jas ☠︎

meow

[rodrickrulezz]

vampires, 90s movies, headphones, posters, black eyeshadow, lace, hannibal, dracula, cds, gigs, journalling, black hair dye, emo boys, bands, piercings.

masterlistˎˊ˗ fluffcember𐙚⋆.˚

[wendichester]

⋆｡ ˚ honey, hold still

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ a bee stings you, and sam turns impossibly gentle about it. pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ sam winchester x reader ( gn ) wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 551 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ extra fluff warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ bee sting, mild pain, soft caretaking, tiny bit of teasing

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ

you don’t mean to be dramatic. because when the bee stings you, right on the side of your finger while you’re reaching for a stupid motel vending machine soda, you gasp like you’ve been shot and immediately drop the can.

it hits the pavement with a sad little clunk.

sam turns so fast his hair almost smacks him in the face. “what happened?”

you hold your hand up, betrayed. “i’ve been attacked.”

his face shifts from alarm to confusion to something dangerously close to amusement. “attacked?”

“don’t laugh.”

“i’m not laughing.”

“your mouth is thinking about it.”

he presses his lips together, which is basically a confession.

you glare at him, but your finger is starting to throb, hot and sharp and annoying, and the offended little burn of it makes your eyes prickle more than you want to admit. not crying. absolutely not. just… your body being sensitive.

sam notices, and his teasing fades immediately. “hey,” he says, softer. “let me see.”

you hesitate for half a second, embarrassed by how badly you want the comfort. then you give him your hand.

he takes it carefully, like you’re something breakable and not someone who just declared war on an insect. his thumb rests under your palm, warm and steady, while he bends closer to check the sting.

“it left the stinger,” he murmurs.

“asshole.”

“a little.”

“sam.”

“sorry.” his mouth twitches again, but his hands stay gentle. “come on. i’ve got tweezers in the car.”

“you have bee tweezers?”

“i have regular tweezers.”

“for bee emergencies.”

“apparently.”

he guides you back to the impala, one hand hovering at your elbow though you’re perfectly capable of walking. it should feel ridiculous. it doesn’t. it feels sweet in a way that sneaks under your ribs and sits there.

sam sits you on the passenger seat with the door open, then crouches in front of you, knees nearly touching yours. “hold still,” he says.

“i am still.”

“you’re flinching.”

“it’s an emotionally scarring experience, sam.”

he looks up at you then, and the fondness on his face is so bare you almost forget your finger hurts. almost.

the stinger comes out quick. you hiss anyway, and sam instantly rubs his thumb over the uninjured part of your hand, slow and soothing. “sorry,” he says.

“i’m being pathetic.”

“no, you’re not.”

“i screamed over a bee.”

“you were startled.”

“i want compensation. weren’t you almost a lawyer? do something.”

“that’s fair.”

you laugh before you can stop it, and sam smiles, small and pleased, like he fixed more than the sting.

he cleans the spot with an alcohol wipe, then wraps your finger with a tiny bandage from the first-aid kit. it looks absurd. one little beige strip around the evidence of your near-death experience.

“there,” he says. “better?”

you look at your hand still resting in his. then at him. “maybe.”

his thumb hasn’t stopped moving. “want me to get you another soda?” he asks.

you lean back against the seat, trying very hard not to smile too much. “only if you protect me.”

sam’s eyes warm, soft and shy around the edges. “always,” he says, too seriously for a joke.

and your finger still aches, but now his hand is around yours, and you’re a little embarrassed by how much that helps.

ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.

[rodrickrulezz]

happy pride month cuties!!!!!!

[rodrickrulezz]

Rodrick gf crying during sex (in an overwhelmed with love way) which makes him cry too? 💕

tangled in the sheets, both of your bodies intertwined in other. planting sweet kisses down the column to your neck down to your navel. slow steps down like a path to the place he treasured the most. your core.

your sweet folds like mountains, your clit, round like the sun. he found it all so beautiful. his eyes trailed up your body to your eyes. "can i?" he asked, his mouth already watering in anticipation. you nod, your fingers interlocking with his strands. "please" you plead.

his head dips, adorning your thighs with pink and purple tender patches. his teeth caress your skin. you whine, shifting your hips closer to his face. a laugh crawls up his throat, "needy girl." he chuckles, "I'll take the hint." he grabs your plush thighs and drapes them onto his shoulders.

his tongue delves in between your folds, dancing on top of your nerves, lighting them up. the curve of his tongue plunges into your sweet spot. your moans coat the air, getting breathier by the moment.

the familar warmth seeps up your back until it blooms deep in your stomach. "rodrick.."you call out, your head dips, watching his tongue move along your walls. "gonna cum.. rodrick..cum.." you mewl, feeling your orgasm bloom.

your release squirts into his mouth, coating his tongue. he groans drinking it all up. your noises spur him on to keep licking, to pro long the wave of pleasure.

until your pushing his head away he sits up, he cages you in with his firm arms. "hi sexy lady." he smiles looking at your blissed face. beads of sweat coating your face. you smile back, a pink flush blooming on your cheeks. "hi."

"you all prepped for me?" he swipes away a damp strand away from your face, you nod. he grabs onto the flesh of your thighs and hooks them his hips. his tip nudges your folds.

"you promise?" you nod again, "promise." you feel his cock pierce through into your walls. his member snug into your hole. he paused, his eyes drifting across your face. "can i move, pretty?" after a moment, you nod, "move..please."

his hips gently slap against your thighs. his thrusts starting off slow eventually get more punishing as he sees your face scrunch. seeing your eyes practically roll back spurs him on. his shoulders tense from holding up his body weight, his drops down, pressing kisses down your chest.

he rambles in between kisses, "so fucking beautiful, look at you." he gropes your hips, pulling you closer, "all spread out for me, taking me so well." you cry out, the praise coating your skin.

"yeah? you like being my sweet girl? so good for me, taking my cock."

watching his face contort, watching you with such love. you wish you could bottle this feeling and wear it. you don't realise you're crying until a salty tear dropped onto your cheek.

rodrick immediately stopped. his face pinching in concern. "are you crying? are you hurt?" he scans your body for any injury. "did i hurt you?"

you quickly shake your head, "no! rodrick.. you didn't. i'm sorry." you murmur, your voice hoarse with tears. "then.. what is it honey?" he swipes a tear away with the pad of his thumb.

"i just love you so much." you sob, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close. "oh baby," he smoothly breathed, "i love you." he punctuates it with a kiss pressed to your lips.

he sniffles, getting choked up by your flowing tears. "you dont know how much i love you, baby. can't even comprehend it." he gives you a watery laugh.

you kiss his temple.

you smile, your pupils full with love.

"don't even. i so love you more."

[rodrickrulezz]

Imagine Rodrick 's biceps 🤤🤤 he's got to have some muscle built up from playing drums

-🐞

down in the basement is where you and rodrick spend most of your nights. sometimes he steals his susan's projector to 'corrupt' it with slasher and zombie movies. but most of the time he's smashing hi-toms to medium toms with his battered drum sticks.

you sit across the room on the couch, watching his toned arms peak out of his shirt. rodrick was never the one to exercise. he'd rather listen to his cds or eat mountains of hot dogs instead. but ever since he got loded diper together he's been doing his own kind of exercise. and god, is it working.

the sound of booming bass simmers into silence. rodrick looks at you expectantly, eager to hear your praise. "do you like that version better?"

you hum, his words going in your ear and pouring out the other, seeping down your neck. your eyes glued to his arms made your legs move under you. you pad over to him, "yeah, 's good." you murmur.

he tilts his head, "just good?" he notices how your eyes have practically glazed over. "is anyone in there?" he grins as he follows your gaze. you paw at him, your palms squeeze the firm ridges of his forearms. "arms are pretty."

