𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒 Იᰍ ׄ ㅤ﹕ flirty/playboy dean turned desperate ﹐ dry-humping in the impala ﹐ explicit sexual tension ﹐ dirty talk ﹐ light power struggle ﹐ mentions of alcohol ﹐ strong language ﹐ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭
"C’mon, baby," 𝓓𝐞𝐚𝐧 breathed against your lips, his voice rough like gravel under boot heels, hands gripping your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. "Let me fuck you so good you forget your own damn name." His hips bucked up, grinding you down onto the thick, insistent ridge of his cock, and you bit back a whimper. The Impala’s backseat was not built for this—then again, neither was your self-control.
"No," you gasped, but it came out more like a maybe with extra breathlessness. First date. First. Date. You had standards. Or at least, you pretended to, when you weren’t currently dry-humping a man who smelled like whiskey, leather, and the kind of trouble that left you walking funny.
Dean’s smirk was a sin wrapped in a dimple. "So you’d rather just rub up on me like a cat in heat in my baby’s backseat?" His fingers flexed on your thighs, pulling you tighter against him. "Because, sweetheart, I ain’t complainin’—but the way you’re ridin’ me right now? C’mon the real thing would be twenty times better."
You huffed, but the sound turned into a choked moan when he rolled his hips just right, the denim of his jeans scraping against your clit through the thin fabric of your panties. Thank God for skirts. "Shut. The hell. Up," you hissed, burying your face in the crook of his neck. The scent of him—gunpowder, sweat, and that stupidly good cologne he swore he didn’t wear—clogged your brain like a shot of cheap whiskey. Your nails dug into his shoulder, the other hand yanking his off your hip and bringing it up to your chest. "Touch me."
Dean’s laugh was dark. "Damn, you’re a handful." But his palm was already cupping your breast through your shirt, thumb circling your nipple like he’d mapped the damn thing in his sleep. You arched into him with a sound that was half gasp, half fuck it, and his cock twitched beneath you, thick and demanding. "Bossy little thing, aren’t you?" His lips trailed up your throat, hot and wet, like he was branding you. "Kinda love it, though." His teeth grazed your earlobe. "Feel like you’re just usin’ me to get yourself off."
"Mhm. And?" you shot back, rolling your hips down on him again, because fuck, the friction was obscene.
"And," he rumbled, "that’s the hottest damn thing I’ve heard all week." His free hand slid up your thigh, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your skirt. "But if you keep doin’ that, I’m gonna cum in my jeans like a loser, and nobody wants that."
You grinned, wicked and breathless. "I want that."
Dean groaned, his head falling back against the seat. "You’re gonna be the death of me."
With his head tossed back against the seat, you took full advantage, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of his throat. The stubble scraped against your lips, and you felt the way his body twitched beneath you, his cock jerking like it was begging for attention. "Fuck—okay, jokes over," Dean groaned, his voice rough and needy, "Please, please let me fuck you." The whine in his voice was almost cute—if it wasn’t so damn hot.
But you weren’t giving in that easy. Hell no. Instead, you shook your head, a smirk playing on your lips as you grabbed his hand off your chest and guided it down to between your legs. Dean’s breath hitched when his fingers brushed against the soaked fabric of your panties, his lips parting in a way that was half shock, half smug. You let go of his hand, giving him free rein, and damn did he take it.
His fingers slipped beneath the lace, finding you already dripping for him, the heat of you practically burning his skin. He didn’t waste a second, dragging his fingers through your slit like he was memorizing every inch of you. Then, with a smirk that was pure, unfiltered sin, he pulled his fingers free, glistening with you, and brought them to his mouth.
"Fuck," he muttered, his voice thick as he sucked them clean, his tongue swirling around his fingers like he was savoring the finest damn whiskey. A satisfied hum rumbled in his chest, and you could feel the way his cock pulsed beneath you, like it was approving of his actions. "Sweet as pie," he murmured, his voice dripping with approval, before his hand dipped back into your panties, his fingers finding your clit like it was the only thing in the world he wanted to touch.
