#smart wedding shopping | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mintmatcha · 22 days

Text

The Inevitable Things We Try to Avoid: chapter two

aizawa x reader fic

cw: aizawa x reader, cisfem reader, office AU, no quirks. no porn in first two chapters, sorry gang :)

previous chapter | masterlist | next chapter

When you arrive at 8:35, all of the lights in the building are already on, a warm, yellow hued light against the stormy sky. The exterior almost melts into the overcast; it makes you think of that ‘bye-bye blue' that Disney coined for its buildings, only much more depressing. Sometimes you look at this build and think about the hours of your life that it’s stolen, but not today. No, for once, you decide to have a good day.

It’s your birthday, after all.

The dash across the parking lot is a bit wobbly, your heels catching the gravel and potholes. Mic had texted you last night to remind you to wear something special, since he and a couple other office friends were taking you out, so you had dawned the only pair of heels you actually liked: a red pair you found at a thrift shop years ago. The stilettos are a bit high and much too sexy for your taste, but there’s an unknowable something about them that you love.

You did, however, forget your umbrella.

One of the interns is by the door, jacket pulled over his head to protect himself and his cigarette from the rain. Izuku, chubby cheeked and doe eyed, is shorter than most of his peers, with thick green curls that puff up and frizz in the humidity. For his stature, he’s surprisingly built; he and his boyfriend -no, fiance now- go to the gym together every morning and the hard work shows. You can’t help but notice the curve of bicep that flexes as he moves his arm back to his face.

“Good morning!” you call out. The weather is cool, so you wrap both hands around your special little birthday latte. Izuku seems unphased by the weather; he sniffles a bit as he pulls another drag, freckled nose wrinkling. The red stained rims of his eyes are stark against his tan skin.

“Yeah.” He sucks in a breath, trying to keep his voice light and failing. His Southern draw sits heavy on his tongue. “Not quite.”

“Oh no, what happened?” Rain drives a shiver up your spine and so does the look in his eyes.

“Like, okay, it was so-” He takes another thick pull and exhales it too quickly, coughing a bit as he talks. His ideas come faster than his mouth can handle. “First thing this morning-- well, actually, Ka-chan and I got here before anybody, so it wasn’t, like, first thing-first thing, you know? Anyway, like- thirty minutes after the first thing, when Mr. Aizawa arrived, he like, didn’t even set his stuff down before he told me to get into the conference room, which is crazy because he usually won’t do anything until you’re here and-”

“Izuku, focus.”

“I am focused-- these are important details! Mr. Aizawa pulled me into a conference room this morning and reamed me out. Incompetent: he called me lazy and incompetent, which is crazy because I do so much in this department! You wouldn’t believe it! And you know what Ka did? Laughed. He could hear it from the cubicle and he laughed, isn’t that awful? We’re getting married and yet he thinks it's okay to laugh at my misfortun-?”

“Wait, slow down,” you say. “Why were you yelled at?”

Izuku takes a dramatic gulp of air to slow himself, but it clearly does nothing. His finger twiddle the cigarette back and forth, ash falling to the puddle at his feet.. “He told me the work I turned in yesterday wasn't acceptable.”

It couldn't be the things you did. There’s no way; you’re smart -- well, okay, maybe not. You’re competent at least-- competent enough that you’ve done the reports previously without any complaints.

“No.”

“It's my fault.” Izuku continues. His accent gets thicker when it’s holding worry, clipping words and rounding out other sounds. “I should have finished them myself, but Denki offered to help me out-- and I had a meeting with the wedding planner yesterday so I had to leave early; if i was late again I would have upset Mitsuki and I couldn’t upset Mitsuki again because she’s intense, like, way more intense that Katsuki ever is, so I’m a little terrified of her-”

Fuck. You can’t listen- you’re trying to focus on keeping your breakfast down. That was your work. You’re the one that made Izuku and Denki look bad.

“-Biomedical engineering. Why did I pick biomedical engineering? I should have chosen law school like Iida. That would have been a better career path.”

“What about Denki?” You interrupt his rambling and he seems to snap out of his panic loop. For once, he’s quiet. “What about Denki, Izuku?”

“Oh.” Izuku says. “Yeah. Well.”

He places the cigarette between his teeth and goes to suck, only to realize he’s hit the filter. With a tsk, he smashes the embers against the concrete side of the building, but doesn’t drop the butt, instead holding it in his palm. A trickle of rain runs down your cheek, just enough to make you shiver.

“Allegedly,” Now, he speaks too slowly, chewing on every word. “HR is working on his off boarding.”

Your body forgets how to breathe. The interns are all part of a specific college program- if they aren’t working, they don’t get credit towards their summer graduation. Because of you, Denki will not be graduating this spring-- in fact, he’s going to have to wait another full school year until he can apply for graduating again. Your head is spinning from the lack of oxygen and you have to manually force yourself to suck in a breath.

“He’s fired?” you ask, stupidly.

“I’m not surprised, to be honest.” Izuku says. His pretty little curls are flattened now, heavy with wet. “This was his fifth big mistake and Mr. Aizawa is, well… he’s Mr. Aizawa. He doesn’t pull any punches.”

“Oh, geez.” You want to barf. “Oh, no, oh, geez.”

You’re ruining someone's life. One mistake and you’ve fucked everything up. Tears prickle hot behind your eyes as you think; what are your options here? You can’t just let this happen. Your job is to fix things-- that’s the only thing you’re good for. Discussing this with Aizawa would be a dead end; he’d probably just fire you too. You need to go above him.

“I’ll fix this,” you say, mostly to reassure yourself. You turn on your heel and march inside, a plan already forming in your mind. “Don’t worry.”

“Fix what?” Izuku calls after you. “Denki getting fired?”

You flash the security officer your badge, not bothering to turn around. There’s no time for that. The head of HR is usually punctual, so you only have a couple minutes before he arrives and sees the termination paperwork. It’ll take time to process, of course, but you’d rather fix this before it’s even reached that point. You scramble to your desk and don’t bother to sit down before you’re picking up your phone and dialing. The number is posted on a little sticky note, right under ‘emergencies only’ written in big red letters. This… counts, right? This is an emergency in its own regard.

The line rings once, then twice. Then, it clicks.

“Good morning.” The voice on the other side is unusually smooth, a clear timbre despite it all. In between words he takes long, drawing breaths, pulling through his nasal cannula. “Is my company? On fire?”

You laugh at that and you aren’t sure why. Maybe it’s the trill of fear in your gut, burrowing its way out anyway it can. “Good morning, sir. No, the building is still standing, luckily.”

“Please," he says, and you understand immediately.

“Yagi.” The informality of it all feels weird, even after all this time. He's the CEO and he wants you to address him like a friend. It’s been that way since you first started, but it still feels undeserved. “How are you?”

“I’m well.” Behind him you can hear the mumble of the television: a children’s show, you think. “My niece is visiting. So, I’ve been. Spending a lot of time. By the pond, feeding the ducks.”

He mentioned once that he had wanted children, but the company had taken up too much of his time. That memory makes your gut twist in a different way as you remember just how finite his time really is.

“That sounds lovely.”

“It is lovely.” He pauses. Then, clears his throat. “Not that I’m. Not happy to hear from you, but… why are you calling?”

“Well, I-” You’re not sure where to start. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, swaying like you have to pee. “I made a mistake.”

“What kind of mistake?”

“Not a company ruining one, but…” Oh, geez. Maybe you'll end up being the one without a job today. “I finalized some work for the engineering department interns and it wasn’t up to standard. And the manager-”

“-Shouta?”

“Yes, uh. Aizawa. He wasn’t aware of that fact and he fired the intern for work that I did.”

There's a pause.

“Are you sure?” He sniffles a bit. You can picture how he itches his nose with the back of his hand. He hates that tube. “I know he isn’t. The warmest man, but Aizawa. Isn’t one to fire. An employee without. Apt reason. Have you tried. Speaking to him?”

You can’t. The idea of confrontation makes your skin itch. Besides, you can’t just look him in the eyes and admit you fucked up-- he’d lose his mind.

“I just can’t let Kaminari get in trouble for my work.”

Yagi hums a low tone.

“I’ll bring it. To Shouta’s attention.” You almost jump for joy at that. “And I’ll let HR. Know.”

“Oh, thank you.” You’re physically bouncing. “I felt so guilty.”

“That’s under. Standable.” he says. “Maybe we. Have the engineers. Do their own work from now on, okay?”

“I know, I know, I just--” Can’t say no? “I like to be useful.”

“You’re more than useful.” His voice is warm, almost paternal. “I’m being told that I have an episode of Bluey to watch, so…”

“Goodbye, have fun, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

You hang up, then wait a couple beats before sighing with relief. Crisis avoided! Happy birthday to you! Maybe, against all odds, this will be a good day.

You drop into your seat and let it spin. Your latte isn’t hot anymore, but even lukewarm it’s still pretty damn good. After it boots up, your computer notifications are alight with companies wishing you a happy day and a merry 30% off. There’s a couple of DMs from coworkers that you haven’t opened yet as well and the attention makes you glitter.You almost forget that Touya still hasn't read your messages. It's not a surprise; he always forgets your birthday. It shouldn’t upset you at this point.

The workday official starts and, for once, it’s calm. There’s time to organize your desk and check on your facebook. Maybe, just maybe, the universe has decided to be kind to you. Yagi sounded better than he usually does, if not a bit winded.

You’re thirty, but you don’t feel older. 18 feels like last week, 25 is still your friend. Being this old almost feels like a joke-- especially being this old and single, with a job you’re not passionate about. You thought, maybe, that things would be okay by now. You’d be successful, with more than a couple hundred in your checking account, and a husband that could return a fucking text. Life, of course, had other plans.

It’s not that you don’t love Touya. You do. You really do. You just wish that you didn’t. It's easier to love someone like Hizashi or a boring man from R&D, but being with him feels like running on sand as it sinks down an hourglass. You're too far gone already, too intertwined with him; fate has linked you to a man that will inevitably break your heart, over and over again.

You almost don’t notice the stomp of boots down the hallway until it’s too late. You’ve been eclipsed.

Aizawa turns the corner so quickly that you jump and spill your coffee. His brow furrowed so deeply that his ‘11’ lines have gained an extra 1, and extra wrinkles have puckered around his straight drawn mouth. When he speaks, his lips curl up in one corner in revulsion, giving you a hint of canine. Someone from marketing walks down the hall, meets your eyes, then turns back around, fleeing it away from this situation. You wish you could do the same.

His hands press flat against your desk. The space he takes up alone makes you wilt, drawing back into your chair. Oh, he's pissed. Beyond pissed. His hair is down for once, falling in front of his face as he talks, and his hoodie sleeves are pushed to his elbows, revealing the punched, tense muscle underneath. The finer hairs on his arms are raised up into goosebumps, standing straight like pins.

“If you have a problem with the way I run my department,” Aizawa seethes. “At least have the balls to say it to my face.”

The air in your lungs turns icy. You’re frozen there, hands hovering above your keyboard, unsure if you should even pick up your drink.

“On what planet is it acceptable to tattle on me to the CEO?” His voice carries down the hall as he growls at you, the low, rolling tone of his voice somehow more terrifying than actual yelling. He reminds you of a wild dog, ears pinned back and ready to bite. And you’re just the poor rabbit in his path. “And to HR? Are you fucking kidding? You’re better than this.”

Oh, this is the type of interaction you were trying to avoid. Heat flares across your cheeks as you sputter and you frantically look anywhere else to avoid the burn. “I-- uh--”

“Did the interns come crying to you again?” Aizawa continues. “Did you let them walk all over you again?”

He leans in even closer.

“You are not their mother or their friend. They are adults. With jobs. And they do not need the secretary saving them from work they are paid to do-- especially Kaminari, who regularly abuses your good faith.”

Your shoes. You focus on those. Your pretty, candy red heels with the delicate strap, the ones Touya always compliments and the ones that make you feel beautiful.

“Calling Toshinori? May I remind you that he is actively dying? May I remind you that you are actively wasting his time with this?"

Shoes, look at your shoes.

"I also don’t have the fucking time for this. We are a business in a time crunch-- I don’t have the energy or brain power or man power to be dragging around dead weight," he says. "If I decide someone isn't fit enough to work here, they are not fit to work here. Do you understand that?”

Oh. A sudden, horrible realization hits you. All of the weeks of stress and loneliness and heartbreak and other random bullshit that’s built up in your life is hitting all at once and, despite how hard you’re trying not to, you are going to cry. Tears are prickling hot against the corners of your eyes, burning to come out, and you know there’s only second before they spill over-

“Do you understand that?”

You look up. He looks down. Your lip quivers.

Aizawa immediately draws back, eyes widening with realization. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens it again, drawing in a short breath. His brows are pinched together differently now; if he was anyone else, you’d assume he was sorry. If he was anyone else, you might care.

“I didn’t mean to…” he tries.

“You’re-” You want to scream and fight and curse, but all you can say is: “I hate you.”

It’s incredibly juvenile, but saying it feels good. With all of the fury you can muster, you stand, chair bouncing back against the wall behind you, and march out of there and straight into the women’s bathroom. You hold your chin high until the door slams behind you.

Then, you sob. It’s loud enough that you know it can be heard in the hall, wet enough that all of your make-up ends on the back of your hands, hard enough that you lose one of your contacts, but you just can’t stop. It comes in a torrent, one that doesn’t stop until you’re all blurry eyed and swollen and absolutely, positively destroyed.

Fucking astrology. Fucking Aizawa. Fucking work. Fucking Touya. Fucking turning thirty.

Your heels look stupid against the blue and white linoleum. The faux leather no longer looks convincing, but like cheap, normal plastic. Your cellphone is still on your desk and covered in an 8 dollar latte, so there's nothing to distract you from your own downward spiral. You want to be helpful. You want to be a good person, but nothing seems to work out that way.

By the time you manage to peel yourself out of the bathroom stall, the world has started to turn again. Someone’s at the coffee station, stirring in way too many sugars, someone else is taking on the phone just out of earshot. Aizawa is thankfully gone. You’re not sure you could have handled more of that.

Frankly, you’re not sure you can handle more of anything. You strip your other contact from your eye and throw on your only other option: the emergency glasses you have stashed in your desk. Great, as if you didn't feel bad enough already, now you feel ugly too.

A ping comes through from HR, letting you know that you have sick time available 'if need be.’ For once, the office gossip works in your favor. You shoot off a quick reply, confirming that you're going to head out, then grab your phone. It's sticky and wet, but it still works.

do you want to leave work early and go get drunk?<-

Hizashi’s response is almost immediate.

->leave work early????? who is this and what have you done with my babygirl?????

-is that a no? ): <-

->are you kidding?????? I’ll be at your desk in 15

You are going to get drunk. Very. Very. Drunk.

189 notes · View notes

dark-pink-fantasy · 3 months

Text

twstpasta reblogs

general

mc pricks their finger on a needle

night-owl!s/o

idol au

mc met them before in their dreams

mc with a tamagochi

malleus draconia!

f!s/o finds him in his dragon form

extrovert!s/o gets easily embarrassed

fem!s/o who makes him a portrait

s/o embarrassed by pda

fem!s/o turned into a toddler

s/o who gets red in the face

once upon a dream

pregnancy test?

comforting s/o after a nightmare

you’re a real baby, not me

i'll stay if you marry me

teasing blushy!s/o

poly malleus and cater

dollmaker!s/o

letting off steam

s/o is part dragon

short!mc hcs

dense!mc

jealous hcs

flying with him

comforting mc

wedding dress

mc paints his horns

fem!s/o kabedons him

petite but also strong s/o

s/o asking for head pats

s/o dancing subtly sensually

s/o who snorts when they laugh

mc having a mental breakdown

idol!s/o

idol au

true love's kiss

pro gamer!mc

i don't deserve you

m!s/o on painkillers

easily scared! s/o in a haunted house

short s/o who is affectionate with their friends

mc that gets a lot of gifts on valentine’s day

malleus + 👀 + romantic

malleus + 🌙 + Romantic

nsfw first time with fem!reader

lilia vanrouge!

dollmaker!s/o

reaction to a fem!s/o in their wedding dress

easily scared! s/o in a haunted house

powerful magician s/o overblotting

cuddling on a rainy day

animal crossing headcanons

m!s/o on painkillers

stressed out reader

aspiring dentist s/o

bra shopping

idol!s/o

smart!s/o

tactile!s/o

dense!mc

shorter!s/o

sleepover

true love's kiss

pro gamer!mc

first kiss hcs

romantic+lilia+🍡

lilia + 💌 + romance

nsfw first time with fem!reader

nsfw general hcs

sebek zigvolt!

fem!s/o in a cheerleading outfit

trying to impress a fem!mc

reaction to a fem!s/o in their wedding dress

stumbling upon a fem!reader changing

crush who has a terminal illness

cheerful, crybaby!s/o

winged!s/o

strong!s/o

veteran!s/o

schoolbreak

romantic+sebek+🎼

romantic +🍰 + sebek

silver!

reaction to a fem!s/o in their wedding dress

favorite way to show affection

idol!s/o

deaf!mc

childhood friend s/o

animal crossing headcanons

true love's kiss

short and loud s/o

s/o who is great at cooking

s/o who gets red in the face

first kiss hcs

silver + 🤒 + romantic

226 notes · View notes

yeonzzzn · 3 months

Text

♟️just bite me, idiot: jay

a you complete me series: six / seven

pairing: jay x afab!reader

word count: 2.6k

synopsis: jay takes you out on a date and spoils you with gifts when the main gift you want is forever…

genre: established relationship, vampire!jay

warnings: mentions of blood, stubborn but cute jay, some spice at the end

p1: vampires bleeding mlist

Jay rests his hand on your thigh as his eyes stay glued to the road, his thumb doing circles on your soft skin.

You glanced out the window, watching all the buildings and people walking on the street pass by.

Jay was spoiling you today with a lunch date and some shopping.

The shopping was more or less for the vampire royals wedding that was coming up. You’ve obviously never been to a vampire wedding, so you were confused as to how dressing for one would go. Mostly since now, you were the only human in the pack.

Sure, Sunghoon and Jake’s mates were human to an extent, but they still had immortality on their side.

You sigh, resting your head in your hand, elbow digging into the side of the car door.

Jay furrowed his eyes, making a few quick glances at you, his hand tapping your thigh.

“Babe, everything okay?”

You looked at him, quickly shaking your head, “Nothing.”

Jay knew you were lying, and you knew that he knew you were lying.

But you knew you couldn’t tell him the truth. That you so badly want to join the immortal side.

Jay doesn’t take talking about turning you very well. Always claims it’ll happen, but when? Didn’t know.

You keep praying that it will be before the wedding, but at this rate, you don’t know.

Jay took your hand, lifting it to press his lips to the back of your hand, “Babe, talk to me.”

