "someone wanted starbucks" calum rolls his eyes before walking past his sister with both his and yours' suit cases in his hands.

"i got it for everyone!" you retort, setting the cup holder down on the table in the hallway before hugging mali.

ashton then comes running into the hug as he wraps his arms around you both.

"come on, cal" mali shouts over her brother. "no, thanks" he mutters. "calum thomas hood, if you don't get your ass over here right this second, i'll show everyone that picture of you dressed up as a bratz doll" mali rambles but as soon as she threatened calum he came jogging over beside you and ashton.

you turned your head slightly and held your arm out to calum. his eyes flicker between your arm and your eyes before letting out a sigh.

he moves his gaze over to his sister, giving her a death stare. his arm hovers over the small of your back whilst his other arm tightly wraps around ashton's shoulder.

the four of you stand there laughing before pulling away. "that was cute," mali giggles, picking up a cup of coffee from the table.

your move your eyes over to calum, "d'know what would be even cuter?" you ask him. "what?" he snaps back. "you dressed as a bratz doll" you giggle, taking small steps towards him.

you let your hand rise to his hair, your fingers combing his hair. he looks at you, embarrassed. his cheeks turning a deep red. once you realize what you were doing, you quickly retract your hand back, dropping it to your side.

"shit, sorry. i don't know what-" you began to ramble, "it's fine, " he huffs. you nod awkwardly before trying to change the conversation.

"so room situations?" you ask as you look over at mali. "there's three rooms" mali begins. "and only one master suite" she finishes as she nods her head over at calum.

"so?" calum asks, shrugging his shoulders. "you're gonna have to share, calum"

"fuck, no. you take the suite and share with her" calum shakes his head. "stop being difficult calum, besides i've unpacked my stuff already," mali exclaims. calum looks over at ashton, "c'mon mate" ashton speaks up. "i'm totally fine on the couch" you pipe up as you twiddle with the rings on your fingers.

"it's fine" calum says once again, "you're with me, i guess" he let's out a sigh as he grabs the suitcases, trekking them up the stairs. "come on, then"

"coming!" you hurry up the stairs, following him into the master suite.

"we should set some ground rules." calum starts. "good idea," you return. "you have that half of the room, and i'll get this half." calum points at the opposite side of the room, letting you know which side yours was.

"seriously?" you raise your eyebrows at him. he nods his head, shaking his head to the side. "calum, that's so stupid. we're not kids"

"fine, what rules did you have? he asks. "i dress here, you in the ensuite. i want the side of the bed closest to the window and no bringing anyone back here cause i don't want to walk in on anything that you're up to" you list.

"is that everything, princess?" he curtseys in front of you with a sarcastic tone, and his eyes stay glued to you as he does so.

you put up your middle finger, aiming it towards him, he simply rolls his eyes.

"we should unpack"

whilst the two of you were finishing up unpacking, mali called you both down for dinner.

the four of you sat around the fireplace, pizza boxes scattered around you all as you sat and watched 'gilmore girls', the boys complaining at every chance they had.

whilst absent-mindedly watching the tv, you reached for the last pizza slice in the box. once you had felt another's hand already on the slice, you jerked your hand away.

"take it," you look over at calum, who had now moved his hand away, nodding his head over at the slice.

"no it's fine, it's yours." you shake your head before letting your eyes fall on the tv again. "just take it, y/n," you hear him say, but you simply shake your head to the side, keeping your eyes on the tv.

calum sighs before picking up the slice, which you saw out of your peripheral eyesight.

seconds later, you see him open his palm out to you, "here, take it" he says. you look down at his palm the see that he had tore the pizza in half.

you hear ashton say something in the background which made calum roll his eyes, "take it y/n, i made it fair" he shrugs. you give him a nod before taking one of the halves out of his hand, "thanks cal"

after finishing up, the four of you decided to play some card games, which led to every game being won by mali.

"what can i say, i'm older so i'm wiser." she smiles proudly. the three of you chuckle at her as she takes a bow.

"well, tonight's been fun guys" you pipped up, standing up from the floor, which you were seated on.

"i'm gonna get some sleep for tomorrow" you say, "make sure you guys set your alarms" mali exclaims, "yes mom" you roll your eyes playfully at her.

"goodnight guys," you smile. "i'll be up soon" calum says. you give him a nod before making your way into your shared room.

you lock the bedroom door behind you before pulling out a pyjama set; an oversized black tee and some short, baggy, grey shorts.

you headed over to ensuite, pulling your hair up in a messy bun on the top of your head, strands falling onto your face, to help frame your face.

you then washed your face and patted it dry before beginning to brush your teeth.

as you brushed around the toothpaste in your mouth, you heard a lazy knock to the door. knowing it was calum, you headed to the door, unlocking it.

