#the fun never ends! 🎶 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

raven-dor · 3 months ago

Text

i can't help but love you

in which pietro maximoff falls for his coworker...

PAIRING: pietro maximoff x fem!reader, tony stark x daughter!reader

WARNINGS: arguing, oblivious nature, more arguing, tension, angst, avoiding, jealousy, fluff ending!!

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

🎶 : war of hearts - ruelle

AN: ♥️💗 - i guess there's no civil war au with this? like everyone lives in the tower and nothing bad ever happened - yippee right?! anyways, enjoy!!

“Maximoff!”

Y/N Stark’s voice rang clear through the 59th floor of the Avengers Tower, and Wanda laughed as she stalked into the living room. “What has he done now?”

“Your brother-” The girl was practically fuming. “Has destroyed my project.”

“Lies.” The speedster stood near the glass doors that led to the landing pad. “She is lying.”

“Don't.” Y/N hissed, approaching the speedster with murderous intent. “You know what you did.”

“Please enlighten me as to what I have done.”

“I swear to god, Pietro.” Her voice was ragged, and Wanda frowned. Her friend’s normally witty disposition was nowhere to be seen. “I stayed up all night working on that- it had just started working, and you- you-”

“What’s going on?” Steve’s voice cut through the tension the pair had so expertly built. They refused to face the Captain, opting to glare at each other menacingly. “Either of you care to explain?”

Neither moved, as if they were in one of those gun fights in those westerns Clint loved so much. Wanda sighed, giving up on her peace and quiet. “Pietro destroyed Y/N’s project.”

“I stayed up all night working on it.” Y/N whined, still glaring at Pietro.

Steve sighed, placing his hands on his hips. Y/N would have teased him for acting like her father in any other circumstance. “Pietro, you can’t keep doing this.”

“It is not my fault little Stark gets so angry. It was just a little fun.”

“Just a little fun, huh?” Pietro nodded, smirking. “I’m going to-” Y/N’s hand was itching to punch the Sokovian in the stomach.

“I think you need to take a break.” Steve intervened, eyeing her clenched hand with fear. “I’ll deal with him, don’t worry.”

“He-” She squeezed her eyes shut before nodding sharply. “Fine.”

Steve waited until she was out of view to address the speedster. “Maximoff.”

He was still smirking. “Yes, Captain?”

“The whole ‘bullying the girl because you like her’ routine is getting old. There are easier ways to get her attention.”

Wanda laughed as her brother’s cheeks grew bright red. “What?”

“She’ll never forgive you if you keep messing with her projects. They’re important to her, and-” He huffed, placing a hand on Pietro’s shoulder. “Just go easy on her, okay? You know how hard she’s been working.”

Pietro nodded, cheeks still bright. “Yes, sir.”

Normally, mission debriefs went smoother.

Keyword, normally.

Wanda had always noticed this, the tension between the two, but after this particular meeting, it became clear to everyone. She reminded herself to start a betting pool after Steve finished the debrief.

“You can’t be serious, Cap.”

“I am serious.” Steve sighed. “It makes the most sense. With your expertise and his-”

“Steve…” It seemed Y/N was not below begging. “Anyone but him, please.”

“That desperate to escape me, Princessa?” Pietro wiggled his eyebrows. “You know you-”

“Don’t.” She raised her hand, cutting him off. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

Tony watched with mild fascination, leaning back in his chair. Natasha leaned over, whispering in his ear. “What’s going on with those two?”

“I’ll die out there.” Y/N cried. “He doesn’t care about watching my back.”

“Hold on-” Pietro looked mildly offended.

“I don’t know what exactly happened between the two of you, but Pietro would never leave you to die.” Steve looked stern. “You know that.”

Pietro nodded, not that that reassured her in the slightest.

“Fine.” She huffed. “Whatever, just continue, I guess.”

Steve smiled, looking back at the screen. “Thank you. As I was saying-”

The rest of the team hadn’t missed the way Pietro stared at Y/N, eyes wide like a kicked puppy’s. And Tony hadn’t missed the way his daughter’s eyes lit up when she ‘glared’ at the Sokovian.

“ETA?”

“Five minutes, tops.” Y/N unplugged the hard drive, stuffing it in her pocket. “Just got the drive.”

Pietro looked nervously out the door. “Hurry, Princessa.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Princessa?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you not-”

“Just stop, alright?”

Pietro nodded. “Fine. Are you finished?”

She shook the drive that laid in her palm. “I’ve been finished. Thought you were supposed to be up to speed, Quicksilver.” Walking past him and toward the doorway, she almost gasped when his hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her back. “What the hell is your prob-”

“Do you trust me?”

She’d been caught off guard by that question, replying before she could even truly think about her answer. “Of course.”

“What’s taking so long, you two?” Her father’s voice rang over the comms. “Can’t keep the Quinjet here forever.”

She peeled her eyes away from Pietro’s, staring at the doorway. “Relax, old man.”

Pietro put his hand around her neck, pulling her flush against him. Her cheeks flushed. “What are you doing?”

“Just-” He looked down, smiling lightly. “You said you trust me.”

She nodded slowly. “Do we need to get your hearing checked?”

“Don't let go.”

“Okay.” She tried to ignore the way her stomach flipped when he looked at her.

The New York skyline was so beautiful in the middle of the night. Her legs dangled over the edge of the balcony as she stared out at the people below.

“What are you doing awake?”

She jumped, clutching her chest. “Jesus, Maximoff.” She shook her head. “You can’t just pop out of nowhere like that.”

He laughed. “Did I startle you?”

“No.” She deadpanned. “That’s why I jumped.”

“Perhaps you should not sit by the edge then.”

She rolled her eyes, slapping his arm half-heartedly. “What’s got you up?”

“I asked you first,” Pietro responded. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine.” She sighed. “Just- can’t sleep, that’s all.”

“Ah.” A beat of silence fell over them before he spoke again. “When we were younger, and I couldn’t sleep, my mother used to make me a special tea.” He stared at the traffic below, a nostalgic melancholy look on his face. “Wanda makes it for me now.”

“Do you miss your mother?” She whispered.

“Everyday.” Pietro smiled. “And my father.”

Y/N nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize.” His mouth went dry, she was staring at him so intensely. “I will make you a cup.”

“You don’t need to do that, Pietro. Really.”

“It is no trouble.” He stood up, extending his hand. “Come inside.”

“I’m fine out here.”

“Really?” He raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Because you are shivering.”

She laughed, taking his hand as he guided her to warmth. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilted his head, releasing his hold on her to fill the kettle. “Doing what, Princessa?”

“You’re-” She smiled. “You’re being nice.”

“I do not enjoy upsetting you.”

She huffed, sitting on the island as Pietro grabbed two mugs. “Could have fooled me.”

“We are not so different, you and I.” He leaned against the counter across from her, and her eyes fell on his arms, stretching the fabric of his sleeves so beautifully. “I forget what made us this way.”

“I don’t remember either,” Y/N whispered back. “I just remember you trying to stop my dad from completing Vision.”

“In my defense-” Pietro laughed. “I thought-”

“Yes.” She nodded. “I know.” They sat in a comfortable silence, staring at each other. When the kettle hissed, breaking their peace, Pietro turned around, pouring them each a cup. There was something so domestic about this moment, about him helping her fall asleep. If anyone had walked in the kitchen right then and there, she would have denied that any camaraderie had occurred.

She wondered if he would do the same.

He turned back around, and she straightened her posture, all of a sudden insecure about how she looked. He blew carefully, cooling down the tea so she could drink it. “For you.”

She smiled, taking it gratefully. “Thank you.” He nodded, watching as she took her first sip. Her eyes widened, honestly surprised at the taste. “It’s delicious.”

He grinned, cheeks growing red. “You are just saying that.”

“No, really!” She insisted, taking another sip. “It’s delightful, honestly.”

“I am glad you enjoy it.” His voice was quiet, deep as they realized how closely they were. His head was hung, mere inches away from hers. “Princessa-”

“I-” She interrupted. “I should go. To bed. I should go to bed.” Setting the mug down, she jumped down from the counter. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He nodded. “Anytime.”

Steve was fuming, which, if you knew the Captain, was extremely rare. The quinjet was silent as their leader pointed out their mistakes, their missed chances. “This was a perfect mission, you two. What happened?”

Y/N sat on the bench, staring at her hands. “We almost-”

“No excuses.” Steve raised his hand, waiting for an answer. “What happened?”

“It was my fault, Captain.”

Steve faltered, looking over at the girl for confirmation. “Is that true?”

“What are you doing?” She whispered to Pietro.

The speedster ignored her. “She was hurt.”

“It was a scratch.” Y/N insisted. “I told him we could keep going.”

“It was not a scratch.” Pietro hissed. “They shot you.”

“Stop,” Y/N whispered.

“What?”

She stared at him, desperate to figure him out. “Stop acting like you care. You wanted to play the hero, and you ruined the mission.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You heard me.” Y/N’s eyes hardened, ignoring the looks their teammates gave them. “Do you deny it?”

He nodded. “You are wrong.”

“Doesn’t seem like I am. You’ve been in this situation before - when Clint got grazed two weeks ago, you kept going.”

“That was different-”

“Or when Nat was trapped back into a corner. She told you to go on without her. No hesitation.”

“Princessa-”

“When Wanda sprained her ankle, and she told you she could keep going, you listened. What’s so different?” She interrogated. “That you had to ruin everything?”

Pietro looked hurt, angry, and hurt. “I think you know why.”

“I don’t, actually.”

“Then we have nothing more to talk about.”

“Fine by me.” She sat back, staring at the wall until they landed. And when they had, she’d been the first one off, stalking toward the training room.

“He loves you.”

She scoffed, punching the boxing dummy once more. “How do you know?”

Tony laughed, crossing his arms. “C’mon, kid. He ruined what should have been a simple mission because you were scratched.”

“So?”

“You said it yourself. He didn’t save his sister when she sprained her ankle.” He took a step closer. “He loves you, and you’re scared.”

“I’m-” Punch. “Not-” Punch. “Scared.” Punch.

“Yeah?” Her father sighed. “You seem scared to me. Classic Stark move, you know. Running from affection.”

She pushed past him, taking a sip from her water bottle. “You perfected it.”

“Never said I didn’t.” He shrugged. “Another classic. Deflecting."

"Get to the point."

"Just don’t lose out on this. That kid cares about you, and I’m not going to be around forever-”

“Dad…”

“Give him a break.” Tony placed a hand on her shoulder, smiling lightly. “Do it for me, okay?”

“Fine.”

“And go take a shower.” He laughed. “You stink.”

They hadn’t talked since the quinjet, since the mission had blown up in flames.

Two weeks had passed since the rest of the Avengers solved the case, since they’d been the only ones left in the tower, since she’d ask Friday if he was in the kitchen, and sneak out of her room when the coast was clear.

Now, as she sat at the party thrown in honor of the successful mission, she fought the way the hairs on her arms raised as she felt his stare from across the room.

Instead, she flirted with the bartender.

Her dress had long flowy sleeves, which was not normally her style, but because of her ‘injury’ she now felt disgusted by the scar. It was off the shoulder and short, short enough to capture someone’s attention.

“You’re stunning.” The handsome man behind the bar was the perfect distraction.

Her eyelashes were low, smile mischievous as she responded. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do.” He nodded. “Plan on being here for long?”

“That depends.”

His eyebrow raised. “On what?”

“When your shift ends.”

“Y/N.”

A deep sigh left her, and she quickly smiled at the bartender before spinning in her chair to face him.

“Maximoff.”

“Can we talk for a moment?”

She honestly considered it, ignoring him and going back to the man that eagerly waited behind her. But the look in his eyes and the way her heart twisted under his gaze was enough to convince her. “Quickly.”

Pietro nodded, following after her. “What is his name?”

“I don’t think you get to know, since you so rudely interrupted.” She stopped in the hall, the party now a dull roar. “What do you want?”

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Oh?” He frowned. “The computer told me your 'escape' plans.”

“Friday!” She gasped, looking up. “What the hell?”

“Mr. Stark made me.” The computer responded, and she silently cursed her father.

“I've missed you.”

She raised an eyebrow, forcing herself to act uninterested. “I don’t know why. We’re not friends.”

“No.” He nodded, his eyes dropping to her lips for a second too long. “We’re not.”

“Well, this has been exactly what I expected.” She clapped her hands. “If you don’t mind, I have to get back to-”

“He will only hurt you.” He whispered.

“I don’t care.” She hissed. “He’s a distraction; that’s enough for me.”

“A distraction?” Pietro looked much too confident. “From what, exactly?”

“From you and your creepy stare.” She lied straight through her teeth. Technically, she wasn't lying. She really was flirting with the bartender to distract herself from the larger issue: her feelings for him. “Following me everywhere. It’s-” Pietro took a step closer, and she choked on her words, swallowing. “You’re-”

“Yes?” He whispered. “It seems as if you are at a loss for words.”

“Why can’t we just go back to arguing?”

“We can argue.” He smiled. “We can do anything you want.”

“You’ll agree with anything I say, won’t you?”

Pietro shrugged. “Only one way to find out.”

“Oh?” He nodded. “Get me a slice from-” A small to-go box laid in her hand before she could even blink. Fighting the smile that threatened to break through her hard exterior, she bit her lip. “I never finished my sentence.”

“Bravo Pizza, Union Square.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You visit after every mission.”