“It’s just…Jungwon-“

Jay stopped you there, knowing where the conversation was going to go, “Babe,” he said, shaking his head, “Let’s not talk about this right now.”

Jay didn’t understand the rush to turn you into a monster. Wasn’t your human life good enough?

You released your hand from him, crossing your arms and looking back outside the window.

He knew you’d be pissed with him, it always would end up like this after talking about it.

He pulled into the restaurant's parking lot, found a good spot, and backed into the spot, putting the car in park.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, ready to get out and open the door for you before your voice stopped him.

“Don’t you want me forever?” you softly whispered.

Jay sighed, quickly reaching across the car taking your chin between his fingers, and pulling you to look at him.

“That was such a stupid question,” he scoffed, showing how annoyed he was with you at the current moment, “Of course, I want you forever. I am literally bonded to you for life.”

You wanted to make a smart comment, wanting to test him completely. Jay could read it on your face how badly you wanted to speak up.

“Yeah, until I die…” and you said it.

Jay let go of you and leaned back into his seat, jaw clenching tightly.

“Y/N,” he started to say until you cut him off.

“No!” you snapped, “It’s the truth! We may be bonded, but I WILL grow older. My body will start to age and get fragile. Hell, I am already fragile when it comes to you.”

Jay closed his eyes, clenching his jaw even more.

“Jay, you hold me so gently, kiss me so gently, and even hold my hand gently as if I were made of paper. Fuck, even when we have sex-“

“I get it, Y/N,” Jay finally spoke up, taking a deep breath to keep his voice calm, “I get it…”

He leaned back towards you, taking your hands in his own, “Babe, trust me when I say I want to be with you forever,” he took another deep breath, “Let’s talk about this back at the apartment, please? Let’s go have a good lunch and shop for the wedding, I want to spoil you, baby, please.”

You softened your hard exterior, nodding at him. You and Jay were both extremely stubborn, but sometimes you couldn’t help but fold when it came to him.

Jay quickly pressed a kiss to your lips before leaving the car and opening your door for you, helping you out.

Lunch was quiet as you ate your food and Jay sipped on his whine, stealing small bites from your steak and making cute faces every time his nose would scrunch up.

That was one thing you loved about him, he still would share food and eat (even if it was a tiny bit) with you. He didn’t need food to survive but still will eat to help make you feel more comfortable as a human.

That’s all Jay wanted, was to give you a normal human life. Something that was taken from him.

Jay still hated the monster he’d become, hated the vampire king for taking his life from him. The only thing he didn’t hate about the monster he had become was he met you. You made being immortal all worth it in the end.

And of course, Jay wanted to turn you, he wanted to keep you until the world ended, but he also didn’t want to take your normal human life from you. He would hate himself for it.

Once lunch was over, Jay drove you two to the nearest mall. Take your hand in his as you walk together.

You stopped in multiple different stores, looking and trying on different outfits.

Jay then pulled you into a Prada store, “Now we can really find some outfits.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, your man loved his Prada.

Jay found a couple of matching outfits, deciding to settle for the black suit and black dress.

As you two stood in the checkout line, Jay pulled you close to him, his arm wrapping around your back and hand gently settling on your hip.

His gentle touch sent you back to your previous thoughts on how gentle he is with you.

You tried to not show it on your face, to keep such a good poker face that he wouldn’t be able to see through. To try and save the conversation once you’re back at home.

And soon enough, the two of you were walking back into your shared apartment. Jay carried all the bags to the room and returned to your side quickly, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“How about I make you some coffee, ya? Sit down and I’ll be back.”

You loved how he would take care of you like this, but right now you didn’t want to be taken care of. You wanted the conversation.

Jay sat you down on the couch, but the hold you had on his arm wouldn’t release.

You knew Jay could quickly run off and your grip wouldn’t hold. That he could just shove you off and go on about his business. But he doesn’t. He looks at your hand and how it holds onto his forearm, tracing his eyes up to yours.

Jay knew the moment you locked eyes on what you wanted. He sighs, bending down to meet you at eye level, his hands finding yours.

“Babe…”

“Jongseong please…” you begged, “Jungwon turned __, and they’ve been happier since. I am the only one who is still a human. And I don’t want you always acting as if I am some fragile thing anymore. You’ll lose me someday if you don’t…”

Jay raised his hand and cupped your face, wiping away the tears forming in your eyes. His chocolate eyes wandered your face, stopping at the two scars Dorian left on your skin all that time ago.

“My human life was taken from me, I can’t just take your human life from you.”

You shook your head, “You aren’t just taking it from me! I am letting you do this. Begging you to do this.”

Jay looked down at the floor, shifting his knees on the carpet trying to find the right words to speak.

“I am a monster, Y/N, how can you want to be like-“

“You’re not a monster!” you grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him closer to you. His eyes met back at yours, “I forgive you, Jay. If that’s what you’ve been searching for is forgiveness from the way you once were, you have it. You have that forgiveness. You’ve done so much good since you, Heeseung, and Jake left that place. You’re a doctor for crying out loud. You take care of me when I’ve been sick. Even cook for me and keep food in the apartment when you don’t even need it. That’s not something a monster does. I want you forever. I want to be like you because you’re more than just a vampire. You’re the most human vampire I have ever met.”

Jay sighed, trying hard to keep his composure, thinning his lips into a line, “I love you, Y/N. So goddamn much and I want you forever too,” his fingers traced the scars that Dorian left on your neck, “I almost lost you once that night, I can’t do it again.”

You pulled Jay to you, wrapping your arms around his neck as his own wrapped around your waist, “You don’t always have to protect me, I am just as stubborn as you, I will make one fine vampire I promise.”

Jay wanted nothing more than to turn you. To keep you forever. He’s scared of a life without you. But the dangers that you’ll have to face in the future, to eventually have to move towns again once people start noticing you aren’t aging.

It’s what Jay and the pack have been dealing with for so long. Once Niki graduates high school (again), everyone is packing up and moving towns and cities.

Then with everything that Dorian caused…it’s only a matter of time before his followers who are still alive will come. Jay wanted to protect you, and no matter what he always would.

But it’s not just turning you that scared him, it was the possibility of losing that control once his fangs are in your skin.

“Baby, what if I lose control?” he whispered, his head resting against yours.

“Jungwon didn’t,” you commented, “And everything turned out fine. Jungwon also drank from __ that night he was attacked, right? He had more at risk when he turned her.”

Jay shook his head, “Y/N, I haven’t drunk from a human directly since leaving the castle,” he took a deep sigh, “I have a higher chance of losing that control and he did. Jungwon also is so strong-willed, he’s the leader of our pack after all.”

“I believe in you, Jay. I trust you.”

You knew he’d be okay. Knew you could trust him. Had all the faith he would keep control.

Jay started to open his mouth to protest, to maybe wait until another member was here to help keep him grounded, but you stopped him.

“Just bite me, idiot.”

And well, no time like the present.

Jay bent your head to the side with one hand, his eyes staring at the scars. His fangs came to a point, his eyes their beautiful crimson.

Your body tensed, and your hands gripped into his hair as his fangs pierced your skin.

Jay sucked the blood in, his hand that was still at your waist gripped tighter, and a soft groan left his mouth.

You tasted so good to him. How the hell will he ever drink normal blood again after getting a taste of yours? Jay had half a mind to not turn you, his mind was clouded by your taste and smell.

Your brow furrowed as the side of your neck went numb and your body turned cold, the familiar feeling that Dorian first gave you. Except this time you weren’t scared. You are in the arms of your soulmate. Someone who loves you more than life itself.

“Jay,” you whispered, your head started to spin, “Jay,”

Jay could hear your voice but did not register what you were saying. He was chasing a high that was long forgotten.

His fingers spread out more, moving your head even more to the side, giving him more room to sink his teeth down more.

You hissed at the pain, tapping his shoulder as your vision started to blur, “Jay…Jongseong.”

He couldn’t stop, you tasted too good. He was so drunk off you. His hand at your waist went to your shoulder, gripping the fabric of your shirt and tearing it down your arm, ripping it completely.

It wasn’t until his hand touched your bare shoulder that he realized how cold your body was getting from the loss of blood.

Jay wanted to remove his fangs, wrap you in a blanket and cover your wounds, and apologize for losing himself.

“Baby…” you whispered, wrapping your fingers slightly tighter around his hair, “I trust you.”

Hearing those words was enough for Jay to release his venom into your skin and take one last sip of your blood before removing his fangs.

A small amount of blood dripped down your neck and Jay softly rubbed his tongue up, wiping away the blood and placing a soft kiss on your neck where his fangs once were.

You started to go through the motions as his venom spread throughout your body. Jay wrapped his arms tightly around you, “It’s okay babe, I am right here. You are so strong.”

You were in pain, but then you weren’t. You blinked a couple of times, then removed your hands out of Jay’s silver hair and down to his shoulders.

Jay pulled back to look at you, a small smile on his lips, “Hello my love.”

You stuck your tongue out to feel your new fangs. The world seemed like it was moving faster than it did before.

“Is this how it felt for you too?” You asked, as his hands went back to your face as he stared into your new crimson eyes.

“Mine was a lot more painful, more aggressive.”

You nodded, it made sense for Jay’s to be worse, after what he had to go through…

“Babe, how are you feeling?” Jay asked, his eyes wandering back down to your neck, the scars that were once there were gone, which made Jay smile even more. Dorian was completely gone now.

You focused on retracting your fangs, and once they were gone you crashed your lips into Jay’s.

Kissing him now felt different. Felt more powerful and passionate.

Jay’s hands found their way back on your body, and oh it sent you over the edge.

He was aggressive with his touch, not gentle like he once was. His hands gripped tightly to your body and squeezed you. His lips kiss you out of pure hunger. Like he’s been deprived of it.

You loved it. The rush you were feeling. The way Jay was handling you as he pressed your body against the couch as his own connected to yours. His hand slid down your leg and wrapped it around his waist.

You were no longer fragile. Not some small piece of paper. And it felt amazing.

Jay loved the feeling of not having to worry about hurting you. He was finally able to fully give you everything he’s been wanting to give you.

You were still so fragile to him, not because you actually were, but because of how badly he was in love with you. It would be a beacon for those who in the future would want to harm you.

Jay shoved those thoughts out of his mind. It was a problem to worry about later.

Because right now all he cared about was making love to you in the ways he wasn’t able to before.

#jay bae #jay x reader #reader x jay #park jay #park jongseong #jongseong x reader #reader x jongseong #enhypen #reader x enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #established relationship #youcompleteme #yeonzzzn writing

255 notes · View notes

talkfastromance4 · 11 months

Note

If you still accept titles for the made-up fic title thingy:

"I wanna be that somebody for you."

This is very long! My imagination got away from me and I would LOVE to continue this story if you and others are interested!

Also couldn’t help myself and made a lil moodboard.

Enjoy!

***

You own a small flower shop inherited by your grandfather and you curated the floral arrangements for Penny and Maverick’s wedding. You were busy perfecting the bouquets and that’s when Jake saw you wearing a very pretty sundress with pink flowers on it. You even had a headband of flowers in your hair and he pictured you in a cottage with little woodland creatures surrounding you.

He admired your work ethic and the need for things to be exactly perfect with the arrangements.

“Excuse me,” he said approaching you, “could you help me with my boutonniere?”

You looked him over in his dress whites then glanced at the others behind him.

“Um, you don’t get them with your uniform.”

“Oh. I know,” he grinned, green eyes dancing.

“Then why would you ask–”

“I’m in another wedding. I’ll be wearing a regular civvy suit.”

“I see,” you nod gathering up the fallen stems and leaves from your work. “Shouldn’t the bride and groom be asking for those?”

“I’m the best man, they’ve entrusted me with it.”

“I see.”

He liked how curt you were with your responses.

“Well, I’d love to help but not while I’m in the middle of another wedding, sir.”

His eyebrows raised at the formality of ‘sir’ and only made his Cheshire grin widen.

“Wonderful, I’ll stop by tomorrow. When do you open?”

“Eight,” you sigh.

“I’ll see you at eight. And it’s Lieutenant, darlin’,” he winks then left you flabbergasted.

***

He’s already waiting outside the shop door by eight o’clock on the dot when you go to unlock them. He’s in his service khakis and you run through some options from most expensive to least. Then by category of flower and what season would be best for which flower. It wasn't until you pulled out a box of ribbon that he placed his hand over yours, you felt an electric current course through you.

He admits it was all a ploy.

“What? Why?” You ask then realization and anger clouds over your eyes. “So you can joke about it with your naval buddies? Get out of my store–”

“No, no, no, you misunderstand,” he holds up his hands in defense. “I have a proposition for you.”

“A proposition?”

“An arrangement,” he flashes a smile. “Come to dinner with me tonight and I’ll explain.”

“Like an arrangement of flowers?”

“No, sweetheart,” he shakes his head then slides his hands in his pockets. “I’ll have a car pick you up at seven. Wear something nice.”

He winks again then left.

Throughout the day you were thinking of the whole altercation. The smart, rational part of you knows you shouldn’t have dinner with him. But the curious part of you is intrigued by his cryptic meaning of ‘proposition’ and ‘arrangement’ and you wanted to know what it was.

It isn’t until your friend and coworker has come over with an armful of dresses for you to borrow that she jokingly suggests it might be a sex arrangement. You laugh along but the pit in your stomach and the warmth spreading in your ears signifies she might be right. You pick out a pretty black dress and the car arrives promptly at seven o’clock.

The Navy is prone to being good with time, you guessed.

A man named Reynolds opens the very sleek black SUV and asks what kind of music you’d like to listen to for the drive. Forty minutes later you’re in the Valley pulling up to the top five star restaurant in the state. A valet opens the door and gestures to you inside where a hostess greets you by name and leads you to the main room.

The Lieutenant is sitting at a white clothed table in a very nice suit. As soon as he saw you he stood up, eyes taking you and your dress in with a faint smile.

“Wow, as I live and breathe,” he drawls then pulls out your chair. He offers his hand for you to take as you sit down and he pushes you in a little bit. You murmur a thank you and take in the restaurant.

Men and women are wearing high-end clothes, luxury watches wink at you and diamonds sparkle amongst the candlelight. There’s a massive fireplace and chandeliers everywhere. When you look back at him, he’s already looking at you. You feel your cheeks warm.

“You look beautiful,” he compliments.

“Thank you. This is very…extravagant.”

He notices the nervous way you touch your hair and bite your lip. You take in how handsome he looks, his suit is crisp, his hair perfectly styled with a little bit of the bangs hanging over his forehead. There’s a start to a five o’clock shadow on his cheeks and chin but it looks anything but rough to the touch.

“Y/N?” he asks and you notice a waiter is next to you.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Red or white, madam?” the waiter asks.

“For what?” your brain is a little behind because of the circumstance.

“Wine,” the Lieutenant smiles patiently.

“Oh. Right. Um…white.”

“A bottle of your best white wine and I’ll also have a whisky. Neat.”

When the waiter is gone you lean in closer to the table.

“What is all this?”

“Dinner and drinks.”

“No. I mean…your proposition?”

“It’s not time to talk about that yet,” he shakes his head then hands you a menu.

The drinks arrive and you take a hearty sip to ease your nerves. You nearly choke on probably the best wine you’ve ever had when you notice the prices. Some of them are in the hundred dollar range.

“Lieutenant–”

“Please, call me Jake.”

“Jake. these are very pricey–”

“Don’t worry about the cost, y/n,” he shakes his head. “Anything that looks good, please order it. And don’t go for the cheapest one.”

You glance over the top of your menu to see him giving you a knowing look because that’s what you were honestly planning to do.

After you finally order and drink some more wine, he starts to ask many questions. Your birthday, where you grew up, schooling, your favorite classes, friends, family, siblings. So many questions about you. When dessert is finished you’re holding the mug of coffee between your palms.

“Why do you want to know all this?” you ask.

“Penny told me how caring and open-hearted you are, how much you do for others. And how you help your grandmother. She said no one has really taken care of you.”

His green eyes are smoldering in the candlelight.

“Okay…” that didn’t really answer your question.

“I wanna be that somebody for you.”

“Be what?”

“I want to take care of you. Anything you need. Pay off your house, expand your flower shop,a new car. Whatever you need.”

You stare at him blankly trying to absorb his words then it hits you.

“You want to be a sugar daddy?” You hiss and nearly spill your cup of coffee. “I’m very capable of taking care of myself, thank you very much. I get by. I don’t even have a house! And what, you’d want to pay for things in exchange for sex? I’m not a hooker and that’s illegal!”

“Shh!” he hushes placing his hand over yours. His eyes are wild as he looks at the other occupants but they were none the wiser of your accusations. “No. Of course not.”

“I won’t send you feet pics either–”

“Y/N, Y/N, stop,” he’s earnest. “This is not what that is, I promise.”

“Then explain yourself better.”

“What I’m suggesting is that, I help you with some financial things and in return–” he gives you a look when you gasp–”in return, I ask that you be a companion. A date to Navy balls, family gatherings. We can have dinner as frequently as you’d like, or coffee, or nothing at all unless it’s for a function where I need you.”

“So not a sugar daddy–you aren’t even that much older than me, by the way!”

“I’m aware,” he nods patiently while you visibly flip out on him.

“So, what then? A piece of arm candy? I’m not the greatest–”

“You are. From what I’ve heard you are exactly right for me.”

“How? Why do you need a companion? You can have any person you’d want.”

“I can’t disclose that with you right now unless you agree. I’ll have paperwork set up–”

“Paperwork! Wait,” you lower your voice, peeking at your neighbors to make sure they’re not listening when you ask, “is this like a…a Fifty Shades of Grey thing? Are you like a Christian Grey?”

“Of course not,” he snorts, “I’m not into that, I’m not going to ‘own’ you. You picture me as Christian Grey?”

“No! You’re way hotter than he–” you clap your hand over your mouth but he smiles. “So, no whips and chains or a play room?”

“No. Unless you’d want one,” he shrugs. “This is why I’m calling it an arrangement. You’re a good person who deserves to be taken care of.”

“You hardly know me, Jake. Or am I some kind of charity case? A means to a redemption arc you’re looking for? Have you murdered someone?”

“My, my, my, you certainly are entertaining,” he chuckles. “And quite the imagination.”

“I watch a lot of movies,” you sniff.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now, of course. But think about it. I have more than enough money and I give a good portion of it to charities I’m keen on. We can be as exclusive as you’d like or you can shoot a text and I’ll send money over for whatever it is you need.”

“And all you want back is for me to be a companion to you?”

“Yes.”

“Like a fake relationship?”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.”

You side eye him dubiously.

“Are you sure this isn’t some sort of sex thing? Is this a new kink I’ve never heard of?”

“Oh y/n, if it was I would have already pleasured you at your shop.”

“What?!” you squeak but he just smirks.