"hey" he says, dropping his phone on the bed. with you not being able to reply with the toothpaste in your mouth, you gave him a small wave before returning back to the ensuite.

you once again shut the door, thinking he would change into his pyjamas.

once you had finished brushing your teeth, you called out to calum, "can i come in, cal?" you ask.

"yep" you hear him say, with that you open the door to see him already laid in bed.

he pulls the covers over himself, but before he does so, you scan his body to see what he's wearing: a black tank top and grey joggers.

you walk around to your side of the bed, slipping under the covers.

you laid on your back as you stared at the ceiling. the room was dark, but with the small lights from the window coming in, you could see calum in the same position as you.

you felt your eyes becoming heavy as you closed them. you had felt like you were falling asleep until you heard your phone ringtone blare out. "shit, sorry," you apologise as you scramble out of the bed to grab your phone of the table.

you checked your phone to see crystal calling you, and you slipped out the room, shutting the door behind you. but you stayed in front of the door as you answered her call.

"y/n, how was the drive?" she asks, "mali mentioned you came with calum" you giggled at the thought of mali and crystal talking about you and calum.

"yes, we did. it made sense to just take one car" you whisper. "has calum made a move yet?" she squeals. you furrow your eyebrows, "what'd you mean, made a move, crys?" you ask.

"what do you mean, what do i mean? this is so obvious y/n, " she starts, "everyone knows about you and calum, " she ends. "babe, there is no me and calum, i'm pretty sure he hates me," you pipe up. you hear crystal cracking up on the other side of the phone. "y/n, surely you've noticed how he acts around you"

"like friends?" you question. "ask mali, she'll back me up" crystal says.

you try ending the conversation as soon as you can, wanting to not talk about this topic. and you definitely weren't going to ask mali either about her thoughts. that would be embarrassing.

after ending the call, you made your way back into the bedroom, tiptoeing back to your side the bed. just in case calum had fell asleep.

you slip under the covers, placing your back against the mattress again. "was it crys?" calum asks. you look over at him and watch his biceps flex as he tucks his hands behind his head.

you hum in response, "is she okay?" his voice laced with concern. "she's all good cal, baby and mike too," you answer, and you feel his head nod.

"goodnight y/n"

"goodght cal"

it was now the next day, you had woken up to bright flash to your eyes.

you stirred in a warm embrace, nuzzling your head into the pillow.

"look how cute" mali's voice is heard in the room. you blinked open your eyes as you took in your surroundings.

shit! your hand was hung loosely around calum's bicep, your calf slightly tangled with his leg, and your head was nuzzled in his neck.

you brushed yourself off of him, causing him to stir, "what's happening?" calum asks, his voice hoarse and croaky.

"nothing!" you say quickly. a bit too quickly.

mali giggles before turning her phone around, showing you both the picture she had taken, you noticed calum had his head on yours, one hand still behind his head whilst his other laid dangerously low on your back.

you felt your cheeks growing red as you turned away from them both. calum clears his throat before sitting up on the bed.

"me and ashton are heading to the slopes, you guys woke up late so we'll meet you there" mali informs the both of you, you give her a nod before you watch her leave.

"i'm sorry" he apologizes. you shake your head as you look at him, "no that was on me, i was on your side of the bed, shit i'm sorry" you ramble.

calum follows suit and shakes his head, "it's not that deep, right?" he asks. "of course, not" you faked a smile before excusing yourself to the ensuite.

maybe everything crystal had said to you yesterday was getting in your head, making you unconsciously act out.

you tried brushing off the feelings, but you couldn't. you started replaying times when you and calum were together and the little things he used to do. you always thought he hated you, but maybe he didn't?

"you nearly done in there?" you hear calum ask from the other side. "just a few minutes" you call out. you snap out of your thoughts and start brushing your teeth before washing your face.

you walk back into the room, beelining straight to the wardrobe. as your hands were occupied with finding an outfit, your eyes sneakily fell on calum before he entered the ensuite, locking the door.

"fuck" you muttered, letting out a heavy breath that you didn't notice you were holding in.

once you had found an outfit suitable to the cold, you applied some light makeup: blush, mascara, and lip balm.

you then called out to calum, letting him know you'd be waiting for him downstairs. whilst making your way downstairs, you pulled your phone out of your jacket pocket, dialling crystal's number.

she answered after the first dial, "i need your help, i'm going crazy. like i don't want to be dealing with these feelings right now crys, i don't know what the fuck is happening to me. one minute, i think he's a jerk, and then the more i start thinking about him, i get butterflies in my stomach, and they hurt crys, it fucking hurts" you rambled over the phone, not even allowing her a moment to speak.