The second his fingers made contact, you were done for. Your mouth fell open, a broken gasp escaping as your eyes fluttered shut, your hips rolling against his hand like they had a mind of their own. Dean watched you with a hunger that was almost feral, his fingers working you with a skill that had you seeing stars. "That’s it," he rumbled, his voice dark and encouraging. "Ride my fingers, sweetheart. Show me how bad you want it."
note: yes i HAD to include butt stuff. its a cow farm. you’re gonna find cows outside!!! also we’re so back oh gessss
You’re not really one to get on top, but tonight’s a special occasion. With Dean’s hands gripping your inner thighs and his mouth devouring your pussy, you have no choice but to sit up and take everything you possibly could.
He can’t breathe fresh oxygen when he’s here, his tongue buried between your folds and his teeth grazing your clit every chance he gets. Though, frankly, he’s exactly where he wants to be; when he’s beneath you like this, there’s nothing that makes him happier.
He breathes you in like it’s what he deserves, inhales the sweet, tangy scent of your dribbling cunt like it’s a flower. You gasp as he guides your hips to roll on his mouth, barely biting back a nervous giggle at the feeling of his stubble against your sensitive skin. The only time you stop holding in a breath is when he rips his head back to get air.
“You’re so fucking perfect,” He babbles. He’s breathless, thumb dipping between your folds and gliding through the soft, wet skin. Dean’s nose and lips are covered in your slick which he makes no effort to wipe off. “Can’t believe I get to suffocate under a pussy like this.”
“You-“ Barely managing to speak, you shudder out air. “You’re so dramatic.”
He looks up at you with his girlish green eyes and you watch as they crease when he grins. “I’m not.” His thumb comes back out and he slides his hands to your ass. He grips your ass hard enough to make you choke momentarily. “Give me some more, baby.” He rasps. “Put it all on me right now.”
Dean almost cums at the feeling of your weight back onto his face. He moans into your flesh and kisses your clit, bringing his tongue out to lick a thick stripe up and suckles your sensitive bud until you squirm above him. You reach to grab his hair and your breasts squeeze together uncomfortably, soft yet perked up nipples begging for the smallest amount of attention that, if he could see, would get devoured all the same.
You slide your knees outwards, toes gripping the sheets to the point they cramp in place. At your backside you can feel a single wet digit circle your asshole. He thumbs at your hole and slurps at your clit to distract you from any discomfort. One hand spreads open your asshole while the other’s thumb dips in until it’s at the knuckle.
Immediately your knees come inwards and knock against his head. The vibrations coming from his groaning immediately absorbs into your skin, your nails digging into his scalp at the rush. “Shit, Dean!” You moan, eyes squeezing shut. He flexes his thumb into you just to hear another sweet sound. Your eyes fill with tears at the pressure inside your ass. One single finger making every sensation more potent than the last.
You grind into his face, desperate to get that same rush from him that he immediately provides. He moans into you again and bites at your clit, twisting the nerves between his teeth gently before swirling it around his tongue and sucking on it like a lollipop.
“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.” You babble, raking your fingers through his hair. “M’gonna cum soon, so soon, so don’t stop! Fuck!”
Dean is very, very good at taking orders in times like these. When you tell him to keep going, he keeps going no matter what.
Slowly but surely he pumps his thumb in and out of you, timing it with the way he licks your cunt and buries his tongue so deep his nose brushes your skin. He can’t help but moan and shudder at the warmth of your body against his, toes curling and knees bending to plant his feet on the bed. His lips wrap around your clit one more time, tongue darting out like a frog to give it a little extra.
With the way he’s devouring you it makes you see stars. Your vision blurs for a moment and without realizing it you’re cumming all over him, hands reaching behind his head and pushing him into you so hard it knocks the air out of him for a moment. He breathes heavily and takes in every sensation: the feeling of your nails in his scalp, the taste of your cunt deep in his throat, the smell of your wetness covering him, the warmth around his finger inside your ass. Everything is absolutely perfect.
He pops his finger out gently, making sure you don’t notice it with glances at your scrunched face. You don’t think you’ve ever came so hard just from someone eating you out other than this very moment.
Dean grasps at your hips, gently lifting you enough to wiggle out from beneath you and sit up. “That was perfect, sweetheart.” He exhales, hand grabbing your arm. His strong fingers curl around your tired muscles. When he leans in to kiss you, you lean and give into it without a second thought.
He tastes just like you, his wet nose bumping into yours and his plush lips forcing your mouth open to bury his tongue inside the same way he did to your pussy. You grab at his chest, moaning softly at the wetness of his tongue and the overwhelming taste of your own cunt. He pulls away and grins at you, his free hand coming to brush hair away from your face and wipe saliva from your lips.
