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disaster-writer · 9 months ago

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Obsessed

Pairing: Pro-hero!Bakugo Katsuki x Reader

Summary: Bakugo is obsessed with your ex and it’s driving you up a wall (Inspired by Olivia Rodrigo’s song Obsessed)

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

A/N: a few weeks ago I saw a post that was about this same concept, and I couldn’t find it to link it here unfortunately. I just thought it fit so well with him that I wanted to write my own take on it. Also this is just comedy, obviously his behavior in this would be problematic in real life so I’m definitely not condoning his obsession.

Minors DNI

Bakugo Katsuki’s eyes danced from cover to cover of every one of the magazines stocked in the stand at the convenience store he regularly stopped at after work. Each one baring a hero with advertisements of their interview inside. He noticed that some of his friends had even made the cover, notably Shitty Hair’s and Racoon Eye’s engagement announcement and a magazine that Dunce Face had recently modeled for.

But there was one specific cover he was glaring at.

His hands crackled.

Fuck it.

He hadn’t hesitated any longer before grabbing the magazine and staring at it with scrutinizing eyes.

Fucking Hawks

That fucking asshole was on the cover of another magazine— as if the other million with him on it wasn’t good enough.

He rifled through the pages, landing on the one that the cover said his interview would be on. It wasn’t one, or two, but four fucking pages long.

He read it furiously, eyes bouncing from each and every word.

‘What would you say is the most rewarding part of your hero work?’

Who gives a crap.

‘How have you learned to balance fame with being a hero?’

Absolute shit question.

‘Everyone knows you have a large female fanbase, so we’re all curious to know why you think that is?’

Because they’re all fucking idiots with shit taste, that’s why.

‘About two years ago you were part of a pretty big scandal when you were seen leaving your agency hand in hand with a hooded woman. Now that some time has passed are you willing to admit that she’s your girlfriend?’

No she was his fucking girlfriend, not that fucking asshole pretty boys—

The magazine blew up in his hands.

”Hey!” The store clerk yelled at the hero, “I don’t care if you’re a hero, you have to pay for that! What kind of business do you think I’m running!?”

“HAH!?” Bakugo puffed up his chest with a sneer as he stormed up to the counter, “MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T KEEP SHIT MAGAZINES HERE IF YOU DON’T WANT THEM BLOWN UP! GET SOME BETTER SHIT! I’M OUTTA HERE!” He yelled furiously at the man before storming out of the store and slamming the door shut, shattering its glass.

The clerk ran up to the door in a rage, screaming something or other at the hero as he stormed down the sidewalk angrily.

He’d probably need to find a new convenience store.

Bakugo continued to stomp his way down the sidewalk as he walked to your apartment. He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled his phone out, pulling up google.

He found his fingers quickly tapping away at the screen.

Hawks

Picture after picture of that stupid hero came up and his finger swiped through each one as he sneered at his stupid face that even Bakugo couldn’t deny was objectively attractive— not to mention he had this air of coolness around him, making every single goddamned thing he did seem effortless.

Bakugo was seething, passerby’s staring at him in fear as they watched him silently rage on such a beautiful, clear day.

Before he knew it, he was standing in front of your door, shoving the spare key under the mat into the lock.

”Hey, Kat!” You chirped, looking over at him from the kitchen, “How was work?”

“Fine,” he grumbled, walking over to you and taking a peak at the dinner you were cooking. Looked like chicken soup but knowing you and your cooking skills it was probably some amalgamation of whatever was in your fridge. “Couldn’t fuckin wait an hour?”he grumbled— he would’ve cooked for you if you weren’t so damn impatient.

”You were taking too long,” you whined, throwing some celery into the pot. “I got hungry.”

He grunted, reaching for your hips and turning you into him, slamming his lips into yours.

Hawks probably used to kiss you more gently— he could just picture him seducing you into kissing him, making you chase for it.

Not Bakugo. No, if he wanted to kiss you then he was going to fucking kiss you.

You pulled away breathlessly, a hairs breadth away from him, “Whoa— what was that for?”

He stared down at you with hooded eyes.

He was better than Hawks.

He could even prove it.

He turned the stove off and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder.

”Hey— what are you doing!” You yelped, kicking your legs.

“Bedroom,” he grunted.

”But what about dinner?”

“I’ll fix whatever mess you started in there later. I’m making sure you work up a real appetite.”

* * * *

Bakugo’s hips smacked against your ass sharply, balls hitting your clit with every thrust, each slap louder than your muffled moans in the pillow you clung to for dear life.

One hand gripped the headboard as his other gripped your hip in a bruising hold. He stared at you, hunched over your trembling body as tears clung to your lashes.

Hawks couldn’t fuck you like this— no damn way.

But what if he could— he technically was the number two hero, while Bakugo was still stuck at number 15.

What if he fucked you better?

The thought had Bakugo fisting your hair and pulling you up, freeing your pleasured moans and cries.

”K-Kat— ah, fuck—“

Did you even mean to say his name? What if you really meant to say Hawks’— what if you meant Hawks every single time you ever said his name?

”Tell me you’re mine,” he grunted.

”’M yours— all yours Kat— only yours,” you babbled uselessly. He’d be lying if it wasn’t one of his favorite things about you in bed, given any sort of prompt and you just ran with it.

“Who fucks you this good?”

”Y-you! You do!— You fuck me so good Kat—ah- best cock I’ve ever had—“

He growled, wrapping his arms around you and hoisting you up, now fucking up into you as he held you against him, head lolling on his shoulder.

He bit down on your neck hard, making you cry out as he started sucking on it, sure to leave a nasty hickey behind.

Maybe Hawks would see. He knew neither of you even talked anymore but what if he’s just on patrol, sees you, decides to say hi, and finds that dark bruise right on your neck, sucked raw.

The thought had him bouncing you faster against him, his muffled groans into your neck sounding with your high pitched cries of his name.

He wound his hand down to your clit and rubbed back and forth furiously.

”Oh fuck—“ you sobbed, body arching and trying to get away, but he tightened his arm around you and held you in place.

”Cum pretty girl, cum around the best fucking cock you’ve ever taken.”

You came with a shrill cry, grasping for any part of him you could hold onto.

He came soon after, inside.

He knew he shouldn’t but something about cumming in you sated whatever beast was inside him.

You whined as you slumped into his arms, weak and shaky.

”You promised Kat.”

”Couldn’t help it.”

”Then you’re wearing condoms again.” You huffed as he lowered you down on your side of the bed.

He tsked, “Go on birth control.”

”I’m not fucking with my hormones.”

”Damn woman,” he growled, laying beside you, “I’ll get you a plan B, just quit your whining.”

”You’re wearing a condom next time.”

”Yeah yeah, fine.”

”And go make dinner.”

He pulled you against him, your body curling against him with your head on his chest. “In a second. Lemme catch my breath and help clean you up first.”

You huffed but nuzzled against him.

He liked having you curled up against him but he couldn’t deny there was an ulterior motive to him ‘catching his breath’.

He just really loved the fact that you were laying with his cum dripping out of you right now.

Not Hawks’s cum— Katsuki’s

The rest of the night went as it routinely did for the most part. He fixed the mess of the soup you were working on before eating you out and making you cum three times then fucking you for a second time… then a third time.

And when you thought he was finally done, you went to shower and get on with your shower routine only for him to walk in half way through your shower with his dick hard again.

He fucked you for a fourth time.

All with a condom.

”Seven times,” you breathed as your head hit the pillow. “You made me cum seven times tonight.”

Your limbs were sore, Bakugo had to carry you to bed. Your legs were basically useless now.

“What’s gotten into you tonight— it’s only a Tuesday.”

Marathon’s like these weren’t exactly out of the norm, but tonight felt so unprompted.

He grunted, turning on his side and pulling you against his chest, clinging to you like a Koala.

”I’m not allowed to want to fuck my girlfriend?” He murmured into your hair.

”No… just felt out of no where that’s all.”

”What? You didn’t like it?” He growled defensively.

You rolled your eyes, slotting your legs with his. Everything was always so dramatic with him, “No I liked it. Best cock I’ve ever had, remember?” You snickered.

His arms tightened around you… now he was thinking of the other cock you’ve taken.

”Better than the birds?”

“Oh my god,” you hissed, annoyance dripping from every word, “Really Katsuki? This again?”

”What? It’s a simple fucking question.”

”Yes. Your cocks better than Keigo’s. Happy now?”

Silence filled the room. You thought maybe he dropped it and you closed your eyes.

”Are you just saying that to shut me up?”

”Kat,” you snapped, eyes opening again. “Drop it. I’ve already told you everything about that relationship. Just move the fuck on— I already have.”

He was silent once again.

”Do you still have his number in your phone?”

You cursed to yourself… this was going to be a longer night than you thought.

* * * *

Bakugo stared out the window as you snored lightly in your sleep, burying his nose in your freshly washed hair.

He couldn’t sleep knowing he was laying in the same spot Hawks once had.

Did he used to hold you just like this too?

When you mentioned your ex in past conversations he had thought nothing of it. You were a civilian, your life was normal, he always figured this ex you mentioned was some boring ass nine to five guy that put the most generic shit in a dating profile like ‘Favorite Hobby: Traveling’.

Of course Bakugo would be better than that guy.

Come to find out you were in a long term relationship with the number fucking two hero.

What the fuck was it about you that attracted high ranking heroes of all people.

Like yeah you were cool and fun and magnetic and didn’t take shit from anyone— you were even able to go head to head with him in a screaming match which shouldn’t have been as attractive as he found it. Not to mention how fucking hot you were…

Okay fine, Bakugo thought you were goddamned perfect any man would be a fucking idiot if they didn’t find you any less than perfect like he did.

But still.

Number fucking two.

Hawks had always been cool and collected, saving people every day without lifting a finger. He dominated the skies and had a trail of girls drooling after him. The media loved him— everyone loved him.

Bakugo on the other hand… not so much. How could you go from someone like Hawks to Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.

From number two to number 15.

One day he would become number one but he still wasn’t quite there yet.

Ever since he found out he had found himself thinking of the hero more than he ever had before. Hawks dominated every second of his life.

Is he still friends with your friends? Is he good in bed? Do you ever think about him? Is he easy-going? Not controlling like Bakugo sometimes could be?

Oh god.

He had issues.

* * * *

“Y’know they were in love,” Bakugo practically gagged.

Kirishima side eyed his friend.

He was seriously over talking about Hawks every single time he patrolled with Bakugo.

”Isn’t she in love with you now?”

”That’s what she says,” he grumbled.

”You don’t believe her?”

”No, I believe her. I just think she’s confused.”

He was really starting to lose it, huh?

”Don’t you think,” Kirishima started, choosing his next words carefully as he waved at a little kid they walked by, elbowing Bakugo to do the same. “It’s unhealthy to think about your girlfriend’s ex this much? It’s been like two years since they broke up hasn’t it?”

”19 months and three days.”

Oh boy.

”Okay… have you tried talking to her about your obsession—“

”IT’S NOT A FUCKING OBSESSION!” He suddenly exploded, hands crackling. “WHY DOES EVERYONE KEEP SAYING THAT!”

Kirishima didn’t even flinch as he screamed, instead offering an apologetic smile to the civilians on the sidewalk. “Maybe because you started asking how he is in bed after you two had sex?”

”SHUT UP SHITTY HAIR, NO ONE ASKED YOU!”

“So you haven’t talked to her then?”

Bakugo growled in response.

”Maybe talk to him?”

Bakugo looked over at his friend, eyes wide as he watched Kirishima walk beside him with his arms crossed behind his head, staring up at the sky. “Talk to Hawks?”

The idea had never struck him before.

”Yeah. Maybe you just need to meet him. You’ve probably just built up this grand image of him that the media keeps perpetuating— he might not be as perfect as you think, they always did say never to meet your heroes.”

Meet Hawks.

Yeah— he could do that.

Bakugo was suddenly blasting away from his friend.

”Hey! We’re still doing a job you know!?”

“I’m working by myself today!” He called out behind him.

Bakugo was on a mission.

He was going to meet Hawks and give him a piece of his mind.

The hero was often spotted perching on rooftops, miles away from his agency as any villain with a brain would know better than to commit a crime right by a hero agency— Hawks’s agency especially.

So Bakugo found himself bounding from rooftop to rooftop, searching the skies for that damn bird— he was also keeping an eye on the city, he was still a hero with a job after all.

But as the sun started to set, Bakugo grew restless, finally deciding to take a break and lay on one of the many rooftops he landed on.

No damn sign of him.

Of course he’d be hard to catch, his whole schtick was being fast.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at a cloud that reminded him of bird wings. He wondered if you two ever got up to weird sexual shit with those stupid wings.

His chest felt so damn tight every time he thought of him, like he could explode at any second.

He knew so much useless crap about him now that he read and watched practically every single interview of his.

He was a Capricorn.

His blood type was B.

He was 5’7” and 3/4.

His favorite food was chicken— goddamn cannibal.

He wondered if that was why you were in the habit of cooking chicken for dinner most nights.

You were together for two and a half years, that was a long time to spend with someone. What mannerisms have you picked up from him that he always believed were yours?

He pulled out his phone and pulled up Hawks’s instagram, scrolling through perfect photo after perfect photo of him and reading his replies to fan comments.

Damn bird probably didn’t even run his own account.

He tapped on his tags, scrolling down to one of the many photos that haunted him.

He remembered the news at the time, headlines reading ‘Pro-Hero Hawks Has A Girlfriend’ and ‘Sorry Ladies, This Hero is Taken’.

At the time he couldn’t give less of a shit, but now.

It was all he could fucking think about.

He stared at the photo of Hawks dragging a hooded woman by the hand out of his agency. He scrolled and stared at the second photo of him grinning down at the woman.

It was you all right.

There weren’t any other pictures of the two of you out in public and it irked him. It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched as he wondered just how the two of you looked together in your relationship.

Did you have any pictures of the two of you in your phone?

That was when the sunlight was completely blocked, blanketing him in shadow.

He lowered his phone and his quirk nearly blew up the device.

Fucking Hawks.

His eyes followed the bird as he perched on a telephone pole near the rooftop.

”There a reason you’re lounging on a roof, hero?” Hawks asked with an amused smirk.

Bakugo only stared— was this real or had he actually lost his mind now?

He raised a brow at his silence, tilting his head, reminding Bakugo of an owl. “You didn’t get hit by a quirk or something did you?”

He suddenly had no idea what to say— he hadn’t actually planned anything out to begin with. He figured his mouth would take over like usual and he’d go from there.

”Wait, I know you,” he suddenly snapped his fingers, “You’re that hero Dynamight.”

”THAT’S GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT TO YOU.”

Hawks blinked at the outburst before he barked out a laugh.

”WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING AT BIRD BRAIN!?” He shouted, stomping his way over to the edge of the roof.

”Nothing, nothing,” he laughed, waving his hand, “That’s a great name.”

”ARE YOU MAKING FUN OF ME!” He screamed again, throwing his hand up and blasting off an explosion straight at Hawks.

Hawks’s eyes widened as he quickly darted upwards, missing the attack. “Y’know I’m pretty sure we’re supposed to be on the same side,” he called out, watching Bakugo as he seethed.

”Same side my ass,” he growled under his breath, “Is my girlfriend’s number still in your phone!?”

”Your girlfriend?” Hawks scoffed, “I don’t know who’s been lying to you but I can promise I don’t have your girlfriend’s number—“

”(Y/N) (L/N)!”

Hawks’s face fell, “You’re dating (Y/N)?”

”YES I AM, YOU STUPID BIRD.”

”Alright fine,” he shrugged, “I guess I do have your girlfriend’s number.”

Bakugo screamed as he hurled blast after blast at Hawks, to which he swiftly dodged each and every one.

He stopped, panting as he searched the sky for him as the smoke cleared, only to find the man standing in front of him.

”Is there a reason you’re trying to kill me? (N/N) moan my name while you two fucked or something?”

A fierce rage boiled in him at the nickname, “DON’T CALL HER THAT!”

He began shooting more and more explosions at him.

Hawks tsked.

What a bother— were you really dating this guy?

He sent his feathers straight at Bakugo, each one catching onto any piece of fabric it could without slicing him and another set of feathers sliding off his gauntlets.

He had Bakugo pinned against the rooftop, palms against the concrete.

Hawks walked through the smoke, staring down at the struggling, screaming man with an unamused expression.

He kneeled down. “You’re aware we broke up like two years ago.” He said flatly, this was so ridiculous, he could barely remember what happened the last time he talked to you.

”19 months and three days,” he spat.

“Whoa,” his eyes widened before a grin tugged on his lips, “You have issues huh?” He only laughed as Bakugo continued to scream at him. “You also know she’s the one that broke up with me, right?”

”Of course she did! Because you’re a fucking dumbass who can’t fuck!”

“Can’t fuck? She tell you that? Because I remember her telling me something very different.”

Bakugo saw red, now thinking about you moaning about Hawks’s dick the same way you moaned about his.

He sighed, standing up and crossing his arms over his chest. “Y’know… it’s been quite a while since I’ve seen her. And I suppose I should cut your rampage short. Let’s go on a little trip.”

* * * *

You hummed, dancing around your kitchen while you cooked. Bakugo was late, but that was fine, he probably got held up with hero work.

You knew he’d probably yell at you for cooking dinner without him again but you were sticking to a chicken dish that you had perfected so he could complain all he wanted while eating his deliciously seasoned chicken.

There was a knock at your door.

”One second!” You called out, quickly washing your hands. It was probably the landlord again.

You turned your music off, humming as you skipped over to the door and opened it.

Your smile immediately fell.

Keigo fucking Takami leaned against the wall across your door with your boyfriend, who was currently wrapped up in a bandage capture weapon from his ankles to his mouth, being floated by Keigo’s feathers.

”It’s come to my attention that you’ve lost something,” He coolly stated with one of those grins you used to see on almost a daily basis.

Bakugo was screaming into the bandage around his mouth, not a single word coming out coherently.

Your head fell as you pinched the bridge of your nose, “For the love of God please tell me I’m being pranked.” You groaned.

”Not today sweetheart.”

More screaming ensued. “Alright,” you huffed, “Come in I guess.” You moved to the side, Bakugo being floated into the room first with Hawks following behind, and his two gauntlets floating in afterwards.

Hawks looked around the familiar space, “You redecorated,” he stated calmly, before noticing your neck, “And that looks painful,” he pointed to the ridiculous hickey your boyfriend left on you the night before. He went over to the couch and placed Bakugo down, his feathers finally rejoining his wings.

He immediately rolled off, hitting the ground with a thud as he struggled.

Hawks quirked an eyebrow at him before looking back to you, “Dynamight huh? Little hero magnet aren’t ya?”

You shrugged, “Seems so— this one keeps my hands a bit more full though.”

”Just wait till he finds out about the other hero you dated.”

Bakugo struggled more, smacking his head against the coffee table.

”He’s fucking with you Kat!” You called out, walking over to him, now standing above your restrained boyfriend, “There was no other hero— do you have to rile him up even more?” You snapped at Keigo.

He only shrugged, “He tried killing me so I think that’s fair.”

You groaned, “I’m really sorry about that. I’m gonna talk to him tonight.”

He hummed, “Nothing I couldn’t handle. You look good by the way, it’s nice seeing you doing well after all this time.”

”Yeah, you too,” you grinned, “Hero work going well? I see you on the news almost every day.”

”Better than ever.” He smiled, “I’ll let you attend to him though, I think he needs the attention.”

You rolled your eyes, “Thanks.” You said leading him to the door, “And thank you for bringing him here, I’m sorry again for any trouble he caused.”

”S’alright,” he said, shoving his hands in his pockets, “I do have one question though,” he turned, facing you in the doorway, “Did you really tell him I can’t fuck—?”

“Good night Keigo,” you slammed the door in his face.

You walked back over to your boyfriend, watching him roll back and forth between the couch and coffee table as he struggled with the capture weapon.

”Oh Kat,” you sighed, “What am I gonna do with you?”

You sat on the couch, leaning down and yanking the bandage from his mouth.

He said nothing.

You raised a brow, “Really? You had a fuck ton to say when he was here,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

“You were flirting,” he grumbled.

”You tried to kill him? Really? You don’t realize how fucking psychotic that is?”

“… He called you sweetheart.”

”Okay,” you snapped, “This has got to stop Kat. Honestly it seems like you’re more into Keigo than me.”

”That’s absolute fucking bullshit, and you know it. I’m only obsessed with him because of you.”

”So you admit you’re obsessed?”

”What!? No!—I— shut up you fucking idiot!” He screamed, rolling on the floor again to try and break free.

”Okay, how are we gonna remedy this? What can I do to help you get over this? Therapy?”

He stopped, staring at the ceiling, ”… Lemme send him a picture of my dick in your pussy.”

”Absolutely out of the question.” You stated, utterly unamused.

”Sucking me off?”

“Nope.”

”Eating you out?”

”Try again.”

“Mirror pic of us in doggy?”

”Kat—… actually I can deal with that— but only if you agree to talk to a therapist. I love you Kat so I’m really gonna need you to drop this obsession with my ex or I’m gonna have a new one.”

”Fine!” He barked. “Doggy and a therapist.”

You nodded, “Doggy and a therapist— and did you pick up that plan B like you said you would?”

“…damn it.”

* * * *

[New Message… Unknown number]

[1 Attachment]

Keigo Takami: ‘Thanks. I almost forgot what she looked like in that position’

[New Message… (Y/N)]

(Y/N): Idk what you said but I’m begging you to stop riling him up. There’s only so much screaming I can take in one night

Keigo Takami: Good luck sweetheart, I’m sure you’re doing a lot more screaming than he is anyway ;)

(Y/N): Bastard

1K notes · View notes

sunshineyuyu · 4 months ago

Text

chained (c. jh)

★ summary: jongho wears a silver chain that you’re obsessed with, and you finally get his attention after some calculated flirting with yunho and some beer pong. ★ pairing: jongho x f!reader (ft. yunho) ★ genre: friends to lovers, college, smut (mdni!) ★ word count: 5.4k ★ tags/warnings: alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, jongho calls reader babygirl and yunho calls reader princess, features friend!san and previous hookup!yunho, some jealousy/tension, reader also kinda uses yunho… but he’s okay with it, lowercase ★ notes: beta’d by the bestie @starhwas-bunny. there may or may not be a yunho prequel coming soon hehehehe. also please let me know if i’ve missed any warnings! ★ masterlist | read on ao3 | part 2

you feel your eyelids droop, heavy from the burden of attempting to stay away in this godforsaken class. it doesn’t help that the seats in this lecture hall are so damn comfortable: plush and tall enough for full back and neck support and a slight give that lets you lean back. you’re one lecture slide away from calling it a day—even though class started just ten minutes ago—when you feel something at your left shoulder.

it’s choi jongho, leaning closer towards you over the armrest dividing your seats.

hot, attractive choi jongho, with broad shoulders and strong arms and thick thighs.

you stare adamantly at your laptop screen, at the blank google doc open, at the blinking cursor teasing you for almost falling asleep. you focus on literally anything except jongho’s overwhelming presence at your side–the subtle scent of his musky shampoo, his hot breath fanning over your shoulder.

the silver chain that he normally hides behind the collar of his shirt hangs out, dangling in a way that has you imagining a different scenario: your string lights illuminating the outline of his body while he presses you into the mattress with his weight, one hand gripping your waist and the other on the headboard, that goddamn silver chain swinging above you while he—

“late night last night?” jongho says, voice low because you’re in class, and deliciously deep. it’s unintentionally sultry, and you find yourself squeezing your thighs together.

“shut up,” you say. “i was finishing an essay.”

jongho hums, and you start to aimlessly copy down the words of the lecture slide. you know that jongho sees right through you; the slides will be posted online later, so there’s no point regurgitating the content.

but you cannot let yourself look at jongho, because you’d probably try to kiss him right then and there.

“weren’t you with yunho?” he says.

“not like that,” you grit out. “we’re just in the same class so he was helping me.”

jongho hums, and he finally returns to the confines of his own seat. you let out a breath of relief. you continue copying down words from the powerpoint, even letting yourself tune into the professor’s voice; at least you’re wide awake now, a nagging feeling of want coursing through you.

you feel a nudge at your other elbow. this presence is comfortable, familiar. it’s san, your first friend at university who is conveniently the same major as you. even though he’s just as big and built as jongho, he’s less intimidating. he’s soft and nice, and he’s showing you a topical meme on his phone from some computer science joke twitter account.

unfortunately, jongho notices san’s phone turned towards you and leans over again, except this time he’s closer, his shoulder brushing against yours as he tries to make sure he’s also included in the joke.

“i don’t get it,” he says.

“it’s because you’re not actually a computer science major,” you say, rolling your eyes and pushing jongho back into his seat—you exert more effort than you anticipated because of how solid jongho is.

“tsk,” jongho says. “at least i actually understand what’s going on in this class.”

this shuts you up, and you go back to glaring at your laptop and reformatting your bullets because you’ve already lost track of the lecture.

you last another fifteen minutes of attempting to pay attention, before you resign yourself to scrolling through instagram and mentally planning how you can coerce jongho into sharing his immaculately organized notes.

in the final minute of class, the whole class begins unceremoniously packing up, even though the professor is still droning on about greedy algorithms. everyone shuffles out of their row and through the doors at the back of the lecture hall, and jongho falls into step with san, talking about working on the homework tonight. you walk a step behind them, because your legs are shorter and because you want plausible deniability while admiring the shear breadth of jongho’s shoulders.

you leave the lecture hall, and san heads to the academic quad for his next class.

“see you later,” you say to him and jongho, who usually has to work at the library after class, but you notice him following you to the coffeehouse.

“don’t you have work?” you say.

“i changed my schedule,” jongho says. “are you gonna go work at the cafe?”

you nod, and he follows you to the campus coffeehouse where you stand in a fifteen minute line. jongho only gets drip coffee, so you end up ordering something frivolous to make the wait worth it. the two of you squeeze into a small table in the corner, your knees constantly brushing against each other as you read over the essay you wrote last night in a red bull induced haze.

most of it is thankfully salvageable, and the hit of caffeine helps you.

every once in a while, you find yourself glancing over the top of your laptop at jongho. at the lines of concentration etched into his handsome, tanned face. how his hair is getting scruffy and how he pouts when he’s deep in thought.

you’re so hopelessly in love with choi jongho.

at some point, he gets up to get a napkin, and when he returns, he doesn’t sit back down in his own seat. no—instead he hovers behind you, invading your space with one hand on the back of your chair and the other stretched onto the table to keep himself stable.

and that chain—that goddamn silver chain dances over your shoulder again.

“what do you want?” you mumble, skin prickling at the sensation of his proximity.

“this is not bad,” jongho says, eyes skimming over your essay.

“what’s with the tone of surprise?” you retort.

jongho shrugs. “just thought you would’ve been distracted last night.”

you finally chance a look at him, if only to stare at him puzzled until it finally clicks. you shove him off—subconsciously admiring, once again, just how solid he feels.

“for the last time,” you say. “it’s not like that. yunho’s just a friend.”

jongho sits back down, patting the napkin on a part of his laptop.

“good.”

you stop typing and gape at jongho, who’s returned to focusing on his own work. did he- did he just—? your brain works at miles a minute, offering bold assumptions and then instantly refuting them and then rebutting those and then raising new anxieties and then being hopeful and then—

you spend the rest of the time at the coffeehouse overanalyzing one word you’re not even sure you heard.

⋆⋆⋆

the three of you are sat around the coffee table in the living room of jongho and san’s apartment on the west side of campus. their apartment has become the haven for your discrete math class, where jongho blesses you and san with his knowledge in a class he’s taking pass/fail that isn’t even a major requirement for him. their apartment also has plenty of alcohol for when the nights get particularly rough and a good stash of unhealthy stacks.

it’s 1 am now, and the three of you have finished three out of five of the homework questions, eaten five packets of ramen, two sleeves of strawberry pocky, downed six bottles of yakult, and watched an eighteen minute youtube video theorizing that bakugou might become the second user of one for all.

you’d consider this a productive night.

now, you’re perched on the couch, san leaning against your legs while you play with his hair. it’s softer than yours, which frustrates you to no end because you know for a fact that he uses 5-in-1—how are there even five things to incorporate into one bottle?

jongho’s in the kitchen, contemplating a late night—or early morning—beer.

“seonghwa’s throwing a party this weekend,” jongho says, when he returns with another bottle of yakult instead of the beer. the bottle is already small, but it’s positively dwarfed by the size of his hands.

“if seonghwa’s hosting, then yunho will be there,” jongho continues. he looks pointedly at you.

“i thought,” you say, tugging a little on san’s hair and earning a sharp shout of pain, “we established that i don’t. like. yunho.””

“but didn’t you hook up with him?” san says, removing himself from your vindictive fingers and rubbing his scalp. as he sits up to look at you, he instantly regrets bringing up this point as you glare daggers at him. he’s not wrong; you and yunho had hooked up once, at the birthday party of an acquaintance, after seeing jongho chatting up some other pretty girl.

“you guys hooked up?” jongho says, breaking the stare-off you’re having with san for betraying your trust like that.

“it didn’t mean anything,” you say quickly, glancing up at jongho and double-taking at the shadow that’s fallen over his expression. how his jaw looks tensed and his eyes narrowed.

“but you guys hooked up,” he repeats.

“just the one time,” you say, not quite understanding why it feels like you’re being accused of something far worse than a hookup between two consenting and single adults. “we were high and he was just there and it happened.”

“when?” jongho says, continuing the interrogation and maintaining eye contact with you while san switches his attention between the two of you, the instigator but certainly not the mediator of this conversation.

“at yeji’s birthday party,” you say.

“so that’s why we had to pick you up from the burger place on 8th,” jongho says. “because you were at his place.”

“yeah,” you say. “but it literally does not matter because i don’t like him. we’re just friends, and i’m not gonna hook up with him again.”

jongho stares at you.

“good.”

there it is again. that word, said under his breath. barely there, but enough that you feel a mix of doubt and hope.

you hate it.

“hey!” san says, forcefully cheerful in a way that means he’s trying to change the subject to diffuse the situation. “i found another my hero theory video. the one has 100k views!”

you drop jongho’s gaze first, letting your attention shift to the video san has pulled up on his laptop. “i just don’t think my hero is that deep,” you sigh, trying to ignore the way you can still feel jongho’s eyes on you.

“well, 100 thousand people do,” san sniffs. “including me.”

finally, jongho takes the bait. “how long is it?” he asks.

“thirty minutes!” san says cheerfully.

you and jongho both groan, but dutifully allow san to press play.

over the next thirty minutes, you tune in and out of the overdramatic video as you turn over the previous conversation in your head. you can’t help but read into the situation: clearly jongho is bothered that you’re close with yunho and hooked up with him once. in fact, he’s so bothered that you could even interpret it as being… jealous.

but if he is, why doesn’t he do anything about it?

you’re half asleep by the time the video ends. san nudges you and gives you an sheepish, apologetic smile.

“it’s late,” he says. “do you want us to drive you home?”

“nah,” you say. “can i just stay over? i’m too tired to move.”

it’s not your first time staying over. your apartment is on the other side of campus, so after most long nights of working you sleep on the couch. san lets you borrow the same old high school volleyball shirt every time, and you slip into it and pull off your jeans. the shirt is thankfully long enough to cover your butt, and the no-pants thing has never been a problem.

until now, when you step out of the bathroom, and jongho’s just entering his bedroom, and he looks at you. you clearly see his eyes roam down your legs before springing back up to meet yours.

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he says, voice gruff and deep.

“san’s getting—”

“let me get you a pillow and blanket,” he repeats.

it feels like an olive branch, and you fall asleep surrounded by jongho’s scent. distinctly masculine and musky and oddly soothing.

⋆⋆⋆

when you wake up the next morning, it’s to the sound of whirring from the kitchen. from your spot on the couch, you can vaguely make out the blurry shape of someone in the kitchen. your hand flails around the coffee table, blindly slapping until you find your glasses and shove them onto your face.

it’s jongho, wearing gray sweats and no shirt, leaning against the counter while making coffee. you take the time to admire his back, feeling your cheeks warm as you do. in all honesty, you’re surprised that this is the first time you’ve ever seen him shirtless, and you’d be dumb not to take advantage of it.

you run your eyes over the contours of the muscles in his back, the way they flex and ripple as he crosses and uncrosses his arms.

you yawn and wipe at the sleep still in your eyes. this noise gets to jongho, and he turns around. this action draws a sound out of you, something that comes from the back of your throat, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. because jongho—

jongho’s shirtless, and he’s facing you, his naked torso completely exposed to you. you stare at that goddamn silver chain, nestled against his substantial chest. at the miles and miles of smooth, tanned skin and his fucking arms.

you clap a hand over your mouth and pretend to yawn again.

“you want coffee?” jongho calls.

“yeah,” you manage to say, while laying back onto your back and averting your eyes to the ceiling.

a little while later, you hear jongho pad towards you and you sit back up again. he gives you a mug of coffee and sits down at the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and stretching out his offensively nice upper body. the light from outside peeks in from the blinds of the large balcony windows and bathes his skin in golden stripes.

“is san—?”

“he’s at his 8 am,” jongho says. “when’s your first class again?”

“not until 10:45,” you say. “i’m gonna go home and shower and stuff first.”

“i’ll give you a ride,” jongho says.

you protest politely, mostly because you don’t know if you’ll be able to stand being in such a small space with him, especially when he drives a sleek black mercedes with silky black leather that’s just begging for someone to ruin with some steamy car sex.

but jongho manages to convince you that he needs to drop by the convenience store on the east side of campus anyway, so you find yourself following him down to the apartment parking lot, wearing yesterday’s clothes and hair tied up in a bun to disguise how oily it is.

when he backs out of his spot, he does that thing: wraps his arm around the back of your seat and backs out with one hand. it’s disgustingly attractive.

you sink lower into the heated seat, staring out the window to avoid daydreaming about car sex with jongho.

⋆⋆⋆

you do end up going to seonghwa’s party that friday, after your girlfriends unceremoniously invite themselves into your apartment carrying a huge case of peach soju and a twelve pack of beer.

after a beer and two shots of soju, you’ve changed into a crop top, a silky leopard print skirt, and cute black boots.

thankfully, seonghwa’s place is only a block away from your apartment, but you and your friends still find a way to get lost on the way there. it takes ten minutes longer than necessary, but you’re finally crashing into the living room of seonghwa’s townhouse.

it’s already packed, but roomy enough that you can move freely without having to slide against other sweaty and drunk people. you break off from your friends to seek out san (and jongho). as you pass the kitchen, you swipe a red solo and a meager amount of whatever mixed drink atrocity they’ve made for the night that you immediately water down. you’re man enough to acknowledge that you’re a lightweight, and you’ll be damned if you end the night puking into a toilet rather than flirting with jongho.

you find san first. he’s lurking near the beer pong table, leaning against the wall and talking to wooyoung. you sneak up on him and he jumps when you give his side a big poke.

“san!” you say, wrapping him a big hug. you’re known to be more affectionate with alcohol in your system. after san clumsily returns your hug to avoid spilling his drink on you, you release him and give wooyoung a similar hug.

“where’s jongho?” you ask, standing on your toes to speak directly into san’s ear.

san points to the other side of the pong table, where you see jongho huddled in a corner with some blonde girl who looks suspiciously like the one from yeji’s birthday party. your reaction is immediate, something joining the alcohol to course through your veins—something fiery and prickling. jealousy, you think numbly.

“we’re playing next,” san says. “me and jongho. you should stay to watch.”

you hum noncommittally, peering at the ids lined up on the pong table and seeing only jongho’s. an idea strikes you, and you give san a peck on the cheek and some excuse about using the bathroom.

you wander back through the crowd of people, occasionally saying hi to people you know as you seek out one individual in particular. you find him on the couch, arm hung lazily on the back, hovering behind some girl. he’s clearly chatting her up, leaning close to her ear and hooded eyes making generous peeks at her cleavage.

you down the rest of your diluted mixed drink and throw yourself at him.

“yunho!” you cry, squeezing into the small space between him and the arm of the couch, meaning you’re basically sitting on him. “thank you so much for helping me with the essay! i definitely would’ve failed without you.” you flutter your eyelashes at him and simper.

the girl scowls visibly, crossing her arms in a way that makes her tits swell, but yunho barely notices—you know he has a sweet spot for you ever since that one night stand, and besides, he could get any girl he wants.

“y/n,” yunho says, shifting his body so that his back is to the girl now. she scoffs and leaves. “you good?”

“i’m great,” you giggle.

“you look good,” yunho says, shamelessly running his eyes over your figure.

“let’s play beer pong,” you say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“you think you’re good for pong?” he says, a little dubiously as you let out a hiccup.

“yeah, because i know you’ll carry,” you say.

“alright, princess,” he says. “let’s go.”

you tumble off of him and pretend to be wobbly on your feet to let him steady you as you walk towards the beer pong table. yunho slips his wallet out of his pocket and slides his id onto the table to get in line to play the winner.

when he notices jongho, yunho lets out a chuckle.