“That’s a discussion for another time, sweetheart. If you choose. I want you to know the ball is entirely in your court. I’ll have Reynolds drive you home but leave you with my card…” he pulls out his wallet and slides a business type looking card with his name on it and a number underneath.

Your mind is racing, your palms are sweaty and you feel warm all over because you never in a million years would have expected this type of predicament.

“It’s late, I know you need to be up early tomorrow,” he pulls away from the table and you stand automatically following him out the restaurant in a daze.

Reynolds opens the door but Jake grabs your elbow and turns you around to face him. He’s wearing a very fresh smelling cologne, it clears your nose and makes your head swim because it gives off the aura of sophistication and wealth. Your head doesn’t even come up to his chin so you really have to move your head up to look at him.

“Think it over. I’ll send over the papers so you can examine it. Call or text or email if you have any questions. I want to be that somebody you can rely on and call on whenever you need it. Okay?”

“Okay,” you gulp.

“Good. Have a good night, Y/N,” he bends down to kiss your cheek then helps you climb into the car. “Reynolds will also be your driver. He knows where to bring you to me when and if you’re ready.”

He closes the door and your head is still swimming going in a million different directions. Your cheek is tingling from the softness of his lips, the insides of your thighs are burning because you’re thinking of what he said earlier. How he could have pleasured you in your flower shop. The curious part of you was very curious about that.

#ask #@mymindwide #jake seresin oneshot #jake seresin x reader #hangman x reader

525 notes · View notes

chiefdirector · 4 months

Text

Waiting | Tim Bradford | The Rookie

True to his word, Tim held back and stayed in an unmarked vehicle down the street from the house that the cartel were using as a basis of their operation. It was the same one that Tim and (Y/N) had raided only three years prior. Even he could admit that it was almost poetic that it was on this property, three years ago, his and (Y/N)’s fate had been decided by Regina Diaz, and it would be here that their fate would be unsealed. It had come full circle, almost anyway: Tim was in no position for a premature celebration. So he and Chen watched and waited as they had been told to do.

“Tim…?” Lucy said, timid as she was when she had first become his rookie. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, boot.”

She pulled at her collar, trying to pick the right words. She knew that Tim could be prickly and defensive at the best of times, so today his guard would be up tenfold. However, she could also see right through the walls he worked so hard to keep up. “You know, it’s okay to be nervous. Considering how drastically things have changed these last few days.”

“Why would I be nervous? I trust (Y/N), she’s smart, she has survived this long.”

“Then why haven't you put your wedding band back on?”

Tim didn’t respond, instead he turned away from Lucy’s concerned looks and towards the house. The rest of the team assigned to the raid had not shown up yet, they weren’t scheduled to come until the primary watch team gave the command. The primary team were in a van on the opposite side of the street, parked only a hundred yards away from him and Chen. They were almost directly in front of the house, waiting to see if any form of action began before the police troops arrived.

If Tim had been in that van like he had wanted to have been, he would have seen a figure in a dark hoodie move around the side of the house and down the patch of grass that leads to the backyard. He would have flagged it up as suspicious, he would have recognised the hoodie as one of his own, the one that (Y/N) always stole from him. He would have noticed her entering the grounds.

“I didn’t-” Tim started, stopping when the words got stuck in his throat. He looked back to Chen who smiled softly, nodding her head to allow him to continue. “I didn’t put the ring back on because if this goes wrong today, I don’t think I would have the strength to take it off again.”

—--

As the sun began to go down, the radio in between Tim and Lucy finally sounded out with Harper’s voice as she gave the order for the operation to begin. Within seconds, police officers from multiple Wilshire divisions appeared, some on foot and others in their shops. Two SWAT teams approached shortly after. Their synchronised movements were something to gawk at as they silently fell into formation to breach the property. From where they had parked their car, Tim could see Lopez, West, and Nolan leading the front of the operation alongside Sargent Grey.

It didn’t take long for the signal to breach the property, when he heard the command go out of the radio, Tim held his breath for a second before closing his eyes. In all of his years on the force, or even before during his time serving in the Marine Corp, he had never felt so nervous, so out of control.

“Tim, you need to breathe, it’s going to be okay.” Lucy placed her hand on her Training Officer’s shoulder. His eyes snapped open. In that moment, Lucy saw something change in his eyes, the panic that encompassed him only a few moments prior had disappeared.

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do. You got the best cops in the city going in there right now. It will be okay, you have to trust that.”

“How can I? Last time we were here, we thought it was okay. Look what happened!”

“Tim, they will call us in when they have secured the place.”

Bradford turned to respond but was interrupted by the sound of bullets being shot. Instinctively, the two patrol officers reached for their weapons in case they needed to pursue anyone. Moments later, the radio rang out again. This time it was Lopez speaking. “I need multiple RA units to my location. We have casualties, three not conscious, not breathing; we also have one identified female, police detective, gunshot to shoulder, not wearing a vest. She is conscious and breathing.”

Before Angela had finished giving the report on the radio, Tim was out of the car, sprinting towards the house, gun still in hand. His mind was going a mile a minute, he knew that everybody who was a part of the bust today would have been wearing a bullet-proof vest. The only police personnel who would have been without one would have been (Y/N). She would not have had the resources to get one beforehand, she would have gone in without one.

Air got stuck in his throat as he breached the property line and burst through the front doors. He barely noticed Chen running behind him as he began to sweep the property for (Y/N). It did not take long for him to find her.

She was surrounded by multiple cops, some were searching for something that could aid her until the RA unit arrived, others stood back watching her from where she was crumpled to the ground. Tim barged his way through the crowd, falling to his knees at her side. He barely registered Angela next to him, holding some scrap material into (Y/N)’s shoulder to stop the bleeding.

His eyes darted all over her form, looking for more injuries. He didn’t notice anything major, except from a few scratches on her face. He then focuses on her shoulder, he couldn't see the wound under Angela’s hands but he saw how her blood had spread down her arm and soaked into her jacket and shirt.

He tentatively reached down to move the hair spread across her face, “Hey baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s going to be okay.” He tried to reassure her, but as the words spilled from his mouth he knew that his words were for him also, to remind himself that she was here, that she was real. He was not going to leave her side, not now, not ever.

(Y/N) slowly turned her head to face her husband as she heard his voice for the first time in two years. He looked older, the lines in his face had set in. The crease between his eyebrows had grown, but his eyes were the same. She never thought that she would see them again, she never thought that she would see Tim again at all.

“Tim…” (Y/N) tried to speak but her words were cut off by blood rising through her throat. She choked it back down again with a pained expression. Before she tried to speak again, her eyes rolled back into her head as she succumbed to unconsciousness.

Part Six | Part Eight

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Tags: @xceafh @kmc1989 @buba424

Tags are open :)

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #the rookie #the rookie fanfic #chiefdirector #bottom of the river

164 notes · View notes

reddeaddamnation · 5 months

Text

Your future life with the Hogwarts Legacy folks:

Sebastian Sallow

Hogsmeade was magical during Yule. Lights and decorated trees, pretty ornaments hung around the houses and the carols sung all around the village. The snow covered streets brought out a cozy feeling that just made you want to hide in the Three Broomsticks with a warm cup of cocoa or a mug of butterbeer next to the fireplace. Thankfully, you didn't have to think about work these days and you could enjoy a holiday with your husband.

Sirona's smiling face greeted you at the entrance. She hadn't aged at all since you were students. "Well if it isn't mr. and mrs. Sallow." She teased. Contrary to what everyone believed, Sebastian had chose to folllw in his family's footsteps and became an auror, who turned his back on the dark arts and instead opted to fight them. Ominis joked that even though you endorsed him all those years, you became the good influence and prompted a change in him after your wedding.

You, yourself had become a professor in Defense against the dark arts at Hogwarts after professor Hecate's retirement. "Oh, stop the formalities, Sirona, its Y/N and Sebastian." You laughed. "I will always remember the times when you were always getting into trouble." Sirona joked "Look at you now. All grown up. What can I get you?" You made your orders and sat at the table next to the fireplace, enjoying its warmth.

"I don't know when was the last time I told you this but I'll remind you. You're the best thing that happened to me. If it wasn't for you, I don't know where I would be right now." Sebastian looked at you with adoring eyes, a smile on his lips. "Azkaban?" You joked. After sharing a small laugh, he continued. "But...really. You made me a better person, professor Sallow." He smirked. "I'm glad to hear it, chief auror Sallow."

Ominis Gaunt

The ministry was dull and boring as ever. Everyone was so busy and...corporate... You sat at your desk, twiddling around a feather in your hand, wondering what to do, since your work was finished half an hour ago. Wondering if your husband was as workless as you were, you decided to go and check for yourself.

The corridor seemed endless. After finally seeing the door with his name on it, you knocked softly, waiting for an answer. "Minister Gaunt, you have a visitor." You teased him, upon entering. He shot you a welcoming smile, before going back to the papers in front of him. You took a moment to admire him. You always knew he would make it big, despite his disability. He was smart and adaptive. Nothing could stop him from achieving his dreams and you were so proud of him.

You couldn't help but walk over to him and hug him from behind his chair, nuzzling into his neck. "Darling, I have work to do." Ominis kissed your cheek sweetly "I promise, I will not let you go but when we go home." Feeling you pout, he sighed and contemplated for a moment. "My love..." he tried to speak, but you only hugged him stronger. "Just five minutes, Omi, I promise. I'm bored out of my mind." Snaking your body to the front of the chair, you sat on his lap, making him blush. "Ah... Y/N, you do whatever you want with me." Chuckling under his breath, he kissed you passionately, meanwhile casting a spell to lock the door.

Garreth Weasley

An explosion erupted from within your husband's potions shop, making you sigh. No surprise, with all the experiments he was doing and new concoctions he attempted to brew. You walked inside just in time to see Garreth, covered in soot and liquid, frantically trying to clean up the mess he had made.

"Too high temperature?" You asked, smirking. He looked you and scoffed at your amused face. This wasn't the first time you saw him covered in the mess he created. It was even too many to count. So many it didn't make you burst out laughing anymore. Despite that, he had made himself the name of the best potioneer in England with a successful potions shop and even published a book with his own recipes for potions. So to create said new potions, he had to go through trial and error multiple times a day.

"Too many troll boggeys." He answered, eyeing you up and down to find something to get back at you with "And you? A niffler caught your foot?" He pointed at the noticable missing piece of fabric of pants on your lower leg. You on the other hand, pursued your dreams of taking care of beasts to keep the wild populations stable. "Ah, kneezles get too playful sometimes. I think she believed my leg was a toy tree she could climb on." You waved your hand, dismissing concerns "What were you brewing this time?" Garreth sighed, motioning to the mess around his potion station.

"I attempted to create a potion, which could help the user breathe underwater." He explained "Not turn the user into a newt!" Ignoring your laugh, Garreth waved his wand, putting everything was back into place, clean and tidy "So after failed attempt number one, this is the result of attempt number two." He never failed to put a smile on your face though. "Don't worry, love, I'm sure you will get it next time." You reassured, moving closer to him for a hug, but stopped, remembering his... state right now.

Garreth rubbed the back of his neck. "Ahh...let's leave that for later, alright?" He chuckled.

Amit Thakkar

"I found it!" Amit exclaimed, excitedly shifting in his place, barely able to stop himself from jumping. His voice was quivering from the excitement of his discovery. He had been searching every night for some legendary constellation, appearing only once every few hundred years, or that was what the ancient scriptures that lead him on his search said. After realizing the time of appearance was soon, he spent night after night for a whole week staring up at the sky with his telescope with you to keep him company.

"Look!" He gave you the telescope to see for youself and lo and behold, he was right. A constellation you had never seen before right in front of your eyes. The stars glimmered together in the formation of a figure of a sphinx with two heads - a man's and a snake behind it. It sent shivers down your spine.

"Thank you for supporting me in this, my love." He hugged you so tightly and lovingly "Everyone else thought I was crazy!" You giggled "I knew you could do it. You're the best astrologer of our time." You pecked his lips with a smile, making him blush "Ah, you don't have to inflate my ego." He chuckled shyly and averted his gaze. "That's why I married you, Y/N. You believe in me."

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #garreth weasley #garreth weasley x mc #garreth weasley x reader #amit thakkar #amit thakkar x mc #amit thakkar x reader

361 notes · View notes

suckerforlovesblog · 8 months

Text

Pretty little thing

Pretty litte thing Masterlist

Series summary: All Mr. Shelby wanted was to remarry. He had to find himself another wife after the death of Grace, not just to take care of his son Charlie but also to gr Pretty little thing

Series summary: All Mr. Shelby wanted was to remarry. He had to find himself another wife after the death of Grace, not just to take care of his son Charlie but also to grant him access to the finer society of Birmingham. All he wanted the girl to be was a pretty little thing on his arm who simply submitted, obeyed and followed his orders.

And he did find the perfect girl - young, very good looking, of a good upbringing, smart but little did he expect her to have such a strong mind of her own…

All he wanted to do was break her in, like a horse had to be, and his new wife put up a good fight but eventually he is sure, he will break her and make her his completely.

Series warning: Dark!Tommy, toxic relationship, abuse, rape, non consensual intercourse, rough sex, age gap, Sir kink, choking - all the things that come with rough smut

Chapter 3: The wedding

Summary: Y/N officially becomes Mrs. Shelby.

Chapter Warning: language, drug abuse, unprotected sex, p in v, non consensual, oral sex (f receiving), rough sex, choking, praising, body fluids, cockwarming

Word count: 3.2k

~ tag list: @ncoleys , @amberpanda99 , @priyajoyy , @tommyshelbywhore , @swordofawriter @goth-cowgirl-03 @thenattitude @sheun-555 @meetmeatyourworst @bruher @frazie99 @blvebanisters @jessimay98 @cherrysugarx ~

End of August 1926

Thomas wanted the wedding to be perfect, the dress, the ceremony and the dinner afterwards. The latter was of course a business move and the invited people where carefully chosen.

After the engagement party the contact between Mr. Shelby and his fiancé was rare because he was occupied with business. But he did make it a pattern of visiting her every Sunday. They went riding, to a Derby, to London to visit his sister Ada and he usually took her to any public event he was attending. On the outside he wanted them to look like they’re very happy and in love with each other. Thomas made clear how he wanted his future wife to behave and any time a border was crossed, Y/N soon deeply regretted it because he had a dark side. And this side Y/N was really scared of. His eyes would turn black and he would usually push her into a wall, his hand around her delicate neck, threatening to do bad things to her or even worse her parents. Otherwise he never laid a hand on her and he deeply enjoyed seeing her scared. Thomas also really liked her apologies: On her knees with an open mouth, looking up at him through her lashes, his hands in her hair.

Y/N was a quick learner. She soon realized that Thomas’ temper was uncontrollable and unpredictable because it would change within seconds. Anyways she was on his arm, always smiled nicely and only spoke when being talked to. She also never had the guts to confront him about his behavior but really hoped it would change, as soon as they got married and he let some feelings in.

Leading up to the event which he sat the date for on the 25th of August, they spent less time together which Y/N wasn’t all to sad about. Thomas did come by to give her the engagement ring, a small golden band with pearl on top made to be followed up by a wedding ring. He also sent her flowers every week.

On the other hand she got to spend some time with his sister Ada and his aunt Polly. Y/N also came to the betting shop to meet the rest of his family for a so-called family meeting: Thomas’ brother Arthur was there with his wife Linda, Ada and Polly were there, as well as her son Michael Gray, Thomas’ younger brother Finn, his uncle Charlie and Curly, who Y/N really liked, as well as Jeremiah and his son Isaiah, Johnny Dogs and Thomas’ secretary Lizzie, who didn’t seem to like Y/N very much.

Thomas led her into his office afterwards, taking her hand ins his and pressing a kiss to her temple which confused Y/N. Confusion was the state of mind she was in the most: Thomas could be very sweet on one hand and extremely gruesome on the other. He offered her a seat and a whiskey, which she gladly accepted while he took out his cigarette case, taking one out and putting it between his lips in Thomas Shelby manner, pushing it around and then settling it on the left side of his face. The conversation was short but Thomas only explained some small details to her and then told her the date he set for the wedding. He afterwards followed her out of his office and to his car, his arm around her waist. The couple went out for afternoon tea and Thomas drove her home with his new Bentley afterwards.

Y/N and Ada went to the tailor together, to get the dress that Thomas had picked out for the wedding fitted. Ada gasped when she saw it because it was simply beautiful. A slim white dress with a longer train and lace detailing all around the neckline and the short sleeves. The depth of the neckline was a little deeper than Y/N would have picked for herself but it looked fantastic on her. Thomas also wanted her to wear white satin gloves and the veil would be satin as well, with some minimal lace details at the hem. “You look stunning!”, Ada said, “who would have thought that Thomas had so much style?” She chuckled while you stood in the middle of the room, the seamstress running around pinning the dress down to make it fit even more snug. Thomas’ and his brothers suits would be made by your parents and you were really grateful that he fulfilled his promise of only getting his suits there from now on.

All this went through Y/N’s head, when Ada and Polly came to pick her up for her weddings ceremony. Ada brought along a beautiful necklace which of course Thomas had picked out for her as well. Ironically the pendant was a “T”, meaning that Y/N would utterly and completely belong to Mr. Shelby before the day was over. Y/N got into the car and Polly drove them towards Watery Lane where Y/N got into her stockings and into the beautiful dress, Ada put the veil into her hair that was pinned back into a loose low bun with some pieces framing her face. Thomas’ sister also put the necklace around her neck and some make up on her face: mascara, some rouge and a red lipstick. “You look stunning”, she said. Polly came with three glasses off champagne and kissed Y/N forehead, feeling the uneasiness beaming off of her: “Would you like some snow to calm your nerves?” The bride to be simply nodded and snorted the line, as soon as it was done. She did not feel different at first but sometime later her thoughts were calm and she smiled drunkenly. “Much better”, she smiled at Polly, picking up her bouquet and getting into the car to be driven towards the church.

When the wedding march was played, the cocaine still calmed her nerves and made her smile. Her farther walked her down the aisle towards Mr. Thomas Shelby standing at the end of it. He wore a navy black suit with a white button up and a dark fly, Y/N had to admit that he looked incredibly handsome. The only thing bothering her was his evil smile. He took her hand from her farther’s who helped her up the pedestal. Now standing across from Tommy the music slowly ended, he lifted the veil and Jeremiah started the ceremony. Y/N was still high and she knew that Thomas knew who would be mad later. She didn’t listen to anything that was said and just looked into his icy blue eyes, they were like two frozen over lakes in the middle of winter, and wondered if he could ever love her, just a little bit. The loud “Yes” Thomas said snapped Y/N back into reality and at the appropriate moment she also said “Yes, I do.” Her now husband then swept her down and kissed her. Somehow his lips felt good on her. They were full and pink and full of neediness. His tongue brushed against her lip and she opened her mouth for him, his hands on her cheeks, pulling her closer. After he broke the kiss, he pulled her into a hug, kissing her forehead and the came with his mouth to her ear: “Behave, little one.” This might have seemed like a loving gesture for the people watching but Y/N knew it was a thread. He put another ring onto her left finger to officially claim you. It complimented the engagement ring very well. Thomas Shelby was a man of style.