“Beautiful lady, aren’t you.” He murmurs. There’s a glint in his eyes you always see in special moments like these, one that tells you ‘I love you’. You tilt your head and smile cheekily. It feels like cupid struck him with an arrow all over again. “I think I might be the luckiest guy alive with you in front of me..” When you laugh it’s pure music in his ears. “There she is,” Dean pecks your lips one more time for good measure. “My baby.”
Summary: you put yourself on the line during a hunt and end up getting injured. Dean doesn’t take it well.
♡ warnings: mature, no smut, fatherfigure!dean, angst, mentions of blood, bruises, and cuts, not so graphic stitching description, pet names (kid, sweetheart), daddy issues, mentions of death, no mentions of y/n, reader insert.
.ᐟ.ᐟ : am i posting this at 3am because i found this deep in my docs and just wanted it out?? yess! <3 lol enjoy this random one
The motel room smelled like nothing but chemicals, a thick stench filling the small place. The bathroom door creaked open, giving you and Dean the slightest bit of privacy, all while Sam sat on one of the beds, long fingers clicking away at his laptop. He can overhear the two of you.
“I’m really not that hurt,” you protest, and Dean glares at you from between your thighs.
The sink is supporting your entire weight right now, cut-up hands gripping the edge of the ceramic dish. You swallow hard, trying to ignore your cut-up knees, the blood dripping down them, pooling at your white socks. You’re also trying to ignore the black eye forming and the cuts on your lip and forehead. God, he was pissed.
“Don’t give me that bullshit, not right now, kid,” Dean growls, rough hands somehow gently rolling up the hem of your shorts. “Could’ve got yourself fuckin’ killed, and you’re telling me you’re ‘not that hurt’. Do you think I’m an idiot or somethin’?”
You lift your head that’s been bowed for the last ten minutes, making eye contact with him; darkened green eyes that only ever appear when he’s really mad. You shake your head.
“Sure as hell seems like it,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “Putting urself on the line like that, like your life doesn’t fuckin’ matter, careless, you know? Just careless.”
You look back down; his large hands move carefully, using disinfecting wipes Sam had snagged from the pharmacy, a small sewing kit that Dean was going to use to perform wonky at-home surgery, and a few other things you weren't bothering to analyze.
“Just tell me why you did it,” Dean asks quietly, and you can feel the silver ring around his finger on your bare, bloody skin as he wipes away the stream that’s slowing just slightly. “Tell me the stupid idea that went through your fuckin’ head, and then explain it again so I can see if you’re really that stupid,” he sneers, looking up at you again.
Dean doesn’t hesitate to lift his hand, covered in your own blood, and he grabs your face, forcing it up and against the motel mirror behind you. You grip the edge of the sink, huffing quietly as he stares at you, noticing that look in your eyes. Fear.
“Just wanted to help,” you mumble, hesitantly nodding, but his hand is keeping you from it.
“Help? You wanted to help?” he asks, purposely enunciating the help part, as if it was a completely outrageous idea.
“Yes… help, I wanted to help,” you nod, and he pulls his hand back, blinking.
“Sammy and I don’t need any fuckin’ help,” Dean growls again, his hands drifting over to the toilet lid, grabbing a damp cloth. “Your job is to sit in the car and wait. Your job is to wait.”
“Did you ever wait?” you ask, tilting your head to the side, and his jaw clicks. “Did your dad ever make you wait, Dean?”
“My father made me do shit a kid ain’t supposed to do,” he mumbles, holding the cloth in his bloody hands. “Not doin’ the same thing to you, kid,” he sighs, going back to wiping your bloody knees.
“I am not a kid,” you say, your voice firm, and his green eyes flick up to yours.
“And I ain’t your daddy either,” Dean shoots back at you, and you curl into yourself slightly.
You don’t respond to him; you only sit there with his words; I ain’t your daddy.
He’s right; he’s not your daddy–you know this, and yet, you still wish for the things a father could provide you, and you find yourself looking for them in all of the wrong places. Like a hunter ridden in daddy issues and alcohol, like Dean Winchester.
“What you did was childish,” Dean starts, switching to your other knee. “Jumpin’ in there right when things get bad? Childish behaviour, and you know that,” he tells you, wiping the gash on your knee that still steadily drips blood.