“You-“ She shook her head, and opened the box, two New York slices inside. “Alright then. I want to sit on the landing pad.”

“Jesus, Pietro.” The New York traffic blared below them, lights flickering like stars in the night sky. She gripped his suit jacket, questioning her stability in these heels. “This is higher than I remember.”

“Princessa.” She hummed, leaning her head against his chest. His finger hooked under her chin, pulling her eyes away from the city. “It is alright.”

“I didn’t think this through.”

He laughed, gripping her waist tighter. “You won’t fall, I promise.”

“Wow.” She whispered. “Even your eyes are silver.” She stared for a moment longer. “They’re captivating.”

He smiled, pushing a stray hair out of her face. “I am yours to command.”

“Anything?”

He nodded. “Anything at all.”

“Forgive me.” If he had not been staring at her lips, the wind could have carried her words away.

“Forgive you for what, Princes-” Her lips collided with his, passionately, deeply, pulling him closer, as close as she could.

His eyes widened before he even registered that she was kissing him, that she was actually kissing him. His hands trailed further up her back, one landing on her waist, and one landing on the side of her face, caressing her cheek.

“Pietro.” She whispered, pulling away.

“I was supposed to kiss you.” He laughed, kissing the corner of her mouth gently. “I had a plan.”

“I suppose…” She smirked, reveling in his touch. “You’ll have to be quicker than that.”

taglist: @milesdrift

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO JOIN!

#literature #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #angst #marvel #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #pietro maximoff x fem!reader #pietro maximoff x stark!reader #stark!reader #tony stark #captain america #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #🪩! fics

386 notes · View notes

waynes-multiverse · 3 months ago

Text

The Craving

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

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

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

Word Count: 13.7k

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

Posten on Patreon March 1, 2025

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

Happy reading! 🩵

Main Masterlist || Dean Winchester Masterlist || Tag List

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

But then came you.

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

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

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

You, you, you, you, you…

You.

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

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

Fucking crazy.

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

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

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

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

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

Nope, not at all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d already missed his fucking chance…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, you good?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Dean doesn’t want to talk.

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

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

Dean wants to scoff at the name.

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

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

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

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

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

He has everything Dean wants.

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

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

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

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

Dean still sucks at it.

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

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

The scenery had been so inviting.

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

Hiking. That had been your explanation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-, uh…”

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

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

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

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

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

“More, huh?”

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

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

“I’m honestly kinda beat. Raincheck?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet.

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

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

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

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

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

Closer. Closer. Closer.

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

It was a whiny fucking bitch most days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What, are you nuts?!”

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

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

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

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

“Sam–“

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

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

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

“Dean–“

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, are you guys leaving already?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean…”

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

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

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

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

Some days, it felt like you were dying inside.

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

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

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

“I’m in love with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If this is some prank, Dean…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, Dean knows he has messed up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For him.

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

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

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

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

A year.

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

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

“So, it’s a… maybe?”

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

“Do you love him?”

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

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

“You love me, too?”

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

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

“You love me more?”

“Dean!”

Yeah, he was pushing it…

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

You love him. There’s a chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But why does it feel so wrong and stupid then?

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

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

Dean feels it, too.

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

The craving wins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel him everywhere and still crave fucking more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s a greedy bitch.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And now… Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The craving never stops.

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

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

Luckily, so are you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean pushes in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fucking asshole…

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

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

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

Shit, shit, shit…

Beating hearts in their purest form. That was there.

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

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

Dean still wakes up alone that morning.

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

Wait… Where is his fucking pillow?

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

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

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

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

Shit!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nonetheless, his pride is quickly overshadowed by your absence.

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

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

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

Silence.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean? Y/N?”

Sam.

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

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

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

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

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

But wait… Is that one of your shoes?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dude, again?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m sorry.

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

Or is it all of the above?

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean, where are you going?”

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

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

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

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

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

Still, your heart cracks at the thought.

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

There’s finally clarity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then why did you leave?”

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

Dean’s brow raises with understanding. Oh.

“You broke up with him?”

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

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

Dammit. Of course Sam was right.

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

“You flew to Michigan?!”

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

“Wouldn’t a text done it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Makes sense,” Dean agrees quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thought so.” You smirk winningly.

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

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

“No, I know. But–“

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

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

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

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

It’s just love now.

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

You nod and claim his lips again.

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

“Oh, you were actually serious about that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, I mean, I would’ve said yes.”

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

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

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

You laugh, nodding. “Kinda my point.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tag List Pt. 1:

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

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

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

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

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

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

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

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

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

254 notes · View notes

kpopsexstories · 17 days ago

Text

QUICK FIX #49: TXT Yeonjun Ggum Hip Action

Member: TXT Yeonjun

Content: You have s*x with Yeonjun when you ask him to 'do the gum gum’.

Type: MEDIUM

Word Count: 1,091

This story is part of my Quick Fix Dirty Kpop Imagines series. Check it out for more x female reader smut and other groups and members.

Yeonjun's solo debut had a surprising, funny and slightly annoying effect on his sex life. “Do the gum gum,” you'd usually request at some point, about half the times you had sex. It always made him giggle but also roll his eyes.

Requesting the move would lead to laughter and temporarily take you out of the intimate moment. That's why you tended to request it in positions when Yeonjun was on his knees or feet, balls deep in your vagina but before the sex you were having got too close to the end.

Today, however, he was on his back when the request snapped him out of his mesmerized state of mind.

You were riding his dick and he was really into it. His eyes were wide as he studied your body, and felt your thighs, hips, breasts and waist with his hands.

You enjoyed his soft front, your hands gently pressing down and gliding against his chest and stomach. You moved your ass up and down, while he just lay there comfortable and horny watching you ride his cock.

His mouth was open and he panted with each lustful thrust, completely into you and how sexy you were. Then you said the words, and he bit his lip and smiled.

You laughed, because you knew he wouldn't like it. He didn't get nearly as much joy out of the joke as you did. But you genuinely loved it, not because it felt good or anything like that, but because the man was so cute when he did it and hot when he moved his body like that.

“I wish I never did that damn music video,” Yeonjun joked and shut his eyes hard while chuckling through his teeth.

“Pleeease, do the gum gum,” you pleaded and giggled even louder. Him fighting you on it was really half the fun.

Yeonjun opened his eyes and took a firm grip around your waist. He started thrusting his dick gently into your vagina but soon stopped. You knew this meant that he was getting ready, and your heart was suddenly filled with anticipation.

“Ready?” he asked and smiled at you. The wait felt like a thrill ride, a roller-coaster slowly creeping to the top.

You didn't reply, merely smiled wide down at the man. You felt his hips sink as he pressed his ass into the mattress and simultaneously pulled your body up with his hands tight around your waist.

Your muscles hardened as you prepared yourself, and used your knees and thighs to help him keep your ass and pussy up.

The dick slid down, the head nearly falling out of your hole. It clung to your folds while Yeonjun got into position.

“Ready?” he asked again, thoroughly enjoying the way he made you wait. To him, this part was the highlight because of how it made you squirm on the inside.

“Yeah,” you whispered and your smile went away, while your muscles tensed and you got ready for the imminent launch.

He glanced down between your bodies, at the straight dick and your wet and wide-open vagina. “Ready?” he asked a third time, with a playful smile as he was about to give you the ride you asked for, and you felt a slight shift in his hands and arms. “You sure?”

“Just do it,” you pleaded, your voice dripping of lust, desire and impatient anticipation.

“Three,” Yeonjun said slowly, hyping you up and making you wait even longer.

“Two.” You closed your eyes and smiled again, eagerly awaiting the thrill you knew was coming.

“One.” You took your hands off his chest and held them out as if to balance your body, and got ready to feel the rapid action.

🎶Go hit that gum chomp, chomp🎶

You immediately started laughing when he sang the words in place of zero, before he even moved his body.

Yeonjun suddenly raised his ass fast while holding your waist tighter than ever. He quite literally catapulted himself straight up from the mattress.

The dick and shaft pushed deep and hard into your body. His hips slammed against your inner thighs and ass while you clenched and tensed every muscle to hold your position.

The dick slid out just as fast as it went in, and Yeonjun's ass quickly bounced on the bed. You giggled again, loud and with excitement, as adrenaline and lust rushed through your heart.

Your body shook, experiencing a real thrill. The wait and anticipation was one part of it, the speed and extreme intensity another.

Yeonjun opened his mouth wide and focused his eyes and mind fully on your pelvis and his fingers gripping firmly around you, to make sure the dick went just close enough to the edge without falling out. It never lost footing. You'd had a lot of practice getting this right.

With each thrust and bounce of his ass and hips the initial sensation and thrill settled, and the best part – the anticipation – was quickly over.

It wasn't a move that gave either of you a particularly strong sense of arousal, but it genuinely was, in your opinion, the most fun the two of you had in bed. It gave you such a rush.

You could only do it once per time you had sex though, for two reasons. The novelty of it would die, as each consecutive ‘gum gum’ as you called it, when done too closely together, was less exciting than the last. And there was only so much your body could take, as the violent slamming of Yeonjun's dick was no child's play.

Today, you were more than satisfied with the thrill ride, and because you waited so long to request it, Yeonjun got more out of it too. He was already close to coming when you asked him to do it, and his strong erection did get a lot of wonderful sensations from the fast and sudden friction.

It didn't bring him over the edge, but that was never the point. It made you both laugh, and when your body stopped shaking and he stopped performing, you came down with your lips on his face and simply couldn't stop giggling.

You made out and laughed while you sunk back down onto his cock. He wrapped his arms around your back and stroke it with love, while you came down from the rush and relaxed.

“Happy?” he asked and smiled when your eyes met.

“Very,” you said and slowly started rolling your hips again. It was time to return the favor.

#kpop smut #smut #txt smut #txt x female reader #txt x female reader smut #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun txt #txt yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #choi yeonjun smut #txt yeonjun smut #yeonjun smut #tomorrow x together #tomorrow x together smut

86 notes · View notes

newkatzkafe2023 · 1 month ago

Note

What If Y/N was Like Caine From the Amazing Digital Circus?

@lara-legomonkiekid

All im gonna say is that this may have some yandere elements😈

youtube

(Jester Wukong) Where am I? What happened? And why is the only thing I know is my name?🎶🎵🎶🎵

(Lmk Wukong) He met you when he was rummaging though his treasure closet. When he had found an unusual headset that he didn't remember getting, however he stole alot of stuff over the years so he's never gonna remember every treasure he has. Unfortunately that led him to putting on the damn headset and well now he's in a world of colorful ausmusement park and what he thinks is a circus. Wukong immediately hated where he was and tried to take off the headset, but found it wasn't not working and he slowly began to panic. However that's when you came in welcoming him to your amazing digital circus with wide open arms, and giving him the grand tour. Though Wukong demanded to go home now and never comeback but then you actually laughed and told him that he us home now, even showing him his own room but it only terrified him more and he needed to get out. However it ends up with him being stuck with you, and the other monkeys coming in, and horrifically Redson, Mei, and finally........Mk😨

(Jester Wukong) Am I losing? it am I going insain?🎵🎶🎵🎶

(HIB Wukong) Ok ok don't freak out, but Wukong met you when Luier and Silly girl had disappeared. Wukong was freaking out spending sleepless nights searching for his two kids. Though one day he was searching again when he found a headset next to Luier's doll, which freaked out Wukong all over again however he took this as a clue to what happened but only one way to find out. Wukong immediately put on the head set and suddenly popped into another colorful world, it looked like a circus of some kind if they were to have way more budgeting. After a bit he finally heard it DAD! Wukong looked over to find Luier, Silly girl, and finally and apparently all the monkeys from flower fruit mountain and pigsy was here for some reason too. That's when you flew over and excitedly welcome him to your circus, which angered Wukong accusing you of kidnapping. However you quickly explained that you would have send them back, but their stuck here.......now so is he and even though Wukong has united with his children now he's trapped here and worse of all with you...😰

(Jester Wukong) Why did I ever put that F- headset on i just needed a break and now it looks like I'm stuck in this game🎶🎵🎶🎵

(NR Wukong) Wukong has never been into Computer and AI technology, mostly into heavy machinery. So you can imagine his confusion when he found an unknown headset in a abandoned box by his water tower home. Of course he would be goofy and mildy curious about it this new world around him and that's when he met you a cute Al like monkey girl whom he immediately flirted and catcalled. You blushed a bit thinking of him as a bit frisky and knowing how to make a girl blush, but you still welcomed him to the circus. Well as much as he thought this was fun and all but he needed to report back home before Li and Su called the police, unfortunately you dropped the bombshell that this oversized cotton swab is trapped here. Which had Wukong be like........Say sike right.....say sike right now.............WHY AREN'T YOU SAYING SIKE RIGHT NOW?! (Ps few weeks later Li and Su did show up though headset and it will soon be there turn to regret their choices)

(Caine Y/n) Welcome to my digitally, whimsical, enternal parade, where we got infinite adventures, games, and parties to play no need to fight it get excited, start accepting your fate, you'll be here day after, day after, day after (Welcome to my❤️‍🔥)

(MKR Wukong) He would quickly grow annoyed with you, you were just so all over the damn place. You make everything complicated for now damn reason not to mention you seen to be quite secretive about your background and would mostly focus on him. Wukong had enough and demanded to know where the hell he was and who the hell were you, and it pissed him off more when he found out that he's being censored as well. That's when you told him about getting settled in his brand new home with you in the circus, and Wukong finally blew his top when he heard that. Wukong yelled, screamed, and rampaged all over the damn place demanding for an exit out of here, but it did him no good at all. Wukong holding back his tears and starting having a panic attack begged to be let out but you gave him the same answer. He's stuck here in the amazing digital circus........forever but at least he's stuck with fruity and all his monkeys.