“ah, y/n,” he says, catching your wrist and pulling you into him. “i see what’s happening.”

your cheeks heat up at being caught so quickly. “i’m sorry,” you say sincerely. “he keeps bringing you up and being weird, but now, he’s got that girl with him…”

“don’t worry, princess,” yunho says. “i know how to put on a show.”

jongho and san are playing now, and it looks like they’re winning. that same chick from before is hanging off of his arm, acting like a cheerleader. you catch jongho’s gaze, and the cheery smile he’s wearing slips off immediately when he notices yunho behind you, hands on either side of your waist.

you shiver as jongho gives you a salacious up-down that has you convinced you’ve pressed the right buttons to make something happen tonight. you giggle, tugging your lower lip in between your teeth and leaning a little closer to yunho.

something must snap inside jongho, because he and san end the game with three cups in quick succession. the losers slink off, as you and yunho take their place. yunho reracks the cups and refills them with a thin layer of beer. jongho rolls a ping pong ball towards you.

“eyes,” he says.

when yours lock onto his, you smirk. he grimaces.

to decide who gets to start, you have to hold eye contact with each other and try to make a cup. whoever makes one first gets to start the actual game. jongho misses, but you don’t, so you and yunho get to go first.

you and yunho go toe to toe with jongho and san, which is surprising considering how little beer pong you play. by the fourth turn, the blonde girl has left, unsatisfied with the lack of attention she’s received from jongho. by the seventh turn, you and yunho have two cups left, and jongho and san have three.

yunho goes, and makes the first. you cheer and jump up to plant a wet kiss on his cheek. he steps behind you, massaging your shoulders theatrically. you close your left eye, lining up your shot. just as you’re about to let go of the ball, you turn around and pull yunho down to your height.

“give me a good luck kiss!”

he smiles into the kiss, which turns out to have a lot more tongue than you’d expected, but yunho is a good kisser so you don’t mind.

“let’s go, princess,” yunho says, slapping your ass as you turn back to the pong table.

jongho’s positively glowering at this point, and you smirk at him as you map out your shot again.

you miss.

you’re not entirely surprised.

yunho’s not even mad, and begins grossly comforting you with arms wrapped around your shoulders and kisses to the crown of your head.

jongho and san make the last two cups easily.

“too bad, princess,” yunho says into your hair. “you were doing so well.”

you pull yourself out of his grasp. “bathroom,” you explain sheepishly. yunho gives you a knowing look and a wink.

you’ve been to seonghwa’s house enough to know about the secret bathroom on the second floor that he doesn’t allow partygoers to use, so you slink up the stairs when million dollar baby starts playing and the crowd swells with renewed enthusiasm.

just as you’re closing the door behind you, a shoe shoots out to stop the action. someone pushes the door back open, and who else but—

jongho.

“i thought you said you didn’t like yunho,” he hisses down at you.

“i need to pee,” you reply, cocking your head to one side and widening your eyes at him.

he considers you for a second before stepping inside the bathroom and locking the door behind him.

“alright,” he says. “pee.”

“i don’t- are you going to watch me?” you say.

“didn’t seem like you minded people seeing you and yunho all wrapped up downstairs,” jongho says, crossing his arms over his chest, and you hate the way his biceps bulge when he does.

“that’s different from- from peeing,” you mumble.

“fine,” jongho says, and he turns around to stare at the bathroom door.

you’re not entirely satisfied, but you really do need to pee, so you pull down your underwear and sit on the toilet.

it’s awkward, but at least the music and noise downstairs mask the sound. you end up peeing for a surprisingly long time, and even jongho feels the need to break the tension with a poorly timed,

“damn, you’re like a waterfall.”

“i’ve had a lot to drink tonight,” you snap.

“you’re that drunk?”

“no—i’m drinking water, too, you bastard,” you say, finally finished. “don’t want to be hungover tomorrow.”

you flush and wash your hands, and then you’re leaning against the sink and saying, “okay, you can turn around.”

he does. “so. yunho?” he prompts again.

“i told you,” you say, staring directly above jongho’s shoulder. “i don’t like him.”

“then why were you all over him?”

“why do you care?” you sneer.

“just answer the question, y/n,” jongho says.

“why are you so obsessed with yunho?” you say. “if you want to fuck him, be my guest! i won’t get in the way.”

this hits a sore spot, because jongho moves quickly, crowding you into the sink in one step.

“it’s not him i want to fuck,” he breathes.

your breath hitches in your throat. you feel your heartbeat in your mouth.

“what do you mean,” you say, mouth unbelievably dry.

“c’mon, y/n,” jongho says, voice husky. he’s looking at you, eyes darting to your lips. “you can figure this out.”

it’s the same phrase he always uses when you’re struggling through a discrete math problem that he’s already solved, but normally he’s nice, barely teasing.

right now, he sounds downright condescending.

so, you snap. you grab him by his chain and tug him down to your height, slot your lips over his and kiss him.

his lips are nice. soft. he tastes like minty chapstick and bitter beer. his tongue slips into your mouth, and suddenly the kiss takes a turn from intense to lewd.

his hands find your waist, his palms burning into the exposed skin between your crop top and your skirt. his thick thigh pushes apart your legs, and your skirt rucks up above your hips. you gasp and break away to tug at the hem, but jongho stops you.

“that’s counter productive,” he whispers.

“okay,” you say. “i’ll be productive then.” and you pull off your crop top to reveal a lacy black bra and pull up your skirt all the way to reveal a matching lacy black thong. you hear jongho inhale, and then a deep chuckle.

“fuck,” he says, drawing out the word. he meets your eyes again. “you’re so fucking hot.”

“that’s you,” you say.

he dives back in to mouth at your pulse point, as his hands slip down to your ass, palming the flesh and leading you to grind against his thigh. he’s flexing, and the fabric of your underwear is thin and you can already feel a wet patch spreading, and the combination along with the friction of the movement has you moaning.

“that’s what i like to hear.”

you hear the muted opening strums of mr.brightside just as jongho’s thumb begins circling your clit over your underwear. you moan into his shoulder and buck against his hand. he continues to work you until the crotch of your panties is practically soaked, and you’re a whining mess.

“p- please,” you whisper, fingernails digging into his shoulders.

“since you asked so nicely,” he murmurs, and he’s drawing aside the lace and pushing two fingers into you. you throw your head back at the feeling of being filled and stretched; his fingers are long and thick, nothing like your own or any of your previous hook-ups.

“shit, you’re so wet,” he says, pulling back to watch his fingers fucking you. the sound it makes is positively vulgar, and you pant with every motion. at some point, he starts curling his fingers so that they hit that perfect spot in the back and rubbing his thumb across your clit, and you can feel your high building.

“fuck, jongho,” you whine.

“shit, babygirl, you’re gonna make me cum in my pants if you keep talking like that,” jongho says, smiling into your neck.

“don’t,” you say. “you can- you can- please, fuck me. you can- cum in me.”

jongho stops, only the tips of his fingers teasing at your entrance, and you whimper as your pussy clenches around nothing.

“are you serious?” he asks, as you circle your hips in an attempt at some relief.

“yes,” you hiss.

“fuck, babygirl,” jongho says, taking a step back and a new glint in his eyes.

but just as he puts his hand on the button of his jeans, there’s a sharp rap on the door that makes both of you jump.

“oi! this bathroom is off-limits!” it’s seonghwa, and to be fair, he’s right.

“give us a second!” jongho calls, wincing at the subtext. you jump off of the bathroom sink, swaying a little with how jittery your legs are. jongho stabilizes you with a hand on your hip and hands you your shirt.

“jongho? is that you?” seonghwa says. “little shit. this is the third time—”

your head snaps up to look at jongho, who’s unlocking the door and pushing it open, effectively interrupting seonghwa’s rant. he nudges you out first, standing behind you, and you suspect it’s to hide the very visible tent in his pants that’s currently pressed against your ass.

“oh,” seonghwa says, as his eyes fall onto you. he takes a second, glancing back and forth between the two of you, running over your mussed hair and flushed cheeks, jongho’s screwed up face and his right hand still grasping your hip, the wrinkles in your skirt and finally—

“oh,” seonghwa repeats. “oh, shit. okay, well congrats and all that—” and here he punches jongho in the shoulder “—but that doesn’t mean you can fuck in my bathroom!” he finishes cheerfully. he steps behind jongho and begins ushering the two of you back down the stairs and through the living room until you’re on his front porch.

“if you’re going to be doing the nasty, i’d rather you do that at home!” seonghwa says, wagging a finger in your face. “make sure you use protection! love you both!” and he shuts the door.

he leaves you and jongho in a stunned silence, both staring at the closed door.

“uh—” jongho tries.

“what did he mean third time?” you say.

“oh,” jongho says, and his big dick energy dissipates as a sheepish expression takes over. “well, i- i might’ve… y’know… a couple times in seonghwa’s bathroom.” he rubs the back of his neck and offers you an apologetic, gummy smile.

“and you got mad at me for fucking yunho once in his own apartment?” you demand, actually stopping your foot to emphasize the clear double standard at play. “while you were off playing merry-go-fuck-around in seonghwa’s private bathroom?”

“i wasn’t mad at you,” jongho says. “i was just—”

“just what?” you say. “slut-shaming me for having consensual sex?”

“no!” jongho says quickly. “i was jealous.”

“oh,” you say. so, you’d been right. he has been jealous of you and yunho. but somehow, you don’t feel vindicated in the slightest. “i mean—that doesn’t make it any better. i’m not some object—”

“i know that,” jongho says, exasperated. “but i just wanted to be… with you.”

“with me?” you say, wrinkling your nose. “you wanted to fuck me, too? like those other girls you had up in seonghwa’s bathroom?”

“no! with you, like—” jongho’s tongue darts out to wet his lower lip “—like as your boyfriend.”

oh.

well, you hadn’t been expecting that. you blink at him once, then twice. you open your mouth and close it again, gaping like a goldfish.

“do you- do you like me?” you ask, voice hoarse.

“well, yeah,” jongho says. “do… you like me?”

“yes!” you nearly shout the word. “yes—i’ve been in lo- i’ve liked you for at least a whole semester!”

“oh,” jongho says, looking as dumbfounded as you feel. “well, me too.”

you look at each other, and then start laughing. you hiccup, and jongho moves closer to you, wrapping his substantial arms around your shoulders and pulling you into his firm, warm chest. your cheek presses against that goddamn silver chain, but it’s no longer a source of stress for you. he peppers the crown of your forehead with kisses, until you finally look up at him and he kisses your lips softly.

“so,” he says, “can i?”

you raise your eyebrows. “can you what?”

“be your boyfriend?”

you pretend to contemplate the question, and when it takes you longer than a few seconds to respond, he knocks his chin against your temple affectionately.

“yeah,” you say, grinning. “yeah, you can be my boyfriend.”

“so then, what do you say about going back to my place and finishing what we started?” he asks.

“yes, please.”

continued in part 2!

#jongho #jongho x reader #choi jongho #jongho smut #jongho fic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #[sunsh writes]#ateez smut #sunshineyuyu fic

1K notes · View notes

hs-is-loml · 2 years ago

Text

Ever Letting Go. (cl16)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Fem!Reader

Summary: while the f1 couples are slowly breaking up, fans are stressed and try to protect the last ferrari wag standing.

Type: Social Media AU! face claim is Angela Giakas

Warnings: like 4 grammar mistakes in the twitter threads

a/n: this was extremely fun to make

all translations of french come from google! english translations are in parentheses!!

masterlist

instagram

yourusername has posted

liked by selenagomez, harrystyles, charles_leclerc, and 1,591,728 others

yourusername here's two pics from my little vacation 🥰

view all 120,374 comments

welovey/n are you guys seeing all the tweets about charles and y/n?!

→ thatonebakucorner people are so funny 😭

→ pleasemarrymey/n the lightning mcqueen ones took me out

selenagomez always a beauty! 🤍

danielricciardo did you get me the wine i asked for?

→ landonorris not fair you were allowed to ask for something?!

→ yourusername yes, i got it, danny. and lando, quit whining you know i got you something too

childofdivorce is charles not with her??

→ ihavetrustissues he better be.

→ y/nismother istg those rumors better not be true

→ protectthewags if he's not, he's crying in a corner somewhere

whatacrossover not harry liking y/n's post knowing she's got a bf

→ y/nisaneed he's ready for when that crybaby messes up

→ gayforf1wags no, i think it was my turn next...

twitter

instagram

yourusername has posted a story

twitter

instagram

charles_leclerc has posted

liked by yourusername, arthurleclerc, carlossainz55, and 2,461,537 others

charles_leclerc guys, who do you think took the damn pictures of y/n anyways? besides that as if i would ever let y/n go. mon amour, c'est toi et moi pour toujours. (my love, it's you and me forever)

view all 195,182 comments

landonorris did you see the lechair tweet?😭

→ charles_leclerc oh, fuck off

→ carlossainz55 the lightning mcqueen ones were even better

→ charles_leclerc not you too, mate...

welovey/n charles fr said "my woman" when saw the tweets about harry stealing his girl

→ oneaddiction we know harry could if he wanted to tho...

→ charlesandy/nforever as if y/n isn't as down bad for charles as he is for her

yourusername i'll love you always, mon chéri❤️ (my darling)

→ liked by charles_leclerc and 1,596

scuderiaferrari our favourite couple!

pierregasly don't let charles fool you, he was starting to sweat when the harry styles liked y/n's post...

→ charles_leclerc i know where you are right now, and i'll come after you.

yourusername has posted

liked by charles_leclerc, lilymhe, tchalamet and 1,941,979 others

yourusername thank you to everyone who was so worried about us on twitter and our insta comments. you guys are so incredibly funny, and you bet i showed that lechair guy all memes about him (he secretly loved it). charles and i are doing absolutely amazing! also here's some more pictures from our vacation together, he truly makes me the happiest, and i will forever be grateful for him❤️

view all 132,054 comments

yourusername p.s i got him the new watch from my story just for vacation lol... richard mille please do not come after my bf

landonorris ew couples🤢

danielriccarido you should've let them freak out more tbh

→ liked by yourusername and 237 others

y/n'ssecretlover the fact you guys were completely okay while the hashtag "savey/nandcharles" was trending on twitter 😭

carlossainz55 charles is still staring at your pictures, so give him a second to comment...

→ f1wags not carlos exposing charles, give the man a break

→ charlesstolenwatch fr stressing him out more than xavi during a race

charles_leclerc mon amour, thank you for always sticking with me ❤️

→ yourusername 💋💋

zendaya girl, i know how twitter gets, and they're insane

→ yourusername they make up the craziest things!

gayfory/n my praying worked.

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ramp-it-up · 1 month ago

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Make it So

Read Good Morning

Summary: The wink was all a part of his plan.

Word count: 3.9 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (mob boss) Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N: This fic is in the Knock You Down AU, and is the answer to this ask. Please let me know how you feel by commenting, reblogging, and interacting. 😉

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. Read at your own risk. Reader is 8-weeks pregnant and asks for rough sex. Bucky gives it to her. Angst, yearning, sex in an established relationship, pregnant reader, Bucky is a simp for Furmoaså, flirting, teasing, Bucky speaking google Romanian, praise and degradation, but also degradation, shower sex, very rough sex, rough oral, ass slapping, face slapping, spit play, masturbation, hand job, blow job, raw p-in-v, after care.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I no longer have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Bucky didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation with Peach, it just sort of happened.

He was walking into the living room from his home office, the one he’d been working out of since Atlanta. After everything that happened to Peach, and what he and Steve had to do after, Bucky had taken no chances.

The incident rattled him, and he’d been keeping closer tabs on you while handling his art dealings remotely.

As he rounded the corner, Peach’s voice came through the speakerphone loud and clear.

“And that was the most amazing sex I've ever had in my life. I wonder if Steve'll ever get that riled up again. D’you think I’d be that lucky?”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smirk. He knew Steve too well. He could almost guess what type of sex play he'd gotten up to with his wife. Seemed that Peach was his perfect match.

But then he heard your laugh, light and beautiful, and the sound stopped him in his tracks.

“Knowing you, Peach,” you replied, “you’ll probably get him riled up every damn day with your crazy ass.”

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms as he watched you.

You were curled up on the couch, the New York skyline glowing behind you through the massive windows. Your laughter faded, and your fingers toy absentmindedly with the delicate gold necklace he gave you for Christmas, the one that held a tiny charm of his and your initials.

Then you sighed, your voice softening.

“I wish Bucky would be rough with me again,” you admitted quietly, your gaze distant.

“Don’t get me wrong, the sex is amazing. He treats me like a goddess. But it’s like I’m porcelain now. The thing is, I’m pregnant, not bedridden. My doctor said I was healthy as a horse today and my cervix is sound. If women have been doing hard labor while pregnant since the beginning of time, I can take a rough fucking.”

Peach snorted, her laughter ringing out over the phone.

“First world problems, hun. Lots of women, and men, would kill to be Bucky Barnes’ fiancée. Just talk to him.”

You bite your lip, looking pensive.

“Nah, I’m just being hormonal and crazy. You’re right, I have everything I need. Now, about the wedding, which venue on the island…”

But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore. He was too busy committing your words to memory, the longing in your tone stirring something deep in his chest. He was glad that you had Peach to talk to, but he was tasked with taking care of you, with fulfilling your every desire.

Bucky thought back to when he first spanked you and how much you loved it. His cock stirred when he thought of how your body responded to him. He did miss it.

You wanted for him to stop holding back? To stop treating you like glass?

He would make it so.

—---

The event you attended that night buzzed with energy amid a sea of sharp tuxedos, glittering dresses, and the faint hum of a jazz band weaving through the air.

Bucky, always cool, stood by the bar nursing a whiskey, his piercing blue eyes tracking your every move.

Though the room brimmed with industry elites, what most people wouldn’t notice was the nearly invisible network of security personnel scattered throughout. They blended seamlessly, laughing and chatting, but their focus was razor-sharp. They were there for one purpose: to keep you and Peach safe. Bucky and Steve had made sure of that.

Tonight was supposed to be a perfect night out for you and Peach, and nothing was going to compromise it.

Across the room, you stood in a floor-length gown that hugged every curve in a way that made Bucky’s throat dry. The light from the chandeliers danced over your skin making your glow even more radiant in the soft illumination.

As an art dealer, Bucky was no stranger to beauty, but you?

You were untouchable. You were his.

Pride swelled in his chest at the thought that you were carrying his child, and were soon to be his wife. But that pride was quickly joined by a flicker of possessiveness every time someone let their gaze linger on you for a beat too long.

It wasn’t just your beauty that held everyone captive, it was the light in your eyes, the warmth in your laughter as you chatted with Peach and Steve, your joy radiating in a way that lit up the entire room.

And yet, even surrounded by admirers, your focus always found him.

Bucky looked immaculate tonight, his sharp suit tailored to perfection. The dark fabric stretched over his broad shoulders and framed his muscled physique in a way that made you weak. His eyes roamed the room with the practiced ease of someone who saw everything, but when they landed on you, they lingered.

Then came the moment that almost undid you.

From across the room, Bucky raised his eyebrows and gave you a wink, followed by a slight nod. A small, playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips, subtle, yet devastating.

Your breath hitched, your pulse quickened. That wasn’t just a wink. It was a promise. Yes, ma’am. I’m going to fuck your shit up tonight, don’t worry.

Or maybe it was just your hormones.

But the way his lips curled into that smirk, the glimmer of heat in his eyes, it set off a wildfire in your veins. That damn wink triggered something primal, sending your thoughts spiraling.

Suddenly, all you could think about was what he would do to you later, the unspoken promises that he’d made.

Your heart raced, your skin flushed.

For a moment, you forgot where you were, distracted by the sheer force of his presence. It was maddening, the way he could unravel you with something so small.

And he knew it.

When you returned to the table after a chat with Peach, he was waiting. Ever the gentleman, Bucky rose to pull out your chair. But it was the brush of his fingers on your wrist, the heat of his breath as he leaned close to murmur in your ear, that nearly did you in.

“Ești absolut uluitoare, Frumoaså,” he whispered, his voice low and rich. You are absolutely stunning, Beautiful.

Bucky speaking Romanian was your weakness, and he knew that very well. Your breath caught as you sank into your chair, your pulse hammering at the base of your throat.

“Thank you,” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

It didn’t stop there.

Every time you looked his way, he was already watching, his gaze burning into you like a brand. His hand brushed yours casually as he refilled your glass, but the touch lingered just long enough to set your nerves aflame. His thumb ghosted over your knuckles, warm and deliberate, though his eyes stayed fixed on the glass.

“Ești bine, iubirea mea?” he asked softly, his tone teasing. Are you okay, my love?

You swallowed hard, nodding. “I’m fine.”

But the heat in your cheeks and the ache between your thighs told a different story.

His lips twitched into a rakish grin, and he leaned back in his chair, legs spreading slightly. It was casual, and unassuming, unless you were the one watching. You couldn’t stop your eyes from trailing down to his crotch, betraying you in a moment of pure weakness.

Bucky caught you looking, and with a wicked gleam in his eye, he spread his thighs wider.

You grabbed your water and took a long sip, praying for composure, but it was useless. He was enjoying every second of your unraveling.

Later, on the dance floor, he turned the teasing up another notch. His hand pressed firmly against the small of your back as he guided you closer, his touch maddeningly confident. The two of you swayed to the music, but he kept just enough space between you to leave you yearning for him.

“You’re awfully quiet tonight,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

“I’m fine,” you whispered again, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you.

He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest.

“Hmmmmm. I’m not so sure about that.”

His hand slid lower, just above the curve of your hip, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric of your dress.

Then he leaned in, his voice a deep, velvety whisper.

“Dacă asta e bine, abia aștept să văd cum vei arăta mai târziu când ești nebună după mine.” If this is fine, I can’t wait to see how you’ll look later when you’re crazy for me.

The exotic words sent a shiver down your spine, your knees nearly buckling. Before you could respond, he spun you effortlessly, pulling you back into his chest with a hand sliding up to the nape of your neck.

"I want to be very rough with you tonight. I got so excited that I ordered a new velvet flogger. For your nipples."

Your eyes widened and you had to swallow before you started to drool.

"I know you're already very sensitive, and I figure I can flick so that it delivers an extra sting."

Bucky watched your eyes dilate as your cunt clenched around nothing.

"Shame it won't be here until tomorrow. But, vrei să fii o curvă pentru mine diseară?” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. Do you want to be a slut for me tonight?

You nearly choked on air, your head spinning as his words settled over you like a challenge.

“You’re driving me insane,” you breathed.

“Good,” he replied, lips brushing your ear again.

“Te vreau. Și îți promit, Frumoaså mea, o să-ți dau tot ce meriți când ajungem acasă.” I want you. And I promise, my Beautiful, I’ll give you everything you deserve when we get home.

By the time the night ended, you were a tightly wound coil, your nerves singing, your body burning with anticipation.

As the elevator doors closed behind you, Bucky’s arms wrapped around you from behind, his hand sliding over the gentle curve of your belly. His hardness pressed against your back, a reminder of what was coming.

“I’ve arranged for Sylvia to make a house call tomorrow,” he murmured against your ear, his lips brushing your hair. “You’re going to need it.”

Your breath caught, your mind racing as you imagined what he had planned for your stylist to make another home visit the day after she came to get you and Peach ready that afternoon.

He hummed softly, his lips grazing your neck.

“Sper că ești pregătită, Frumoaså. I hope you’re ready, Beautiful.

“Remember, green for go, red for stop,” he added, his voice velvet-soft.

Your knees were weak, so Bucky had to hold you up and against him as he elevator ascended

—-

Bucky made sure you had a snack and some water, taking care of your needs before giving you exactly what you craved.

With a tenderness that contrasted the fire in his eyes, he pulled you into his arms, pressing a soft kiss to your lips as he undressed you, his hands working tenderly.

You followed him to the ensuite, where he turned on the shower, the multiple jets hissing to life in the spacious enclosure. The air was thick with water vapor. When he turned back to you, something shifted in his gaze, something dark and hungry.

Your gaze was on his rock hard and leaking cock.

"Do you want to fuck?"

He said it so simply, but it was enough to make you wetter than you were the second before.

"Yeah," you breathed, already melting under the intensity of his stare.

In an instant, he had you pressed against the shower wall, your cheek against the cool tiles. One hand tangled in your hair, pulling your head back, while the other pinned your arms behind your back. You arched into him, feeling the heat of his body flush against yours as he took control, moving into your slick pussy surely and swiftly with no preparation.

Bucky started fucking you, the way he knew you liked it. You moaned and he slapped your ass, causing you to keen.

“Oh. Yess yes yes yes.”

“Fuck. Me,” he grunted into your ear.

He pulled back on your arms to pull you harder onto his cock and groped your tits.

“Jesus. So Gotdamned tight, what do you mean?”

Bucky said it through gritted teeth, almost offended that you felt so good around him, making him go even harder. You whimpered and moaned as he pressed you harder into the wall.

“Been waiting so long for you to get rough with me, Baby. Stretch me out," you pleaded.

Bucky was in the zone, pulling almost all the way out and destroying you with long, deep strokes. When he looked up to see you smiling into the wall, he leaned forward to lick your cheek. You laughed.

“Yesss, baby.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too, want more of you inside me.”

Bucky grabbed your shoulders and stroked harder, faster, deeper, causing you to gasp for air.

“Oh my god.”

“Fuck!”

Bucky rocked back on his heels and grabbed your hair, pulling your head back as he slapped both of your asscheeks. You tightened impossibly around him.

“Ahhh! Yes, yes, yes!”

He bent your head backward and kissed your forehead as he plowed into you.

“Oh my god you feel so electric Bucky.”

He grabbed your arm and positioned your hand at your cunt, urging you to play with your clit. Except he didn’t use as many words.

“Yes, Good Girl!” was his chant as he smacked both ass cheeks again.

Bucky opened his mouth in a silent growl as you arched into him, convulsed around him and came all over the shower floor. You sagged against the wall, but Bucky wasn’t done yet.

Far from it.

“Ahhhh, oh my god,” he surged up inside you, deep and hot, but he didn’t cum.

“Give me your fucking color.”

You were loving it.

“Fuck yesss! Green!”

He pulled out and let the water run over you two for a minute, and then he plunged his hand into your pussy from behind.

“Another one Furmoaså. Your pleasure belongs to me.”

“Oh God….”

“You keep calling me that. “S’ not my name.”

All you could do was scream as he relentlessly made you cum on his hand again, and then he turned you around, kissed you like his life depended on it, then pressed on your shoulders to make you kneel.

Your mouth dropped open automatically as he grabbed your wet hair and held you still as he slid his wet cock over your tongue. He fucked your face as you looked up at him and he slowed his strokes into your throat lest he cum down it.

"Make sure you breathe, my Love. Tap my thigh if it is too much."

Bucky's cock was always too much, but you were focusing on breathing through your nose. Instead of tapping his thigh, you grabbed both of them and pulled him further into your throat.

"Shhhhhitttttt, Furmoaså." Bucky's head hung back on his neck.

You reached up and stroked his cock, the part that wasn’t in your warm, wet mouth. Bucky let you take control and gag on him, pushing yourself into the wet curls at the base of his cock.

When you stayed down, he had to pull you off with a sharp, “Gotdamn it Baby,” and you smiled evilly up at him as you spit on his cock. He grabbed your hair to fuck your face again, cooing filthy praises down at you.

“Ah, shit, you look great, taking my cock like this, yes, yes, yes. Oh. yes.”

Your head started knocking against the tiles and he backed off, but you chased his cock, burying your nose in his pelvis again.

“Ohhhh shittt.”

You pulled off and started sucking him vigorously, using two hands and getting super sloppy with it; convenient, since you were in the shower.

“That’s it, show me, show me what a good cock slut you are my beloved. Show me. Good girl.”

Your head swam with the degradation and praise as you worked him, and yourself, into a frenzy.

Bucky's knees got week as you gagged around him again.

“Oh. I like being in your throat like that, missed that neck.”

“Slap my face, Daddy.”

Bucky froze, the cum threatening to claw its way out of his dick.

He positioned your chin and watched you smirk after he tapped you soundly, but not too hard. You gasped and smiled as he slid his cock to the back of your throat again and alternated strokes with slaps.

“Yes… yess… and don’t cough.”

You let him use you, your pussy soaked now. As if reading your mind, he commanded you.

“Finger your cunt, you naughty girl…”

You circled your clit as he fucked your face, and your mind faded to bliss as you pleasured yourself.

“Fuck your cunt for me Furmoaså.”

You nearly came just from his words and you managed to stuff three fingers in and out of you at a rapid pace for a few more seconds until you came, you body humming.

Bucky kneeled on the floor and shared a filthy kiss with you, moaning into your mouth as he took over finger fucking you. You were a moaning, incoherent mess as you stroked his cock furiously.

At one point, you begged him to spit in your mouth and as he did, you came all over his fingers.

You sucked your juices off your fingers as you looked into his now black eyes.

“Back in your pussy.”

Your eyes rolled as you fucked yourself again. You opened your mouth for him to spit again as your other hand continued to stroke him.

“Let me taste.”

Bucky licked your covered fingers.

“Fucking delicious,”

He stood up, sliding his cock back between your lips.

“Mmmmm nasty girl…”

And he fucked your mouth again as this time you came all over your fingers.

“Good fucking girl.”

Suddenly, he pulled out and bent you over plunging back inside you and grabbing your hair as you screamed.

“Oh, fuck, your cock feels so good. So green, I’m cumming!”

“Do it, love it when you cum for me, fuckkkkk!”

Bucky stroked and stroked inside as you came and you just had to take it. He fucked you until he groaned loudly, pulling out to jerk his hot cum all over your back.

Despite the warmth, suddenly you were shivering but you were in his arms the next second as he whispered how proud of you he was.

Bucky quickly and tenderly washed you and wrapped you and your hair in thick, fluffy towels, his hands gentle but deliberate as he lifted you into his arms.

Being held by him made you feel so safe. He carried you out of the bathroom, cradling you close to his chest, the tension from earlier melting into tenderness.

“You okay, Furmoaså?” he whispered.

His lips pressed to your temple as he gently sat you down on the edge of the bed. You nodded, a lazy, satisfied smile spreading across your face as you leaned into him.

“More than okay,” you murmured, eyes heavy with contentment.

He knelt in front of you, brushing his thumbs over your cheeks before kissing your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. The kiss was slow and tender, a stark contrast to the ferocity from earlier.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You know that, right? I’m so proud of you. You take everything I give you like the queen you are.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, warmth flooding through you as he tilted his head, studying you for any sign of discomfort.

Satisfied that you were okay, he stood and padded over to the mini-fridge tucked in the corner of the room, pulling out a chilled bottle of water and a small container of fresh fruit.

He returned, sitting beside you on the bed. He opened the bottle and handed it to you first, watching as you took a long sip before setting it aside. Then, he plucked a piece of ripe mango from the container and held it to your lips.

“Eat, baby,” he urged softly, his voice full of care. “You need to replenish after all that.”

You giggled but obeyed, letting him feed you piece by piece. Between bites, his large hands worked their way down your body, massaging your shoulders, arms, and thighs, easing any lingering tension. He was meticulous, ensuring every muscle was relaxed and that you felt utterly adored.

“Bucky,” you whispered, catching his hand and threading your fingers through his. “You spoil me.”

“Damn right, I do,” he replied with a crooked grin. “I’m gonna keep spoiling you for the rest of my life.”

He leaned down to kiss the inside of your wrist before rubbing his thumb over the pulse point there. After he’d made sure you were hydrated and fed, he guided you to lie back against the soft pillows.

“Still feeling okay, Furmoasa?” he asked again as he slid into bed beside you.

You turned to face him, snuggling into his chest, your leg draped over his hip.

“I feel amazing,” you murmured, your voice muffled against his skin. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“For what?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious as his fingers traced lazy patterns along your back.

“For knowing me. For taking care of me,” you said, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “For making me feel so loved.”

His expression softened, and he cupped your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin.

“That’s because you are loved. So, so much.” he said, his voice tender, yet steady.

You smiled, leaning into his touch, but his brow furrowed slightly, as though something was on his mind.

“Furmoaså,” he started, his tone soft but serious.

“Yes?" you replied, your brows lifting in curiosity and heart rate spiking with anxiety.

“I know that sometimes you keep things to yourself, because you think you’re in your head and you don’t want to bother me, or you’re embarrassed, or you think it’s just your hormones talking.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he gently brushed his thumb over your lips, stopping you.

“Let me finish,” he said with a small smile.

“You don’t ever have to keep things inside with me. I don’t care if it’s something small, something big, something filthy…,”

You giggled.

"...Or something you think is ridiculous. I want to hear it. I want to know what’s on your mind.”

Your heart ached at the earnestness in his voice.

“You’re not a burden, and nothing you say or feel is embarrassing or silly. If you desire something, need something, or even just want to vent, you come to me. Don’t let it sit there, spinning in your head, okay?”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“I mean it,” he added, brushing his knuckles along your jaw. “You can trust me with anything. You don’t have to do it alone.”

“I will,” you promised, leaning forward to press your forehead to his. “This is why I’m in love with you.”

“And loving you is my job,” he said, a playful grin tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Besides, I like it when you tell me what’s on your mind. Especially when you want to be a whore for me. Makes it easier for me to provide for you.”

"So you're just doing your job," you teased, eyebrow raised.

"Now you understand."

This time his wink made you laugh softly, the tension in the air dissolving as he kissed you again, long and lingering, before settling back with you tucked safely in his arms.

The steady rhythm of his heartbeat lulled you into a sense of peace and your body and soul completely at ease.

“Get some rest, baby,” he whispered, his lips brushing the crown of your head. “I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And he was.

-----

Wanna know what Steve & Peach got up to?

Read Ties That Bind

#kyd asks #ask dj #knock you down fic #peach fic #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes #knock you down verse #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #mob boss! bucky barnes #sebastian stan #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #mob boss! steve rogers #chris evans #x reader

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ladykailitha · 3 months ago

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Heartbreak in Overdrive Part 1

Yeah, I know this is supposed to be Spellbound, but like this has five chapters in backlog, and it really needs to be let out before it breaks containment.

The title comes I'll Wait by Van Halen, as I wanted something to do with fashion and @bookworm0690 really came in clutch with these lyrics.

Summary: Eddie is a top model know for his temper tantrums. Steve is war photographer coming out of a traumatic experience by doing fashion photography. When hotheaded Eddie runs up against Steve's cool under pressure attitude, sparks fly.

Also I tend to make up fictional brands so I don't have to keep running for google every time I need a brand name for something.

Eddie Munson fought hard to be where he was. He had climbed up from the literal fucking gutter to being a top model. Fuck that bitch for ruining that title in the minds of the masses, making it meaningless, but he earned it.

He had full creative control over every little aspect of his shoots and everyone knew it. They knew what they were getting when they hired him. Every part of him was what they fucking paid for. His whole glam metal look was a package deal. His long hair, his tattoos, his style. That’s what they got when they hired him.

His current gig was St. John Whiskey, they were trying to appeal to the younger party crowd with their new canned cocktails. Eddie had tried them and they weren’t half bad. If someone served them at rave he went to, he would happy down several of the damn things. But he wouldn’t ask for them. Like ever.

Eddie briefly wondered who was going to shoot the ad, because they hadn’t told him before he signed on the dotted line. Not that it mattered, whoever they got would try to fob it off to someone else. That little detail made the little demon in Eddie curl up and purr. That companies would trip over themselves to get Eddie to model for them, while the actual photographers were fighting over who had to photograph him.

He arrived on set which was made up to look like a club, there were about a dozen extras all tarted up in club gear. To the right was his hair and makeup artist, Vickie Cameron, to his left was his manager next to a row of clothes that Eddie would choose from for the shoot.

Tucked behind a little partition were three photographers; Jonathan Byers, Argyle Ramirez, and Tommy Hagan. They were all playing roshambo. They were playing several games before Tommy groaned.

“Fuck!” he cursed and then walked over to get his kit. His assistant Carol immediately started setting up the lights and shit from his stuff while Argyle and Jonathan celebrated their win.

“Hello, boys,” Eddie said sweetly, causing everyone nearby to jump in the air.

Jonathan had the decency to look embarrassed, Argyle just grinned at him. Tommy on the other hand, his expression soured.

“Munson,” he said tersely. “Keep the tantrums to a minimum and maybe both of us will fucking survive this day.”

Eddie’s face transformed into a feral grin. “Do you job properly and there won’t be a tantrum to be had. Be the hack you usually are and I make no promises.”

Tommy surged forward, likely to start swinging, but Jonathan held him back. Eddie batted his eyelashes at him innocently, then he turned on his heel and made straight to Chrissy and wardrobe. Hopefully they had something good in there he could wear.

Eddie walked over to Chrissy as she was separating some shirts for him.

“They want a dance club vibe,” she said as she handed him four shirts, two jackets, and three pairs of pants. “Everything here has your style but with that club flare they’re looking for.”

He smirked. “Someone, somewhere is learning.”

She swatted at his ass. “Go get dressed, dick. Then hurry back so we can get your accessories picked out so we can get Vickie started on your hair and makeup.”

Eddie nodded and took his prizes to the dressing room. The first jacket was a blueish-black racer jacket and the other was a suit jacket with black sequins embroidered in a brocade pattern. The shirts were all button ups. Of the two black options, one was a soft cotton and the other was satin. The white shirt was of the same material of the first black shirt and the remaining shirt was a silky grey. The pants ranged from tight leather to ripped denim with a tuxedo pant thrown in for funsies.