"yeah? wanna see how pretty they can get?" he purrs as he pulls you into his lap.

~

you're draped over his lap, his legs keeping your legs spread. his thick arms wrap around your hips, his palm slips into your jeans. the pad of his finger feel your clothed bundle of nerves.

he murmurs close to your ear, "so beautiful. getting all worked up from my arms, hm?" you nod, grabbing at the muscle. "love your arms." he hums, "but you love my fingers more, don't you pretty?" his hand slips down under your panties, his pointer and middle finger swipe through your damp folds. the corner of his lips curl as he watches you gasp. "i knew it."

he's curling his digits, caressing your gummy walls. crying out, your head dips as moans spill from out your lips. his knuckles deep inside nudges your walls making you feel how truly deep he is.

leaning back in his stool, your back is pressed up against his chest, he spreads your legs wider, his fingers caress your sweet spot. a scream gets caught in your throat. you tense, feeling a knot tying in your lower stomach.

"you gonna cum? hm? all over my fingers?" he kisses down your throat, "or are you gonna cum all over my drums?" he grins at the look of your face: eyes and eyebrows scrunched up in ecstasy. "depends how good it feels. huh?"

in the matter of seconds, the knot tightens and blooms into release. the warmth settled in your bones. spurts of cum decorated rodrick's arms, dribbling down onto his jeans forming wet patches. you whimper, chasing the high.

"such a pretty girl." rodrick comments as he pulls out his coated fingers. he places them in his mouth sucking off the goodness. "you such watch me play more often."

[rodrickrulezz]

Hi! I have a request for a Jess Mariano x reader where reader has a (mostly) flat stomach, curvy hips, is relatively busty, and is overall pretty, but hides it almost all the time bc her extended family always slut shamed her for wearing clothes that revealed any skin at all, and he helps her get over that bc she's making herself sick during the summer with how much she's wearing? Totally get it if it's not your thing, but your writings help me a lot

it was sunny. well, sunny was an understatement. the sun seeped through the blinds, its golden rays raising the heat until beads of sweat rolled down your arms. it was summer after all. that came with the package.

this morning was like every other morning. the sun rose eagerly, chasing away the clouds to bestow its glow in its wake. before the warmth seeped and settled into your bones, the pads of your feet are relieved by the cool floorboards. stretching your limbs as you stride across the room, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. pajama shorts hung low on your hips with a sleep tank. you wish you could dress like the comments didn't affect you but everyday they hung over you all day. their words rung through your skull like nails on a chalkboard. grating. piercing.

to dull the voices you slip a warm hoodie over yourself to then step into your sweatpants.

a few hours later, the sun settled into its place. beaming onto anything in its path making it glow. jess stomps down the stairs, his strands as disgruntled as he was. he sees you buzzing around the kitchen arranging a snack plate; bagels, piles of fruit with cheese. he walks towards you, gravitating towards your hips. his long arms wrap around you. "hi." he hums. resting his head on your shoulder. watching your hands move.

"hi." you smiled.

jess' eyes raked over your features. the sun casting a delicious glow over the curve of your cheek down to the tips of your eyelashes. you were radiant. his palms disappear up your hoodie feeling the skin of your stomach. the smile on his face morphed into a frown.

"sweetheart, you're soaked." he tugs at the end of your hoodie. you hands bat away his harsher than you meant to. it was automatic. it was defensive.

you clear your throat to soften the tension, "i'm fine. i don't feel that warm." you quickly hand him his own plate as a way to silence him and your thoughts. "i'll take it off later." you curl your lips to smile but it doesn't quite reach your eyes. jess lingers on your face, your body language but takes the hint. "sir yes sir." he quips before sitting down on the couch.

you sit on the couch, folding your legs under you. you felt small. deep cuts re-opened with the fear of being exposed. the hum of your father's 'jokes' or the scrunch of your mother's eyebrow deepened as she looked you up and down. it was still there.

your thoughts swarmed your brain so violently it made your body surrender. suddenly you felt faint. the colour from your face drained with your raising temperature. your breath quickened.

jess immediately noticed.

"reader?" he uttered, startled.

"jesus christ you look awful." he set his palm on your forehead feeling the warmth seeping out your pores. "come on, take this off, please?" he pleaded.

you shake your head, "i can't." the words get stuck in your throat as if your body too was fighting the vulnerability.

"why not?" his face scrunches it reminds you of the look you used to get off your mother. you take a deep breath.

"i don't like showing skin. it makes me feel a slut."

you watch jess' face morph deeper in a frown. "what?"

"my parents used to call me everything under the sun when I used to wear tight, short tops. or anything revealing actually." you laugh humorlessly to lighten the mood.

jess scoffs, offended on your behalf. he shakes his head.

"i would never. you're the most beautiful girl i've ever seen. i want you to flaunt your body." he pulls up your hoodie and for once you let it happen. "i want you to wear whatever makes you comfortable." he swipes a damp strand away from your face. "as long as i'm around no one will ever call you a slut."

you smile at his genuine words. you felt the ache of your imbedded insecurities dissolve into goo.

"thankyou."

he nods, "of course pretty girl." he taps your hip, "get changed."

a/n; my laptop died as i was writing the end and i thought it didn't save...ALMOST got reprecussions for writing instead of revising :p

[violained]

sleepy & thinking abouuut dean winchester with a partner who is just a little peculiar in the ways in which they express their love towards him.

you sniff at his neck and press your nose into the soft spikes of his hair as he sleeps, breathing him in with deep inhales, faded cologne and basalm and dark vanilla. he might stir, and doesn't speak at all, fingers finding your waist to pull you closer.

sometimes, you'll clamber over him in bed and stare down, blinking owlishly and quiet. he stares back, tips up into your palm as it smooths over his forehead. he likes it. likes you, likes how quiet you can be, likes how you stare and bump the tip of your nose to his.

you'll admit things, in the late evening, when it's only him and a gauzy breeze rolling in soft waves through the cracked window of a worn motel room. he cleans his machete, his pistol, and there's so much you've got to tell him.

"i look at your knuckles a lot," you murmur.

his knuckles. it's only a little weird, when he thinks about it and glances to where you sit on the edge of the mussed bed. the mattress creaks as you shift. you're so pretty. he loves that you think about his knuckles. it feels intimate in a caliber he hasn't allowed himself to experience.

"yeah?" he replies. "that's sweet, angel."

confessions spill out easy from your lips, and he comes to hear, crouching by your feet with big hands splayed atop your thighs. he taps with the pads of his fingers and listens and wants desperately to nuzzle his face in some warm place of you.

"your teeth are pretty," you blurt next. "i daydream about kissing them."

something foreign and fuzzy settles in the pit of his heart.

"i'd let you, baby. you want to?"

you nod. so he lets you. flushes a smooth, blushed velvet. you pull his pink lip up with a gentle thumb and kiss his canines just to kiss.

there are many little details about you, that he admires just the same. the faint hairs that trail in a tiny rivulet down your navel, the delicate swell of skin above the waist of your jeans, the curve of your ears. how you speak, and blink, and your puffed under eyes after waking.