(Jester Wukong) Swear i saw an exit here, did it disintegrate, there's got to be a way for me to get away, and I refure to let that girly pair of dentures tell me i am here to stay, but when I close my eyes I still can hear her say🎶🎵🎶🎵

(Netflix Wukong) Ohhhhhhhhh noooooooo this is very very bad, he put on an unusual helmet and now he's trapped somewhere. He looked around the colorful circus and that's when he met you welcoming him with open arms, coo over him and immediately planned to make adventures for him to go on. However Wukong for once didn't want to humor the world he's in and demanded that you let him out now....but then his face grows pale when you told him their wasn't a way out. Wukong flew into a fit of rage and even openedly threatened to kill you which you only laughed at because of your control over the circus world. Wukong needed to find a way out and to get back to Lin and home as soon as possible, imagine the electric shrike of fear when he finds that Lin got trapped here too......😞

(BMW Wukong) You know this is completely on his thieving sticky fingered ass, he stole an unusual helmet from some abandoned temple without knowing anything about it which led him to you. He was shocked and disoriented looking around the colorful environment he was now in, and worse of all he's dressed like a damn jester, which royally pissed him off. However you already giving him a tour around the circus and what this place is designed for, however Wukong wanted out of the circus and to return home. That's when you tell him that his new home and he's part of the circus for now on, which angered and terrified Wukong into running and looking for a way out. Trying for weeks as Monkeys on flower fruit mountain came though the headset helmet and being trapped in the circus, meanwhile you just prepare adventures and future dates for the two of you to go on💙

(Jester D.O) Where am I? I can't decipher...when did i become a Jester? She says I can't be free, she's as lost as me, i need to stay calm and i can't lose my head if i don't keep my cool, i may end up abstracted i only know my name and im stuck in this game, So for now all i can do is say🎵🎶🎵🎶

(Destined one) Ok, your presence would unnerve the Destined one personally. Like seriously he's met some eccentric and imaginative people, but you make him uneasy. He would listen to you ramble and explain to him about your world and how the circus worked, up until you welcomed him to his home. The Destined one immediately notices the red flag in that sentence and soon demanded to know what you ment and that's when you tell him that the circus became his new home the second he put on the headset. The Destined one was confused, then angery, then horrified, as he now saw the gravity of his new situation and demanded to know where the exit was. However you told him there was no exit and it's now just you and him in the circus..............forever😈

(Jester Wukong) Welcome to this digitally, whimsical, enternal parade, where i go on infinite adventures so I don't go insain, try not to lose my mind until I find a way to escape, I'll be here day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after🎶🎶🎵

(Lotmk Wukong) Wow, you would think he would have the common sense to not put on an unknown helmet in his possession, but then again, this is Sun Wukong we are talking about. This leads him to meeting you in your wacky color circus world, and to him, you were eccentric and rather mischievous, always doing something crazy and unusual however, you are an adorable monkey woman. You immediately threw him a welcome party as you have been alone for a long time, but Wukong wanted to get out of here already and get back to his journey. That was until you told him that there's no way out, and he's like..........excuse me?😦 You told him that he's stuck in your circus with you as you immediately started creating adventures for him to go on, now wu tried to reason with you and get you to tell him where the exit is but you shook your head and said the same thing. You welcomed him to his new home and his new body, which made Wukong pale up at you, but on a brighter note, the monkeys of flower fruit mountain are here too😇

(Caine Y/n & Jester Wukongs/D.O) Welcome to our digitally, whimsical, enternal parade, where we got infinite adventures, games, and parties to play no need to fight it get excited, start accepting your fate, you'll be here day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after, day after🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶🎵🎶

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG🦷

#monkey king x reader #monkey king reborn #monkey king netflix #nezha reborn #monkey king hero is back #lmk monkey king #x female y/n #black myth wukong #the destined one x reader #lotmk 1999 #tadc caine #digital circus #the amazing digital circus caine #yandere writing #yandere tendencies #yandere themes

70 notes · View notes

dashi-inu · 2 months ago

Text

‧₊˚♪𝄞࿐₊˚⊹ soundwave from transformers ⋆｡₊˚♬ ﾟ.

i never thought in my life i would redesign a mecha of all beings, but my stupidity got me here ... not knowing when to quit. i drool over his canon design in prime (and all iterations for that matter) but i decided to alter it for 1. me to understand and 2. fanservice; i just really want to draw sexy things with a sexy character u /// u

transformers are very sexy play-doh's and i wanted to have fun making a headcanon-based iteration of soundwave so here's some story and details about my little music player 🎵

soundwave is a foreign transformer! not from cybertron, but from a distant land whose inhabitants value music and dance in their culture. unfortunately, his spark was stolen from birth from his native planet by a quintesson scientist who placed soundwave's spark in a preset protoform. (cyberverse's scientist character was SO obsessed with soundwave i thought was too hot and interesting to ignore)

soundwave's spark still took on its natural form it was intended from the start, but had a trait only seen in quintesson species, the tentacles.

soundwave came to life beside another, the triple changer named blitzwing under the same scientist. (tfa blitzwing had multiple faces that made him quintesson-coded to me and my sibling @crow-cello)

though blitzwing was made to protect the judge, the innocent mistake of soundwave being the first entity he sees with his very eyes made blitzwing feel beholden to protect this mechanical beauty. it was love at first sight, but this part of the story does not end in happily ever after.

soundwave is then rescued by his native species, from who he was stolen from, no longer belonging to the scientist, yet, separated from blitzwing. while heartbroken that they are kept apart, soundwave got in touch with his roots, being taught that love comes back to someone through song.

indulging in his birthright as a music player, soundwave did not suspect that he was a rarity across this universe. he was seen as an exotic treasure to higher beings, sentinel prime's high council in cybertronian. the idea of owning a music box of their own was too tantalizing to resist.

soundwave felt like a prisoner in his own life, being kidnapped but never belonging for too long. when he was stolen by cybertronian soldiers for their high council, soundwave endured their perversion, becoming their indulgence than his own being as he was what they wanted him to be, their little music player.

until one sacred day, he saw a certain gladiator in the arena and was saved by his words ... d-16 was an underdog fighter, prized by the high council for his victories and in the same leaf, despised for his active voice against oppression. soundwave would sneak out of the confines of his many masters to learn and experience life with d-16. when he promised soundwave for a better world for robots like them, soundwave gained the strength and courage to dismantle the ones who only saw him as a trophy.

without d-16, he wouldn't have gained his freedom. soundwave believed that all those days singing his lovesong brought d-16 to him. thereafter, soundwave vowed to be megatron's most loyal right-hand, indebted to only serve him. what he did not imagine was that megatron would save blitzwing too.

now for some quick facts:

soundwave is a music box! 🎶 his heart-shaped plate is where he keeps his Cassetticons. (his babies)

stands on his tip-toes to portray his dancer side~ 🩰 very swift, flowy, and agile in dance. moves gracefully in battle.

as a mecha character, soundwave is comfortable in his nudity. (save for intimate parts.) heart-shaped plate is see-through and his glowing wires are the equivalent of body art/tattoos ❤️ canonly wears the least amount of armor in prime and showcases the most mesh. i believe as a stylistic choice-

#my art #transformers #transformers prime #transformers soundwave #soundwave #i've .... done a lot of work here guys ... im very happy and relieved i got a piece of my mind out there :')#i know there is canon. but sometimes theres just too much going on with it or so much inconsistencies #that i needed to simplify (sexify) the story #i couldn't have done it without my bestie crowcello <3 #for lack of better words #they dribbled the ball all over the court past all the players and i just shot it in the hoop if im honest #sorry if this feel incomplete: soundwave comes as a set with blitzwing which is the character my buddy is working with. i worked with sound #tfp #tfp soundwave #maccadam #transformers art

74 notes · View notes

1d1195 · 1 year ago

Text

My Friend's Toyota I

🎶 here she is! Based on the song of the same name, by Asiris 💕 I wanted to write this before spring arrived. It's just a few parts (I'm thinking 4 right now) only because the first part got so long 🤭

~8k words

Warnings: college!Harry but otherwise none really. Just wanted to write a cute romantic story. Maybe the tiniest bit of angst (but maybe not in this part just yet). This part is a little ramble-y but I promise it'll come together quick.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

Can’t believe September’s already over / Looked for stars and I found a supernova / praying to God that I can hold her close / ‘Cause I know she’s worried ‘bout the snow / She said “Darling, should I bring a coat?”

Harry thought he was more excited to go to university than anyone had ever been. “For drinking right?” his friends from school asked with a laugh. They chatted about it all the time during the summer before they all left their hometown in favor of the new chapter of their lives. Harry liked drinking, sure. It was fun but he enjoyed hanging out with his friends more. At least when they were in university they wouldn’t be drinking illegally anymore.

But Harry was a bit of a hopeless romantic.

He believed university was the surefire way to meet the love of his life. The person who would knock him off his feet, make his heart grow three sizes too big for his chest, and simply just... feel like he was right where he was supposed to be.

The first semester of university came and went.

Harry didn’t meet the love of his life.

He had Mitch. His roommate and one of his best friends from home. But Mitch was in love with their friend Sarah and unfortunately, he didn’t feel the same way about Mitch as Sarah felt about him. But that was okay. He still had lots of time to find the person that would make his stomach flutter.

But spring semester came and went too.

Harry tried to find her. He went on dates with several women he met in classes and at parties. He heard the whispers and rumors about him. It made him a little sad that some of the women he went out with never corrected the rumors. His longest relationships were no more than a month, but Harry couldn’t help it that he didn’t feel the spark he was looking for and ended things before they really got going.

It was supposed to be all-encompassing. Make him breathless. Knock him to his knees. Maybe he was being ridiculous. At the age of almost twenty he was being unrealistic to want something like that. He was young. There was plenty of time for love.

But was it so bad that he wanted it now?

His dorm room with Mitch was a suite and they each had their own rooms. They decorated the main room with the help of Sarah to make it homey (and also stopped them before they used empty vodka bottles as décor). Their dorm was one of the “party” dorms, but they rarely hosted. Harry and Mitch wanted their place to be a safe place. It rarely saw more than ten people—and that was only when he and Mitch were pre-gaming with other friends to go to a party off campus. Sometimes Harry brought his friends back if they had too much to drink. It made him feel better knowing they were in a safe place. Sarah even brought back a girl that was too drunk to make any good decisions of her own accord. Harry minded over her with worry because the poor thing was all but sobbing as she threw up most of the night and whined about how sad she was.

Harry actually dated her for about a month after—some kind of savior complex that he should have known doomed their relationship from the start.

So, he kept waiting to find the love of his life. But he couldn’t help but feel discouraged as he complained to his mum and Gemma over the summer that he didn’t find her that first year.

“Honey bunny, it’s too early to think like that,” Anne smirked. “You’re so young.”

He shrugged. “I guess. M’jus’... Mitch has Sarah,” he reminded them.

“I know, but...” Gemma smiled sadly at him. “You’re not Mitch. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”

Well Harry didn’t meet her the following year either. Twenty came and went. He continued hearing rumors about his body count. The only ones ready to defend him ever was Mitch and Sarah but he simply didn’t care. The girls he met at parties, bars, in class, they all continued to flirt with him and when Harry felt the hope of a spark, he chose to pursue it—not because of the rumors, not because he felt like he had to in order to find the love of his life, simply because he was young and enjoying his life.

But September of his third year.

Oh.

Harry was appalled that as a third-year student, any of his major professors deigned to have an eight-AM class. It felt like death as he walked with the throng of people headed to the correct buildings when the sun was barely high in the sky. His eyes felt droopy, and he was certain he yawned the entire walk from dorm room to classroom.

His backpack was slung over his shoulders. He shouldn’t have gone out last night. He wasn’t hungover, but he was just so tired. The chance of meeting the love of his life could have been at that party. That wasn’t an opportunity he was willing to miss.

“I told you,” Mitch muttered to him liking eight-AMs more than the average college student. Get it out of the way. He stuck his foot out causing Mitch to stumble a bit and he smirked with a low chuckle. “Idiot,” Mitch grumbled.

Harry didn’t know what he wanted to do with his degree yet. Another component of divine intervention he was hoping would appear in front of him. Love and career. He hoped the universe would help him figure both out sooner rather than later.

Mitch veered off to his own building and Harry counted down the minutes until he could trek back to his dorm room. Harry was yawning—again—and shook his head trying to perk himself up as he made it to the building where his classroom resided on his schedule.

Harry chose a seat in the back of the room. Put his head on the desk and tried not to think about how his bed might be his real soulmate.

Harry was much more awake now that his professor had re-sparked his interest in microeconomics. All his classes were econ-based this year and he was honestly super excited to look at different facets of his major and maybe that was divine intervention. He had four required economic electives: sports, law, history, and statistics. Additionally, he would be taking a math class that was a pre-requisite to the class he needed for next semester. He tried not to think about it too much.