The two newlyweds left the church hand in hand getting into his Bentley and driving off towards Arrow House, which was now Y/N home as well, the guests following after a some Canapés and champagne.

Arriving at the House Thomas wasted no time, pulling her inside and into a side room. He immediately pressed her against the wooden door, pushing himself on her. She couldn’t move because his body was pressed against hers, one hand on her left cheek, the other on her hip. His face came closer to hers: “Darling, you can’t imagine how I have dreamt of this moment ever since you so obediently sucked me off.” She swallowed and then his lips came crushing onto hers. She felt dizzy and safe, not sure whether it was the drugs or not but she willingly gave herself to him. Y/N was quite sure that she wouldn’t have done this sober because she was scared shitless of him. The hand from her waist came up to her breasts and Thomas moaned into the kiss: “We gotta be quick and shouldn’t ruin your hair or make up.” He then flipped her around and pushed her towards the desk, pressing her down on the hard wood. Y/N tried to maneuver around but he held her down, pressing his growing bulge into her backside. “You drive me crazy, eh love?”, he whispered into her ear as he leaned down to kiss her exposed neck. While he went rough on her neck, his hands trailed to her butt, squeezing it and then gathering her dress and pushing it upwards. “Don’t move”, he said whilst opening his own pants. She looked back at the man who was about to take her maiden hood, right as his erection sprung free, she noticed how big he is. He chuckled, seeing her face: “Are you worried, eh? I am sure you will manage just fine.” His hand then went around his length, pumping it a couple of times. The other hand found his way to her stockings and even further up her lacy underwear. He simply pushed it to the side and then toyed with something between her legs. She didn’t know what it was but it send shockwaves through her body, Thomas sure felt and saw her reaction, smirking: “I said you would like it, love.” He then spit into his hand and spread it over his erection, the tip leaking with pre cum. Positioning him between her legs, he put the tip between her folds, slowly moving up and down. Y/N felt as if she wasn’t present, as if she only lived through this moment out of her body. Thomas hips snapped forward and into her, making her scream in pain because he was everything but gentle. Giving her a second only to adjust, he pulled out all the way and then back into her, all the way this time. He had to push harder this time, to break her maiden head and he heard her scream. One of his hands came to her mouth, covering it. “Be quit!”, he demanded. It was hard for him to hold back his moans because the thought of breaking her, shaping her made him even harder if that was even possible. She was wet as well but he didn’t care if she enjoyed tonight. This night was all about him: Finding another wife, finding another mother figure for his son, finding the pretty little thing on his arm for business. His hips snapped up harder, he was now balls deep into her, finding a steady rhythm, fucking her without her explicit consent. Since they were now married it wasn’t illegal and he had to blow off the steam about her being high on their wedding day. All of this made him fuck her faster, both of his hands now on her hips rutting into her relentlessly whilst his wife cried silent tears and was helpless. He knew it was cruel but to get her they way he wanted Y/N, mindless and controllable and never speaking back, he had to teach her some lessons. Starting with him showing off who was the dominant one in their relationship.

He erupted with a loud moan and came undone in her. “Might fuck a baby into you tonight. Then you will be a loving and caring mother for my pup!”, he whispered in her ear.

As soon as he came down from his high, he pulled out of her and used his handkerchief to clean himself off before tucking himself back into his dress pants. He adjusted his suspenders and button up until he looked presentable. Thomas then helped Y/N who already got off the table clean herself. He kissed her whispering praises into her mouth but she only felt hazy and confused. A maid was called who helped her readjust his wife’s outfit and her clothing. “Since you seem to like snow, here is a line for you, darling.”, Thomas said looking at his pretty little wife after preparing a line for her. Without any reply, she got down in front of him taking a sniff and the line disappeared. Thomas smiled and caressed her cheek: “Good girl.” Y/N wasn’t scared of him anymore, not when he caressed and care for her, she was and would never be scarred of Thomas when she was high. Her husband knew that and used it to his advantage, drugging her whenever things got rough.

The rest of the night was a blur of happiness and heightened emotions. Y/N played in the snow two more times this evening and was dancing happily while being watched by Thomas. Their last dance was very romantic, a slow Waltz. They looked into each other eyes the whole time and Y/N could feel an attachment towards him forming. She really appreciated when he was soft and likable rather than him being harsh and mean when he did business.

Thomas then took her upstairs into their master bedroom. Y/N didn’t know it was the bedroom he had once shared with Grace, his only love and was too scared to ask him. He picked her up and carried her over the doorstep, her face close to his with her arms around his neck. When he let her down she looked up into his cold eyes and then pressed her lips on his. He grinned into the kiss, soon taking dominance and guiding her backwards until her calves hit the bed frame and she fell backwards. Thomas climbed on top off her, holding his weight off er delicate body. He couldn’t wait to rip the dress of her body and fuck her once again. Their kiss got more passionate and he did really enjoy it. She bit onto bis lip slightly and he took the invitation, sneaking his tongue into her mouth. Since she seemed to enjoy herself, his kisses wandered to her neck, leaving open mouthed kisses, licking down her throat until he reached the neckline of her dress. Her rapid breathing only ignited the fire in him even more. Y/N hands went to Thomas’ waistcoat, opening it and then brushing her hands against his torso. He gave her room to explore whilst kissing her neck back up to her ear. When her hands pushed his suspenders down and started to unbutton his white dress shirt, he whispered into it: “You’re mine now.” It sounded like a threat and a promise at the same time.

Y/N knew that no one would ever lay a hand on her or do her harm unless it was her own husband who lashed out. He found the spot, right underneath her ear, that made her tummy light on fire and kissed and sucked and blew air onto it which only made her moans and forget all the intrusive thoughts. She fidgeted with the buttons and he soon grew impatient so he quickly rid himself off the expensive dress-shirt. Her hands rummaged his lean but toned upper body and his found their way under her skirt once again. Soon her hands were in his hair and his were in her lace panties. This time he ripped them apart, pushing the skirt of the wedding dress up around her waist. His hands exploring her legs and finding their way up to the center. She tried to close them due to the exposure to the cold air but he stopped hair, kissing down to her cleavage and then further down until he reached her uncovered crotch. Kissing his way from her thighs up to her middle, Tommy knew he drove her crazy. He blew air on her clit and she hissed, sucking in the air when his tongue touched the sensitive bundle of nerves. Thomas started sucking and licking up between her folds, sticking his tongue into her entrance. His wife, that was never touched by another man before today, started to moan softly. He heard his name more than once and decided it was time to put a finger into her whilst eating her out. Her hands messing with his hair, moaning she felt a warmth build up in her stomach. Thomas felt her walls flutter around his finger, so he huskily said: “You like that sweetheart. I want an answer.” “I.. I do Thomas.”, she stuttered. Whilst continuing to eat her out he said: “I am the only man who can pleasure you like this. Keep it in mind sweetheart. I am the best to ever happened to you.” Simply moaning a “Yes, Tommy. Fuck”, she came around his finger and onto his tongue. He helped her ride out her high and then quickly undid his pants, positioning his already hard member right between her folds. He spit onto his dick and then entered her, leaving her no time to adjust to him this time because he started taking her in a brutal rhythm. His hand came to her neck, sneaking around the delicate pressure points, pushing down and controlling her breath. Y/N knew she was completely at his mercy and belonged to him in every way possible. “Please”, she hissed. “What?”, he inquired, “please what?” “M.. more”, she tried to say but was cut short by him lifting her legs and putting them around his waist, deepening the angle and pushing into her more deeply, groaning at the new sensation. His wife also moaned. “You’re taking me so well, sweetheart.”, he said, whilst pulling out and pushing into her repeatedly, “such a beautiful little slut”. Her moan to his comment nearly made him burst into her but he steadied his breath and the hand from her waist came to her clit once again, drawing circles. Still overstimulated from before he felt her walls clutter again and after continuing for a bit he felt her cum around his dick. “You’re so perfect, love”, he moaned and buried his cock deep inside off her spilling his seed. “Maybe, I fucked a baby into you tonight.”, he chuckled and stayed inside of her for a bit. He searched for his cigarette, moving the one he too out between his lips and then lit it. His little wife was still in another universe, so after finishing the smoke, he pulled out of her, stepping out of his pants and undoing his shoes. He then went to clean himself up, coming back to Y/N sleeping. He undressed her and slid into bed next to her. Thomas last thought before falling asleep was: “I hope she keeps using snow because this is perfect.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #thomas shelby #thomas shelby x reader #cillian murphy #thomas shelby smut #thomas shelby rough smut #dark!tommy shelby #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby rough smut #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby x reader

319 notes · View notes

lattaeyongs · 2 years

Text

reunion (ml)

original gif

↳ pairing: mark lee x reader

↳ word count: 7.4k

↳ genre: barista!reader, exes to lovers!au, angst, fluff, smut

↳ summary: suddenly mark lee, your high school ex-boyfriend, is back in your life, and you’re not so sure that it’s a bad thing.

↳ warnings: contains explicit sexual content (oral, unprotected sex – please use a condom or birth control! stay safe!). read at your own risk.

“Order 68!” You say openly to the entire coffee shop, plopping the drink on the granite front counter.

There are a few more customers ordering their drinks, so you find yourself standing by the large coffee machine on the counter, waiting for a drink to pour into the cup placed under the spout.

You’re handed a few more orders by your friend and coworker Giselle who is standing by the cash register. Espresso, two shots of milk, and two cappuccinos. “So how was your date with Sicheng?” Your friend asks while customers who ordered drinks move to the other side of the counter, waiting for their drink to be served.

“It was good.” You say vaguely as you set down the order before clicking a few buttons on the coffee machine. “We had dinner, and he dropped me back home.”

“Are you guys gonna go on another date?” Giselle asks curiously, her tone struggling to stay casual as anticipation danced in her eyes. You purposely don’t answer for a while, pretending to be engrossed in your work. However, Giselle continues to wait as you make the last orders, standing by the credit card swiper just in case any other customers show up. But once you put the last customer’s drink on the counter, you have no more excuses to not answer. Letting the side of your arm brush against the front counter, you lean against it a little, shrugging your shoulders.

“Probably not. He was nice and everything, but he didn’t seem my type.” Giselle groans.

“Y/N! I thought Sicheng would be the perfect guy! He’s smart and funny and his parents are loaded,” she added subtly at the end.

“Just because I looked at him for more than two seconds at your sister’s wedding doesn’t mean that I want to date him,” you chuckle, rolling your eyes at your friend. “And besides,” you start again. “I’m trying to focus on my degree right now.”

Giselle is silent for a little bit, pursing her lips. “Other than dates here and there, I’ve never seen you in a serious relationship.”

“What’s wrong with being single?” You ask, your shoulders lifted up.

“Everything!” You snort at your friend, who is obviously more sarcastic than she sounds, but Giselle only comes closer to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. Her eyes are rounder this time, serious. “Y/N, you know what you told me two Fridays ago?”

“What?” You ask. You don’t remember.

“You said that once you got off of work, you were going to organize all your albums. I’ve been to your place, and that’s a lot. I don’t want you wasting Friday nights by yourself. You deserve an awesome guy. I just want you to be happy.”

“Thanks for your concern,” you tell your friend. “I’m happy with just working and going to college. It would also make me happy if you butt out of my love life,” you deadpan at the end, smiling.

“Fine,” Giselle says reluctantly. You laugh at your friend’s pouting face before picking up a rag to scrub counters since there’s no one else standing in line for a drink. But when you hear footsteps approaching, you and Giselle look up. It’s a boy around college age, who places his drink on the front counter. “Excuse me? The lid of my coffee cup is broken. Can I get a new one,” he shows you both the lid on his cup, a large tear in the side that would impede it from doing its job. Giselle looks to the spot where the complementary lids for coffee cups are and notices that they aren't any more lids.

“There are some more in the storage room. It might take a while, so I’ll bring it to your table,” Giselle responds. The boy nods, leaving. “I’ll be back,” she says to you, and you say a quick ‘alright’ before moving a few steps to the computer that registers orders and the card swiper. So far, you haven’t heard the little bell sound from the door of the coffee shop, so you’re pretty sure that no one is coming in. Taking a long look around at people busily on their phones and laptops most probably completing a last-minute assignment or others just here with their friends for a quick caffeine shot, you settle on your conclusion, tapping your fingers against the counter as you stare at the floor, humming quietly to yourself as you think about what you’re going to do after you get off of work today.

This is your second year working at this coffee shop. You decided to attend a local college only twenty minutes away from your home to stay close to family, and you’re living at home to limit the expensive dorm costs and accumulating debt that many of your friends complain about. After settling into college, you took a job at this coffee shop in the center of your town to get a head start at paying your minimal education costs and met Giselle, a community college graduate who’s earning money to get a four-year degree.

Your tapping is interrupted when you hear someone; you didn’t even realize that the bell went off.

“Excuse me?” you hear. That voice… it’s familiar, one that you haven’t heard in a long time, yet it’s one that you could pick out of anywhere. Looking up, you see someone you never thought you would see again.

It’s Mark Lee, your high school ex-boyfriend.

“M-Mark?” You sputter. You couldn’t believe it. But there he is, standing right in front of you in the flesh. You almost want to pinch yourself.

Only marginal things have changed about Mark’s appearance since high school; his hair is slightly grown out and he has a light tan. Right now, he’s wearing a t-shirt and some sweatpants, his earbuds hanging on his neck as if he came back from the gym or a jog, the latter being the most likely case because when you were dating, it was a part of his routine to go on a jog every single day.

“Y/N,” he says, smiling. “It’s good to see you.”

“Y-You too,” you stammer.

“I didn’t know you worked here now. How have you been?” Mark continues the conversation. Finding a pen on the counter, you’re glad you have something to fidget with.

“Well, I do,” you chortle. “And I’m good, I guess. Just working and school,” you respond curtly. “You?”

“The same.” His response is nonchalant, It’s pretty damn obvious how awkward it is. With neither of you saying anything for a little bit, you both let the light chatter of those at tables do the talking for you.

“Would you like a drink?” You ask politely.

Mark’s eyes widen, suddenly realizing why he’s here. “Oh, right,” he says bashfully. “One ice americano, please.” Ah, Mark’s favorite drink; back when you were dating, he liked to tease you by saying that it was 100% coffee compared to the sugary macchiatos or lattes you would order. With a small smile, you punch some keys on the computer by the register, you select Mark’s order on the screen. “That would be $3.49 with tax,” you say, looking up.

His hair brushed back, he pulls out his wallet to get his credit card. Swiping it across the scanner, a satisfying ‘ding’ sounds, recognizing that his payment was accepted. “Thanks,” he says a bit quietly. He stands there awkwardly for a few more seconds as if he wanted to say something else, but he just nods, seating himself on one of the barstools next to the counter you worked at; it’s practically empty most likely due to many preferring to set up their laptops or talk on the phone or with friends without the baristas overhearing them. Or alternatively, they would stand by the serving counter, which they thought would help make their drink faster.

Quietly, you move a few steps to the coffee machine, pushing your tongue against the side of your cheek, an old habit of yours that springs up when you’re nervous. Hoping that he doesn’t notice, you look from the cup in your hand to Mark, taking a glance at him as quickly as possible, but it seems like he’s trying the same. For a moment, both of you lock eyes, and it’s almost like you can’t pry your gaze away from him until you finally force yourself to, looking back to the coffee machine to fill some espresso shots on top of the ice and coffee.

Sealing the cup with a lid, you put the drink in front of Mark.

“Uh, here’s your drink, I guess,” you say a little more awkwardly than you intended to.

“Thanks,” Mark smiles. He continues to sit at his barstool, and with the lack of customers ordering right now, you decide to busy yourself out of your awkwardness, going to an obscure corner to get a broom, as far away from Mark as you can be. After taking a few sips, Mark’s gaze lands on you, and as you start sweeping, he begins talking.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom,” he says. He leaves his drink, which he took a few sips of, on the counter, heading down the hallway beside your counter to the men’s bathroom.

Once Mark is out of sight, you hear another voice. “So I’m assuming you guys know each other,” Giselle says, leaning her weight onto one leg. She is standing a few feet away from you, coming out of a shadow. You almost drop your broom when you hear her.

“How long have you been standing there?” You ask, practically jumping out of your skin.

“Long enough to see some of the interaction between you two. From the way your movements were so stilted and how you stammered a lot, you definitely didn’t expect to see him, and by how uncomfortable you looked, he was probably someone you knew intimately…” Giselle trails off, her eyes widening, a gasp on her lips. “Is that an ex?” She looks excited.

“How did you get that from a one-minute interaction?”

“I’m a psych major, remember? Major deduction skills,” she says, pointing at her brain dramatically. You exhale loudly, almost snorting before she continues. “So answer my question. Is he an ex?”

“Yeah,” you say simply. Giselle’s look is curious, so you continue. “He was my high school boyfriend. We mutually broke up before college,” you say, your words meshed together stiltedly.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

“Don’t be.”

Back in high school, you and Mark were almost inseparable, to the point that your high school friends would lightly joke that he was attached to your hip or something. You were always laughing together, at one of the corny jokes or when walking together after classes, going to the same diner and ordering the same thing, and even… skipping classes to be together (you would only skip when it was a concept you knew you didn’t need the teacher’s help on).

But then all that changed.

Mark, when you were sitting together at lunch senior year, casually mentioned that he got into his dream college; it’s a posh school that has a prestigious music program, which would support his dreams of being a songwriter one day. He looked so conflicted when he broke the news to you because well… the school is on the other side of the country. You made it pretty clear that you wanted to stay close to home where it’s more affordable. In-state schools were on Mark’s list too since he wasn’t sure if he would get into his dream school, but after this discovery, he didn’t need those admissions.

You would have been a horrible girlfriend if you told him not to go, and eventually after much thought and coaxing from you that you would be fine, Mark accepted the admission. You said that your relationship could work as a long-distance one. However, during the summer, you changed your mind. A long-distance relationship is too much work, and many of them fail anyway. You wanted your boyfriend to be by your side, to touch him, to hold him. You didn’t think you could handle being apart. Mark eventually said that he was feeling the same thing and added that this was for the best.

By the way Giselle looks, it’s like there are wheels in her brain that are turning.

“So are you over him?” She asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be? It was a while ago.” You didn’t mean to sound as defensive as you did, and it looks like Giselle is surprised at your reply too.

“Just asking,” she says, looking at her nails. “Was he your last boyfriend?”