He tried on several combinations before he settled on the leather jacket, the silver shirt, and tight leather pants. He padded back out to Chrissy who had an array of watches, necklaces, bracelets, chains, and shoes.

He immediately pulled out the shiny combat boots and started layering the jewelry just the way he liked it. Once he was satisfied, he sat down at Vickie’s chair and flipped his hair. “Miss DeMille, I’m ready for my close up!”

Vickie laughed. “Let’s get this pretty face even prettier for the camera.” She got to work on his hair first, washing and conditioning it to take the hair products it would take to tame Eddie’s famous curls.

By the time he was finally ready, so was Tommy and Carol.

She eyed him and then nodded approvingly. He matched the vibe they were going for, but stood out in a fashionable way.

“Ready when you are, princess,” Tommy sneered, pulling out a camera from one of his bags.

Eddie grinned at him and then got into position. Tommy called out poses and shots while Carol managed the lenses, cameras and filters. Things were going well until they weren’t.

“Can someone please tell me why this asshole extra keeps standing in my fucking light?!” he growled.

Tommy stood up from where he had been crouched on the floor. “There is no one in your light, I’m literally taking the pictures and there is not single shade over you.”

“Not that light, dumbass,” Eddie snarled, “the light from the disco ball. It’s supposed to be glittering on my face to bring in the club vibe but some asshole is literal blocking it.”

Tommy went through the memory card and went back as far twenty frames. “Shit, he’s right.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m right, so are you going to get this asshole to stop mugging the shots or am I going to have to lock myself in my dressing room until you do?”

“I don’t even know who it is,” Tommy snapped back. “How am I supposed to find a needle in a fucking haystack?”

Eddie threw his arms in the air. “The disco ball is there!” He pointed behind where he was sitting at a table and to the left. “So it’s obviously NOT the people to my right or in the foreground! Use your fucking head!”

He stood up and stalked toward dressing room, leaving a path of destruction in his wake of knocked over chairs and people glaring at him as he pushed by them.

It took Tommy and Carol about an hour to find out who had been blocking the disco ball’s light and coach Eddie out his dressing room.

All the news articles blew up that Eddie Munson threw a fit on the set of his most recent photo shoot again. Talking about what a diva he was and how unhinged he was.

Chrissy sat him down to talk about the articles. “You probably shouldn’t have thrown the chairs, let’s be fair. But all the pictures that were taken after you came back were the best shots Tommy took.”

Eddie sneered. “They were in the way and I didn’t throw them, I tried pushing them out the way and they got tangled up and they fell. I just needed to be somewhere else in that moment or more than just chairs would have been flying.”

Chrissy sighed. She knew. She knew better than anyone how much space Eddie needed when he got into his head.

“Well,” she said, “we’ll ride it out like we always do. If Tom Cruise can come out of coach jumping with a career intact, you will come of this one just fine, too.”

Eddie threw his head head back and buried his hands into his hair. He counted backward from twenty until he got his thoughts under control.

“I wish Carol was the photographer,” he said mournfully. “She actually seems to understand the artistry behind taking the perfect shot.”

“And we both know she’s never going to a chance,” Chrissy said ruefully, rolling her eyes. “Because she’s a woman. But it wasn’t her who found the extra who was getting in the way of the shots.”

That made Eddie sit up. “Yeah, then who did?”

Chrissy shrugged. “Some friend of Tommy’s who was visiting. He’s some hot shot war photographer that Tommy met in art school and was in town for a couple of days for some award show.”

“Maybe hire him next time,” Eddie said with a snort.

When Eddie heard that it was going to be Argyle Ramirez doing the shoot for the Eva Laurent cologne that he was mildly annoyed. He wasn’t the incompetent asshole that Tommy was, but he was far too laid back for his tastes.

Eddie got to the set which was in Argyle’s studio. Everything was white and would be lighted to the appropriate colors. In the middle was a single black leather chair; one of those overstuffed kind.

There were about a half dozen people milling around and that brought him up short.

“Um...” he said glancing over at Chrissy briefly. “I thought it was going to be a closed set?”

Argyle looked up at him with that hazy, dopey smile of his. “The man of the hour has arrived. Awesome!” He looked around at the other people in the room. “Don’t worry my man, once you’re ready to drop robe, most of these people will have cleared out.”

“Most?” Eddie asked, trying not squirm.

“Sure,” Argyle said, blinking at him in confusion. “I’ve got to have my assistants to move things around and shit. But everyone else will have cleared out.”

Eddie bit on his lip. He couldn’t argue with that. Though he had tried. Several times before. Whenever he pushed back on being naked in front of strangers he was told that he was baring his ass to the world, what was a few extra people on the day of the shoot.

He went to go get his hair and makeup done, with Vickie trying to ease her nerves but talking about her long distance girlfriend who also did hair, but always needed help with her smokey eye makeup.

Eddie let her chatter wash over him and he relaxed, getting out of his head and into his body. His body was his job, his sanctuary, and his weapon all rolled into one. He cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders, releasing the last bit of tension in his shoulders.

When he came out of hair and makeup he was pleased to find there were only two other people there besides Argyle. One knelt by a bag, while the other stood by the lights.

That was more than he would have liked, but he had to let it slide. He knew that there were some photographers who had full on teams and all they did was take the pictures. But Eddie had it in his rider that if they wanted him to model for them they couldn’t use those photographers.

He was about down to his underwear when Argyle came bursting into the room. He shrieked and pulled his pants over his crotch.

“Don’t you knock?!” Eddie roared in outrage, clutching his pants close to his body as a shield.

Argyle held his hands up and backed out. “Sorry, dude, I thought hadn’t gotten undressed yet.” He closed the door.

Eddie could tell the man was waiting awkwardly outside so he hurried to get undressed and throw on the black satin robe he was given. He tied the sash tightly around his waist and slid the slippers on his feet. He slowly opened the door and peeked out to make sure it was just Argyle waiting for him.

He stepped out into the hallway and Argyle looked up from his phone.

“You ready now?” he asked.

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, but if you had been like a minute later or two minutes sooner, I wouldn’t have been in the middle of getting undressed.”

“I’m going to be seeing you naked in five minutes anyway,” Argyle groused. “I really don’t see what the problem is.”

Eddie bit his tongue. He wanted to say the difference was consent, but it seemed like nothing would penetrate the thick fog of weed smoke around the photographer’s head. He just strolled past, his head held high.

Once he had warmed up enough he dropped the robe and the assistant in charge of the lenses rushed forward to grab it.

He sprawled on the leather chair, the material sticking to his ass.

After a few minutes of struggling to get comfortable he finally snapped.

“Is there anyway we can put something down on the chair so my skin isn’t being peeled off with every move I make?”

One of the assistants, Eddie couldn’t be assed to care which one, rushed forward with a long golden drape and laid it over the leather chair. Then when Eddie sat back on it she draped it over his body artistically, making the shot more provocative and less in your face nudity.

“Good thinking, Karla,” Argyle huffed as he knelt to take the next shot. “Pull his hair out a little bit so that it lays flat over the drape.”

Karla hurried to do as she was told. The shoot went more smoothly after that, but he could tell Argyle was annoyed for not having thought of the drape first.

Eddie didn’t spend the whole shoot covered by the drape, but it added something special to the ad that the Eva Laurent people loved.

But Argyle told everyone that Eddie had been reluctant to disrobe in front of people and that’s why the drape was added.

It pissed Eddie off, but with people wanting to believe the worst of him, trying to refute it was like pissing in the wind.

But he made sure to tell the Eva Laurent people that it was Karla’s idea for the drape on his way out, just to fuck with him back.

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Tag List: NINE SLOTS REMAINING

1- @itsall-taken @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @sadisticaltarts @dolphincliffs

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @irregular-child @cryptid-system @kultiras

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @dreamercec @blondie1006

5- @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @genderless-spoon @fearieshadow @thesecondfate

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chaotic-waffle

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #fashion model au #steve is a photographer #eddie is a model

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moth-murdock · 16 days ago

Text

No one knows (I wish she could)

My masterlist | Series masterlist

A/n: part two! Let's fucking go! Also, those images were chosen for a very specific reason that you will find out later :)

Genre: angst? Fluff?

Summary: being pregnant is supposed to be celebrated. But how are you supposed to tell your husband when he has such deep emotional wounds?

Warnings: telling your husband you're pregnant

Other tags: Curtis mentioned, max not much :(, confrontation yikes, I'm starting to Google stuff now so bear with me

Word count: 1.6k

You pocket the test and sneak over into your shared bedroom to hide it. After much deliberation, you decide to go back to the bathroom and hide it among your period things. You knew for sure that Frank wouldn't go nosing around in there, and it's not like you'd forget about it. You couldn't if you tried.

Slowly, and with shaking breath, you put your things back to how they were. Then, you felt like you could cry. All the worst-case scenarios were going through your head at once, and you felt like they would all come true and burn down the life you had built with Frank. You wash your face to will the tears away, heading back to the living room. He's still asleep. Good.

After a moment of thinking and a glance at the crooked clock on the wall, you turn the forgotten TV off.

"Honey... Come on..." You say softly as you nudge your husband

"You're gonna be achey tomorrow if you sleep on the couch." You reason, but you are met with a protesting groan from the man

"Not gonna be able t'sleep if I get up..." He murmurs, adjusting the pillow beneath his head

"And I can't sleep without you in the bed with me, sweetheart." You counter, to which he gives a few seconds of thought before getting up.

"Don't say I don't love you..." He grumbles as he stretches, his shirt riding up a bit to reveal his happy trail. You want to have a sinful thought, but that is quickly doused by the knowledge of what is currently hiding in your bathroom drawer. Thankfully, he's too sleepy to notice the worry on your face.

You both make your way back to the bedroom, crawling into the soft sheets together. He's the big spoon tonight, pressing gentle, sleepy kisses to the crook of your neck as he wraps his arms around you. You want to be comforted, but this just makes his hands end up on your stomach. Instinctively, you tense for a second. But you don't want him to know something's wrong, so you force yourself to relax. You damn near shit yourself when you're pulled out of your thoughts by his voice, rough with sleep.

"G'night, sweetheart."

"Night, baby"

Baby

The next morning, you take another test. To be sure. Because there's no way, right? I mean, you take your pills on time every day. No matter what. Of course, birth control isn't always effective... But the odds are so slim, there's no way. Right?

Two pink lines.

FUCK

It takes 2 days before you feel like you're actually going to die unless you tell someone. So you call the people you know are close to Frank. You pick up your phone, dialing Curtis's number. There's background noise, like he's probably cooking dinner

"Hello?"

"Curtis! Hi!"

"What did he do this time?" The man chuckles

"actually... I uh... I need your advice on something."

"Alright, what is it?"

"... Well... I uh... I'm pregnant. And I don't know how to tell Frank, and I'm scared of how he'll react."

You hear the click of a stove being turned off and the scrape of a pan being moved off the burner.

"Well... Before anything else, congratulations."

Oh boy.

"... Thank you..."

"I know you know about Maria and the kids. But I need more context."

"Like?..."

"Was this planned? Unplanned? Have the two of you talked about kids before? How did he react to that? All that."

"Oh, um... Unplanned. And I've tried to bring up kids before... He avoids it every time..."

Every time you tried to hint at kids with Frank, you were shut down. A video of a baby in a onesie? He said "cute" and nothing more. Asking to look around the infant section of the store? He asked if your sister was pregnant. You straight up asked him what he thought about kids as you walked past a park one day, and he said "they're alright. Pretty loud."

"Okay... So... Unplanned, and he's been avoiding talking about kids..." Curtis repeats

"Yeah..." You sigh

"Well... I'll tell you what I do know. I know Maria's pregnancy also wasn't planned. But damn it if he didn't love those kids more than anything."

"Yeah, I thought about that too, but I don't know if he'll be the same about me. He didn't have so many... Issues... When Maria was pregnant."

"Good point..."

There's a few more moments of silence before he speaks again.

"The best I can do is this. Tell him, and if he doesn't take it well, call me. I'll try to talk to him."

"Thank you, Curtis."

"No problem. Congrats again." He says before hanging up, after which you put your phone away with a sigh.

You pretty much repeat this process with Dinah, David, and even Matt. You needed all the opinions you could get. And they all said something along the lines of what Curtis said. Frank loved his previous children, and he loves you. But also in case anything goes wrong they would all beat the shit out of him together.

You know you only have so much time before you can no longer hide it. If you did your math right, you got pregnant about two weeks before your period. And given that morning sickness starts at around five weeks, you don't have very long to think about what you want to do and how to do it.

What you know for sure is that you don't want to get rid of it. But having a baby would affect Frank as well, so he should at least get to put in his opinion. That still means you have to tell him.

It could potentially blow up in your face, yes, but it doesn't seem like Frank would realistically be angry or leave you for it. Hell, when he found out Maria was pregnant, the first thing he did was put a ring on her finger. Their marriage was a good one, from what Curtis and Frank himself have told you. So this can't go too horribly wrong, right?

You take some time to consider your options before you finally come to a decision. You're going to tell Frank. But now you figure out how. You've seen a few pregnancy reveals before, so you have an idea of what you could do that Frank would like. Hopefully, if he likes it enough, he won't blow up.

We need to talk when you come home you text.

Okay. 👍🏻

Despite the situation, that manages to get a small laugh out of you. That seemed to be his response to just about everything.

As you wait for Frank to get home, you decide to pick up some pizza from Lombardi's. You figure that if he's happy, it's celebratory. If he's upset, it's a consolation. You check your phone to see if he's on his way home yet, and he's about 15 minutes out. Fuck.

In an attempt to not go insane, you go to the bathroom to take one more test, just in case. After the longest ten minutes of your life, you are greeted by two pink lines. Double fuck.

You let yourself spiral until you hear Frank's truck pull into the driveway, at which point you go to the dining table. Frank walks in and hangs up his jacket, smirking at the pizza on the table

"Lombardi's and a talk? I hope we're celebratin'" He chuckles in that low voice of his, crossing the room to give you a kiss.

"I hope so too..." You sigh into the kiss, your grip tightening around the positive test in your hands

"You hope so?" He asks, pulling away and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear

"Frank... I..." You start, trying to avoid the lump that forms in your throat.

Frank, lord bless him, just waits. He has this look when he's listening, so aggressive and yet so soft at the same time.

"What I wanted to talk to you about... Is... It's..." You struggle, trying to speak around the lump in your throat.

And Frank, he just listens. He listens in a way that you know he really is. He has that look on his face, so aggressive and yet so soft. He meets your eyes, and that's all it takes for you to break. Because you don't want to lose him. You don't want to lose everything you have with him.

Frank sees the fat tears brimming on your waterline and immediately wraps his arms around you so tenderly and with such concern that it just makes you cry even more.

"Hey, hey, what's goin' on? Why're you cryin'?"

You can't answer, your nose already so full that you almost can't breathe. When he notices that, he stops trying to get you to talk. He lets you cry it out, your tears rolling off his flannel.

Once your sniffles die down, you gather the strength to speak.

"I just... I love you so much... And I don't want to lose you..."

"I ain't goin' nowhere... Why would you lose me?" He chuckles softly as he cups your face, wiping your tears with his thumbs

"Because... I don't... know how you'll take it..." You hiccup between breaths

"Take what, sweetheart?"

You finally bring up your hands, showing him the positive pregnancy test

"I'm... I'm pregnant, Frank."

#moth writes #frank castle x reader #frank castle fanfiction #frank castle #fem!reader #Bearded frank my beloved #pregnancy fic #She needs him

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tan1shere · 9 months ago

Text

Double Trouble

Billie Eilish x Young Miko x female reader !

A/n: well well well, I was watching the whole interview of these fine mfs and finally got a storyline for this plot 😇 I hope you all enjoy this one. Choosing Oxytocin for the song as the lyrics fit the vibe 🤭 - also small disclaimer if the Spanish isn't correct pls let me know !! Google translate isn't always trusted lmaoo LONG !!

Summary: You're dating Billie and go with her to one of her small events, Young Miko happens to be interviewing her when later on things escalate.

Warnings: smut ! THREESOME !!! Billie and Miko are both dominant, sub reader. Overstimulation, strap usage, oral, (all r receiving) mommy kink, orgasm denial, think that's it, lmk if there's anything else. This one's going to be interesting, but enjoy 😈

Masterlist

Hearing fans scream as they call out for Billie. You were currently in the back just waiting for the interview to be done, listening to their voices. She happened to get Young Miko to interview her while she was in Mexico. Which was awesome, seeing as you had been a fan of her music for quite some time now. So there was no doubt you were fan girling just a little.

Once the event had finished they come into the back room, approaching you. "Hey baby, thought I'd introduce the two of you. Considering you're a fan of hers." You stand up, smiling at them both. "You like my music?" Miko asks, seeming a bit surprised. You nod at her question. "Most definitely, I've been listening for a few years now actually." You admit, she gives you a smile. "That's awesome honestly! Have you learnt any Spanish?" "Funnily enough yeah, I've learned a ton of new things just by listening." Your smile widens. Billie seemed a bit, distracted though. As if she had something brewing in her brain. Your curiosity got the better of you especially when she says this to Miko.

"Meet you there." Meet you there? Miko then salutes her with a small smirk. Your brows furrow, looking at your girlfriend. "What was that about." You had asked as you head for the car. "Just a little surprise we have for you." We??? There was something behind her eyes. Excitement, no? Maybe? You let your orbs linger over her own. Then it clicked you knew exactly that look and your eyes suddenly blew up in size. It was lust. She got that you were catching on, putting a hand on your thigh. "Now, I'm ok with it. But I want to make sure you are." It was all very secretive, until she catches you way off guard. Pulling into a parking lot which looked to be at a hotel. "You want Miko to touch you?"

She asks, breathing impossibly close to your face. Your cheeks heat up. I mean sure you'd have a little fan girl moment but you loved Billie, butttt you'd be lying If you said you hadn't imagined it just a tiny bit. "Go on, I know what you're thinking." Her fingers trace over your jaw. "You want her to baby?" You just nod, vividly. But her head shakes. "Uh uh, speak." Your breath hitches. "Yes.. yes I would.." Your eyes look into her growingly dark ones. "Good girl."

And that wasn't even close to the beginning of the best night of your life. Everything was very hush hush. This was incredibly wrong in many ways, but the thrill was overpowering that. "I'm a little nervous.." You admit to your girlfriend. "Don't be my girl, we are going to take good. Care of you." She speaks in such a velvet tone, making you clench your thighs. Already she had such an effect on you. That only made you wonder how Miko would be. Was this really happening.

Yep. It was. The door was being opened to her room, she lets the both of you in. Billie gives you a quick but passionate kiss. "Go strip babe." Your body felt tingly at the way she was speaking, filthy yet so damn sexy. You bite your lip. Billie loved to be in control, not in a horrible way ofcourse she just adored having that strength. "Do what you'd usually do, but listen to her. If she doesn't speak up. Make. Her." You swallow overhearing Billies husky voice saying that. "lo entendiste. - you got it." Miko says with a small smirk causing Billie to mirror that, but more evil.

You had stripped out of everything except your bra and underwear. Sitting nervously on the bed. Was this truly happening were you dreaming? You suddenly were being pulled out of your thoughts as you see the pretty Puerto Rican infront of you. "Hi angel." She smirks at your expression. You turn your head for a second to see where Billie is, was she going to watch. When you felt fingers under your chin. "She's just preparing Mami." Your eyes linger over the small bathroom door in the hotel room. "Something tells me you want her to watch. True?" She asks, going to kiss your jaw. When a shakey breath leaves your lips. "I- uhm-" Her eyes connect with your own.

"Imagine her, watching someone else fuck you. Senseless, might I add." Her kisses move lower and lower, having them on your neck. "Imagine her hearing how dirty you sound, because of me?" Your brain couldn't process this, feeling it fogging over already.

Can't take it back once it's been set in motion.

Your nerves and excitement both mix together. Wondering what you had agreed to. Miko's hands come in contact with your bra covered breasts. Kneading gently. "Can I take this off?" You nod at her question but she remembered what Billie had said to her. Her fingers press lightly against your jaw. "Do I get an answer, angel?" You swallow thickly. "Y-yes you can take it off Miko.." You breathe, her smirk grew at the way you whispered her name. Loving it maybe a bit too much. But she had to hear it again. After she removes your bra, discarding it somewhere. Her lips immediately attach to your nipple, sucking hard. Your mind goes blank at the insane feeling. But even if Billie consented to this, or if it was her idea. You couldn't help but feel bad. Or maybe that just made you feel great.

Maybe that aroused you more, the thought of her watching was something you did enjoyed thinking of. And as if on queue. Shes there in the room. Your eyes meet as her head tilts slightly, your heart races at this insane setting. Miko sucking on your tits, as your girlfriend just watches. You weren't being loud enough to Mikos liking. She then bites your nipple, sending a moan to tumble out of your mouth. Your eyes are still locked on Billie as the noise comes out, feeling your eyes go wide. But she smirks. And she does it broadly.

"Don't hide your noises baby. - we've talked about this." Billie then speaks, noticing the way you were biting your lip extra hard. "Go on, wanna hear how she's making you feel." You do as told, but God was this so incredibly filthy. Was it bad you enjoyed it very much? She continues to watch.

She couldn't look away.

Your head lulls back against the headboard as Miko travels down your body, leaving kisses. Her eyes then look into yours as she's reached the main event. Ofcourse asking for permission but silently. You go to nod, considering she hadn't spoken you'd be safe. But the look in her eyes makes you think differently. Your brain just goes to the quickest sentence you can think of. "Please take them off." Your winey voice made them both smirk. Although you weren't looking at Billie right now, when you did. You swear you could've just cum. Then and there. You hold her gaze for a bit.

Shed wanna get involved.

That eye contact remains, until Billie speaks. "Make her cum." Her eyes still boring into your own as she utters those words. You felt like you could go insane. "Heard that mama." You nod slowly. "Y-yes." Miko smirks at your reaction. "You look scared love. Don't worry I don't bite. ... unless you want that." She finishes, coming impossibly close to your cunt. It now being free from the previous fabric clinging to it. You swallow again, letting your mouth hang open as her tongue is on you. Your head falls limply at the insane feeling. Billie's smirk never leaved her face it was as if she was frozen. Getting to watch you like this from a different point of view. Your moans grew louder as she picks up the pace, causing your hands to grab her hair.

What would people say, if they listened through the wall.

There was no other sound but Miko's tongue lapping at you, your soft but powerful moans. Making not only Billie, but Miko also. Go mental. Your orgasm was quick to approach as Miko speeds up, if that was even possible. Sending your mind blank, feeling yourself cum on her tongue with a slight screech. You let out pants, trying to catch your breath again. "Overstimulate her." Billie then orders. Your eyes look over at her. Finally gaining the courage to actually say something. "Bils-" Her head tilts, once again. "Hmm?" Your mouth shuts almost immediately. "Nothing." "No no, go on babe. What is it? You don't want that?" But that'd be a lie, ofcourse you did.

"I just-" But that was cut short as Miko's back at it, having you shake at how sensitive you truly became. You let a shakey but satisfied sigh escape you, having your eyes flutter shut. "What was it you were saying angel?" Your back arches too distracted by your second orgasm to fully care about what Billie was mocking you for.

I can see it clear as day. You don't really need a break.

Billie craved to watch you writhe under Miko, the way you're almost cumming again. But Bills was having too much fun. "Deny her." Billie speaks lowly. And just like that you felt nothing. A cryish whine leaves your plump lips. "Nooo." Your eyes had been closed. "Wanna see what you can take." Billie mutters, enough for you to hear. Your lips then pout as you look at Billie. With such a defeated look in your eyes. Almost begging without words. But you knew you had to speak them you knew that's what she wanted, you to beg.

You take any extra courage floating around inside you and grab Miko's face. "Please, please don't stop. Need your tongue." Billie smirks as you say that, proudly. Miko dives back in satisfied, herself. With how you responded. But she felt like teasing you, testing your limits. Billie seemed to be proud of that also, knowing you'd start to get bratty if she kept it up. "Make her cum, one more time. Then I'll come on over." Billie states, making Miko nod in response.

You should really run away.

She kept circling your clit with her tongue, moving back and forth from there, to your entrance. Your head is rested back as she does so feeling worn out but so amazing at the same time. All you could then think of was what Billie would do. "Make her work for it, need her begging." You look over at her, giving an annoyed little look. But she returns it with a warning one, causing you to immediately look away from her. It was nearing once again, the coil was incredibly close to snapping when Miko squeezes your thigh tightly. Signaling for you to not do so yet. A slight whimper comes from you, trying to hold it. "Please let me cum please-"

Her whole tongue inserted into you suddenly, rapidly sticking it in and out at an ungodly pace. You were shocked at how good she was, nearly as good as your girlfriend. Your mouth agape as your coming close to your release. "Please, please- need to." She looks up at you with such a lustful look. Pulling away slightly to speak. "Cum now." And so you did. Hard. Feeling just as amazing the first two times if not. Better. You let out ragged breaths. Miko removes herself from you. Standing up fully, swiping her thumb over her lip to get the excess cum and put it inside her mouth. "Hm, tasty." She says. Billie comes over standing next to her. "Isnt she." She smirks at you.

You sit up on your elbows, just now catching your breath. Billie inches closer towards you, crawling ontop of your figure. Your eyes glued to hers as she looks to your lips. "I don't think you're ready for this." She spoke in a hushed whisper. Leaning in to kiss you. Ofcourse you kiss back, honestly missing any kind of touch from her. Your hands reach out to gently place them on her face. But it's as if they had already discussed this, because Miko is lifting you up slightly, sitting on the bed and placing you on her lap. Your eyes dart back to Billies. Gulping. "What? Nervous?" Your head shakes but her eyebrow raises in a questionable way. "N-no..not nervous." You speak up.

"Hmm, good." You hadn't even noticed she attached the fake dick to herself, until you felt it near your entrance. Looking back at Billie once again and taking a tiny breath in. Were you nervous? "So wet." She says as her fingers swipe along your sticky cunt, from the multiple orgasms. You bite your lip subconsciously, feeling the dildo peek into your hole. "Please Bills.." Miko's hand moves to your throat, causing Billie to get closer to your face. "What's my name baby? Say it correctly and I'll give you what you want." You take a second, letting out a few staggered breaths. "Please fuck me mommy."

And thats exactly what she was about to do, sliding it in almost all the way, making you arch your back. Slowly bringing it down again as she begins to fuck into you. God this was so insane but amazing all at once. More moans fill the hotel room, you didn't care who listened to be honest you were too caught up on the feeling of Miko's hand still around your throat and Billie's hard thrusts to worry about what others may think. Billie begins to pick up the pace, Miko's other hand coming to cup one of your breasts sending pleasure throughout the whole of your body. Head to toe shivers consume you as her hand tightens just slightly.

Billie watches in amusement as your face contorts into pure ecstasy. Eyes rolling back as she enters you even deeper. You truly were on cloud 9. It just felt too good.

I wanna do bad things to you.

Her hand rests on your waist as she continues to fuck you, feeling you suck her in as if it were her own dick. Making Billie go more feral for you. Her other hand makes its way to your clit, rubbing slowly. Whimpers filling her ears as she does, feeling like she could cum from that alone. She craved to hear such sounds coming from your pretty lips. Drove her mental. Billie didn't feel like being as nice though, wanting to make you go mental. And it sure did. "You cum when I say to got it, pretty girl?" You let out a slight whine, not before shes grabbing your face with her fingers. Smushing your cheeks slightly. "Got. It?" "Yes.. - mommy." Her once Satisfied look returns, bigger than previously.

"Good girl, that's exactly what we like to hear. Isn't that right Miko?" She then replies. "Without a doubt Bill." Your breathing becomes irregular again, trying to gain that focus. "I- I'm so close." Billie just shakes her head. "Don't even think about it." You then feel Miko's soft fingers dance over your skin, moving their way down to your pussy to mess with your clit. "Bi-" You let out the filthiest moan ever, trying so hard to hold it. "C-cant.. please." You speak on the verge of tears. Bingo. Just what Billie was after. The little pout on your lips almost makes her give in. But she keeps drilling into you, so much harder making your head spin. "I-" "hold it."

"B-b..u." A near pornographic moan then ripped out of you, feeling your body shake. "Be a good girl baby. Know you can." - "hold it mama." Miko then whispers in your ear. Another whimper comes from your mouth trying so so hard to keep it in.

I wanna do bad things to you.

Billie goes close to your ear, close to Miko. They then kiss one another making you stare, as your girlfriend comes back into view. There was no denying how hot it was. Billie catches your eyes. She chuckles softly. "You enjoyed that didn't you bub?" You couldn't even speak. She lets that one slide, knowing how much you were struggling. "Precious girl can't even reply to you." Billie shakes her head at Miko. "Shes too busy crying over my dick huh baby?" Your head just rests back on Miko's shoulder. Almost screaming at the insane euphoria you felt. Miko's other hand quickly covers your mouth, tightening her grip on your throat. "Shhh baby not too loud."

I wanna make you yell.

Wanna do bad things to you.

Your eyes roll back again, letting out a groany whimper.

Don't wanna treat you well.

It was getting nearly impossible. Until Billie says the three words. "You can cum." And you gladly do, gushing all over the plastic dick inside you. Squirting a little over Billie. Your brain felt empty, having your eyes closed to try regain stability.

If you find it hard to swallow.

"Just one more angel, know you can." Your eyes snap to Billies. "S-so sore." Miko wipes the lingering tears on your face. But as she starts to move slowly, the need for more is inching its way back. Grabbing onto her hips. "Fuck!" You then scream, making Miko's hand return on your mouth. She eventually got an idea. "Open." She says to you. You do as told going to let her slender fingers enter your mouth. You suck needily, feeling Billie speed up yet again. Her thrusts go at an ungodly pace eventually sending your body to writhe and shake underneath her. Those tears coming back, you cry out of pleasure. Sucking harder on Miko's digits.

I kinda wanna look away.

Her grip on your neck loosens, keeping her fingers there for you to greedily suck on. She honestly enjoyed the feeling of it. Bringing that hand down from your neck to your nipple giving it a pinch. You moan around her fingers, feeling your fourth or fifth. You honestly lost count. Orgasm of that night.

Kinda wanna get involved.

Billies hands grip your waist, completely railing the fuck out of you. The sight infront of her making her moan, herself. Low, lustful. Filthy. Your eyes continue to gloss over feeling it coming closer and closer. But you listened to what she had said earlier, only when she says to.

Other people don't obey.

Her thrust continued, her stamina was impeccable. But you knew that already. Your hands reach out to touch her, grabbing at her tits. She smirks at you, knowing their your favorite. "Can feel how close you are. Tugging me in." You accidentally bite down slightly on Miko's fingers. Little did you know she didn't mind that, one. Bit. Your teeth retract from doing so, continuing the sucking motion.

You should really run away.

The coil was close to snapping, it got harder for Billie to even thrust at how tight you had became. She needed it, you needed it. Miko needed it. "Cum." She breathes.

Bad. Things.

You did with yet another scream, of who's name? Well ofcourse both. They both, made you cum. They both, made you scream. And there was no doubt this wouldn't be the last time this would happen.

It was your little secret.

#billie eilish x you #billie eilish smut #billie #billie eilish x reader smut #billie eilish x reader #billie eilish #young miko x you #young miko x reader #young miko smut #young miko #baby miko

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golden-cherry · 1 year ago

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deal - cl16 (22/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: This friendship is off to a great start. Or something like that.

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff because you all deserve it, tiny but of angst (because it wouldn't be my work if there wasn't angst in it), google translated French

Word Count: 2.9k

series masterlist

previous part

A/N: tadaaaaaa. did my best and I hopefully have time to update this story weekly. feedback is appreciated!

The other side of the bed is empty when you open your eyes.

Sunlight beams through the window and warms your face as you stretch your arms and lie back. A loud yawn escapes your mouth, but you are so well rested and relaxed that you don't care who can hear you.

Charles is probably hanging around the apartment somewhere and you can't help but smile at the thought of him.

You didn't expect you two to talk so soon, but now that the weight is off your shoulders and the secrets - both your unemployment and the Formula One thing - are out in the open, you feel a lot better. You slept well, snuggled up to Charles with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle. His warmth gave you security and comfort and although the road to this moment has been quite bumpy and rocky, you're glad you've finally arrived at this point.

Pure friendship.

It's the right thing to do, you tell yourself. This friendship is more important than anything else in this world. I'll be damned if I'm going to destroy the only good thing I have.

You lock your feelings deep inside you, bury them under many and thick layers of friendly affection so that no daylight can reach them. What remains inside you is silence, a pleasant, comforting silence.

You don't have to worry about what his pet names mean to you. You don't have to worry about eventualities that will certainly not become reality anyway. You can be there for Charles, as a friend - as someone who is there for him.

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed and stand up. There are some fresh clothes for you on a small chest of drawers - a turquoise shirt and short gray Puma sports shorts - which you quickly slip into. As you open the door to your room, the smell of batter fills your nose.

"Bonjour," Charles smiles at you as you enter the spacious, modern kitchen and sit down opposite him at the kitchen counter. Unlike last night, this time he's wearing a shirt and gray sweatpants, which hang low on his hips but still let you feel a little sigh of relief. With spatula in hand, he scrapes the pancake out of the pan to put it on a plate and slide it over to you. "How did you sleep?"

"Very well," you answer him and reach for the Nutella that is already in front of you. "And you?"

"Likewise." He turns off the stove and sits down next to you with another plate of pancakes. His knee nudges yours, but neither of you pulls your leg away. "The recipe is from my teammate. He says they're the best pancakes ever and I thought we could try them together."

As you spread the Nutella evenly on your pancake, you hand him the jar. His fingertips gently brush your hand. "So if they don't taste good, it's not your fault?" you grin and use your knife and fork to cut off a small piece before popping it into your mouth.

Charles watches your every move. "That's right. So? Did he lie?"

You shake your head. The pancake in your mouth is warm and soft and fluffy, vanilla is definitely one of the ingredients and as you swallow the piece, a little of the delicious taste remains. "It's really delicious," you reply and spear another piece with your fork. "But I think it's also down to how the pancakes are made. The batter can be as good as it wants to be, but if it's made incorrectly - nope. Then it can't be saved."

Your Monegasque friend pours a little orange juice into the empty glass in front of you. "Was that a compliment to the chef?" A grin spreads across his face and he waggles his eyebrows.

You playfully punch him in the shoulder with your fist. He pretends to almost fall off his chair. "My statement is to be considered purely objective."

Something flashes in Charles' green eyes, but before you can pinpoint it, he turns his gaze back to the breakfast. "I've heard you say that before," he mumbles before taking a bite. "But it really tastes great. I'll have to tell him when I see him again soon."

"What does your nutritionist say about you smearing so much Nutella on your pancake?" When he puts his index finger to his mouth, you have to smile. "Do you have to go back? To Italy?" The thought of Charles leaving you alone here in this big apartment makes you swallow hard. You only really talked to each other a few hours ago, does he really have to -

"No," he unintentionally interrupts your train of thought. "I don't think they want to see me there again so soon after I left yesterday. But that's just the way it is." He shrugs his shoulders. "More time for us." Before you can ponder the meaning of that sentence, he continues. "I know we've already talked this morning about what to do next, but I think we should discuss it again."

You raise an eyebrow in confusion. "What do you mean?"

The brunette purses his lips. "You said that you still want to be friends with me despite my job - and I think that's great - but you should really be sure."

"I am sure," you reply without hesitation.

"But you have to know what all this would mean for you if you take this," he points first to you and then to himself, "on. Dealing with all this is more difficult than you can imagine."

"All right," you reply, shoving the last piece of pancake into your mouth before washing it down with orange juice. "Go on then, Mr. Charles Leclerc."

He looks at you with a look that can't mean anything other than "Really?" before clearing his throat. "I've been in the public eye since I was little. It used to be karting, now it's Formula One. I'm used to people recognizing me, approaching me on the street and wanting to take photos. It's normal everyday life for me."

"Sounds a bit conceited," you joke, but Charles' expression suggests he's not in the mood for fun. "Okay. Je suis désolé."

"As soon as I leave the house, people talk about it. What I'm doing. Where I'm going. Who I'm spending time with. And my friends are set on the fact that when we're out and about, we can never be fully undisturbed." He chews on his lower lip for a moment. "With my female friends, things are a little more complicated."

"Meaning?"

He takes a deep breath. "As a Formula One driver, it's quite difficult to maintain friendships with the opposite sex. As soon as you do something together without anyone else around, it's portrayed as a date in the press or on social media. According to TikTok, I've had four new girlfriends since Annika and I split up. But nobody cares that they are the wives and girlfriends of my best friends. People see what they want to see. Even if it doesn't reflect the truth at all."

Without hesitation, you reach for his hand and stroke the back of it with your thumb. His skin is soft. "I'm terribly sorry about that. It must be awful."

Charles turns his hand a little so you can intertwine your fingers. "It's nothing new for me. It's more difficult for my friends. They are insulted, called names, judged. And all because they want to spend time with me, because that's what friends do. It's not fair. Not for anyone."

Now you understand why it's so important to Charles that you know this. His friendship has a price. And from what he tells you, it's not exactly cheap.