With a pep in his step, he no longer felt like going back to his dorm and sleeping as he told Mitch he would be doing instead of joining him for breakfast. He wanted to go to his next class or the bookstore. He wanted to geek out over the intro lecture he just heard to someone that would care and wouldn’t brush off his nerdiness. What he really wanted was someone to kiss at the end of the day and tell him all about their classes and ask what he wanted to do for dinner—whether it was dining hall food or a date in town.

“Hi Harry,” someone called as he fantasized about his little dream life. He didn’t even see who it was, so he turned to catch a glimpse.

“Hi—” he started to call politely. If it was someone he knew, he didn’t want to be rude. As he turned, he must have shifted into the path of someone else’s walk to class. He bumped into someone with about half of his body. He knocked her phone out of her hand. Also made her stumble off the sidewalk a bit. “Oh, sorry, love,” he said bending for her phone before she could. The water bottle she had tucked in her bag also fell to the ground. “Are you alright?” He was hopeful he didn’t hurt her, but who knows, she could have tweaked her ankle on the edge of the walk and Harry would have felt horrendous for the whole rest of the day.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” her voice was a bit rushed. “I just transferred here this semester, and I’m all turned around and I’m going to be late—”

Harry glanced up at her having gathered her belongings from the dewy grass and finally caught her gaze. She stopped speaking when Harry looked at her. He swore his heart stopped. They were off the sidewalk, now. People were walking quickly to and from their classes. Harry could feel the gaze of people who knew him as he walked by. Trying to figure out who the girl was he was talking to.

Harry knew he hadn’t found the love of his life yet due to lack of connection. They liked Harry well enough, and he honestly was fortunate to have had a few girlfriends who were kind, intelligent, and pretty. Those he had dated the past two years simply didn’t scratch that itch for the fantasy he had: asking about his day, telling him about hers, and what did they want to do for dinner.

But this... angel he had bumped into...

She was going to star in all his fantasies now.

They hadn’t spoken in thirty seconds while Harry dreamed of happily ever after with her. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Where are y’headed?” He asked quietly.

She shook her head rapidly and pulled her phone from his hands. Harry tried to memorize everything about this moment. The concentrated expression on her face while she scanned her phone screen. “Umm... Livingston 210,” she sighed. “Am I going the complete wrong way?” She asked nervously. “God this is so embarrassing. I spent all day yesterday walking around trying to map out my paths and I had to park in a different lot, and I am the worst with maps and directions,” she rambled.

“No, no,” Harry shook his head. “S’this way. Let me walk you,” he offered. “You’re fine,” he promised glancing at his own watch. “You’ll... you’ll be early,” he reassured her.

She blew out a relieved breath. “Really? Don’t you have a class to get to?” She asked. “I don’t want to put you out—”

He shook his head quickly. “No, not... not at all, love,” he murmured. “M’happy t’do it. Got a break before m’next class.”

Her face took on this gorgeous smile that Harry wasn’t sure he would ever be able to forget. The relief was palpable. It seemed almost excessive, like he was a doctor and told her that she wasn’t ill and not that her class was only about a three-minute walk. But Harry adored that smile. The way her eyes lit up along with the curve of her lips. “Thank you, so so much. I’m so nervous and know absolutely no one—except my roommate. But she doesn’t have class until noon. Plus, my transfer credits went in late last week so the schedule I had planned is all different than the one I made in June. I really almost considered just leaving and transferring back—”

He chuckled at her little ramble. He liked it a lot. Way more than he probably should have for having met her only ninety seconds prior. He wondered if she always did that. The need to find out was nearly unbearable. How could he prolong the conversation? How could he get her number in the next two minutes it took her to walk to her class? “C’mon,” he tilted his head toward the direction he had come from.

Was he being ridiculous? Maybe.

But this was what he wanted. The way his heart stopped. He couldn’t ignore that. Was he holding his breath? Was she feeling the same warm tension that was covering his entire body with the need to look at her? This was it. She hadto be it. The love of his life. The first day of third year. His heart felt... whole.

“Oh good, this is familiar,” she sighed with relief. Chuckling, Harry held the building door open for her to pass through. “Do you like candy?” She asked as she entered.

Blinking curiously, Harry wondered if she had some conversation in her head that he wasn’t privy to that resulted in such a question. “M’sorry?”

“Candy?”

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he smiled at her curiously.

“Okay, I’ll get you candy as a thank you for walking me, then,” she promised with an assured nod of her head.

Harry was floored by her kindness to a stranger. It made him feel so overwhelmed that he ignored how ridiculous it all seemed for him to act like this. So that meant she wanted to see him again. He chuckled. “Y’don’t have t’do that, love. S’not out of m’way,” he reminded her.

“I know... but you don’t know me, and you look important.”

“Look important?” He repeated dumbly and gestured to the stairwell for her to ascend. He followed beside her hoping he didn’t look as creepy as he felt feeling so overwhelmed with how he already felt about her.

“I don’t know, everyone was staring at you while we walked over,” she shrugged.

He smirked. But he was surprised he missed that. Usually, he noticed when people called out to him. “Everyone?”

She nodded. “I think a few people even did a double take,” she explained. “So, you must be important.”

He rolled his eyes with another little laugh from his lips. “Uh...I don’t think m’important,” he admitted. They stood a few feet away from the door labeled 210. “S’really no trouble. I jus’ left m’eight AM from here,” he promised. “Was jus’ going t’get breakfast. M’happy t’help.”

“Well, thank you. I really appreciate it. I promise I’ll get you candy,” she said glancing at her watch and then the classroom door. “I like to get a good seat for the lecture. I’ll... see you around...?” She waited for him to fill in the missing information.

“Harry,” he said wiping his hand on his leg before holding it out for her to take. The first time he would touch who he was certain was the love of his life.

“Harry,” she repeated, placing her hand in his while introducing herself as well. “I’ll see you around.”

His heart was aching with something that had to be a cross between infatuation and undeniable love. Her hand felt so nice in his and it was just a handshake. Imagining their fingers twined together made him ache with want. “Wait,” he said right as her hand touched the doorknob. “Where’s y’next class?” He asked. She pulled her phone from her pocket and opened her schedule. “Uh... Sawyer,” she said reading off her phone. Harry’s heart leapt. “312.”

He felt tingles all through his body. From fingertip to his stomach, to the top of his head to the bottom of his feet. “Yeah?” He asked rhetorically. The question was more for the universe; it’s way of telling Harry she was here. “I’ll walk you,” he promised. “We’re in the same class.”

She turned her face briefly from him—maybe an effort to hide the blush that was covering her cheeks and making Harry fall even harder for her. “Yeah?” She wondered.

He nodded. “I’ll meet y’at the front of the building when class gets out, yeah?”

She smiled. “Okay, thanks, Harry,” she sighed with relief heading through the doorway. “Enjoy your break,” she called over her shoulder.

Harry floated back down the steps. Honestly, he wanted to wait outside her classroom, but he just met her, and he wanted—no needed—this to work. Wanted it to work more than anything. The smile plastered on his face had his cheeks hurting but he couldn’t stop. He nearly sprinted to the closest dining hall where he told Mitch he would meet him for breakfast.

“Sorry, m’late. I jus’ met the woman m’going t’marry,” his voice was all airy, falling into a seat beside Mitch with a dreamy look on his face.

“Whoa,” Mitch chuckled. “You look sick.”

“I feel sick,” he laid down onto a second chair. Backpack still on. He looked like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He was in love.

“Glad you met her, Harry. Finally, right? Can you act like an adult?” Mitch muttered cutting up the waffle he had on his plate. Sitting up he smiled at his friend.

“We have class together next.”

“Isn’t that your math class?” He wondered. He thought about the schedule Harry was insistent about putting on the fridge so they could find each other if needed while at home. For emergencies. But Mitch didn’t understand why the schedule needed to be on the fridge if Harry made him commit it to memory anyway.

“Yeah, so?”

“You hate math.”

“No one likes math,” he grumbled.

“Maybe she does. Maybe she’s not your soulmate.”

“Shut up,” he dropped his bag in his seat and headed to get food. Upon returning with his tray, about three other people said hello to him. One girl stopped him asking if he was coming to her party this weekend and one of the guys that he knew from his pickup soccer games asked if he was available tomorrow night for a game at the rec field. “If she likes math then... jus’ mean she completes me. Still m’soulmate,” he shrugged.

“You got an answer for everything,” Mitch laughed.

Harry found her sitting on the barrier wall to the mini garden outside the building. One of her legs stretched along the length of the cement ledge and the other dangled off the side. With the need to get her to class on time, Harry didn’t have time to ogle her at all. But now, as he approached her, he noted she was wearing a pair of jeans and a pair of trainers. Obviously, her worry about being late to class must have meant she considered sprinting if it got late enough. Her T-shirt was this light orange-pink color. Like she was modeling a sunset. She had a book propped on her thigh and she leaned over reading, like she was simultaneously doing yoga while reading.

“Hey,” he called. Her head perked up and she smiled, putting a bookmark in between the pages and swinging her leg over to say hi.

“Hi!” She chirped excitedly. “I was afraid I missed you when I ran back inside.”

Back inside? He frowned. “Did y’class end early?”

“Yeah... almost a half hour ago,” she shrugged hopping off the ledge. “Syllabus and all. Doesn’t happen that often to me—I’m majoring in accounting and finance, so all my classes just jump right into the lectures and lessons. But this is a sociology class that my other school didn’t offer but I have to take here to graduate,” she explained with an eyeroll. “They were insistent.”

“M’sorry y’had to wait,” he frowned.

“Don’t be sorry,” she smiled. “I got to read a bit and—oh!” She twisted her backpack around her body and into the zip pocket. She retrieved whatever item she was looking for and held it out for him to take. “For walking me,” her voice was so sweet.

Harry felt his jaw fall open just a bit as she placed the Twix bar in his hand. “Twix is my favorite, but I got Starbursts too if that’s more your vibe. Reese’s if you like peanut butter. I wanted a variety just in case and it won’t go to waste regardless—”

“Twix is m’favorite, too,” he said turning the bar over in his hands. He looked up at her as if she really was placed right in his path. Fate. Out of nowhere. Like a star exploding out in the universe and dropping this angel in its spot.

She smiled. “Excellent,” she said. “Where’s Sawyer, then?” She asked while zipping her bag again and heading toward the walkway when he walked her to the building earlier. “I want a good seat,” she reminded him. Since she got him his favorite candy bar—and simply because she existed and was without a doubt going to be his favorite, period—he wanted to make sure she got the seat she wanted.

He wanted to make sure she got whatever she wanted.

Was it normal to want to hold someone’s hand like this? Harry’s immediate thought was no. It wasn’t normal. Wanting to hold hands with someone the way he was craving to hold her hand had to be the most abnormal thing in existence. Every Tuesday and Thursday for the next three weeks, he waited outside Livingston, watching her descend the front staircase to the main floor. They chatted the entire ten-minute walk to Sawyer where they shared a math class. She insisted on sitting closer to the front than Harry would ever consider but he was immediately enamored with how sweet she was and there was no way he could let someone else sit beside her.

Tuesdays and Thursdays were slowly becoming his favorite days of the week. They were his weekend even with a packed schedule on the two days. Talking to her was everything he had been longing for the last two years of school.

On Sunday, he slept until almost ten-thirty. He was lying in bed while scrolling through his array of social media and other correspondences. He heard the shower running, so either Sarah or Mitch must have been well after a night of drinking.

Three weeks. After three weeks of pining and walking her to and from class, he got an email on a Sunday.

The subject line read: Be-Twix you and me I’m glad we’re friends. He threw himself out of his bed and paced the main room trying to figure out if it was Mitch or Sarah in the shower. He knocked. “Sarah!”

“Sorry, Harry. She’s sleeping,” Mitch called.

He opened the door anyway. “She emailed me.”

“How 2002 of her,” he snorted.

“You’re useless,” Harry grumbled closing the door shut. He truly considered barging into Mitch’s room and waking Sarah for a girl’s opinion but after doing the very same and seeing way more than he was supposed to of his two friends, he opted for figuring it out himself. He vaguely wondered if there was a way to open an email faster. He must have read it a thousand times and it was only four sentences long.

Hi Harry!

I was wondering if you would want to study for our exam together? I like having someone to study with, but if that’s not your vibe I understand :) Let me know either way! This is my number if you would prefer texting.

Harry thought there were no prettier ten numbers than the ones that formed her phone number. He was immediately ready to text her but luckily had the wherewithal of checking the time stamp of the email to see if he was looking desperate but struggling to care. Fortunately, the email was from a little after seven-thirty.

He could have chatted with her for three hours longer if he hadn’t slept so late.

Hi, it’s Harry 😊

Hi! Glad my email didn’t scare you off. My roommate said that my Twix pun was horrendous.

It’s adorable. Thank you for emailing. I’d love to study. I work until five... I can meet you somewhere?

Do you like coffee?

I love coffee 😊

Do you think it will be cold around five? I’m still getting used to the weather around here. I want to bring a coat.

Harry made a mental note to pack an extra sweatshirt in case she got too cold. Can’t hurt to bring one. You never know what the weather will do around here.

Forty minutes a week.

Forty blissful, perfect minutes in the month of September had been spent chatting with the stranger that bumped into her on the first day of the fall semester. The sun was warm despite the breeze chilling her skin. It wasn’t nearly enough time but she somehow managed to fall incredibly hard for him anyway.

It was a bit ridiculous.