"d'you think i'm weird?" you question, when his cheek is to your chest and his bones are warmed jelly. you pet his hair. he tries to shake his head against you, but doesn't move at all. the ball of his palm rubs circles into a small divot in your back.

"a little," he whispers. "i like it."

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ໒꒱

[rodrickrulezz]

have two exams tomorrow someone save me ( ;｀Д´)

[surturedberries]

⋆˚꩜｡ soldier boy coexisting with your pet dog headcanons

𑣲⋆ at first he doesn't interact with your dog. matter of fact, he doesn't want to. yeah, they're cute but, at the end of the day, he wasn't a big animal person. his childhood didn't include any pets, and it was always him alone in the house, so part of him actually doesn't see the appeal of some... fluffy, tiny thing following you around 24/7. not to mention having to take care of one. the thought of pets would have never crossed his mind if you didn't have one already.

𑣲⋆ he watches you take care of them, hears how your voice goes up an octave when you praise how good of a job they're doing (all they're doing is exist? so why are you saying that?), and reprimand them about having a certain amount of treats per day. he points out how differently you behave and you reply saying, "all owners act this way. they're just too cute!" one day, as a little stick-it-to-the-man, he found the treats you give your dog usually and called your dog's name. "psst. lookie here. you want this? yeah?" when he tossed it, they jumped and caught it mid-air. he chuckled and hid the treats back. "greedy little thing."

𑣲⋆ you get soldier boy to take them on walks when you're busy with work. the first and second time your dog goes off the sidewalk to sniff some random building, he tries to ignore it, but the third, fourth, and fifth? he starts talking to them as if they could ever understand him. "buddy, you've walked down this path everyday for the past five years. what's interesting about it anymore, huh? your mom wants us back by seven. at this rate, we'll get back in four months, and i'm not talking in doggy time." he wonders if it's just your endless patience (which if you're dating soldier boy, that's probably it) or if your dog is just messing with him.

𑣲⋆ slowly but surely, he does grow more comfortable with your dog. the main factor to winning him over, though, was a silly one. when you and soldier boy have little quarrels, innocent stuff, he'll point to your dog and go, "i'm sure they agree with me. buddy, who are you siding with? her or me?" when they bark in his direction (because he's the one speaking to them), he takes it in his favor and gets this shit eating grin on his face. "i knew they'd say that. we're always on the same wavelength, aren't we, bud?" and the smile would last a little longer than he would have liked it to.

𑣲⋆ a month of getting to know them, you start to find soldier boy napping on the couch with your dog tucked under his arm, both of them snoring just as loud as each other. soldier boy sneaking pieces of meat below the table, then purposefully speaking over a familiar bark of delight. soldier boy and them playing tug of war with a tiny rope toy as he mutters, "you got some fight in you, huh? come on, i know you're stronger than that." his voice doesn't go higher in pitch like you, but he smiles and laughs and when your dog magically wins the war, soldier boy flops down and ruffles the top of their head in rough but playful pets. "you're the king of the world!" he says. and of course, you sneak a photo or two.

𑣲⋆ the one thing that will always separate them, though, is the one-sided rivalry he has against your dog in the name of your affection. spending too long brushing out your dog's hair? soldier boy gets huffy and says, "lemme do it. i'll get it done twice as fast and we can finally go out to lunch." you're leaning ever so slightly more to your dog than him while watching a movie? he's pulling you against him without a word. and when you've had a long day and go to soldier boy for a hug, he gets the most smug look on his face and calls out to your dog, saying, "i told you i'm her favorite." all you can do is roll your eyes and kiss him on the cheek, just glad that they get along now.

notes: i hope you liked this ! i'm very invested in domestic!soldier boy especially now since season 5 has been nothing but horror and pain (not ready for next episode tomorrow). guys what if everything was fine forever and all my favorite characters were happy and alive. a girl can dream........ also requests are open! please send me things to write about!!

[dollfacefantasy]

SUPER FAN ♡

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader

summary: in your younger years, you were soldier boy's biggest fan. now, your life is dedicated to stopping supes. somehow that's brought your paths to cross. people always say don't meet your heroes, but in your case, maybe that's not so bad...

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, dry humping, a single use of daddy, age gap (reader in early to mid 20s), power imbalance (reader was a fan of soldier boy and had a hugeeee crush on him in the past)

wc: 6.9k

a/n: based on a request i will post in a second. i hope you guys like this one, i've been working on it for an embarrassing amount of time lol. so sorry to the original anon if you see this bb. but yeah, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <33

'Two minutes away. Butcher says have the door unlocked.'

Your phone buzzes with that message from Hughie. Without second guessing the order, you walk across the motel room and unlock the door. You'd been charged with getting this rendezvous prepared for their arrival.

Despite your assigned task centering around getting this place, you don't really know what it's for. Neither Butcher nor Hughie felt it important enough to clue you in as to why you were meeting in a secluded motel rather than one of the usual spots. You assumed it had something to do with their trip to Russia. Maybe they'd found the super weapon they'd been searching for.

You head back to what you were doing before Hughie’s interruption, unloading the takeout you'd brought onto the table. In the midst of placing the burgers and fries and various condiments in the center, you hear the muffled sound of an engine pull up outside and then fizzle off. Car doors slamming follow accompanied by some voices. If you'd been paying attention, you might have realized an additional person chatted along with your expected two.

But you don't catch that until the door swings open. Before you can look, the deep baritone slices across the space right into your ears.

"So, is she part of your team too?" the man asks.

You freeze. Your heart drops into your stomach. It's almost as if your body has a biological reaction to that low, rumbly way of speaking. You recognize it anywhere. It played over speakers and filled your bedroom most nights of the week when you were younger. The face it belonged to had been plastered across every surface that could hold a poster.

But it can't be his. He's been dead since before you were born. For some odd reason, your mind must have decided today would be a fun day to play tricks on you. To make you think the man of your teenage dreams had been resurrected and brought to you through some sort of star-crossed luck.

You shake your head and swallow down the ridiculous idea before turning to face them. But when you do, he is right there.

Soldier Boy stands between your teammates in all his glory, his brows raised as he assesses you. He sports modern civilian clothes rather than his uniform. It's kind of off-putting to see him in something so current, but the discrepancy doesn't keep your heart from racing. Every other part of him looks just like he used to on your tv screen. His features are still perfectly sculpted. His hair sits on his head soft as ever.

You honestly think you might faint. Your knuckles grip the back of a chair to the point of cramping as you stare at him like he'd risen from the grave right before your very eyes.

"Is she mute or something?" he asks next, still looking unimpressed with you.

Hughie glances between you and him in confusion, not understanding what's stolen your words away. But on the opposite side of Soldier Boy, Butcher eyes you with a small smirk on his face. He shrugs off his coat and hangs it on the wall before walking over to you and patting your shoulder.

"She talks. Must be feeling a bit shy 'round a stranger," he says.

The physical contact seems to snap you out of your little starstruck daze. You straighten up and shrug his hand off.

"I- I'm not shy," you stutter and smooth your clothes out. "I just um... I think I recognize you from like some old movies my mom used to like. Caught me off guard. Sorry."