"say something," finally reaching downstairs, you take a seat on the couch, awaiting for a response. "are you okay?" your eyes widened when you recognized the voice over the phone as not crystal's.

"perfectly fine, mike." your cheeks turning into a deep rep shade, "where's crys?" you ask, a nervous laugh coming following suit.

"she's out with sierra, she left her phone at home," michael says. "oh okay, well, no need to let her know i called, but i should be going now," you try to hurry the conversation to an end.

"okay, no worries" he says, "y/n?" he says quickly after. "are you sure you're okay?" he asks. you let out a little sigh, "i'll be fine"

"ready to go?" calum says running down the stairs, he stands at the end of the stair, looking over at you. you give him a nod, "one sec" you mouth to him.

"i have to get going, mike. i'll see you soon. " you finish off the call after hearing michael saying his goodbyes.

"is he okay?" calum asks you, as he watches you now walking over. he give him a nod. "we should probably get going, it's like a twenty minute walk" calum informs you.

"can't we take your car?" you ask, frowning your lips. "we can't, there's no cars allowed up there" he says. "but we can take a cable car?"

the two of you stood in line for one of the cable cars. it wasn't busy, so you both managed to get a cable car for the both of you.

you both sat on opposite sides to each other. looking down, you watched as the cable car left the tunnel, your eyes widening at the extreme height.

"is this a bad time to say i'm terrified of heights?" your eyes find calum's soothing brown ones as you nervously place your bottom lip in between your lips.

"just don't look down, okay," his voice soothing, he leans forward slightly, watching as you twist the rings on your fingers. you nod your head at the advice.

but you felt your chest becoming too hurt as you exhaled heavier breaths. "hey, you're gonna be okay" he quickly rushes over to your side, sitting beside you. "sit back" he says and so you do.

he let's one of his hands cup your cheeks, "just look at me, focus on my breathing, okay?" and so you start following his breathing pattern. once you had calmed down, you realized calum's thumb rubbing circles on your cheeks.

you looked up at him before glancing at his hand that was still on your cheek. he quickly let go, clearing his throat, to help fill the silence.

"we're here" he spoke in monotone, whilst looking out the glass.

he stands up, waiting for the doors to open, you follow behind him as he walks out.

the exit tunnel was extremely overcrowded, which hinted at the fact that the slopes would be busy.

"c'mere" calum says, reaching out for you hand, pulling you against his chest as he lead you both out of the exit tunnel.

your body melted against him, his chest pressing into your back, making you weak in your knees. his hands settled on your waist as he guided you.

once the two of you had finally left the tunnel, you were both met with the brightest snow on the slopes.

"let's go look for the others," calum says as he pulls himself away from you. your lips turned into a small frown at the loss of warmth. not wanting him to see you, you quickly plastered a smile on your lips before giving him a nod.

after minutes of searching, the two of you had regrouped with mali and ashton. the four of you decided to have some hot chocolates from one of the pop-ups. so whilst ashton and calum went to go buy them, you and mali sat at a table.

you noticed mali giving you a wide grin, "what?" you giggled. "nothing," you could tell she was lying, so you simply just raised an eyebrow up at her.

"it's just you and calum -" she starts, but you quickly stop her. "i feel awkward talking to you about this. he's your brother." you shake your head.

she opens her mouth to start speaking again but gets interrupted by ashton and calum, placing the hot chocolates down on the table.

calum takes a seat beside you whilst ashton sits besides mali.

the four of you make mindless conversations whilst sipping on your hot chocolates.

after what was around an hour, ahston and mali decided the wanted to ski down the slopes.

"you guys wanna join?" ashton asks. "you guys go ahead, i'll watch you three," calum gives you a quick glance, "i'll stay with you" he says before finishing off his drink. "we'll find something else to do," he says.

you quickly shake your head, "no cal, you should go, i don't want you to miss out" you argue. "no, i don't even want to ski, we'll go find something else, okay?" he asks. "are you sure?" you ask him and he responds with a nod.

"we'll see you guys later then" ashton says. "let us know if you end up going back to the cabin" mali says before running off to catch up with ashton.

"so what'd you wanna do?" you ask calum.

"sleigh ride?" he raises his eyebrow whilst asking you. "that's sounds perfect!" you squeal.

so the two of you make your way over to the sleigh carriages, taking a seat in an unoccupied one.

the two of you sit back whilst you watch the reindeers start to take small steps forward.

"so, have you always been scared of heights?"

you turn your head to look at calum, "not always, but as i got older, i guess i got sacred of the lack of stability and control" you say, "sorry that was a bit deep" you giggle. calum gives you a smile in return.

as the forty minute sleigh ride went on, the more the two of you talked, on a personal and connected level.

ashton and mali had also made their way back up to you guys.