Her roommate—and only friend—was also a transfer student. However, Allie was much more outgoing than she was. That wasn’t to say she didn’t have fun; it was just different than how Allie enjoyed herself. Allie made friends everywhere she went. Their off-campus but university-owned apartment was always in flux of visitors from her classes, her club tennis team, or just someone she met while eating lunch in the dining hall between classes.

Allie was a good judge of character though, so she never worried about someone of bad rapport traipsing through their place. Also, Allie was always sure to keep everyone away from her room, of course.

But Allie had no problem flopping on her bed around ten in the morning and nosily glancing over her shoulder. She had left her email open anxiously waiting for a reply from the most handsome guy she had ever had the pleasure of meeting. “Be-Twix?! Sweetie, that’s atrocious,” she rolled her eyes. She groaned in response.

“I... I don’t know,” her face felt hot with shame. She really liked Harry. “It seemed like a good idea at the time... maybe that’s why he’s not answering me,” she frowned.

“Maybe he just sleeps like a normal college student and doesn’t wake up at the ass-crack of dawn,” she said knowingly patting her knee reassuringly.

“Have you seen the leaves?” She whispered almost in awe. “I went for a walk to get a bagel and—”

“I’ve seen them,” Allie smiled with a shake of her head at her silly friend. The adoration she had for little things was admirable, sweet, and just... if Harry Styles broke her heart, she would break his face. “I lived here my whole life, remember?”

But she didn’t live here her whole life. So, she was in awe—her first true fall since she was a toddler that she didn’t even remember. There were pictures of her jumping into a pile of leaves with her mom that her dad had just painstakingly raked. The south didn’t have pretty leaves like this in the fall. Palm leaves didn’t change color other than wilting brown when it was too hot. She intended to spend every minute looking at the beautiful hues of orange, red, and yellow so as not to miss the pretty season she hadn’t gotten to enjoy for most of her life.

After another agonizing thirty minutes of waiting for him to respond (and breathing with sweet relief that he did want to see her later) she told Harry that she was worried about it being cold later in the evening. She had grown up closer to the Tropic of Cancer which was now roughly 15 degrees south of her current latitude. She hated the heat; it made her skin feel dirty and oily with sweat all summer long. Her hair was too thick, her skin naturally too warm. Just thinking about her thighs sticking to her leather car seat in July was horrific.

But her parents had grown up and met here on this pretty autumn-picturesque campus. Somewhere not quite freezing (at least not yet, so she had been told) but not quite suffocating with heat like home. They left here when she was two to situate themselves in Hell’s sauna room. After taking the general requirement classes at a state school, she wanted to transfer up north to the university where her parents fell in love. Call her a hopeless romantic, but if she hadn’t found the love of her life amongst the bathing suit, half-clad guys on the beach during the last two spring breaks, then he probably wasn’t in the south. Instead, she hoped she might find him around the ski slopes.

She hadn’t anticipated finding Harry before her first class started.

Forty minutes.

That was how much time Harry generously gave her outside their shared class combined on Tuesday and Thursday each week.

She wanted more. Greedy with want and didn’t know how to do it without tying it to school. Part of her worried because what if he just pitied her and now didn’t know how to get away from her? They had class together; he couldn’t be rude. Even if he didn’t like her the way she was already falling for him, it was very obvious that Harry was a good person.

“Just be careful,” Allie warned lightly. “Harry has a bit of a reputation I hear.”

She frowned and shrugged. She knew what Allie meant. People around her weren’t exactly subtle and while she listened to music in the dining hall while she ate, or studied in the library, or even just read her book. Those around her whispered. They had seen the pair of them walking to class. Apparently, Harry never looked like that before. The whispers included Harry having plenty of girlfriends. Sometimes two or even three at a time. That just seemed ridiculous, and she felt so sad others talked about him behind his back. There were even quiet bets about how long she would last in the list of Styles’ conquests.

So, she understood that Allie was just trying to look out for her. “Well... I like him. He doesn’t have a reputation around me,” she shrugged. Allie frowned for a moment. She was so sweet.

“Just be careful with your heart,” Allie looked at her with a bit of worry in her eye. But her smile was encouraging. “It’s too good for university guys.”

She had only known Allie about three months longer than she had known Harry. They both moved in at the start of the summer, working off campus and getting to know one another as well as the area (not that it helped her directionally illiterate mind). Allie was lovely and all the things she wanted in a college-best-friend that she never really got from commuting to the local college when she lived down south. “I think you would like him.”

“I can like him and still want someone better for you,” she shrugged leaning in the doorway. She didn’t want to taint the image of perfect Harry. But the stories she heard weren’t easy to ignore. She had seen him at parties since her best friend met him on her way to her sociology class. It was hard to miss him. It was like he was the star of every party.

He drank with his friends and girls obsessed over him. To her friend’s nearly naïve point of view, however, Allie hadn’t seen Harry flirt back. He was helpful and kind to those that drank too much; guiding them outside and gently pulling a girl’s hair back for when she threw up in the shrubs. It was endearing in a lot of ways. But she would still kill him if the rumors of a string of girls was true. If her new best friend was just another notch in his belt, Harry was dead. “You are so sweet to believe in the good in everyone. I just don’t want you to be heartbroken if he isn’t as lovely as you think.”

She smirked looking at the emojis and rapid influx of messages Harry was sending her trying to coordinate timing and picking her up, so she didn’t have to walk. “I won’t,” she promised. But she didn’t say that she thought he was better.

Harry was fifteen minutes late. He blamed the table he was waiting on before he left. They were overbearing and wanted their meal comped—that much was obvious. Looking for the smallest hiccups to rebuke him. Harry begged his manager to seat them in another section. Having waited on them before, but no dice. His heart was in his throat wishing he had time to go home and change but he couldn’t. If he was a moment later, he was sure he was ruining everything.

Unaware of Harry’s worry, she waited patiently on the bench outside the apartment building the university had taken as more dorm suites. She continued reading her book trying not to think about how maybe Harry had better things to do than study for a math class on a Sunday. Especially after work. But he had texted her he was running late, and he was on his way.

She was glad she decided on a coat, it wasn’t freezing, but her thick skin ill-suited for hot weather was already thawing and feeling the chill of the early October weather. She spent an embarrassingly long time sorting through her athleisure wear trying to decide. Something suitable for studying at a coffee shop that wasn’t overstated but not quite sweatpants.

Right when she thought about calling Harry, he appeared in front of the bench. Parking and getting out of his car quickly and hurrying to the passenger side. “I am so sorry,” he said hurriedly dragging a hand through his curls. She admired the motion; enjoying how mussing them didn’t matter much and they fell right back into place. She cleared her throat and shook herself out of her own staring at him.

“For what?”

“M’so late, love. S’rude. M’sorry,” he repeated.

“Oh...it’s...it’s really okay. I was already out here—”

“S’cold,” he frowned eyeing her sweatshirt and the coat at her side.

“I’m okay!” She promised. “Is everything alright?” She asked and stepped toward him putting her hand on his forearm. He thought he might explode at the feeling of her skin on his. It was more intimate than their handshake, and she got the feeling she wanted to twine their fingers together again.

Harry seemed to breathe with a sigh of relief, and he looked at her with this stunned expression. She couldn’t figure out why. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Jus’ felt bad being late.”

“Oh,” she blinked. “That’s okay. I wasn’t in a rush or anything—”

“No, love,” he shook his head. “M’sorry because I wanted t’see you so bad,” he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair again making her heart take off at a speed that had to be unsafe for her health. Almost immediately she felt light-headed. He wanted to see her. He just told her that. There was no hiding it. She could feel that emotion thick in his voice.

“Oh,” she repeated, completely stunned and confused. “Really?” She asked in complete shock.

“Yes, very, very much,” he sighed dreamily.

Her cheeks warmed hotly under his gaze. The pair of them stood there. Staring at one another as if they were statues destined to look at one another for all eternity, frozen in time to capture a moment like theirs. The October air was rapidly cooling, but she couldn’t feel anything but heat. Like she had stepped out of the airport terminal back in the south except this heat was not suffocating. It was so welcoming.

For a few moments they just stood there, her hand touching his forearm, gazing at one another. Part of her thought it would be nice to be a statue on the street. At least if Harry was beside her. Eventually, he shook his head ever so slightly and smirked. “So...coffee?”

She cleared her throat, smiling brightly. “Please.”

Just one week later, she was chatting with a friend from her sociology class. The moment he saw Harry, he knew Harry was there waiting for her, just as he had been since they met a month earlier. Harry recognized him from attending many parties that his frat hosted at one of the houses someone had off campus. His eyes seemed a bit surprised to see Harry waiting at the bottom of the steps, doing a double take at him waiting for the girl he was walking with down the steps.

“Hey Harry,” the guy said quietly.

“Hi!” She chirped gleefully. Her excited smile felt like too much on her face, but she had no way of knowing. She also didn’t notice the turmoil the guy felt seeing the competition between himself and Harry. (If she did know, she would flat out tell him there was no competition—other than school, Allie, and work, her mind was all about Harry.)

“Hi,” he said politely with a smile and turned toward the person he actually cared about talking to. “Y’ready for math, love?” He asked gently.

“Always,” she started for the main door. “See you around!” she called sweetly over her shoulder.

On Saturday, Allie asked if she wanted to go to a party with her. She was more than happy to stay in and read her book. But she teased her. “Harry might be there,” she winked knowingly.

As much as she didn’t pay any attention to the rumors about Harry, it was hard to fully ignore them the way she wanted to. It wasn’t that she distrusted Harry. No, if anything, she believed in him more than anyone else. But it did sound like Harry had a different party persona. She was not a party person. Honestly, she wanted him to have fun they way he wanted to. Going to a party just because he was there...

“That’s alright, I think—”

“Oh, come on!” She smiled sweetly. “I’ll help you get all dolled up and we’ll just have a couple drinks, and we can leave if you hate it. But if Harry is as smitten as you say he is, I bet he won’t let you leave,” she giggled.

Her face warmed at her friend’s assumption and she tried to picture a scenario in which someone as attractive as Harry would worry about little ole her like that. “Isn’t it cold out?”

“So wear another sweater!” Allie rolled her eyes.

“That’s not very college party of me.”

“Well, I would suggest an alcohol blanket, but I feel like getting you drunk before you even see Harry would be bad.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’ll make me look pretty?” She asked quietly at her friend in the doorway.

“Prettier,” Allie nodded assuredly.

“Alright,” she sighed. “Let’s go to a party.”

Allie’s arm was looped through hers. It was freezing out. But honestly it felt nice. She was just a bit shivery. “I thought you said I could wear another sweater.”

“Sweetie, hiding your assets at a party would be criminal.”

She rolled her eyes with a smirk. They entered the door, dodging the guy standing at the door to keep people in and out very quickly. “Hey Allie,” he said.

She waved in response and headed right inside. She thought maybe it was a good thing Allie told her to skip the sweater. The heat inside the house was nearly as warm and humid as the airport terminal. The air was thick with the sour smell of alcohol, weed, and sweat. “I don’t know how people want to hook up with anybody around here. I can’t think of very many places that are less of an aphrodisiac.”

Allie smirked and pushed the pair of them through a throng of bodies toward the kitchen. She grabbed two red cups from the sleeve of them off the counter and asked the makeshift bartender—surely some poor freshmen pledge—to pour them drinks. Her gut felt a little off about the gesture. “I don’t know, Al,” she whispered softly.

“I’ve had them here before,” Allie promised reassuringly. She still wasn’t thrilled with the idea as she took the cup from her friend.

“Hey Allie!” Someone called. Allie turned, looking over her shoulder as she called back over the pounding music. Meanwhile she looked at the liquid sloshing along with the ice. She thought maybe she should have taken her chances with the jungle juice—no one would be stupid enough to touch that, even if it would end with her throwing it all back up at the end of the night.

The pair of them circled around the house, briefly stopping to watch the end of a rousing game of beer pong. The winning person slammed his beer back, dripping along the sides of his mouth triumphantly which made her smile. Allie rolled her eyes and tugged her out back. A bon fire was in the middle of the yard. Another sober freshman pledge, undoubtedly in charge of standing guard. The music was still loud but way less aggressive outside. There were other large groups of people outside as well chattering and drinking away. Allie worked quick; left her alone by the fire—which she was grateful for since it was warm. When Allie returned, she was already sipping her second drink, holding a third, and dropping her empty cup in the trash bin right near the house. Oof, her head was going to kill tomorrow.

“Harry’s here,” Allie whispered to her as she got close to her again. There was a twinge in her knees, like she might fall at the mere thought of him. It took all her self-restraint to not whip around to catch a glimpse of him. She wasn’t playing hard to get, but this was very much not her scene. She didn’t want to intrude on whatever fun he was having. “You should go say hi,” Allie nudged her.

She smirked, wanting to take a sip of her drink but still feeling hesitant so she just put the cup to her lips, like she was pretending to sip it. “Uh...maybe later. I don’t want to interrupt,” she responded directly in Allie’s ear. The good news was she managed to peek over her shoulder to see him standing a little ways away from the fire. It was too dark to make out any specific features or defining muscles but just the way he stood was hot. She felt insane for thinking such a thing, but it was impossible not to. He was so cute. He had one hand in his front pocket, a drink in the other hand, and just a plaid flannel layered over another plaid flannel. His eyes and smile were lost in the dark, but she could picture it. The light evergreen color that was simply her new favorite color along with the pinkest most adorable lips curling across his face and making dimples in his cheeks that would make the Grand Canyon jealous of their depth.