"The pressure on you would be huge. People will have opinions about you that you won't like. And no matter what you do, no matter how good you are - you won't be able to change them. And at some point, you'll be approached on the street without me, just because we're friends. The first time Joris was asked for a photo, he was completely taken aback."

You can see how much this is taking its toll on him and you don't even want to know how many friendships his name has already cost him. It's understandable that not everyone wants to take this risk, this life.

You squeeze his hand twice to attract his attention. When he looks at you, you smile. "Doesn't sound so bad," you try to cheer him up. The attempt fails miserably.

"I don't think you understand me." He shakes his head slightly and removes his hand from yours. "That's no small sacrifice. And there's no turning back once you do. You'll have no privacy once you leave this apartment. You'll be the talk of the town. About what you do, what you say and what clothes you wear. And all because we're friends."

You raise an eyebrow. "And what's in it for me then?"

He lowers his eyes again. His voice is quiet. "Just - me."

Your heart breaks for him.

How can he not know how wonderful he is? Ever since you've known each other, Charles has always given you the chance to get out of things. He's let you have the bed, driven your rickety Renault to protect you from the public, pushed you away - disgustingly, but still. And all so that you could have a choice.

You'd like to take him in your arms and hug him tightly, hoping you can patch up his shattered parts. And so you do. You get up from the chair and wrap your arms around him so tightly that he gasps in surprise. He slides off his chair into a firm stance so that your hands slide a little lower down his back. A moment later, when you feel one of his hands on your spine and the other in your hair, you press your cheek against his hard chest.

"I wish you could see yourself the way I do," you murmur against the soft fabric of his shirt, whereupon he presses you a little closer to him.

"How do you see me?" he whispers against the top of your head. You feel his lips on your scalp. "Like a crazy, jealous guy who shows up at your place in the middle of the night and starts a fight with your ex?"

"You're an idiot." You lift your face from his chest and tilt your head back so you can look at him. He looks down at you. "You're such a wonderful person, Charles. And I would be honored if you wanted me as a friend."

"Are you really sure?" His warm breath brushes over your face. "There's so much you -"

"I'm sure," you interrupt him.

"There's a series on Netflix you can watch so you can get a better understanding of -"

"I'm sure."

"Y/N, please -"

"Don't you want to be my friend?" You want to take a step backwards so you can really look at him, but he's so comfortably warm and his gaze is so heartbreaking that you don't want to let him go under any circumstances.

"I want nothing more than that. Really." The hand that was in your hair a moment ago rests against your cheek and your thumb strokes it gently. "But there's so much you have to give up. And just for me."

You nestle your face against his warm skin. "You're all I have. And that's all I need."

His gaze softens and he gently kisses your forehead before holding you close one last time and then letting go. "The Netflix series isn't that good anyway. It doesn't reflect what really happens on race weekends." He sits back down at the counter and grabs another pancake.

You join him. "I'm not surprised. Netflix will do anything to make money and twisting reality to make it more marketable is nothing new." You copy him with the pancake.

"Exactly. And if you want to know anything, you can ask me. Your friend - the Formula One driver," he grins, shoving a bite between his two jaws.

"You said yesterday that this season has been a throwaway. What do you mean?" you ask him, emptying the bottle of orange juice into your glasses.

Charles shrugs his shoulders. "The car and the strategies didn't work as they should have. The Scuderia made more cock-ups than you can stand."

You have to suppress a grin. "Then wouldn't it be smarter to call it the Screwderia?"

His gaze is emotionless as you look at him. "That's the worst joke I've ever heard." He smirks. "But you're right about that."

It's obvious that your friend feels a lot more comfortable now that he's told you the truth. The passion with which he talks about the sport is infectious, and you listen to him as attentively as you can. There's a sparkle in his eyes, his smile almost reaches your ears as he talks about his victories and podiums.

How could you not want to be friends with him?

When you're done with breakfast, Charles sends you to explore the apartment while he does the dishes. After brushing your teeth and getting a bit more ready - you keep your clothes on, they're comfortable and Charles' after all - you wander through the rooms.

The living room is kept simple, with white furniture and a comfortable-looking couch where you can watch the second part of Cars. Next to it on a shelf are several trophies and even helmets, which you take a quick look at.

There's even a white piano. A red rose arrangement with the word Love is placed on it. As you run your fingers over the wood of the instrument, you hear Charles enter the room.

"The roses are from Annika. They're not real, so they can stay longer." He steps from one foot to the other.

"Why haven't you thrown them away yet?" you ask him as you turn to face him.

He shrugs his shoulders. "I haven't gotten around to it yet. And Annika was still living here until yesterday. So..."

You nod weakly and change the subject. "Have you been practicing here?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, I don't have much time to play because of Formula One. It was good to play in the bookshop. Even if it was completely improvised."

You remember every single note. The passion he poured into the keys to create an incredibly beautiful piece of music. The passion he felt. How beautiful he looked in the warm light. "It was beautiful. It really was."

"It's your song." He smiles lovingly. "It's as beautiful as you are."

Like magnets, you move towards each other. As he holds out his hand, you place yours in it so that he can gently turn you in a circle before pulling you close. Your hands rest on your chest and you feel his strong heartbeat under your fingertips as you smooth down his shirt. His hands are on your lower back, pressing you against him so that you arch towards him.

"Charles."

"Mm-hmm." His gaze flickers back and forth between your eyes and your lips, making your heart beat faster.

You hypocrite, you hear your conscience say as your one hand slides to the nape of his neck and plays with the fine hair there. Charles closes his eyes and something you can only categorize as a moan escapes his throat.

"Please don't stop," he whispers and leans his forehead against yours. The tips of your noses nudge against each other.

"With what?" you ask softly, even though you know exactly what he means.

"Touching me." His voice sounds almost like a deep groan. "Tu me fais tellement de bien.“ you feel so good.

You would never stop. It seems like an invisible boundary was torn down last night and you haven't been able to stop touching each other since. His knee against yours at breakfast. Your embrace. Your half-naked bodies pressed together a few hours ago when you were talking.

Even if you wanted to, you couldn't stop touching him.

Hypocrite, repeats the annoying voice in your head.

Without thinking about it, you arch towards him another inch and Charles draws in a sharp breath.

"Charles?" A woman's voice sounds from the hallway and the Monegasque opens his eyes. „Chéri, tu es à la maison?“ darling, are you home?

Your eyes search his as he suddenly breaks away from you and takes a step back. Panic is practically written all over his face.

"Who's that?" you ask silently, but get no answer.

The footsteps from the hallway come closer and when you turn around, a woman is standing in front of you, looking first at you and then at Charles before her gaze lingers on you. "'Qui avons-nous là?“ who do we have here? she asks, walking towards you before grabbing your hands and giving you a kiss on the left cheek, then the right.

"Maman, que fais-tu ici?" mom, what are you doing here? Charles asks hesitantly, taking a step towards you both.

Maman?

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc blurb #carlos sainz jr #lando norris #charles leclerc imagines #scuderia ferrari #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc cute #f1 smut #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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godmadeaterribleerror · 25 days ago

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Chapter 16 - Try to Catch It

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Google maps, wikipideia, and the spn wiki hate to see me coming right before I write a new chapter.

Chapter Title from Happiness is a butterfly by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 17.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: New enemies are made, and strange things are uncovered. Usual warnings

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 15 - Chapter 17

Read on A03!

You can’t smell anything but sulfur. Hear anything but screams. See anything but foul, thick darkness, and iron chains, and rivers of blood below your feet.

And Dean.

You can see Dean.

He never looks at you. You’re here, every fucking night, and he never turns around and looks at you. He’ll move right through you, and past you, and around you.

It’s what you deserve.

You failed him. There are bruises and scars over the Gold, and they’re your fault. You were the weak one, and Dean’s suffering for it. He’s battered and worn and beaten down, there are little shadows swirling around his soul that keep it fully from your vision, and you fucking did this to him.

He glides through everything like it’s mechanical. Every last piece of the boyish, smug charm in his steps and voice and words are gone. He doesn’t even speak at all.

He never does anything more hold those weapons in his hands, and add blood to the floor.

And Dean won’t look at you because he can’t see you.

Because you’re not here to him at all.

You stopped trying to make him see you a while ago. When it became obvious that no matter how loud you screamed his name he wouldn’t hear, no matter how much you sobbed at his feet he wouldn’t notice, and that when you shoved him—hard, as if the sheer force of it could rocket him back up to your side—you passed right through him, as if you were the dead one.

You miss him.

You tell him that every night, over the screams of the other damned. That you miss him, and he’s gone and will never know it, but you’re going to keep missing him, and loving him, and telling him every night until you join him.

It’s easier than looking at the people on the racks in front of him. All the color spilling down with the blood. It’s like oil. Dark and glinting and covering the world.

But this is better than when it was gold, mixing with the blood.

And you can see the souls of the people who are screaming now. Most of them are mundane. Dull, neutral, flat tones that you’d never look at twice.

But they’re not Golden.

And it’s not Dean’s fault he does this.

You’ve seen the comfortable, smooth, vile gray of the demon that’s over his shoulder. He can’t see or hear you—none of them can—but you still try to hurt him, every time he comes near. You did, when it was Dean on the rack, and you did it only minutes ago when he was pacing around the victim—a twisting smile forming in his rolling smoke—and you’ll keep doing it until you scream and scratch and it actually fucking does something.

It won’t. It never does.

So you’ve settled for petty mockery, to ease that pain.

“He’s ugly, Deano.” You hum, examining your nails as he slices into another, cleaner soul with a knife.

He won’t hear you.

But it does make you feel better.

“You wouldn’t like him, back home. You’d call him a douchebag.” You pause, watching him return to your side, but only to grab another tool. “You did call him a douchebag. A few weeks ago. And a lot of other, better names. You’ve always been better at insults, though.”

He doesn’t answer.

“You’d be proud of me.” You keep going. This whole thing is for you, anyway. “I called someone a cunt yesterday. But you also would’ve said ‘you do that without me too, Princess.’ And I do. But I- I still wanted to tell you.”

Dean picks up something like a poker, turning it over in his hand. Your voice is starting to get choked.

This always fucking happens.

“I miss you.” You whisper. “I miss you so fucking much. And I know you’re gone, but I still miss you. And I-“

You always choke on the words. He’ll never hear them. You still need to say it anyway.

“I love you, Dean.” You reach a slightly glowing hand up to his face, tracing over the lines of his cheeks, as he scowls at the victim over his shoulder. “I do. I love you, and I miss you, and I’m-“ You swallow down a weak, useless sob. “I’m sorry. I love you, and I’m so fucking sorry.”

There’s a brief moment where he pauses. Where you could fucking swear Dean leans into your touch, and the Gold flares a little brighter, and when green eyes scan over the fire and blood, it’s like he’s looking for something.

You don’t cling to this a lot. He’s done it before.

And he still never sees you.

Dean returns to his rack, and you sit by his side and keep your eyes trained on his pretty face, telling him more and more about your day while you can. While you have Dean—even this marred and darkened version of him, because you’re not a fucking saint and you love him more than you hate what he forced to be doing—you’ll talk to him as much as you can.

And you’ll be back later. Your mind hates you, so you’ll be back tomorrow night, and nothing will have changed.

For months, nothing has ever changed.

But you feel it before you hear it.

Sheer, raw, pure fucking power, rocketing around and over you, making the air electric and hot and strange.

Something is coming.

And nobody else is reacting, in those few seconds before it begins.

Then the screams start, and Dean looks up.

He can hear them.

And they’re warped and distorted, so they’re demon screams, and you don’t know what the fuck is happening but whatever is shredding demons a few floors up is drawing closer.

You’re not really here. There’s nothing you can do.

But you can sense it, cleaving through hell and getting far too fucking close, aimed like a cannon at Dean, and nobody can hear or see or touch you, but whatever this is, it’s coming for Dean, and you already fucking failed him-

You don’t think when you grab Dean’s arm.

And your nails sink into his skin.

Dean’s head whips around to where you’re standing, and he can see you. You know he can. His eyes are shining, and that river of silver light that’s been muddied over in his soul is starting to gleam the longer he stares, and-

He says your name. His voice is hoarse and rough, but Dean says your name, and if the power wasn’t so fucking close, you would’ve started crying.

“What’re you-“

Something nuclear slams into you, and you let go of him with a shriek. It’s loud. It’s so fucking loud, and it’s too much, and the Silver is trying to expand out of your body but it’s as if something—maybe the fact that you’re really, truly, not real here—is clamping and shoving it down.

Dean shouts your name as you collapse on the jagged stone, reaching for you with a panicked expression, but he never gets a chance to grab you.

The sky cleaves open, and it’s here.

Something rainbow and furious—made of a million eyes and shimmering fire—crashes down onto Dean’s little platform on six, beating wings.

It’s looking at you. A thousand fists go slack at its side, and all those burning eyes widen as it glances between you and Dean, who’s still trying to take slow steps back to where you’re lying on the ground.

“You should not be here.” It says. “Wake up.”

Everything feels like it’s burning.

It might be the residue of Hell, and the fire, and whatever the fuck that thing in your dream was. But it’s probably just the humidity. The itching, wet heat of Bolivia, making the thin motel sheets stained with sweat and giving you a horrible fucking migraine.

Although the migraine is normal, now. You have it whenever you wake up, and Dean is ripped away from you once more.

Those dreams started when he died, and you don’t really know if they’re real, or just a sick, twisted part of your brain trying to offer you some relief, but they might continue for the rest of your fucking life.

Because every night you pass out with your knife in your hand, and you dream of Dean in Hell. Every morning you wake up with a weak noise and stinging in your eyes.

You hope it’s not real.

You’ve given up on trying to rationalize how it may be, how it could be, how that might really be your Dean—his soul, beaten and shredded and surrounded by fire—because the idea makes you feel sick.

And you have other things to worry about.

There’s still a little bit of blood under your nails, and you’ve given up on scrubbing it away. You can’t get rid of it. You think it might be a buildup, after months and months of spilling it over your feet and staining it on your hands.

Months on the run. Months sleeping in your car and being anywhere but home, because you can’t. You fucking can’t. You broke your phone when Dean died, and you never went home. Home is where they brought Dean’s body. Home is where you’d see all your own hollowness reflected on Sam’s face, and have to pretend like something hasn’t withered away inside you both. Something that’s never going to grow again. Something you can feel, but Sam can’t, and you’re both going to have to keep fucking living with as the world only continues to turn without Dean.

Home is where Bobby would try to tell you that you were tough, and that you’d get through this, and that Dean wouldn’t want ya to kill yourself over him. He’d want ya to keep goin’, and mournin’ him cause we all miss him, but he ain’t gonna like it if we make this a big fuckin’ deal and join him.

Bobby would’ve been right, if you let him say that.

But you didn’t. And you don’t want to hear it. You know what Dean would’ve wanted. His last note is still folded up in your jacket, right next to where you keep your knife. And you don’t want the whole don’t try to mess with things and bring him back speech, because it doesn’t matter.

You tried to bring him back. In the first month, while you were still in the states, you summoned countless demons and told all of them to bring Dean Winchester back, but none of them would take your deal. And after you killed all of them, they started sending Lilith.

“I told you, little one.” She’d sighed, scanning over you in another empty warehouse. “You are untouchable, and Dean Winchester is not coming back.”

“He could.” You’d hissed, spinning the Blade in your hand. “If you stopped being such a fucking pussy, you could bring him back-“

“That is out of my power.”

“No, it’s not-“

“But if you were to try yourself,” Lilith had tilted her head at you, and the Silver had flared. “Who’s to say?”

You’re not stupid. You know she was baiting you. Trying to trick you into using the Silver more, into becoming more of whatever she thinks you are.

It doesn’t matter.

You’re past the point of caring about tricks and manipulations and grand evil plans.

You just want Dean back.

So you were all in.

The White and Darkness haven’t split, since he died. It’s remained melded into Silver, but volcanic and sparking and volatile. Still too far out of your control, still impossible to understand, but together.

And it still really fucking hurts.

But by now you can’t tell if the pain is the Silver, or just that hollow fucking grief. The loathing that keeps twisting over your skin and organs, reminding you that no matter how good you get at this—at controlling the Silver, at spells and rituals and enchantments, at working and working on being whatever you need to be to keep going—you’re no closer to bringing Dean back. You’ve read the Book a million times, but there’s nothing in there to help you raise the dead. You’ve travelled further and further south, looking for some sort of answer, but you’ve found nothing.

Your flask has mixed a million potions, but every corpse has remained rotting in the ground. You’ve summoned a million spirits and demons, but none of them have had pretty features and or a drawling, teasing voice that calls you Princess and tells you everything is going to be okay. You’ve destroyed a million motel rooms and highways and abandoned buildings when the hollow, dreadful grief got the better of you, but Dean has never emerged from the wreckage. There have been a million failed experiments, a million sleepless nights on the roof of your car, and a million times you’ve goaded a monster or spirit into hurting you because you can’t hurt yourself.

It’s part of learning to use the Silver. Years of conditioning makes self-inflicted pain shred it—makes it recoil and whine—and you need to use it if you’re going to keep going. There’s no point in fighting it anymore. There’s no one left to stay better for.

And you’re sick in a new way, where you don’t really eat, and you laugh whenever a knife drives into your gut. Where you’ve started to hear Dean’s voice on the wind, and the world is colorless, and nothing will just fucking kill you, but it should.

You’re only a storm, now. Only a girl that’s infected and razed everything she’s touched, because there’s not any color left to preserve.

The Spiderweb is still clinging to your body. Running along your veins and nerves, right into the Silver, and empty.

No light cast around it.

No Dean.

So you’re just the fucking storm. You’ve destroyed every green demon that’s come for you. You try not to kill the monsters with the Silver, but just because you’re back to the experiments. There’s always a little bit of gold stained on your fingertips with the blood, but it fades every day and you’re dreading the moment it’s gone for good.

You might break something more permanent, when it does.

And the Sky will finally stop fucking watching, and come for you.

You don’t know what it’s breaking point will be. Maybe the next ritual from the Book you practice. Maybe the next demon you cut up. Maybe the next time you push the Silver a little too far over the edge, when you become far too big and you can feel the concentration of the earth below your feet to stay together, and you tell it to open up so you can go get Dean, and it finally does.

But for now, the Sky just fucking watches.

You talk to it sometimes. When you can’t sleep and you have a migraine, when you can feel the stickiness of the heat and the pain of the rotting wood below your feet. You want it to know that you won’t stop. That until it fucking talks to you, comes for you and puts you down—or swallows you, or takes you away and locks you up—you’re not going to get better. You’ll keep being sick, and you’ll keep caving in on yourself, and if it’s not careful you’ll make sure you’re too fucking malevolent to take.

You’ll ruin yourself. The Silver is a hurricane in your body, and you can escalate every ritual in the book to be almost as big as you are, until you fucking shatter something, and the Sky has no choice but to come bargain with you itself.

John Winchester should’ve killed you when he met you.

You really are a fucking sickness.

And you’ll only grow sicker, until you’re cured, force-fed medicine, or simply fucking dissipate.

You still don’t know what you are. You’ve tried to find other witches, older witches, who might know, but nobody has. There was one crone, with wrinkle hands and blind eyes, who was centuries old and told you about the days where all of us were hunted, then paused and said, but not you, dear, they couldn’t hunt you.

“Why?” You’d asked, leaning forward over her small, wooden table, and she’d shrugged.

“Hard to hunt something that’s not real, isn’t it?”

“But-“

“You wanted to learn about divination or not?”

You’d swallowed, and nodded. That’s what you were here for. What you’d been trying to do every month.

Embracing the Silver—no matter how much it hurt and tore you apart, you really are trying to embrace the Silver—meant embracing witchcraft with it. Not just your own little experiments and rituals. The whole thing. Spells and hexes and too many Latin words and a million books.

The crone had showed you how to read tea leaves.

She tried to show you how to read tea leaves.

You’d looked into your cup, seen something like a bird, a book, and a cross, and the cup had burst into flame.

You’d been thrown out of the crone’s cabin, and when you’d looked up, the Sky had been watching.

It had done that. You know it had. It didn’t seem to mind you learning more basic things—cleaning spells to keep yourself from living in filth, potions that let you stay awake for days on end when you couldn’t stand to see Dean in hell, rituals to test out new ideas—but it hated when you tried to look into the future.

“You’re a fucking douchebag.” You’d snapped at it a few nights ago, standing on the top of a mountains after a hunt, wiping blood off your hands with a rag. “And I’m not going to stop. I’ll die before I stop.”

The Sky hadn’t responded. It didn’t need to.

You knew it was listening, and that it didn’t like the idea of you dying. The stars had gotten a little brighter in warning, and you’d flipped them off.

Warning was pointless.

You had fucking nothing to lose.

You’d been hunting an acalica. A little old weather wizard, whose spit you’re keeping in your flask for when you need it.

There’s a spell in the Book that calls for it. A tracking spell, to move you to a vortex of power. A point on the earth where magic is more powerful, where you could try and see what you can do, when barriers are weaker.

There are three on every continent, you’re pretty sure one is in Kansas, and Sam would’ve found that interesting. He would’ve said that there are no coincidences in this job, then asked you how you know about the vortex points.

You would’ve told him that the book mentions them. That it’s full of tiny, odd and interesting notes that he’d like, and he can borrow it, if he wants.

You haven’t told him that, though. You haven’t spoken to Sam since Dean died. You haven’t spoken to Bobby, either. Or Jo.

It’s better like that. They don’t have to look at you and see the monster. Look at you and see just how horribly Dean’s death broke you, that you’re trying so fucking hard to remain yourself but you’re drowning in the Silver, and there’s no light at all to guide you back to the surface.

It doesn’t stop the guilt from gnawing at your gut. You left Sam alone, right after he lost Dean. You stopped talking to Jo, after she put up with all your bullshit, all your desperation that ended up amounting to nothing.

Bobby might think you’re dead. He’s always deserved a better, easier kid to deal with than you. He took you in without knowing, and he took care of you, and you just vanished off the face of the earth without a word. He might have burned your clothing and possessions, thinking you had died, and giving you a hunter’s funeral.

There’s a chance he did it with Dean. That he burned you away, right alongside Dean’s-

You don’t want to think about that. Whenever you do, you end up in the bathroom, vomiting up whatever little food is in your body, because the thought of Dean, shredded apart and empty and staring into-

Fuck.

You push off the stiff mattress, stumbling into the slightly molding bathroom and falling to your knees at the toilet. Your own retching manages to drown out the sounds of birds and bugs outside, the static, grating hum of the fan over your head.

You can’t stay here. Once you get all the ingredients for the vortex tracking spell, you’ll cast it and move out of town.

You’ll get through this.

You fucking have to.

And maybe when you reach the vortex and turn yourself into nothing but Silver, infecting the earth and making it split apart so you can fall right into Hell, the Sky will finally fucking come down and talk to you.

Sam, Bobby, and Jo don’t need to know that, either. That you’ve gone insane, and you’re talking to the Sky so often. That you think the Sky is watching you and waiting to take you for itself.

You’d sound insane. Like losing Dean finally tipped you over from reckless plans and odd words into downright nonsense. Babbling like a lunatic about the Sky and the colors and how you can’t really tell what you are anymore—more than before, you really don’t know what you are when everything is Silver but it still hurts—and you’re right back to the crazy little girl Bobby picked up on the side of the road.

They have each other. They don’t need you. Nobody’s ever needed you but Dean.

And you failed him.

So it’s better for them not to know.

When the last bit of your dinner falls out of your stomach, you can’t tell if you’re lightheaded from the heat or the nausea. It doesn’t really matter.

Neither food nor air conditioning will fix you.

But just sitting here, staring at your bile and vomit in the toilet bowl, isn’t going to do you any favors. You have to go back up the mountain today, then run down it to get to your car, and no matter how sick you always are you still need the strength.

To climb, and—if you need to—fight.

There’s a pretty high fucking chance those suit and tie assholes are going to find you again, and you’re going to have to fight.

That’s a problem for future you. More accurately for future them, because no matter how many times they tell you to stop, you won’t, and you always escape them unscathed.

They can call you a monster, or a bitch, or a cunt, or a problem, or an abomination all they fucking want. It’s nothing you don’t already know. Nothing you’re not trying to be, because the human in you isn’t what’s going to make the Sky speak. The human won’t bring Dean back.

The demons didn’t stop hunting you because of the human. The Sky doesn’t watch you because of the human. The witches don’t take you in and teach your whatever you ask because of the human.

They do it because you show them the Blade, and they look at you with fearful awe, and give you food and shelter and all their books like you’re some sort of fucking Royalty. They watch you like you’re a bomb set to go off, glance at the Blade with wide eyes, and then send you out of their home like they can see that you’re a plague, and can’t wait to clean themselves of your disease.

You feel like an occupying army, whenever that happens. They act like they can’t say no, like it’s some sort of secret code you’re not allowed to be privy to, like you tell them how you can see their soul, and suddenly they’re obliged to aid you however you ask.

“Do you know what I am?”

Your words had been careful, the first and only time you dared to venture down that path, and the dark haired witch across the table had smiled at you.

She’d said she was old. Ancient. Thought dead across the ocean, and that you could call her Letitia as long as you never repeated her name.

She’d seemed like the right type of person to ask.

“There’s no modern word for it.” She’d hummed, shuffling the tarot deck between long fingers. “Most witches you encounter will not know why they are listening to you, only that they must. You from the oldest of our kind. You are… a little more than us.” She’d titled her head at you. “But you’ve guessed that already, haven’t you?”

You’d nodded, spinning the blade in your hands. “Do you know the word?”

Letitia had laughed. “I’m old, but not that old.”

“Then how do you-“

“You’re like a folk tale.” She’d hummed. “The Grand Coven is taught to warn about the return of your kind, my mentor used to warn of it, but it had been so long since a true one was born… I never suspected to meet any of you. Let alone one of your… magnitude.”

You’d frowned at her. “What-“

“That knife in your hands cannot be wielded by just anyone. It’s just as much a legend as you are.”

That had made you sit a little straighter. If there was a legend, there was a story. And no matter how slowly Letitia spoke, you’d been willing to turn to stone in that chair, just for one fucking answer.

“Legend?”

She’d hummed, giving you a soft, almost crude smile. “Don’t ask me to recite it, child. It’s just as lost to time as your ancestors.”

You didn’t just give up. You couldn’t. You hadn’t driven the Firebird to fucking Peru just to give up. “Then how do you even know it’s real?”

“What color is my soul?”

“Dark purple.” You’d answered in half a second. “A little gray, too.”

Letitia’s smile had grown. “That. That is how I know.”

“But-“

“And you should practice that more often,” she’d started to deal the cards, her voice almost bored. “You are not going to find any witch in the Coven’s favor to help you with it, and it’s only a little more than a party trick. It could be much, much more.”

You hadn’t gotten to tell Letitia that you didn’t really fucking care to be more. That you just fucking wanted Dean back, and that was the only reason you were entertaining witchcraft at all.

But you’d still taken her advice. The Book was filled with small notes on souls, on how they were forbidden to tamper with for most anyone, but the women of the high were like their keepers. Their tamers. Their crafters and wielders.

You’d been made to touch souls.

You still just wanted Dean.

And if this was another way to maybe, possibly, desperately get to him, you’d fucking take it.

So now you have a ritual.

Clean and pack up the motel room, and move it all to the car. You won’t be here tomorrow night, and it’s better to sleep in the Firebird when you can.

It’s still has a little bit of lingering Gold, too. Under the hood and over the stereo, twined into all the cassette tapes Dean left you that he’ll never get to-

One last stop in the bathroom, dry heaving until the thought of Dean with his brain out of his ears leaves your head.

Coffee. Food. You need fucking coffee and food, and it’s as good a place as any to practice.

Sometimes, when you do this, you pretend Dean’s there with you. That you’re not at a tiny coffee-and-book shop in Bolivia, speaking broken Spanish and alone in the whole, washed-out world. Instead, in your head, you’re in a mall, Dean’s grinning at you across from a table with his second burger in hand, and you’re telling him everything you see because he’d make it easier to say.

Things were always easier with Dean. Easier to have, easier to do, easier to accept or fight or shout, but easier. More. The most.

You miss him.

You grab extra napkins, when they pass you the food, just in case you start crying again.

You’ve gotten better about doing that on the side of highways, parked under trees and on cloudy nights so the sky can’t see, but it still slips out, sometimes. When you see the sunlight rippling over flowers and leaves, and hear soft birdsong, or feel your knife in your jacket and remember that Dean gave you both.

Technically he stole your jacket, then gave it back.

That doesn’t make you miss him any less. It’s only really effective in making you love him more.

But he’s never going to feel sunlight on his skin again, or pick a flower again, or hear any sort of music and sing at the top of his lungs while the wind is in his hair, and he’s never going to be able to grumble about you using a knife instead of a gun, and you’re never going to be able to roll your eyes at him and tell him to shut up when really, you’d trade the whole fucking world to hear him say just one more word-

There’s the crying.

Your coffee tastes a little salty now.

You don’t care. You have some practice to do.

You train in on a small, light eyed woman in the corner of the shop. Reading a book and eat some bread, completely occupied in her own world.

She won’t notice you staring at her. Pulling out a notebook and scratching down notes without thought, not looking for anything in particular.

Just practicing. Seeing what you can see.

She’s a soft but saturated green. Starting in her hands before spreading over her body. She shimmers a little, when she moves, and every single part of her is drawn together. Firm. Immovable.

She goes in group four. Earthy souls.

Because, the longer you’ve been doing this, the more you’ve been looking, the more you’ve been able to see.

It started with noticing more colors, running and moving over the first, stark one. Colors that fly away in a second, little layered bits bleeding through and out of each other. Sometimes they’re grooved deep into the soul, sometimes just stained on the surface, but they’re always there. Intricate. Like little extra bit of string, woven into each tapestry, making patterns that you have to know how to look for, in places you have to know how to find.

And every soul looks different. That was the second thing. They’re like elements, once you’d studied them long enough. Raging up and around like fire, flowing like water, smooth like air, or—in the case of this woman, with her book—solid like earth.

Like Pokémon. Dean had muttered in the back of your ear, when you were coming up with the system. Or, wait, maybe like that horoscope bullshit.

If it had been real, you would’ve giggled and asked him what the hell he knew about Pokémon, and he would’ve grumbled that it was just a thought, but that he did think they were funny little sons of bitches. Then you would’ve asked him what his favorite Pokémon was, and he would’ve told you that he didn’t have one, and when the fake-argument finally ended—you would’ve won, because you always won those dumb fights—you would’ve explained that it wasn’t like Pokémon. That it was the Classical Greek elements, and that you didn’t know what that meant yet, but you had some working theories.

You would’ve shown your theories to Sam, to get his opinions.

Dean would’ve called you freakin’ nerds, but refused to leave the table when Sam told him that he didn’t have to sit and listen, if you’re so bored.

You would’ve smiled at him, and nudged his calf with your foot under the table, and he would’ve smiled back, and-

You’d just started crying again.

Just like you’re crying now.

And the woman’s noticed. She’s looking at you like you’re odd—and you are, but it’s still annoying—and she’s closing her book, and standing up-

Shit.

You don’t have a good cover, and you drop all your attention to your notebook and it’s words—floating slightly off the page as you try to get your shit together, and stop shaking with silent sobs where the Sky can see—as the woman cross the room to stand over you.

She introduces herself in Spanish.

Your dumb blinks must have tipped her off that you don’t understand her, because she sighs, and repeats the introduction in English.

“Are you okay?” Her voice is soft. Like she actually cares.

You almost start fucking crying again.

“Yeah, um, sorry, I-“ You can do better than this. You’re a good actress. You can slide into the innocent persona when you need to. You can.

You’re coming up empty, but you can.

“Your book,” you mumble, twisting the skin of your fingers. “Looked interesting. Sorry I was staring.”

The woman—Marta, she said—glances down to the worn paperback in her hands, and shakes her head. “It is alright. A little ridiculous.”

“Oh?” You don’t really care, but you still have to pretend you do. To sell it. “Would you recommend it?”

“Do you like ghost stories?”

You give her a grimacing smile. “Kind of, but I’ve heard a lot of them. I’m hard to impress.”

She hums, and drops into your spare seat. Apparently, this is now a conversation. “These are ghost stories. They are… beyond belief. But the characters are interesting. Sexy.”

You blink at her. “Huh. Sexy ghosts?”

“Sexy ghost hunters.”

“Hu- Fuck.” You’d dropped your fork. It had been spinning between your fingers, and you’d tossed it half across the room. You’ll get it later. “Sorry, did you say hunters?”

Marta nods, and places her book face up on the table. “Monster hunters. It is not well written, either.”

You pull the book a little closer, and the cover is… interesting. Two men—one with ridiculous hair, and the other shirtless for unknown reasons—standing before a big house on fire, with a shadowy figure in the doorway holding an axe.

The shirtless man is leaning against a sleek, black car.

His face is familiar.

Green eyes. Pretty features. Dark blond hair.

There’s no fucking way.

“Supernatural?” You glance back up to Marta, keeping your face perfectly neutral, and she nods.

“It is a series.” She taps cover of the book as she speaks. “This is the seventeenth book. Hell House.”

“What- Uh, what’s the series about?”

“Two brothers. They hunt the monsters.”

You swallow. “They’re the sexy ones?”

Marta nods, and you might throw up. Again.

“Is that one,” you tap the shirtless man on the cover. “Named Dean?”

“Oh, have you read them before?”

“I-“ Deep breaths. Everything is spinning, and the Silver is churning in your body, but you need to take deep breaths. “No. May I?”

Marta nods, says something about going to get another coffee—it’s a good thing she’s nice, or you would’ve had to steal her book and run—and leaves you to flip through this strange, impossible book.

It’s… worryingly accurate. Marta was right, it’s not well written, but you don’t really give a shit about that. You already know the story anyway.

Because you remember Dean calling you, all the way back when John was missing, and telling you about it. About the two idiots who’d interfered with the case, and how proud he and Sam were to gank a tulpa. You’d remember how he’d grumbled about you guessing that it was a tulpa before he even finished the story, and how he’d muttered a lot easier to work it out when you’re not fighting for your life, Princess.

You’d told him that it was also easier when you weren’t engaging in a prank war with your brother. Dean had snapped that he’d won that war, so it was worth it, and then Sam had shouted from somewhere in the background that they’d called a truce, so nobody won.

The prank war was in here too. Right down the that stupid fish Dean had made you listen to—holding it up to the speaker until you hung up, and he called you back laughing like a handsome idiot—and superglued bottle Sam had been incredibly happy to tell you about.

Those phone calls aren’t in here, even though they happened while they were still in the city. It’s the only thing that doesn’t line up with what you remember. Sam had even run the Hollywood producer thing by you.

But other than that, it’s perfect. That’s even how Sam and Dean talk, in the dialogue.

You can hear his fucking voice, in your head.

You would’ve started crying again, if you didn’t suddenly have a lot of new problems at once.

There’s a man, when you look up to the coffee counter, trying to check where Marta is in the line. A man dressed in a neat suit that must be stuck to his skin with all the heat, his hair perfectly combed and style, and his posture straight and self-assured.

Fuck.

They got here faster than you thought they would. You’re still not sure how they’re tracking you—you’ll have to go through the Firebird, one last time, just to make sure they didn’t fucking bug it again—but you’d recognized that dipshit anywhere.

Douchebag, Dean’s voice grumbles in your head. Fuckin’ douchebag.

He’s right. They’re douchebags. Idiotic, holier than thou, preachy fucking douchebags.

Marta’s not getting her book back.

Because you’re shoving it into your bag, keeping one hand on the blade in your jacket, and booking it for the door.

The first gunshot goes off before you even push it open. Aimed right over your shoulder, making the glass shatter and slicing open your hand.

That’s pretty fucking rude.

You were trying to play nice.

You’ve been practicing a lot for this. You’ve done it several times over the past few months, since your first encounter with this douchebag, who—when you turn to glare at him—is unfazed by the screams around the shop, and has started to advance towards you with a military-grade rifle in hand.

You give him a sweet smile, wave with your bloodied hand, and let the Silver crash out of your body.

Every window breaks at once, all the coffee bursts from the machines, your fork on the floor flies for his trigger hand, and you’re running. Booking it to the firebird with your bag over your shoulder, weaving through the parking lot and digging your keys out of your pockets as the suit roars your name behind you, but your car is faster is their’s, so you just have to fucking get in the-

“Slow down,” a voice drawls your name in your ear, right as a gun presses to the back of your head. “Here I thought you’d be happy to see us.”

You sigh, keeping your voice bored. Level. “I just don’t like surprises, Ketch. And I don’t like you, either.”

Ketch laughs in your ear. It’s a horrible, haughty sound.

Dean would’ve agreed. He would’ve snapped at you for being dumb and reckless and running around alone, when you knew these idiots were still hunting you, but he would’ve agreed all the same.

You really fucking miss him.

“I’ve told you to call me Arthur-“

“And I’ve told you to suck my dick.”

“There are those lovely manners, again. Such a charmer.” Ketch grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him and nodding to the Blade in your hand. “Drop it.”

You glance at the Blade. It was a dumb move to grab it, instead of the knife. You’re pretty sure Ketch doesn’t know anything about it—somehow, because these rich assholes seem to know everything—and you really don’t want him to touch it, but he’s got a fucking gun to your head.