A shaky breath expels from your lungs, and you hope the cover-up is enough to stave off any further questions. Luckily, that seems to be true as a grin spreads across his face.

"Your mom, huh? She still around by chance?"

You bristle at the sleazy way he asks the question. It's ridiculous to feel jealous over his interest in a lie you made up, but you still feel it prickling at you.

"No," you answer before turning back to the table to empty the rest of the fast food bag.

You shoot a glare at Butcher who's still grinning at you. Of course. This was why he hadn't told you. It wasn't part of his normal failure to consider anyone else's feelings or his typical manipulative ways. He did this to fuck with you.

He was the only one who knew about your soft spot for Soldier Boy. Though, soft spot was an understatement. Attachment might have been more appropriate. Undying love and devotion also good possibilities.

You adored the guy. Part of your lie had been true, you'd gotten it from your mother. She introduced you to his movies and showed you all the tv appearances she'd taped. You inherited her small collection of posters and t-shirts, and styled your room to reflect your Soldier Boy centered world. Eventually, your obsession superseded the one she experienced in her younger years. That was probably because her love for Soldier Boy fizzled out not too long later when she met your father. Yours stayed strong as you kept to yourself and focused on getting through school.

You'd confessed all of this to your team leader one night after too many drinks. Years had passed between now and the height of your obsession, so your drunken-self figured it was fine. The information came out hiccuped amongst a flood of giggling. You had found it so funny, that you had been so hot for a supe when now, your entire life revolved around taking them down.

Honestly you thought, or at least hoped, that Butcher hadn't cared enough to remember it. But clearly you were wrong.

The four of you sit down to eat the food you bought. You're across from Hughie while Butcher takes the seat opposite Soldier Boy. He obviously finds it amusing to dangle the other man in front of you, taunting you with what he knows you want but will never admit to.

You try your hardest not to stare, but it's a challenge. You're not eating much. Your appetite pretty much vanished with the shock of his arrival. Instead you rest your cheek on the heel of your palm, attempting to keep your eyes on the table and not his face.

The whole thing is just too weird. It's like you've been transported to the fantasy world you used to imagine to fall asleep. In there, Soldier Boy, or Ben as you called him in your dreams, went everywhere with you. He took you to the mall, accompanied you to the family gathering you didn't wanna go to, sat beside you on the bench at the park while you listened to music alone. Imaginary Ben stroked your hair when you failed a test, told you he loved you when you cried, and rubbed your stomach when you had cramps.

He was always there for you in those years, filling the void everyone else's lack of attention left. 

That was until he started to fade away. He popped up less and less as you adapted to life and found other people to fill your time. And then one day he just wasn't there anymore. You strolled through the mall with your friends. You went to see your family without anyone on your arm. You sat on the bench alone.

You outgrew the posters and the t-shirts. It all went into a storage bin tucked away in your closet. He went with it. Not thrown away, but no longer a part of your days. Looking back, it feels like you had two different lives — the one when you loved Soldier boy and the other where you remembered him.

But he's actually here now, sitting a foot away from you. Only everyone else can see this version of him, and he writes his own dialogue. Somehow you're just supposed to pretend like it's normal for you.

The guys chatter amongst themselves, but you barely hear it. You consider asking Butcher if you can leave. You'd do damn near anything else to get out of this situation. Your younger self would probably slap you across the face, absolutely maim you for fumbling your chance with him, but you just can't take it. It's like he's radiating humiliation and shame that projects only onto you.

Before you can speak up though, Butcher and Hughie rise from the table. You look up at them, desperation glimmering over your irises.

"Sorry, love. You're on soldier-sittin' duty for the next few hours," Butcher tells you as he goes to grab his coat.

"It's just until we get back," Hughie adds, sensing your discomfort with the situation.

Pouting and rising from your chair, you follow after them. You ignore Hughie and stare right at Butcher putting on his trench coat. "Can I come with you instead? Please?" you ask.

"Why? Thought you would be excited to get some one-on-one time with your-" he starts but you cut him off.

"It's too weird," you whisper. "Plus, he’s not gonna listen to me anyways. Can I please come with you?"

"'Fraid not," he tuts. "This one's for me and Hughie. You'll be fine for a couple hours."

"Butcher," you say, on the verge of begging.

But he holds no sympathy for you. Hughie gives you a kinder look. "Just put on the tv. He seemed pretty interested in filling in his gaps about the world on the drive here."

You weakly nod, watching them gather their remaining things before departing. Their absence leaves you and him alone in the room. It's quiet except for the crinkling of his wrapper and the thundering beat of your heart.

Turning back towards him, you force yourself to return to the room and clean up the other trash Butcher and Hughie had left behind. You gather the greasy papers while trying to keep your hands steady. They're shaking pretty bad, but moving them disguises it. At least you hope so. You don't want him seeing how nervous you are. It's stupid and pointless, but a small piece of you still wants to look cool and collected in front of him.

When you finish, you head over to the small couch that sits against the wall. You can feel his eyes on you. One thing you realize now that your juvenile fantasies failed to account for was that you really had no clue what to talk about with him. What was there to say to someone born nearly a hundred years ago? What could you bring up when he'd missed the last forty years of life? You decide to fill the silence with what Hughie had suggested.

"Do you wanna watch tv?" you ask.

"Not really, but what else is there to do in this shit hole," he says and shrugs.

You nod, reaching for the remote and flicking the screen to life. The first station is on a commercial break. You switch it to the next which is playing a basketball game. Finally, you get to the numbers playing movies and scroll through to find a good one.

While you occupy yourself with the television, he stands from his chair and heads in your direction. He plops down on the couch next to you, spreading his thighs and draping his arm across the back of the sofa. You keep your eyes locked on the screen ahead. There’s no way you’re gonna look over at his open lap. If you do that, you won’t be able to fight off the heat that keeps trying to rise into your cheeks.

You can still feel him looking at you though. The constant weight of his curiosity makes it hard not to shift around in your seat. Your thumb keeps tapping through the channels until you come across one showing something you recognize. It takes you a few seconds to place it, but as soon as you do, you go to skip it.

Before you can, he straightens up. "Wait- what's this? This looks familiar," he says, eyes narrowing.

You glance over at him, blinking a few times before giving an answer. "Um yeah... it's the remake of Red Thunder that came out a few years ago," you explain. You work hard to keep your voice even.

He looks over at you, astounded. "Remake? What do you mean remake? They just did it over again?"

You nod. "Yeah, y'know. Like how Scarface is a remake of the old one from the thirties... Like that."

He scoffs. "They tried to remake my movie?" he asks, still in disbelief. He examines the tv again. "Which one's supposed to be me?"

You wait a few seconds, looking for the updated version of him. "Um... that one," you say and point to the younger actor dressed in Soldier Boy gear.

He laughs, the sound booming across the room. "That guy? That's who they chose to play me?" he mocks. "Jesus, if that's the type of man you kids think a hero is no wonder the world is in the state it's in."

"Yeah..." you say, a little smile rising to your lips. Your nerves begin to settle. This isn't so bad when you keep your mind off your feelings… even if he does talk a little bit like your grandfather. "I like the original way better," you continue.

"Oh do you now?” he asks. That start of a smirk on his face is nearly audible.

"Mhm. This one is just kind of boring," you answer, eyes flitting between him and the screen. "They took all the romance stuff out, and we're not in the cold war anymore so the bad guys are just some vague, random evil army. Plus, I don't understand why they didn't just use one of Vought's new supes instead of imitating you." 