“I think he would probably die if you interrupted,” she snickered.

Briefly, she entertained the idea. She could ask how Harry was doing on his homework, but that wasn’t the best party talk in the world (even if she did want to know). But she was still a little nervous, especially outside class, their walk, and even their study not-quite date to chat with him about anything. A party was more than likely his element. She could see why. Girls were surrounding him ogling very much the same things that she probably ogled on her way to math class. He was easy to talk to, sweet, and of course very handsome.

She shook her head. “Do they have s’mores?” She asked suddenly.

Allie spit her drink back into her cup and laughed. “Jesus Christ,” Allie rolled her eyes. “No; college-students don’t have s’mores at a party.”

She frowned. “I feel like this party would be a lot better if it did,” she grumbled.

Allie wrapped her arm over her shoulder. “Don’t ever change, please,” she kissed her cheek. She laughed lightly.

“If we had a party with a fire, I promise there would be s’mores,” she was very decisive. “It seems sinful to not have them.”

“Hey, love.”

She felt her whole body stiffen and somehow soften at the same time. They both turned to his voice and now she could see in the firelight, that the red colors of his flannel contrasted so sharply with his eyes. The green seemed to amplify—even in the dark. “Hi, Harry,” she smiled sweetly.

“Didn’t know y’would be here.”

“Yeah...uh... this is my best friend and roommate Allie,” she gestured to the girl beside her. “She invited me,” she explained.

“Hi, Harry,” Allie held her hand out. “Heard lots about you. And seen you around a lot,” she said knowingly.

“Hi, Allie,” he said sweetly shaking her hand politely. “Thanks for bringing her,” he grinned winking at her flirtatiously. “Can I steal her from you?” he asked. “If s’alright with you,” he turned back to her, looking into her eyes so deeply she swore he was reading her mind. Not that there were any other thoughts than Harry, Harry, Harry.

“Listen Harry,” Allie said squaring her shoulders.

“Oh my God, Al,” she shoved her back a bit. “Don’t.”

Harry took a step away and looked back at Allie nervously. “This is my best friend,” Allie said with the third drink doing most of the talking.

“Allie!” She hissed.

“I love her so much,” tipsy-Allie was very loving and adoring. A bit flighty too. If she didn’t have a rush of alcohol spinning her blood quickly through her, she might have been a little less aggressive.

“I see,” Harry smiled. “I will take really good care of her Allie. I promise. Y’have nothing t’worry ‘bout,” he shoved a hand back in his pocket. He looked at her shyly, knowing that Harry was also talking directly to her and not just her tipsy best friend. “I should have asked though,” he said with a smile. “D’you...want t’hang out a bit?” He asked.

She smiled and nodded. “Yes, please.”

“How polite,” Allie snickered. Her smile faded rapidly as she glared back at Harry. If she wasn’t so focused on him, she might have missed the way he gulped nervously. “Don’t break her heart, Harry,” she pointed accusingly at him.

“Allie, enough!” She pressed a hand over her face.

“Don’t leave without me, either. I’ll be with my friends,” she said and flitted away as if there was nothing abnormal about her behavior.

“I’m so sorry about her,” she whispered still with a hand over her face. Harry chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’okay. S’good she cares ‘bout you so much,” he nodded. “I agree completely,” he assured her. “M’really glad t’see you. I was so surprised and distracted...I wasn’t thinking clearly. I should have asked first t’steal y’away...” he glanced at her full cup. “Don’t like your drink?” He asked.

“Um...no, well. Kind of. I’m a little wary of accepting it from someone I don’t know.”

Harry didn’t try to talk her out of how she felt which made her heart flutter more. “S’a good point...d’you want t’walk to the bar down the road?” He asked.

“I’d have to leave Allie,” she smirked. “Not sure I want to put that on someone else.”

“Hold on,” he said and rushed off to the house. It was only a couple minutes, if that. But he reappeared with a can in his hand. “I pulled it out of the fridge when the kid was turned,” he smirked.

She giggled. “My hero,” she laughed and sipped it without fear.

“So... d’you want t’go...find some place quieter t’talk?”

She glanced at the house. “Is there somewhere to talk?” She asked.

“Yeah... m’friend Niall and his friends are hosting. He’s got a keypad lock on his door, and I know the code t’his bedroom.”

“You always try to get girls into your friend’s room?” She asked quirking an eyebrow at him while sipping her drink. He chuckled and shook his head.

“No, s’nothing like that, love. Jus’ want some privacy.”

“Well, that’s fine by me, even by the fire, it’s chilly out here.”

“You’re cold? Here,” he pulled off the top flannel and draped it on her shoulders then put a hand on her lower back to guide her back toward the house. She could feel the stares of others on them as they meandered back. “S’not even winter yet. S’gonna be tough on your southern blood,” he smiled.

She smiled. “My parents are from here. I think there’s some northerner in me yet. Just got to get it out of hibernation.”

Harry chuckled. “You’ll still need a coat, love,” he promised.

If Harry was going to offer his own clothing to her, she wasn’t sure she’d want to bring her own coat at all.

general taglist: @justlemmeadoreyou @daydreamingofmatilda @sunshinemoonsposts @tiredinwinter @loving-hazz @likeapplejuicenpeach @straightontilmornin @freedomfireflies @littlenatilda @kathb59 @babegoals @angel-upon @lilfreakjez @mleestiles @ameliaalvarez06 @canyonmoondreams @summertime-pills @daphnesutton @l4rrysh0use @perfectywrong @foreverxholland @lolyouallsuck @buckybarnessimpp @stylesfever @harrysxcarolina @haarrrys @lovrave @st-ev-ie @pandeebearstyles @toosarcastic03 @luvonstyles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @classychalamet @love-letters-to-uranus

I'm sorry if I missed anyone in the taglist. Please let me know if you'd like to join, if it didn't work, if you no longer want to be included, etc. :)

If you like this, check out my masterlist for more of my writing.

#harry #harry styles writing #harry styles fluff #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction writing #my friend's toyota

428 notes · View notes

imaginesig · 11 months ago

Text

Paris 2024

Paul Aron x Olympian!Reader

SMAU

y/c = your country

What is your journey like to gold? I'm in love with Ilona Maher and wanted to make another Paul Aron fic, this is the outcome

ynln

liked by annaaron_, paularon_, ilonamaher, and 829,382 others

ynln: Paris, here I come 🏅🏉

tagged: y/c_rugby

ynln good time to say im in love with @/ilonamaher ??

ilonamaher perfect time! cant wait to see ya soon

ynln "miss rabbit has fainted, miss rabbit has fainted again"

paularon_ 🤨🤨

friend1 the first pic??😭

ynln reenactment of me when I found out 😭 I was in disbelief

paularon_ you're gonna kill it!! Bring home gold, I love you ❤️

ynln I love you too!!

friend2 yes ma'am 👏

lettiemng so exciting!!

olliebearman big accomplishment

aronralf congrats! Show em what you're made of

annaaron_ find me a hot Olympian

ynln ill be scouting 🫡

paularon_

liked by user3, ynln, aronralf, and 818,828 others

paularon_ off week ☀️🌊

Tagged: aronralf, annaaron_, ynln

ynln so much fun 🫶🫶

annaaron_ let this trip live on as it’s the first time team women beat you in EVERYTHING

ynln 📢📢📢

Paularon_ because you guys CHEATED

aronralf 📢📢📢

Ynln don’t copy me while spreading lies

User1 not the Aaron + Y/n vacay

user2 y/n looks gorgeous

user3 the sibling pic is the cutest ever

User4 I can’t decide who I’m jealous of Y/n or Paul

ynln

liked by user3, annaaron_, user82, and 791,929 others

ynln: ootd 👙🤿

tagged: annaaron_, paularon_, aronralf

used1 omg what are you reading??

ynln in that pic “Fathers and Sons”

annaaron_ early morning surf sesh >>>>

ynln without the boys >>>>

Paularon_ looking good 😘

user2 stop she can surf too??

user3 it’s so unfair

user4 right?? Y/n leave some talent for the rest of us!!

Teammate1 calm before the storm

ynln posted 4 stories!

captions: (1) on Wednesdays we wear pink (2) 🎶: As It Was by Harry Styles

captions: (1) midday flight? no problem just go on a running date early! (2) back to reality 🏉

ynln

liked by teammate1, teammate2, user43, and 892,929 others

ynln: hearing up 🔥🏅👩‍🏭

Tagged: y/c_rugby

paularon_ damnnnnnn 🍑

ynln thank you 🤭🤭 (I will make fun of you for this comment for the rest of your life)

teammate1 are those my workout shorts??

ynln …no

user1 ok leg day

user2 she said thick thighs save lives

user3 she can save me

user4 I need the leg day routine

paularon_

liked by ynln, user33, hitechgp, and 917,828 others

paularon_: not the result we wanted, but we'll learn and come back stronger

Tagged: no one

Ynln still so proud!! You raced hard and had an amazing quali session. I’m sorry I had to miss it but I love you ❤️❤️

Paularon_ ❤️

User1 miss girl is leaving for the Olympics tomorrow and says sorry for not being at his race

user2 gold metal for the best gf

user3 Pole Aron will be back!!

ynln

liked by ilonamaher, y/c_rugby, annaaron_, and 872,928 others

ynln: a hot new bombshell has entered the Villa

tagged no one

ilonamaher show em what they can’t have‼️

ynln show em what a catch you are‼️

paularon_ MY hot bombshell but get it ig

ynln you’re the only connection I’m looking for dw

teammate1 that last 2 picsreally screams sexy

Ynln ikr 😏😍

Teammate2 irresistible

annaaron_ remember to mention the bombshell at home

ynln I’d never forget

user1 I love the inside Love Island joke it seems most athletes are in on

user2 right I live for Ilona’s tik toks

user3 I hope we get Y/n cameos

ynln

liked by teammate1, teammate5, teammate8, and 719,992 others

ynln: bronze bound…

tagged y/c_rugby

Teammate …but we’re not stopping there

ynln HELL YEA

Paularon_ I’ve been on the edge of my seat all week

ynln it’s not stopping til the very end

user1 the ft screenshot is too cute

user2 such hardworking ladies

user3 push on to gold!!

user4 I just love women

paularon_ posted a story

caption: 🇪🇪🔜🇫🇷 @/aronralf @/annaaron_

replies:

ynln

Paul Aron

what are you doing

where are you going

Smh

I thought you knew your flags

I do

I guess what I want is an explanation

well... you'll be in a semifinals soon and with the way stats are looking you guys will fly right through no problem so...

so???

the aron family is making a trip to Paris

we're celebrating a metal either way

I'm crying Paul

thats too sweet

you guys shouldn't have, its hard enough to wrangle everyone together you shouldn't have used that time to fly out

trust me we all want to be there for you and it'll be a nice trip reguardless

plus we all hate that this much of the games have gone by through a tv screen

I love you guys, I love you

we (but mostly I) love you too

aronralf posted a story!

caption: ✈️🥖 @/paularon_ @/annaaron_

replies:

ynln

this is insane

ive taken you've already messaged Paul

yes and it ended in tears

you guys are crazy

true, but your bf is the craziest

with or without us Paul was gonna be in those stands

someone must be cutting onions in a room nearby

sap

I don't appreciate the attitude 🙄

annaaron_ posted a story!

caption: catching flights not feelings @/aronralf @/paularon_

replies:

ynln

first off LOVE that color on you

and second I loath you guys for being this sweet

the sweatshirt is yours to borrow anytime

and as if you wouldn't do the same thing

flying out on a small hope we dont choke and lose next round??

Y/n, you go to as many races of Paul's as you possible can (at your own expense) and watch the ones you cant live no matter the time, you constantly ask Ralf about his endeavors and keeps tabs on stats and such to bring up with him later, AND you listen to all my rants no matter how important and remember the details

flying out to France is nothing compared to the effort you put into this family

I love you guys so much

we love you too

now get some rest to kick ass, I didn't fly in the same row as my brothers for 4 hours to see you get less than gold

💖

ynln

liked by y/c_rugby, aronralf, user4, and 728,829 others

ynln: finals bound!! Im so so grateful for these fantastic ladies who have taught me so much!! I cant taste victory already

tagged: y/c_rugby, teammate1, teammate2, teammate3

paularon_ smashed it 💪👏

ynln light work🥱🥱

teammate1 can’t wait for the next match

Teammate2 coffee for good luck?

Ynln always

user1 I’m never more patriotic than when the women of my country play

user2 my whole family has been captivated by you girls

annaaron_ and you were scared about choking

paularon_ posted 2 stories!

