🐞🪴🌝🫧🫐🎨🌈

25 • libra • embracing every second of my whimsy

[livingintheserendipity]

welcome to

living in the serendipity

serendipity - the ability to make valuable discoveries without seeking for them.

Masterlist

Hughie Campbell

oneshots

plus one (in progress)

headcannons

Marrying Hughie Campbell

series

Vienna Waits for You

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

requests are open

[hughies-uptowngirl]

💭💭💭 🐶🐾

it's july & yet i already know what i want for christmas ❤︎

[girllock-writes]

Cheap Jewelry

dean winchester x gn!reader fluff

You stared at the greenish ring on the skin of your finger. The tarnished band rested in the palm of your right hand.

Something inside you felt like exploding.

Dean Winchester had never been rich. He knew how to live off snacks and adrenaline, he stole from people, he gambled... He'd hardly done an honest day's work in his life. But for an engagement ring, he didn't want that to be stolen. He managed to do some odd jobs for Bobby, he collected lost coins on the street, he even asked around for work a few times on his travels.

Because you deserved something real... Or, as real as he could give you.

Fifty dollars from a pawn shop. It wasn't a real diamond. It wasn't even real metal. The ring was costume jewelry. It left that dyed circle on your skin and was pratically rusting as the paint chipped away.

Buying that ring was perhaps the most genuine thing Dean Winchester had ever done in his life. He was terrified to propose. Even after dating for a while, he was sure you'd never want to commit the rest of your life to someone like him. He couldn't give you the apple-pie life. Hell, he wanted to. But that damn family business kept pulling him back in.

He fumbled through the proposal. His heart raced and his green eyes flickered in doubt, barely able to meet your eyes.

"You're the only thing I've ever been sure of," he admitted when he pulled the ring out. "I know it's not fancy... but will you... would you..."

When he started to almost retreat at your initial silence, he was shocked when your lips crashed into his. Relief, and a little bit of fear, swept over him. He didn't know why you'd ever love him, but he was glad when you beamed at him with a firm and unapologetic "Yes." It was pure bliss to just exist in peaceful happiness with him.

And now he was off on a hunt again. You'd stayed behind because you had a small cold. Dean, in his usual overdramatic fashion, had acted like you were on the brink of death and wanted you to stay home. Grudgingly, you agreed. As you got ready to shower, you shed your clothes and the rest of your jewelry, now staring at the ring. It really was nothing special. No big fancy diamond. No pure metals. No enormous price tag.

As you stared at it, tears welled in your eyes.

It was beautiful to you. And worth more than anything in the world. Because Dean had worked his ass off for it. He had taken time away from the supernatural, away from his insane life, away from the family business, to get this. This small, worn, cheap ring which symbolized his love. Dean Winchester was not a man who loved easily or sparingly. All the money in the world couldn't buy the sound of his laughter at your jokes. All the peace of a normal life could not offer that enamored look he would give when you smiled. It almost broke your heart a little to think that you had so much ground to make up for all that hurt you weren't there to protect him from.

The buzz of your phone pulled you out of your thoughts. Answering the call, you smiled. "Dean?"

"Hey, baby," his voice rang over the line. "I miss you."

You laughed. "Dean, you left an hour ago."

"Yeah, but I still missed you."

You rolled your eyes, looking at the green stain. The mark was not a sign of cheap jewelry, but of a fierce and eternal love. Your heart rose in your throat. "I miss you too, love."

a/n: hey, so i cried writing this. idk. instead of talking about my emotions i will continue to repress them. this was short, but hope yall enjoyed! im trying to write at least one thing a week cos im very busy. thinking about maybe a spn normal au a lot, perchance ill write something for that eventually.

[rkkuna]

— 𝜗𝜚⋆ he loves to kiss your wedding ring when you’re asleep.

night time is the best time for you both. it finally gives you a chance to wind down and relax from a busy day. the TV plays quietly in the quiet bedroom, he can’t remember what you both picked to watch tonight, maybe it was something you had chosen a few weeks ago and forgot to watch or maybe it was his pick, he doesn’t care either way. he’s more focused on you.

you’re curled up into his side, head tucked comfortably on his bare chest with your hand placed right beside it, and he is 99% sure you had fallen asleep not that long ago. he had one arm wrapped around you, thumb slowly stroking the skin of your shoulder and traced the apple of your cheek with his other finger, heart swelling when you sigh softly and curl more into him.

your lashes flutter against your cheek each time he drags his finger up and down, your soft snores and warm breath hitting his skin, causing his lips to curl up into a tired yet fond smile. a sudden shimmer of a smirk caught his attention, and he reluctantly turned away from your face and his eyes instantly landed on your hand.

more or so on the glittery diamond on your finger rested.

pride swells up in him, memories of every promise and vow echo in his mind as he gently reaches the hand that was stroking your cheek, out towards your hand and carefully wrapped his fingers around yours, bringing your hand up to his lips. he stares at the wedding ring for a while, smiling to himself once his thumb brushes across it.

he remembers the day he bought it, remembers how long he had it sitting in his jacket pocket on every single date you both went on. he always chickened out, not because he didn’t want to marry you, he was just scared and nervous you would say no. he remembers the night he managed to push through those worries on a random wednesday; you were both on the couch, eating your favourite take out and he couldn’t stop thinking of, despite how much you cried at one of your shows, you still looked effortlessly beautiful and how badly he was in love with you and that was all it took for him to blurt it out.

yes, he proposed to you while you were completely in tears over something on the television, clad in a pair of his sweatpants that were too big and a hoodie that had been washed so many times the colour was fading. despite so many of your friends going on vacation and getting proposed to, this was perfect for you. with the man you loved, eating food you both enjoy. you didn’t need to spend extortionate amounts of money for this moment. if he was there with you, it’s all you needed.

a tear slips down his cheek at the memory of your fork dropping onto the floor and a wide wet smile appears on your face the longer he stares at the wedding ring, but hearing you shout and scream yes over and over again in excitement will truly be one of the happiest memories he has of you.

he brings your hand closer, and then he’s pressing his lips to your fingers, the coldness of the metal melting against his skin, moving between your fingers and ring. “i love you.” he murmurs between kisses, each one a promise, something soft and precious just for you.

your fingers squeeze around his subconsciously and his heart leaps again, eyes leaving your hand and flickering to your face again. you looked more content, a subtle smile on your face despite being deeply asleep. his lips pressed against your wedding ring again, this time longer and his eyes never once left your face. watching your reaction. loving you even in silence.

the arm he still has around you, his thumb still continues those slow strokes, relaxing you without him even fully realising it. he can’t stop the way he litters kisses over your fingers, some on your wrist, he just keeps going because he loves you. you’re his entire world.

after a while, he finally slides his fingers between yours, gripping your hand gently and protectively and it’s only when he slides his other hand down from your shoulder and down your arm slowly that his eyes catch the gold band around his finger.

ring or not, you’re his and he’s yours. everything he has is yours no matter what. he walks the ground you walk on and making you happy and making sure you feel so loved is always at the front of his mind.

intertwined hands, he rests them both back on his chest and turns his head, presses his lips to your forehead and inhales softly. “i love you,” he repeats under his breath, thumb moving back and forth against your knuckles this time. “everything i have is yours, everything i do is for you, for us, forever.”

his & hers.

[slashedgutz]

give until there's nothing left | dean winchester/reader

summary; you know of dean winchester. sort of. just a family friend of your dad's; nothing special. but when you dad goes on a "business trip" and decides you need a babysitter.. well. enter dean winchester. just a whole lot different (and darker) since the last time you saw him. 4.7k words.

content; heavy smut. vaginal/anal sex. DEAD DOVE. age difference (about fifteen years. lol). dad's best friend!dean. non-con elements (but no rape). demon!dean. cum-eating. manipulation. dacryphilia. innocence/corruption/degradation kink. use of pet names ("sweetheart"/"lamb"/"sir"). double penetration. biting/breeding/piss kink. asphyxiation. perv!dean. contraception sabotage. open ending.

any notes? demon!dean i love you. also for the anons who asked (to quote), "Could you do demon dean “babysitting” reader without reader knowing he’s a demon now and readers dad isn’t aware either so he asks an old friend because reader Isnt trusted enough even as an adult to stay alone and demon dean does all shorts of horriblr things 👀??" and "I NEED DBF!DEAN AS A SERIES BRUH THAT WAS SO SAD AND I NEED MORE PLEAEE PAPA".. and anyone else who likes my depravity; whilst this isn't part two to my dbf!dean, it's as nasty as i could possibly make it.. maybe even more-so. that being said, please read the content warnings. other than that, enjoy..

you know of dean. sort of.

some family friend of your dad from back in the day– the days where, when you ask about them, your dad goes all quiet and his eyes go lifeless; gives you just some utterance about “monsters,”– and maybe he attended a family barbecue or two, you’re not quite sure. you never paid attention to him, and he never paid attention to you. but, if you had to be specific, you haven’t seen him since you returned from college last year on a brief trip home. 

and now, you’re here. with him. in your family home. because your dad decided you needed a babysitter– at the grand old age of twenty-two. 

naturally, you’re pissed. whatever possessed your dad to do such a thing is beyond you; and you find it funny how dean just magically was in town when you showed up, and magically was available when your dad decided someone should look after you whilst he’s out for the weekend because livestock are suddenly turning up dead. and, most magically and importantly, dean’s a whole lot different than he was.

of course you avoid him. who wouldn’t? you’re not exactly desperate for one of the myriad of std’s that man probably carries. it’s not like you’ve ever thought about him or anything, it’s just.. well. if– and that’s a big if– you could end up sleeping with him, you wouldn’t be fighting to say “no”. and besides, from the fleeting, sexually charged glances that he’s snuck your way, to the way he seems to linger in the doorway to your room when he thinks you’re not around (spoiler; you are), there’s something off about dean. 

now, you’re in your room, towel wrapped around you as you absent-mindedly scroll through your phone. you don’t know where dean is within the house, don’t care to know; all you want is to get through this weekend without him being around you. you’ve managed to make it to sunday, with now just a few hours to go. and then, once your dad returns, you’ll be free.

“good there, sweetheart?”

you freeze. turn around slowly from where you are on your bed to find him– dean– leaning against the doorframe like it’s where he’s supposed to be. like it’s nothing. arms crossed over his chest as his eyes look you over. no, revise that; his eyes ravage you. “was wonderin’ where you got off to. thought you decided to go be a, what is it? oh– a lamb to the slaughter.”

he’s poking fun at the recent streak of livestock deaths, but hidden under his words, there’s a layer of innuendo heavy enough to bury you. something in your stomach turns and twists, and you pull the towel tighter around yourself. 

“not my thing,” is your short, bitter, reply. no niceties for him. nothing for the man who hasn’t stopped looking at you like you’re his next lay since he got here. and, if truth be told, you don’t think he needs anything, not when there’s something really different about him. he’s moving from the frame now, advancing into your room and over to you. 

“huh, thought it would be,” he comments– to not you in particular though. just marches into your room, taking in the sight; the pink-and-white theme you’ve had since you were just a babe, a few posters here and there of artists and shows you favoured in your teen years (when you cut off all your hair, started hanging around with kids almost four years your senior; the typical “rebellious” phase), stuffies you can’t seem to part with because they always remind you of when your dad came home from “fishing trips”, coincidentally with dean and his brother. “nice room. pretty things for a pretty girl. cute.. toys.”

you wonder if dean helped pick any of them out, chose them for a specific reason, fantasised about you grinding on them, just like how you want to ride his face–

“i’m just trying to get dressed. um, so– could you go now, or–”

needless to say, you shouldn’t have asked. 

hell, you shouldn’t have come home at all.

because the next thing that you know– or don’t know, really– is that dean’s pushing you back against the bed, straddling your naked body as the towel gets ripped from your hands. you try to push him away, maybe try and tell him he’s gotten the wrong impression, but he just grabs your wrists in a bone-crushing bind and holds them above your head, baring his teeth. 

he’s quicker than you, stronger than you– in all ways, better than you– as he strips and ties his belt around your neck tightly. just like a leash. just like you might get away. and all the while, you’re still under him, muttering soft apologies for whatever it is that’s caused him to clearly lose his fucking mind.. and feeling your cunt getting wetter by the millisecond. 