So you let the Blade clatter down to the ground, and move your foot to cover the hilt.

Ketch follows the movement, and raises his brows.

“I don’t want to lose it.” You shrug, and douchebag two, rifle still in hand, comes up behind Ketch with a dry expression.

“I’d be more worried about yourself, darling.” Davis hums, setting his gun down on the roof of your car. His hand is bleeding worse than yours. Good. “I don’t know how you pulled that window hex off, but I’m sure our scholars will love to know.”

That’s the biggest advantage you have here. They really don’t know what you are. As far as Ketch and Davis are concerned, you’re just an American witch who’s lost her mind and is traveling to find herself. They don’t have a clue about your family, or Dean, or the Book, or the Silver. They need to capture you because you’re a powerful witch, and apparently some men and their letters are really concerned about that.

You’re not sure. You weren’t really paying attention when they gave you the speech—the first time they met you, in Mexico a few weeks after from Dean’s death, when they’d killed the witch who was showing you some basic healing potions and you escaped—and you’re not really paying attention now.

There are too many other things to worry about.

Ketch keeps looking at the Blade, and that’s going to be a problem. Davis is getting out the handcuffs, and you have no interest in going with them, but you can’t kill them either, so now you have to work around that. You miss Dean, but that’s just constant. You need to work out what the hell is going on with that book, and you can’t do that in a dungeon. Your hand is still bleeding—you’ll probably need stitches, or to heal it with the Silver—and it’s making you feel even worse than usual, and finally, Davis’ rifle is still on the hood of your car.

If it scratches the paint, on the car Dean fucking gave you, the whole no murder thing is going to go out the window very fast.

“I’m really not interested in spending another three nights in hotel torture dungeon.” You drawl, eyeing the cuff’s in Davis’ hands carefully. “So, uh, if I pinky promise to fuck off and stop being a witch-“

“Once a witch, always a witch.” Ketch shrugs. “Afraid we’re going to have to ship you on over. See if we can work out exactly what’s running through that pretty little head of yours, making you so… fascinating.”

You need a way out of this. Now. Ketch is wrapping a cloth gag around your mouth to stop you from casting any spells, and that won’t do fucking shit, but Davis has clicked on the cuffs.

Their iron cuffs.

This is a really bad day.

This is, already, a really bad day, and you only got up a few hours ago. You can see Ketch and Davis’ souls—a muddy, awful orange and a surprisingly soft red, respectively—but you can’t really do much with it right now. The iron isn’t burning into you like it used to, but it still pushes the Silver down, makes it weaker, make you weaker. You’re still bleeding, and you didn’t eat that much—neither of those things are doing you any favors—and you’re so fucking tired.

Tired of running. Of asking questions and only receiving confusing or empty answers, of finding more and more puzzles to solve and being completely stranded to solve them alone.

And you really fucking miss Dean.

Something flickers in your chest. Ketch is talking about how it’s going to be a nice flight, and you’ve been an interesting hunt so they’ll offer you some food—if he tries to feed you cheese with his hands again, you’re going to bite his fingers off—but you can’t really follow most of what he’s saying.

There’s something flickering and shifting in your chest. And the Silver is bleeding out of you into the world like there’s no iron at all, and the Sky is watching.

It’s staring at you, even though there’s really nothing to see. Ketch and Davis have been on your ass for months, and the Sky hasn’t really seemed to care all that much, because it knows you’ll be fine. The only time they’ve gotten you when they jumped you in Brazil, and you got out of that with barely a scratch.

But the Sky is watching.

And something is changing.

“Arthur.” Davis cuts off Ketches speech, and you don’t have to turn to know he’s looking at you. “Something’s wrong with her.”

Ketch rolls his eyes. “She’s just going through the depressive stages of grief. An animal knows when it’s been caught-“

“But-“

“He’s right,” you mutter, and you can feel the delicate joy of the leaves on the trees. There’s not a single cloud in the sky. “You should… Shit-“

You feel like you’re being torn in half. The Spiderweb feels like it’s being torn in half. Ripped open in a thin, neat line and strangled, and it’s been dead since you lost Dean but now-

You’ve only felt this pain once. On the side of the highway.

And the Silver has never felt like this. Like it’s being electrocuted and burned and dropped from a million feet all at once, and there’s nothing to feel but everything. It’s bigger than when you grabbed the Blade for the first time. It’s bigger than any episode you’ve ever had, any time you’ve tried to use it and every time it’s been ripped from your body by emotion.

You’re everything. More than everything. You’re every single space between the stars and all the fires in every hearth in the universe, and you’re the fabric of something thin and the wrath of something old, and none of that matters because you’re mostly in a field. Moving up and up and up and breaking through the surface, right into-

The world lights up. In a split second the Spiderweb is shot with something white-hot and blinding, and it seals it shut and rushes through your whole body until you can fucking feel the universe-

You rocket, fall, crash back down into yourself.

And—so peacefully, as if nothing was ever wrong at all—the Spiderweb is humming with color and light.

There’s air in your lungs, and the birds are singing, and there are little dewdrops clinging to the grass growing between the cracks in the pavement.

Dean’s alive.

And the rush begins.

At some point you must have screamed, or exploded, or something, because Ketch and Davis have been launched backwards into separate cars, and the handcuffs have fallen off your wrists. You yank Davis’ rifle off the hood of your Firebird, storm across the parking lot to Ketch—you like him less anyway—and kneel down with the barrel aimed at his temple.

You have no fucking clue how to operate this thing.

Ketch doesn’t need to know that.

“How have you been tracking me?” You hiss, and Ketch blinks at you, slightly dazed. “Don’t lie. I’ll know.”

“Why, aren’t you full of surprises-“

“Answer the fucking question, or get your brains blown out.”

Ketch sighs, scanning over your scowl wearily. “You are… not a normal witch.”

“Nope. How.”

“We have our ways.” He shrugs. “Cameras, trackers, tips. Don’t worry your little head about it, darling, as long as you’re in our jurisdiction, we’ll-“

You slam the gun into his temple, and he slumps over with a groan.

He’s fine. His soul is burning from his wrists out, so he’s not dead.

You really do have bigger things to worry about.

Dean’s alive.

You leave town. Then, when you’re far away from Ketch and Davis and the sun has started to set, you park under the trees and pull out your metal block of a cell phone.

Your whole life, you’ve only had one phone number memorized.

And Bobby picks up after three calls.

“Look, I don’t know who the hell you are, but-“

You almost vomit out your own name. “It’s me, Bobby, and I’m sorry I vanished, I just- with Dean, and I couldn’t but, Bobby, you have to listen-“

Bobby cuts you off, his voice a little hoarse. “I- Normally I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but crazier shit has happened today, and I- I ain’t-“

“It’s me, Bobby, I swear, I-“ You take a long breath, dropping down to the pavement, leaning against the Firebird as you speak. “Two months after you found me, I got my period, and it was really heavy because I hadn’t had a real one before. I’d never- You’d been feeding me properly, and it was… really heavy. You went to the corner store two blocks down, and bought so many pads and tampons we had to dedicate a whole closet to them. You gave me my first root beer, and you let me watch cartoons all week, and I still wasn’t really talking but you bought me all those crayons, and I drew all over the walls. You weren’t angry. You cleaned them up, and then covered them in paper so I’d draw on that instead.” You swallow. “I started talking again the week after that. I sang along to the Bob Dylan record you been playing, while you worked. It was- Shit- I don’t-“

“Man of Constant Sorrow.” Bobby mutters, and you nod to the air.

“Yeah. That.”

There’s a moment of silence, and before you can damn it and just start screaming Dean, Dean’s alive, Bobby lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, kiddo, I ain’t been able to find you for months, and Ellen n’ Jo weren’t havin’ any luck either- It’s- We thought you were-“

“I know.” You mumble, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “I’m sorry. Bobby, I need to-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“Bol- Actually I crossed the border, so Brazil, but Bobby-“

“How the fuck did you get to Brazil-“

“Bobby!” Your scream tears through the parking lot. “I- Dean’s alive, he’s alive-“

“I know.”

You freeze, all the panic in your throat dying, leaving your voice small. “What?”

“He showed up a few hours ago, did all the tests and it’s-“ Bobby cuts himself off. “How’d you know he was back?”

“I got a feeling.“

Bobby grunts your name. Your fully name, with Singer instead of your usual last name. You didn’t even do anything. “What’d you do.”

“I didn’t- Nothing, I-“

“Kiddo-“

“I promise, Bobby, nothing. I just-“ You choke on the air, and the Spiderweb sings inside your chest. “I knew. I just knew.”

“You- Alright.” Bobby let out a long, slow sigh. “I believe ya. You, uh, you wanna-“

“Yes.”

Bobby grunts, and the seconds where there’s nothing but static on the phone are the longest of your life, and then-

Dean’s voice says your name through the speaker, deep and rough and Dean, and you have to cover your mouth with your hand.

He’s alive. You can fucking feel it in the Spiderweb, feel it deeper than your bones, but this is different. You’re not being haunted by him, by nightmares, by a constant, empty feeling of that’s where Dean’s supposed to be. He’s alive. Enough to hold a phone. To speak. To say your name, then repeat it with a nervous tone, and he’s alive-

“Dean?”

“It’s-“ You think you can hear him swallow through the phone. “Yeah. ’S me.”

“I-“ You take a long, slow breath, pulling your knees to your chest. “You’re alive.”

“Yeah. I am.”

“What happened?”

“I, uh, we’re not sure.” Dean sighs. “I mean, it wasn’t you? With your, I dunno, your magic shit-“

“I wasn’t me.” You whisper. “I- I’m sorry.”

“Why? I’m alive anyways.”

You still failed him. He still died at all. “I know, I just- I was trying, De, I promise-“

“Yeah, shoulda guessed you were.” Dean pauses on the other end of the line, and when he speaks again, his voice is careful. “You’re coming home, right?”

“I am.” You bow your head, letting it rest on your knees. “I- There are a few things I need to take care of, but I will. Soon.”

“Are you- You’re not gonna fly-“

You let out a soft laugh, and you can taste the salt on your lips as you speak. “No. I’m driving.”

“Good. Has the car-“

“It’s been perfect.” You swallow, your voice turning into barely a breath. “Dean?”

“Princess.”

His voice is soft. Teasing. Like nothing at all has ever been, could ever be, wrong, just as long as he was talking to you.

You love him, more than anything.

And you glance down at your hands.

There’s still blood under your fingernails.

And the world is Silver, but you’re not in control.

“When you find Sam, can you call me again? I have something I think both of you will want to see.”

“Sure.” You can hear Dean’s frown through the phone. “You gonna tell me now?”

“No,” you smile into the air. “It’s a surprise.”

“I hate surprises, you know that-“

“I do.” You giggle. Fucking giggle. “You’re going to flip your shit about this one.”

He scoffs. “That’s not really putting my mind at ease, sweetheart-“

“It’s not supposed to. Drop it, Winchester, or I’m only telling Sam, and he won’t share it with you.”

Dean chuckles. “Bossy, Princess, don’t you know I just got out of hell?”

You swallow.

You’re really sick of crying today. You’ve been sick of crying for four months.

At least now you’re crying, and the tears hit the pavement, and for a brief second they’re golden in the light of the sunset.

And you can feel it.

Dean says your name cautiously, and you can’t say you love him. Not now. Not over the phone, when there’s blood on your hands and you know he’ll never blame you, but you still failed him. Still became a monster, only to not be the thing that saves him. But still-

“I missed you.” You whisper, and you don’t care if he can hear your sobs. He needs to know. To feel it. “I really, really missed you Dean.”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is hoarse. “I- Yeah. I missed you too, Princess. A lot. Coulda sworn for a second-“ He cuts himself off with a sigh. “Never mind, just- come home. Please.”

“I will. Pinky promise.”

He lets out a rough laugh, and the Spiderweb sparks through your body. “See you soon, sweetheart. I’ll call you when I grab Sammy.”

The line clicks off a few seconds later, and you swallow, tipping your head back until you can see the Sky.

It’s watching you.

And Dean’s alive, and you can see every color, and-

All the stars flicker.

It’s a warning.

And you’re still the monster. Still being hunted.

But nothing is more important than getting home.

Getting back to Dean.

——————

One of the pros of being brought back from the dead was supposed to be that Dean got life back. That he could listen to music in his car, and eat burgers and beer with Bobby, and talk to Sammy as much as he goddamn wanted. Everything did keep moving, and he could remember every single fucking second of Hell—although he was trying real damn hard not to think about it where Sammy might see, might get worried—and there didn’t seem to be a way out of the fight, but Dean was supposed to have life back.

But he didn’t have Her. She wasn’t back home.

She’d sounded happy to hear Dean over the phone, but that had been damn near two months ago.

And Dean missed Her.

He fucking missed Her, and She hadn’t called them since.

Dean called that being MIA.

Nobody else seemed to agree.

“How long-“

“Dude.” Sam glanced over at Dean from the passenger’s seat, his tone flat. “If you ask me one more time how long it takes to drive from Brazil to America, I’m going to punch you in the face.”

Dean scowled. He hadn’t been asking that much. It had been almost a whole freakin’ day since he last asked.

“I just don’t know why she’s taking this long, alright?” Dean tapped his fingers against the wheel, glaring at the road ahead of them. Maybe if he glared hard enough, She’d just appear, and Dean could touch Her. Hold Her. Hug Her. Kiss-

“They’re two separated continents, Dean.” Sam sighed, cutting off Dean’s thoughts. “I mean, I took her four months to get down there, and she’ll have to stop for gas and food, and we don’t know what she’s been up to that whole time. Maybe she’s got loose ends to tie up before she heads back to the states.”

“You don’t-“ Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened. “Sam, what if-“

“Not those loose ends.”

“There’s always a fucking chance-“

Sam shrugged. “Yeah, but she wouldn’t.”

She would. She absolutely fucking would, because She liked giving Dean heart attacks and she thought she was untouchable or something. There was a very goddamn high chance She’d gotten herself tangled in something, and there was nobody to help Her, or get her out. Maybe She was having an episode, and Dean wasn’t there to bring Her down. Maybe She needed him, and he wasn’t fucking there.

“I mean,” Sam let out a long breath, running a hand over his face. “I’d be more worried about what you’re going to say to her, when she does get back, than any boyfriends she’s not gonna have.”

Dean paused.

They were talking about very, very different things.

“I’m worried she’s in trouble, Sammy.”

“Oh. Yeah. She would do that.”

Dean shot him a glare. “That’s not. fucking helpful-“

“She’ll be fine, man, she’s, you know.” Sam waved to the air as he said Her name, and he was right.

Dean hadn’t been there for four months, and She hadn’t gotten herself killed. She’d been without him for longer, and lived through that just fine as well. She had all Her magic stuff, and She was awesome, and she didn’t need Dean to survive. He wasn’t water or oxygen or food.

No one needed Dean. They’d missed him, but they didn’t need him.

Except the angels. For really stupid and cryptic reasons, the angels needed him.

And Dean really, really wanted Her to meet the angels. She’d have opinions, and choice words, and Dean would stand behind Her in the shadows while she fixed everything, because that was what She always did.

Maybe the feathered douchebags would know what She was, and it wouldn’t be that big a deal after all, and this time Dean would get to keep her in a way that stuck.

He didn’t deserve to. He didn’t deserve fucking anything—after what he’d done in Hell, who he’d become to survive, like some sort of fucking animal—but he really goddamn wanted to. He wanted to keep being Her shadow more than anything, and he wanted Her to come home, and he-

Dean really just fucking wanted Her. Alistair had broken a lot of goddamn things in him, but the asshole hadn’t broken that. That couldn’t be broken.

Dean wanted Her.

And She didn’t need Dean, but She’d said she wanted him.

He paused, frowning at the road.

“Sam.”

“What-“

“Why’d you think she wouldn’t- You know.” He didn’t want to say it. Just the thought was making his stomach turn. “Have loose ends.”

Sam just shrugged. “Because it’s her.”

That wasn’t an answer. Dean wanted a solid answer, that he could fucking point to.

“I should go get her.” He muttered. He didn’t know how that would work, or where She was, but he’d find her. Make sure She was safe, and didn’t hate him for leaving her behind, and safe.

Dean had said safe twice.

But he really fucking needed Her to be safe.

“She’s fine, Dean-“

“Maybe she’s not.” He snapped. “And it’s not like- I mean, how important is this book shit anyway.”

Sam sighed. “Very important. And she’s the one who sent them to us, she’d want us to follow through.”

She would want them to follow through. She’d want answers more than anything. And Dean wanted answers too—because whoever the hell Chuck Shurley thought he was, Dean wasn’t interested in having his whole freakin’ life published for entertainment—but he wanted Her more.

“I just-“

“Dean, they’re books about our lives. And you know, speaking of,” Sam said Her name slowly, and when Dean glanced over, he was frowning. “It’s- it’s weird.”

“Yeah, this whole thing is fucking bananas-“

“No, it’s-“ Sam paused, flipping through the pages. “This is the last copy, right? Of all the books?”

“I dunno, you’re the one who’s been reading them.” Dean gave him a pointed look. “You know everything that happens, dude-“

“I know, I was just curious, okay? And it’s good I did read all of them, Dean-“

“Why, are you starting a freakin’ book club-“

Sam snapped Her name, and Dean’s whole heart seemed to explode. “She’s not in these. At all.”

Dean paused. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“I mean- The books start when you came to get me from Stanford, right? Dad goes missing, we gank that Lady in White, and Jess dies.”

“Yeah, and they end when I go to Hell, you’re not answering my question-“

“I know, just listen, dude, okay?”

Dean felt his grip tighten on the wheel, but he nodded, and Sammy let out a long breath.

“These are all about our bigger hunts. The wendigo, our first demon, that shapeshifter asshole, but not the onryo. It just goes right from that bug curse to the poltergeist. And you never mention her, at all-“

“Sammy-“

“You talk about her all the time-“

“No, I-“

“It’s just us, Dean.” Sam shot him a pointed look. “You do. And even if you didn’t, I don’t talk about her either. The books never mention us calling her for advice, or talking about her at all, and then- You sleep with someone else, dude.”

Dean scowled. “I sleep with people, Sam, I’m a freakin’ adult-“

“Yeah, but you remember that racist trucker?”

“The one in Ohio?”

Sam nodded. “How do you remember that happening?”

Dean frowned, tapping his hands on the wheel as he tried to remember the details of that hunt. “I, you read about it in the paper, we took care of it, then we dipped. Why, what-“

“In these,” Sam tapped the cover of the book. “That chick, Cassie, she asks you to take care of it. And you call her your first love.”

“I- What?” Dean shook his head, his brain flicking to bright eyes and warm body, pressed right into his under a pillow fort, as that word sunk into his head. “Cassie was just a one-night stand, when I was hunting by myself-“

“I know that. But in these, she’s your first love.”

“I mean, she was cool, but I was…”

He’d been hunting with Her, when he’d met Cassie. They’d ganked a Ventala, She’d left when he mentioned Dad was heading in—the same way She always did, which Dean was going to have to ask her about, now that his death wasn’t looming over their heads—and he’d needed company. Any company. Cassie had been there, and she’d been smoking hot, but Dean didn’t remember the sex as much as he remembered Her, smiling at him and bumping their shoulders together and saying his name.

He’d thought about that, while he fucked Cassie. And he hadn’t been proud of it, but he’d swallowed a groan of Her name, several times, then left in the morning.

“I know.” Sam repeated, when it became clear Dean wasn’t going to keep talking. “But get this, it’s not just that. There’s no Kelpie hunt, and when we head to Bobby’s for help with the demons, it’s after we find Dad. And Bobby never mentions her. At all. Plus when we dealt with that Changeling, the girl you hooked up with in that town-“

“Uh, Lena?”

“Lisa. In this you go there specially to see her, and she has a son. Who’s a lot like you.” Sam frowned. “I don’t know about you, Dean, but I don’t remember that kid being anything like you.”

Dean didn’t either. He barely remembered that hunt at all. “Is there anything else?”

“Yeah, you remember that chick with the rabbit’s foot, who stole the colt? Bela?”

Dean grunted in acknowledgment, and Sam continued.

“She’s in here a lot. I don’t remember her ever showing up, after the whole thing with Hendrickson. It’s-“ Sam said Her name, watching Dean carefully. “She yelled at Bela, after we told her we lost the Colt. Called her and chewed her out-“

“Threatened to put her through a wood grinder, if the bitch didn’t leave us alone.” Dean couldn’t stop his grin. “I remember. So?”

“So that never happened.”

Dean frowned. “That’s- Huh.”

“And,” Sam mumbled Her name again. “She not at the hospital, either. After your accident. And she wasn’t really- you know- around, after Dad’s death, but neither of us talk about her. Jo doesn’t, either. And you,” Sam cleared his throat. “You seem to have a thing with Jo.”

Dean revolted slightly. “Gross, she’s like my sister-“

“Yeah, a lot of the… minimal readers seemed to agree.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair and slumping in his seat. “I looked online, on those weird forums Bobby found, and Jo was so unpopular Shurley ‘wrote her out’ while we were dealing with your deal.”

“What do you mean, wrote her out-“

“I mean she’s not around.” Sam sighed. “Jo just vanishes. Same with Ellen.”

“And,” Dean said Her name carefully, because that was how it had to be said. “She’s just- Not there at all?”

“Nope. Not even once.” Sam flipped back through the book in his hand. “In these books you still end up dying in Indiana, exact same way, but there’s no mention of Hell’s Assassin’s, or you and Bobby leaving her behind, or the arrowhead and blade, or her book. There’s just- It’s like she’s been erased.”

Dean’s grip on the wheel tightened.

Sam had been right.

This book shit was important.

And it took a minute to get settled, when they reached Chuck’s house. A little extra time to convince him that they weren’t fans, they were people, with goddamn lives that Chuck had been stealing for profit. The asshole was small and weird and frantic, and they had bigger priorities than just Dean’s biting question, but had to ask it. Had to know why She’d ever been taken out of his life, even in a fucking book, because he needed Her. He goddamn needed Her, and he didn’t want to lose her, and it couldn’t because She wasn’t interesting enough for Shurley’s stupid fucking books, because She was awesome and funny and pretty and-

“He’s- uh- he’s glaring at me a lot.” Chuck shot Dean a nervous look, and Dean felt his fists curl. “Look, I’ve told you guys, I really am sorry but if we’re sure I’m not a god, there’s nothing I can do to help you-“

“Dean’s been having a rough few months.” Sam muttered, shifting in his chair. “Dude, can you stand down? I know you want to- you know- But we should figure out what the hell is going on, first.”

Dean shot Sam a quick glare. “It could help, Sammy. Maybe he doesn’t know anything about her, and he’s just- I dunno, a really freakin’ good guesser-“

“I like that.” Chuck jumped in, looking between Sam and Dean with the same nervous expression he’d been wearing all damn day. “I mean- I can be a good guesser. I used to win bar trivia, just by guessing all the answers-“

“That’s great, Chuck, just-“ Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean, that’s- I mean, you’re right, but maybe it’s nothing-“

“It’s not nothing, Sam, you’re the one who fucking pointed it out to me-“

“Yeah, but I mostly wanted you to not turn around and drive to Brazil-“

“Brazil?” Chuck squeaked, gaping at Dean. They didn’t have time for this. “I- I haven’t written about Brazil-“

Sam frowned. “You haven’t?”

“No? I mean, should I have?”

Sam said Her name carefully. “She’s in Brazil. Was in Brazil. We’re not sure where she is now, actually.”

Dean swallowed the bile in his throat. She was fine. She had to be fine.

“And, uh,” Sam paused, watching Chuck carefully. “Have you just- I read all your books, and-“

“You did?” Chuck’s eyes widened. “Did you like them?”

“No, not really.”

“Oh. Was it the writing? Or the plot?”

Sam sighed. “I just, uh, they weren’t really my thing. Sorry. But-“

“Is it because-“

Dean pushed off his place on the wall, stalking across the room to stand right over Chuck’s desk. They didn’t have the time for this, and he didn’t have the goddamn patience. Chuck could squeak all he fucking wanted—when Dean slammed his fists down on the desk—and Sam could sigh and mutter a half-hearted c’mon, dude, but Dean didn’t give a shit. He needed answers. Now.

He snapped Her name, pointing to one of the beaten-down book copies on Chuck’s desk. “Where the hell is she in these?”

Chuck just blinked at him, and Dean scowled.

“The smart witch chick, about yay tall,” Dean held his hand up to Her height, never taking his eyes off Chuck. “Best hunter in the country, Bobby’s daughter, never uses a gun-“

“The one Dean’s had a crush on for years.” Sam jumped in, and Dean shot straight up with a glower.

“I do not have a crush-“

“That’s true, I guess you’re more in love with her-“

“Shut the fuck up, Sam-“

Chuck raised his hand, the movement small and nervous. “I, um, I know who we’re talking about, now.”

Sam frowned. “You do?”

“Yeah.” Chuck said Her name carefully, eyeing Dean like he was some sort of rabid dog. “But she’s not in the books.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, we got that, Einstein. Why.”

Chuck shrugged. “She didn’t fit in your story.”

There was a long, heavy moment of silence, as the words hung in the air of the room.

She didn’t fit.

In Dean’s story.

It was beyond insane. Nobody, not a single goddamn person, had ever fit with Dean as well as She did. He’d held Her, and She’d fit. He spoke to Her and it was like bouncing a tennis ball off a jail cell, only the jail cell was a five-star hotel, and the ball was Her siren-like voice calling Dean down, down, down. And all of the world was technicolor, and the cavity in Dean’s chest was filled with Silver, and he wasn’t fucking good at metaphors but She fit. She was part of his life, She’d always been part of his life, and he’d spent wasted years trying to force Her out of his head only to never feel better than when he was in Her orbit, and he fucking-

She was the universe, She was bigger than the universe, She was gorgeous and brilliant and brighter than the goddamn sun, and She fit with Dean-

“Is he, uh,” Chuck swallowed. “If he hits me, I am going to call the cops, just so you know-“

“Don’t call the cops.” Sam muttered. “Dean, relax, at least he knows who she is, right?”

That was worse. So much worse. Chuck knew who She was, and he didn’t think She fucking fit.

“What do you know about her.” Dean grunted, bracing his arms on Chuck’s desk. “Talk.”

“I, um, it doesn’t feel that important if she’s not in the books, right?”

He looked over Dean’s shoulder, desperation all over his stupid face, and Sam sighed. Again.

“No, Dean’s right. I mean, he’s being weird about it-“

“Sam-“

“But we do need to know.” Sam ignored Dean’s low warning, continuing as he moved to stand at the desk as well. “It’ll help us figure out what you do and don’t know, how focused you are on our lives, if- you know-“

Sam shot Dean a firm look, and Dean understood.

Her magic. Her whole thing, that none of them understood.

Chuck might know about that. Have some real fucking answers about it.

Answers She’d want.

Dean couldn’t beat the man up, if only so maybe She could get some answers.

“Know?” Chuck looked between them, leaning back in his chair. “Know what?”

“Just tell us what you know, Tolkien.” Dean grunted, and Chuck’s eyes widened.

“You think I’m like Tolkien?! I- That’s so kind-“

“Chuck.” Sam muttered Her name. “Focus on her.”

“Right, um, just whatever I can think of?”

Dean gave a sharp nod, and Chuck sighed.

“I mean, she’s interesting, right? A good character- I mean, person? I don’t know, this is still really confusing, is it better if I call her a character or person-“

“Person.” Dean grunted. “She’s a fucking person.”

Chuck swallowed. “Right, uh, person. She’s a good person, and- I’m sorry, this is really weird-“

“Look, man.” Sam’s voice was level. Obviously, painfully controlled. “We know. Believe me, we know. But you just- Talk about her like you’re describing the characters.”

Dean shot him a glare. “Sammy-“

“We know she’s a person, Dean. We need to know what he knows.” Sam nodded to Chuck. “Talk, man. Now.”

“I, um, yeah.” Chuck took a deep breath, said Her name, and Dean was going to punch him square in his stupid face. “I- I’ve only ever really thought about her when she was with you guys. So I know that Bobby found her on the side of the highway, and that her family is weird, and that she started hunting by herself when she was really young, but not much about her past-“

“Really?” Sam frowned, leaning forward. “So really only us? I mean, we already know about all that stuff-“

“Because I only thought about you two.” Chuck gave Dean a weary look. “I know about how you met her, but after you left there’s really not much else until you and John found her with that… uh-“

“Poltergeist.” Dean grunted, and Sam shot him an odd look. “Little while after you left for college, Dad and I ran into her on another hunt. I got knocked down, and they ganked the son of a bitch-“

“Actually,” Chuck cut in, and flinches slightly under Dean’s glare. “Sorry, just, John didn’t do much. On that hunt. I remember her setting the poltergeist on fire. It was just her.”

Dean frowned. “On fire? So you- I was down by then-“

“But you were still there.” Chuck mumbled. “I know about all the hunts she did with you, Dean. The ones that you were hiding from your dad. And she used her, um, her powers? Magic? I’m not sure, but she used them a lot, you just never noticed. I mean, you’d get beat up by a demon or monster, and then she’d… you know.” Chuck made a wide, explosion gesture with his hands before he continued. “One time, at a mall, you broke your hand, and she healed it.”

Dean swallowed. He felt fucking sick, and hot all over his skin, and god fucking damn it, of course She’d been using it the whole time. Of course She’d been healing him and saving his worthless ass, and he’d been a dick to her, and he was the lowest piece of shit on the goddamn planet.

“Well,” Sam gave Dean a careful look as he spoke. “If you know about her… stuff, why not add it in the story?”

“I just-“ Chuck sighed. “She has her own whole thing going on, and it was just- I was too much to track! I had to do some extra work to get around it, but it made the story better!”

Dean scoffed. “I ain’t read these books, Chuckles, but they don’t exactly seem to be classic freakin’ literature-“

“But they’re not supposed to be!” Chuck protested. “They were just supposed to be fun stories, that people liked! I mean, I could never stop thinking about them, about you guys, so I had to write them! I had to!”

“Then you shouldn’t have been able to stop thinking about her, either!” Dean’s voice was rising to a shout. Almost a bark. He didn’t really care, because if he’d been haunted by her for eight goddamn years, there was no goddamn way Chuck could just not be. It was what She did. She existed everywhere, and Dean never stopped fucking thinking about her, dead or alive, and everything always smell a little like-

Shit.

Dean grunted Her name. “What does she smell like?”

Sam gaped at him slightly. “Dean-“

“Shut up, Sammy, it’s an important question.”

“How-“

“Dean hasn’t been able to stop think about what she smells like.” Chuck said, and he was right, but Dean still wanted to shoot him. “And I, um, I don’t know.”

“No.” Dean shook his head, tapping on of the books. “Everything’s in here, and if you know her as well as you claim-“

“I don’t know her!” Chuck was almost fucking whining now. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I don’t know what she smells like! I was only ever to think about how you thought she smelled, and how you didn’t know what it was, that’s it!”

Sam cleared his throat, looking between Dean and Chuck with a frown. “I- Sorry, I’m lost, Dean, you know what she smells like, you’ve seen her perfume-“

“It’s not that.” Dean muttered, feeling his brows draw tight together. “She- That freakin’ fruit smell, Sammy. It’s that.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t- I’ve never really smelled her, man.”

“No, you have. ” Chuck sighed. “It’s- You just never think about it, Sam. Especially not since that whole plot arc with Azazel.”

Dean frowned. “Then why am I-“

“I don’t know. I really don’t, guys, I’m sorry. And this,” he gestured vaguely around them. “Is exactly why she’s not in the books! There’s- It’s just too much, and nobody even liked any of the love interests anyway-“

“That’s because none of them were her-“

“Dean.” Sam placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a cautious look that Dean recognized.

The fight wasn’t worth it. Even if it was for Her, the fight wasn’t worth it. Chuck wouldn’t talk if they freaked him out.

Reel it in. Keep his head level.

Do what She’d do, not what Dean would do. Think about it, find an angle, then work it until he was right.

Dean wasn’t Her. He wasn’t a genius, or magic, or anything important at all. And if She wasn’t in Brazil, or Bolivia, or Mexico, or whatever, She’d have figured this out. She’d look at Chuck and ask him if he ever ate anything odd in his childhood, and the idiot would say yeah, a weird plum, and She’d start talking about magic plums that gave people psychic powers.

But She wasn’t here. And Chuck didn’t look like a plum kind of dude.

So Dean would keep it together, but for Sammy. For Her.

“Look, Chucky,” Dean pushed off the desk, raising his brows. “Can I call you Chucky?”

“I’d prefer not-“

“Too bad.” Chuck could earn veto rights when all this started making goddamn sense, so Dean just said Her name and really tried not to sound too pathetic about it. “The thing about her is that she is not a negotiable part of our lives.”

Chuck swallowed. “Uh, I don’t-“

“He’s right.” Sam muttered. “Half those cases would’ve never been solved without her. She worked harder than anyone to save Dean, and Bobby will be the first to admit that she knows way more about demons-“

“Bobby’s real-“

“We’re all real, douchebag.” Dean hissed. “I’m real, Sammy’s real, Ruby’s, unfortunately, real-“

Sam shot him a flat look. “Dean-“

Dean ignored him. “Dad was real, Azazel was real, Bobby is real, so’s Jo, who-“ Dean pointed at Chuck with a scowl. “For the damn record, I have never thought about in a way that is not 100% above board-“

“I know, Dean.” Chuck rubbed his face between his hands, letting out a long, slow breath. “And I’m sorry about that, but I- I don’t know, I couldn’t spend the whole special children arc writing about how much you missed a woman that I hadn’t included-“

Dean raised his hand, narrowing his eyes. Half because he still had some damn questions, half because Sam probably already knew how much Dean had missed Her—if the smirk on the bitch’s face was any indication—but there was no reason to give him more.

“The hell are you talking about, you know what I was thinking.” He muttered, and Chuck sighed.

“I mean when I write, I can… I’ve seen all your guys thoughts. Inner desires. Likes and dislikes and dreams and hopes-“

Sam frowned. “All of them? What about, I don’t know, things we don’t even know ourselves-“

“Maybe? I don’t know. This morning when I woke up, I was just thinking about, I don’t know, snow cones? And then I was thinking about you guys, and how you just worked that wishing well case, and how you both have been really hung up on it. Dean keeps thinking about how he’d wish for uh,” Chuck cleared his throat, mumbled Her name, and Dean felt his body go rigid.

He had been thinking about that. He’d been thinking about how if they hadn’t been more careful, and that wishing well thing was real, he’d wish for Her in a heartbeat. To come home, and have whatever kind of fancy life she wanted after Dean got to hold Her one more time. Because there was a chance Her dream life wouldn’t include him. It might have before, but he hadn’t become worse than a demon in hell, and She hadn’t vanished off the face off the earth for four months, and maybe She’d never forgiven him for leaving her, at the end, and Her dream life would be far, far away from Dean and how dark and vile he was, as long as was without Her light, but he could live with that-

“He’s thinking about it right now, I think.” Chuck mumbled, and Dean was going to break a jaw. Chuck’s or his own.

“Shut up.” He grunted. “If you’re not a psychic, how’d you know what we’re thinking?”

“I- I’m not sure, I was just guessing. You- He thinks about her a lot!” Chuck looked to Sam, his voice growing pleading. “I was just gambling based off of what I know about you guys, I swear-“

“Yeah, I believe you, calm down.” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You still haven’t explained why our best friend isn’t in these, Chuck. You’d really have to write around that, I mean, that last month before the hellhounds Dean almost never left her side-“

“I remember.” Chuck sighed. “But I had already written her out, when you guys were looking for your dad, and I couldn’t just introduce her so late, readers would have had questions-“

Sam drew his lips in thin line, throwing Dean an exhausted look, and Dean took a long, slow breath.

“How about this, Chucky.” He grunted. “Why’d you write her out in the first place?”

“I told you, she just didn’t fit. Like, that thing I was just talking about, where I know so much about you guys? I’ve never been able to do that for her!”

Sam frowned. “Well, do you know, I dunno, all the stuff about Bobby?”

“Yeah, actually, I do.” Chuck nodded desperately. “I thought I was just giving them all backstories and stuff, and I could just never come up with one for her, so I dunno, I left it? Everything else was coming so easy. I knew everyone’s thoughts and feelings and history, but she was just this mystery that my brain wouldn’t let me solve, even though I had created it-“

“You didn’t create her-“

Chuck cut off Dean’s growl with a shake of his head. “I know, I do, but I thought I had, and there was just no way for me to properly write her! Like, Sam, you read all the books, right?”

Sam nodded slowly. “Yeah, why-“

“There are scenes where you guys aren’t there at all, right? All the prologues where the first victim happens, the one that brings you to the case, or scenes where side characters are talking to each other-“

“I know how books work, man-“

“Well I could see into those characters emotions! I knew how freaked out Jo was, in No Exit, and how worried Bobby was about Dean, in No Rest for the Wicked, all the victims of the monsters, how afraid they-“ Chuck paled. “Oh, god, all those people really died didn’t they-“

“Yeah, they did.” Dean leaned forward, holding Chuck’s gaze. “That’s the job, buddy. Keep talking about my- About her.”