Caption: (1) Y/n you are so amazing in so many different ways. You are hardworking, talented, humble, funny, and beautiful. I've watched as your eyes light up when it comes to rugby and ive watched as you poured your heart into every minute you play. (2) No one deserves the gold more than you and the rest of the team. Every single women out there has what it takes and more. Every one of you have spent countless hours dreaming and working towards this. So congratulations on how far you've come, and best of lucking taking that final step up to the top of the podium! P.S. Ma armastan sind, Y/n

replies

ynln

paul

you cant just post things like this with no warning

I started crying right before media stuff

oops 😬🤷‍♂️

dont be so smug

but seriously thank you for all the support! Without it I know I would've lost it because of the pressure long ago, I truly owe so much of what got me here to you!! I love you so much ❤️

I love you too ❤️

olliebearman

please pass on a good luck from me and Estelle! We've been watching

will do!!

dinobeganovic

rooting for her💪

tell Y/n she's got fans in all corners of the globe

thank you, she appreciates the support!

annaron_

liked by ynln, user32, paularon_, and 193,929 others

annaaron_: meet me in Paris 🥐☕️

tagged aronralf, paularon_

ynln gorgeous gorgeous girl

annaaron_ we’re gonna have so much fun once the Olympics are over

paularon_ photo credit??

annnaaron_ you gave it to yourself

user1 you ate that first pic up

used2 so you’re telling me the entire Aron family is in Paris for Y/n??

user3 I’m in love with all the siblings at this point

olympic_updates

liked by user3, user82, user92, and 993,929 others

olimpic_updates: Y/C rugby star Y/n L/n's boyfriend as been spotted in person for the final match! Aron was also spotted with the rest of his family heading toward the stands!

tagged no one

user1 couple goals

user2 THE power couple

user3 I need Y/n to win gold and Paul to win the championship

used4 the ultimate power move

user5 I just looked at my boyfriend and sighed

user6 he looks so good!!

user7 one thing about Paul is he’s gonna show up and show 👏 up👏

paularon_ posted 2 stories!

captions: (1) game time @/annaaron_ (2) THESE GIRLS ARE GOLD MEDALISTS!!!!

ynln posted a story!

caption: its been a long time coming but...

ynln

liked by dinobeganovic, lettiemng, paularon_, and 983,239 others

ynln: So many words, so little space. I am so grateful of everyone who have supported me up to this point, of these wonderful ladies who have taught me something new everyday, and to Y/C for taking a chance on me! Same thing in '28?

tagged y/c_rugby

paularon_ ❤️❤️

ynln ❤️❤️

annaaron_ thats my sister in law!!

ynln we're not married??

annaaron_ well is Paul doesn't put a ring on it than I will

lettiemng I love you!! Its so deserved

dinobeganovic you were amazing!! All the love

ynln DINOOOOOOO 🥹🫶

aronralf truely inspiring! Congrats 💪🥇

ynln thank you!!!

user1 YES MA'AM

user2 me and my little sister have seen screaming at the tv!!

paularon_

liked by user1, user43, ynln, and 823,983

paularon_: I AM SO SO PROUD OF YOU!!!! After seeing the mass amount of time and every you've put into rugby I have no doubt in my mind that you deserve this. To mark this special occasion, I'm announcing my retirement from racing to become a full time WAG. I love you so much, Y/n 🥇🏉❤️

tagged ynln

ynln I love you so much ❤️

paularon_ I love you too ❤️

user5 second pic is goals

user1 theyre such goals

user2 my standards were raised so high by him

user3 when they panned over to him celebrating after showing Y/n 😭

user4 such a gorgeous couple

Bonus- after the olympics

ynln

liked by aronralf, lettiemng, user43, and 829,392 others

ynln: city of love 💖

tagged paularon_, annaaron_

comments have been disabled

#f2 #formula 2 #f2 x reader #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 smau #paul aron fic #paul aron fluff #paul aron x reader #paul aron #Paul aron smau

192 notes · View notes

raven-dor · 3 months ago

Text

guess i'm a bad liar

in which steven conklin cannot keep a secret to save his life…

PAIRING: steven conklin x fem!reader, steven conklin x fisher!reader, conrad fisher x sister!reader, jeremiah fisher x sister!reader

WARNINGS: sneaking around, lying, angst, arguing, break-up?, angst again, fluff ending

WORD COUNT: 4.3k

🎶 : bad liar - selena gomez

AN: ♥️💗 - steven and shayla were never a thing and it very loosely follows the plot of the show… sorry guys it just works for the plot of this fic!!

“They’re here!”

Rolling off your bed and sprinting downstairs, you shoved past your younger brother to open the door. “Relax, you almost ran me over.” Jeremiah teased.

Conrad nudged his sister’s side. “You missed Steven that much, huh?”

You looked over at your older brother like he’d just betrayed you, heart in the pit of your stomach. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He looked away, and you muttered, trying to hit a nerve. “Miss Belly much?”

“What was that?” Success.

“Fisher!” All three of the siblings looked over, smiling when Belly ran over, racing into your arms. “Bells! I missed you.” Hugging her tightly, you admired her long auburn hair. “You’re absolutely glowing.”

Belly smiled, smacking your arm lightly. “Thank you.”

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t Trouble.”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, turning around to face the eldest Conklin. “Steven. What have I told you about that nickname?”

He shrugged, hugging you quickly. “Don’t remember.”

“Try to use what remaining brain cells you have and remember.” You scoffed, shoving him away. Yelling over your shoulder as you walked back toward the house, your voice held just a hint of mischief. “And take a shower. You stink.”

The air was salty, most likely because the of the wind combining with the crashing waves. You sighed, laying back on your bed and staring at the ceiling. Nights like this, quiet and peaceful, made this house perfect. Made summer perfect.

“Trouble?”

Your heart raced, and you jumped up, fixing your hair in the mirror before unlocking the door, Steven waiting patiently on the other side. Grabbing his wrist, you pulled him in, clicking the lock back into place. “What are you doing here? It’s late.”

He nodded. “I know it’s late. But-” He walked over, an arm snaking around your waist. “I had to see you.”

You grinned, feeling at ease in his hold. “Oh really?”

“Don’t go getting a big head about it.” He leaned down, your lips inches away. “You’ve been ignoring my texts.”

“Not true.” You laughed. “It’s been like five hours, Steven.”

“It feels like forever.” He whined, nudging his nose against yours. “Have you been bored without me?”

You shook your head. “Perfectly content, actually.”

“Ha ha.” He did not look amused. “I know you missed me.”

“Don’t go getting a big head about-” He pulled you closer, gasping from the proximity before you could think.

He smirked, shaking his head. “Can you just let me kiss you?”

“Steven-” His lips collided against yours, and your eyes fluttered shut, arms wrapping around his neck. He smiled into the kiss, walking until your back was against the door. You pulled away, whispering against his lips. “We have to be quiet.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The sun was beating down on the beach house, not that any of you minded. It was welcomed, in fact, especially by you and Belly. Tanning was vital, with a super sweet Kool-Aid and magazines in hand. Not that either of you truly read the magazines; they were there to make you feel better about your ‘lazy’ nature. The boys opted to splash around in the pool, haphazardly causing (what felt like) gallons and gallons of water to land on you.

You’d yelped when the first splash hit you, your eyes shooting open, glaring at your brother. “Jeremiah!”

“What?”

“Stop it!”

“Why?” The blonde whined, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes. “You used to be fun.”

“I still am.” You rolled your eyes. “Would you like it if I splashed water on you while you were trying to relax?”

He scoffed. “Whatever.”

You sat back, and for about thirty minutes, there was peace. Then he struck again. You screamed, standing up and walking to the edge of the pool. “That’s it!”

Steven winced, shaking his head at Jeremiah. “That’s not good, man.”

“What did I-” He turned around, eyes widening in fear as he came face to face with you glaring daggers at him. “Shit.” Swimming to the edge, he smiled as brightly as he could. “Hello, dearest sister of mine.” You kicked near his face, and he gasped. “You just kicked me.”

“Annoying, right?” You crossed your arms and jutted your hip, forcing yourself to ignore Steven’s eyes bearing into your soul. “Splash water near me and Bells again, and I’ll make your life a living hell.” Jeremiah just sulked, playing with a rock that was near the border. You cleared your throat, tapping your foot while you waited for an answer. “Hello? Are we clear?”

“You’re overreacting.” Steven winced, but Jeremiah continued. “It’s just water. You used to love swimming.”

Conrad laughed, calling out, trying to offer his brother some advice. “Never tell a woman she’s overreacting, Jere.” Jeremiah, you were sure, was not listening.

“Jere…” You were practically seething. “Why are you being such a little shi-”

Steven swam over, whispering in Jeremiah’s ear. Whatever he said had worked because Jere nodded, looking up and apologizing as if he hadn’t been causing you trouble for five minutes now. “Fine. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

“Thank you.” Jere nodded, swimming away, and you smiled gratefully at Steven, mouthing the say thing you had said to your brother. The boy simply nodded, smiling kindly and returning to whatever game they’d been playing before.

Conrad laughed, watching from across the pool. You weren’t subtle with your feelings in the slightest. He liked to think that he was more insightful than others, but maybe it also had something to do with you two always finding each other in a crowded room, locking eyes and giggling like you had your own little secret that no one else knew.

Just you two.

“Steven!” You giggled, his head in the crook of your neck. “You’re going to kill me.”

“Well, we can’t have that.” He whispered, kissing what felt like every inch of skin from your neck to your lips. “I can’t love a dead person; that’s odd and unethical.”

You gasped, shoving his chest half-heartedly. “Just kiss me, Conklin.”

“So pushy.” He shook his head, pulling away. “I’m not an object, y’know.”

“Oh, trust me. I know.” You leaned back in, but he shook his head, hiding his lips from you behind his hand. You raised an eyebrow, shaking your head at his antics. “Are you done?”

He shook his head once more, sitting crisscross at the foot of your bed, right beside your stuffed starfish you’d had since you were seven. “No. Another thing is that-” You ignored him, sitting up and practically crawling across the bed toward him. When that hadn’t gotten his attention, you’d opted to straddle his lap, playing with his hair until he relented. He sighed, gently pulling your hands out of his hair and holding them in his. “Are you listening?”

“Hanging on to every precious word.”

He laughed. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” You smiled to yourself, getting lost in his gaze. His eyes were mesmerizing, the way his whole personality fit inside them.

“Tell me what I said then, Trouble.”

“I-” You batted your eyelashes, jutting a lip out ever so slightly. “I was distracted.”

“Distracted? From what? Admiring my beauty?” He questioned. “Don’t worry, it’s a common issue.”

“Common?” You raised an eyebrow, enjoying him squirming beneath your ‘harsh’ gaze. “Do you have a lot of girls admiring your beauty?”

“Not common! I meant more like-” You began to peel yourself away from him, and he panicked, pulling you down, your lips inches apart. “I’m sorry, don’t leave.”

“I was teasing you.” You whispered, your fingers playing with the hair that laid at the nape of his neck. “And you’re right.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don’t blame those girls. You are beautiful.” Your lips gently pressed against his. “So beautiful. Unfortunately, you’re mine.”

He nodded. “Damn right. Now come here.” His left arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you as close as he possibly could while the other caressed your cheek. “You’re the only one for me.”

You nodded, nudging his nose with yours. “Don’t get sappy on me.”

He shook his head, smiling. “Just- Just let me say this. You- you’re kind and funny and witty. I would never- I mean ever- talk to other girls. Not when I have THE Fisher Princess in my arms.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Just you.” He whispered. “You know that day on the beach?” You nodded; of course, you remembered. “Do you remember all the things I said?” You nodded once more, and he nodded along with you. “I love you. I hope you know I meant that.” He laughed, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. “I don’t say that often; cherish it.”

“Oh, what a gift.” You teased. “The Steven Conklin loves me.”

“You’re trouble.” He smirked. “Lucky for you, I live for trouble.” Your heart felt full, seeing the pure sincerity in his face, hearing it in his tone. “You’re perfect, you know that, right?”

“Just stop talking.” She whined. “Stop talking and kiss me.”

“I can do that.” He agreed, grinning boyishly as he leaned in. “I can totally do-”

“What the actual fuck?” You stopped, perfectly still, as another voice broke through their little paradise. Turning your heads toward the new presence, your smile, your butterflies, all the adrenaline you’d had dropped dead at the sight of Jeremiah’s normally jovial face staring at you like you’d grown three heads. “What the fuck is going on?”

“Jere...” Steven hesitantly spoke. “Just-”

“Why is my sister on your lap, Conklin?” Jeremiah looked positively livid, his face red.

“Let me explain.”

Jeremiah scoffed. “Explain? What- is this like-” His face contorted, horror setting in. “How long?”

“It was so sudden at first-”

“How long?”

“What’s going on?”

You groaned, dropping your face into the crook of Steven’s neck. Anytime you touched your boyfriend, Jeremiah’s anger increased tenfold. Now, not only was your outrageously (dramatic) younger brother here, your older brother was in the room, deciding to grace you with his presence.

“Hello?” Conrad’s slightly annoyed voice rang through the otherwise quiet room once again. “Someone better start talking.”

Jeremiah nodded. “You’re lucky my sister’s on your lap, Conklin, or I’d-”

You lifted your head, glaring at your brother. “Don’t you dare threaten him to beat him up, Jeremiah.”

“He’s- you’re-” Your younger brother couldn’t form a coherent sentence. “You’re defending him?”

“I am! It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Yes, it is!”

“Jeremiah, I love him.”

Steven smiled to himself before remembering where they were. “I’m sorry, guys. I really am.”

Conrad shrugged. “I mean, I wish you would have told us.” You held your breath as he spoke again. “If you’re happy though, really happy, then I’m happy.”

Jeremiah shook his head. “What? No!”

You pulled yourself out of Steven’s lap, placing a hesitant hand on Jeremiah’s arm. “Jere, it wasn’t planned. We both happened to be here, and one thing led to another, and we didn’t want to tell anyone. Not at first, anyway. Just to be safe.”

He stayed deathly silent, grunting out the same question. “How long?”