“hey– hey, now. don’t fight it.” he pulls on the belt, making your head jolt. the fat tip of his cock rubs up against your wetness. you bite back a moan. “c’mon, lamb, you know how much you want it. me. she’s so fuckin’ wet f’me, i can feel it. and we can’t jus’ leave her achin’ and hurtin’ like that, can we?”

you swallow uncomfortably. okay, sure– maybe you had been looking at him in a different way as of late, but it had been nothing as to the way he’s been looking at you. all hungry eyes and furrowed brows, as if he’s trying to work out all the ways he can make you cum, hand resting way too close for comfort near his dick. and you only know that last tid-bit from how he sits on the couch; spread legs, clear boner that comes on when you enter the room. 

but back to what matters. maybe you did want dean– when you were younger, and thought he was pretty, and fun, and had all these silly stories about your dad and “gankin’” things. when you thought all other boys were gross, unlike dean, who in your eyes was the epitome of a man. however, now you’re older; you want someone who will hold your hand on a date, buy you flowers out of the blue because you deserve them. will give you anything and everything you want. what you want is everything your dad couldn’t do for your mom. 

dean is anything but. 

“i know you’ve been thinkin’ of me.” he says it with such authority that it almost scares you; mainly because of how right he is. “were you fuckin’ yourself to the thought of me whilst you were at that fancy school? pretendin’ all those other boys you let have this sweet pussy were me? god, look at you– ‘course you were. too shy and innocent to ask for the real thing, aren’t you?”

you give him a weak nod, not trusting your voice right now.

“fuckin’ thought so.” the grin on his face right now is feral, prideful; to the point where it’s almost disturbing. true, you know dean to be cocky, a “selfish and arrogant cunt,” if your dad’s words are anything to go off of, but not like this. and all the while, you can feel him push into you– inch by inch, little by little– his taunting distracting you enough from the ache and burn you feel from him stretching around your tight cunt. “been wonderin’ myself what it’d be like to do this. to do you. always thought you’d be a decent fuck, if any of your dad’s complainin’ ‘bout the noise you and the boys you’d bring home would make,” he practically snarls this out, jealously stabbing at the edges of each word, dripping from his mouth off of a vitrolic-laced tongue. 

he’s barely got half of his fact cock inside, when you suddenly feel him push one hand under your side, cupping your ass. your breath catches as he gently tugs the belt around your neck. “gotta say, you’re fuckin’ tight, lamb. don’t know where how i’m gonna fill all of her, but we’ll find a way, won’t we? jus’ as long as you don’t throw a fit, then it’ll all be good.. got it?” to which, you don’t answer; because you’re too busy wincing when you feel his thumb press against your ass. “y’know, i could tongue your hole if i get bored of your pretty cunt,” he comments. you realised that he’s buried in you now, his hips pressing up against your ass. “put you in a cage and take you home with me. oh– you’d like that, wouldn’t you? be my little pup for whenever i wanna use you? can tell you do– she’s gettin’ wetter by the minute f’me.” 

his hand around the end of the belt suddenly pulls, the knot playing by your neck tightening. you choke a little, a moan coming out all breathy and gasp-like. he’s going to kill you. 

your face is inches away from his, your noses almost touching. there’s a heady, almost hypnotising, smell to him; whiskey, cologne that you’ve smelt on at least a dozen other boys (and yet, none of them smell the way dean does right now), and strangely, sulphur. and here you are, breathing it in like a volatile aphrodisiac, all polluted and rotten, letting it coagulate in your lungs and choke you.

he moves in closer, like he might kiss you. “jus’ gotta ask for it, sweetheart,” he tells you. “i’ll do whatever you want. want me to fill you so much you can’t fuckin’ walk, leave all your holes so sore and gapin’ that i might as well split you in half? shit– i can even put a fuckin’ baby in you, if you want. don’t think for a second that i haven’t been near your birth control. that was the first thing i sorted out for you when i got here. oh, i’ll fuckin’ do it all.”

there’s a pause, as you finally decide to trust your voice again.

“iwantyoutofuckme,” is what leaves your mouth.

dean scoffs. “what was that, sweetheart? didn’t catch any of that– not with the way you’ve got yourself wrapped around me right now.”

“i want,” you breathe, cutting yourself off when he pulls himself back a little. the inch or so lost from your cunt is enough to make you cry. “i want you to fuck me.”

“yeah? yeah?” as he mocks you, you can feel dean pulling out, until just the thick tip of his cock is left between your folds. “‘s that what you want? well.” 

and with that, dean slams himself back into you.

it feels like life itself has been pulled and ripped violently from your body. your back arches off the bed, the belt constricting around your neck even tighter, as you cry out from the sheer force that he’s used to bury himself to the hilt again. he’s still got the belt wrapped around one hand, whilst the other holds onto your waist, keeping you in place as he fucks into you, over and over. 

there’s something animalistic about it, you realise, as you mind is subdued to his heavy-hitting thrusting and sadistic behaviour. how easy it is for him to push himself, deeper, faster, harder, into you, never once giving thought to how you feel. with each passing second, as you become numb to such brutality, you feel so detached from the position you find yourself in; like your fantasised first time with dean winchester should’ve been much more romantic, intimate. 

then again, isn’t this what you wanted? hadn’t you asked him to fuck you? all this– all of this is all you’ve ever wanted. just maybe not so violent.

but this is easily forgotten with his mouth all over you; your jawline, your throat, your collarbones, your tits. oh, especially your tits. tongue pressed firmly against your nipple, sucking and salivating like he’s a pavlov dog or something. sinking his teeth into your warm, spit-soaked flesh each time he bottoms out. 

a mistaken reward for a misbehaved animal. 

“takin’ me so well, aren’t you, lamb?” his words come out with more bite than they should, all pestilence bleeding in from the edges of them and seeping deep down into your mind. “bet i could make you further, yeah? don’t wanna tire her out of anythin’, not when you’ve got more than one hole..”

you whine when you feel his hand against the curve of your ass again, having left the belt around your neck and oxygen now returning to your cockdrunk brain. you can feel him press his thumb against your hole once more, and then, slipping in. 

however, he’s fucking you so good that you can’t acknowledge his perversions. let alone think about another boy having you again. 

your back arches off the bed at the feeling– the feeling of him practically shoving his finger into your ass, all the while still nothing himself deep in your gaping cunt. your obscene noises of a strange blend of pain and pleasure get lost in his own noises, all animalistic, albeit hypnotising, as well as the vulgar squelching from how wet you are. occasionally, you squirm a little, feel your face heat up at how pornographic your own hole sounds. 

and with two of your holes now filled, you can’t help but to cum. it’s been building for a while; he’s more than good, filling you up and finding all the spots that no boy has ever done before. it’s hard to chose which pleasure to focus on– the cock that’s being rammed in an out of your wet cunt, or the fingers that keep you distracted, keep you tense. if anything, you’re more focused on the humiliation of having to lie still and take it. you’ve used toys on yourself before, but they were static– a general sense of pleasant fullness. the movement, the fullness and then the emptiness, makes you all so hyper-aware of where he’s touching you. where he’s fucking you. yes, you need, more than anything, to cum.

of course, dean picks up on this. “huh, d’you need– you need to cum? yeah? ‘s that what you wanna do?” he asks, grin all wolfish and prideful– just like before, but less disturbing this time and more possessive– as he manages to work another finger into your ass, still keeping that frantic, steady pace as he fucks you. “you gonna do it? do it f’me? cum around me like the cockdrunk whore you are, then let me fill you with my cum and knock you up? you’d fuckin’ love that, wouldn’t you? you greedy girl..”

“please– wanna– need to–“ your words are all broken syllables and whorish pleas, like you’re begging for your life. you take no notice of the degradation, the threats. “please, sir!”

and all this, just to be able to bathe in the sick, slightly gleeful joy of knowing that you’ve had your brains fucked out by dean winchester.

(then again, you’re probably in a long line of many). 

“well, go on then,” dean huffs, one of his rough hands finding your clit and rubbing it harshly. just more stimulation, to add to the mountainous overstimulation you currently are objected to. feeling dread, feeling fear; feeling an undeniable warmth when he moves from your clit and pressed down firmly on your lower abdomen. feeling for himself. “feelin’ me up in there? see how nice i’m bein’ to you, lamb? now, you gotta make sure it all takes now, okay?” and you simply nod, hiccup and cry a little. too busy playing some twisted, adult game because your dad’s out and you can finally fulfil your biggest fantasy. 

you’re crying even more when he bites down, hard, into your collarbone, sinking his teeth in deeper whilst you writhe under him. and somehow, this is how you cum; with dean’s teeth buried in your collarbone, and your cunt spasming around him. 

when he cums, though, it’s hard and long. groans that reverberate against your sore and bleeding skin, felt right down to your shaken core. he’s deep when he does it, so you feel it all- and especially when he begins to slowly, a little weakly, push it further and further into you– your cunt making uncomfortable, wet noises, and slick beginning to seep out and soak the sheets beneath you– as if he’s trying to make sure it sticks. as if he’s trying to knock you up, give him an excuse to keep coming back to you. 

and you think he mentioned something about your birth control. you can’t remember– not when you’re like this. 

but it’s not the end. 

“hands and knees,” dean pants into your neck, like a dog overheating in the sun, before pulling away and staring down at you with hardened, dark eyes. “now.”

you oblige, obviously, but it takes you a minute or so; you get to your hands and knees– barely– body trembling and weak from the first round. your hands are wet against the sheets, barely able to hold yourself up, your sweat mixing with slick and cum. you feel your breath falter– both from the slight sickness that is born and bred in your stomach at this moment (allowing yourself to do something so disturbingly nasty, allowing yourself to be ravaged in such a manner), but it’s quickly forgotten about when you feel him align yourself up with your hole.

it’s just that this time, it’s your ass.

naturally, you tense up. “dean, i can’t– no–” you’ve never taken anything up the ass. well, nothing, except for dean’s fingers. “seriously, please–”

he slips in so easy, your slick having dripped down to your hole and allowing him to just push the tip in without effort– without care. he hasn’t gone any further, one hand clamping down on your waist as you arch your back a little, whimper from the searing heat that blooms throughout your body. his fingers were one thing, but his cock is another; and even just him entering the tip is enough to make you want to cum again. you buck back against him, almost fucking yourself onto his cock. the hand on your waist tightens. “that’s not what you’re meant to call me now, is it, sweetheart? better behave now, or i’ll make this harder than it needs to be. got it?”

even in your cockdrunk state, you know what he means. “please.. sir.” it almost comes out in a whisper; all avoidant eyes and pouting lips. because it’s dirty. because it’s shameful. you’ve heard all about your girlfriends and their partners and/or hook-ups, calling them that, “daddy” and “sir”, and you, looking down on them for being so perverse. 

“i want you there.”

oh, how the mighty fall.

“atta girl.”

in one swift movement, dean pushes himself entirely into your ass, a strained groan escaping him when you cry out from the stretch, and your arms finally give up. you fall forwards into the sheets, the taste of cum and sweat meeting your wet lips, and you have no time to react because he’s already pulling back and pushing into you– just as hard and mean and brutal as he did with your cunt. 

he’s got the belt wrapped around his hand again, pulling every now and then– basically, any time that you don’t sing your praises for him with slurring moans and pathetic mewling– making you arch your back and press your ass up against his pelvis. if anything, it’s giving him a better chance at making you cum again, letting him find all these untouched, virginal, places inside your ass that’s no one’s ever had. until now. 

his other hand has reached around to find your clit, all puffy and sore, rubbing it in teasing circles as he continues to rearrange your insides once more. his balls slapping up against your clit each time he goes balls-deep in your ass, the cum that slowly drips down your thighs making contact. everything is so distorted and so overwhelming and so wet, that you’re surprised you’re still conscious. 

but you know that you are still conscious, because you catch his face in the mirror on the vanity, and everything stops. and you feel sick. because his eyes are black. not just blown-out pupils, or shadows from the lighting. pure black. 

just like your dad has always said, “monsters”.

dean is one of them. maybe not always, but he is now. and now is where you are, where you get fucked to death (a very probable chance, it now seems) by something not-so human. 

it’s like you’ve come back to life. suddenly, everything about this is too much; too real. you’re trying to push back against dean, get him off of you, but he doesn’t budge. just keeps fucking you– that is, until he lets out such an inhuman sound that it has to be demonic. 