“Uh, it’s-“ Chuck swallowed. “I never could look into her. Like with your dad, and her, and Azazel. I knew Azazel was amused, but still a little worried, and that John was really stressed and disgusted, but-“

“Disgusted?” Sam cut in, his brow drawn together. “By Azazel-“

Chuck shook his head, saying her name slowly. “By her. It’s- Azazel told him, and he- Oh. Shit.”

It was Dean’s jaw. Dean’s jaw was going to break. “What the fuck are you talking about, Azazel-“

“I actually knew that,” Sam said with a frown. “Dad told me Azazel told him everything, that he was trying to rile Dad up, and when he went to look for her after the deal, she was gone. But- She was there? During the deal?”

Chuck swallowed, nodding nervously. “I- I’m sorry, I forgot you guys didn’t know already, I should’ve have said anything just forget- Fuck!”

Dean had grabbed Chuck by the collar of his shirt before he could think about it. Yanking him forward across the desk until they were nose to nose, damning all of Sam’s keep it together shit because it’s been long goddamn year—forty of them, in fucking Hell, alone and without Her—and he need to know what the fuck Chuck was saying about Her and Dad, now-

“Dean. Release him.”

Chuck’s eyes darted over Dean’s shoulder, and god fucking damn it, they couldn’t catch a single break.

“Cas?” Sam pulled Dean slowly off of Chuck, seemingly unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “What- Why are you here?”

Cas sighed, and when Dean turned, he was stand awkwardly in the center of the room, shifting on his feet. “I have been permitted to give you a warning. You should not be here.”

Dean frowned. “Why the hell not, he’s writing about our lives-“

“I know.”

“You- You know?” Dean ran a hand over his face, glancing back to where Chuck was still shaking behind his desk. Little fucking bitch. “What, are the angels fans?”

Cas didn’t even blink. “Of a kind, yes. You and Sam need to leave, Dean. Now.”

“Cas, we-“ Sam took a long breath, giving Dean a weary look. “Can you just tell us what’s going on? Please?”

“No.” Cas started to scan over the walls of the shitty little office, his voice remaining impossibly neutral. “As I understand, you are… ahead of schedule. You will need to return in five months.”

“Five-“ Dean shook his head. “Cas, I need answers, and I need them freakin’ now, and until the little douchenugget over there gives them, I’m not going anywhere.”

Cas looked back to Dean, frowning slightly. “I told you. There will be answers. In five months-“

“I’m not waiting five fucking months-“

“I, um-“ Chuck cleared his throat, when Dean whipped around, he flinched slightly. “Sorry, I just, you’re- Castiel. Right?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Is okay if I answer the one question? I think, uh,” Chuck’s eyes flicked back to Dean. “I like my face. I’d like to keep it, too. And I don’t, uh, I don’t know what’s going on-“

“You will learn in five months-“

Dean’s hands fisted. “I told you, I’m not waiting five months-“

“Will you relax and leave if I tell you about your Dad and Azazel and-“

Dean cut off Chuck’s whine of Her name with a short nod. “Fine. Deal.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Actually, um, I’d like a few more answers. Cas, you can’t just expect us to pretend this never happened until the angels give a thumbs up-“

“You will have to.” Cas muttered, not looking away from Dean. “It is already quite dicey for you to be here at all. To linger. Dean, you’ll need to swear that if Chuck answers your question, you’ll-“

“Yeah, I’ll leave. Whatever.”

“Swear-“

“Whatever. Swear.” Dean grunted, turning back to Chuck with a as scowl. “Talk.”

Chuck glanced back to Cas, and—after the angel gave a small nod—cleared his throat.

“In, um, in the version of My Time of Dying, the one that I had to edit,” Chuck mumbled Her name, eyeing Dean as if he was about to just fucking shoot him.

It was fair.

Dean was.

“Well, the one I had to remove her from, your Dad summons Azazel by himself, and strikes the deal, and that’s it. But the version I thought of first, with her, she summons Azazel.”

Dean’s felt like his teeth were clenched so tight they might snap, and when he glanced over to Sammy, he could see shock written all over the kid’s face.

“But- Dad said it was just him-“

“He lied.” Chuck mumbled. “She figured out what he was doing, and she said it would be easier if she made the call. I don’t know how accurate that is, and in my version John did it pretty fine-“

“Your version didn’t actually happen, dumbass.” The wood of the chair creaked under Dean’s grip. “What the fuck happened after they summoned Azazel.”

“It’s- Are you sure you wanna-“

“Yes. Talk.”

“Azazel told John that she was… important. That she was a witch, and a bunch of other stuff I didn’t understand, and then, John, um, he kind of-“

“Chuck-“

“He asked Azazel to kill her!” Chuck shrank in his chair, his words frantic and loud, but no louder than the blood and ringing, drowning in Dean’s ears. “Then when Azazel said he couldn’t, John asked Azazel to kill Bobby if she came near you two again. I’m sorry, okay, I-“

“Shut up.” Sam snapped. “Dean, are you-“

Whatever Sam was asking, Dean couldn’t hear. He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t really see anything, either. The only sounds in his head was his heartbeat, and the only thing that wasn’t blurring was Chuck, still in his fucking chair, shrinking back from Dean’s glare.

That didn’t make sense. She would’ve told him-

She had.

She’d said Azazel had threatened Her. Threatened Bobby. And Dean had just assumed, like a fucking idiot, that it had been its own thing. That after Dad struck that deal, Azazel tracked Her down and told her to skip down for his own, crazy douchebag demon reasons.

But Dad wouldn’t-

He wouldn’t. Dad wouldn’t, and Dean felt like something was wrapping around his throat and twisting in his stomach and growing sick in his chest, just to the right of his heart, but Dad fucking wouldn’t do that to Dean, not when Dean- Not when he- And Dad-

“Why.”

Chuck blinked at him, and Dean realized Sam was trying to pull him back.

He shoved Sam off, marching back to the desk and slamming his hands flat down. “Why the fuck would Dad do that, Chuck, if you think you fucking know everything about our lives and our friends, why the fuck-“

“I think you, Dean Winchester, underestimate the hatred that your father felt for that girl.” A new voice, one that was cold and crawled over Dean’s skin, drawled Her name. “Well, she was his worst nightmare. I believe that, during his time in hell, she was used to torture him. He would be put in a room and forced to watch her greatest hits.”

Dean turned slowly, and standing next to Cas was a short, balding man in a neat suit, watching them with a bone-chilling smile.

“Now, personally? I agree with him.” The man continued. “She is… Making things impossibly difficult. You two imbecile should never have been talking to her, and you certainly should’ve never grown attached, and - Castiel, what did I say about making them leave before her little stunt, sending them the books, ruined everything?”

Cas bowed his head, and he suddenly looked smaller. Like whoever Baldy was, he was important. “To kick them out. Immediately.”

“I did. And now Dean knows about John, which is just going to make him-“ Baldy sighed, shaking his head. “Never mind. Take the dog for a walk before he does something stupid. I’ll keep an eye on these two while you clean up your mess.”

Sam cleared his throat. “I- Who are-“

“Be quiet.” Baldy snapped, and Sam’s mouth remained open, but his voice…

It vanished.

This was a horrible fucking day.

Dean was drawing out his gun without a thought—it didn’t matter how sick he still felt about Her and Dad, nobody got to fucking touch Sammy while he was still leaving, and Dean’s stupid goddamn feelings could wait—and before he could fire at Badly, the world was spinning and blurring and fuck, he did not feel good-

Everything came back into focus, and Dean doubled over with a groan.

“My apologies.” Cas said from somewhere off to the side, barely over audible as Dean’s lunch emptied onto the ground. “Sam will be fine, I just need to ensure you… cool down.”

Dean shoot him a glare, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “So I’m the dog, huh?”

Cas just shrugged, his words sounding somehow more measured than usual. “Once you feel you have worked through it, I will bring us back.”

“You gonna tell me who the ballsack in the suit was?”

“I cannot. As I tried to tell you, this is,” Cas frowned into the air. “Not what should be happening.”

“Awesome.” Dean grumbled, and dropped down onto the curb. They’d ended up in a parking lot, with a lot of trees, and this place looked really freakin’ familiar, but- “Cas. Where are we.”

“Oak Grove, Louisiana.”

Dean glanced down the road. “That’s where we worked the Demon case, in-“

“2004.” Cas finished, watching Dean carefully. “Humans are meant to feel comfort in connection to locations, or objects. I believed this location would offer you that same effect.”

Dean raised his brows. “Nostalgia?”

“Yes.”

It wasn’t a horrible pick. Dean hadn’t been here in forever, but it was making him think of Her. Smiling and laughing and not biting at Dean like he was scum of the earth, even when he’d been acting like it, because She’d always been beautiful and too good, and he’d might have believed She didn’t belong in the mud with him—he still didn’t, but he’d given up on trying to tell her what to do a long time ago—but She’d still been so fucking bright that Dean had never wanted to pull away. Even when it was smart and rational he’d wanted to stay, even when they’d fought and She’d shouted, when She lied, or Dad had told him-

He felt sick again.

Dad.

Dad had hated Her. Maybe because of the confusion with Her family, but Dad had sought that out. He’d looked for it, to show it to Dean, and it had been wrong, but he’d still convinced Dean to leave Her, She’d been the brightest thing in the world and Dad had made Dean leave Her-

She’d left, too.

Because Dad made Her, at the hospital, and-

Dad had said She left, after the poltergeist. But She’d said She never wanted to go, in Her room, and she hadn’t been lying. Dean knew when She was lying, but She’d looked him in the eyes under the blanket fort and said I didn’t ever want to leave.

But Dad had made Her. Dean didn’t have a clue how many times, but Dad had made her go.

He’d taken the best thing is Dean’s life. The only thing he’d ever wanted, really fucking wanted and cared about and been willing to break himself for that wasn’t Sammy, the only woman he’d ever needed and-

Dean threw up again. Somewhere in the bile rocketing out of his body, he gave props to Cas for the location. Outside seemed to be a good call.

But he’d been weak. Fucking pathetic. He’d let Dad hurt Her like that, he’d been a blind, selfish asshole and let Her get hurt. Just by being near Dean, She’d been hurt. And there was no goddamn way, after Hell-

Hell.

Dean hadn’t- In Hell-

“Cas.”

Cas hummed over his head, and Dean cleared his throat. He couldn’t tell Sammy this. Or Bobby. Or anyone really, and Cas was odd, but he might have an answer. And, bonus, he didn’t seem to be all that good a liar, so worst case Cas dodged the question, and Dean went back to throwing up.

“In Hell.” He muttered, frowning at the cracked pavement as he spoke. There was a little flower, blooming through the concrete.

It was yellow. A little golden, in the light of the afternoon.

Dean swallowed more vomit.

“There were times, while I was down there, that I could…” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I dunno how any of this shit works, but I could- Could fucking sworn she was there.”

There was a pause, then Cas said Her name. Slowly. With impossible care, which Dean appreciated.

It was what She deserved.

“You believe you were able to see her.”

“No, just-“ He sounded insane. “Feel her. I could freakin’ feel her, like there was something in me that was tugging me around and asking me to go with it, talking to me in a voice that sounded a hell of a lot like Her’s, and I think I was just losing my goddamn mind, but-“ Dean rubbed his brow, a heavy pain starting to form behind his brow. “I don’t know. Might have been going crazy, might have been just another torture thing, giving me her but keeping her under a veil and- I don’t know. It was just- Needed to ask. If that was something.”

Cas was silent. Still. Almost statue like, and watching Dean with a deep frown.

Dean wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but at least Cas wasn’t calling him batshit crazy, telling him to find himself a nuthouse and lock up. Cas didn’t really seem like the type to do any of that anyway, but still.

Relieving.

“This woman.” Cas said Her name again, tilting his head slightly. “I do not know much about her, but-“

“She freakin’ awesome.” Dean said, glancing back to the flower. “Genius, but not a snobby bitch, and she’s funny. You’d like her, everyone-“

Everyone didn’t like Her.

Dad had, apparently, despised Her.

“From what I understand,” Cas muttered, and Dean could still feel his gaze. “She is not someone my superiors want you interacting with. That your own father-“

“Dad was wrong.” Dean grunted. “She’s not- I shoulda been kept away from her. Not the other way around.”

“Why?”

Dean frowned, shooting Cas a glare. “Because. I’m not doing a shrink session with you, man. I’m calmed down. Bring me back to Sam.”

“I will, but first-“ Cas’ brows furrowed slightly. “There is… something you should know-“

The world was blurring and turning again, and this time when they landed—right back in Chuck’s shitting living room—there wasn’t anything left in Dean’s body to vomit back up.

Baldy was leering over him, as Dean steadied himself on the desk. And when he tried to open his mouth he couldn’t fucking speak, so he just narrowed his eyes in the most hateful, furious glare of his life.

“Mr. Winchester.” Baldy hummed, unfazed by Dean’s scowl. “I trust that when I free you and your brother, who I have graciously not harmed or mauled, you will depart from Chuck Shurley’s house and only return when the time is right, yes?”

Dean just scowled. This shitbag didn’t get to come in here and tell him what to do, standing all fucking puffed out and giving orders, expecting Dean to fall into goddamn line just like that without even giving a goddamn name-

“You don’t need to know who I am yet.” Baldy sighed, scanning over Dean’s face. “How about this. I’ll give you a few minutes to collect yourself, you’ll leave this house like that,” Baldy snapped his fingers, giving Dean a wolf-like smile. “I won’t erase your memories of this whole encounter, and you’ll depart with all your organs intact. Deal?”

It was a shit deal.

Dean couldn’t afford to forget what Chuck had told him. He couldn’t see Her again and not know what Dad had done, because he had to use it as an explication for something snapped at the sight of Her—always beautiful, likely glowing in the light of whatever room he found Her in, all the wind in the world moving through Her hair perfectly and Her voice saying his name like a call to motion—and he fell to his knees, begging for Her to keep staying with him, all the way down, even if it ended up being lower than Hell or just right fucking there forever.

So he nodded, and Baldy’s grin grew.

“See you in a few months, Dean.”

Light flashed through the room, and when it cleared, Baldy was gone.

So was Cas.

And Sam was coughing, pounding on his chest and frowning around the room. “Dean, I-“

“C’mon.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look back as they marched to the door. “Sounds like we’ll be back here anyway, Sammy. Let’s skip town before the brigade of featherdicks comes back.”

“Dean- wait-“ Sam was running after him, his steps pounding on the floor. “What Chuck said, about her and Dad, I swear I didn’t-“

“I know. C’mon.”

They made it to the car. All the way into their seat before someone was pounding on their windows, and Dean glanced up to see Chuck, leaning down with messy hair and wide eyes.

Sam frowned. “What’s he-“

“Guys!” Chuck called through the glass, knocking once more. “I’m sorry about that, I just- I have a question for you and the angels didn’t say I couldn’t ask you guys stuff-“

Dean glanced over to Sam, who shrugged. That was true. And Baldy had said to leave the house.

“I know you can- shit-“ Chuck jumped back as Dean rolled down his window, before ducking down and giving them a nervous smile. “Uh, thank you.”

“What’s your question.”

Chuck watched Dean as he said Her name, and Dean’s whole body braced. “What’s she like?”

Dean scowled. “What.”

“I just, I know about all of you. Everything. Call it curiosity, maybe even killing the cat, but I’m just-“ Chuck shrugged. “I’d like to know.”

“Know what?” Sam jumped in, and Dean could’ve sworn Chuck shot him a glare. “Like, her favorite movie?”

“Yeah, sure. Or food, song, or- just anything, I guess-“

“Indiana Jones.” Dean grunted, and Chuck blinked at him.

“I-“

“That’s her favorite movie.” He’d have to clean Baby, later. As an apology for strangling her wheel. “And she’ll eat anything with sugar, but she doesn’t have a favorite song. Likes all of them.”

Chuck nodded slowly. “Alright, how about-“

Dean didn’t have the time, or patience for this.

He rolled the window up in Chuck’s stupid face.

“See you in five months!” He called through the glass, and before Chuck could even open his mouth, the man was just a musty spot in the rearview mirror.

For a while, it was just Dean, Sam, and the music, turned so loud it was pounding in Dean’s ribs.

It almost filled up the pit. The place that his body had always saved for Her. To be filled by Her light.

Dean needed to fucking find Her.

Sam cleared his throat, turning down the dial. “Weird day.”

“Yep.”

“I know we probably have some stuff to figure out, but, uh, Ruby texted me-“

“Did she now.”

“Yeah, look, I know how you feel about her, dude, but she says she might have some important information for us-“

“Awesome.” Dean glanced at one of the highway signs as he drove. “Tell Bobby.”

Sam frowned. “Bobby? Why-“

“He’ll help you with it.”

“Dean, just because it’s Ruby-“

“I don’t care that it’s Ruby.” Dean snapped, and for once, that really wasn’t the problem. “I have something else to do, Sam, so Bobby’s gonna help you out!”

“What- Dean.” Sam sighed. “I told you, she’s probably fine.”

“I’m not making bets on probably.”

“It’s- It might be a girl who can hear angels.” Sam said Her name, leaning forward to try and hold Dean’s attention. “C’mon, man, that’s huge-“

“Good thing you’re taking Bobby.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t. It’s, I’ve waited too fucking long, Sammy, and she needs to know about this-“

“So call her-“

“She hasn’t been picking up.”

“Maybe she’s in a dead zone, she’s driving through miles in different continent-“

“Sammy. Drop it.”

“But-“

“I need to see her, okay?!” Dean’s voice had risen to a shout, but he didn’t care.

Sam didn’t understand. No one fucking understood any of this, but She-

Dean had told Her he’d be fine, and he’d lied. He’d told Her that she’d be okay, and now he didn’t know where the hell she was. He didn’t care about the angels, or Ruby, or Chuck, or fucking anything but Her.

“I need to see her,” he repeated, Sam sighed, and the conversation died.

Good.

Nothing, not another set of hellhounds, a single angel, or God him fucking self, was going to stop Dean from bringing her home.

End Note: Welcome to season four, squad. Kicking it off on a high note (meeting Cas)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@funkenniffler @laurakirsten0502

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luvhughes43 · 1 month ago

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celebrity crush | luke hughes

[luvhughes43 masterlist🌙]

face claim: 1x grammy winning artist tyla

note: i also found this in my drafts from last year😭 apologies for the grammar mistakes ive grown since writing this i swear

summary: luke has a celebrity crush... who may just like him back

ever since luke saw the videos and pictures of you winning your first grammy he was hooked. you were insanely gorgeous, and your singing was just out of this world. he couldn't lie and say that he hadn't watched your water music video on repeat, he was drawn to you in a way he had never been with anyone before.

his whole family knew about his poorly-hidden crush. every time one of your songs would come on the radio jack would smirk and say some stupid comment, and quinn would send luke links to your instagram posts with comments like "your gf just posted!". his parents were kind about it, but they weren't immune to the "she's gorgeous! you should message her!" comments.

if he could he would, he just knew that there was no way you would ever go for him. you were just too damn good.

ynuser

liked by lhughes_06, victoriamonet, and 167 438 others

ynuser some exciting things are coming soon<3

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victoriamonet stunning🤎

user01 why'd luke hughes like this? 😭

user02 because shes hot af and hes a man ?

user03 luke liking this? ohhh i got his tea

user04 love u sm yn!!! youre so insanely talented

now you couldn't lie, after seeing all the comments about luke hughes left on your insta post, you googled him! the first search that popped up was a questions video posted by his nhl team.

"who's your celebrity crush?" the girl behind the camera asks. there were a bunch of different answers, margot robbie, megan fox, jenna ortega... but then the curly hair boy walked into frame.

"who's your celebrity crush?" the girl repeats, and luke blushes before answering, "okay, i'll answer this one"

"my celebrity crush is for sure y/n," he responds with a grin on his face and somebody who must know him really well playfully rolls their eyes as they stride up beside him.

when your screen goes black you pause and take in what you just saw. you replay the video, this time skipping to lukes part, and assess. he was hot and just your type.

while feeling bold, you search luke on instagram and send him a short message: saw your video. im in nj next week for a show, wanna meet up?

ynuser

liked by jackhughes, lhughes_06, victoriamonet, and 108 935 others

ynuser thank u nyc u were a dream! see u next week nj✨

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user05 STUNNING

user06 prettiest girl in the world

user07 both luke and jack liking this? tf is going on🤨

luke wakes up early for practice, something he always likes to do. jack was always loud in the morning and so by waking up early he had some peace and quietly run though his routine.

luke blindly feels around his night stand for his phone as he did all mornings. he scrolls through his notifications, nothing catching his immediate attention. snapchats from friends, instagram tags, a few text messages... nothing out of the ordinary.

he checks instagram first as he likes to do his daily scroll through his feed. he likes a few posts from various sports accounts, before deciding to look through his dms for fun. there were two types of dms, girls tagging him in their stories, or random brands asking for partnerships.

ynuser sent you a message request

luke blinks before slowly tapping accept on the request.

yn: saw your video. im in nj next week for a show, wanna meet up?

...

"what the fuck??" luke shouts, and a second later jack is barging through his door.

"what! what are you screaming about?" hes on edge, sending quick glances around lukes bedroom to try and find the danger.

"she messaged me!"

jack pauses, slowly bringing his gaze back to his brother. "you screamed because a girl... messaged you?"

"yn dmed me!" he replies, and jack immediately perks up.

"theres no way! show me," jack says enthusiastically as he walks over and stares at lukes phone. "she saw the question video? thats insane luck,"

luke just stares at the dm, completely overwhelmed but also at a loss for words. like, of course he wants to meet yn but how does he respond in a cool way? especially when he was freaking out so much.

"what do i say?"

jack stares again, confused as to how luke has no game. "tell her yes?"

"right, okay," luke nods his head. he doesnt start typing right away, and just looks at him blankly. "i cant text back with u standing right there,"

jack laughs before waving his little brother off. "thanks for waking me up,"

"youre welcome! shut the door," luke jokes distractedly. there is no way this is real life.

ynuser

liked by lhughes_06, sabrinacarpenter, and 126 034 others

ynuser nj you guys are incredible ❤️‍🔥

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user08 luke liking again...

user09 can u blame him? look at her shes so pretty

user10 YOU WERE INSANEEEE ILY

obviously, luke messaged you back and the two of you decided to meet after your first show. you gave him the details of how to meet you backstage, and he had no issues getting through security.

"hey! it's nice to meet you," luke greets you easily. he's a little nervous but he hides it well. there was no way he was going to mess up this introduction.

"hey! i'm y/n," you introduce yourself even though you know luke already knows who you are. "i hope you liked the show!"

"it was - yah it was great," luke responds, and your chest fills with excitement. "i loved it all really, you have such a good voice,"

"thank youuu," youre giggly. gosh he was so cute... his curls look well taken care of, and he's dressed in a clean quarter-zip sweater and a nice pair of jeans. "uh, did you wanna go out to eat or something?" you ask, absolutely starving from your show. you had a break from touring after tonight, so you were free to spend as much time with luke as you wanted.

you were surprised by how quick you got along with luke. you spent most of the night talking over fries and milkshakes, before he took you around the city to show you his favourite spots - most of which were closed at this hour.

"i'm really having fun," you laugh at one of lukes jokes. you can't remember the last time you just wandered around a city and hung out. lately, your life was filled with recording sessions, photoshoots, promotion, and now of course your tour. you wouldnt trade your job for the world but sometimes having your career be your whole life, was a lot.

"i'm having a lot of fun too," luke replies, and the two of you giggle awkwardly as you continue cruising in his car.

when the night reluctantly ends and luke drops you off at your hotel, you insist on exchanging numbers.

ynuser

liked by lhughes_06, _quinnhughes, arianagrande, and 159 025 others

ynuser beach girl

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user11 PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE WORLD!!

user12 luke liking less than a minute after u posted... hes not even trying to hide his crush!

you and luke stayed in touch, never going more than a few days without texting each other. somehow, both of your busy schedules worked out in your favours and you were surprisingly able to relate to each other on a lot of levels.

you guys hung out whenever you were in the same cities, and when your tour was over and luke was heading into the off-season, you two made plans to hang out during the summer as friends.

lhughes_06

liked by _quinnhughes, jackhughes, dylanduke25, and 98 126 others

lhughes_06 Who knew one little video would lead us here?❤️

tagged: ynuser

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trevorzegras didnt know u had it in you

jackhughes worlds most insane pull

_quinnhughes congrats guys!

dylanduke25 respectfully when can i meet her?

user13 YN AND LUKE????

user14 lukes dating yn??? the girl who sang water... the grammy winning artist... the prettiest girl there is... omfg

user15 OMFG??????

user16 shes jawdroppingly gorgeous omfg

user17 need a bf to take pics of me like this so bad

#luke hughes x reader #luke hughes blurb #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes insta edit #luke hughes fic #nhl fanfiction

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ellastone-olsen · 1 year ago

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Would it be possible if you could do a g!p wandanat x female reader with sex pollen?? Its okay if you cant, just an idea if you have nothing else to write🫣🤭

Blue glow - WandaNat

DO NOT COPY ANY OF MY WORKS. MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY

Summary: Curiosity and alien flowers work wonders.

Pairing: G!PWandaNat × fem!R

Warnings:NSWF,SMUT SMUT SMUT, handjob, blowjob, breeding kink, threesome, cockwarming, dirty talk, after care

DISCLAIMER: ENGLISH ISN’T MY FIRST LANGUAGE SORRY FOR GRAMMAR OR SPELLING MISTAKES

Word count: 1.7k

AN: hi anon! I’m glad to see my first request thank you! honestly, until that moment I didn’t know what sex pollen is and I had to turn to google lmao

"What is that?." You asked looking at the strange plant in the pot. "Have you decided to take up gardening? Tony, I thought you weren't old enough to act like my grandma." You stop laughing when the man looks at you sternly, apparently not appreciating the jokes about his age. “This, by the way, is a plant unknown to science (at least on Earth), which I personally grew from seeds strictly for research and not what you just said.” “Okay let’s say it’s like this, let me take a closer does it smell like something?” You also kept a couple of cacti in your room at the Avengers headquarters, which recently bloomed by the way. As soon as you stood up and approached to the pot, a man blocked your way. “Are you crazy, what did I just say? Don’t touch this thing, I don’t know if it’s poisonous or not.” You looked at him sternly and muttered under your breath so that he could also hear, “You said not to touch, not to smell.” The attempt failed.

late Friday evening. Everyone went to their rooms or left the headquarters altogether. There was silence everywhere, only the sounds of Wanda’s steps were heard somewhere in the corridor. The woman had almost reached her destination when she saw some kind of blue glow in the darkness, “What the fuck...”. She came closer and examined some kind of plant that vaguely resembled a flycatcher, but with more spherical “traps.” Then she suddenly remembered...

“Y/N, Natasha, come here let’s hurry up. Y/N, you told me about something in Tony’s office. Check it out, Natasha take a look too.” Apparently the witch was very impressed by the flower, because she excitedly pulled both of you by the hands towards the light source. And where did she get this passion for flora…

“Wanda, we were already getting ready to go to bed, what did you see there?” Nat suddenly fell silent, looking at the strange light. “Did you seriously drag me out of bed for this succulent or what is this?!” She clearly did not share the witch's interest. “Oh, you’re right, this is the flower I told you about. Tony takes such good care of it, and apparently it’s...bloomed? Let’s take a closer and look, it’s cool,” Nat rolled her eyes but followed you two. You raised your face to the flower, wanting to look at it, when suddenly... the ball of the bud opened releasing pollen into the air, apparently from which the light came.

There is absolutely everything around in this stuff, you can hear Natasha’s exclamations: “Don’t breathe in this, it can be poisonous. Damn it, I told you not to come here.” The three of you cough, covering your faces, and go out into the corridor, shaking yourself and each other from the remaining dust. “Now you make me need to take a shower again.” The woman grumbles something else while Wanda calms her down, you also want to answer, but suddenly this feeling comes.

If there was a mirror in front of you right now, you could appreciate how quickly your pupils are dilating, as if you were a drug addict on a high (technically you were), beads of sweat are rolling off your forehead and this pulsation between your legs is as if you were given a dose of an aphrodisiac multiplied by five times. Oh no this is definitely not normal, you need to tell Wanda and Natasha what is happening apparently because of this cute glowing flower. While you were in your thoughts you didn't notice how the swearing died down and both women also noticed the changes.

When you turned your head, you saw two women looking at you with hunger and tents in their pants. Your mouth watered at the sight of the obvious bulge on both of your girlfriends and you impatiently walked over to Wanda, clinging to her like a lifeline. "Oh God, I don't know what it is, but I need you both so bad." Natasha came up from behind, pressing her rock-hard dick to your ass, her arms wrapped around your waist and the redhead’s whisper was heard in your ear. "Oh don't worry baby you'll get what you want.Damn I'm going to die if I don't fill your pretty pussy at least twice. What do you think Wanda?"

You feel the soft material of the sheets as they throw you on the bed, watching as they take off their clothes and look at you as if you were their prey. Your own panties are already hopelessly ruined, lub flows down your thighs at the sight of your girlfriends.

You quickly take of your clothes after which Nat takes you in her arms, pressing a kiss on your lips, you feel her cock poking into your stomach and dripping with pre-cum. Wanda, meanwhile stands behind stroking her length at this spectacle. "Mmm..Nat please." You rock your hips to rub against her cock, but you are suddenly pulled to your feet and forced to your knees.

"No no, first you're going to take every inch of my dick into your mouth, baby." The tip of her cock pressed against your lips and you obediently open your mouth and shake your head along entire length. Wanda can’t just watch anymore and comes up to you, takes your hand and places it on her pulsating length. "Come on baby, jerk off Wanda you can't leave either of us needy. Damn Wanda her mouth feels so good around me. That's such a good cocksucker." You move your hand and rub your thumb over Wanda's sensitive red tip as she begins to rock into your hand. Tears well up in your eyes when Natasha grabs your hair and shuts your mouth. Wanda helps you jerk her off and grins, “What is it baby girl? Is Nat’s dick too big for you? You’re so beautiful, now I want to cum all over your face.”

Natasha began to shamelessly fuck your mouth, running after her orgasm, the head of her dick hitting the back wall of your throat every time. "That's itmbaby, I'm going to cum in your beautiful fucking mouth and you'll swallow every drop. Wanda, are you close? Cum with me." Your hand was thrown away so that Wanda could jerk herself off, cumming all over your face, ropes of Natasha's cum hit your throat and you breathed through your nose as you swallowed every drop as you were told.

You took a deep breath as the redhead pulled out of your mouth and wiped Wanda's release off your face. When you were lifted from the floor, a small puddle of your arousal remained on it, your legs did not obey and your knees were red. You were already dripping and the pitiful whining and pleas left your mouth without hindrance. “Please it hurts so much, I need you to fuck me so bad.”

"What do you think Wanda, I think she deserves to have you fill her pussy." The witch got off with a simple nod as her two strong hands forced you onto all fours on the bed, allowing her to position herself behind you so she could start pounding into you without warning. "God Nat, her pussy was made for my cock, so greedy and tight. You need to see how well she takes me." Nat, meanwhile, spat on her hand for extra lub and stroked her red sensitive tip, appreciating how good the two of you looked. The long-awaited feeling of filling and Wanda’s quick thrusts drove you crazy, you put your hand under you, stimulating your swollen clit. "Yes yes thank you thank you so good fuck I'm gonna cum can I cum?" You know that with the tip of Wanda’s cock deliciously hitting that nice spot inside you, you wouldn’t last long, and having received approval, a minute later the orgasm hit you with incredible force. "Oh yes Y/N you squeeze my cock so well. Oh my God, cum for me like that, cum all over my length." The witch praised you.

You were turned over again and your back touched the cool sheets. Wanda pounding into you hearing a cute whine from your mouth, "Too sensitive. It's too much." "Oh baby girl you can take it. I need to filled this tight pussy so badly. You want my cum inside don't you? Do you love this cock?" "Yes yes I love so fucking much!". Natasha continued to jerk herself off when a cute little idea popped into her head that she only bothered to tell the witch about. The women looked at each other and Wanda nodded in approval of the plan.

The witch's thrusts became faster and she exploded, releasing her load inside you. “Oh yeah baby fuck take all my cum!” The feeling of fullness and how good it was, was the only thing you could think about. Wanda, meanwhile, pulled out of you, giving way to the redhead. Natasha turned you around, taking you by the hips and jerking off her cock, she stuck only the tip inside you, filling you even more. "Oh fuck fuck I'm so full fuck Natasha!" “That’s it my little greedy girl, I know you love it when I fill you up .” The only sounds in the room were heavy sighs and Nat's little whining as she pulled out and looked at the beautiful picture in front of her.

You were lying on your shared bed, Wanda took napkins from the nightstand and carefully wiped all the liquids from your thighs, kissing you and telling you how good you are and how much she loves you. When the witch finished, Natasha threw a robe over your naked body, picked you up, kissing your cheeks and carried you to the bathroom so they could both take care of you the way you truly deserve.

Sitting in a hot bubble bath, you asked, “How do we tell Tony about the pollen effect of his science experiment?”

#natasha x reader #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff x reader #wandanat #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natasha x you #wanda x you #wandanat x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader

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wonysugar · 1 year ago

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fuck you stupid | ning yizhuo

synopsis : you thought you’d seen it all with her, but no, she somehow managed to surprise you even further.

pairing : bimbo!ningning x fem!reader

genre : bffs to... fwb?? idk they just fuck,, so obviously smut too! xx

tags : yall got lost help, fingering, degradation, belittling, dumbification, car sex, she's so stupid but she fucks you good so it's okay, very slight cunnilingus, she slaps you like once so impact play!

warnings : none!

word count : 1.6k

you, y/n l/n, weren’t exactly smart, but you also weren’t exactly stupid. like yeah, you weren’t a genius per se, but it’s not like you were brain dead either. average was the term you always used to describe your intelligence.

you unfortunately couldn’t say the same about ning yizhuo, your best friend.

you loved her, like that’s your bitch, of course you love her! however, you’d be lying if you said that she was intellectually capable, because she just wasn’t. god, she was just so, so painfully stupid?? clumsy??? careless???? all of the above applied when it came to this woman. not even to be mean or anything of the sorts, just, yknow… natural selection at its finest.

she was aware of that, though, and even thrived in being the self proclaimed bimbo everyone knew and loved. (to which you wholeheartedly agree with, by the way) and honestly? you just couldn’t stop teasing her about it whenever you two hung out. things similar to “stupid hoe” and “dumbass” always escaping your mouth as you two laughed, probably moments after she bumped onto something on the sidewalk whilst spilling all the tea to you.

in summary, she’s done stupid shit before, but nothing, nothing could ever top what she had done that day.

the day she got the both of you lost in some random parking lot at like, 2 am.

“ning, we’re fucking lost.” you told her, eyebrows furrowed in frustration as you watched her giggle nervously.

she grabbed her cellphone and hovered her finger over the power button, “oh come on y/n don’t be like that, i can just go on google maps and we’ll be out of here in no ti-“

a black screen.

she cleared her throat hesitantly, sighed, then pressed the button again.

nothing.

she kept doing that, giving longer presses to the side of her phone in hopes of a miracle . your patience was running thin and you were quite frankly not far from panicking.

after the 27th-ish try, you finally snapped at her.

“fucking hell ning do you not charge your damn phone??”

“sorry that i forgot to?”

oh she had to be joking.

“girl oh my god what the fuck?? we’ll stay stuck here for only god knows how long and it’s all gonna be because ‘ning yizhuo forgot to charge her phone beforehand’ for fuck’s sake.” you closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose in exasperation. trying to calm down, you ignored ning’s gaze.

her stupid annoying yapping wasn’t helping at all. like, at all.

“oh so we’re once again blaming me, got it. y/n you didn’t even bring your own phone, how do you have the audacity to put the blame on me.” she said back, her eyebrow raised up as she threw her phone down on her skirt, sighing exasperatedly.

“because someone told me it was her turn to get the aux.”

“where in that sentence did i ever tell you not to bring your phone??”

“god, ning just- just stay quiet. okay? just- please shut up, i’m trying to think. we can’t rely on you for anything.” you told her, exasperated.

in response, she scoffed, “no?? no i won’t, actually. you’re always putting the blame on me and it’s seriously starting to piss me the fuck off. yeah i’m a bimbo, whatever, but does that mean that you have to talk to me like i only have two barely functioning brain cells??”

“oh please, saying you have two functioning brain cells would be wayy too generous. you’re always doing the stupidest shit out of the two of us. i mean fuck, you literally drove us here, in the middle of nowhere. you’re not a bimbo, you’re just fucking dumb, ning.”

when you looked back at her, she seemed hurt. like,

a wave of guilt quickly washed over you upon seeing her pained, pained expression. she looked into your eyes, frustration and sadness clearly showing into her own. yeah, she looked pissed. you wanted to apologize almost immediately, and you were going to,

if she didn’t suddenly press her lips onto yours before you could even get a word out.

how do best friends make up after a fight?

usually, they talk it out, they go out, hug it out then get milkshakes or whatever, hell, sometimes they just go a day or two without talking then eventually forget about it.

this? this was none of that.

since she planted a kiss on your lips, you, instead of doing anything stated above, were fucking.

like, yeahh you were still lost, but at least you were getting your pussy ravaged. the situation could be handled later; when you weren’t drenched.

throwing your head back as you moaned out ning’s name, you were straddling her in the backseat of her car, feeling her two fingers deep inside you and stretching you out. she looked up at you with lustfully hooded eyes as she kissed and left very visible marks all over your neck, all the way down to your collarbone, her free hand fondling your tits, lazily playing with the nipple.