The words flow easily, just as they did to all your friends when the movie had first come out. You don't have as much trouble expressing yourself when the topic of discussion is one of your favorite subjects.

He nods as if he's genuinely interested in your points before commenting. "I thought your mother was the fan?"

You bite the inside of your cheek, your heart rate picking up again under the spotlight of his attention. It wasn't too big of a slip up. You can play it off like you had with your initial anxiety. Though you can't focus enough to answer while gazing into his cocky eyes, so you look down at your lap.

"She was. But I saw some of your movies too. Doesn't take a genius to know they were better than this stuff," you shrug.

There's a little pause. Your heart beats impossibly faster. But he just chuckles and turns back to the tv. "You sure you've only seen some of my movies? Sounds like you know more than a casual fan," he goads.

Hesitation creeps up on you. Maybe this is your opportunity to tell the truth. You can just confess your thing for him like it's an embarrassing story. Maybe then it won't hold so much power over you and this will be a whole lot easier. Your palms flex against your thighs as you steel yourself.

"Well... more than some. I've seen a lot. I just didn't wanna weird you out or anything," you admit, doing your absolute best to seem casual. Maybe they should give you the Oscar they never offered your beloved.

"There you go. Be honest," he praises, and you think you feel something throb between your legs. You glance up at him for a second before your eyes drop back down. He shakes his head. "It doesn't ‘weird me out.’ I'm used to the attention y'know. I lived with it longer than you've been alive."

"Yeah, but I didn't want things to be uncomfortable. Make you think I was like obsessed or something."

"Well are you like obsessed or something?’ he teases. Something in his tone tells you he already knows the answer.

"No," you deny immediately.

"It would make sense if you were. It'd explain why you're so nervous," he says, his voice smooth as polished marble.

"I'm not nervous," you defend.

"C'mon, sweetheart. You can't look at me for more than a second, and I can hear your heart beating faster than a baby bunny runnin' from a wolf."

You practically swoon when he calls you sweetheart, but you force your eyes up and onto his. No matter how many butterflies erupt in your stomach, you're intent on being professional. That little childish crush is a thing of the past, you're sure of it. You're an adult now with a real passion for your job.

"It's just that you're kind of intimidating," you reason. "It's weird seeing a movie star in person."

"A movie star? You flatter me."

Rolling your eyes, an involuntary huff slips from your lips. "You know what I mean. It's just different talking to you like in real life and not just seeing you on a screen. That's it."

"Is that all? I don't know if I believe you, honey. I recognize that look on your face," he says.

"What look? I don't have a look," you say.

"No, you do. You have that look I used to get from the girls hanging around outside set. They'd stand there with their little autograph books, waiting to get a glimpse of Soldier Boy," he says, eyes almost twinkling as he reminisces. "Only every time I'd go over to sign something for 'em, they could never get their eyes off their shoes. Always looking down, stumbling over their words. I don't typically go for you younger girls, but it was pretty cute."

You feel your cheeks heating up along with a small smile forming on your lips. Just like that, your commitment to professionalism has started to wane. It's dumb, but you can't help yourself. He basically called you cute. You just count yourself lucky you haven’t started giggling.

"Yep they used to do that too. That little smile," he continues.

He's making you malfunction with only a handful of words. Your head spins, but you're powerless to stop it. You can't help reacting like one of those girls because, inside, part of you is still one of them.

"C'mere, sweetheart," he says next before patting his lap.

You know you shouldn't. If Butcher and Hughie came back and saw you like this, it would be the humiliation of a lifetime. But you can't resist him. It's easy to declare your commitment to acting professional when the situation is only a hypothetical. When it becomes real, presented right before your eyes, it's a different story entirely.

Tentatively, you scoot towards him, eyeing his thighs. His hand comes to your back between your shoulders to urge you along.

"I'm not gonna bite you, bunny," he says with that action-hero smile.

More timidity pumps through you at the repetition of that term. You find the courage to close the rest of the gap and crawl into his lap. His arms welcome you, shifting you around on his thighs into a comfortable position.

"Perfect. Feels better like this, doesn't it?" he says.

That palm on your back strokes up and down. He runs it along the length of your spine, bringing a chill over every area it touches. You keep your gaze on your hands in your lap until his fingers tap beneath your chin and redirect your vision onto him.

"Don't hide those pretty eyes from me. That's how I know what you're feelin’. They give so much away.”

You honestly believe you're seconds away from melting into a puddle, from slumping over against his chest and becoming some boneless rag doll for him to play with. You can only imagine how stupid you look if even half of the lovesickness you feel reflects on your face.

"Tell me — have you ever thought about this before? I bet you have," he murmurs.

Of course he's right. You'd envisioned yourself on this very lap countless times when you were younger. But a part of you still clings to the idea that you should hide how absolutely pathetic you are for him. You shrug.

"I guess..." you answer. The words come out airy, almost as if your voice is getting away from you.

He simply smirks at the reply while rubbing the pad of his thumb back and forth over your chin. "Yeah? You imagined sitting my lap, hm? Dreamed of me holding you close?"

"Something like that," you reply, feeling as though your throat was constricting.

He chuckles at your squeak of a reply. "Well, how do I match up to your dreams? Am I everything you hoped I would be?" he asks. His voice drops, and there's no question about what he wants from you now. Something you would give without hesitation.

"You're doing a pretty good job," you say. You try to adjust yourself to face more towards the tv, but he keeps you pinned in place.

"I haven't really done anything yet," he says.

A little bout of silence rises between you two. Neither of you say anything. The only sound is the hushed chatter of the tv in the background. Despite the lack of conversation, his eyes stay on your face. His fingers caress your cheek before smoothing down to your neck.

"How'd a pretty girl like you get involved with those two jackasses who brought me here anyways?" he asks.

"It's a long story..." you say. Your skin is on fire everywhere his fingers trace. They're working over your throat down onto your collarbone and shoulders. 

"Too long for you to care about right now, yeah?" he asks, completely smug.

You nod though because smug or not, he's correct about that. Recounting how you got involved with Butcher ordinarily wasn't too hard. But in this moment, on his lap, it seems like the effort of a lifetime for your foggy brain.

"You're too soft and sweet for hunting supes," he says. Despite poking fun at you, he remains gentle and soft, careful not to really upset you and break you out of this docile little haze he's got you in.

"It's not so bad,” you say.

"Sure, sure. You're strong and independent, can do anything a man can and all that. I'm just saying-"

Talk talk talk. So much talking, and you can barely focus on a word he's saying. Your eyes are lingering on his lips. They look so soft and smooth. Nothing’s touched them in forty years. He’s definitely noticed your stare. And you know that means you should stop. You can’t though. You want it, and he’s practically offering it up to you.

He continues speaking, however. “- I can think of a few things you’d be much better at. Things that don’t involve your little hands getting bloody.”

“Like what?” you start to ask.

“Maybe something like this.”

That hand on your chin tugs you closer. Before you register what’s happening, his mouth is on yours. Electricity zaps all through your body like a live wire. You lean into it without thinking, pressing closer and molding your lips to his.

He chuckles as your arms slide up to loop around his neck. You swallow up the low, rough sound, not disconnecting from him for a moment. His hand flattens out along your jawline. It allows him to hold you right where he wants you for a series of more kisses, all of which you reciprocate.