“It wasn’t; I was being brave,” you explain, tilting your head downwards, trying to see his eyes. “I stepped in when things got bad because I’m brave, not because I’m childish,” you explain, and he scoffs.
“There’s a fine line between being brave and bein’ stupid, and you crossed it,” Dean says, eyes narrowing at the never-ending flow of blood. “Gonna have to fuckin’ stitch this, you know?”
“Yeah, I know,” you sigh quietly, shifting against the sink. “Why can’t Sammy?” you ask, and Dean scowls.
“Because Sammy isn’t here to clean up your messes,” he mumbles, lifting his hand to wipe his forehead with the back of his hand.
“And you are?” you ask, and he huffs, reaching to grab the sewing kit.
Dean is silent as he grabs the needle and thread, and you stay quiet too, watching his large hands carefully open the sewing kit. His movements are careful, and he’s still nudged between your legs, breathing heavier, all out of frustration.
“Look, I’m sorry,” you mumble, and silence hangs again, just the buzz of the light above the two of you.
Dean is too busy trying to thread the bullshit, cursing quietly to himself, his hands still tainted with your blood, a bitter reminder of just how bad it was out there.
You knew it was your fault; the ghoul taking a hit at Dean, Sam trapped in the abandoned house, screaming for help, and there you sat in Baby, watching the entire disaster go down in the backseat of a fucking car. You had to do it, had to jump out, completely unarmed, blindly running into a graveyard. The ghoul took a hit at you, and it sent you flying onto your knees, and unfortunately, into a headstone; it cut up your face and knees, and Dean watched it all in front of his eyes; the only other person he had in his life to protect, almost dying.
Ever since the brothers found you a few years back, your parents tragically dying in a case the two brothers were working, they immediately took you in–your parents were hunters, well known enough for Bobby to break the news to Sam and Dean; the young kid they found scarred and scared had a little more in common with them than they expected, and it only fuelled the connection you had with them. Mostly Dean.
“This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch,” Dean suddenly murmurs to you, eyes focused on the gash on your knee that’s slightly cleared. “Deep breaths, kid,” he warns.
The pain is sharp, a burning pain rippling through your entire body as the needle pokes right through the flap of skin. You whimper loud enough for Sam to glance over his shoulder, halting the clacking of the keyboard.
“Damn it, stop movin’,” Dean grunts under his breath, your hips shifting in pain against the sink. “See what happens when you don’t fuckin’ listen?”
Your head tips back against the mirror again, and you purse your lips, eyes closing. It hurts like hell, and despite the harsh tone in Dean’s voice, his hands are incredibly tender, moving with a skill you didn’t expect him to possess.
“Dean,” you whimper, shaking your head. It hurts too much, and he knows it.
“Come on, sweetheart, just a few more seconds,” he softens, his hands working a bit quicker, and he yanks the string, immediately making you yelp.
It has to be done, though; you can’t check in to a hospital, not at this time, not where there’s probably some cop or ghoul still looming around, waiting for a moment of weakness like right now.
“Oh, my gosh,” you gasp out softly, knuckles turning white.
“Relax, relax,” Dean mumbles, giving one final yank to finish the job, and you whine again, your eyes squeezing shut and your nose scrunching in pain.
He pulls back, briefly examining the poorly done stitching that’ll probably break open the next time you bend your knee–for now, it’s fine, and he wipes his brow again, sighing heavily. You’re panting, head still tipped back.
“You good, kid?” he mumbles, one of his hands casually finding your bare thigh, and you swallow hard, nodding through the current stinging.
“Yeah, I’m fine, I told you this,” you mumble through clenched teeth, a harsh bite finding its way into your words.
“That was before I did a hack job on your skin,” he counters, eyebrows raising. “You sure you’re good?”
“Yes, Dean,” you shoot back, finally looking at him.
His eyes widen, and he looks away, sighing heavily again, looking at the other supplies he has to sift through. The bruise and scrapes on your face bother him, and he’ll start investigating them in no time.
“Your eye,” Dean starts quietly, patting your thigh with his thumb before his hand reaches over to grab another disinfectant wipe. “Cut up, bruise forming, too,” he adds.
“Yeah, I can feel it,” you nod, and he brings his free hand to grab your face, holding it still lightly.
The bright lights in the bathroom have you squinting, and the thick scent of sour medical supplies has your nose scrunching, and he almost–almost cracks a smile at the way you look right now. He still has your blood on his hands.