“Yeah, but what does that have to do with anyth – oh,” you say, tilting your head up. Giselle nods. You’re pretty sure that you know what she’s thinking.

“I can assure you that he’s not the reason I’m not dating. Remember that piece of paper I get after finishing college?” You joke at the end.

Your question is more rhetorical, but Giselle has almost no time to respond when Mark comes back. Taking his drink, he looks like he is thinking hard about something.

“Uh Y/N,” Mark starts off shyly, his eyebrows knit with concentration; a blooming red blush emerges on his cheeks as he grips his drink. “A-are you on your break right now?” he musters out.

“As of now, I’m not,” you say.

“Oh, well…” he trails off, his facial expression still nervous, his eyes darting. “I was wondering if you wanted to sit with me. Like-like maybe at one of those tables?” He cocks his head to a free table at the corner of this little cafe. Looking from Giselle to Mark a few times, you notice your friend’s encouraging expression.

“Uh, o-of course,” you stumble out. “Just give me a minute, I need to clock out for my lunch break. I’ll meet you at your table.” Mark nods acknowledging what you said. Watching Mark walk away, you inhale sharply.

“Can you cover for me?” You ask.

“Yeah,” she smiles. You look a little hesitant to leave from behind the counter to Mark, a boy you haven’t seen in two years, but Giselle practically shoos you away. “Go, reconnect, have fun!” Raising an eyebrow, she has a mischievous look on her face. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll be meeting him again as a boyfriend.”

“I told you. Over him.”

“Right,” Giselle says. She leans against the counter a little bit before talking again. “The thing with mutual exes is that you didn’t break up because you didn’t like each other anymore but because of circumstances. Maybe there are feelings still there.” Snorting, you finally leave the counter, telling your manager about your lunch break before making it to the table Mark is sitting at.

The cushy part of the seat deflates as you sit down. For a few moments, it’s silence with you fidgeting with the hem of your uniform and Mark observing the floor intently. You would have maybe expected to see him sometime around the breaks when everyone in your graduating class would be ditching their dorms and apartments to visit their family, but the closest break is a month away. You decide to address the elephant in the room.

“So what brings you back home? Why would you want to leave a university a few minutes away from the beach to come back to our boring old city?” You joke.

“Well, you know, homesickness,” he says, shrugging his shoulders. “I tried to forget about it because the music program is so good, but eventually my grades started falling. So I’m gonna transfer to a school here.” You nod at this.

“Oh, what school?” You ask.

“That’s the thing,” he chuckles softly. “I’m not sure.”

“That’s very un-Mark of you, the same guy that makes to-do lists for everything.” Your brow is arched non-threateningly. Mark was always a stickler for to-do lists and agendas, which was against the typical “creative” nature expected from a boy who wants to pursue professional songwriting.

He smiles at you. “I’m trying to take a break from college right now. A gap semester.”

“That sounds good,” you say after a few moments, unsure of what else to say. When neither of you says anything, the awkwardness appears again. It seems like you two are having a competition about who can steal the most glimpses at the other without them noticing.

“So what about you? How’s college for you?” Mark asks, sipping what’s left of his coffee.

“Oh, you know.” You shrug your shoulders. “It’s just college. Classes, assignments, studying, exams.”

“You still live at home?” He asks.

“Yeah. I’m not living for the concept of paying the government for the next ten years of my life just to live in a dorm.” You snort. None of the scholarships (minus sports scholarships) you applied for were enough to pay for room and board.

“Smart. My debt is probably through the roof right now.”

“How are your parents doing?” You ask, changing the subject. While dating Mark, you had an affinity for Mrs. Lee, who was the number one supporter of your and Mark’s relationship and even described you as the perfect girl for her son.

“Dad’s in Cancun, and I just had lunch with mom yesterday.” You nod. Mark’s parents are divorced, with the divorce in tenth grade being messy; there were those nights where Mark would sneak into your room because he couldn’t stand the fighting anymore, and you would fall asleep next to each other. Ah, the days when you and Mark were inseparable.

“Cool. Where did you go?” You ask.

“Some new Chinese place. It’s next to that Five and Below?”

“Ah,” you say, nodding slightly, remembering that the restaurant opened only a few weeks ago.

Suddenly, Mark’s eyes widen.

“Oh, how rude of me!” he exclaims. You look confused at the sudden rise in his voice before he continues again. “I didn’t even offer to get you anything!” Mark remarks, putting a hand to his forehead. You try to wave him off.

“Don’t worry it’s not that big of a deal, I don’t really want anything right now,” you say, but Mark doesn’t look like he’s listening to you. He rises, moving back to the counter where Giselle is standing. You follow him, wading through the maze of tables, chairs, and customers as you continue to reassure him that you don’t need anything; you stop talking when you realize that he’s already whipped out his credit card, swiping it on the credit card scanner.

“You still like caramel macchiatos right?” Giselle looks like she’s breathing in the entire situation as she waits for your answer.

“Yeah.”

After the general pleasantries were exhausted and the awkwardness faded away between you and Mark, you had a good time together – a good enough time where you even lost track of time; one of the other baristas who clocked in later had to tell you that your thirty-minute lunch break was over. So when you stood up and told Mark that it was nice catching up with him, he told you to wait. He said that it would be nice to hang out at a place where you didn’t have to clock in and out. So you set another time to be at the Chinese restaurant he was talking about since it’s on your drive home from work, and despite being close to it, you’ve never been to it due to being busy all the time.

You know that it would be a direct violation of the best friend code to not tell Giselle that you’re seeing Mark again, but right now, you wanted to keep this whole thing lowkey, and Giselle… she’s not lowkey. You bet if you told her, she would log on to Canva, and start making the wedding invitations.

So now you’re in Mark’s car after he insisted on driving you home instead of letting you call an Uber, which you have been doing the past week since your car is in the shop after the “check engine” light appeared. After much back and forth and insisting that you’re fine, you finally give in. His car is a used jeep that he got on his sixteenth birthday, and it looks almost the same as the day he left for college. When you climbed into the car at first, you noticed a stain on the floor mat near the passenger seat where you spilled a soft drink and the driver’s side window being slightly unrolled, for it can’t completely close for some reason.

Sitting in the passenger seat, it’s like you’re transported to high school again, to all the times you and Mark would parade around in this car to get snow cones in the summer or go to the festive Christmas marts in the winter.

Mark draws you back to the present.

“Wow. Construction here is actually finished,” he says. You look out the window to see a large road, one of the bigger roads in your city. It started off as a small local road, but since a lot of the city grew around it, it became more used, and traffic was unbearable. So, somewhat counterintuitively, construction began on and off, slowly enlarging the road until construction finally finished once and for all a few months ago, the road being as large as it is allowed to be under state provisions.

“Yeah,” you acknowledge. You look out the window, watching the glow of city buildings in the distance, and all is quiet between you and Mark until you suddenly, very loudly, sneeze.

“Bless you,” Mark says.

“Do you have a tissue?”

“Yeah. I think there should be some in the passenger compartment.” You look where Mark told you, lifting open the top of the compartment in front of you. What you find are a few tissues in a package like Mark said, but then you see something else unexpected.

“Dior’s ‘La Vie en Rose?’” You ask, taking the perfume bottle out of the compartment. You used to leave a bunch of random stuff in Mark’s car in the past, but you don’t ever recall having this perfume.

“Oh, that’s uh…” Mark trails off awkwardly. He doesn’t respond for a while, his gaze focused on the road. “My girlfriend’s. Well, ex-girlfriend.”

“Oh,” you say flatly. You’re about to put it back where you found it until Mark takes a hand off the wheel, waving at you.

“Don’t put it back. Just leave it in the cup holder so I can finally remember to throw it out.” He snickers. You do what he says. Afterward, you bring your hands to your lap, looking from Mark to your side of the dashboard.

“How long has it been in there?” Your voice is quiet as you ask this.

“Maybe a few months,” he says. You nod at this slowly, continuing to steal glances at Mark as he drives. Mark’s gaze slowly tilts from the road to you, and a smile begins to form on his face. “And you want to know more.”

“I do not! I’m not nosy like that,” you say, crossing your arms indignantly. To say that you weren’t at all interested would be a lie, though. Mark sees through this and laughs.

“Come on, Y/N, we all want to know about our exes’ relationships to see if they’re doing better than us.” You shrug your shoulders in an attempt to remain casual, but the embarrassment heating your cheeks tells another story. “It’s alright Y/N. I wanted to know about your exes too.”

You smile at Mark, at how he always tries to make you feel better. “So where did you meet your ex-girlfriend?”

“I knew her through a couple of friends. We hit it off and started dating. We only dated for a few months.”

“Oh,” you say, simply. For a period of time, Mark had moved on. So why are you slightly disappointed?

Neither you nor Mark says anything for a while before he continues. “During most of the relationship, I wasn’t that happy. And after that girl, I didn’t date much.”

You nod at this. “What about you?” Mark asks. “Anyone notable?” Mark, as well, is trying to remain casual as he drives.

“I don’t have an official ex. I mean, I’ve been on dates by myself and even ones that my friends have set me up on, but I don’t know,” you shrug your shoulders. “I guess college is stressful and it’s too much work for a relationship. I’m trying to focus on studies.” It’s Mark’s turn to nod as he drives. He turns into your neighborhood as if on reflex, still remembering exactly where you lived. But a few houses down is the house.

The house is a house that’s been on the market for at least as long as you remember (probably from the rumors of it being haunted), and unlike a lot of things that Mark has seen in the town, it hasn’t changed since the “for sale” sign is still planted on the front yard. Seeing this place, Mark comes to a halt.

“Do you want to go in? For old time’s sake?”

“Sure,” you say. Mark takes the keys out of the ignition, hopping out of the jeep. You do the same as well, coming out of the car, and Mark receives you, the two of you walking around the house to the back door, where you used to enter.

“Hairpin?” He asks, holding out a hand. You reach for one in your hair, realizing that you’re not wearing one before reaching into your pocket, practically a junk drawer of odd little trinkets that you’re too lazy to drop in your purse.

Handing him a brown bobby pin, you let Mark work his magic. Picking locks was something Mark learned from his brother who is five years his senior which became handy when you two would sneak out here.

When your parents finally caught on to Mark staying in your room at night, they said it couldn’t happen. It wasn’t that they didn’t like Mark – they made it pretty clear that out of all the high school boys who could date their daughter, Mark is probably the best they’ll get. But, it was just that they weren’t comfortable with you and Mark in your bedroom alone at night doing God knows what under their roof. Even though you told your parents that it was mostly harmless, just making out at the most, they still didn’t budge.

It was actually your idea to come to this house since you didn’t want to sneak out too far and get in trouble if you came back home too late. You didn’t fear ghosts, for they are dead. What could they do? Knock some books off the shelf and write your name in blood? However, you certainly feared your parents, who are very much alive. You haven’t been here since senior year, only driving past this house when going to work or college. So when Mark opens the door, you’re flooded with memories. All of the times where Mark would bring his guitar from home and play a song he was working on. The times when neither of you would turn on the lights after the sun had gone way down, leaning in to make out. The times when Mark’s head would be on your chest while comfortable silence persisted between you two.

The time when Mark took your virginity.

The model furniture in the house has not changed a bit. You look at the striped couch, to the tousled pillow that seemed sat on.

“So there was a showing of this house a few hours earlier,” Mark says.

“And there isn’t gonna be a showing at,” you stop, checking your watch. “9 PM.”

“Which means we have the house to ourselves.” As if you’re being pulled by a foreign force, you and Mark make your way into the master bedroom.

“Remember when we used to make out in this room?” You ask. You look up at Mark, your gaze lingering on his lips. Mark certainly looks manlier than he was in high school, the baby fat on his cheeks long gone, yet there’s still the same boy you fell in love with, the sweet boy that wouldn’t hesitate to rub your shoulders when you were stressed out, the soft boy with the contagious laugh.

It seems like Mark has the same idea.

“Yeah, a little like this?” He leans in, his lips landing on yours. They taste like the same chapstick he used in high school, and you smile into the kiss, your movements languid as Mark nibbles on the delicate skin of your lips. Both of you take your time, neither of you moving away until Mark pulls away, a loud ‘pop’ sounding between you two. Your lips feel cold without his.

Mark’s face is still close to yours as you feel his warm breath on your nose. You have so many words to say, so many thoughts bouncing about in your head, but none of them come out.

“You know why I came home?” He suddenly asks.

“Homesickness?” You answer breathlessly, recalling what he said at the coffee shop.

“Yeah,” he settles with his response for a few seconds before inhaling sharply. “Partly.” He separates from you, so you can see his eyes, that large doe-like gaze that hinted at the seriousness of what he’s going to say.

“For a while, I missed our boring city. The duck pond, the movie theater, the snow cone shop. College didn’t seem right. There was something missing, something important in my life.” He stops. “You. All the things I missed in our town were because you were in them. Remember when we would feed the ducks? Or watch a movie in the theater?”

“Yeah,” you say. Ah, sweet memories. You always feel slightly empty going to those places. Mark continues.

“I thought once I got settled into college, I would forget about you. But that felt impossible. I went to party after party, and my grades started falling, yet I was doing well enough to still pass my classes until the end of last semester. The counselor told me I had to redo statistics, poetry analysis, and music history, three out of my four classes. That’s when I decided that I needed to stop avoiding the problem and face it head-first. I landed here two weeks ago and went to your house. Your mom told me that I could find you at the coffee shop.”

Mark is silent, his lips pursing into a fine line as he tries to unlatch the tough words stuck in his throat.

“I still love you. You are my home.” he chokes out.

Stunned is an understatement. Shocked out of your damn mind sounds more like what you’re feeling right now.

You’re silent, and Mark’s look is that of nervousness about what you’re going to say back. He’s internally screaming at himself. Did he really bare his soul to you after not contacting you for almost two years, just showing up out of the blue wanting to embed himself back into your life? It sounds ridiculous thinking about it now compared to when he was packing his stuff from his dorm.

He’s interrupted in his thoughts when you start speaking.

“If you missed me, then why didn’t you call me?” You ask.

Mark sighs, running a nervous hand through his hair. “There were times I had your contact pulled up on my phone, debating whether to call you.” Mark stops for a few moments, fidgeting with the rings on his fingers. “But I always thought against it. I thought that maybe you moved on. You know the worst thing would be to call you and tell you I miss you while you’re on a date or something.” Mark has a sheepish look just describing this scenario, and this attempt at dramatic irony as humor doesn’t go unnoticed by you. You smile.

“When my mom divorced my dad, she said that he was always holding her back. I didn’t want to do the same thing to you.”

Silence is all that’s between you both now. This confession echoes in your mind, your expression remaining blank as Mark’s words bounce against the walls of your brain. When you look at Mark, his gaze is disappointed. “I shouldn’t have come back. What the hell made me think that you would take me back? This whole thing was stupid. Bye Y/N.” He turns around to leave the master bedroom, but something stops him.

Your hand on his wrist. You look up at him, the bouncing words in your head starting to condense into something you can say. Your voice is quiet, contemplative.

“For the first few months when college started, I wondered if I made the right decision. I thought maybe we should have tried to do a long-distance relationship.” You pause, studying Mark’s reaction, which is only a look of anticipation for your words. You lick your lips, starting once more. “But I always thought that missing you would fade away. That I would be able to go to the places that we went together without feeling a pang of sadness.”

“Date after date I went on, I always found the slightest faults in every guy I met with. His nose is too big, his voice is annoying, he’s too tall. I always compared them to you.” Damn it, Giselle was right. You’re not over Mark. You were using college and work as an excuse to forget about your feelings.

Feelings that Mark’s return sparked in you.

Feelings that you’ve let float to the top of your mind now that you know Mark feels the same way about you.

“I still have feelings for you too,” You say finally. Your gazes lock.

Leaning closer to Mark, you mumbled against his lips. “I love you too.”

Once again, your lips touch, his hand reaching for your jaw. But this kiss definitely does not feel the same as the one you shared previously. The first one was shy, and gentlemanly whereas this one… not so much. It’s needy, one where you want Mark in you.

Mark Lee took your virginity after prom junior year, taking you to this house when making out in his car got very heated. You weren’t ready to go home to your parents and brother so you snuck into this house, ready for more.

Right now, you’re in the same position, as if you’re the same person you were all those years ago. Mark’s lips travel from your soft ones, wandering to your neck. He repositions his hands around your waist, trailing down to your bottom to give your butt a quick squeeze, and you whimper softly at Mark’s lips, how they sucked at your skin long enough for you to feel pleasure rushing through your veins before he nips it gently.

This rhythm of sucking and nipping drives you crazy, and after waiting for Mark to make the next move, you decide that he isn’t going fast enough when you weakly try to take off his shirt. He finds your hands and puts them inside of his own. Against your neck, he mumbles, “Patience is a virtue, baby.”

At this, you let Mark hold you, leading you to the king-size bed in the center of the room. You’re under him, his knee finding its place in between your legs, close to your throbbing pussy. Mark takes a good look at you under him. His hands move from bottom-up, from the bottom of your waist, up your tummy, against your breasts until he stops at your collarbone.

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful,” he mutters. He readjusts himself so his face is closer to yours, his lips only a hair’s distance away. His dick rubs against your leg, and you gasp at this. His hands now wander under your top, gently moving over the skin of your abdomen. He inches slowly to the center of your bra, brushing it.

As his hands shy away from under your shirt, you only grip his wrist.

“Now. Please,” you beg.

“Alright.” He smiles. “I don’t let pretty girls wait too long.” He drags the blouse off of you, revealing you in a white bra. He quickly strips off your pants, tossing them haphazardly on the floor by the bed. Mark is staring at you, his deep brown pools of eyes racking your figure in just your bra and underwear.

“Stop looking and do me,” you whine, trying to curl up in a ball. Mark comes closer to you faster than you can think, holding both of your hands down.

“Let me just look, baby. You have no idea how much I missed this.” The heat in your cheeks seems to overtake your face at Mark’s gazing. It’s like he’s voraciously gulping the sight of you, the deep brown pools called his eyes in wonder at your figure. Finally, he unzips his pants.

But as he tries to pull down his zipper, it remains stubbornly in place. You titter at the sight.

“Need a little help with that?” You ask mischievously. You sit upright, watching Mark on his knees as he tries to unzip his pants.

“I think the zipper is stuck,” he says, a little flustered.

“Here, let me.” Looking down, you notice how the zipper was stuck to a piece of fabric that was a part of the jeans. You cut your nails a few days ago, so you were going to have to use a bit of out-of-the-box thinking to fix this problem…

Immediately, you lean down and bite against the fabric, holding it in place as you pull the zipper, and the zip comes gliding down.

“Now that I know what your mouth is capable of…” He doesn’t continue his sentence, letting you fill in the gaps mentally. You roll your eyes, smiling.