“f-fuck ning keep going i’m sososo close- fuckfuckfuck..” feeling yourself getting pushed closer to the edge by the friction you felt, you bucked your hips faster onto her digits. the knot tying in your stomach felt like it would’ve snapped any second now, that is,

until she stopped moving her fingers altogether.

frustrated, you whined loudly, “ninggg please let me cum pleaseplease-”

“oh yeah? so now you wanna rely on me for something, and it’s to make you cum?” she laughed. “fucking slut. i’ll make you cum whenever i want to, got it, bitch?” she added, pressing her thumb on your swollen throbbing clit, smirking condescendingly and watching how pretty you looked when pleasure contorted your face.

you unintentionally clenched at her words, nodding shamefully. it was embarrassing enough having your best friend knuckles deep inside of you, having her call you names and whatnot, but the real embarrassing part?

enjoying it thoroughly.

she knew this, she knew she had you wrapped around her finger at that moment and oh was it such a power trip for her. seeing you be so needy for her touch, you almost started riding her fingers yourself, too. she was always the one being treated like a dumb bitch, it was nice being on the other side of things, for a change.

she kept twisting and pulling on your nipple with her free hand as she slowly started to slide her fingers up and down your walls again, giggling and paying close attention to how your body shook and twitched at each and every one of her slow movements. what a sight to see.

“you like being fucked stupid hm?”

and that’s what she did,

seconds,

minutes,

what felt likes hours,

you were sloppily bouncing and grinding on her fingers, speed ranging from a painful slowness to an overwhelming rapidity.

you gripped her arms tightly, as if you would fall into some sort of void if you didn’t hold onto her for dear life. resting your head on her shoulder, you whined, losing yourself onto her. her fingers were still pumping in and out of you at that moment, faster than they were before, by the way, so it took you all of your body strength to not just cum right then and there, but you managed to hold back. for her, you held back and took all of it. every minute passing, every single motion feeling like it was threatening to make you go insane.

“ning pleaseplease let me cum i wanna cum so badly fuck- pleasepleasepleasepleaseee-” you begged, looking down at her with pleading teary eyes.

“fuck, look at you. calling me a dumb bitch all the time, yet here you are, acting oh so stupid for my fingers. such a brainless needy little whore for me, hm? does my idiotic, pretty girl wanna cum?”

you nodded eagerly as you whined, tears actively running down both of your cheeks, so desperate for release that you quite honestly didn’t care for how ridiculous you looked to her at that moment. you just wanted to cum, so, so, so badly, and you were ready to give up your dignity for it.

the sound of her hand slapping your cheek resonated in the car.

“say it. you know damn well i don’t accept pathetic sounds for an answer.”

“fuck— your idiotic pretty girl wants to cum pleaseee let her–”

she hummed, smirking at your response. incredibly amused by your behavior, she took her fingers out of you, picked you up by placing her hands on your thighs, then gently put you on the empty seat that was next to the one she occupied. upon seeing you sat comfortably, she proceeded to kneel down on the empty space between the front seats and the backseats. y’know,

the ones a grown woman couldn’t possibly fit in?

it’s okay though, like, yeah she would most definitely complain about back pain later, but right now?

she needed to feel you cum all over her tongue.

and that’s exactly what she worked towards, her tongue driven by the scent of your arousal to roam all over your folds and clit, kissing and sucking on every inch of your core as she attentively listened to all the sweet noises that came out of you. it really did not take long before your moans reached octaves you didn’t even know you could achieve before, an overwhelming wave of relief hitting you like a truck. you were 100% sure you would pass out afterwards.

at the end of the day, yeah, you both were still stranded in the middle of some unknown parking lot, but at least, the stress of it all evaporated in the air.

while you were trying to catch your breath, you made a mental note;

never underestimate ning’s intelligence when she was in a bad mood! or, do. depending on if you wanna get fucked stupid that day or not.

#smut #kpop gg #female reader #aespa smut #ningning #ningning aespa #ning yizhuo #ningning x female reader #ningning x reader #aespa #aespa ningning #ningning aespa smut #ning yizhuo x female reader

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whocaresstillthelouvre · 3 months ago

Text

It's Golden

Dieter Bravo x Female Reader

Rating: Explicit. 18+ (Minors DNI) Summary: Your week in London with Dieter comes to an end. A new year brings a revelation. Warnings: pov switching, warren's a pos, pining, fluff, comfort, dieter bravo is good at being romantic, unprotected p in v sex, oral (f&m receiving), balcony sex, shower sex, london eye sex (please throw out all reality about the london eye), waking up to oral sex, ordering room service with dieter between your legs, ass slapping, risque photos, psychedelic mushrooms, marijuana, alcohol, special guest star paddington bear, long distance relationship airport flashbacks for your author, i am sorry about the ending Words: 8,500

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you to everyone who reads this... Dee & Sweets started as a singular fic... and then the character's planted in my head and heart and refused to leave. This chapter's a big one. I hope you enjoy. ✨💞 Thank you to @devineconjuring and @schnarfer for their Google Docs perusing.

Previous Chapter Golden Girl Masterlist Masterlist ✨✨✨

December 29

Dieter wakes up, reaching his arm out for your body, but finds only cool sheets. He blinks away the remnants of sleep turning over to find your side of the bed empty.

With a sigh, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand. As he unlocks it, a flurry of notifications pop up. At the top, a message from Alex. An outline, detailed and thorough, listing everything he needs to do now that the photos have been taken care of. There’s a lot there… but he’d do triple the work if it meant it’d keep you safe.

He can hear the faint sounds of a random cast of British people on TV. He gets out of bed excited to tell you the good news.

He slides his arms in his robe before tying it loosely as he pads out of the bedroom. The living room is empty, the TV playing Paddington softly to itself. Of course you’d choose Paddington. He hears a slight clattering down the hallway as he gets his first smell of coffee.

He hears you softly humming to yourself as he approaches the kitchen. He pauses at the doorway when he sees you.

You’re standing at the stove, flipping pancakes while sipping a mug full of coffee. You’re wearing the same bright, striped robe he gave you a couple of years ago. He loves watching you exist, doing something as mundane as flipping pancakes. It almost feels like he’s been transported back to your home, standing in your kitchen.

"You brought my robe?”

You startle slightly when he speaks.

“Morning," you turn, lifting your mug up and smiling in greeting. “I did.”

He strides over. Placing his hand on your shoulder to turn you. His eyebrows rise at the sight in front of him. The robe is tied loosely, your chest almost fully exposed to him, his mouth already begins to water. “Damn, it looks really good on you.”

“Thanks,” you say with a small smile before turning back to flip another pancake.

He steps closer, his chest pressing against your back, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Pancakes, huh?”

“I know they’re one of your favorites and I-I wanted to thank you for what you did last night.”

“It was nothing. Alex also let me know he’s called off the proverbial hounds.”

"Really? How did you manage that?"

"I have my ways. Let's just say I'll be doing a lot more press in the coming months."

You turn in his arms, eyes wide with surprise. “You didn’t have to do that… honestly.”

"Hey, it's worth it. You're worth it.”

“Thank you,” you breathe out appreciatively.

He presses his lips against you, his hands sliding down to your waist, pushing you against the countertop. The spatula clatters to the floor when you wrap your arms around his neck.

The two of you get lost in the kiss, your lips, tongues, hands, and moans trying to tell each other all the words and feelings left unsaid… until you smell burnt pancakes.

“Shit!” you exclaim, pushing him away before moving the pan off the stove.

You shake your head with a smile as you scrape the charred remains of the pancake into the trash. “Get out of here before we have to order room service.”

He constantly feels like he’s dreaming whenever he’s around you, especially right now. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch happily eating a piece of marmalade topped toast while watching Paddington. He’s already devoured three pancakes. You even remembered exactly how he likes them: covered in honey, hot sauce, and bacon.

It’s like you’ve always been here in London with him, slotted into his life. You’ve taken this temporary hotel suite and made it into a home.

You’ve always been the one for him, and when you look over, mouth full of toast, and ask “Paddington 2 next?” He wants to do this with you forever.

—-

"If you're kind and polite, the world will be right."

Dieter chuckles a low, happy sound when he sees you’re wiping tears from your eyes as the credits of Paddington 2 begin to roll.

“What do you want to do today now that you’re all cried out from Paddington?” he teases.

You grab a throw pillow, bonking it against his head. “Shut up.”

He laughs, catching the pillow and tossing it aside. “Did you want to go see Paddington at Paddington Station? We’ll get some marmalade sandwiches, maybe see if we can spot a small Peruvian bear,” he says with a wink.

“Oh, so my not so subtle hints worked, right?”

He shakes his head, offering you his hand as he rises. “Come on Sweets, get your rain boots out.”

“They’re called wellies here!”

—-

How can you take such a menial task and make it so sexy?

You’re squeezing the remnants of your travel size shampoo out of the bottle, frowning as nothing spurts out. He doesn’t know why he can feel the rush of blood to his dick. Oh yeah, it’s because you’re all wet and naked in front of him, your breasts jiggling as you shake the bottle.

He finds himself sudsing up his cock with much more vigor than normal. His length not so subtly growing hard against his palms. You’re massaging shampoo into your scalp when you look over at him, realizing what he’s doing.

You reach over with a smile, wrapping your hand around his, guiding it up and down his shaft. His deep, long groan echoes off the marble when you brush your thumb against his sensitive tip.

His chest meets your back when you turn, his hands move to cup your breasts, rolling your nipples between his fingers as he rubs his cock against your slippery, wet ass.

Bracing your hands against the tiled wall, you bend over slightly. He runs his hand down your back and over the curve of your ass. Water cascades down your skin, he can’t resist himself, you look so fucking good, he leaves a light slap against your ass.

“Oh!” you shout followed by a long moan and a tempting giggle. His legs turn to jelly when you breathe out a low “again.”

He complies, this time teasing you with a couple false starts before SMACK, he leaves an open palmed sting against your skin.

You moan again and spread your legs wide for him, arching your back and presenting your pussy to him.

You glance over your shoulder. “Fuck me Dieter, give me your cock.”

You’ve never talked dirty to him, he’s thought about how you’d sound for years… so much so, he would dread it if he heard you utter the word fuck, because in his fantasies, you were constantly telling him to fuck you.

He grips your slippery hips as he lines himself up to your eager pussy that’s waiting for him. Lazily, your hips sway back and forth, brushing the tip of his cock against your cunt.

You glance at him again, a look of determination on your beautiful face. “I said, fuck me Dee,” you command.

That’s enough for him, he enters you quick and hard, your elbows and knees bending at the impact. His cock bottoming out in your wet, tight cunt as you scream his name.

He drives into you hard and fast, his hands perched against your shoulders, hips snapping against your ass.

“Yessss,” you hiss.

He knew you’d be the best he’s ever had, but he never knew just how good you’d feel every time, how sweet your moans would sound reverberating off the tile, how mesmerized he’d be by the way the water splashes as he fucks into you.

His suite is one of the largest and highest floored at this super luxury hotel, but he’s pretty sure that even the lobby can hear the noises you’re making right now.

He watches your orgasm spread through your body. Your hands trying to grip the wall, your head thrown back, mouth open wide, spitting water out as you coo and gasp for him. You’re absolutely gripping his cock, the pulses of it and your vibrating body sending him over the edge.

“Fuuuuuck,” he swears, pulling his cock out and shooting his load all over your back and ass, pumping himself as the water washes away his cum. You’re trembling, barely able to keep yourself up. He grabs you, kissing your soaked skin and whispering how good you took his cock as you smile up at him with a sweet, satisfied smile. Okay, now he’s sure he is dreaming.

—-

You’ve been to London a few times with Warren, but he always found the idea of going somewhere to see a statue of a “cartoon” ridiculous. You always knew Dieter would understand your joy with zero judgment.

You weave around the travelers and tourists, until you see him. The Paddington Bear. You pull Dieter towards the bronze statue, “Oh my god! It’s him!”

You can’t contain your excitement, a wide grin spreads across your face as you sit down on the bronze suitcase and mimic Paddington’s seated position.

Dieter takes a few photos of you with your beloved bear, his shoulders slightly shaking as he chuckles to himself.

“Come here!” you insist, reaching your hand out to him.

He leans down, wrapping an arm around your waist as you both squeeze in next to Paddington. He holds up his phone, angling it to get all three of you in the shot. You turn just as he takes the first picture, planting a kiss on his cheek.

You don’t care if someone in the crowd might see you, Dieter’s gone above and beyond to prove that he’ll protect you, more than anybody ever has.

Later that night, you can’t stop staring at the photos of you and Dieter with Paddington, it’s hard to deny that you look like two people in love.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 30

Dieter’s refused to tell you where you’re headed since you left the hotel. Your mind races with ideas until… the car pulls up to the entrance of the London Eye.

“Surprise Sweets,” he says, opening the door.

“Oh my god. We’re going on the Eye?” you ask, sliding across the leather and getting out of the warmth of the car. Your head tilted to take in the large ferris wheel.

He nods. “Not just that. Come on.”

An attendant greets Dieter by name and ushers you two past the waiting crowd. There’s a twinge of guilt as you bypass the line, you really have to get used to the life of a celebrity.

The attendant leads you to a private capsule, holding the door open as you step inside. The door seals, and your breath catches in your throat as you take in the pod.

A bottle of champagne sits on ice with two flutes, a large fuzzy blanket topped with pillows is spread across the floor, along with an assortment of flickering fake candles. But what really catches your eyes is the fancy tray filled with slices of cheddar cheese and crackers. Tears spring in your eyes, quickly falling when you close them in laughter. “Oh my god, you got me cheese and crackers. My favorite!”

“Of course I did,” he responds a wide smile matching yours.

The capsule begins its slow ascent. You turn to Dieter, your eyes shining with happiness. "This is incredible.”

“We have it for the rest of the night. You deserve it. All of it.”

He settles on the blanket and pops the champagne pouring two glasses. You join, snuggling close to him as he drapes an arm around you.

“Cheers,” he says, clinking his glass against yours.

“Cheers,” you smile as you watch Dieter reach for the tray and build you a cheese and cracker sandwich. He smiles as he holds it up to your lips with a lopsided grin. You feel like you’re in a fantasy, like one of those stories Dieter’s fans write about him when you take a bite and savor the buttery cracker and smooth, sharp cheddar.

“Big Ben looks so cool up here,” you exclaim, as your pod ascends higher.

“It’s about to look cooler baby,” Dieter whispers against your ear as he pulls out a baggie full of dried mushrooms.

“Oh my god, I haven’t done shrooms since your birthday party a few years ago.”

“Mm,” he hums as he pulls out a small piece for you and puts it on a cheese topped cracker. “Here, drink some champagne to chase it, they’re not that great tasting.”

You do as he says, grimacing at the musty taste before gulping down a whole glass of champagne, welcoming the tingly bubbles. “This is ridiculous.”

Dieter takes a handful of shrooms and stuffs them into his mouth, happily chewing before winking at you. “You love it,” he says, pulling you close and wrapping the blanket tighter around you.

You really do.

—-

The pod sits atop the eye. You’re leaning forward looking out amongst the sparkling lights of London. “I feel like Peter Pan,” you muse, your warm breath hitting against the chilly glass.

He leans in close. “They say if you kiss someone at the top of the London Eye, you'll be together forever."

“Is that so?”

“Mhm,” he hums, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Want to test that?”

You nod before you seal your mouth over his and kiss him. The pod gently descends as you both explore each other’s mouths, soft groans and whimpers, hands exploring each other’s body.

You pull away, sighing when you see the station come into view. “Oh my god. We’re already going down. It’s almost over.”

“No, it’s not baby,” he responds, kissing his way to your ear. “You forget, I have connections, we have this pod all night.”

“Ooooh, connections,” you mock.

He chuckles, shaking his head before he lifts you to sit on his lap, your back settling against his warm chest. He begins to tickle the spots on your sides, you’re kicking and laughing, as you squirm.

"Stop, stop!" you gasp, but he doesn't listen.

"Make me," he teases.

You twist in his lap, facing him before capturing his lips. His hands still immediately, moving to grip your waist instead. You smile against his mouth before pulling away beaming with a bright grin.

“Wow,” you exhale, your eyes wide. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy.”

“No Sweets, those are the shrooms.”

“No Dee, well, wait—yeah, but also you’ve made me so happy this week.”

His heart thuds against his chest, it’s all he’s ever wanted to do since that first night you called him heartbroken and alone in your home. He wanted to make you smile, make you laugh, help you heal.

“I’m glad baby, so glad.”

He can also feel the mushrooms starting to take effect, making everything feel dreamy and surreal. He lets himself get lost in it, blinking slowly as the lights of London blur and swirl outside the pod, but you—his Golden Girl—stays in focus.

Your skin is glittering in the soft light, your hair shimmering. He reaches out to touch a strand, amazed at how silky it feels. You mimic him, reaching out to comb your fingers through the waves of his hair.

“Your hair is so soft,” you admire dreamily. “Like a cloud.”

He chuckles, his eyes still closed, patterns whirling around his eyelids. “A cloud, huh?”

You giggle a light, airy sound. “Everything feels so light and… floaty."

He opens his eyes to see you staring at him. His sense of touch heightened as he slides his hand under your shirt, moving it higher to cup your breast over your bra, his cock hardening as you begin to grind against his lap. Suddenly, you pull away, cutting through the lust and psychedelic riddled haze. “Aren’t there cameras?”

He smiles reassuringly. “Not if you’re famous enough,” he says. “Remember baby, connections. But we still gotta be careful.”

Your eyes widen as a mischievous grin spreads across your face. It takes you zero time for you to shift in his lap, your fingers untying the drawstrings of his pants.

He pushes your skirt up, bunching it around your waist when he groans a low, appreciative noise as his fingers brush against your pussy, feeling how wet you are through your panties.

“Dee,” you sigh, rocking against his hand.

“I know, I know.”

He lifts you, hovering your soaked cunt over his hard cock. You stare, reaching down to pull your panties to the side, your dilated pupils turning into hypnotic spirals as you sink down onto his length, both of you groaning in unison. The feeling is indescribable - you wrap around him like your pussy was made for him, your body fusing with his.

You begin to move, rocking your hips slowly at first, his hands grip your skin, guiding you, moving you in a steady rhythm.

“You’re perfect,” he pants, unable to look away from your eyes. He can see a future with you in them. Happiness, love, acceptance.

The world outside the pod seems to fade away, it’s just him and you. Your pussy perfectly moving on top of him, your hands planted on his chest as you gently bounce.

Gravity disappears, clouds surround your bodies, the dark night sky twinkles in the distance, stars sparking and bursting. You are the center of his universe, your skin even more golden and radiant. Shining, glowing, glimmering all for him.

You’re panting, swirling your hips around his base as you grind. He rocks his hips up, matching your dripping cunt as he begins to pound into you.

He leans back on his palms, watching as you take him, your hips rolling, your tight pussy squeezing him as you chase your release.

“Fuuuuuck,” you cry, throwing your head back, lost in your pleasure.

“You’re so beautiful,” he grunts, feeling the familiar pulse of your pussy.

With a ringing cry, your orgasm beams through you. You’re lit from within, your skin shining metallic gold as you clench around his cock, squeezing him impossibly hard, your velvet fluttering pulling him closer into your orbit.

He is in awe of you, in love with you, and gasping your name as he cums. You’re shivering and smiling as he fills you, pulling you close and wrapping his arms around you.

You giggle and nuzzle into his neck. “That was…”

“Fucking amazing,” he finishes, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

He holds you, feeling happier than he’s ever felt. He has to tell you he loves you, but sober. Damn the shrooms.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

December 31

The world outside the hotel suite is abuzz as London prepares to celebrate. Dieter doesn’t remember most New Year's midnight countdowns if he’s telling the truth.

Though he does remember one quite vividly. You and Warren hosted a NYE party shortly after you bought your house. You were the perfect host, floating around like June Cleaver, refilling drinks, laughing, and galavanting with friends. You were so happy, so hopeful. And when midnight came and Warren wrapped you in his arms and gave you a kiss, well, Dieter couldn’t look away. He’s a masochist like that sometimes.

Sure, he chastely kissed his date, before quickly pulling away just so he could watch the happy newlyweds cocooned in love’s warmth at midnight. It was so long ago, and now—now you’re here with him, cocooned under a blanket and nestled up next to him on the balcony. He can hardly believe his luck.

“Wow, it’s almost midnight,” you muse. “What a year, huh?”

He turns to you, the lights of the city reflect in your eyes “You know, I’m proud of you,” he starts. “After everything… you amaze me.”

He watches you swallow past the lump in your throat as you gently nod.

“And not just this year, through everything you’re still just as radiant and… golden.”

"Dee," you whisper. You reach out, cupping his face in your hands. "I think you’re the reason. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

The distant sounds of revelers in the streets below begin counting down the final seconds of the year.

"Ten! Nine! Eight!"

Dieter pulls you closer, resting his forehead against yours.

"Seven! Six! Five!"

His heart is racing, years of longing and unspoken feelings bubbling to the surface.

"Four! Three! Two!"

“I love you,” he breathes out, just as the crowd below shouts “One!”

Fireworks explode in the sky, but he barely notices as you pull away, your eyes gazing into his, a smile lighting your face. “I love you too.”

“Yeah?”

You kiss him. “Yeah.”

“Amazing.”

He pulls you into his lap as you both watch the fireworks from the privacy of his balcony.

You light up a joint, his heart beats against his chest as he watches the orange glow of the lighter and the bright flashes of fireworks shine across your skin. “Okay, am I dreaming?”

You chuckle. “No, we’re here… and I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck, I thought Christmas was good. New Years is way better.”

“Mm,” you hum. “Let’s make it better.”

You turn in his hold, straddling him. He’s already hard for you when you give him a tempting smile and open his robe.

“Dee?”

“Yeah?”

“I want to feel you inside me when you tell me you love me.”

He shivers at your words. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing your robe open.

"God, you're perfect," he breathes.

You rise up on your knees, positioning yourself over him before you slowly sink down onto him.

His whole body tenses before relaxing as your tight pussy surrounds him.

The fireworks continue to explode in the sky, the lights flashing across your skin as you begin to move. Your eyes, filled with awe and love, are locked on him.

He’s sure he’s uttered the words I love you to someone while fucking them before. Hell, he’s pretty sure under the drug and drink haze with Anika, he told her it a few times… but he knows he never truly felt it like this. But with you, now here, on top of him, your skin glowing against the backdrop of stars in the sky and random bursts of fireworks, he knows now this is making love.

"I love you," he whispers, gazing into your eyes. "God, I love you so much."

"I love you too.”

Your hips roll against his. Your mouth finds his. You’re moaning into his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair.

You make love slowly, tenderly. There's no rush, no urgency - just the two of you connecting. Your lips never leaving the others.

He worships you, his Golden Girl.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

January 1

Dieter slowly stirs from sleep, his mind hazy, either from the leftover champagne and weed in his system or dreams. There’s something warm and tingly between his legs, a wet slurping noise alerts him and he blinks his eyes open. He looks down to see your head bobbing gently under the covers.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his hardening cock before you take him deeper into your mouth as you massage his balls.

“Holy fuck sweets,” he gasps, throwing the blankets off his body. He almost cums when you’re revealed, your wide eyes looking up at him, his cock stuffed into your mouth.

“Happy New Year,” you purr before licking a trail down the thick vein along his cock. His head falls back against the pillow, a low groan leaving his lips.

“Fuck, I love you.”

He feels the vibration of your sweet giggle against his cock before you murmur “I love you too” against him.

“Come here baby, come here,” he says, reaching and pulling you up his body. He kisses you, his tongue licking at yours.

He can feel the heat of you as you straddle him, his cock aches to feel the slick he knows you’re leaking out for him.

His hand snakes down to grip himself and rub against your wet cunt, you moan against his mouth as he teases you, sliding his cock through your slick folds. You’re whimpering against him, rocking your hips to try to take him inside.

He sucks on your tongue, just as he notches himself at your entrance and pushes into you. You both moan before you both stay still, relishing in the feel of each other.

He’ll never tire of how it feels to have you this way.

Bracing your hands on his chest, you begin to move, rolling your hips in a slow rhythm before you sit up. He looks down, watching his cock disappear into you as you lift yourself up and sink back down on him. You stare at him as you reach for his hand, bringing a finger to your mouth and sucking it.

“Fuck baby,” he groans, sitting up and pushing his broad chest against yours, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you flush against him. He kisses you deeply, as you melt into the heat of his body.

He’s buried deep inside you, neither of you moving. He stays like that, savoring the feel of his cock enveloped in the heat of you, pulsing within your tight, wet pussy.

He runs his hands across the plains of your back, tracing the curve of your spine as his tongue tangles with yours.

You card your fingers through his messy hair, tugging gently.

He holds you tight as he begins moving inside you, groaning against your mouth, he’s so drunk off your pussy he feels like the room around him is swirling, his mouth drooling. He’ll never get enough of touching you, feeling every dip and curve of the body he’s craved for years.

You break the kiss, throwing your head back after he thrusts deep into you. He takes the opportunity to trail his lips down your neck, sucking and nipping.

“God damn baby,” he whispers against your collarbone. He can feel you getting close, you’re clenching him, your ragged breaths panting into the air.

He licks his way up to your neck, his tongue tracing and swirling around the rapid pulse there. Your fingers dig into his shoulder as you grind against him. You’re so close, you’re trembling in his arms, your sweet pussy fluttering with need.

He grips your hips, guiding you to ride him faster, to take him for everything he has.

“Oh god, Dee,” you gasp.

“I love you,” he rasps.

“I love you too,” you whimper.

He almost cums right there, but he makes himself hold back and not give in, determined to make you fall apart first.

“Fuuuuck,” he drawls. “Let me feel your pussy cum for me baby,”

That’s your undoing, he feels you tighten around him, your walls squeezing him as you orgasm.

“Oh god,” you cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders.

He holds you tight, feeling every quiver and pulse of your body as you tense all over and release.

He doesn’t let up his pace, thrusting into your soaked cunt, letting your ride out your high before you collapse against him, your lips pressed against his shoulder.

“I love you,” you whisper, lifting your head, your eyes hazy and soft, with a dreamy smile on your lips.

That does it for him. He grips you tightly, pulling you down onto him as he thrusts up hard, his cock pumping inside you. “Oh fuck, I love you,” he groans, filling you with his cum.

Dieter falls back onto the soft mattress, carrying you with him. He’s still inside you, relishing in the warmth. He can feel the beat of your heart against his own.

You lift your head, he reaches up, gently cupping your face, rubbing his thumb across your skin. “You’re so beautiful. My golden girl.”

—-

Peace. That’s the overwhelming emotion you feel as Dieter’s chest is pressed firm against your back as the two of you watch Simpsons reruns in the giant hotel bed. The setting sun is shining in through the windows, though you have no idea what time it is. All sense of it lost by being wrapped in Dieter’s arms all day.

The room service cart that sits just outside the bedroom door is piled high with dirty dishes. Today has been perfect, indulging in only each other.

Your hands lightly pet the dark hair of his forearms wrapped tightly around you, and when you lightly graze your nails across his skin he lets out a slight groan into your ear. The sound goes straight to your core.

You stretch languidly, loosening your muscles soar from the hours spent in bed kissing, fucking, and laughing. You push your ass against Dieter firmer, wiggling it slightly.

“Baby,” he lowly whispers. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Burn me baby,” you giggle.

He flips you over, and climbs over you. “That was so fucking cheesy,” he says against your lips before kissing them. “I love it.”

He trails kisses down your neck, peppering them across your collarbone, and down to the swell of your breasts. His wide brown eyes staring into yours as his tongue darts out to swirl around your nipple before he takes it into his mouth.

He continues his journey downward, his plush lips ghosting over your ribs, your stomach, your hip bone. You tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently to lift his head to look at you. His eyes meet yours, questioning.

"No, really," you breathe. "Burn me. Make me feel you."

His eyes widen slightly before he nods.

He knows what you mean, tomorrow you leave. Today, time doesn’t exist. Today is only you and him, in this bedroom luxuriating in only each other. But tomorrow, you get on a plane, going home to only silence and yourself.

He grasps your thighs, spreading them wide, and stares down at you, his hand gripping his cock as he pumps himself until he’s standing tall and proud for you. He lifts your legs over his broad shoulders and slaps his cock against your cunt before he buries himself to the hilt in you.

You cry out high and needy, as he grunts low and satisfied. He waits for a breath, stretching you, letting you adjust before he pulls back and slams into you again. He makes it burn, his hips snapping against yours.

You can’t stop staring at how beautiful he is as he pounds into you, his face set in concentration, jaw clenched tight and nostrils flaring.

Your hands roam over your slick, sweaty skin, your nails raking across your breasts, pulling and pinching as he fucks you.

"Fuck, you always feel so fuckin’-ahh-good,” he groans as he pulls out and then thrusts back in.

He leans heavily against you, your knees meeting your chest as he folds you in half, the weight of him crushing you deliciously.

“Harder,” you plead.

He growls low in his throat, burying his face in your neck. Rough, deep thrusts pound against your cunt.

The flames in your core grow warmer, spreading across your body, but just as you feel the familiar flames lick across your skin, Dieter pulls out of you. You whimper at the loss, but before you can even say anything, he rolls you onto your side and lays down behind you. His slick chest meeting your slick back.

His cock nudges between your thighs. "Lift your leg for me, baby.”

You muster the strength and comply, draping your leg over his hip. He reaches down, guiding himself back into your wet cunt.

His arm snakes under you, wrapping around your chest to cup your breast. His other hand grips your hip, holding you steady as he begins to move. Slow, deep thrusts that have you gasping and arching back against him.

"That's it," he breathes, his lips brushing against your shoulder.

The angle reignites the flames as they spread across your body. You turn your head, seeking his mouth with yours. He meets you, his lips firm as you gasp into his mouth.

He holds you tight, grinding against you before thrusting deep.

His hand slides down from your hip, dipping between your legs. His thick finger rubs your clit, making you gasp and cry. You’re writhing in Dieter’s hold, so close to your release, pulse beating, fire roaring. Your tongues and moans tangle as your orgasm consumes you. Your hands fist in the sheets, tears prick at your eyes as you let the blaze overtake you.

“Jesus,” he breathes out, against your lips. “You’re squeezing me so tight baby.”

“Fuck me," you muster out, leaning forward and pressing his cock deeper inside.

Your cunt is still quivering around him as he slides his cock out and back in. He grips your hips, lifting a leg up on the bed to gain better leverage. Each stroke sends an aftershock through your body.

“I love this pussy,” he pants as he fucks into you harder and faster, chasing his release.

You whimper in response, overwhelmed by him as his movements become frenzied, his hips snapping against you with desperate urgency. He feels so tense behind you, the sound of his wet body slapping against your wet body sounds so depraved and so perfect.

"Oh god, baby," he moans. "I'm gonna cum. Fuck, you feel so good."

“Please,” you whimper, reaching back to wrap a hand into his hair and pull tight.

He lets out a loud, long groan of your name when he cums. His sharp nose pressed against your neck, his lips against your shoulder, tasting the salty sweetness of your skin.

The flames still sit within you, lit by Dieter’s love and the feel of his cock softly throbbing inside you.

—-

He can’t sleep, and you can’t either. The end hour is rapidly approaching. He spends the night watching you exist next to him. The way your face looks in the low light of the TV, the sound of your laughter when you giggle at one of Homer’s antics, the feel of your body against his. Fuck, he’s going to miss you so much.

Twenty more days, twenty more days. You can do this.

For years, he’s felt like a fuck up, just some random guy with a cool name who stumbled into being famous. Sure, he’s a good actor… he supposes. He's been called a lot of things over the years - heartthrob, bad boy, party animal, has-been. But with you, he was always just Dee… and now he knows he’s so much more to you.

Since that day you called him, heartbroken and alone, because Warren wasted the most precious thing… everything has shifted. The constant restlessness that used to plague him has settled. The nagging emptiness that drove him to seek oblivion in willing partners, drugs and alcohol has been filled.

You’re all he’s ever wanted, and now he has you… at least until you catch your flight in fifteen hours.

—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-

January 2

You dream of Dieter, a familiar dream you’ve had for years before. The sight of his fluffy hair between your legs, the feel of his tongue against your pussy. But this time it feels different, it feels… real.

Your core is wet with need, a heavy weight settled between your legs. A long moan escapes your lips when you feel a thick tongue against your cunt.

Your eyes flutter open, blinking the sleep away from them. When you look down, you’re greeted by the most beautiful sight - Dieter’s mess of waves nestled between your thighs.

You must still be dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time your subconscious has conjured up this scenario. Usually you just roll over and try to go back to bed or get up and take a shower, but this time the wet slide of Dieter’s tongue tells you this is real.

“Dee,” you breathe out, reaching down to hold his hands as they grip your thighs.

He groans against your pussy, slightly lifting his head to leave a kiss against your thigh.

“Good morning Sweets,” he smiles before diving back in and leaving a slow circle traced against your clit.

You’re soaked for him, your hips bucking as one of your fantasies becomes your reality.

He seals his mouth over your clit, sucking it sweetly between his lips. A high pitched-moan escapes you as he licks his way down to your entrance, diving his tongue in, lapping up your slick.

He gets you nice and wet, before he slides his two thick fingers in, slowly pumping inside you, twisting them deliciously around your entrance. Your head thuds back on the pillow, a high pitched keen of his name echoing in the room.

He licks you right to the edge of your early morning orgasm, thighs trembling, chest heaving, your hands grabbing at the soft tendrils of his hair. He angles his fingers just right, causing your body to tighten and slacken as a shockwave of bliss flows through you. You’re quivering for him as you gasp for air, Dieter’s tongue between your legs awakening you in the best possible way.

“That’s it baby,” he encourages, his warm breath against your heated skin.

Dieter doesn’t stop, he eases you through your orgasm before he builds you up all over again, this time pushing a third finger into your tight channel. He watches you under hooded eyes as he licks and sucks against your clit, thrusting his thick fingers in and out, in and out, in and out. Your heart is pounding against your chest as you stare wide eyed at him happily devouring you.

You’re writhing on the sheets, your hands fisting the soft fabric as he hums against you, the vibrations bringing your second orgasm crashing into you quick and intense. He plants a hand on your stomach, sealing you down to the bed, his tongue and fingers overwhelming you as warmth spreads through your limbs.

"Dee, oh god," you pant as you catch your breath, his plush lips leaving wet kisses along your inner thighs, occasionally nipping at your sensitive skin.

Your heart rate begins to slow, your limbs stretching out and relaxing… just as Dieter dives back in, his tongue parting your folds.

“Fuck,” you gasp.

He pulls away, a wicked grin lifting his beautiful mouth. “Grab the phone. Order us some breakfast.”

Your hand fumbles for the hotel phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking it over when he rapidly dashes his tongue against your swollen clit. You manage to press the button for room service, trying to keep your voice steady as Dieter eats your pussy.

“G-good morning,” you stammer. “I’d like to order some breakfast-nyugh-please.”

Dieter’s tongue circles your clit, making you bite back a moan.

"Two omelettes please," you continue, your voice slightly strained. "One with mushrooms and cheese, the other with - oh!"

Dieter chooses that moment to suck hard on your clit, nearly making you drop the phone.

"The other with ham and peppers," you finish quickly.

“Mimosas,” Dieter says against your pussy, refusing to pull away before he licks a firm, slow lick against your clit.

"And… two… mimosas pleeease,” you add when his tongue swirls around your clit. Your free hand gripping Dieter’s hair.

You barely manage to confirm the order and hang up before Dieter’s crawling up your body.

“How long?” he asks, nuzzling his sharp nose into your neck.

“They said about fifteen minutes.”

“Perfect,” he grits as he sheathes himself inside you.

—-

The moment you’ve been dreading arrives. Packing your suitcase. Dieter sits on the bed, attempting to fold a pile of clothes for you.

He lets out a sad sigh every time he places a terribly folded garment next to him.

He fumbles with the soft fabric of one of your sweaters, his rings clattering against one another as he creates more wrinkles.

"Here, let me show you," you say gently, taking the sweater from him. You demonstrate how to fold it neatly. Dieter watches intently, his eyes following your hands.

"Like this?" he asks, picking up another sweater and mimicking your technique.

You laugh at this terrible attempt.

“No,” you say, taking the sweater from him and kissing his cheek. "How about you just watch me?”

“Oh thank god, I fuckin’ hate folding.”

“I can tell.”

You continue packing in comfortable silence, each item placed in your suitcase makes your heart sink lower.

As you carefully place the charm bracelet Dieter gave you in your jewelry case, he clears his throat.

"So, um, what are your plans when you get back?" he asks.

You pause, your hand lingering on the charm bracelet, your finger tracing the shape of it. .

"I'm not sure," you admit softly. “I think I want to look into maybe getting a job at a flower shop. I was thinking, now that I’ll no longer have, uh, Warren’s help. I need to figure something out.”

There’s a bit of shame to your voice. You gave Warren the prime years of your life, and you allowed him to take them for his gain.

“That’s good baby, you have such a talent. What about your own shop?”