Dean’s thumb pushes against your cheek, drifting up the side of your face, finding the black and bruised discoloured skin, and he presses again. You wince, sucking in a breath.
“That hurt?” he asks, the wipe finding the blood stain beneath your nose, and he gently rubs the temple of your head with his other thumb instead. His large hands are all over your face.
“It’s fresh,” you tell him, the answer obvious.
“Thought you were some brave hero,” he quips, wetting his lips while focusing on getting rid of the crusting blood on the lower half of your face.
“That doesn’t mean anything.” You squeeze the counter harder, and he’s still rubbing your temple, but drags it down to focus on your cheekbone. He’s just keeping you relaxed.
“Oh, it doesn’t?” he asks, dropping both of his hands away from you, and you roll your eyes.
“No, it doesn’t,” you shake your head, and he’s reaching back over, getting another wipe; he’s going through them like crazy, each one coming back redder than the last.
“Usually…” Dean starts, now dabbing at a cut above your eyebrow. “Heroes aren’t beaten to shit,” he prompts, and he clenches his jaw.
“What is your issue?” you finally spit out, and he instantly laughs–one of those Dean laughs that come straight from his chest, and your eyebrows furrow.
“My issue is you,” he tells you flatly, a satisfied look sinking into his face when he notices the blood on your forehead has stopped.
“Shut the fuck up,” you dismiss, shaking your head, and he taps your cheekbone to stop you from moving too much.
“You think I’m jokin’,” Dean says, tossing the used wipes into the trash. “And I’m not,” he finishes, taking a small step back, tapping your thigh. “Good as new.”
“What about my headache? My black eye?” you abruptly ask, still sitting on the sink, and he shrugs back on the flannel he took off when he needed to focus.
“Sam has some painkillers,” he tells you, shifting away from you. “And the bruise will go away on its own,” he explains further, his attitude suddenly distanced.
“What did I do?” you ask, noticing the shift, and you suddenly feel like a little kid again.
“What?” he asks, confusion knitting into his brows.
“You’re acting weird,” you press, and he scoffs.
“What do you want me to do? Kiss you better?” he jokes, and yeah, that’s what you want.
“No, but I’m still in pain,” you tell him, shifting on the sink again.
Dean sighs heavily, tipping his head back at the neediness. He puts both of his hands on his hips, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom door that’s still creaked open; all he can see is Sam focused on his computer. He looks at you, biting his lip for a second.
“You gotta cut this shit out,” he murmurs to you, taking a few steps closer again, boots heavy on the tile floor. “This ain’t some… daddy foster thing, between us.” he shakes his head, using his hand to gesture between your bodies.
“I… I didn’t say that,” you stutter out, shaking your head hesitantly. “You’re just… leaving me here, when I’m not even fully cleaned up, or anything.”
“You said that you weren’t that hurt,” he recalls, referencing the first words you had said to him.
“I don’t know, maybe some… comfort, something?” you explain, and you can see the look settle into his features.
“Do you remember what I told you earlier?” he mumbles slightly, a glance down at your knee–he missed a cut, and he groans at the idea of having to patch you up again.
“What? That I was stupid? That I was careless? That I basically have no reason to go on hunts because you force me to sit in the back of the car where I feel–”
Your words are cut off, and a warm, bloody palm is pressed right across your mouth. Your eyes widen; Dean is nudged between your thighs again, pressing you up into the mirror behind you, and you can smell the metallic scent on his fingers, the dirt and the grime. You blink.
“You’re gonna shut your mouth,” he tells you, nodding. “Ain’t need to say a damn thing, got it?”
You nod, breathing heavily, seeing just how serious he is.
When Dean pulls back, you instantly wipe your mouth, and he’s back to fixing up the cut he missed–just a few dabs of the wipes, but this time, he places a band-aid against the wound, and you sit there in a compliant silence, mindlessly watching him. Sam notices it, the odd quietness. You usually don’t shut up.
A few minutes pass, and you and Dean are exiting the bathroom. Sam looks up at you, blinking at how you look–a complete mess–and Dean is trailing behind, shaking his head, a sibling signal to not mention a thing.
“Things go okay?” Sam asks, slowly shutting the computer lid.
“We’re just gonna sleep,” Dean cuts in, and he shoots his brother a look, the energy in the room shifting.