“You naughty boy.” Your eyebrows dance on your face.

Pulling down Mark’s underwear reveals his erected cock, aroused from activity with you. Leaning in on all fours, you wrap your lips around it, softly nibbling the delicate skin. Mark moans loudly at this action, you feel fluid enter your mouth, swallowing it.

“You always looked nice like this, sucking my cock,” Mark softly smirks at you, your eyes wide, as if they’re filled with innocence while you look up at him. He pets your hair, the strands airy and soft from the clementine shampoo you used yesterday. Once you’re done, you giggle, looking up at Mark once again. He takes his thumb and wipes the corner of your lip.

“Good job kitten,” he says. His voice is breathy, seductive as you pant.

“Are you ready for me now?” He asks. You nod vigorously. You don’t have time to take another breath when Mark pushes you against the headboard of the luxurious bed. He strips the remaining clothing off of you, your bra and underwear being thrown aside to the flood. His lips find their way to your neck, and you giggle at this.

“You just love my neck, do you?” You ask slyly.

“Give me a break. I haven’t felt this neck in two years.” You eventually slump against the headboard, your head slipping downwards from the large, mahogany piece of wood, now resting on the pillow as Mark’s lips make the arduous journey from your neck to your chest, his hands cupping your delicate breasts until his lips meet your nipples, delicately sucking the little buds. This sends chills down your bare back, that of exhilaration at how forbidden this sex was – this abandoned house was probably going to be checked by the realtor tomorrow morning, and they’ll probably notice that this house had some unexpected guests. But you don’t care because your thoughts are full of want: you want Mark Lee so bad. Even after two years of not contacting each other, he’s still capable of creating butterflies in your stomach.

Mark moves from one nipple to the other before moving down your abdomen, down your smooth tummy, still warm from the heat your shirt provided.

Mark skips from your stomach, his lips meeting your thighs instead. His lips are now at your inner thigh, pressing loud smooches against your hot skin. Again, with his pattern of sucking and letting go, licking and breathing over the soft pools of his saliva that stood on your skin that brought chills to your body, an art that Mark has mastered that makes you want him even more. Your legs swish in the air, due to the ticklishness of his kisses.

“Easy there tiger. I’ll come in, I promise.” He softly kisses your thigh, his hands holding open your thighs. This whole thing drives you crazy; you hate how you feel like jelly under Mark, how he’s managed to break down all your defenses, yet you absolutely adore it, secretly wanting to feel this way for a long time.

A loud scream rips from your throat when Mark’s fingers – what you recognized as his index and middle finger – reach inside of your vagina.

“God, you’re so loud, your parents probably heard you,” he jokes.

“Shut up and do me,” you whine. Mark binds down your wrists with both of his hands.

“Alright bossy,” he smirks. “You really want me to do you?”

You know you misstepped when Mark pulls out his hand and instead shoves his dick inside. You pant loudly, gasping for breath at this. You feel your walls closing in, spreading pleasure through your veins as you feel his dick. You moan loudly.

You start to wildly thrash as Mark comes closer to you, his chest pressing against yours, his lips leaving whispers of kisses along your jawline as he moves around, shaking in you. You feel you’re not sane anymore, that everything is just an illusion compared to the pleasure Mark was putting in you.

“Come on angel, say it, say my name,” he coaxes you as you continue to moan.

“M-Mar-Mar-” you manage to stumble out. Words didn’t make sense in your head anymore, just feelings, emotions, images. Quite literally, Mark was fucking the brains out of you, and you were enjoying every second of it.

“Sorry sugarplum, that’s not good enough. You know how many times I dreamed of you being under me, screaming my name in college?” He asks. Your brain is too fried to answer.

“Well, I’ll spoil it for you. A lot. It’s our first time in two years, make it count, honey.” He says simply. You’re feeling obedient now as Mark pulls out, his cum dripping on the bed and yours falling out of your vagina, mingling with his. He pushes in once more, shaking himself inside of you. The minimal light outside shines onto your cheeks, making you look like a literal angel to Mark, possibly one that fell from grace considering the position he has you in. Nonetheless, you’re his angel that fell from grace, all his, no one else’s…

“I’ll tell you again,” he says. “Say my name.”

After a few moments, you can’t handle Mark in you, how your walls so easily wrap around him as if to trap him forever, to keep him with you. Your head is throbbing with the pleasure felt in your clit, and finally, you say something other than loud moans or whimpers.

“Mark!” You roared.

“There you go. You see?” He asks, a sparkle in his eye. He pulls out, leaving you dripping. “Was that so hard to ask?”

“Yes,” you say playfully.

“Now one more step,” he says. “Cum for me angel.” He smiles sweetly. He knows you through and through, what you like, what makes you tick, what makes you cum.

Massaging your waist, he places his head on your breasts, gently nibbling at your body. This brings you to otherworldly levels of serotonin, and you feel something eject out of you.

“There you go.” Mark watches as you slightly twitch as the cum spills from you. You’re breathing heavily, and Mark looks at you with a loving gaze. He leans in for one kiss, two kisses, a few more actually as his lips slip on and off of your soft mouth.

“You did well angel,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You say to him. Love wasn’t the only thing you felt for the boy in front of you. He’s a multitude of other things for you. A best friend that tells you the hard truth when you need it, a confidant that would never judge despite what you told him, a caregiver when you need it.

“Mark,” you say suddenly. He looks at you as if you’re the only thing in this world. He’s all ears.

“You’re my home too.”

tagging: @infnteen

a/n: special thanks to my lovely friend @peachjaem00 for beta-reading this fic for me! let me know what you think, and as always, thank you for stopping by!

#repost bc the tags suck #nct #mark lee #nct fluff #nct smut #nct angst #mark lee fluff #nct scenarios #mark lee scenarios #mark lee imagines #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut #nct dream fluff #nct 127 fluff

3K notes · View notes

certaincollectionlandblog · 10 months

Text

Mick Schumacher with a Southern girlfriend - Wedding Edition

*Disclaimer: I use Y/N and reader, but when I write this in my mind I see her as a tall plus size gal (mainly because that's my personal body type), but also because I really see Mick doing amazing with a woman like that. If there is anything I write that doesn't apply to you feel free to leave it out and like always feedback is always appreciated and loved!

Photos from Pinterest

~ Mick knew for a while that he wanted to marry you. There was no doubt about it in his mind. You were the woman for him. You gave him such a sense of comfort and home that no other woman ever gave him before.

~ He grew up watching his parents have one of the most beautiful love stories ever written and he saw that for him with you. It was like God knew what he needed in someone and put in all in a you shaped package.

~ Mick's family had a ranch in Texas and while you loved going to Texas and spending time on their ranch he knew that he couldn't propose to you there. Your family had land in another state (I'm getting a Virginia/Tennessee/North Carolina vibe here) and he knew how special that space was to you.

~ Gina and his mom were the first to know of his plans to propose. He knew this wasn't an over the phone conversation so he sat them both down. His mom cried happy tears and gave him such a bear hug. Her little boy was growing up and she was so happy to see him experience such a wonderful love.

~ In fact Mick went as far as to visit your parents while you were busy out of town at college wrapping up finals to ask their blessing. He knew he didn't need it, but you both were huge family people who were raised that family was pretty much the back bone of life.

~ He even asked your parents for their okay to use y'alls land to propose out of respect for it being their home.

~ Your mom, Gina, and his mom all helped him pick out the perfect ring. Your dad has the mission of being the one to go help you move out after finals saying your mom couldn't get off work when in reality they were ring shopping with Mick.

~ He ended up picking a ring similar to your grandmother's knowing how special she was to you and your mom almost cried.

~ Mick recruited the aid of your siblings in keeping up with the weather reports knowing how much loved snow and helping Mick put up lights.

~ A Christmas proposal that could only be rivaled by Hallmark was under way.

~ Mick knew you were so smart and would be sure to be suspicious if he was in town when you got back from college for Christmas break right away. However, your parents had the perfect plan to help him out. Your parents told you that for Christmas they had invited Mick and his family out to spend Christmas with you guys knowing how much it mean to you to spend the holidays together.

~ As soon as they got to the house your mom pointed out how nice the weather was and asked if you wanted to take Mick up to watch the stars like you two loved to do. Mick had greeted you with flowers at the airport when you picked them up, but that was nothing new. He loved to spoil you with flowers. As soon as you got to the top of the land you saw the lights all laid out and when you turned around for Mick he had already dropped to take a knee.

~ Something about the snow really made the blue of Mick's eyes pop and you knew your eyes weren't leaving his anytime soon. You were speechless and he knew that didn't happen often so he grabbed charge of the silence.

~ "Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N I've fallen in love with you. Growing up we're read fairytales, but told they don't exist when we reach adulthood. You see life through a childlike joy with a compassion and love for life like I've never seen before. You make me feel at home every time I'm with you, regardless of where we are. I love you and I look forward to every second I spend with you. Thank you for making me believe in fairytales again. So what do you say, will you marry me?"

~ You couldn't say anything other than nod your head yes and pull Mick up to hug him tears threatening to spill from your eyes.

~ You didn't miss the cheers of both yours and Mick's family which had hiked up behind y'all all recording and taking photos. You were so enthralled with Mick and the proposal you didn't even notice them there.

~ You and Mick decided it would be best for you guys to wait until after your college graduation to get married knowing how stressful college was Mick didn't want to overwhelm you planning a wedding during that to.

~ You guys ended up getting married on his family's ranch in Texas three weeks after your college graduation in late May. It really was a full circle moment.

~ Mick is a shy guy, but you both knowing how important family is to y'all ended up having a huge wedding. The guests were mainly family and then some close family friends.

~ You don't know how you got so lucky, but you know that having a love so strong with Mick and your family by your side that you two could get through anything.

~Instagram~

yourinstagram

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, yourmom, and 528 others

yourinstagram Best Christmas gift ever!!

Comments on this post have been limited

Roughly six months later

yourinstagram

liked by yourmom, yourbestfriend, f1wags, and 473 others

yourinstagram Did something pretty fun yesterday. Would recommend marriage 10/10

View All Comments

f1wags MOTHER HAS BLESSED US ONCE MORE

yourbestfriend I feel like I should have consented before seeing that second photos brb grabbing some holy water

yourinstagram You took the photo?! 🙄

#f1 #f1 blurb #f1 drabble #f1 smut #f1 x reader #mick schumacher #mick schumacher smut #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fanfiction #mick schumacher fluff #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher fic

189 notes · View notes

talltalesandbedtimestories · 10 months

Text

Five-Finger Discount (Dean/Reader)

Title: Five-Finger Discount

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

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

Word Count: 10,300

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The hotness of the Winchester brothers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-yeah-it’ll do.”

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

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His eyes bug out. “Do my nails?”

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

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

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

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

“Is this gonna hurt?” he asks.

“Just a little detailing is all.”

He sits and eyes you warily.

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

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

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

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

“Nothing,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

You swallow the urge to bite that finger.

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

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

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

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

“Hands,” you request.

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

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

“Quite the comedian,” he razzes back.

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

“Yeah, well…” He begins.

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

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

For some reason that shuts you both up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He finally speaks. “We should get ready.”

And your daydreaming dissipates just like that.

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

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

You wait for Dean.

Things had not gone according to plan.

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

You all were SOL.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The key card lets you sneak in through the poolside.

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

So, dialing back the ogling is going great.

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

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

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

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

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

You groan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You applied a fresh coat of red berry lipstick.

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

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

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

“That’s all it is,” you mumble.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine.” You hum.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too bad I don’t fit the bill.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There’s a soft tap on your bedroom door.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you squeak. “Hungover.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “I think I will.”

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

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

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

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

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

A pair of hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s not helping that Dean’s performing his weapon cleaning like a goddamn seduction. Mr. Hand Model takes apart the sawed off, cleans the inside of and around the barrel, reassembles, and clicks all the pieces back into place. His nails look perfect, shiny and slick with the gun oil. His beefy fingers curl around the wood and steel in a way that makes you want to trade places with the firearm.

You somehow endure for 45 minutes. Last night’s indulgences are blamed in an excuse to head back to your bedroom. As you preemptively wish Sam an enjoyable outing later, Dean reminds you to rest up for dinner and a movie.

Ugh. You know how Dean gets when he won’t let something go that he finds hilarious. This could go on for a while.

It’s a trap. It’s gotta be.

Dean’s lowering your defenses with good food and good company.

It all started in the kitchen where dinner was served. He wasn’t kidding about the burgers. He made quarter pound medium rare works of art with cheese and all the toppings. The bun was Texas Toasted out. The guy even used the air fryer to produce ridiculously addicting potato wedges with a spicy paprika and chili powder coating.

Then, it was Dean cave time. No beer in sight, you were given pop to drink, with an offhanded “no repeat performance of last night” remark. You slid down the couch, groaning, pulling the hoodie over your face for dramatic effect. He grabbed a handful of popcorn from the bowl sitting between you on the couch and added, “You know, so you don’t pass out midway through the movie.”

You inhale the buttery goodness beside you and relax, popping back up in your seat. A swig of sugar wakes up your lethargic post-meal brain and settles the nerves that Dean is up to something. “So, what masterpiece do you have for us tonight?” you query.

He presses a button on one remote and the lights dim. Another remote in hand, another button press, and the television screen blares with an all too familiar soundtrack.

“The Empire Strikes Back.” You nod. “Good choice.”

“It’s your favorite one,” Dean reminds you.

“Yeah. Yoda. Duh.”

Dean chuckles.

Things fall into that easy going movie commentary that you and Dean are so fond of doing. It drives Sam crazy when he's watching stuff with the two of you. You’re spouting behind the scenes facts you know you’ve told Dean a half a dozen times already (like how the puppeteer who’s voicing Yoda also voices your favorite muppet, Fozzie Bear). Dean adds his own sound effects when the AT-ATs are firing, points out every Wilhelm scream, and helps Harrison Ford out by quoting all of Solo’s lines.

Leia is fixing some equipment on the Falcon and you comment, “I like the braid updo more than the cinnamon rolls.”

“Eh, I don’t know. The combo of beauty and baked goods is pretty hard to beat.”

Solo walks in and tries to help. Leia pushes him away. You sigh. “Here they go.”

Dean turns to you and raises an eyebrow. In perfect sync with Solo’s dialogue he utters, “Hey Your Worship, I’m only trying to help.”

You eye roll. “Would you please stop calling me that?” If it's a quote battle Dean wants, it’s on. If Sam were here, he’d be so done with the both of you right now.

“Sure, Leia.”

A huff for good measure. “You make it so difficult sometimes.”

Dean leans in. “I do, I really do. You could be a little nicer, though. Come on, admit it. Sometimes you think I’m all right.”

Wait. Wait. Oh no. You don’t have to be looking at the screen to know what happens next. Leia hurts her HAND trying to turn a lever. You clam up at all the fucking context this scene now holds for you and Dean. You can’t say the next lines. Because you know that Solo grabs Leia’s HAND as she says, “Occasionally, maybe… when you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

That’s when last night’s rum-infested confessions cut to the front of the memory queue. You adore scoundrels, rogues.

Dean doesn’t miss a beat, though. He even gazes down at one of your HANDS. He continues the performance. “Scoundrel?” Face half cast in shadow, his lids widen, irises still manage to catch the light and entrance you. “Scoundrel?” A huge grin emerges. “I like the sound of that.”

Solo is massaging Leia’s HAND the whole time.

Leia whispers, “Stop that.”

Dean replies, “Stop what?” Though he’s not questioning the screen. He’s locked eyes with you. Daring you to break away first.

Leia answers, even softer. “Stop that. My hands are dirty.”

Dean tilts his head, uncaring. “My hands are dirty, too. What are you afraid of?”

“Afraid?” Oh, Leia, Don’t egg him on.

“You’re trembling,” Dean’s voice is softer. He’s edging closer, but there’s only so much distance he can cover with the popcorn bowl in the way.

You decide now’s as good a time as any to try and act your way out of a paper bag. “I’m not trembling.” You coat your response with steel.

Dean is only encouraged by your participation. “You like me because I’m a scoundrel. There aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

You ponder for a moment. “I happen to like nice men.”

“I’m nice men.” Dean offers with complete sincerity.

You scoff. “No, you’re not. You’re…”

The music swells. Solo and Leia kiss.

But, you and Dean just stare at each other, for what feels like an eternity. You know C3PO is gonna interrupt the lovebirds at any moment. It’s the only lifeline you have, so you wait for the robot with the worst timing in history to save you from embarrassment.

“Guys?” Sam’s voice calls from the hallway.

You snap, stick straight, your back pressed against the seat. Sam must have come in through the garage.

Dean sighs. “Yeah, Sammy. Come on in. Back so soon?”

The door flings open. Warm ceiling lights from the hall halo Sam’s figure. “You know how they say, never meet your heroes? Totally valid advice tonight.” Sam stumbles into the room, all lanky limbs, and sinks into the cushy side chair. He runs fingers through his hair, his profile scrutinizing the screen. “Jedi?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Seriously, dude, how are we related?”

The three of you watch the rest of the movie without much commentary.

And you and Dean do not quote any other lines.

You cleaned up the dinner mess, alone, in the kitchen. You insisted it was the least you could do and Dean didn’t put up much resistance.

You find Dean’s bedroom door open on your way to your own for the night. You stop in the doorway to thank him again.

He’s putting away some shirts in his dresser, back turned. He looks comfy, cozy, showered, and perfect. You compose yourself in a split second when he senses you and cocks his head to the door. “Hey, everything okay?”

It’s his usual question, always assuming something needs fixing or solving. But, you sense extra concern in the tone this time.

You nod, wanting to ease the tide of Dean Winchester’s worry. “Thank you. Tonight was fun.”

“Yeah, even with Chewbacca?”

You chuckle. “Be nice.”

He waves you in as he wraps up his laundry. You oblige and sit by the tiny corner table. “Yeah, you’re right. Solo actually wouldn’t mind Chewy hanging out with him and Leia.”

You smile. Apparently, it’s Star Wars character dissection time. “So, if Sam’s not Chewbacca…”

The drawer squeaks closed. “Luke.”

“Han doesn’t mind Luke. Annoyed, sometimes. But, everyone annoys Han at one point or another.”

Dean sits at the edge of the bed, facing you. He stretches, hands entwined and arms raised overhead. A white t-shirt hugs his form here and there. You get a glimpse of perky nipples pressing against fabric. “Luke was competition. Before the brother-sister bombshell,” Dean states.

“Yeah, guess so.”

“But, the three of them, they made a good team,” Dean continues.

You nod, deliberate and slow.

“It only takes one person to start getting feelings for another one in the trio and then the whole galaxy is in jeopardy.” Dean taps the pads of his fingers together.