“where’re– where are you tryin’ to go?” dean snarls, letting go of the belt entirely– letting you breathe again, finally– and shoving your head into the sheets. his large hand is holding the back of your neck, all of his strength going into it as he bends over you, like he needs to keep you there. like he might will snap your neck. “ain’t goin’ anywhere, lamb. we’re not done playin’.”

you’ve already debased yourself for this man monster, so there’s no reason to voice your pitiful praises or slurring apologies (mainly because your face is smushed into the sheets), so you simply moan and whine, cry fat tears that’ll leave your skin dry. bucking your ass backwards to meet the entirety of his fat length is just one step further. feeling good is just one step further. climaxing is just one step further. you can hear him laugh, something dark and perilous; feel him tracing your walls, the tip kissing something in you, fucking rearranging your guts like he’s some mad surgeon, and your body so strung out and defeated, as you lay on your stomach,  as he rams himself into you, again and again and again–

and with this new position you’re in, the pressure on your body is overwhelming. more specifically, the pressure on your bladder. you need to pee. badly. but you can’t do anything, can’t tell dean because anything out of your mouth at this point is some garbled version of “sir, please!” or some angelic praise that you don’t even hear yourself say. any time you get close, he pushes your face back into the sheets, tells you that “don’t need to hear the complaints, sweetheart; i’ll get you cleaned up soon enough,” and goes back to making a mess of your ass. 

so it’s no surprise that the inevitable.. happens.

you feel yourself pee before you can properly register it. feel the warmth seep out of your gaping cunt and onto the sheets, mingling with the disgusting mess that’s already there. the tears– the ones that have been free-falling and numbing your face for a while now– seem to stop for a moment, as if you’re frozen out of horror. because you pissed yourself whilst having your ass fucked raw. 

and somehow, this is what makes dean cum. his chest pressed firmly to your back, your sweat (and other bodily fluids) mingling and probably creating a new chemical reaction or something, as he pants heavily in your ear. “c’mon, sweetheart, i know you can do it,” he coos, hand rubbing lazily against your sore clit, occasionally wiping through your disgustingly wet folds. either he knows that you peed and will find some other way to bring it up and humiliate you with, or he’s also so fucked right now that he never even noticed. just thought you squirted or something. he’s still pumping away in your ass, the unforgettable feeling of cum being pushed against your tight walls, like it’s a compact space because there’s simply nowhere else for it to go. “you gotta cum f’me, lamb.. ain’t good to hold it in her f’too long..”

you do cum; although, it’s after he’s pumped two loads of cum into your ass, and some heavy fingering– which really borders on fisting– in your numb cunt. 

your orgasm this time is more painful and exhausting than any you’ve ever had before. your muscles exhausted and cunt clenching around nothing, and for a second, you think you’ve died. every hole of yours feels broken, all gaped and full, as your breathing falters and stutters. there’s absolutely nothing on your mind, aside from masochistic euphoria. something breaks inside of you; all sinew and blood and bone that slowly drips from your body. along with your now-shattered dignity. 

and when you look down– when you finally muster up enough energy to move– it really is blood. small spatters of the stuff on your pretty pink bedding. he’s fucked you so hard that you’re bleeding. 

when he pulls away– as in, leaving you in a crumpled heap on your bed whilst he wipes himself down with one of your t-shirts nearby– dean clicks his tongue like you’ve done something wrong, shaking his head. you’re not sure what exactly, but when you notice how intently he stares at your lower half, you realise what’s wrong. he’s watching everything all pathetically leak out of you. “fuckin’ wasteful is what you are,” dean sighs, then presses meanly down on your lower abdomen to force more out. you writhe under his firm hand, feeling your face grow hot at the uncomfortable sensation of something oozing out of both of your holes like that. “told you to take it, lamb. can’t be wastin’ it like if you want to see me again.”

he says it like he will be coming back– no matter what.

and then, he’s between your legs, licking up the blood that’s gathered in your bush. along with.. everything else. from hole to hole, his tongue is relentless. he’s lapping up his own cum from your holes, fucking it back into you occasionally, but mostly holding it in his mouth.

he’s not eating you out exactly, but you can sense that as soon as you start whimpering– hell, even the slightest of movement– will do him in. and he’ll feast on your cunt like an animal starved. the prized apex predator finally getting the sweet prey that everyone else wants.

dean manages to pull himself away from your cunt, grabbing the end of the belt and yanking your head towards him. “open up,” he demands, and you do. you open your mouth, feeling dreaded anticipation line your stomach like a barrier. but it’ll do nothing against what he does. 

he spits in your mouth.

then, he’s kissing you; all filthy and demanding, tongue shoving past your lips. you can taste yourself, bitter and thick, mixed with the sharpness of his spit. though, you gag and wretch a little at the taste on your tongue, that taste of cum and blood. it’s all of you. all of him. the both of you. but it’s not enough. not even close. you try to keep him there, on your lips, even when you pulls away– even going as far as to dig his blunt nails into your sore tit. and only then do you give him. truth be told, you’re nothing but greedy for him at this point; greedy for someone born and bred for violence and debauchery, but tenderised to know and care for you. well, enough to know your body. 

you want dean winchester. every single part of him. even the rotten, monstrous parts.

you’re ready to slip into sleep after all of that– what, with your body already giving into that twilight where you’re safe and untouched.. even with blood and cum between your thighs, and your chest littered with bites and saliva– but then you feel something, someone, between your thighs, and you weakly raise your head.

“we’re not done, though, sweetheart. i gotta get my sweet fix.” dean’s back between your legs now, ignoring your pathetic mewls, his pupils blown as he licks his lips. he’s staring at your cunt, ready to devour it. “sex always makes me fuckin’ ravenous..”

[lila-lou]

✨Wound a little tight✨

Summary: Tossing and turning, sleep’s a distant dream with a baby kicking nonstop. But Dean knows exactly how to wear you out—one way or another.

Pairing: Dean x Pregnant Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 6529

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

The bunker was silent, the kind of quiet that made every little sound seem louder than it was. Dean’s arm was slung over your belly as he tried to sleep, his face half-buried in the pillow.

Meanwhile, no matter how much you adjusted, nothing felt comfortable. Your belly seemed to have grown three sizes overnight, and the baby inside had apparently decided to practice for a soccer championship. You shifted again, trying to ease the pressure on your ribs, only to feel Dean’s arm tighten around you. He let out a low groan.

“Y/N”, he mumbled, his voice gravelly from sleep. “What are you doing?”.

“Trying not to lose my mind”, you muttered, stifling a frustrated sigh. “This kid’s got a vendetta against my internal organs”.

Dean cracked one eye open and tilted his head just enough to glare at you playfully. “You know, some of us are trying to sleep. Not all of us are being used as a human punching bag”.

You rolled your eyes, pushing his arm off of you with more force than necessary. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dean. Didn’t mean to interrupt your beauty sleep. Must be exhausting being the one not pregnant”.

He snorted, propping himself up on one elbow and rubbing his face with his free hand. “Yeah, because carrying a kid means you get to keep me up too, huh? Great deal. Love that for me”.

You shot him a look, half-annoyed, half-amused. “Maybe you should try growing a person inside you and see how well you sleep”.

“Hey, I’m already carrying this family with my charm and good looks”, he said, flashing that cocky grin of his that always made you want to simultaneously slap and kiss him. “Don’t need to grow a kid on top of it”.

“Oh, shut up”, you grumbled, flopping onto your side and wincing when the baby delivered another well-aimed kick. “Your kid’s got your attitude, by the way. Thought you should know”.

Dean let out a soft laugh, his hand lazily sliding down to rest on your bump. His fingers brushed over the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up, his touch warm and familiar. "Well, what do you expect?", he said, grinning as he glanced down at your belly. "Kid's a Winchester. Stubbornness is basically a family tradition".

You rolled your eyes, but the corner of your mouth twitched despite yourself. "Yeah, well, maybe he could inherit something useful instead. Like patience. Or the ability to let me sleep".

Dean smirked, leaning closer, his hand still tracing slow, absentminded circles over your stomach. "Patience isn't exactly my strong suit either, sweetheart. You should've known what you were signing up for". He tilted his head, pretending to listen intently. "And judging by these kicks, he´s already gearing up to outdo me. Gotta respect the hustle".

You let out a short laugh, shaking your head at his antics. "Respect it all you want, Dean, but I'm the one getting beat up from the inside. This little ninja clearly takes after you".

"Don't blame me", Dean said, mock offense in his tone. He leaned in, resting his cheek against your belly as if to share a secret with the baby. "Hear that, kid? Your mom's already blaming me for everything. You’d better get used to it".

The baby kicked again, and Dean grinned like a kid on Christmas. "Whoa! Did you feel that? That was a good one. Solid technique. Maybe a linebacker in the making?".

"Or a kickboxer", you muttered, shifting again in an attempt to relieve the pressure. "Either way, I’m doomed".

Dean tilted his head back to look at you, his green eyes gleaming with amusement. "C’mon, admit it. You're impressed. Our kid's already a badass, and he´s not even born yet".

You huffed a laugh, brushing a hand through his messy hair. "I’ll be impressed when he let me sleep through the night".

Dean grinned, pressing a soft kiss to your belly before looking up at you. "You sure you wanna sleep? This is prime bonding time. Me, you, and Baby Winchester—three peas in a pod".

"Yeah, except one of those peas is currently trying to break out of the pod", you shot back, unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

Dean laughed, his hand still resting protectively over your bump. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll handle him when he´s out. For now, you just gotta hang in there". His tone softened slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "But seriously, you okay? Anything I can do?".

You shook your head, touched by the genuine concern behind the teasing. "Just keep being your annoying, sarcastic self. It helps. Somehow".

Dean smirked, leaning in to kiss your forehead. "That, I can do. Annoying and sarcastic is my specialty".

You shifted closer to Dean, your belly pressing against his side as you tried to find a position that didn’t make you want to scream. The baby kicked again, hard enough that Dean felt it against his ribs. He let out a low grunt, barely opening one eye as his hand lazily slid over to rest on your belly.

“Did that sucker just punch me?”, he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep. His hand moved in slow, absentminded circles over your skin once more, his touch warm and soothing even as he groaned softly.

“Welcome to my life”, you muttered, your voice muffled against his chest as you tucked yourself closer to him. “That’s just one kick. Try feeling that all day long”.

Dean chuckled faintly, his head sinking deeper into the pillow as he tilted a lazy glance at your belly. “Man, Y/N”, he said, his voice thick and sluggish, “this thing’s huge. How are you even carrying it around? You’re like… fun-sized, and then there’s this giant basketball attached to you”.

You groaned, shoving at his chest lightly. “Dean”.

“What? I’m serious”, he muttered, his hand still rubbing your belly in a slow, unhurried rhythm. “It’s impressive, really. How do you not just… tip over?”.

“Dean”, you said again, more forcefully this time, though you couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up. “Do you have any idea how close you are to sleeping on the couch?”.

He gave a soft, lazy snort, clearly unbothered by your threat, his hand still resting heavily on your belly as his thumb lazily brushed over your skin. He tilted his head slightly, cracking one eye open just enough to look at you with that lopsided, cocky smirk you both loved and hated.

“When’s the last time I fucked you?”, he mumbled, his voice so low and gravelly it almost made you miss the words entirely. “You’ve had a bit of an attitude all day long. Starting to think you’re overdue, sweetheart”.

Your jaw dropped, and you swatted his chest hard, making him let out a quiet chuckle. “Dean Winchester!”, you hissed, though you couldn’t keep the heat from rushing to your cheeks—or the hint of a grin from pulling at your lips. “I’m eight months pregnant! You really think that’s what I need right now?”.

Dean shrugged lazily, still smirking as his fingers trailed slow, lazy circles over your bump. “I don’t know. Seems like you’re wound a little tight. Could be worth a shot”.

You let out a groan, equal parts annoyed and embarrassed, as you rolled your eyes at his audacity. “Dean, seriously? I’m huge, uncomfortable, and—”.

But before you could finish, his hand moved with practiced ease, slipping between your legs and under the waistband of your panties. His fingers found you wet, and though his eyes remained closed, his cocky smirk widened. “Mmhm”, he murmured, his voice a lazy drawl that sent a shiver through you. “What’s that, sweetheart? You were saying?”.

Your breath hitched, heat flooding your cheeks and pooling low in your stomach as his fingers brushed over you with maddening slowness. “Dean”, you hissed, swatting weakly at his arm, but there was no real force behind it. “I swear—”.

“You swear, what?”, he interrupted, finally cracking an eye open again to look at you with a sleepy but amused expression. His thumb moved in a slow, deliberate circle, and your protests dissolved into a sharp inhale. “Doesn’t seem like you’re in too much of a hurry to stop me”.

You glared at him, though the effect was ruined by the way your body betrayed you, arching just slightly into his touch. “You’re impossible”.

“And yet”, he drawled lazily, his fingers dipping just enough to tease, “you’re not telling me to stop”.