“Atta girl,” he mumbles in the brief interval where you’re forced to drawback for breath. “Not so shy now, are ya?”

You shake your head before diving in for more. He receives you by opening his mouth. His tongue gently flicks over your lip. He slides it against your own as things become deeper. The heat inside you no longer holds the sting of shame or embarrassment. It aches now. It burns with pure want, clustering in the pit of your stomach rather than in your face.

He leans back into the sagging couch. His hands ensure you move along with him. With a firm grip on your waist, he boosts you closer and shifts you around so your thighs are parted across his own.

A small whimper leaves you. You can’t help it. Your bodies are even closer now. Your center is pressed right against his lap, right where his cock is. You can’t feel it yet, but the idea is enough to send phantom sensations rippling through you.

You feel his lips curling into a smirk against yours. Those hands leave your waist. They dip lower, sliding across your curves to grip onto the plush flesh of your ass. That gets a real moan out of you. Your head falls back, away from his mouth. He doesn’t let you go too far though. A second later, his affections move to your neck. His kisses are hot and wet, tongue laving over your pulse point and teeth nipping sensitive skin.

Just a few simple touches, and his strength shines through each one. The firmness with which his fingers knead your ass is unlike anyone else you’ve ever felt. You’ve been with muscular guys before, but nothing like this. Strong is too weak a word to describe the undercurrent flowing through his grasp.

You roll your hips down in an exploratory swivel, something faint to see if you could find some friction. He aides you. His fingers tighten around your ass, pushing you down harder and then dragging your core back over his lap. 

You suck in a little gasp.

“That feel good, huh? Your pretty pussy’s getting wet for me, isn’t she?” he asks with another rotation of your hips.

“Y-yeah,” you stutter. You push your upper-half closer to him so that your chest squishes against his own.

To your dismay, he stops you from fully holding on. He nudges you backwards and boosts you off his lap entirely so that you’re standing on your feet. A whine builds at the front of your mouth, but before you can protest, his fingers come to the button on your jeans.

He flicks it open, looking up at you as he yanks your pants down. “Been forty years since I got some tail. Let’s not waste any more time,” he says in explanation.

You nod along and step out of each of your pant legs, kicking the garment aside. You also take your t-shirt off. The fabric lands on top of your discarded jeans. Once you’re left in just your bra and panties, he tugs you back down.

Your bodies come together with a thud. The material of his sweats grazes your tingly inner-thighs. Before you can get back into rutting yourself on him, he runs his palms over your legs. They’re pretty smooth for someone of his age and experience. You always imagined something a little rougher, something that would contrast against the smooth nature of your own flesh. But forty years in a cryo-tank hadn’t given his skin much opportunity to become weathered.

His hands find your ass again, one coming down to give it a quick smack. Your hips jolt in surprise at the sudden sting. He soothes it away by rubbing over the heated area. His fingers dig into your malleable skin harder now that it’s bare to him.

“Skin’s baby-soft,” he murmurs mid-grope. “Been wanting someone rougher to come and mark it up?”

Your eyes flicker over his mocking smirk, heat filling your face. You grind yourself on him again with a whine. It feels so much better with your clothing out of the way. Even though the thin cotton barrier of your panties keeps you from rubbing down on him raw, the material is skimpy enough that it doesn’t impede. Instead it adds a little extra spark to the building pressure between your legs. Your eyes roll towards the back of your head, fluttering as you rock yourself forward and back.

He helps out just like before. His hands rein your movements into a steady rhythm. In between your bodies, his bulge starts to form. With each swipe of your covered cunt across his lap, you feel it becoming more and more prominent; hard and solid right up against your soaked folds.

“Just like that, get yourself ready for me,” he praises with another slap to your backside. “I’ll teach you how to really ride.”

You moan while biting your lip. Your hips work faster on him. Being so close, so lost in his feel and scent, has freed you of your previous trepidation. You’ve lost the ability to be stuck in your head with him like this.

He shifts you over slightly so that you’re lined up with the flat top of his thigh. It makes no difference to you. You keep your hips moving like nothing’s changed, grinding your throbbing clit down onto the firm muscles in his leg.

“Fuck,” you whimper. Your arms wrap over his shoulders once more. You squish your face into the crux of your elbow.

This time he lets you stay. He wraps an arm around you and lazily pats your back. “Good girl. Keep going. I gotcha.” His voice rumbles beside your ear. “Better than any dream, yeah?”

“Mhm,” you whimper. “Fuck- so much better. You- you’re perfect.”

While you continue to pleasure yourself on his leg, he lifts his hips off the couch just enough to push his sweats down towards his knees. He takes his cock out. It’s fully hard now, stiff in his hand as he gives it a few strokes.

You don’t notice at first, so wrapped up in your own bliss. But when he starts pulling you center again, you lift your head and glance down through heavy-lids.

You’d imagined him big, but seeing his cock for real makes you feel like you didn’t imagine big enough. His length is long and moderately thick. It’s flushed for you, the tip shimmery with the slightest bit of pre oozing out.

Your mouth waters. You want to taste him. You want to show him how badly you want it. You want to drop to your knees and think about nothing but how good he fits in your mouth.

But you know you have limited time. Butcher said you had a couple hours, but he’s also unreliable and a liar and purposefully fucking with you today so… you don’t want to take any chances.

He doesn’t seem too eager to have you like that anyways. He gives you a slight boost and pulls the soaked material of your panties to the side. The silky skin of his tip replaces the feeling. He drags himself across your entrance once, twice, and then nudges inside.

Your teeth sink into your lip as your head falls back slightly. You still can’t understand how this is real, but it undeniably is. The feeling of him working himself in, inch by inch, is not a figment of your imagination. That sweet stretch is absolutely real, and it consumes you more with every passing second until your ass is flush against his thighs once more.

He groans. “Shit, that’s good.” The muscles in his jaw flex. “Haven’t felt anything this nice in a longgg fucking time.”

Your walls flutter around him, eliciting another hiss from between his gritted teeth. Every noise he makes feels as good as a physical touch. You can’t get enough of hearing his voice strained with pleasure — pleasure you’re giving him.

You rise on his lap before sinking down. The rhythm is slow to start, a way for both of you to get used to the feeling. His hands squeeze your hips hard enough to bring a little burst of pain. You like it though. You want more of it.

He smacks your ass again. “C’mon, bunny. I know you can do better than that.”

Your hands plant themselves firmly on his shoulders, giving you the leverage needed to go a little faster. You bring yourself up and then down in quicker succession.

“That’s it. Such a good girl. Show daddy what you’ve been dreamin’ about.”

A shudder tears through you. Your muscles feel weak, like the simple string of praise had loosened them up completely. It doesn’t matter though. You start to bounce faster. Your body works with a mind of its own. It doesn’t let you slow down.

He slides in and out easily with how wet you are. Every drag of his cock on your insides is a straight shot of bliss. You feel even better when he grips your jaw and pulls you in for another few kisses. His mouth moves against your own before moving along your jawline to the space below your ear and then onto your neck and collarbone.

“Every inch of you tastes so fucking good. Like cherry pie,” he mumbles. “I’ll have to try out that pussy of yours next.”

“Mhm, fuck,” you whimper.