"it was honestly so fun!" you exclaim as you tell ashton and mali about the sleigh ride. you notice calum's lips turning into a smile as he watched you ramble about how good the sleigh ride was.

"cal" mali exclaims, trying to regain calum back in from his daydreaming. calum replies with a hum. "what did we always do up here when we were younger?" she smiles as she jumps up and down on the spot.

calum rolled his eyes playfully, "snow angels" he chuckles. "come on, everyone!" she announces as she falls back onto the snow, letting her arms and legs push around the snow as she flaps them in the snow.

the three of you follow suit as now the four of you create snow angels.

once the shape was imprinted in the snow, mali and ashton rose back to their feet, and you once again followed shortly behind them. "need a hand," you giggle as you watch calum, struggling to get up.

he hums as he reaches for your hand. before you know it, you feel him tug on your hand, making you fall forward and on top of him.

your face inches apart as your hands now lay on his hard chest. you look up to his eyes as he looks down at yours. he places his hand on the low of your back.

"hey" he smiles. "hi" you smile back. "y-y/n" he whispered, and you hummed in response.

"get a room!" ashton chuckles. you notice calum bite his cheek before opening his mouth again, "you're on me," he says. "oh, yeah, shit, sorry," you rambled as you quickly found your stance back onto your feet, brushing of the snow that was on your clothes.

"what the-" you begin to say as you feel something being thrown at you. you turn around to see mali throwing snow balls at you. you giggled before bending down to create a ball of snow in your hands.

you stood back up and threw it on her back.

"snowball fight!" ashton called out.

and there, the four of you were throwing snowballs at each other.

after throwing multiple at ashton and mali, you decide to throw some at calum. so you had two snowballs in your hand, about to throw them in calum's direction, but before you could, you felt a heavy weight being thrown to your head, making you trip over your feet.

"fuck! are you okay?" you hear calum say, panic in his voice, as he rushes over to your side.

you brought your hand to your head as you rubbed it. "it's hurts" you winced. "i'm so sorry" he repeats as he brings his hand over yours, rubbing the place he had hit you with the snowball.

he then moved my hand from it, letting his lips leave a small kiss on the area. "i should take her back" calum says as he helps you up on your feet. you shake your head, "i'll be fine"

despite saying you were fine, calum still made you go back to the cabin with him. you told mali and ashton to stay out still and to still keep having fun.

the journey back to the cabin was pretty much quiet except when you were back in the cable car, you felt your head starting to pound so you winced from the pain and calum had asked you if you were okay.

once you had gotten back, you went straight into the bedroom and got changed, calum doing the same in the bathroom.

you were sat in the bed as you massaged the side of your head.

"how're you feeling?" calum asks as he enters back into the room, this time with a tracksuit on.

"i'll be fine, calum," you shake your head as you look up at him. you watched as he walked over to your side of the bed, kneeling down in front of you.

he didn't say anything, just simply looked up at you as his hand cupped your cheek, his thumb creating shapes on your cheek.

"you confuse me" you scoff as you catch his eyes with yours.

"what do you mean?" he asks as he rises from his knees.

"i thought we were getting along on this trip, cal. i thought you were lossening up around me. i thought you had dropped your jerk act, but as soon as you do, you put it back on again. why? why won't you let in?" you let your hand intertwine with his, tugging on it, making him take a seat beside you on the bed. which he did.

"how long have we known each other for, y/n?" calum ask, you furrow your eyebrows, "eight years"

"eight years, it's been y/n" he starts. "eight years of me being completely and utterly infatuated with you. eight years of me wanting you for myself, eight years of having you consume my every thought. eight years of knowing i couldn't be with you because i don't deserve you, eight years' worth of songs that were written about you because i couldn't bring myself to tell you how i'd felt"

whilst he was expressing his feelings, you noticed at some point he had reached for you hands, he was looking down at them, twiddling with them.

"i thought if i could try distance myself away from you by acting the way i have, it would hurt less but fuck it hasn't" he sighs.

he looks up into your eyes, "can i be selfish for a second?" he asks as his eyes flicker to your lips.

you nod as you watch him lean into your lips, placing a delicate kiss on them.

he moves his hands, so he's cupping your cheeks, "i've wanted to do that for so long"

"i wish you told me" you shake your head. "i'm sorry y/n about everything," he says as he rests his forehead against mine.

"it took you eight years calum" you begin, "let's not make its nine, okay?" you nod before letting your lips catch his.

a/n: i wanted to extend this, but i didn't want this to be too long, so it'll be either be a part two to this or i might change it a little bit to be its own work to be different but regardless it'll be the next post.

also this took me forever to writeee :'(