You wanted to argue, to shove his hand away and remind him that you were eight months pregnant and in no mood for his antics. But the way his fingers moved—the way he knew exactly where to touch—made it impossible to focus on anything other than the heat spreading through you.

Your silence was enough for him, your body arching slightly into his touch, the tension in your breath betraying any remaining protests you might have had. Dean didn’t need any more confirmation—he knew you, knew how to read you like the pages of a favorite book.

Without a word, he shifted, lazily kicking the blanket off his hips and down to his feet. The cool air of the room contrasted with the heat radiating between you, and he didn’t bother wasting any time, pushing his boxers down just enough to free himself. His free hand wrapped around his length, stroking slowly, deliberately, in time with the movements of his other hand still teasing you.

“Look at you”, he murmured, his voice still thick with sleep but laced with a cocky satisfaction. His half-lidded gaze flicked to your face, taking in your parted lips and the faint blush that crept across your cheeks. “All riled up, sweetheart. Guess I really do know what you need, huh?”.

Your only response was a breathy exhale as his fingers pressed just right, drawing a shuddering gasp from you. Dean smirked at your reaction, his movements lazy yet skilled, as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you.

“Eight months pregnant, uncomfortable as hell”, he drawled, his tone teasing but low, almost reverent, “and you still want me. Damn, sweetheart, you sure know how to stroke a guy’s ego”.

You couldn’t help the soft groan that escaped you, half-frustration, half-need, as your hips instinctively tilted toward his touch. “Dean”, you managed to say, your voice breathy and strained.

You let out a frustrated groan, your head tilting back as his fingers teased you with maddening precision. "You're such a dick", you breathed, your words laced with a mix of irritation and undeniable need.

Dean’s grin widened, his eyes still half-lidded and lazy, his expression one of pure, smug satisfaction. "Yeah", he murmured, his voice rough and low, "but I'm your dick. And you love it". Without missing a beat, he shifted beneath you, his movements slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.

Before you could react, Dean sat up and slid an arm around your waist, pulling you onto his lap like you weighed nothing at all. It didn’t matter that you were eight months pregnant or how big you felt—Dean handled you as effortlessly as always, his strength a constant reminder of just how in control he was.

“Dean—”, you started, but your words cut off as he guided you, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties and pushing them aside. The rough pads of his fingers brushed against you again, making you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders for balance.

“Shh”, he murmured, the sound barely audible as he shifted his hips beneath you, the heat of him pressing against your center. He guided you just right, teasing you with the barest hint of friction, his other hand steadying you as his thumb traced slow circles against your hip. "Relax, sweetheart. I’ve got you".

You let out a shaky breath, your body reacting to every deliberate movement as he lined himself up with agonizing slowness. He didn’t push forward, though—not yet. Instead, he rocked his hips just enough to tease you, brushing against you in a way that had you biting your lip to keep from crying out.

“You’re so impatient”, Dean teased, his smirk never faltering as he met your gaze, his green eyes dark with amusement and desire. "I barely even touched you, and you're already shaking".

"Dean", you said again, your voice a mix of a plea and a warning, but he didn’t seem to care. If anything, it spurred him on, his hands tightening on your hips as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Say it”, he murmured, his voice a rough whisper that sent shivers down your spine. “Tell me how much you want it. Tell me how much you need me”.

“You’re—”, you started, but his hips shifted again, the teasing movement stealing the words from your lips. Instead, a breathy moan escaped you, and Dean’s grin deepened, his head tilting back slightly as he drank in the sound.

“That’s what I thought”, he said, his voice low and full of that infuriating confidence. “I’ve got all night, sweetheart. We’ll take our time".

And with that, he continued his slow, deliberate pace, keeping you on edge and making sure every movement left you aching for more.

But you were done with the teasing, your patience worn thinner than ever. You shifted your hips, trying to sink down onto him yourself, but Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, holding you just above him with an infuriating amount of control.

“Dean”, you growled, glaring down at him as your hands braced against his chest. You were dripping, the slickness making every shift of your body against him all the more agonizing. “Stop messing around”.

He let out a low, lazy chuckle, his head leaning back against the pillow as he looked up at you with that maddeningly smug grin. “What’s the rush, sweetheart?”, he drawled, his thumbs brushing slow circles into your hips. “You’ve got nowhere to be”.

Your frustration boiled over as Dean continued to hold you there, his hands firm on your hips, preventing you from getting what you desperately needed. Every tiny movement sent a jolt of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough—nowhere near enough—and the way he looked at you, all smug and unbothered, only made it worse.

“Dean”, you ground out through clenched teeth, trying to push against his grip again. “This isn’t funny”.

“It’s a little funny”, he countered, his voice a lazy drawl as his thumbs pressed lightly into your hips, keeping you hovering just above him. “I mean, look at you. You’re so worked up, sweetheart. Never seen you this impatient before”.

“Because you’re being a—”, you hissed, trying to force yourself down again, only for him to tighten his hold just enough to stop you. You groaned in frustration, glaring at him as heat flushed your cheeks. “Dean, please”.

His grin widened, his green eyes glinting with pure amusement as he watched you. “That desperate, huh?”, he teased, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “You’re dripping all over me, sweetheart. You sure you don’t wanna keep begging? Kinda like the sound of it”.

You let out a frustrated noise, your hands digging into his chest as you gave up fighting his grip, your body trembling with need.

But before you could snap back at him, he finally loosened his hold, letting you drop just enough to take the tip of him inside. The stretch was immediate, sending a jolt of pleasure and relief through you that had you biting back a moan. But just as quickly as he let you sink, he held you there, keeping you still with an almost infuriating amount of control.

“Easy, sweetheart”, he said, his voice low and soothing, though the teasing lilt was still there. “Don’t wanna rush it, do you? Gotta savor the moment”.

You glared down at him, your breath coming in shallow gasps as you tried to steady yourself. “Dean, if you don’t let me—”.

“Alright, alright”, he said, laughing softly as he finally let his grip relax, his hands guiding you down onto him. The sensation was overwhelming, the way he filled you so completely making your frustration melt into a wave of relief. You couldn’t stop the soft moan that escaped you as you sank down fully, your hands gripping his chest for balance.

“There it is”, Dean said, his voice low and full of satisfaction as he looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust. “Knew you’d feel amazing, sweetheart. Damn it”.

Dean’s hands slid lazily from your thighs back to your hips, his rough palms warm against your skin as he brushed over the curve of your ass, ready to take control again. But you’d had enough. Without hesitation, you slapped his hands away, glaring down at him with a mixture of irritation and determination.

“Hands off”, you snapped, your voice firm despite the breathlessness in it. “I’m done letting you mess with me”.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, his lips curling into that smug grin you knew all too well. “Oh, is that right?”, he drawled, his hands falling back to rest on the mattress as he gave you an exaggerated look of mock surrender. “Alright, sweetheart. You wanna take the lead? Be my guest”.

You didn’t hesitate, planting your hands on his chest for leverage as you started rolling your hips. It was slower than usual, deliberate, partly because of the weight of your belly and partly because you wanted to prove your point. But the deliberate pace didn’t diminish the sensation; every movement sent a wave of pleasure coursing through you, making your breath hitch and your body shiver.

Dean groaned low in his throat, his hands twitching like he was itching to grab you again but holding himself back.

Dean’s groan turned into a soft chuckle, his hands gripping the sheets as his head tipped back slightly, though his teasing smirk was still firmly in place. He lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze, that cocky glint in his green eyes making your irritation flare again.

“Now, you’re really taking your time there, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice low and lazy, the gravelly edge making you shiver despite your annoyance. “Not that I’m complainin’, but I thought you were in a hurry”.

You narrowed your eyes at him, rolling your hips deliberately, just a little harder this time, earning another groan from him. “Shut up, Dean”, you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you tried to focus on the pleasure coursing through you instead of his relentless teasing.

But Dean, being Dean, wasn’t about to let it go. “No, seriously”, he said, his grin widening. “You usually go a little faster than this. What’s the matter, sweetheart? Baby Winchester slowing you down?”.

Your jaw clenched, and you gave his chest a sharp push with one hand as you ground down on him again, drawing a deep, shaky breath from him. “Maybe I’m just enjoying myself”, you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ever think of that?”.

“Oh, sure”, Dean said, his voice thick with amusement as his hands finally moved to rest on your thighs, his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin. “You’re enjoying yourself, huh? Looks more like you’re trying to figure out how to make it work with all that extra baggage”.

You groaned, half in frustration and half in exasperated laughter, shaking your head as you fought the urge to smack him again.

Dean’s grin only widened as his hands shifted from your thighs to your back. After pulling off your shirt, his fingers made quick work of the clasp of your bra, the straps sliding down your arms as he pulled it away with maddening ease. His eyes didn’t leave yours, the cocky, teasing smirk firmly in place as he tossed it to the side.

“Thought you said hands off”, he murmured, his tone dripping with amusement, his hands returning to the sheets instead of you. “But, you know, figured you might want a little freedom. You’re welcome”.

You rolled your eyes, your breath hitching despite yourself as you felt the cool air brush against your bare skin. “Dean…”.

“What?”, he asked innocently, leaning back against the pillow, the grin tugging at his lips betraying him. “I didn’t touch you. I’m just—”. His gaze flicked down to your chest, lingering for a moment before he met your eyes again, that lazy drawl making you squirm. “Enjoying the view”.

You wanted to stay annoyed, wanted to tell him off, but the way his eyes darkened, his expression shifting just slightly from playful to utterly captivated, sent a wave of heat through you. He wasn’t even touching you, but somehow that look alone had you feeling like you were unraveling under his gaze.

Still, you weren’t going to let him win. “Keep staring”, you muttered, trying to focus on rolling your hips again, though the heat of his attention made it harder to concentrate. “That’s all you’re getting”.

Dean chuckled low in his throat, his voice rough and teasing as he leaned in just slightly, his breath brushing over your skin without making contact. “Sure, sweetheart. I’ll just sit back and watch you”. His grin widened again, and he tilted his head, his eyes dropping back to your chest.

You kept moving, determined to prove a point, but no matter how much you tried, frustration gnawed at you. Every roll of your hips sent sparks of pleasure through you, but it wasn’t enough—not deep enough, not hard enough. And the weight of your belly, the slight ache in your lower back, and your waning stamina weren’t doing you any favors.

Dean, of course, noticed. His smirk only grew as your movements slowed, your breaths coming out in shallow pants. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”, he teased, his voice dripping with faux concern. “Getting a little tired?”.

You shot him a glare, your hands tightening against his chest as you tried to keep going. “I’m fine”, you snapped, though the shakiness in your voice betrayed you. “Just… shut up”.

Dean’s smirk shifted slightly, the amusement in his eyes hardening into something more intent, more commanding. Without saying a word, he grabbed your hips firmly, stilling your movements entirely. You shot him a confused glare, but before you could open your mouth to complain, he moved.

Effortlessly, Dean shifted his weight, gripping you and turning your body with practiced ease. You found yourself on all fours, your belly cushioned by the mattress, and before you could process what was happening, his hands were back on your hips, pulling you back toward him with enough force to leave you breathless.

“Dean—”, you started, but the words dissolved into a loud, broken cry as he thrust into you in one smooth, deep motion. The angle was perfect, hitting spots he hadn’t been able to reach before, and the overwhelming sensation made your arms give out, your face pressing into the pillow as you tried to steady yourself.

“Enough of the attitude”, Dean growled lowly, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back against him again

Dean’s pace was relentless, his grip firm on your hips as he pulled you back against him again and again. Each thrust sent a jolt of pleasure through you that made it impossible to form coherent thoughts, let alone words. But Dean? Dean wasn’t about to let you stay quiet.

“You’ve been real sassy lately, sweetheart”, he growled, his voice low and rough as he leaned over you, his chest brushing against your back. “Snapping at me every chance you get, always in a mood”.

You let out a muffled moan, your hands clutching at the sheets as his words pierced through the haze of pleasure clouding your mind. “Dean, I—”.

He cut you off with a sharp thrust, his grip tightening on your hips as he groaned. “Nope. Not done yet”, he said, his tone a mix of frustration and amusement. “You wanna tell me how everything I do pisses you off lately? You’re too hot. I’m too loud. I’m breathing wrong”.

“Dean!”, you protested, though your voice was breathy and strained, completely undermining your attempt at indignation.

He chuckled, the sound low and rough as his fingers dug into your skin. “See? There it is”, he said, his hips snapping forward again, drawing a broken cry from your lips. “You’ve been like this for weeks. Always snapping at me, throwing those little fits”.