You keep riding as his teeth nip at one of your bra straps. The noises of your skin on his fill the small motel room. His tight grip on your waist helps you maintain the rhythm, pulling you down hard and boosting you up quick

The tip of his cock bumps up against your g-spot and gets a squeal out of you. Your nails dig into his shoulders as a way of bracing yourself. Neither of you slow down. You stutter slightly, but his hips lift to meet your movements. His fast thrusts strike at that angle over and over until your legs are quivering to the point that it truly feels like they might give out.

Luckily for you, he makes sure you don’t go toppling to the floor. The firm weight of his hands guide you closer to his body. Your weight shifting gives him the leverage to take over pumping in and out of you.

Your cheek hits his shoulder as your head fills with a warm, thick fog. He pounds into that sweet spot inside of you over and over. You can hear him grunting beside your ear, low and strained sounds that have your stomach full of butterflies.

“Pretty, pretty girl. You were worth the wait,” he mumbles alongside another deep thrust.

You whimper, lazily nodding your head against him. “You- mm- you were too.”

Sweet, tight heat coils in your belly. You know release is creeping up on you. Your eyes flutter shut, waiting for it to take over. You don’t notice his hand sliding between your bodies until you feel the pads of his fingertips rubbing at your sensitive clit. Your hips buck into the pleasure, and your walls clamp around him hard.

He lets out a deep laugh that only makes you tighten up more. 

“Yeah, that’s a good girl. I know what you need, babydoll. Let go for me. Let me see how good you look when you cum,” he says.

His fingers keep swiping at the little bud between your legs. Syrupy shots of bliss shoot through you, pushing you along, taking you to the edge. It’s no time at all before a round of shudders rack through you. Your arms latch around his neck while your thighs clamp on either side of his. Embarrassing strings of whines trickle into the air.

“I- I- fuck,” you whimper. “Feels so- so fucking good, god.”

The last word to leave your lips is pitchy and broken. Your release cuts it short. Moans replace any coherent praise you could have given him. You bury your face in his neck and pant against the warm skin. Vaguely, you can feel his arms tightening around you. One of his hands rests between your shoulders while the other stays at your waist. He keeps pumping up into you, fucking you through each and every wave of orgasmic euphoria.

He’s less clingy as he finishes. His hips snap up into you a few more times before he groans loud and deep. He maintains the solid grip he has on you, hands still clamped around your waist as he spills inside. His chest rises and falls under your own, puffing quick with the exertion of finishing.

Your eyes stay closed for another several seconds as the room goes quiet and your nerves stop buzzing. His thumb lazily drags back and forth in tiny lines along the base of your spine. That almost makes you shiver more than anything you did on top of him.

With the fog of lust clearing from your mind, you separate from his chest and sit up straight. He’s relaxed as can be, head tilted back against the couch, watching you with the same lazy appraisal you’re giving him. Now that your entire body isn’t thrumming with want for him, he doesn’t seem so intimidating. You know that’s not the truth, that he could still crush any of your bones with minimal effort if he so desired — but in a weird way, you just don’t feel like you’re perpetually looking up at him now. It’s not negative, but the mystique is gone. The man of your dreams doesn’t exist anymore. Soldier Boy is flesh and blood, sweaty and spent beneath you.

You roll off of him to the other side of the couch. You’re pretty sure not much time has passed, but you don’t want to risk anything. You’re gonna be well and dressed when Butcher and Hughie come back. The two of them will be none the wiser that anything out of the ordinary occurred.

He stretches for a moment before adjusting his own appearance.

“Gotta say, I’m in no rush to do whatever it is they thawed me out for now. You’re much more fun.” His voice breaks the silence.

A small smile cracks on your face. “Yeah… think I’ll be pretty distracted too.” You look over your shoulder at him.

Little comments bounce back and forth between the two of you with nothing substantial really being said. That’s ok with you. The fact that you really just fucked Soldier Boy has left your mind void of conversational skills.

After the two of you are back to looking plain as you had been before, your collective attention returns to what’s left of the Red Thunder remake still playing on the tv.

“Who’s the head honcho nowadays? Was it Homelander they said?” he asks you. “Guy must not be able to get it done if they’re remaking this old shit.”

You laugh softly and nod. “Yeah… I’m sure Butcher will tell you allll about him when they get back.”

The two of you watch the remainder of the movie, with you chattering here and there about things you don’t like or little facts you know. It’s nice in a weird way. Feels almost like something you would’ve dreamed up all those years ago.

Your little bubble of fantasy bursts when the car doors slam not too far from the motel room entrance. You sit up a little straighter, smooth out your hair a bit, trying to make sure you look totally normal before Hughie and Butcher walk in.

Soldier Boy makes no such effort. His eyes rest on the tv while his legs stay spread and his posture slightly slouched.

The door creaks open and shuts just as quick. Hughie enters first with Butcher right behind him. You keep your focus on the tv. But even though you’re not looking, you can feel Butcher’s curious stare.

“We got everything we needed, so we should be good to go for tonight,” Hughie says, not giving the two of you any real thought.

You nod and take the chance to look over at him walking towards the table all of you sat at earlier. In your sweep of the room, you catch Butcher’s gaze lingering on the two of you. 

“Seems like everything went well here,” he says. You know from that lilt in his tone the words aren’t as innocent as the untrained ear would believe. You know he wants to poke and prod and expose your new dirty little secret, but you won’t let him.

You shrug. “There wasn’t a ton to do here, so yeah,” you huff like it’s obvious.

His boots squish on the cheap carpeting as he takes a few steps closer. 

“So just smooth sailin’. Nothing out of the ordinary happened?”

You roll your eyes. Does he somehow know what you did? Is he sick enough to have left cameras or something?

“Yeah. Everything’s the same as you left it, boss.”

He laughs, brief and short, a prelude to his killing strike.

“’s funny cause I don’t remember your shirt bein’ on inside-out when we left.”

Your eyes zip down only to find he’s right. The seams on your shirt puff out as they do on the interior side of the fabric. Heat rushes into your face. You grab the lumpy throw pillow jammed between your hip and the couch and chuck it in his direction.

“Shut up,” you huff as you take off towards the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind you.

His laughter carries after you, and there’s a bit of Soldier Boy’s as well, lower and deeper in timbre.

“What can I say? She’s a super-fan.” His voice rumbles through the thin walls.

You want to be offended, to go back out there and tell him and Butcher off, to not put up with any of their shit. But hearing him talk about you in that sugar-coated, condescending tone of voice, openly acknowledging he’d been with you… it wouldn’t be honest. 

You adored him before you learned to hate supes. Even if the fantasy is gone, deep down, you’re not sure you’ll ever fully rid yourself of that version of you who was whole-heartedly a super fan.

[rotinthebrain]

no drawings so take some winchester pups!

[rodrickrulezz]

my exams are starting on tuesday lowk might die

[violained]

sometimes a mysterious voice will whisper in your ear and urge you to listen to talking heads the whole day and you Have to obey it !!!

[rodrickrulezz]

happy birthday sam!!!!!!

[rodrickrulezz]

May I politely request some cuddling with Jess headcanons 🙏🤭

-🐞💌

cuddling with jess !!