“About five months.” Steven butt in, staring at the ground when Jeremiah began to stare him down yet again. “Give or take.”

“Five months, and you just neglected to tell anyone?” Jeremiah scoffed. “Have you told Mom? Or Dad?”

“Why would I tell Dad?” You crossed your arms. “It’s not like he cares.”

“He cares! He would want to know!” Jeremiah yelled. “And Mom?”

“Mom would be thrilled.” You began to stop feeling bad. Now you were honestly pissed that he wasn’t happy for you. Sure, you understood that lying to him was horrible, but it’s not as if you’d committed a heinous crime. “And you know it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re so sure…” He smirked, challenging you. “Then go tell her.”

“Jeremiah.” You frowned, tears begging to fall. You hadn’t even realized they’d begun to form. “Can you please just be happy for me?”

“I-” He looked like a fish beached on the shore, mouth opening a closing constantly, nothing coming out. “I-”

You rolled your eyes, not bothering to wait for his answer. Grabbing Steven’s hand, you intertwined your fingers with his, racing down the stairs and out of the house, jumping in your car.

“Where are we going?”

“Anywhere.” You sniffled, tears slowly falling. “Anywhere but here.”

The boardwalk was quiet, hours past it’s scheduled closing. The lights were dim, barely illuminating the deck below you. You were pacing, ranting about your brother while Steven stayed perfectly silent. “It’s not fair! It’s just not.”

“I mean…” You stopped, your hands on your hips. “If Jere’s so upset, we must have really hurt him.” Steven frowned, staring at his hands. “I feel bad for lying.”

“Jeremiah has been a drama queen since we were kids.” You scoffed. “He’ll get over it.”

“Maybe,” Steven shrugged. “But he’s my best friend.”

Your heart dropped, picking up what Steven wasn’t saying, but thinking. “He’s my brother. And I love him, but I- I love you too. I won’t give you up because he’s upset.”

“Well…” Steven sighed. “Maybe we should just take it slower or-”

“Take it slower?” You crossed your arms, disbelief etched on your features. “Were you not saying mere minutes ago that you would never let me go?”

“I meant it, I really did.” He stood up, arms reaching out to hold her. “But if we’re upsetting him, maybe we should try and-”

“NO!” You shook your head, backing away from him. “No, I am not slowing down because my little brother feels left out.”

Steven frowned. “Trouble, can you please just consider it?”

“No.” You felt tears forming. “You shouldn’t even be considering this. You love me, right?”

“You know I do.”

“Then just stay- stay with me. Like this. Jeremiah will get over it, he’ll be happy for us.” She smiled, trying to convince him, but his eyes- he was fading, her tears began to fall. “Stay with me, please.”

“I want to stay with you.” His voice was soft, softer than it had ever been. “I don’t want to break up, but-”

“Steven.” Your voice, in contrast, was harsh, cold, and unnerving. “Either you stay with me, or we’re done. I am not negotiating with a- a-” You squeezed your eyes shut, hissing. “A terrorist!”

“Trouble, don’t say that.”

“You know what I mean!” You yelled, your arms flailing. Walking to the railing, you looked out, trying to focus on not sobbing in front of Steven.

“I love you,” Steven whispered, standing next to you, arms pressed together.

“I love you too.” You let your head fall onto his arm. “I won’t take it slower, Steven. I won’t.”

“Trouble…” His voice was heavy, you could have sworn he was about to cry, too. Looking up, you frowned when you discovered you’d been right. “Can you just try?”

“No.” You backed away. “And if this is what you want, then- then we’re done.” You swear your heart broke in two.

Steven’s shoulders dropped. “Don’t say that.”

“I mean it, Steven.” You were fully sobbing at this point. “I won’t be reduced to a mere hookup because of my brother. Either be my boyfriend, or we’re done.”

“Baby…”

You held yourself tightly, nodding. “Fine.” You turned around, your pace brisk as you passed the car. Steven yelled after you, most definitely crying. “Where are you going?”

“Home, you asshole!” You screamed. “I won’t get in that- that stupid car with you.”

“C’mon. Don’t let it end this way!”

You whipped around, eyes wild with rage, with betrayal. “ME? You didn’t even fight! You let Jeremiah make you feel bad, and you just stood there.” You muttered, turning back around. “You’re pathetic.”

“Stop it. You’re being mean.”

“Well, you broke my heart.” You hissed, feeling the urge to run but not having the energy to do so. “Where does that leave us?”

The town was quiet, and every so often, you turned around, checking to see if Steven was still there, following five steps behind you. He was, he always was. It was annoying, to say the least. And as the driveway to the summer house came into view, you found a new wind, practically running into the house and storming up the stairs.

Your mother stood at the top of the steps, frowning. “You look horrible, my love.” Her arms were outstretched, and you felt brand new tears form, your inner child begging to be held by your mother. “What happened?”

“I-” You sobbed, throwing yourself into your mother’s arms. Her hold was solace in the hell, and you wept. “I love him.”

“Who, my sweet girl?” Her voice was like honey.

“I love him.” You were like a broken record, sobs echoing through the house. Steven watched from the bottom, his tears falling like an unrelenting storm.

The country club was beautiful, as it always was when your family attended. Your mother had one arm hooked through yours, the other through Conrad’s. She smiled, nudging her children. “My handsome son and my radiant daughter.”

Conrad groaned, smiling through it all. “Mom.”

“Look at us.” Her voice was teary, and Jeremiah laughed, shaking his head.

“Mom, you’re not going to cry, are you?”

You glared, eyes sharp. “Jeremiah, shut up.”

“What? And ruin my makeup? No way. Everything’s going to be different next year.” Steven stood beside Jeremiah, and your eyes darted to the ground. “Conrad’s going off to college. My girl is graduating from high school. It may be the last summer we’re all together.”

“Mom!” You frowned. “Don’t say that. Everything will be fine.”

Jeremiah stepped forward, pulling her out of his sibling's arms. “Just don’t forget, I get to dance with you tonight.” He started twirling your mother, and you smiled, leaning your head on Conrad’s shoulder as you watched.

“Ooh.” She sounded pained, and the three Fisher siblings stilled, observing their mother closely.

“Mom, you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been way too long since I’ve danced. I must be out of practice.”

Conrad was tense, tenser than he had been when they’d gotten there. Extending his arm, your mother accepted gratefully. “You coming?”

You nodded. “I’m right behind you.”

The table had been tense, what with Mr.Conklin and Laurel, Cleveland (Laurel’s summer hookup), and Steven all at one table. Plus, she had a sneaking suspicion that her mother’s incident earlier wasn’t from her lack of dancing.

Nevertheless, she smiled as if nothing was wrong. Laurel admired her hair, shaking her head sarcastically. “Susannah, she is perfect.”

You blushed, thanking her. “You’re too kind, Laurel.”

Your mother smiled, nodding. “She is perfect, I agree. And this dress?” She laughed, admiring its cut and the way it fit you like a glove. “Also perfect.”

Mr. Conklin smiled. “I remember when you used to run around with socks on your hands, pretending they were gloves and demanding people to kiss your ‘ring.’ Now look at you.”

Conrad was the first to burst out into laughter, holding onto Steven’s arm for support. Steven’s gaze never faltered, though, staring at you through it all. You glared playfully. “Thanks for the reminder, Mr.Conklin.”

“It’s been eighteen years.” Mr.Conklin admonished. “Call me John.”

This wasn’t the way you thought you’d call him by his first name. You thought, in your daydreaming, that it would be when Steven introduced you as his girlfriend, as more than just the Fisher’s daughter. Now, it was because of nothing special at all. You nodded, taking a sip of your Shirley Temple. “Fine, fine. John.”

The conversation quickly broke off from the subject, and you nodded, glad not to be the focus of the table anymore. The focus of Steven. Conrad even occasionally stepped in, telling a funny anecdote from their childhood. It was nice to see your older brother happy, compared to what he’d been for the majority of the summer.

His eyes were still burning a hole into your skin. You sighed, looking over at Belly, who was anxiously playing with the skirt of her dress. “Have you seen Jeremiah? The dance is about to start.”

You shook your head, frowning. “Sorry, Bells, haven’t seen him since you have.” You looked over at Conrad, who was staring at Belly with a lovestruck look in his eyes. Oh brother, you thought to yourself. This was going to be messy indeed.

Your mother frowned, watching as the youngest Conklin walked up by herself. Conrad just stared, and before you could say anything, stood up, walking up to Belly and holding out his hand. You smirked, watching proudly as your brother once again saved Isabel Conklin.

Your mother grinned, admiring the pair. “Look at them. She’s luminous.”

Laurel nodded. “For Belly, Conrad’s the sun, and when the sun comes out, the stars disappear.”

Your heart twisted from jealousy of their apparent love for one another, from your lost love, you couldn’t quite place. You looked away, accidentally locking eyes with Steven. He looked surprised but not disappointed. Taking the chance, he whispered, loud enough so that you could hear him over the music, but quiet enough that it wasn’t noticeable.

“You look beautiful.”

You wanted to feel happy, to feel adored and loved when the boy you’d spent so much time with called you that, but all you felt was sadness. Sad that he’d just reminded you you weren’t his anymore.

You pretended not to hear him, standing up. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to reapply my lip liner.”

You’d never used lip liner, your mother and Laurel knew that, but you weren’t about to tell the entire table you were leaving because Steven Conklin complimented you.

You’d gotten maybe three steps away from the table when a hand, his hand, wrapped around your wrist. “Let me go, Steven.”

“No.” He hissed, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Don’t talk to me about that. If you recall, I never wanted to do this in the first place.”

You tried to pull out of his grasp, but he spun you around, eyes full of want. “You know I can’t do that. It’s been torture not being able to talk to you.” He leaned down, whispering in your ear. “To kiss you.”

Chills ran down your spine as you willed yourself not to give in. “Well, you should have thought about that before letting me go.” You shook in his hold once more, glaring. “Now release me before I-”

“What’s going on here?” Laurel’s voice broke through the moment, almost jumping from the shock of it all.

“Steven was just telling me I had something in my teeth.” You widened your eyes, trying to signal that he should keep his mouth shut. “Weren’t you?”

He nodded, letting go of your wrist, visibly dejected. “Yep. Just helping her out.”

You smiled, but you felt it, too. The disappointment, the longing. Still, you couldn’t show, otherwise, Laurel would most definitely figure it out. She had a sort of spidey sense about these things. You walked back toward the table, noticing your brother’s hurriedly talking on the dance floor.

“What are you two doing?” Jeremiah turned around, eyes filled with tears, threatening to fall with each second. “Jere? Are you okay?”

He opened his mouth, only one word leaving his lips. “Mom…” Conrad looked solemn, like he knew what Jeremiah was about to tell him.

“We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

“No, it’s important.” Jeremiah was insistent, and the pit in the bottom of your stomach grew.

“Someone fill me in here.” You looked to your older brother for guidance. “Connie?”

“You already know, don’t you?” Conrad refused to respond. “You’ve known this whole fucking time and didn’t tell me?”

“Jere-”

Before anyone had realized it, Jeremiah punched Conrad, gasps echoing through the crowd. You yelped, shoving your brother. “What the hell, Jeremiah!” Jeremiah pushed you away, tackling Conrad to the ground. “Jere!”

You stalked over, grabbing your brother’s ears and pinching them. “Don’t make me-”

“Stop it!” Your mother’s voice was stern and firm, silencing the room with one fell sweep. “All of you, stop it.” You let go, walking over until you were facing her. “What is going on?”

“Mom…” Jeremiah’s lip quivered.

“We know, Mom.” Conrad’s voice was quiet. “We all know.”

In that moment, even though your suspicions had never been confirmed, you knew your brother was right.

You did know.

Your mother’s cancer had returned.

It had ended rather anti-climactically in your opinion. You hadn’t even said goodbye: you’d woken up, and they were gone, not bothering to wake you up. You were back in Boston now, curled up on your favorite couch, reading your favorite book, when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it!” You yelled, knowing the rest of your family was on the patio on the other side of the house. Racing out of the living room, you slid against the foyer floor, pulling the door open. “Oh.” You whispered. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Steven smiled, the largest bouquet you’d ever seen clasped tightly in his hands. “I- I wanted to get you these.” He held them out. “I saw them at the market and thought of you.” You just stared, which made him even more nervous. “I know you love these, you used to talk about them all the time, and well- I felt bad, leaving you the way I did. I thought if I- if I brought you these we could talk. Y’know? Can we please… talk?” You swallowed, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. “I miss you, Trouble, and I-” He stood straighter, clearing his throat. “I love you.” You were finding it hard to speak. “I get it, if you don’t-”

Hard to speak, but not at all, hard to act. You leaped forward, throwing yourself at him and pulling his lips to yours. His eyes widened before quickly realizing what was happening, dropping the bouquet and pulling you close. His fingers pushed underneath your shirt, caressing your skin gently, and you gasped. “Steven-”

“Sorry, sorry.” He spoke against your lips, trying to kiss you again. “I just-”

“I love you.” You whispered. “I love you, Conklin.”

He grinned, leaning his forehead against yours. “I love you, Trouble.”

taglist:

LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO JOIN!

#literature #fanfiction #x reader #fluff #angst #tsitp #tsitp fanfiction #the summer i turned pretty #the summer i turned pretty fanfiction #conrad fisher #jeremiah fisher #steven conklin #steven conklin x reader #steven conklin x fem!reader #🪩! fics

167 notes · View notes