You sigh. You didn’t want to have to rat yourself out. But, Dean’s got a point. So, how do you go about telling him you’re finding him unbelievably attractive all of a sudden? And how do you ease his apparent worry? What, you’ll do your best to keep it in check? It won’t interfere with the work you do?

“We’re a good team, right? You, me, Sammy?” Dean cuts through the silence with the questions. He scrubs at the nape of his neck.

“I-I’d like to think so. But, you’re right, Dean. It can throw the whole balance off in a good working relationship if someone starts to catch feelings that aren’t reciprocated.”

His eyebrows form a distraught mountain peak. “So, it’s true?”

He looks so unhappy at the possibility, but you’ve gotta be an adult about it. “It just started happening during the last case.” You shrug. “But, I don’t have any intention of acting on them.” A hand raises. “Don’t worry.”

His lips purse tight. Nostrils flare. He’s deep in thought. Finally, he says, “But, you won’t know if you don’t act on it.” He nods more to convince himself now. “You should talk to Sam about how you feel.”

You blink, dumbfounded. “Huh?”

“Hey, I gave it a ‘good ole high school dropout that earned his GED’ try. We have established that I am not your type.”

“Wha-?”

“I’ll be fine with the two of you being a thing. I want to see you and Sam happy. If that means you both, together, that’s great.”

Your hands circle in front of you. “Whoa, whoa. Back up a minute.” Suddenly, your heart is racing.

“What?” He’s got that vacant puppy dog expression, every muscle in his face relaxed, wide open eyes.

You steady your breathing. “What made you think you were my type?” You can’t help the question. You only hope it doesn’t sound belittling or sarcastic. Right now, it’s your last defense of self-protection and attempt at fact finding. You gotta know if you are misinterpreting the revelation that Dean may in fact be upset if you and Sam were an item. Because… he wants you two to be an item?!

“You were acting… weird… ever since Lincoln and the manicure.” He twiddles his fingers. “I was picking up signals that weren’t there, I guess.” He shakes his head and mumbles. “Or, I probably was looking too hard to find something that wasn’t there. Like those times you tell me I’m sniffing around the wrong dog’s butt.”

You squish your lids at how crass you can be. It’s giving you less reasons to think he could find you attractive in any capacity. “Okay, but why was that so important to know?”

His arms extend from side to side. He’s getting riled up and more than a little miffed. But, you know that might work in your favor. His mouth tends to run on autopilot and the truth comes flying out. “Our, I don’t know, petri dish of co-existing in this jack-in-the-box wouldn’t get fucked up. I wouldn’t go off half-cocked and do something I’ve been wanting to do for a while unless I knew, for sure, that you felt the same way I did.” His hands retract and fall in his lap. He’s not looking at you, instead staring at his socked feet. “But, you don’t.”

You’ve got actual fucking butterflies beating their wings like bongo drums in your stomach. “What have you wanted to do for a while?”

His eyes track up to you. He’s inspecting you, hard. That’s doing nothing to quell the excitement inside. “What’s the point in telling you that now?”

“Because, maybe… you’re wrong and… you are my type.”

Dean’s lids lift a quarter of an inch. It’s a minute, micro reaction. But you catch it.

“Maybe I’ve been ignoring it for a while, because, like you. I didn’t want to mess things up. I love Sam.” You swallow, ready to bare all. “But, I haven’t been thinking about what his hands could do to me,” you whisper.

Dean inhales, sharp and quick through his nose at that confession. He exhales, adding, “Don’t fuck with me.”

You can’t do anything but grin in a way that you’re sure makes you look like a goddamn idiot. “I should have said that to you numerous times today. The pancakes. The gun cleaning. Freakin’ Han massaging Leia’s HAND!”

His lids widen. “Hey, it was me testing my theory. Like when we gotta douse someone with holy water to make sure they aren’t possessed. All but the movie, though. Swear I did not remember that scene until a few seconds before it started happening.” He sits up, rubs palms on his sweatpant clad thighs. “Well, okay, I didn’t remember the hand thing, but I wanted to see how you reacted to like THE best scoundrel ever.” Now, he’s grinning. “Been thinkin’ about my hands, huh?”

You roll your eyes merely to play along. “Alright, don’t get a big head.”

He cocks his head like a devilish rogue. “No need for a big head when I’ve got big hands.”

The giggle escapes before you can lasso it.

Dean slides his gaze up your seated frame. It’s a filthy, seedy expression. And hot as fuck. He stops to stare at your mouth, then licks his own. When his eyes meet yours, he commands, “Come on over and show me what you’ve been thinking of.” He pats his thighs. “I’ve got a nice warm seat for ya.”

He’s kidding, right? He wants you to sit on his lap. As if you’d even consider it.

And, yeah, you aren’t considering it. There’s no time for consideration when your legs have already propelled you out of the seat. You give his bedroom door a swing in a passing thought about closing it for privacy.

You can see the look of surprise on Dean’s face as you march over to the bed. But it’s mixed with want and eagerness. He opens his arms in welcome.

Warmth prickles your cheeks at the forwardness you display in accepting the invitation. One knee props up on the bed beside him. You anchor hands onto his shoulders, feel those fingers fan and lock onto your waist, and you bring the rest of your body up to straddle his lap.

You sigh, staring down at that kid in a candy store grin of his, and marvel at how very right it all feels. You settle, your ass firmly atop his thighs. The heat of him is immediate.

“Been wanting you like this,” he whispers, his nose brushing the skin exposed around your collar. A hand molds to the side of your neck, holding you in place. You shiver at the lips skirting upwards along the channel of your throat. “Now who’s ticklish?” It’s meant to tease, but his voice has lost that hint of mirth. It’s deeper, daring you to deny his observation as anything other than fact. “Maybe you aren’t ready for my hands. All.” A kiss at the juncture where your lobe meets your jaw. “Over.” A peck at the tip of your chin. He threads his fingers into the base of your hairline. He eases your head with a smooth tilt down. You lock eyes with his green ones once again. “You.”

The only response you can give is to connect your lips to his. Feeling the pliant, soft give of his mouth against yours. Then his insistent lean up and forward, forcing you to stand your ground while seated on his lap. You have to demonstrate your want is equal to his.

And you want. You so want.

Whatever you’re doing, his approving moan eggs you to continue. With each swipe and dip and dive of your lips, your mouth opens a bit more. The access encourages Dean’s tongue to taste. He laps at you gently, swirls around just enough that your core begins to ache. He pulls away and you groan. You’re drunk with desire, heavy and heady.

Your lids blink open slow and sleepy. Thankfully you find Dean’s looking as blissed out as you feel. He’s inspecting your reaction through a hazy gaze. His hand captures the side of your face. Five pressure points sink into your skin. His eyes flicker to your mouth to watch his thumb outline the curve of your lip. The pad tugs and drags at your skin.

It’s only a second of wordless communication between the two of you. He asks with a lifting of his lids. You agree with an affirmative blink.

His thumb delves into your mouth, up to the first knuckle. You wrap your lips around. Suck with the gentlest of pressure.

His mouth lifts into a slight smile. “Good girl,” he whispers.

And, fuck if that doesn’t open your floodgates. You’re slick and ready.

Dean’s other hand runs along the waistband of your yoga pants. “You been thinking about my hands all over you…” His thumb glides under the fabric of your panties. “Taking you apart, piece by piece.” He delves farther down, until he taps the top of your mound. His jaw clenches at your gasp of anticipation. His thumb hooks under your tongue against the floor of your mouth to express just how in command he is right now. “You gonna do what I say, Your Worship?”

You nod. You’ll don a pair of cinnamon buns if he tells you to right now.

He smirks, cocky and full of confidence. “The better I make you feel down here...” He works his thumb between your folds and presses against your clit. You squirm in his lap. “The better you suck with that beautiful mouth, yeah?”

You nod again. He releases the pressure in your mouth, circles your bundle of nerves. He slips and slides while his fingers splay over your stomach to anchor in place. You latch onto his thumb again and suck on it like a straw

“Pretty sure this isn’t as wet as you’re gonna get,” he comments like a fucking weatherman. After only a few seconds, he sighs and shakes his head. “Too many fucking clothes.”

You’ve only sparred with Dean a handful of times. Every time, he’s bested you with graceful movements and quick action. He disengages from you for what must have only been seconds, spinning you around in his grasp and pinning your back to the mattress. He’s whipping off your t-shirt, pants, and underwear. Leaving you in only your bra.

He leers over you, hands running up the underside of your thighs. He kneels onto the bed, all of his clothes still on, to wedge against your ass. All of you is on proper display for him. And he takes it all in.

“Right, Gorgeous. Where were we?” One hand rides its way up your chest back to your mouth. You accept his index finger between your lips this time. His other hand resumes playing with your clit. “Hm. Much better.”

A gasp escapes from your mouth. Your tongue ejects his finger so you can point out, “Who’s the one with too many fucking clothes on now?”

“All good things come to those who wait, darlin’.” He settles further, criss crossing over top of your flesh. His legs sandwich your right thigh while he strums your pussy. The hope of what else is to come pokes into your side through his sweatpants. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, slipping his finger into your mouth again. The pull of his left hand guides you to lean your head toward the right. He settles his beefy forearm onto the mattress above your shoulder.

His chest pins you down in a kinky wrestling move. Teeth snag your ear lobe. He applies pressure to the swollen flesh over a ridge of bone, then uses a flicking motion that makes your thigh twitch in delight.

You're sloppy with your technique of licks and sucks as he feeds you another digit. But, really, how is any gal supposed to mind their manners with Dean Winchester fingering her? You groan, helpless, as he explores your folds, finds your entrance with two tips. “I know you got a thing for my hands,” his hot breath tunnels into your ear canal, “but, if you want, I can fill you up real good with something else.”

You can’t reply with any actual words, only moans of agreement. The erection pressing into your hip bone sure does feel substantial. If it’s anything like his fingers - two fingers are currently surfing around your tongue and rubbing against your palate - he’ll have no problem filling you up.

To ground yourself in the reality of the situation, you snatch at the hem of his shirt and tug. Your pelvis tilts up at the slow insertion of one of his other fingers down below. “Damn,” he pants into your ear. “How long’s it been since someone took care of you, all nice and proper? So- so tight and wet.” He hums. “And warm.” A languid slide out with one finger, only to be accompanied with another when he pushes back inside. “Feel so good. Gonna feel even better around my cock after I make you come… Princess.”

You will not ever admit to the fact that you squealed with Dean’s fingers in your mouth. That you convulsed after only seconds of him playing with your clit and stretching open your hole.

Fireworks continue to skyrocket in your head. Your body tipped into the oversensitive zone. You’re aware of every bit of him plastered against you. He’s made you slick with arousal and sweat. Layers of fabric cling to skin. You should be suffocating with him laying atop you, but he feels like a weighted blanket. Warm, secure. Dean’s fingers don’t retract from your mouth or pussy. They are frozen in place. Your teeth nibble one set. Your muscles spasm around the other.

He hasn’t moved. Hot breath huffs hard into the crook of your neck with an occasional sharp inhale and hold. You close your eyes. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that you could fall asleep like this.

“Was that… too much?” He deep-throat whispers in your ear now. “I may have gotten a little carried away.”

“N-mph-,” you chortle around his fingers.

“Shit, sorry.” He pulls his hand away from your mouth, the other slowly out of your hot core. Matching sighs release from you both.

“No,” you heave, and his chest rises up and off. “It was… awesome.”

He’s in your face now, all green eyes and pink lips, a veil of freckles along the bridge of his nose and forehead. “Yeah?”

You squint, trying to focus on all the glorious aspects. He’s studying you. You get the feeling he’s really not sure. “Why is the ladies man doubting himself all of sudden?” you tease, rocking to shuffle him out of the daze.

A shrug. “It’s you. I don’t always read you right.”

You lean your head back into his memory foam in an attempt to make full eye contact. “I don’t know how many ways you can misread giving me a mindblowing orgasm.”

He blinks, cautious. “Is what I did going to… you know… change things between us?”

“Oh.” You stop, dart your gaze to the ceiling past his shoulder for dramatic effect. “Oh, absolutely. I mean,” you pause, “how could it not?” You shake your head and feel his entire body go rigid. “It’s gonna be so awkward and uncomfortable around here.”

When you dare to look at him, there’s a hint of something you don’t see often on Dean’s face. You think it might be fear.

You can’t bear it any longer. “I mean, I can already imagine the disgusted look on Sam’s face when we start making out right in front of him.”

Within seconds, the expression turns to one of relief and amusement, accompanied by the charming cockiness that’s gonna turn you to goo at the most inopportune moments from here on out. “Well, we don’t have to tell him right away. It might be fun to, you know, sneak around right under his nose.” He relaxes, sinks into you again. “I could have you all sorts of ways, in all sorts of places, doing our best not to get caught.”

You smile. “Don’t want to tell your brother you’ve stolen my heart with that five-finger discount of yours?”

He chuckles, rolls his eyes, then cups the heat of your folds again. “I mean, I sucked at Biology, but pretty sure this ain’t your heart, darlin’.”

“You’re wrong, you know?”

He blinks, all sass and spectacle, “This IS your heart?” He squeezes.

You peck his lips, roll your eyes, and curl arms around his waist. “No. Solo’s got nothing on you. YOU are the best scoundrel.”

A breathtaking kiss makes you all lightheaded. When he finally pulls away and allows you to exhale, he lifts one side of his mouth into a confident grin. “I know.”

THE END

#dean x reader #dean winchester smut #female reader #dean x you #spn fanfic

226 notes · View notes

thetriumphantpanda · 11 months

Text

Cruel Summer | Javier Peña (Chapter Five)

Series Summary | Javier Peña is back in Laredo, this time for good. He hadn’t banked on you still being there, especially not with a wedding ring on your finger. A complicated shared history and plenty of unresolved feelings between the two of you should make for an interesting summer.

Pairing | Javier Peña x Female Reader

Word Count | 5.2K (oooops, I got carried away)

Warnings | Descriptions of domestic abuse (not from our boi Javi), talk of injuries, infidelity, cheating, SMUT, oral (f receiving) and unprotected PiV sex (please don't do this, be smart and safe), mentions of alcohol, cigarettes, and pregnancy.

Authors Note | Thank you all for being so patience with me whilst I got my head back into writing this. This took me ages to figure out in my mind but I'm so proud of what I've managed to produce. I really appreciate hearing what y'all think of this series, comments and reblogs really do make my day with this - so if you enjoy it, let me know!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Ethan is furious. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so angry before. He’d arrived home late last night from his business trip, falling into bed sometime past midnight. He’d tossed and turned for a while as you pretended to be asleep next to him before he turned over, pulled at your arm to turn you onto your back and then crowded on top of you. You’d let him because it was easier than denying him, but when he pushed himself inside of you all you could think about was Javier.

What would he do in this situation? You’d like to think he’d at least take some time to make sure you were enjoying yourself. Was he the type of man who would spend hours with his head between your thighs just because he liked the way his name fell from your mouth? You think he would be. Would he whisper sweet nothing’s into your ear in Spanish whilst he was buried deep inside you? God, you hoped so. By the time Ethan was spilling himself inside of you and rolling over, leaving you, as he always did, completely unsatisfied and feeling completely used, all your brain could focus on was the animalistic need to know exactly what Javier would do to you in bed.

Now, as Ethan stands in the kitchen, fuming after he found the wads of cash from your farmer’s market sale, all you wanted to do was run. Run from this pathetic life and into whatever it was that Javier could give you.

“I fucking told you I would get around to sorting it out!” He shouts at you, “And you had to go and completely disobey me! How does this make me look?”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes, “Ethan, it’s been pushing one hundred degrees the entire time you’ve been away, I need that new AC unit because otherwise I’m going to die in that shop, and I think a little bit of embarrassment is better than admitting to the town that I’m dead because you couldn’t be bothered to fix it.”

“Don’t be so fucking dramatic,” He fumes, his skin flushing red, “I bet that asshole Peña had something to do with this.”

“Because now every time I do something you don’t like it has to involve him?” You raged, “Newsflash Ethan, I’ve been doing things you don’t like since before we got married, and that certainly had nothing to do with Javier and everything to do with the fact you can’t stand me.”

“Did he have anything to do with it?”

You don’t know why you don’t lie in this moment. Maybe it would have been easier, less of an argument to deal with, but you can’t help yourself, “Maybe he did.”

“I fucking knew it!” Ethan slams his fist down on the kitchen counter, “That asshole, trying to worm his way into my family, walking around this fucking town like he’s some sort of king because he took down Escobar,” You can’t help yourself but think that you might actually be able to see steam coming out of his ears soon, “And you!” He’s pointing a finger at you as he rounds the counter, “How many times do I have to tell you to stay the hell away from him, or are you just too fucking stupid to understand me?”

It all happens at once. You’ve slapped him hard across the face and in this moment, you can’t tell which of you is more surprised. He’s stood inches away from your face with a look in his eyes that has panic settling in your stomach. He could kill you if he wanted to. It’s the first time you’ve thought he might, with his chest heaving and his eyes like daggers. You’re scared.

“How. Fucking. Dare. You.” He spits out into your face, he’s got wide hands placed around the tops of your arms and before you know it your back is pressed against the wall, he’s squeezing the skin so hard that you’re crying out, “Someone needs to teach you some fucking respect.”

If you weren’t so frightened, you’d have some stupid retort about the fact that it certainly couldn’t be him, because even with a ring around your finger you could never respect this man in front of you, but you keep your mouth shut.

“Ethan please,” You whimper, “Please let me go, you’re hurting me.”

“Oh, I’m hurting you, am I?” He jeers into your face, squeezing his hands around your arms even harder, “You should have thought about that before you fucking slapped me, stupid girl.”

He pulls you back from the wall slightly before slamming you backwards again, the force of it causing the back of your head to hit the wall behind you, “You better lose the attitude or I will take us so far away from this place you’ll never see your stupid friends or your precious Javier Peña again, do you understand me?”

You nod, sniveling through your tears, then he finally lets your arms go and steps away from you, “Get out of my fucking sight.”

You don’t waste any time in doing just that, stopping just long enough to grab a thin cardigan and your car keys before your hurtling to your car with nowhere really to go. Your immediate thought is Javier, but it’s the middle of the day and he’ll be out helping Chucho on the ranch. You don’t think you can bare the heat of the shop, or the fact that you might have to interact with a customer, so that’s out too. There’s only one person left – Gabriela. There’s an internal battle you’re having with yourself, she’s so close to having her baby that you don’t want to intrude on her, but she’s the only person you can think of who will know what to do right now.

You’re not really sure how you manage to make it to her house unscathed with the amount of tears that are dropping from your eyes and the way your hands are shaking, but you’re pulling up in front of her house in no time.

“Good God alive, what on earth is the matter?!” She exclaims when she opens the door, pulling you into a hug, protruding belly crushed between you.