“I’m pregnant!”, you managed to gasp, your face pressing further into the pillow as the overwhelming pleasure made your whole body tremble. “You try carrying a baby and see how you feel!”.

Dean let out a low, rough chuckle, his hips snapping forward again as he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Yeah, I know you’re pregnant”, he murmured, his voice a gravelly mix of teasing and frustration. “That’s the only reason I haven’t flipped you over and spanked that attitude right out of you by now”.

Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, his fingers digging into your skin just enough to make you shiver. His voice stayed low and rough, brushing against your ear as he continued. “You think I haven’t thought about it, sweetheart? The way you’ve been testing me lately, running that mouth of yours every chance you get”.

He thrust forward again, sharp and deep, pulling a choked cry from your lips that made his smirk widen. “But no”, he drawled, his tone laced with mock patience, “I’ve been nice. Real nice. Letting you get away with it because you’ve got our kid in there. But don’t push me too far”.

Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him as you tried to muster some kind of retort, but his words kept coming, each one dripping with that infuriating mix of dominance and amusement.

“You wanna know what’s funny?”, he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he spoke. “Half the time, I think you’re trying to piss me off on purpose. Like you want me to snap. Is that it, sweetheart? You trying to see how far you can push me?”.

You managed a shaky breath, your voice muffled by the pillow as you tried to reply. “Dean, I—”.

“Don’t even try it”, he cut you off, his voice dipping lower, more commanding. “I know you. You love to push buttons, get a rise out of me. But you forget, sweetheart—I’m the one who knows exactly how to handle you”.

His hands slid up from your hips, one wrapping around your waist to pull you tighter against him as he thrust again, the force making you cry out. “See?”, he continued, his voice rough and smug. “All it takes is one touch, and you’re not so mouthy anymore, are you?”.

“Dean”, you gasped, your hands clutching at the sheets as his words and movements overwhelmed you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”, he teased, leaning down to press a kiss to the back of your neck. “Got something to say now?”.

Your silence only seemed to fuel him, his grin audible in his next words. “That’s what I thought”, he murmured, his voice thick with satisfaction as he kept his pace steady and deep. “You can sass me all you want, sweetheart, but at the end of the day, I’ll always put you right back where you belong. Every time”.

Dean’s grip on you was unrelenting, his hands guiding your hips back against his as his deep, commanding voice filled the room. He wasn’t just touching you—he was claiming you, reminding you exactly who was in control. And you loved it.

You always loved it when Dean was bossy, and he knew it. But ever since you got pregnant, he’d held back—taking care of you, being gentler, more cautious, treating you like you might break. No rough edges, no dirty talk, no manhandling. It wasn’t that you didn’t appreciate his care, but fuck, you missed the way he used to take you. You missed the fire, the way he pushed you to your limits, the way he made you lose yourself completely.

And that frustration, paired with the wild rollercoaster of your hormones, had turned you into a snappy, moody mess. You’d been pushing him for weeks, testing him, snapping at every little thing. You wanted him to break, to stop holding back and give you what you craved. What you needed.

And now, finally, he had.

Dean’s hips snapped forward again, deep and hard, his grip on your waist pulling you flush against him as he buried himself inside you. “Such a little sassy bitch”, he groaned, his voice low and rough, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. The words sent a shockwave through you, your whole body trembling as you gasped for air.

It was enough to tip you over the edge, his deep voice paired with the perfect, relentless rhythm of his thrusts sending you spiraling into bliss. Your body clenched tight around him as you cried out, your fingers clutching at the sheets as the pleasure crashed over you in a powerful wave.

“That’s it”, Dean murmured, his voice thick and dark, his hands tightening on your hips as he kept moving, drawing every ounce of pleasure from you. “That’s what you needed, huh? Just had to push me until I gave it to you”.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but gasp and moan as your body trembled beneath him, your mind fogged with the overwhelming release. Dean groaned low in his throat, his own pleasure building as he watched you fall apart under his touch.

Dean’s movements grew more erratic, his grip on your hips tightening as he chased his own release. Each thrust was deep, deliberate, and powerful, dragging out every last tremor of your climax as his low groans filled the room.

“Damn it”, he growled, his voice strained, roughened by the building tension. His fingers dug into your hips as he pulled you back against him one last time, sinking so deep inside you that you felt completely and utterly claimed.

The sound that escaped him then was raw and guttural, his head falling forward as his release hit. You felt the warmth of him spill inside you, hot and sticky, his body shuddering against yours as he came undone. Dean stayed buried deep, holding you close, his breath ragged and heavy in your ear.

“Shit, sweetheart”, he murmured after a moment, his voice low and gravelly as his forehead pressed against the back of your neck. “You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that?”.

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all. “Takes two, Winchester”, you managed to reply, your voice weak but laced with affection.

Dean lingered for a moment, his body still pressed tightly against yours as his breathing began to steady. You felt the gentle press of his lips against your shoulder, the kiss soft and lingering, a stark contrast to the intensity he’d just unleashed. “Yeah, yeah”, he mumbled, his voice a mix of teasing and tenderness. “You can’t keep pushin’ me like that, sweetheart. Not unless you wanna end up in this position every time”.

You smirked into the pillow, still catching your breath, and turned your head slightly to glance back at him. “Is that supposed to be a threat or a promise?”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, his forehead dropping against your shoulder as he shook his head. “Smartass”, he muttered, though the grin on his face was unmistakable. He pulled back slightly, his hands shifting to slide up your sides, careful and gentle now as he helped ease you into a more comfortable position.

As he settled down beside you, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you close. His other hand brushed over your belly, resting protectively against the curve as if grounding himself there. “You okay?”, he asked, his voice quieter now, more serious as he pressed a soft kiss to your temple.

“Yeah”, you murmured, your body melting into his as the aftershocks of pleasure faded into a warm, satisfied haze. “More than okay”.

Dean let out a soft hum of approval, his hand still resting against your belly as his thumb began tracing small, lazy circles over your skin.

But then, without warning, a sharp kick hit his hand where it rested against your stomach. His eyes snapped open, and he pulled his hand back slightly, blinking down at your belly like it had personally insulted him.

“Seriously?”, he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. “I just wore your mom out, and now you’re gonna take a shot at me?”.

You laughed softly, resting your hand over his as it returned to your stomach, his thumb resuming its slow movements. “Guess they didn’t like the way you were talking to me earlier”, you teased, still catching your breath.

Dean huffed, his head sinking back against the pillow as his other arm tightened around your waist. “Great. Already takin’ your side”, he grumbled, his voice muffled as he buried his face in your hair. “Kid’s not even born yet, and I’m outnumbered”.

Dean sighed dramatically, lifting his head slightly to glare at your belly like he was about to give it a piece of his mind. His hand settled back where the baby had kicked, his thumb pausing in its lazy circles as he rubbed gently over the spot.

“Alright, buddy”, he said, his voice low and teasing. “What’s the deal? You mad at me already? Because I gotta tell you, kid, I’ve barely even started embarrassing you”.

You chuckled softly, snuggling closer to him as his tone grew more playful.

Dean leaned in closer to your belly, tilting his head as if the baby could hear him better that way. “I get it, you’re protective of your mom—good. That’s your job. But come on, you don’t gotta start throwin’ punches before you even get out here. Give me a break”.

Another soft kick pushed against his hand, and Dean groaned dramatically, looking up at you with mock exasperation. “See? This kid’s already got your sass. I’m screwed”.

Dean felt the next kick and stilled when you winced slightly, concern flashing across his face. "Alright, listen up, champ”, he said, leaning in again with that cocky, amused tone you knew so well. “You’ve got a lot of time to work on that roundhouse kick. But right now, your mom needs a break. So how about we call it a draw tonight, huh?”.

Another kick followed, not quite as sharp this time but enough to make Dean shake his head, his grin widening. “Oh, yeah, I can already tell”, he muttered, glancing up at you. “This kid’s gonna be trouble. Just like you”.

You smirked, though the soft circles of his thumb against your belly eased the discomfort. “Trouble? He’s gonna be your clone. Loud, bossy, impossible to deal with…”.

Dean raised an eyebrow, a mock-offended expression crossing his face. “Loud? Bossy? Sweetheart, I’m a delight”.

You couldn’t help but laugh, running your fingers lightly through his hair as he leaned down to press another kiss to your belly. “Sure you are”, you teased, shaking your head. “Just wait. He’ll be following you around everywhere, and you’ll be the one teaching him how to be a pain”.

Dean rolled his eyes dramatically, though his smirk didn’t waver as he leaned up from your belly, his green eyes sparkling with a mix of affection and exhaustion. “You’re real funny, you know that?”, he muttered, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face.

Before you could come up with another quip, he pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Alright, enough out of you for one night”, he said, his voice low and teasing, though the warmth in it made your chest tighten. “Catch some sleep, sweetheart. Or so help me, I’ll knock your sassy ass out myself”.

You laughed softly, leaning into his touch as his arm wrapped around your waist again, pulling you close. “Oh, really?”, you teased, tilting your head to look up at him. “You’re gonna knock me out? That’s the best you’ve got?”.

Dean let out a low chuckle, his thumb resuming its slow circles on your belly as he tucked you against his chest. “You wanna keep testing me, Y/N?”, he asked, his tone playful but edged with mock warning. “Because I’ve still got plenty of energy to make sure you can’t walk tomorrow”.

Your cheeks flushed, and you swatted his chest lightly, your laugh turning breathless. “Dean!”.

“Uh-huh", he muttered, smirking down at you as he settled back into the pillows, his grip on you tightening protectively. “That’s what I thought. Now, go to sleep before this little guy starts throwing another round of punches”.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth of his arm around you and the steady, soothing circles of his hand on your belly made it impossible to stay annoyed. “Fine”, you said softly, letting yourself relax against him. “But only because I’m tired—not because you told me to”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart”, Dean murmured, his voice low and lazy as his eyes began to close, his body relaxing beside yours. “But you’d better get used to listening to me. Gonna need all the rest you can get—this kid’s gonna keep us on our toes”.

You smiled, closing your eyes as you felt his steady breaths against your skin, his hand never leaving your belly. In that moment, surrounded by Dean’s warmth and love, you couldn’t imagine being anywhere else.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @barnes70stark @roseblue373 @shanimallina87 @ascarriel @deanwinchesters67impala @thebiggerbear @quietgirll75 @barnes70stark @kellyls04 @spxideyver @ralilda @americanvenom13 @ozwriterchick @lmg14

[novakstogive]

Dean Winchester SUPERNATURAL — 1.08 "Bugs"

[wendichester]

hear me out, making a baby with sam 😈

⋆˚꩜｡ extending the family,

summary. sam wants to put a baby in you.

pairing. sam winchester x reader ( f )

wordcount. 987 genre. smut!!

warnings. smut, breeding kink, unprotected sex, soft dom!sam vibes, praise, slow/intimate sex, emotional vulnerability, talk of wanting a baby/family, mild size difference mention, comeplay if you squint

<𝟑 .ᐟ consider supporting my work on ko-fi 🩷

You’re already warm when Sam slides under the sheets behind you, chest pressing to your back, one long arm curling around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold on.

The bunker is always cool, but his skin is furnace-hot against yours, and you feel the first shiver of want coil low in your belly before he even speaks.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he murmurs into your neck, lips brushing the spot that makes your breath hitch. His voice is gravel-soft, still thick from the book he was reading until ten minutes ago. “Kept thinking about you.”

You arch just enough to press your ass back against him. He’s already half-hard, thickening against the cleft of you through his boxers. “Yeah?” Your own voice comes out smaller than you mean it to. “What about?”

His hand drifts down, fingers splaying wide over your lower stomach. Just resting.

“About this,” he says. “About filling you up. Watching you grow with our kid.” He exhales against your ear. “About how fucking beautiful you’d look carrying my baby.”

The words land heavy.

You clench around nothing, thighs pressing together instinctively. You want to laugh—nervous, giddy—but it comes out as a shaky breath instead. “Sam…”

He kisses the shell of your ear. “Tell me you want it too.”

You do. God, you do.

The want has been living under your skin for months—quiet at first, then louder every time you catch him looking at you like you’re already his whole future.

But saying it out loud still feels dangerous.

Like tempting fate.

Like the universe might hear and take it away.

“I want it,” you whisper anyway. “Want it with you.”

That’s all it takes.

He rolls you gently onto your back, settles between your thighs like he has all night. Because he does. No hunt tomorrow. No apocalypse on the calendar. Just the two of you and the soft lamp glow and the hum of the bunker’s ancient vents.