You bark out a loud laugh. “I don’t even know how I’m going to afford my fucking house, Dee. You’re already doing more than I could ever ask for, helping me with the lawyer.”

His eyes round in guilt and you instantly feel foolish, you both already have enough to deal with today, as the trip to Heathrow looms over the hotel suite.

You shut your jewelry box, placing it in your suitcase before walking over to him and sitting in his lap. “Don’t worry Dee, I’ll figure it out.”

“With my help.”

“With some of your help.”

His arms wrap around you tighter and you want to ask him about his plans, about what happens next for the two of you, but you're afraid to burst this bubble you've been living in.

"Back to filming tomorrow?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "It'll be… so different without you here."

“God, I’m going to mi—”

He cuts you off with a kiss. “I know,” he whispers. “Me too.”

You cling to him, breathing in his scent—weed, coffee, and eucalyptus—trying to memorize the feel of his arms around you.

“Twenty days,” he whispers.

—-

Heathrow comes into view and he wills the car to miss the turn to departures. It doesn’t work. Soft sniffles and little gasps escape your mouth, he knows tears are already in your eyes, as hard as you try to hide them behind your sunglasses.

The car pulls up to the curb. No. It can’t be the end, but when the driver opens the door and the sharp, bitter cold breeze of the night hits him, his heart sinks as he realizes this is it.

He slides across the leather, feeling each reluctant movement of his body as he gets out.

He grabs your hand to help you out, his jaw drops when he sees the tears rolling down your cheeks.

He pulls you in for a hug. “You can always stay,” he whispers in your ear.

“I know, but I-I can’t. I need to… figure things out back home,” you say, your voice muffled against his chest. “Continue getting my life in order.”

He nods, understanding but hating it all the same. He knows you now have your freedom, regained your independence and he never wants to be the one to hold you back.

“Twenty days,” you remind him softly.

“And then I’ll be back in LA and I’ll be there to help you figure it all out. Together.”

“Together,” you nod, managing a small smile.

He leans in, kissing you tenderly as you wrap your arms around him, clinging to him, knowing it’s the last time for nearly three weeks.

"I love you," he whispers. "So fucking much."

"I love you too."

He wraps his brown fuzzy coat tighter around you and leaves a soft kiss against your forehead before you pull away with great reluctance.

He watches you walk away from him, the chill of London rasps against his skin, while the emptiness of his heart makes him ache all over. He wouldn’t trade this pain for anything in the world.

—-

When Dieter first booked your ticket, you scoffed at the idea of first class, relenting over and over that you didn’t need any special care… but now as you’re settled in your own small pod with a couple walls that give you a sense of privacy, you’re very thankful for his generosity. Your eyes are swollen and red, your head is pounding, you feel your heart breaking with each minute that passes. So this is what it feels like to really be in love.

The flight attendant comes by, offering you a glass of champagne. You accept it gratefully, hoping it might help dull the ache in your chest.

You can’t help yourself when you pull your phone out, scrolling through the photos from your time in London.

Dieter and you grinning widely next to Paddington Bear. The two of you bundled up on the London Eye, the lights of the city twinkling behind you. Dieter’s dopey smile in the Harrod’s dressing room holding up the ripped pair of panties. A selfie in bed, your hair messy, faces glowing in a post-sex haze, his hand resting on your breast.

You're smiling through your tears as you swipe through the photos, reliving each moment. The last one makes your heart ache - a selfie Dieter took of you sleeping, his arm wrapped around you, your head tucked under his chin. You look so peaceful, so content. For years, you lied to yourself that you had that feeling of love, warmth, and protection. You feel like the ache in your chest is going to swallow you whole as you realize just how much you already miss him.

Dieter just gave you the most magical ten days of your life.

—-

He avoids making his way back up to the hotel room. He sits in the bar, slowly sipping a glass of whiskey. The low lights turn everything golden and warm, yet he feels empty and cold, the bitter alcohol burning his throat. He hasn’t felt this pit of sadness in years, but he knows it’s worth it, because to miss you in the way he does now, means he finally has you. After years of longing and pining, you’re his.

He lets out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. Twenty days. He can do this. You both can.

The bartender approaches, gesturing to his nearly empty glass. "Another, sir?"

Dieter shakes his head, declining another drink. With a long sigh, he settles his tab and makes his way up to the now-empty hotel suite.

The silence hits him as soon as he opens the door. No more laughter, no more of your soft humming as you get ready for bed. Just stillness.

Though, there are still signs of you through the space. Your favorite mug is still sitting on the counter. One of your hair ties left on the bathroom counter. The bottle of your favorite lotion is still sitting on the nightstand, right next to your water glass.

He picks up the lotion, opening it to smell the scent of you as he sits on the edge of the bed. He pulls out his phone, opening the photo he took of you and him this morning, sitting in bed toasting each other with mimosas.

He stares at the photo. Your hair is tousled and sleep rumpled. His arm is wrapped around your shoulders while the sheets are bunched up around your chest, barely concealing your body. Your eyes are bright and your smile wide as you clink your glass against his.

He wishes he could taste the orange juice and champagne on your lips again.

He can’t help himself, he knows the next picture, his thumb swipes across the screen. In this one, the sheet has slipped down, exposing the swell of your breasts.

He swipes to the next photo and he exhales a deep sigh. His face is nestled between your breasts, your skin glowing in the soft morning light. Your fingers tangled in his messy hair. He can almost feel the softness of your skin against his cheek, he yearns for it.

Dieter feels a warmth spreading through his body as he swipes to the next photo. This one makes his cock twitch - his mouth latched onto your nipple, cheeks hollowed as he sucks. His eyes are locked on the camera, dark with mischief and lust. One of your hands is gripping his hair tightly. Your head his tilted back, eyes closed, lips parted in a soft gasp.

Right after this picture, he tossed the phone on the bedside table and fucked you.

An idea lights in his mind as he sends the photos to you. It’ll be a nice surprise for you when you land.

A remembrance of this morning. Miss you like crazy. Call me when you can, even if it wakes me. i love you

—-

The plane touches down on the tarmac at LAX, sadness washes over you as it taxis to the gate. Soon, you’ll be home, far away from Dieter’s arms.

You make your way through customs in a tired daze, the harsh fluorescent lights of the airport seem to only amplify your exhaustion. You miss the gray London skies.

Finally, you collect your luggage and step out into the warm Los Angeles night air. It feels almost unreal to be back home now… especially when it feels like Dieter is your home and he’s over 5,000 miles away.

As you wait for your Uber, you dig your phone out of your purse and power it on for the first time since leaving London. A flood of notifications immediately pops up on the screen. Your heart skips a beat when you see several texts from Dieter.

With a soft smile, you open his texts first. Your breath catches as you pull your phone closer and swipe through the photos from your last morning together. You ache to feel his touch again. Twenty days suddenly feels too long to bear, but you tell yourself you’ll get through it. Dieter’s worth the wait.

You're still smiling at Dieter's sweet message when another text notification pops up. Your heart leaps into your throat as you see the name: Warren.

There’s a photo of you and Dieter… a selfie you took of the two of you on the balcony a couple mornings ago. Welcome home. Looks like you had a lot of fun in London. We should talk.

✨✨✨

A/N: OH MY GOD, RIGHT?!?!! I don't wish the long distance relationship goodbye at the airport departure curb on anyone. I may have shed a tear or two while writing that scene.

✨✨✨

Perma tagging: @schnarfer @mothandpidgeon @ohheypedrito Tagging some friends and lovers of GG (let me know if you'd like to be added or removed): @sawymredfox, @secretelephanttattoo, @galway-girlatwork, @whatumuhcallit, @chronically-ghosted @copperhalfcent, @jessthebaker, @moel-jiller, @sunnytuliptime, @jokesonthem @lotusbxtch, @mysterious-moonstruck-musings, @flawssy-227, @toomanystoriessolittletime, @littlemisspascal @cas-readsandwrites, @wave0fg00dvibes, @rulexofxnines, @tuquoquebrute, @littlevenicebitch69 @readingiskeepingmegoing, @marissa47, @amyispxnk, @peepawispunk, @ishabull ✨

#dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo fanfic #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo #dieter x you #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter x reader #dieter the bubble #pedro pascal #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x f!reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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supernotnatural2005 · 1 month ago

Text

The Arrangement - Chapter Eight

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: It's New Year's eve, celebrations are in full swing and you have a plan. However, could an unexpected run-in with a blast from the past jeopardise everything?

Word Count: 6.1k

Warnings/tags: Angst, swearing, drinking, jealousy, cliffhanger.

AN: This chapter was something.. let me tell ya 😅 But omg guys! Only two more chapters after this!! 😫 And I don't know how to feel about it! (gif not mine, found on google)

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Series Masterlist

Things had changed.

This time, you were certain of it.

In the days following Christmas, you and Dean had returned home with something different between you—something unspoken but undeniably there. And for once, it didn’t feel one-sided.

It was in the little things, the effortless ways he pulled you closer. How his hand would find yours absentmindedly, tracing circles against your palm as you sat together. How he’d tug you against him in the middle of the night, murmuring your name in that half-asleep rasp that made your heart ache.

It was in the way he kissed you, not to start something, just because he wanted to. How he stood a little too close when you cooked together, fingers brushing against your waist as he stole pieces of whatever you were making. How when you relaxed on the couch together, his arm was always open, waiting, inviting.

It felt like everything had shifted. Like somehow, without either of you saying a word, you’d slipped into something more than just casual.

Neither of you had put it into words, too afraid to break whatever fragile bubble you were living in. There was a weight to it, a meaning that neither of you dared touch. Because acknowledging it meant facing it, and facing it meant risking the chance that it could slip through your fingers.

But you knew where you stood. Or at least, you hoped it was obvious.

You didn’t want to push him. Dean had only ever had one girlfriend, and even that ended abruptly, and then years of flings and one night stands followed. Just because you’d been best friends forever didn’t mean this didn’t require a level of commitment—one you weren’t even sure he was ready for. And if he wasn’t? If he decided this wasn’t what he wanted? It would hurt like hell, but you’d survive. Because he was worth it. Because you loved him. As a friend, yes. But also as something more.

So you waited. And waited. And waited.

But Dean? He just... stayed in this in-between space. Not pulling away, but not pushing forward either. And that limbo—are we, or aren’t we?—had your anxiety climbing higher with every passing day.

So by the time New Year’s Eve rolled around, you’d made up your mind.

You were going to be all poetic and cliché, and kiss him at midnight.

You were going to tell him.

Tell him that you were in love with him. That you always had been. That you wanted out of this arrangement. Because you didn’t want casual. Charlie was right, it wasn’t you.

You wanted him. All of him.

Consequences be damned.

Gabe had invited you all to a new club in town—a swanky place that had just opened, already gaining a reputation for its exclusivity. He’d pulled some strings with one of the owners (you didn’t ask what kind of “business” he’d done, because it was Gabe), scoring VIP access for the night. They were doing a rooftop firework display to ring in the new year, the kind of event that had already been dubbed "the real deal".

It was the perfect setting. The perfect moment. The nudge you needed to make the jump.

You took your time getting ready, determined to make tonight count. The dress you’d chosen was sleek, short enough to tease but classy enough to fit the upscale club scene. The fabric clung to your curves in all the right places, a deep, shimmering shade of blue that caught the light with every movement. Paired with strappy high heels that made your legs look longer than ever, you felt good—sexy, confident, and ready.

And Dean’s reaction didn’t disappoint.

When you stepped out of your room, he was leaning against the kitchen counter, finishing off a beer. He was dressed in a fitted denim button-up with the sleeves rolled up just enough to tease his forearms, black jeans that hugged his thighs in a way you tried not to focus on, and his usual worn-in boots. He looked good. Too good.

But the way his eyes darkened when they landed on you? That was something else entirely.

It was the same way he’d looked at you the night of the Christmas party, and that night, weeks ago, when you’d been dressed up for your date with Gary. His eyes had roamed over you just like this—like he couldn’t help himself. But this time, he didn’t just look.

He moved.

“You look…” He exhaled, stepping toward you, his gaze dragging over you from head to toe, slow and deliberate.

“Nice?” you teased, tilting your head playfully.

He shook his head. “Fucking edible.” His voice was low, rough, almost reverent.

Your breath caught just as his hands found your waist, strong fingers slipping around to the curve of your ass as he pulled you flush against him.

You gasped, palms landing against his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him beneath your touch. His breath ghosted over your throat before he pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your pulse point, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. Your head tipped back on instinct, lips parting—

And then his mouth was trailing upward, over your jaw, toward your lips.

You barely had enough willpower to stop him, but you did, pressing a teasing finger against his mouth. “If we go there Winchester, you’ll ruin my makeup,” you tsked. “Do you know how long it took me to get these wings just right?” You fluttered your lashes to exemplify your neatly applied eyeliner.

Dean huffed humourlessly as you slipped away, and when you reached for your coat, you stretched just a little extra to give him an ample view of your ass, and he let out a low, suffering sound.

"Now that was just evil."

The moment you stepped inside the club, the atmosphere swallowed you whole. The place oozed luxury—dim lighting casting a sultry glow over everything, sleek leather booths, crystal-clear glasses lining the bar. Strobe lights pulsed in time with the deep bass of the music, filling the air with electric energy. It was packed but not overcrowded, just enough people to make it feel alive.

Gabe hadn’t been exaggerating—this was "the real deal".

As you and Dean were escorted upstairs to the VIP section, familiar faces came into view. Your friends were already gathered, drinks in hand, and the moment they spotted you, a chorus of greetings erupted.

“Finally!” Gabe called sarcastically, throwing his arms wide like you’d kept him waiting for hours. “The guests of honour arrive.” He slung an arm around your shoulders as you reached him, grinning.

As usual, he looked effortlessly sharp—probably wearing something expensive but casually unbuttoned enough to make it seem like he didn’t care.

Benny let out a low whistle. “Look at you, Cher.” He took your hand, giving you a playful twirl before you swatted at him with a laugh.

Dean rolled his eyes, playing it off as if it didn’t bother him—but the slight clench of his jaw said otherwise.

Charlie was on you next, pulling you into a tight hug. “You look so hot,” she said, matter-of-factly, before glancing at Dean and smirking. “And you—predictable as always.” She snickered. She was always teasing Dean for his constant jean and shirt combos.

Dean scoffed, placing a hand over his heart. “How dare you.”

“Only speaking facts Dean'o.” She winked before turning back to her drink before he could respond.

Cas then greeted you with a warm smile, pulling you into a brief but firm hug. He’d gotten over your little admission from a few nights ago, finding it more humourous than shocking.

“Took you guys long enough,” he chuckled, stepping back to greet Dean next.

Dean scoffed. “Would’ve been faster if she didn’t spend three hours getting ready.” He jabbed a thumb in your direction.

“Oh, shut up,” you muttered, elbowing him as you turned—only to be caught in a firm hug from Sam. He squeezed a little tighter than usual, enough to make you stumble slightly before he let go.

“Jesus, Moose, I like my ribs unbroken,” you teased, laughing as you steadied yourself.

Sam grinned, his cheeks flushed, clearly drunk. And Jess, tucked comfortably against his side, shook her head with an exasperated smile. “That’s only his second beer, by the way.”

Your brow shot up. “Wait, this is Sam on two beers?”

Dean, who had just walked over, gave his brother a look of sheer disappointment. “Now that’s just embarrassing.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Bitch.”

Dean smirked. “Jerk.”

You shook your head as Dean went off on a tangent about him being a lightweight, and then Jo looped her arm through yours, smirking. “See? And you doubted my taste.” She fingered the material of your dress.

She wasn’t wrong. You’d been unsure about the dress when you first pulled it from the rack, but Jo had insisted you would look “fucking hot.” Turns out, she knew what she was talking about.

“Yeah, yeah, you were right,” you admitted with a chuckle before taking her in fully. You let out a low whistle. “Damn, you look amazing, though.”

She grinned, clearly pleased with herself. “I know.” She did a little twirl, showing off the fitted red number that hugged her petite frame perfectly, paired with sleek, black heels that made her legs look impossibly long.

After finishing your hellos, you all settled into the large booth, conversation flowing as easily as the drinks, laughter and usual banter filled the air, with the deep bass of a generic pop beat pulsing around you.

The night had barely started, but already it felt like one you weren’t going to forget.

Tonight, everything was going to change.

Four drinks in, and you were feeling the perfect buzz—light, warm, and just uninhibited enough to let loose. You’d spent the night bouncing between your friends, sipping your drinks, and genuinely enjoying yourself.

Even Dean, who had been hovering around you all evening, had somehow managed to pull you onto the dance floor for a little friendly—or maybe not-so-friendly—dancing.

His hands had settled on your hips, his breath warm against your ear as you moved together in a way that felt entirely too natural. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had finally let yourself stop overthinking for once, but you’d melted into him. Your body responded to every little shift of his, and for a fleeting moment, you were certain he was going to make a move.

But the moment passed, and now here you were, walking toward the bar with him at your side, your skin still tingling from where his hands had rested.

Then, as if the universe had a cruel sense of humour, as you were walking, someone bumped into him, severing you connection with his hand on your waist.

“Lisa?”

Just hearing her name made your stomach twist. It couldn't be? But then you turned, and were met with none other than Lisa Braeden.

She wasn’t an ex, not really. She was more of a long-term hookup who had convinced herself she was something more—clinging, scheming, and bitter whenever Dean’s attention wasn’t solely on her. And if there was one thing Lisa had absolutely despised, it was you.

You weren’t just another girl in Dean’s life. You were his best friend. His constant. And Lisa had made it her personal mission to change that.

At first, it had been subtle—harmless jabs, little digs about how much time you and Dean spent together, passive-aggressive smiles whenever you ran into her in the morning after one of her nights with him. Then, it had escalated. Almost to the point you thought you were going to lose him.

Until he finally saw through her lies and games and ended it.

That was over three years ago. You hadn’t seen her since.

Dean stiffened beside you, clearly just as uncomfortable as you were, but ever the gentleman, he greeted her politely.

Lisa, for her part, had perfected the art of playing sweet. "Dean! Oh my God, what are the odds?" she gushed, her voice dripping in forced delight. Then her eyes landed on you, and for the briefest second, her smile faltered. It was so quick that anyone else might not have noticed—but you weren’t anyone else.

"Y/N, hi! Long time, huh?"

The way she said it, so full of faux surprise, like she genuinely didn’t expect you to still be around, made your jaw clench.

Before you could react, she pulled you into a hug, her arms looping around you as if you were long-lost friends. You stood there, stiff and uncomfortable, before awkwardly patting her back. She smelled expensive, and the hug lasted a beat too long, like she was staking a claim.

She pulled back with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“How crazy is it to run into you guys here?” she giggled, as if this was some fateful, cosmic coincidence.

Crazy was one word for it.

Dean, to his credit, looked wary. “How are things?” he asked, remaining polite but distant.

Lisa exhaled a dramatic little sigh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Really great! Just out with my girlfriends.” She gestured across the room to a group of women who were now very obviously staring at you. Their once-casual chatter had paused, and you caught the way they were looking at you—up and down, sizing you up. Judging.

Your frown deepened. What the hell was their problem?

Lisa, completely ignoring the awkwardness, continued. "Look, I know things ended a little… unorthodox.” She huffed out a small laugh, clearly struggling to even admit that much. “I was young. I was going through a lot. I know that doesn’t excuse how I acted, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

Her voice was soft, just the right amount of remorseful. The kind of apology that made you pause.

It sounded genuine, and had you second guessing yourself.

Yet, call it experience, or PTSD but, something about this didn’t sit right.

Dean, on the other hand, softened instantly. You saw the shift in his expression, the flicker of guilt. “It’s in the past now,” he said, his tone warmer than you expected.

Lisa’s smile stretched a little too wide, and continued. "Honestly, I knew what I was getting into," she said, shaking her head as if this was all just some big misunderstanding. "You were honest with me from the start. I was the one who took things too far, let my feelings get the better of me."

Dean, being Dean, laid a comforting hand on her arm.

And just like that, jealousy flared in your chest, sharp and hot.

“For old times sake, how about I buy you both a drink?” Lisa offered, though you had a feeling that the invitation extended to you was merely for show.

Dean, to your utter disbelief, nodded. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You blinked at him. Was he serious?

Your stomach twisted uncomfortably, but you forced yourself to play it cool. This was just Dean being Dean—letting his martyr complex get the better of him. He wasn’t an idiot. He remembered what she was like.

Right?

Still, you had no desire to sit through a drink with her.

“You know what? You guys go ahead,” you said, forcing a light chuckle. “I need to talk to Jo about something. Sister things.” You lied, flailing a hand with a nervous chuckle, trying to appear casual, and not like you were screaming internally.

Dean frowned slightly, like he didn’t quite buy it, but you waved him off. “I’ll meet you after?” you added, your voice softer now, laced with an unspoken meaning.

A promise.

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah, okay.” His gaze lingered, but before either of you could say anything else, Lisa placed a hand on his arm, effectively snapping the moment in half.

You turned on your heel and left, already feeling the unease settling deep in your stomach.

You slipped into the bathroom, the heavy door swinging shut behind you, sealing you away from the noise of the party. For a brief moment, you just stood there, taking in what was probably the most upscale restroom you’d ever stepped foot in—marbled countertops, gold intricate designs, glossy floors reflecting the soft glow of chandelier lights. It was a little excessive, but your mind was elsewhere.

Your heart was still hammering, and not from the alcohol or dancing this time. You took a slow breath, forcing yourself to move toward the sink, gripping the cool edge of the counter as you met your own reflection in the mirror.

Your makeup was still intact despite the hours of laughter and sweat from dancing with your friends, but your expression was harder to ignore. You looked composed on the outside, but the longer you stared, the more the old doubts crept in, seeping through the cracks, flooding you with unwanted memories from three years ago.

How Lisa started twisting things, planting doubts in Dean’s head, feeding him lies about you. You weren’t sure what her end goal was, but it was clear she didn’t want you in his life.

Things only seemed to worsen the moment you’d met Patrick—the cute paramedic who patched Jo up after she sprained her wrist at some roller disco she’d dragged you to, during oner of her ‘let’s try something new’ phases.

He’d been sweet and funny, and you were single, so when he'd asked for your number, you’d said yes.

However, you’d notice then Dean had started pulling away, and that was when Lisa’s visits became more frequent. He began questioning things you’d never said or done. And it was like she used this thing with Patrick. Twisted it. Made it sound like you were the one who had been pulling away from him! And Dean, already caught up in whatever spell she had over him, had let her.

It hurt like hell, knowing he even considered believing her.

Thankfully, things ended between them, but your friendship had taken a hit, one that took a long time to mend. But Dean had put in the work and you trusted him, you knew he knew better than to entertain her advances again.

Right?

The door swung open then, the noise of the party briefly flooding in before being muffled again. You turned just as Jo, Charlie, and Jess walked in, laughing to themselves—until their eyes landed on you. Jo’s face immediately shifted to concern as she closed the distance between you.

“Hey, you good?” she asked, her grip steady on your arm as she scanned your face.

You tried to nod, brush it off, but you couldn’t.

Jess and Charlie flanked you on either side, their worry evident, and before you could stop yourself, it all came pouring out.

Your feelings for Dean. The arrangement. The plan to finally tell him at midnight.

Charlie, of course, already knew—she had sussed it out at your work Christmas party. But Jo? The knowing smirk creeping up on her lips told you she wasn’t surprised.

“I mean, it took you long enough to finally fucking realise,” she huffed, shaking her head at you.

Despite your stress, a smile tugged at the corner of your lips.

“I swear you’ve been in love with the kid since he went all superhero on your ass and carried you home after you broke your arm.” She teased.

Jess, who hadn’t heard this story before, let out a dreamy sigh. “Wait, that’s so cute.”

You rolled your eyes affectionately.

You could still remember it—twelve years old, being the little daredevil that you were, climbing to the highest point of the brand-new jungle gym at the park, daring yourself to stand on top of the structure. Instead, you had lost your balance and tumbled down, landing hard with a sickening crack in your arm.

You had cried that time, the pain overwhelming, but then there was Dean—his freckled face scrunched in worry, and he scooped you up without hesitation, carrying you the entire block back to his house, muttering assurances the whole way.

“That’s not everything,” you sighed, your stomach twisting. “Lisa’s here. And she’s with Dean.”

Silence.

Then, in perfect unison—

“What!?”

Charlie and Jo’s reactions were instant. They had been there when you almost lost Dean to that possessive, manipulative woman. Jo, in particular, had been the first to knock some sense into him—literally. She had tackled him at the Roadhouse one night, launching into a tirade that made half the bar stare. It had worked, though. Had given Dean the wake-up call he needed.

You quickly recounted the whole interaction—bumping into Lisa at the bar, her invitation to drinks, and your hasty retreat to the bathroom.

Charlie gaped at you, scandalised. “And you let him just go with her?!”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “I didn��t want to cause a scene. And she seemed… I don’t know, genuinely sorry.”

Even as you said it, the words felt flimsy—like an excuse rather than an explanation.

Jo crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Y/N. Come on. You and I both know Lisa’s full of shit.”

“You know what she’s like,” Charlie added, her voice softer now. “You can’t really believe she’s suddenly had a change of heart.”

You sighed, fingers tightening on the sink. “I don’t know, maybe” you shrugged sheepishly.

The two of them didn’t look convinced. And, honestly?

You weren't sure you were either, but you were not about to let it get the better of you. In the last three years you had changed a lot, and maybe Lisa had to.

“Look, I trust Dean,” you continued, firmer now. “And if I start telling him who he can and can’t talk to—making his decisions for him—then I’m no better than her.”

Jo exhaled through her nose, clearly still displeased.

“Just please,” you added, levelling her with a look, “don’t make a scene.”

You aimed that more at Jo than Charlie.

She scowled, arms still crossed, but when you took her hands in yours and gave her your best pleading look, she let out a dramatic sigh.

“Fine,” she huffed.

You smiled a little, despite everything, grateful for these women in your life—your protectors.

“But,” Jo added, pointing a firm finger at you, “if she so much as breathes wrong, I’m throwing hands.”

Charlie grinned. “And I’ll be right behind her.”

You laughed, shaking your head, the tension in your chest easing just a little.

The girls left the bathroom before you, with your promise to meet them back at the booth, while you actually did use the facilities. You did a quick fix-up of your makeup, fluffed out your hair, and blew out a deep breath.

You got this. You prepped yourself, even if it was fragile.

With that, you slipped out the door, making your way down the short hall toward the main room, when you suddenly stopped short. Familiar voices drifted from around the corner—low, intimate, just barely audible over the music.

“Do you not miss it?” You recognised Lisa’s voice. Soft, almost wistful as she continued. “Miss us?”

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you crept closer, and peered around the corner, your stomach dropping when you spotted Dean. However, curiosity got the better of you, and you couldn't help yourself as you pressed your back against the cool wall and listened.

Dean hesitated. Just for a second. But it was long enough for something sharp to wedge itself between your ribs.

“I’ll admit, we had a good time.” His voice was even, maybe even reluctant, but it wasn’t an outright no.

Lisa took a step closer—close enough that you could feel the way she was invading his space, twirling her hair, tilting her chin up at him like she already knew the answer. “But?” she prompted.

Dean sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “We weren’t right for each other, Lis’.”

“But now?” she pushed, almost desperate. “I’ve changed, Dean. I know I messed up before, but love makes you do crazy things sometimes.”

Did she just drop the L-bomb?

Silence.

You swore you could hear your own heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Dean didn’t immediately shut her down. Didn’t laugh in her face or tell her to fuck off the way you wanted him to. Instead, another long pause stretched between them, weighted and thick, and it felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs.

He exhaled through his nose, tilting his head, and you could see the way Lisa took that as something more than it was—an opening, a possibility.

She reached for his arm, fingers just barely skimming his sleeve. “We were good together. I know you know that too.”

Your stomach churned.

Dean still wasn’t saying anything, wasn’t moving away fast enough, and you waited, silently begged for him to deny it.

Then suddenly, a loud commotion shattered the moment.

A group of rowdy guys stumbled through the hall, their voices cutting through the tension like a blade. A few of them stopped as they passed, giving you once-overs and whistling appreciatively. You rolled your eyes, but it drew attention to your presence.

“Y/N?”

You closed your eyes briefly but decided to pretend you hadn’t just had your heart ripped out and stepped on. Instead, you turned with a smile, masking the pain of the knife in currently penetrating your heart.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Dean breathed out, clearly still shaking off that conversation as you stepped up next to him.

Lisa’s expression barely wavered, but you caught the flicker of irritation before she forced a tight smile.

“Yeah, just needed to use the restroom,” you said smoothly. “Was on my way back to you guys.” It wasn’t a lie—you just left out the eavesdropping part.

Dean nodded, glancing at Lisa before placing a guiding hand on your back. His touch was warm, grounding, but you ignored it as you started toward the booth. Lisa’s footsteps following close behind.

When you got back to the table, Jo immediately clocked Lisa trailing behind you, her expression darkening as she leaned back in the booth. “Oh. Great,” she deadpanned.

Lisa’s seemingly ignored her comment, her smile all faux sweetness. “Hey, Jo.”

Jo didn’t return the greeting, just took a slow sip of her drink and side-eyed you.

Lisa cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. “My friends kinda ditched me,” she explained. “Dean said I was welcome to join you guys.”

Jo’s head snapped toward Dean so fast you thought she might give herself whiplash. She looked at him like he’d just told her he ran over her dog.

Then, she turned to you, eyes blazing.

Are you fucking kidding me? You silently read.

You gave a subtle shake of your head. Don’t.

Jo clenched her jaw but said nothing.

With all the seats taken, the only available spot was next to Dean. You hesitated for half a second before sliding in beside him. The second you did, he shifted closer, his knee pressing against yours like he could sense your unease.

Conversations flowed easily enough. Benny, Cas, and Gabe didn’t hold anything against Lisa—they hadn’t been in the trenches of that breakup, didn’t know all the details. Even Sam, while clearly unimpressed, was too drunk and too wrapped up in Jess to care much.

But Dean’s attention was on you.

Even while he spoke with the others, even as Lisa tried to inject herself into conversations, his focus never fully left you. Every so often, his knee would bump yours, or his fingers would drum lightly against the table like he wanted to reach for you but stopped himself.

Then, like he couldn't hold back any longer, a warm hand found your thigh under the table.

Your breath caught at the initial touch, but you didn’t move away.

Dean leaned in then, his voice low, meant only for you. “Sorry about this,” he murmured. “She looked kinda lost, and I felt guilty ditching her too.”

Of course he did.

Dean Winchester, the ever-obliging martyr. It didn’t matter how shitty someone had been to him, how much hurt they left in their wake—he was a firm believer in forgiveness, good karma and all that. And God only knows what tale she'd spun in your abscence to get him to feel sorry for her.

Maybe it was that hero complex of his, or maybe he just didn’t know how to say no without carrying guilt like a weight around his neck. He was just a good person, how could you fault him for that?

But you didn’t believe for a second that Lisa had been truly abandoned, however, Dean was already looking at you, like he wanted your silent approval, and what were you supposed to do? Call her bluff? Make a scene?

Yes. Came Jo's snappish tone. But unfortunately, you didn't have the backbone like your tough nut sister.

So, instead, you plastered on a neutral smile and nodded. “It’s okay.”

The smile he gave you made your insides warm. And the longer his hand rested on your thigh, the more those earlier doubts started to fade.

Because even now, even with Lisa sitting on his other side, trying to worm her way back in, Dean was still here, still touching you, still looking at you like nothing had changed.

Like everything was okay.

At least, that’s what you hoped.

With just thirty minutes left until the new year, one of the waiters approached your group, a polite smile on his face as he announced, “VIP guests will now be escorted to the rooftop for the fireworks display.”

A collective cheer rippled through the group, excitement buzzing in the air as you all stood, gathering your coats and drinks before following the designated path.

The moment you stepped outside, the winter air bit at your skin, crisp and invigorating, but the sight before you was enough to steal your breath.

The rooftop was strung with fairy lights, casting a warm glow against the dark sky. Tall fire pits flickered, evenly spaced around the terrace, drawing groups of people together for warmth. Beyond the railing, you could see the setup for the fireworks display—rows of canons lined up on a separate platform, ready to light up the night sky.

But what really caught your attention was the oversized digital clock hanging above the terrace bar, its bright red numbers ticking down the final minutes of the year.

Twenty-seven minutes.

It was almost time.

No going back now.

More drinks were ordered, more laughter spilled into the air as everyone settled in, chatting, toasting to the last stretch of the year. Benny handed you a fresh glass of the complementary champagne with a wink, and you took a grateful sip, trying to steady the anxious flutter in your stomach.

But no matter how much you tried to focus on the moment, your eyes kept drifting to him.

Dean stood near one of the fire pits, beer in hand, laughing at something Gabe had said. The glow of the flames cast golden highlights over his face, making his freckles stand out, his green eyes flickering in the light. You wanted to be next to him, to get a quiet moment alone before the countdown.

But Lisa was always there.

She hovered just close enough to be a presence, laughing at his jokes, lightly touching his arm when she talked, making sure she was never too far. Never giving you the opportunity to slide in beside him, to steal him away for even a second.

It was grating, the way she lingered, the way she acted like she belonged there.

You turned back to the girls, fingers tightening around the stem of your glass.

Jo nudged you. “Hey,” she said softly, reading your expression in an instant. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Charlie nodded, her confidence unwavering. “You and Dean? This is happening. There's no way the universe would let all this all go to waste.” She slurred a little, here finger flicking between you and Dean. You held her finger when it got too close to your face and chuckled.

“Exactly." Jo cut in. "You two are meant to be. You need to ignore her. Better yet, I can gag and hog tie her if you need me too?” She suggested so seriously you were almost worried she would.

“Jesus, Jo.” You huffed out a laugh with a shake of your head and she just shrugged.

“Then you get it done.” She points at you like a scolding mother.

Their reassurances soothed some of your nerves, but the weight in your chest remained. There was still time. Still a chance to pull him away, to get him alone before the moment hit.

One minute.

People started gathering closer to the centre of the terrace, positioning themselves near the railing for the best view of the fireworks. The crowd thickened, bodies pressing in as excitement filled the air.

You turned, eyes locking on Dean. He was near the edge of the group, still by the fire pit, but the crowd had shifted, pushing in, blocking your path.

Then the last ten seconds began.

Ten.

Your heartbeat matched the ticking clock, pulsing in your throat as you pushed through, weaving between bodies.

Nine.

You caught glimpses of him—his profile in the flickering firelight, the curve of his mouth as he took a sip of his beer, the way he turned his head, scanning the crowd—was he looking for you?

Eight.

You pushed forward, murmuring apologies as you squeezed between groups, your heart hammering now, thundering in your ears.

Seven.

The crowd was thick, voices rising in anticipation, the excitement electric. You were so close now. Just a few more steps.

Six.

Dean was right there, only a foot away. He turned slightly, and your breath caught. His gaze flickered over the crowd, past Lisa, eyes searching. And then-

Five,

Your stomach twisted.

Four

Lisa shifted closer to him.

Three.

She reached for his collar—

Two.

Pulled him down—

One.

Happy New Year!

The crowd erupted in cheers, firework cannons popped, and before you could blink, before you could breathe—

Lisa kissed him.

Right in front of you.

The fireworks exploded overhead, but the ringing in your ears drowned them out. Everything slowed, blurred—the pop of champagne bottles, the chorus of laughter, the flashes of light against the midnight sky—

All you could see was Dean.

Lisa’s hands curled around his jacket, her lips pressed against his. And Dean? Dean wasn’t pushing her away fast enough.

Your stomach lurched as the cheers continued, voices blending into a muffled hum, but it didn’t matter.

Because suddenly, you couldn’t breathe.

AN: Okay, please don't hate me! 😅 I know it's a shitty way to end it, but there will be more to come in the next chapter! 💕

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

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell @nancymcl @happyfxckinghorrors @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @fangirlingfromdownunder @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere78 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy @impala67stellawinchester @bonbonnie88 @youroldfashioned @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @bejeweledinterludes @rach5ive @ladysparkles78 @globetrotter28 @kayleighwinchester @amberlthomas

Next Time...

Dean hailed a cab, his adrenaline pumping. Gabe had informed him with a sympathetic pat on the shoulder—which only made him worry more, since Gabe wasn’t usually a sentimental guy—that you’d left with Charlie, Jo, even Jess and Sam. His knee bounced impatiently as the city lights blurred past. Fireworks still crackled in the distance, each explosion a hollow echo of the pounding in his chest. People were celebrating fresh starts, new beginnings. Meanwhile, he hadn’t even made it an hour into the year before fucking everything up. By the time the cab rolled up to his apartment, he didn’t bother waiting for change, ignoring the driver’s protests as he bolted inside. “Y/N?” He called the second he was through the door. Silence answered. His stomach dropped. He searched the apartment—kitchen, bedroom, even the damn bathroom—each empty room twisting the knife deeper. With a curse, he yanked out his phone, dialling your number as he paced the living room, teeth sinking into his thumb. “Hey.” His body sagged in relief—until— “Psych! You’ve reached my voicemail. Leave a message, and I’ll get back to you when I can.”

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #spn #spn fanfic #sam winchester #spnfamily #jensen ackles #dean winchester fic #abbalina writes

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