𓍢ִ໋🀦 most of the time you and jess cuddle it consists of jess sat on the bed, his back pressed on the headboard, his long legs draped over his rumpled sheets. your head is nestled over his lap as he rests the latest paperback he's been keeping in his jean pocket on his hip. you hear the flicking of pages every once in a while. sometimes when your mind is too full jess reads to you. murmuring words of horror, fantasy, romance. doesn't matter what it is as long as jess is the one narrating.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 in the evenings, when the sun has settled into bed for the night, or just when the diner is so slow that jess isn't needed at all you two are cooped upstairs on the couch. your head resting on his chest, feeling the thump of his heartbeat and the touch of his nimble fingers tracing shapes on the side of your face. both of you too melted into goop to talk, so you resort into just watching the TV. luke always stomps up the stairs partially because he's cooling off from an argument with taylor but also makes himself known to prevent not seeing anything he doesn't want to see. he grumbles about 'other people living here too'

𓍢ִ໋🀦 late at night when you jess nicely explains he wants to study for a test (he procrastinated and desperately needs to cram) leading to you writing up some flashcards with questions. jess' arms wrap around your waist as you sit comfortably on his lap (close contact makes him focus.. duh) sifting through the brightly coloured pieces of card.

"what is oxidation?" you say, looking down at him expectantly.

"uh. pass," jess shrugs. he watches you narrow your eyebrows, "can i phone a friend?" he grins.

"for the millionth time, it happens when a substance reacts or combines with oxygen."

he hums in acknowlegdment. his eyelids grows in weight, he rests his head on the crook of your neck.

"jess, the answer isn't in my neck." you pretend to be angry.

"i'm writing my notes on the back of my eyelids."

𓍢ִ໋🀦 on the days where everything seems a bit too much; a stuffy town, an argument with luke or a bad day of school, without question if you or jess ask to go to the lake. you go. sometimes it's silent, your head resting on his shoulder while his head is too full to talk. or when your mind is too full it pours out of your mouth into angry rambles. jess just nods along. something is certain though, at the end when everything is all said and done. you sit in his lap, both of your feet swish in the lazy ripples of the lake, admiring the setting sun. breathing in the new found stillness.

[cerealyokiller]

Music to my ears

SUMMARY: dean’s got a goth girlfriend but acts like he doesn’t like her music

WARNINGS: pet names (sweetheart, babe)

“I promise you’ll like it” You say, putting a cd in the cd player. “I don’t know sweetheart. I’m more of a metal guy you know metallic?” Dean says, putting his hands up in rock and roll symbols. “I like metal too you know. You like this babe.” You say, turning on the cd player.

The first song to play was “Bite my hip by Bauhaus” Dean huffs, listening to the song. “It’s too slow. I like fast songs.” he says, looking over at you. “Just wait” you say, laughing.

Dean huffs again. “You really don’t like it?” You say, reaching over to turn the cd off. “It’s not bad sweetheart just not my thing” he says, looking at you.

A few weeks later you were in the bathroom while Dean was showering. You could hear him humming a song you thought you knew. “You did like it!” You yell, opening the shower curtains. “What?!” He yells, looking at you confused.

“The song Dean! You liked the song!” You yell, making him roll his eyes. “Maybe it wasn’t as bad as I said.” He says, rolling his eyes again with a faint smirk.

🪦: I never see any Dean with a goth girlfriend fics and as a goth we need more.

[wendichester]

⋆｡ ˚ purr kitty

summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ to the rest of the world you’re pure fire—too sharp of a tongued and untouchable—but the second dean gets you in bed you completely melt pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f ) wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 771 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut !! warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, submissive/shy reader in bed, heavy teasing, praise kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f!receiving), orgasm control, multiple orgasms, established relationship, size kink

notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ

You’re yelling at him again. “—and if you ever pull that lone-wolf bullshit on a hunt one more time, Dean Winchester, I swear to God I will shoot you myself!”

Dean leans against the Impala with his arms crossed, that infuriating half-smirk on his face while you pace in front of him, hands flying, eyes blazing.

You take shit from no one, least of all him, and he knows it.

He lets you finish your rant, then pushes off the car and crowds you against the hood in one smooth motion. “Done?” he asks, voice low.

Your chin lifts defiantly. “For now.”

His grin turns wicked. “Good. Get in the car.”

The drive back to the motel is silent. You’re still simmering. He keeps glancing over, green eyes dark with something that has nothing to do with the argument.

The second the motel door clicks shut behind you, the switch flips. Dean backs you up against the wall, but his hands are surprisingly gentle when they frame your face.

“There she is,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your lower lip. “My little firecracker outside… and my sweet kitten in here.”

Your breath hitches. The fight drains out of you instantly. Your shoulders soften, eyes dropping to his chest as heat floods your cheeks. “Dean…”

“Shh.” He kisses you slow and deep, coaxing instead of demanding. When he pulls back you’re already breathing faster. “Bed. Now.”

You obey without a word.

He strips you carefully, like you’re something precious, then lays you out on the bed. The second you’re naked his whole demeanor shifts into that teasing, patient dominance you secretly crave.

“Look at you,” he says softly, crawling over you. “All that attitude gone the moment I touch you. So fucking soft for me already.”

His hand slides between your thighs, finding you slick and ready. Two thick fingers tease your entrance without pushing in.

You whimper—a small, needy sound that makes his cock twitch.

“There’s my kitten,” he praises, voice rough. “Already purring for me.”

He circles your clit with lazy strokes, keeping the pressure light on purpose. Your hips chase his hand and he pulls back just enough to make you whine.

“Dean, please—”

“Please what, baby?” He leans down and sucks one nipple into his mouth, tongue flicking lazily. “Use your words. You were so loud outside. Now you’re shy?”

You squirm beneath him, cheeks burning. “Want your fingers… inside me.”

He chuckles against your skin. “Good girl.”

He finally pushes two fingers in slow, curling them perfectly. You moan, back arching, hands fisting the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, pumping steadily while his thumb keeps teasing your clit. “So tight and wet for me. My perfect little kitten.”

He works you right to the edge, then slows down again, grinning when you let out a frustrated whimper.

“Not yet,” he says. “I want to hear you beg nice and pretty.”

“Dean—please, I’m so close—”

He kisses down your stomach and replaces his thumb with his mouth. The first slow drag of his tongue over your clit makes your thighs shake. You turn into liquid under him—soft moans, breathy little cries, hips rolling helplessly. Every time you get close he eases off, until you’re trembling and desperate.

“Please,” you whimper, voice cracking. “Please let me come. I’ll be good—I swear—”

Dean groans against you. “Fuck, I love when you sound like this.”

He finally gives you what you need—fingers thrusting deep, tongue working your clit in tight, relentless circles. The orgasm crashes through you hard. You cry out, thighs clamping around his head as you shake and pulse around his fingers.

He doesn’t stop. He keeps licking and stroking you through it, then builds you right back up again. By the time the second orgasm hits you’re almost sobbing, hands buried in his hair, chanting his name like a prayer.

Only then does he crawl up your body, kissing every inch of flushed skin on the way.

“Look at you,” he whispers, settling between your thighs. His cock nudges your entrance, hot and heavy. “All soft and sweet and mine.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, eyes glassy. “Yours,” you breathe.

He pushes in slowly, stretching you open with that perfect burn. When he bottoms out he stays there, forehead pressed to yours.

“My fierce girl,” he murmurs, starting to move in deep, lazy thrusts. “My soft little kitten. Gonna make you purr all night.”

You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, melting completely under him—all the fire outside completely gone.

And Dean smiles against your lips, because this is exactly how he loves you best.

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