He kisses you slow—deep, lazy drags of tongue that make your head spin.

When he pulls back, his eyes are dark, pupils blown. “Gonna take my time with you,” he promises. “Gonna make sure you feel every inch. Every drop.”

Your hands find his shoulders, nails digging in just enough to anchor yourself. “Then do it.”

He strips you both without hurry. Shirt first—yours—then his. Your sleep shorts slide down your legs. His boxers follow. When he’s bare above you, all long limbs and careful muscle, you can’t help reaching for him. Wrapping your fingers around the thick length of him. He groans, hips jerking forward into your grip.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” His forehead drops to yours. “You’re gonna kill me before I even get inside you.”

You stroke him once, twice, thumb circling the head until he’s leaking over your knuckles. “Then hurry up and get inside me.”

He laughs—low, wrecked—and nudges your thighs wider with his knees. Lines himself up. Presses in so slow you feel every ridge, every vein, the blunt stretch thta always makes your breath catch no matter how many times you’ve done this.

Halfway in he stops. Just… stays there. Lets you feel how full you already are. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight.

“Look at me,” he breathes.

You do.

His eyes are soft, burning.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, and it’s too much and not enough at the same time. “Gonna breed you tonight. Gonna keep you full until it takes.”

The word—breed—hits like a spark. You clench hard around him without meaning to. He hisses, hips stuttering forward until he’s buried to the hilt.

“Jesus,” you gasp. “Sam—”

He kisses you again, swallowing the rest of your whine.

He starts moving—long rolls that drag him almost all the way out before sliding back in deep enough to nudge your cervix. Slow. So slow you feel every second of it. Every pulse.

His mouth moves to your throat, your collarbone, your breast. He sucks a bruise into the soft skin just above your nipple while his hips keep that devastating rhythm.

“Gonna come inside you,” he murmurs against your skin. “Gonna stay right here after. Plug you up so nothing spills out.”

You’re shaking now.

From the heat building, from the way his words paint pictures you can almost see—your belly round, his big hand splayed over it, the way he’d look at you like you hung the moon.

“Want that,” you manage. Voice cracking. “Want your baby so bad.”

He groans—deep, animal—and picks up the pace just enough to make the bed creak. Still not fast. Still careful. Like he’s savoring it. Like this is worship.

You wrap your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back. Pull him deeper. He curses under his breath, forehead pressed to yours again.

“Gonna—fuck—gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna give you everything.”

You’re close. So close. The pressure coils tighter with every slow thrust, every whispered promise. Your nails rake down his back. “Come in me,” you beg. “Please, Sam.”

He shudders. Buries himself as deep as he can go and stays there, grinding in small circles that rub right against that spot inside you. You break first—clenching, crying out, thighs trembling around him as the orgasm rolls through you in heavy, syrup-slow waves.

He follows seconds later. A low, broken moan against your neck as he pulses inside you—hot, thick, so much you can feel it spilling deep. He doesn’t pull out. Just rocks gently, milking every last drop into you while you both pant.

For a long minute there’s only the sound of your breathing. His weight on you. The sticky warmth between your thighs.

He kisses your temple. Your cheek. The corner of your mouth. Soft words against your skin.

“Love you,” he whispers. “Love you so much.”

You turn your face into his neck. Feel the ache settle. A tender, hopeful bruise.

“I love you.”

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule ── .✦ requests are currently closed.

[mspainter08]

how male the boys fans look at you when your favorite character is annie and not The Rapist or SSoldier Boy

[neverbreath]

What Butcher sees when Annie asks him for a smoke:

[mysharona1987]

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— Nina LaCour via letsbelonelytogetherr

[slightly-confused-canary]

Top 5 Billy Joel songs

(as a Hughie Campbell otherchain)

Movin' Out (Anthony's Song)

Vienna

We Didn't Start the Fire

Uptown Girl

Piano Man

HM :

Innocent Man

Captain Jack

Big Shot

Zanzibar

[livingintheserendipity]

Vienna Waits for You (3/3)

AU Hughie Campbell x fem!reader (18+) CONTAINS EXPLICIT CONTENT

word count: 5,909

taglist: @thatdndgirl

warnings: pet names (baby, sweetheart), smut; unprotected p in v, oral (male receiving), cowgirl, body praise, bodily fluids mentioned, dom/sub, breeding kink; swearing, pregnancy, fluff, some angst, some mention of birth (not a lot I promise!). As always, please feel free to message me if I forgot anything - I want all audiences to be able to enjoy!

The morning sun peaks through the blinds, shining through your closed eyelids. You groan lightly, disgruntled to have been awoken from what felt like the best two hours of sleep that you’ve gotten in the last three months. Rubbing your eyes with your fingertips, you decide there was no going back to sleep at this point. You dissociate while peering through the window, your mind feeling just as scattered as the Sunday morning in the city, already buzzing and bustling with activity. 

Your hand moves absentmindedly to your bulging baby bump, rubbing small circles with your thumb. With no way to get back to sleep and no distractions, you quickly become a prisoner of your own thoughts. You had just reached the eight month mark last week, and knowing that this baby was going to be making their appearance in the next few weeks was positively scaring the shit out of you.

You were feeling somewhere in between just wanting this baby out and terrified of going into labor because you did not feel ready in the slightest bit. 

Hughie, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber throughout your whole pregnancy thus far, which was not at all like him. You were used to the version of your boyfriend that was a complete, anxious spaz. It felt a little unfair to you, if the idea of becoming a parent was coming so easily for him, why wasn’t it for you?

You two decided to wait until the baby was born to find out whether it’s a boy or a girl. Life has too little surprises, let this be one, Hughie said to you. At the time, you couldn’t agree with him more - but now, it was just another thing to add to your growing anxiety. Anymore, it felt like the worries were evercoming - the crib laying in pieces on the nursery floor yet to be built, surrounded by four unpainted walls and a large pile of baby clothes on the floor yet to be washed. 

You felt like everything around you was a growing mess, and as much as Hughie reassured you that everything would be perfect by the time the baby came, you had a really hard time believing him. 

The baby kicks lightly under your hand, reminding you that whether you felt ready or not, this baby was coming, and they were coming very soon.

You watch as the sun rises higher into the sky, knowing that with each minute that passed, you were closer to having to get out of bed, throw on whatever clothes fit you that day, and go downstairs to open up the store. You felt, selfish, almost; committing so much time to your business while the apartment wasn’t baby-ready, when there was still so much left to do. 

Your thoughts are loudly interrupted by the sound of the alarm going off on your phone, making you jump slightly. As you pick up your phone to turn off the sound, you chuckle to yourself and think, as if you actually thought you would get to sleep this late while being eight months pregnant. 

Hughie stirs on the other side of the bed, obviously awoken by the sound of your alarm. You feel the bed dip beneath you from the weight of him turning over to his other side, pressing his chest tightly against your back. 

“Good morning,” Hughie drawls sleepily, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck below your ear. “How did you sleep?”

You scoff, reaching behind you to cup his cheek in your hand. “How do you think I slept?” He chuckles, lips brushing warm against your tender skin. He drapes his arm around your waist, a man possessed. 

“The baby kept you awake all night, huh?” He asks cautiously. 

A snorting chuckle racks your body. “Something like that,” you respond sarcastically. 

His slow hands make their way to your bulging belly, resting at the crown of your bump just below your swollen breasts. The baby lands a kick right to your ribs, nudging his hand with their foot, as if to say - hi daddy, I’m here. 

“Only a few more weeks until they’re here.” He whispers, mesmerized by the thought of your body providing his baby’s home these past few months. Pressing more suckling kisses into the crook of your neck, his hand travels up slowly to toy with your breast, squeezing lightly. 

“Yeah, only a few more weeks and nothing around this place is ready for them.” You say defeatedly, hastily running your fingers through your hair. Breaking away from him, you struggle to sit yourself up onto the side of the bed, sitting for a moment to catch your breath before attempting to get dressed. 

“Is everything okay?” Hughie sits up in bed and props himself onto his elbows, hair going in all directions from sleep. 

“I’m fine, Hughie,” you snap, shuffling through your closet to see your very limited options for work today. “Just have to go downstairs and open up the shop.”

“Well-” he starts, jumping out of bed and searching for a pair of jeans. “Let me go downstairs and open up, give you some more time.” 

“Actually,” you retort, pulling some denim maternity overalls over your legs. “Why don’t you stay up here and contribute nothing, seems like that’s all you do around here given the baby’s room isn’t even started. ‘Dad of the Year’ over here.”

You didn’t mean to snap, you really didn’t, you were just fed up. Fed up with being pregnant, fed up with feeling overwhelmed, fed up with Hughie. You knew it was the hormones, but you didn’t want to see his face at that moment. 

His eyes soften while his brow furrows, mouth slightly agape as he struggles to digest the jab you just spat at him. Hughie also knew that your outburst was a reaction from your pregnancy hormones, and the last thing he wanted to do was say something stupid to make it worse. But he also didn’t know what he could say to make it better either. 

He snatches a pair of jeans from the floor, pulling them onto his waist without a word and weaving on his belt. Grabbing his wallet and apartment key from the top of his dresser, he briskly walks out of the apartment, allowing the door to slam closed behind him. 

It all happened so quickly; the words leaving your mouth, him leaving - it left you stunned. Tears formed in your eyes, threatening to spill over as your cheeks began to feel hot. You wished you could take everything you had said back because after all, Hughie seemed like the parent who had more of their shit together about having a baby in a few weeks. 

He really is going to be the ‘Dad of the Year’; he was already the most amazing parent to this baby. He went to every appointment with you, asking all the right questions about the baby and your pregnancy. It seemed like he came home with a new parenting book every month, reading it to you while you drifted off to sleep laying on his chest. And you felt like nothing but a hot mess who was not ready to be taking care of a baby so soon. 

Your hands fell down to your swollen belly, arms wrapping around your bump as if to comfort the baby, but also yourself. 

“Don’t worry, baby,” you sniffle. “He’ll come back, he’s the best man the both of us will ever know.”

Days working in the shop seemed to drag on longer and longer the more pregnant you became. 

Your store was booming with the influx of the Sunday crowd, keeping you occupied, at least. You were unsure if the busy nature of the store helped or hindered, as it helped the hours pass, surely, but one moment of peace to sit down and relax your swollen ankles would be nice. 

The insufferable small talk with the customers wasn’t helping your mood either, the Closed sign in the window looking more appealing with each interaction. 

“Oh my goodness, are you having a boy or a girl?” 

“We decided to keep it a surprise.” 

“Any names picked out?”

“Nope, not yet.” 

“Are you sure you’re only having one? You’re about to pop!” 

“Kindly, fuck off.” 

Well, that last one was just in your head. The real response was offering the woman a forced laugh and telling her to “Come again!” as you handed her back her credit card. 

Eventually, noon comes around and you leave a sign on the door telling the public you were closed for lunch, and would return at 1:30. Typically, you would work through the whole day, eating lunch behind the counter. However, you want to capitalize as much as you could today, figuring you can at least get a load of the baby’s laundry in the washer or sterilize a few of their bottles during your absence. Something, anything, to make you feel more organized and ready to welcome your child home. 

Waddling up the stairs became a huge chore, having to pause every landing. Granted, it was only a few flights to your apartment; but as the baby grew, it became harder and harder, taking all the wind from your lungs. As unnecessarily pissed as you were at Hughie at the moment, you wished he was here with you. 

Unlocking the front door, a certain chemical scent wafted into your nose as you entered the apartment. The record player in the living room was blasting Billy Joel’s The Stranger, and no Hughie to be seen. 

“Hughie?” You called, shutting the door behind you, hearing nothing in response other than Billy Joel. Setting the apartment keys on the counter, you begin to waddle down the hallway en route for the baby’s room. As you got closer, that certain chemical smell got stronger, almost making you feel sick. A squelching noise fills the air, mixed with the sound of rustling plastic. You weren’t sure if you should’ve grabbed a knife for self-defense while you were in the kitchen, but it was too late now. 

Reaching the baby’s soon-to-be bedroom, you lean yourself into the doorway, hands absentmindedly falling to support your growing bump. There Hughie was, surrounded by four walls freshly covered in the most perfect shade of butter yellow. The window adjacent from him is cracked open, allowing the afternoon sun to flood the room.  

You watch as Hughie wipes at the beaded sweat on his brow with the back of his hand, his dark curls falling onto his forehead. He hums along to the song flooding throughout the apartment, the current track being “Just the Way You Are”. He bends over to lather his roller in a fresh coat of paint and turns to brave the last blank, white space of the wall in front of him. 