“Oh Gabriela everything’s gone so wrong and I don’t know what to do.” You cry, sniffing into her shoulder, you pull away and briefly apologise for getting her shirt wet, to which she gives you a look that says ‘don’t be so fucking stupid’ before she’s ushering you inside.

She waddles in front of you, clearly uncomfortable, and sternly tells you to sit at the breakfast bar whilst she boils some water to make tea. In no time at all there’s a steaming mug placed in front of you, and she’s sat herself down on the chair next to you with her own mug.

“So, where do we start?” She’s coaxing you, hand holding your own.

“I’m fucking miserable Gabs,” You speak softly, “And I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” She scoffs, “What’s he done this time?”

“He found the money,” You’re looking into the amber liquid of the green tea in front of you, “Lost his mind that I’d done it without him, got cross because it was Javi’s idea and then told me to get out and leave him alone.”

“Did he hurt you?” She asks, “And I swear if you lie to me once more about this, I’m actually going to lose my mind.”

You nod, it’s small, but she catches it, and you can hear the inhalation of breath, “But it was my fault, I slapped him first.”

“Did you slap him first all the other times he’s clearly hurt you?” You shake your head this time, “Show me.” She’s asking.

You slowly slip the cardigan off your arms. You look down and there are perfect red welts on your skin where Ethan’s fingers had been digging into your arm earlier. No doubt in time they’d bruise, “Jesus fucking Christ.” Is Gabriela’s response.

“I’m sorry Gabs, I didn’t wanna burden you with this I promise, but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“You think this is a burden to me?” She’s imploring, catching your eyeline when you try to look away, “Cielito, this is nothing like a burden, it’s a bloody relief, I’ve been wanting you to tell me this for years.”

“You knew?”

“Of course I knew, dumbass, all those times you cancelled on me last minute and disappeared for days? You had to be hiding something, and the longer you’ve been with him the longer I’ve known he’s a horrible man – doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together.”

“What do I do, Gabs?”

“Only you can answer that question, but that,” She points to your arms, “That’s assault, so you can go to the police, and then there’s always divorce.”

“I don’t want to be with him anymore, but I can’t do this on my own Gabriela, I’m so fucking scared, he’s got everything, he’s going to take everything, I won’t have my shop anymore, I’ll be homeless, where do I even start?”

Gabriela bites at her lip whilst she thinks, “You won’t have to do this alone, I promise you,” She’s got your hand clutched in hers again, “Can you give me a few weeks?” She’s asking, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but let me get this gremlin out of me first, and then I promise we’ll get you out, okay?”

You nod in agreement because it’s more than you thought you’d get. The idea of freedom could surely see you through the next couple of weeks, “If it gets too bad then you let me know and we’ll sort something out, I promise, okay?”

She’s hugging you then, the kind of bone crushing hug that only she would be capable of, and you can feel yourself crying again. What on earth had you done to deserve her?

“I’ll get out of your hair soon, but can I borrow your phone really quickly?” You ask.

“Of course, I need to use the bathroom again anyway, so I’ll give you some space.”

Once she’s out of earshot, you’re dialing the number that you’d had memorized since high school, even with his years of absence. After a few rings someone picks up on the other end.

“Hi, Chucho, it’s me.”

“Ahhh Mija, how are you today?”

“I’m well thank you, how about you?”

“Not too bad thank you, just come inside to beat the midday heat for a while.”

“Ah yes,” You smile, you’ve always loved the sound of Chucho’s voice, calm and stoic, reminding you of your own father, which is probably why you like it so much, “I hope you’ve got plenty of ice-cold lemonade,” You bite at the side of your thumbnail, “Is Javi there?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t sound like you’re trying to get rid of him too soon.

“He is, let me just pass you over.”

There’s the sound of shuffling on the other end of the phone and you can hear Chucho telling Javi it’s you on the other end, then there’s silence before he’s speaking.

“Hola querida,” God his voice is like butter, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” You reply quietly, “I just wanted to hear your voice, I hope you don’t mind me calling in the middle of the day.”

“I wouldn’t mind you calling in the middle of the night, querida, don’t worry,” You can hear him drinking someone on the other end of the phone, “You sure you’re okay?” He asks again.

“I was wondering if I could see you tonight?” You ask meekly, not wanting to make yourself a burden to another person today.

“You can,” He’s replying, “Where?”

“Can I come to you?”

You can hear him shuffling a little on the other end of the phone, you can hear the shifting of paper, he must be looking at the calendar that’s hanging near the phone – his mother had insisted on it when she was still alive, and Chucho makes sure there’s a new one there every January 1st.

“Yes,” He replies softly, “Pops has a poker game in town tonight according to the calendar, he should be gone by seven, is that okay?”

“Yeah, of course, I’m happy with whatever is best for you, I’ll see you then.”

“Alright, querida, take care and I’ll see you later.”

“See you later, Javi.” You whisper softly before you’re hanging up the phone.

You put the phone back on the receiver and rub your hands over your face, trying to ignore the pooling of nerves in your tummy. If Gabriela could sense all these years that something was off, then there’s no doubt that Javi will know as well. He’s the most perceptive man you’ve ever met. The dull ache of Ethan’s fingerprints on your arms were ever-present now, there was no way you’d be able to hide them from him.

“You can stay here for a while if you want,” Gabriela’s voice calls from the living room, “I would only be folding baby clothes on my own.”

You spend the rest of the afternoon helping Gabriela like she suggested, folding baby clothes, setting out diapers and toiletries in the bathroom and eating her famous enchiladas for dinner. Diego comes home sometime after five, giving you a hug, before he’s pulling out two beers which you enjoy with your friends in their back garden. The sun is setting and it’s nearing six in the evening when you bid them both farewell.

“Please let me know if you need us, okay?” Gabriela whispers into your hair as she hugs you goodbye, “There’s isn’t a thing in this world that would stop us from helping you.”

You bite back tears before you nod your head, giving Diego a similar hug, before you’re hopping in your car and driving out of town towards the Peña ranch.

It doesn’t take as long as you’d anticipated but when you drive up you can see there’s only one truck parked outside which means Chucho must have already left for the evening. Javier is stood on the porch before you’ve stepped down from the truck. You make sure the cardigan you’d worn was buttoned up before you head over to him.

“Evening, querida.” He speaks softly, dipping his head to kiss you on the cheek.

Before he can fully pull away, you’ve got a hand on the back of his neck, pulling his lips to yours. His hands weave around your waist and you wrap your other arm around his neck to press your body more firmly to his own before you’re pulling away from him, breathless.

“Evening to you too.” You smile, and it’s genuine. This man has done nothing but make you happy since he came back.

“You want a drink?” He asks, giving your waist a squeeze, “I bought that wine you used to like drinking, although thinking about it now we were young so your tastebuds have probably matured.”

You giggle and follow him inside, “They definitely haven’t, is it the white one that we used to drink out of the bottle against the tree?”

He nods as he leads you to the kitchen, dipping into the fridge to pull it out. It is indeed the exact same brand of wine you’d get drunk on together when he was still around, “You want a glass, or shall we drink it like old times?”

“Old times,” You reply with a smile as he undoes the screw top, “Can we sit outside?”

He’s taking the first swig from the wine, pulling the same face he used to all those years ago, as he motions for you to head out to the back porch. You always loved this ranch at dusk. The way the sun set and bathed everything in gentle orange light, the fact there was no noise from the town to distract you, the sound of the crickets chirping. It was peaceful.

Javi settles onto the bench, and you sit across from him, he leans his arm across the back of the bench and moves his head to tell you he wants you closer, so you shift your body to lean against his chest, head placed on his shoulder. You hope he doesn’t catch the discomfort when you lean too hard onto your arm and shift slightly, but if he does, he’s not mentioned it, instead, he’s passing you the wine which you take a drink from.

“You sounded upset on the phone, querida, are you sure you’re okay?”

You take another drink before you pass it back to him, “Ethan came home last night,” You’re speaking as you look into the distance, “Guess I just realized how much I enjoy it when he’s away.”

“I’m sorry,” He says softly, bringing his hand to your arm to squeeze him into his side, it’s stings as he grips to the sore skin from earlier, but you think you manage to play it off, “What can I do to help?”

He takes a long drink of the wine and then hands it back to you, watching intently as you do the same before you place the half-empty bottle on the floor, “Just kiss me Javi,” You speak, “Make me forget about it for a while.”

“You want me to just kiss you, querida?” He asks, his voice dropping to a husky whisper, “Or do you want more?”

You shift to look him in the eye, “I want it all Javi,” You lean up to press a chaste kiss to his lips pulling away before he can take more, “I’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

He untangles himself from you and stands up before he stretches out his hand for you take, he must see the confusion on your face because he’s talking again, “If you’ve been waiting then I’m not going to fuck you on the porch, querida, come on.”

You slip your hand into his and then he’s dragging you through the house and up the stairs. He opens the door to his room, which you don’t really take in, he’s motioning his hand for you to sit on the bed, which you do.

He walks over to you and pushes your chin up with one of his fingers. He’s looming over you and if this was anyone else it would make you feel uncomfortable, but he’s looking at you like you were about to give him the world, before he’s leaning down and pressing his lips softly to your own. In the back of your mind you can feel him unbuttoning the front of your cardigan, it’s a relief because it’s so fucking warm in here, he’s pulling back from your mouth to push it off and then he stops. He’s not pulled it all the way off, the material bunching in the crook of your elbow because he’s seen. He’s seen the marks on your arms. Perfect red indentations of fingertips.

He's kneeling in front of you now, between your thighs, as he takes one arm in his hand, “Did he do this to you?”

“Javi please…” You beg him.

“Did he do this to you?” He asks again, slower and with a register that tells you he isn’t messing around, you nod at him, “I’m gonna fucking kill him.”

He’s standing like he’s going to get in his car and do it. You grab at his wrist, “Javi please, don’t,” You pull him back to you, “It was my fault.” You say softly, just like you had to Gabriela.

“This?!” He’s back on his knees again, clutching at your arm, “This is never your fault, do you understand me?” He’s looking into your eyes again, then he softens, “It doesn’t matter what you did, you don’t deserve this.”

“Please, will you just come back to me,” You plead, taking his face in your hands, “I need to forget him, just for tonight.”

In the back of his mind he knows it’s not right, it’s just a distraction, and all he really wants is to know what’s going on, but the way your eyes are pleading with him, he can’t say no, “Only if you promise to talk to me after?”

“I promise.” You reply almost immediately, and then he’s crowding you, he’s settling between your thighs but this time his lips are on yours and it’s overwhelming.

You widen your legs as your mouth opens to him, tongues mixing together. You can taste the cheap wine and the cigarettes he swears he’s trying to give up on. He can taste a sweetness he’s never felt before when he’s kissed a woman. It fast and it’s messy, and you don’t understand why you’re moaning into his mouth when he’s not really touched you. Without breaking the kiss, he’s moving, you’re pushed back onto the bed and he’s settled between your thighs, and then he’s pulling his mouth from yours to trail hot, wet kisses over your throat.

God, he wants to sink his teeth into your skin. Wants to mark you so that when you go home, he knows, knows that there’s someone out there who’s going to cherish you until his dying breath, going to protect you from men like him. He knows better, knows that you’ll be going home alone and any mark on your body would mean more marks from him, and Javi doesn’t think he can bare the fact that it’ll be his fault, so he sticks to kisses. He can feel your hands on his shoulders, sinking in through the material of his shirt and he wants more.

He's pushing himself back from you, taking a moment to take his shirt off before his attention is back at you. You’re spread out on his bed, hair splayed out underneath you and the look in your eyes almost makes him cry. It’s admiration, that he’s sure of, but there’s something else in your eyes too, maybe it’s lust, maybe it’s happiness, he doesn’t know, but he isn’t sure a woman has ever looked at him like that.

“God you’re beautiful, Javi.” You whisper as he leans back down to you.

The feeling of your cool hands on his hot skin electrifies him, and he can feel his hands working your tank top up to expose the skin of your tummy. You lift yourself up a little so he can take it all the way off before he continues the trail of his lips over your collarbone and down between the dip in your breasts. He’s gently moving the straps of your bra down and takes the opportunity to undo the clasp at the back when you arch up into him. It’s discarded to the floor without a second thought and then his mouth is on you again.

He uses the flat of his tongue to run hot stripes over your peaked nipple, whilst his fingers take the other peaked bud and starts rolling it between them. A whine drops from your lips, and you can feel him smiling into your skin and you arch up into him. He’s taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking and then using the tip of his tongue to run circle around it and all your head can think is how much you want his mouth doing just this further down your body.

“You tell me what you like, querida,” He mumbles into your skin, “Wanna make you feel good.”

“Your mouth,” You breathe out, head thrown back as he’s sucking your nipple into his mouth, “I need… fuck… I need it lower, Javi.”

He’s lifted his lips from your tits and you’re moving your head to meet his eyes and he genuinely looks hungry. Like a man starved, with a smirk splayed across his lips, “You want me to eat your pussy, hmm?”

He’s pushed himself back on his knees and for a split second before he’s pulling at your shorts to take them off, you can see he’s half-hard under his own denim. You’ve barely touched him, and this is how he is? It’s got pride swelling in your chest.

He makes quick work of your shorts, throwing them to the ground along with your underwear. He takes a second to look at you, spread out and bare for him, and he thinks that if he died right now, he would die a happy man having seen you like this. He takes his thumb and runs it gently along the seam of your pussy, watching as your eyes close and you let out a breath.

Javi stands briefly before he’s dropping to his knees on his floor. His hands are on either side of your hips, dragging you forward. He pulls you with such force that you bump your thigh into his face, but he’s not complaining. You expect him to tease you, but it turns out that he’s been waiting just as long as you have for this. He wastes no time in using the entire flat of his tongue to lick a hot, wet stripe from the bottom of your pussy to the top, which has an obscene moan dropping from your lips. He could listen to you make those noises for him all fucking day.

One of his hands moves from your hips, he uses it to spread your pussy before he makes the same motion with his tongue as before but focusing its entirety on your clit. You think you might see stars. Once he’d started, he doesn’t stop. Spurred on by the obscenity dropping from your lips like, fuckjavi that’s so fucking good, and please don’t stop, he’s eating your pussy like it’s his death row meal. He’s lapping at the slick that gathers at your entrance, he’s suckling on your clit, or flicking it with the tip of his tongue, but it’s when he pushes two of his thick fingers inside you that you’re truly coming undone.

You’re bucking your hips up into his mouth, grinding down on his fingers and then it’s all coming undone with that bright burst of pleasure you hadn’t felt in years. You can feel your pussy clenching around his fingers, and you can hear him suckling your clit through the aftershocks as your legs shake around his head. He slips his fingers out of you and finishes with one chaste kiss to your clit before he’s pulling at your arm to sit you up.

You’re jelly until he kisses you. You can taste yourself on his mouth, sweet and sour with the mix of his cigarettes and it’s intoxicating. You can feel his slick fingers on your thigh as he uses it as a crutch to push himself off the floor. When he stands, his groin is right in your eyeline and now he’s not half-hard. Fuck, he’s bulging. You watch as his hands undo his belt and tear it through the loops of his jeans before he’s unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans right in front of your face. He steps back a little to let the remainder of his clothes pool on the floor, but then he’s stepping out of them and back towards you and you can’t help but reach out and take his cock in your hand.

You look up at him, head thrown back with his eyes closed in pleasure. Your name drops from his lips as you continue working him with your hand, you’re just about to take him into your mouth when he speaks, “How do you want me?”

It’s a crime that he’s making you choose because fuck, you want him in every way. You want him to fold you in half and pound into you, you want him to take you from behind whilst he uses his fingers on your clit, you want him to wake you up in the morning with kisses to your neck whilst he buries himself inside you from the side.

“Can I ride you?” You ask quietly.

“Querida, there’s a gun downstairs,” He speaks, settling himself down on his bed on his back, before he’s guiding you to straddle his hips, “If I ever say no to that, I want you to use it on me, okay?”

You’re laughing, because it’s dramatic, but it cuts the tension with a knife. You’re both still laughing to each other when you’re shifting your hips and using your hand to line him up with your tight heat. He’s big, there’s no beating around the bush here, and as you sink down slowly onto him, his hands on your hips to guide you, you don’t think you’ve ever felt so full.

You’re throwing your head back and breathing out his name as he bottoms out, hearing a similar moan from him as you start grinding your hips. He’s using his hands on your hips to guide you and the friction inside of you in addictive. You think if you could spend the rest of your days like this then you would give up everything to do so.

“Fuck, hermosa, you look fucking incredible like this.” Javi purrs from underneath you, it makes your heart swell because no-one ever said things like this to you before.

You continue to grind against him until he’s holding your hips still and bringing his knees up, settling them against your backside. He lifts you up a little off his cock, with a strength you’d never witnessed before, and then he’s fucking up into you, cock punching as deep into you as you think you can take it, his balls slapping against your ass.

“Ohmygod, fuck Javi,” You’re squealing, putting your hands on top of his knees to keep you steady, “I think you’re… oh god… I think you’re gonna make me cum again.”

You look down and he’s looking up at you, grinning like a devil, because he’s got you so close to the edge, cock hitting a spot within you that feels like heaven and hell mixed into one, “Go on, querida, come for me.”

His husky voice is what does it. You’re clenching down on him as you call out his name. His hands on your hips keeping you upright as dark spots cloud your vision, “God, what I wouldn’t give to hear that every second of the day.” He groans as he flips you onto your back in one smooth move.

He’s still buried deep inside you, one hand brushing sweat-soaked hair from you face, the other gripping to your ass as he lifts your hips to meet him. He’s slowed but you can tell from the way his hips stutter into your own that he’s close.

“Where do you want me?” He whispers into your ear.

Everywhere, is what you want to say. Paint me, cover me, mark me as yours, is all you can think. What you say is, “Wherever you want.”

You think you see his mouth open to answer you, but it’s too late. He’s pulling out of you, fisting his cock two, three times, and then he’s painting your skin with his spend. Thick ropes of cum cover your tummy as he's growling into your ear, collapsing next to you when he’s given you everything he’s got.

When you lie there next to him, his cum drying on your abdomen, his mouth still kissing at the skin of your neck, you think you should feel guilty. Guilty that you broke your vows, guilty that you’ve let a man other than your husband touch you. Guilty that you did so without a second thought. Guilty that he didn't once cross your mind. There isn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You lean into his kisses and thank the Lord for bringing him back, for bringing him back to you, because you know this right here? This is happiness.

PREV | NEXT

#Pedro Pascal #Javier Pena #Javier Pena smut #Javier Pena fan fiction #Javier Pena fanfic #Javier Pena fic #javier pena imagine #narcos #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #javier pena x female reader #javier pena x f!reader #narcos smut #narcos fic #narcos fanfiction #Pedro Pascal Javier Pena #javier pena narcos #javi pena #CS

199 notes · View notes