You were euphoric; the new walls, the sunshine, the midsummer breeze slowly blowing the day away. Most notably, the new baby; seeing their room almost finished made it all the more beautiful to you. And for the first time in weeks, your mind wasn’t being swarmed with worries - you weren’t thinking about everything that had to be done before their arrival, how the crib wasn’t built yet, or the apartment that wasn’t in perfect shape. 

But it didn’t need to be perfect, you thought to yourself. Our little life is already perfect in so many ways, starting with this room. Tears begin to well up in your eyes as you gazed into the room that would soon be your child’s in a few weeks - damn pregnancy hormones. 

Hughie slowly descends the ladder and steps away, taking an opportunity to examine his work by pacing the length of the room with his back to the door. 

“Oh, Hughie,” you sob behind him, breaking him out of his day dreaming. He jumps slightly backwards, accidentally fumbling the paint roller onto the plastic drop cloth protecting the hardwood floors. 

“Shit -”, he mumbles, picking the roller back up quickly, placing it into the paint tray and wiping his dirty hands on his pair of old jeans already soiled with yellow. His eyes lock into yours and he begins to walk towards you, arms reaching to your shoulders in an effort to comfort you. 

“Do you like it? Is it the color? I knew it looked different on the walls than it did in the store. I’m gonna run back and get another can mix-”

“Hughie,” you cut off his rambling gently. “It looks so beautiful.” 

He gives a small sigh of relief, thankful that your cries were not ones of disappointment; he would sell his soul to ensure your happiness.

“Not nearly as beautiful as you,” he replies, a boyish smile spreading across his face. 

“I’m sorry,” you choked out, wiping your tears with the palms of your hands. “For everything. I guess the truth is - I’’m terrified of becoming a parent, well, I guess not becoming a parent - but what I’m gonna screw up.” 

“Baby-”

“And I guess I was just frustrated that you were so calm and collected through all of this, like there was something wrong with me, like everything around this place was awry and I felt like a terrible mother already - ”, you continue to ramble. 

“Sweetheart,” he interjects, his hands laying lovingly on your shoulders in an effort to comfort you. “Do you really think there hasn’t been one second where I have thought I wouldn’t be a good dad?” His thumb and index finger dips underneath your chin, beckoning your eyes to meet his. His lips are pressed into a thin line, eyes burning into yours. You always knew that Hughie wore his heart on his sleeve, so for him to not be honest with you about his feelings was not at all like him. 

“Why weren’t you honest with me?” You asked gently. 

“I didn’t want to upset you,” he begins, rolling his eyes and scoffing at himself. “I wanted to look strong for my pregnant girlfriend and my kid - it’s stupid of me, I know.” He mumbles. 

“Hughie,” you whisper, taking his head into your hands, caressing his cheeks with your thumbs. “You are the strongest man I know. And guess what? You’re going to make the best dad that I know.” He nods, encapsulating your words. 

“So don’t doubt yourself,” he responds after a few seconds. “You’ll make the best mother, you already are. Look at how good you’ve done these past few months - I’m so fucking proud of you, baby.” 

“Give yourself some grace,” he continues, kissing you gently on the cheek. “You’ve been growing my baby for the last eight months, and honestly, you were right earlier. I should've been more hands-on getting the apartment ready for them.” 

“No,” you shake your head, immediately dismissing his words, running your fingers through his shaggy hair. “You’ve been my fucking rock this whole pregnancy - I didn’t mean any of that, and I really am sorry.” 

He bends down to kiss you on your forehead, then your lips, as his paint-stained hands reach your bulging belly. He sprawls his long fingers wide as he moves down your lower abdomen, deepening his kiss on your lips with the giant grin on his face. 

“I can’t wait to have this baby with you,” you say. “I hope they have your eyes.”

He makes a face, as if what you had just said was completely foolish. He meets his lips to yours, slowly savoring this moment of the two of you. He pulls away, looking down at your baby bump with the softest smile, the gentlest eyes. 

“I hope this baby looks just like their mother,” he confesses. “I hope our son or daughter is like their mother in every single way.” He kisses you again, holding your face to his with the palms of his hands. 

You break away from his lips, eager to get another glance of the space your boyfriend painted absolutely perfectly. The paint distracted you from the fact that the nursery was actually completely decluttered, a complete turn-around from what it looked like this morning. 

“Baby…where did ...the crib…?” You babble in disbelief, looking to Hughie for an answer. He beams, smiling so big his top set of teeth show behind his lips. 

“Built it,” he proclaims proudly, waving a hand directioning out to the hallway. “I built it in our room knowing I was going to be painting - I’m clumsy and didn’t want to fling paint all over it.” 

You break away from his touch, walking as fast as your belly would allow to your bedroom. Sure enough, there was the assembled crib, in all its glory. You peered into the crib where the mattress would sit, imagining a tiny baby occupying it so very soon. You run your fingers over the white wooden trim of the top, the waterworks really doing numbers on you today as another wave of tears collects in your eyes.

You feel two strong arms wrap around your torso, Hughie’s chest pressing intimately against your back. His lips press a soft, gentle kiss to your temple, resting his chin on your shoulder as the two of you stay silent for a while. 

“The baby thinks you did a good job,” you whisper to your boyfriend, taking one of his hands in yours and guiding it to the spot on your tummy where the baby last kicked. Sure enough, the baby sticks another kick right under where your hands are sitting. Hughie laughs, his thumb rubbing up and down gently over the denim covering your bump. 

Hughie begins to hum in your ear, chin still resting steadily on your shoulder as you two sway back and forth, enthralled in each other's arms. It takes a second, but you recognize that he’s humming along to the song playing on the turntable - “Vienna”. 

Slow down, you’re doin’ fine

You can’t be everything you wanna be before your time 

The baby continues to move around, kicking underneath where your hands are sitting.

“I think the baby likes this song,” you giggle. “Do you feel that?”

“Mmm,” Hughie agrees, bending his neck to kiss the back of your head. “They already have great taste.” 

But you know that when the truth is told 

That you can get what you want or you can just get old 

You’re gonna kick off before you even get halfway through, oh

When will you realize Vienna waits for you?

“Wait, what about the clothes I had laid out? There was a huge stack of baby clothes on the floor that I needed to wash.” You questioned. 

“I put a load in,” he answers, gesturing to your stomach. “Literally.” 

You playfully slap his arm, mouth fully agape from the nature of his joke. 

“Hughie!” You exclaim, struggling to contain your laughter while your boyfriend laughs so hard at his own joke that his chest moves up and down against your back. 

“Sorry,” he apologizes in between chuckles. “I saw my opportunity and I took it. But seriously, I put all the baby’s clothes in the washer, multiple loads - and made sure to use that baby detergent - Dreft? Whatever the fuck it’s called.” 

“God you’re incredible,” you praise, exhaling a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. “Well, maybe we can sterilize some bottles tonight…or, we can put the changing table together…or…!” 

“Baby,” Hughie interjects, chuckling. “We still have some time before this little one arrives. Relax for the rest of the day, I’ll run the shop this afternoon.” 

You sigh again, accepting defeat. “Yeah, you’re right,” you concede. 

“I know the perfect way to make you relax, baby.” With swift fingers, he quickly unbuckles one shoulder strap of your overalls, and slow hands travel over to the second. He softly presses his lips to your neck, moving at an unhurried pace. Placing his hands on your waist, he turns you to face him, capturing your lips with his. 

He was insane for you. He thought you looked so beautiful, especially in his deeply-faded Footloose shirt and a pair of overalls. Wearing his clothes was occurring more and more lately, given that they were almost the only thing that fit you now that you were over 8 months pregnant. And it was true - he loved seeing you grow into them.

Hughie peels the top portion away from your body, leaving the removed denim draped over your waist. He deepens his kiss, forcing his tongue into the space between your lips, traveling around the soft flesh of your cheeks. His tantalizing hands travel down from your collarbone, down the sides of your sensitive breasts, and to the swell of your belly. Coming to rest over your hip bones, his fingertips slip underneath the fabric of your shirt, bringing it up and over your head and breaking your needy lips apart. 

Pulling away, his eyes burn into yours - the look in them is one of pure awe, pure love. With his pink lips parted, he walks you backwards over to the bed, allowing you to sit on the edge. He folds his legs under himself, coming to kneel on the floor in front of you. His warm, strong hands once again lock themselves onto your hips, while his mouth suckles on the skin beneath your breasts. You groan in pleasure, feeling the wetness in your panties pooling violently at the mercy of his touch. 

His teasing fingers begin to curl around the waistband of your overalls, acting as hot iron pokers to the fire burning inside of you, begging him to fuck your brains out. Hughie’s kisses become more and more sloppy, leaving red splotches on the skin of your breasts that will be sure to bruise tomorrow. His lips move greedily down the length of your torso, becoming more docile as he reaches the taunt skin over your baby bump. As he leaves showering kisses over your belly, he locks his puppy-dog eyes into yours, smirking into your skin. 

“I will never be able to thank you enough,” he mumbles through kisses. “For giving me the absolute fucking world.” 

He was making you downright fucking needy, bucking your hips slightly as your fingers tangle through his hair. Hughie loved when you were starving for him, always stuck in between wanting to take his everlasting time savoring you and eager to pleasure you over, and over, and over again. 

Grabbing the fabric harder, he peels the remaining denim away from your hips and down your legs, leaving you bare except for your bra and soaked panties. His thumb is quickly attracted to the site, grazing over your clit underneath the wet fabric. The pleasure turns tenfold in the pit of your stomach, causing a groan from deep within your throat to escape your lips as the neediness for him forms heavier in your chest. 

“Hughie - ” you moan, toes curling as you grow more impatient for him. You grind your hips slowly, pressing your throbbing cunt into his touch. “I wanna try something different, this time.” 

He looks up at you, staring into your pleading expression as his bearded cheeks fill with color. “Yeah?” He asks, almost meekly. He fucking adored when his girl wanted to take charge, he thought it was so fucking sexy. Sure, he loved being dominant too, but there was something about his girlfriend, actually, his pregnant girlfriend bossing him around the bedroom that just did something to him. Your fingers wrap around the bottom hem of his tshirt, pulling it over his head and throwing it across the room with swiftness. 

“Lay on the bed,” you demand, unclasping your bra in the back. You slide the straps of your bra off your shoulders, one at a time, desperately slow. Hughie practically foams at the mouth as the piece of fabric falls to the floor, along with your drenched panties. 

“Pants off,” you say, eyes darting to the belt around his waist, his erection apparent in his dirty jeans. He nods spastically, hungrily, as his fingers rush to undo his buckle. Sliding his jeans down his long legs, his boxers are stretched tight with the form of his hard dick underneath, needing your pussy. 

Crawling towards him on the bed, he grasps his cock over his boxers in his large hand, trying to contain what little self control he had left. Your fingers slide underneath the waistband of his underwear, forcing them down his hips until his dick sprang free from them. His breath hitches from the pure anticipation of whatever his girlfriend had up her sleeve.  

Grabbing his dick in one of your hands, you gently pump up and down a few times, his eyes fluttering shut behind his long eyelashes and lips parting from feelings of euphoria. Craning your neck, you use your tongue to gingerly drag your tongue the circumference of his tip, making him moan. The taste of his precum infects your mouth, urging you for more. You spread your lips across his head, continuing to swirl in circles around his opening. 

“Fuck,” he manages to get out in between his whimpers. “You give oral to me so fucking good baby…keep going.” 

Your hand remains wrapped around his shaft as you take more of him into your mouth. He delicately bucks his hips, allowing more of his cock to pass your mouth into your throat. You peer up to him through your eyelashes, and seeing the pleasure on his face was fueling your flame to continue. 

Removing your supporting hand, you take all of his cock that you can manage into your mouth, causing him to grab at the bedsheets in restraint. Pumping up and down with your lips around his dick, you tease him by mildly grazing your teeth on his shaft, which makes him squirm under you. 

“If you keep doing that baby,” he chokes, “I’m not gonna last.” Using your tongue to make one last stroke up his length and around his head, you pull yourself up to straddle him, your legs on either side of his hips.

“Just lubricating,” you tease, aligning your pussy with his now-throbbing cock. Just by looking at him, you can see how ravenous he is for you. His hands fall to your hips, fingertips pushing into the soft flesh of your outer thighs and ass. 

You plunge onto him, which makes his head fall back into the pillow as he whimpers your name. His dick hits the spaces in your cunt so perfectly, each vein and ridge of him sliding against your warm walls with each grind of your hips. Your fingers find sanctuary on his chest, nails digging slightly into his pectorals. 

The tip of his cock pushes further into you with each stroke, his shaft gliding over your clit in a heavenly way, encouraging you to meet your release. Hughie’s hands grasp onto your swollen breasts, gluttonous for them almost, as he pinches your nipples between his fingers. 

“I love how much these have grown - they were amazing before you were pregnant, but now, holy fucking shit.” He praises, messaging your breasts in his large hands, making you whimper over him. 

“Hughe…I’m close…fuck,” you manage to spit out, overstimulated from his cock rubbing against your clit and the tiredness from being pregnant. His hands travel back down to your hips, helping you with going up and down on his dick, licking his lips as he watches your face twist in sexual satisfaction. 

“God, you’ll make such a great mom,” Hughie strained between thrusts. “Look at how fucking good you’ve done these past eight months - you’ve grown so good for me, for them.” His hands move up your hips to the sides of your taunt belly, holding gently. 

Your cunt felt so sore from gliding against his shaft, the rubbing friction from his pubic hair. The overstimulation was powerful, but it wasn’t overcoming the sheer waves of pleasure that was building in the pit of your stomach. Your pussy clenches around him, constricting around his dick in possession. He throbs inside of you, urging you to meet your release as his shaft rubs against your gummy walls. 

“Come for me, baby,” he urges, the devilish look in his face setting you ablaze. As the spring in the bottom of your stomach completely snaps, your toes curl in response, head tilting back as waves of your orgasm come washing over you. You feel euphoric, riding the length of him as you continue to finish all over him. 

“That’s it,” he praises, fingers digging into your inner thighs. “Keep going, gonna cum in you so good. You’re riding me so damn good.”

The overstimulation came ten fold, between the sensation of your clit becoming too sensitive to continue and the squelching sound of your cum on his cock and collecting in his pubes as you grind your hips back and forth. 

“Baby,” you groan, eyeballs rolling to the back of your head. “Please cum for me.” 

Using his grip on your inner thighs, he continues to aid in your mobility, scratching that itch for the both of you. His huge cock is near bottoming out inside of your warm, gooey pussy, slicking in and out with ease from your accumulated wetness. 

His head falls into the pillow once again, removing one hand from your thigh to grab the headboard of the bed, his muscles looking delicious. His seed fills up your throbbing cunt, spilling over where your pussy is clenched around him and down his shaft. You bounce up and down on him as he finishes, capturing every last inch of his orgasm with your warm walls. 

Fatigue soon overpowers you, pulling yourself off his cock and rolling onto your side of the bed, moments away from falling asleep. Hughie kisses you on the temple, covering your naked body with the comforter. 

“You rest, I got the shop,” he whispers. “I love you, so much”

Leaning down, he pecks your belly. “And I love you.”

Six weeks later…

Your body falls back in exhaustion, black spots clouding your vision.  Hughie keeps a tight grip on your hand, even though his hand is practically purple from your persistent squeezing. 

A baby’s cry fills the air; strong, and loud, and your child’s. 

You look at your boyfriend, his eyes meeting yours, shining and big.  

“You did it, baby.” He tells you, sobs wracking his body. “You fucking did it, that was all you, baby. I’m so proud of you.” Waves of tears overcome you now, smiling at Hughie. He bends down to kiss you on your lips - sweet, soft, and full of all the love he could ever give you for giving birth to his child. 

“It’s a girl! Congratulations, Campbell family!”

The doctor holds the baby up for both parents to see her. She continues to wail, loudly, as her little fists rise above her head in protest. 

“Oh, my god,” you say in utter disbelief. Hughie looks at you as if you had brought the sun down from the sky, tears spilling over onto his cheeks now. He crashes his lips into yours once again, cradling your flushed cheeks in his hands. 

“Holy shit,” he whispers, lips brushing against yours. “I - we have a daughter.” 

“Can I hold her, please?” You gently ask the doctor. She obliges, placing the baby on your chest gingerly. 

You and Hughie were completely infatuated with her already. Your daughter’s cries continue, using her tiny hands to grasp at the sweaty pieces of hair falling into your face. As the nurses begin to clean her off, small tuffs of brunette curls showering her head are revealed. 

“Hi, my love,” you whisper over your daughter’s cries. “I can already see you got your daddy’s hair.” Hughie chuckles, hand reaching out to hold on to one of her fists. Her fingers wrap around Hughie’s index finger tightly - oh, as if this isn’t foreshadowing. 

“Would you like to cut the cord, Dad?” One of the nurses pulls Hughie out of his trance. He wiped his trembling hands on his hoodie, grabbing the scissors from the asking nurse and not for one second taking his eyes off of his daughter. 

Your daughter.

Your little girl slowly quiets down, her sobs turning into small whimpers as she adjusts to this new and crazy world. A nurse produces a tiny white wristband from the computer and wraps it around the baby’s wrist, Campbell written on it. You chuckle, remembering the day that you joked around with Hughie that the baby would be getting your last name. You had never seen a sadder look on anyone’s face in your whole life, including the face of your crying infant. 

“Baby girl Campbell,” you swoon, taking in your daughter’s first moments. She’s almost soothed to tranquility, hiccuping from her cries. You smile, looking down at the creation that you and Hughie made together. And what a sweet creation she was. 

Hughie comes back to your side, white as a ghost. “Yeah,” he clears his throat, opening and closing his mouth. “I really didn’t like that.” You laugh, rubbing on his arm. 

“Well, you’re so strong, baby,” you say in mock praise. “Thank you for being so brave.”

The afternoon soon turned into the evening, the sunset leaving a beautiful orange hue flooding through the hospital room. You and Hughie sit side-by-side in your hospital bed, your daughter blinking up at her dad, who was holding her as if she was made of porcelain. 

“I’m so glad that the nurse showed me how to hold her,” Hughie confesses. “Truthfully I had no fucking idea what I’m doing.” You two laugh, thinking about how much your lives have changed in the past twenty four hours. 

“Can you believe it?” Hughie asks breathlessly. “She’s actually ours, all ours.” 

You smile lazily, caressing her cheek with your finger. “Not until she gets a name.” You point out.

“Yeah ,” Hughie drawls back, looking over to you. “Waiting until the baby was born to pick a name was a crazy idea.” 

“I don’t even know where to start,” you confess, looking down at your daughter who was fighting sleep. You laugh, “Don’t people always make jokes to name your kids after something you love?” 

The look on Hughie’s face changes as if an imaginable lightbulb above his head lit up. “Yeah, they do.” A crooked smile appears on his face, and he’s quiet for a few moments. 

“You know,” he breaks the silence, his dark eyebrows furrowing together. “There’s this song, I must have listened to it close to a thousand times in my life - but now, it has a whole other meaning, to me, at least.”

“Hughie, what - ”

“And she proved my point, that day I put her crib together.” You two exchange a look, your eyes filled with the utmost confusion meeting his glassy ones. 

“‘Vienna waits for you’” He gazes back down to his daughter, her eyes shut and pink lips parted as she drifts to sleep in his arms. “She sure did.”

“Vienna Campbell,” you test on your tongue, holding her little hand so delicately. “It’s perfect.”

He cradles her head with the utmost gentility, as he cranes his neck to press a ginger kiss to her forehead.

“Thank you for waiting for me to be your dad, Vienna.”

Read part 1 here!

Read part 2 here!

GUYS!!!!! Last and final part is here!!!! RAHHHHH!!!

I want to apologize for taking so long to get this part out - I was lowkey procrastinating on proofreading and editing this part bc I have been dealing with life lately, being an adult is SO FUN!

parts 1 + 2 can be found on my Masterlist on my account, and requests are OPEN!

likes and reposts are always appreciated! let's become mutuals!

want to be added to the taglist? message me!

- love always,

living in the serendipity 🤍

[bohemianblasphemy]

could you write breeding hcs for the boys? pretty pleaseee

A/N: breeding is slowing becoming a fave fanfic trope idc idc (also warning of pregnancy mention in these HCs)

Butcher:

Billy is a feral son of a bitch, he’s obsessed with filling you up with his cum and is even more so obsessed with the thought of getting you pregnant.

Does he want kids? Not really, no.

Does he want to have the thrill of potentially impregnating you? Absolutely he does.

“Fuckin hell you’re gonna get pregnant if ya don’t stop squeezin’ around me like that… but I suppose you’d like that wouldn’t ya?”

Hughie:

Hughie has a softer approach to it, my man wants to be a dad so fucking bad and the thought of you being a mum just has him absolutely light headed with love and affection.

He also just loves the idea of you swollen with his child, doting on you every second of the day just so you’re comfortable and safe in his care.

“God baby - I wanna make you a mum so badly, getting you pregnant and full of me- fuck…”

MM:

MM is a delicious mixture of feral and sweet about breeding you. I just have this vision of him plowing into you from behind, hands kneading at your ass as he watches his cock slip in and out of your sopping pussy.

And when he fills you to the brim with his cum he stays inside of you, making sure you take every single drop of him.

“Yeah sweetheart, gonna make me a daddy again? Im gonna take care of you so fucking good baby…”

Frenchie:

Frenchie is definitely a mixed bag - it fully depends on how he feels in the moment. But one thing is for certain is he will not stop talking you through it all, mutting and whining about how pretty you look dripping with his cum.

“Oh my pretty girl look at you… gonna be such a pretty momma, mon couer…”

[french-vanilla-in-the-clouds]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥, 𝐇𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐥

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Long before he was tangled up with Supes, Hughie’s weekly highlight was your scheduled UPS delivery at Bryman Audio Visual. The second you walked in wearing your uniform, he’d scramble up from behind the counter and inadvertently knock over displays of equipment. "Oh! Hey! You’re, uh, you’re back. With boxes. Obviously you have boxes, you’re the courier," he’d stammer.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ One day, you delivered a heavy shipment of amplifier components. Eager to please, Hughie insisted, "I got it, I got it, don't worry. I do tons of heavy lifting here." You held out the tablet and handed him a stylus for his signature. When he reached for it, his knuckles brushed against your hand. That's when his grip failed. The box dropped straight onto his sneaker with a thud. Hughie went entirely rigid but held in the pain, biting his lip hard. "I'm good! I'm completely... wow, that's really solid packaging."

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ After he quit the electronics store, you didn't think you'd see him again. As luck would have it, Frenchie's illicit purchases are delivered via UPS, so you're now delivering crates to the sketchiest parts of the city and Hughie is recieving them! He's evasive these days and usually sports fresh bruises whenever you visit. He shrugs off all your questions. "Oh, this? Yeah! No, it's just... Paintball. We, uh, we play a lot of paintball at this new firm. It builds morale."

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ It didn't take long for Frenchie to notice Hughie's crush and he eventually takes pity. Slapping a hand onto Hughie's tense shoulder, he offers advice. "Mon ami, you are sweating through your clothes like a guilty man at a guillotine. You must stop acting like a frightened little rabbit! A person of the post, they appreciate a man of action. Next time she arrives, you look into her eyes, you show passion, and you take the leap!"

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ On your next delivery, Hughie keeps tracking the package. When you arrive as scheduled, he's already waiting at the entrance. "You know, you come around here a lot," he began, "and I was thinking, maybe you and I could get a drink? Because you really deliver a lot of joy. To my... mailbox." He stopped. Before panic could set in completely, Hughie impulsively planted a quick kiss on your cheek. "Please go out with me on Friday night." he blurted out.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You blinked, stunned for a moment before a genuine smile broke across your face. "Yeah. I'd actually love that," you replied. Trying to play it cool, Hughie scribbled a frantic signature on your tablet and tucked a hand in his pocket. "Great! That's so cool." ...and then he slammed the door shut.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Hughie stood frozen, still clutching the door handle. Anxious to fix the situation, he quickly unlocked the door and cracked it open a few inches. "I am so, so sorry, I didn't mean to—" Before he could finish, you leaned in through the gap, caught him by the front of his shirt, and kissed his lips softly. You pulled away with a grin. "See you Friday," you said and turned to walk back to your truck.

⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When he shut the door a second time, he slid halfway down it, staring blankly into space. From the shadows, Frenchie emerged. Having heard the entire interaction, Frenchie clapped his hands together and squatted to pat Hughie's shoulder. "Ah! Magnifique. A total disaster at first but you conquered the courier! Truly, a masterclass in romance." Hughie only sat there, entirely struck dumb by his own luck. "Masterclass..." he muttered with a grin.

────────⊳⋆⊲────────

Did I mention that he's boyfriend material?

[disenchanted2006]

Hughie Campbell - The Boys S05E08