“Yeah… yeah, cool,” he shakes his head, quickly standing up from the twin bed, clutching his laptop beneath his arm, lanky limbs carrying him to the small desk in the motel room where he places the computer.
Getting ready for bed is easy; it always has been for the three of you. Dean and Sam peel out of their shirts and jeans, sliding into bed in boxers, and you just take off your jeans, leaving you in just your underwear and a t-shirt. It’s always been this way, and you’ve always shared the bed with Dean. A quiet agreement–Sam was too big anyway.
The sheets are stiff and uncomfortable after a little while, your band-aid getting caught on the flimsy covers, and there’s some couple outside arguing. Sam is already passed out, face down in his pillow, and Dean is beside you, half-asleep, but aware that your eyes are stuck open.
“Come on, kid,” Dean mumbles into the darkness, and you close your eyes, lips parting when you feel those strong arms wrapping around the middle of your abdomen. “Can’t stay awake all night,” he whispers, shifting closer to you.
You’re not sure if he was sneaking swigs of his flask, if he’s half asleep, or both, but his words aren’t syncing up with the light scolding he had with you just hours before in the bathroom. You shift.
“M’sorry, okay?” he suddenly admits, and you stay quiet, feeling his hands squeezing you in his arms. “Thought I was gonna lose you, can’t lose you,” he murmurs into the night, resting his chin onto your shoulder.
You stiffen at the odd affection, the drowsiness in his voice revealing how out of it he is, and how little he probably means what he’s saying.
“M’know… your head hurts, I know, sweetheart,” he drawls, his breath warm on your neck. “Tomorrow… you’ll be okay, ain’t gotta be up stressin’, go to sleep,” he rambles on, squeezing you against him again.
You breathe out, your eyes falling shut at the way his fingers curl into your shirt, and his thigh is sliding between your own. It’s all warm skin and sweat, and your head throbs. You silently wish Sam was awake, only so he could slip you the pills Dean had mentioned.
“Okay,” you mumble softly and nod a little bit, keeping your voice quiet in the motel room. Sam rolls over, and his bed groans, a quiet protest.
“Mmm… good,” Dean mumbles, his nose pressing into your neck from behind. “Sleep, kid, I got you.”
You squeeze your eyes even if they’re already shut, and lightly squirm into the bedsheets, and he pulls you back into him, keeping you closer than before. He even lets a hand slide down your thigh, a rough thumb rubbing over a tender bruise.
You won’t sleep, but at least there’s the comfort part.
call me nat 🪽i’m fluent in both english & spanish. candles + warm lighting. gold jewelry. pink and black everything. college student with a love for hockey romance novels (elle kennedy ily) all black fits. polka dots. sweet scents. cold temperatures. nighttime. fall air. april aries 🐏 lover of all sweet treats! kali uchis. mariah the scientist. tame impala. the neighborhood. cortis. enha.
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in which . . . your favorite online shopping site, EN-line, has been slacking on your packages lately. almost every night you find yourself contacting customer service over one issue after another— and every time, you get connected to the same representative, riki.
→ contains — smau (26 ss) ࿐ crack && fluff ౨౿ cursing ⁘ ot7 enha, keonho & james (cortis) & wonhee (illit) mentioned . . ∿ strangers to lovers Ꮺ humor × sexual jokes ᶻz riki n reader r both sleep deprived . . .
( syn. ) juhoon knows how to keep a secret. his only exception? how down bad he is for his favourite niche pop star 🤨🤨
( tags ) smau ⋆ fanboy&&idol ! juhoon x girlset’s 5th mem. ! reader ⋆ featuring members of CORTIS && GIRLSET ⋆ crack ⋆ fluff ⋆ includes swearing
#🫖: it’s so easy to write martin as embarrassingly in love we must get juhoon onto this agenda too 😛 also girlset has like 3 songs so i had to help them out a bit 💀💀
⋆˚꩜｡ ex!bf!martin x fem!reader .✦ ݁˖ a 90s trope smau ⋆˚࿔ in which ex boyfriend martin tries to win over your heart again ᭝ ᨳଓ ՟ fluff! boy band martin! 𐙚⋆.˚ attitude reader °❀⋆ listen to the recommend songs while reading for a better experience! ۶ৎenjoy💗
chapter two: things you like | previously, next
martin edwards had exactly three ideas.
unfortunately, all three ideas were terrible.
“absolutely not” james said immediately.
martin pointed at him from the middle of the basement. “you didn’t even let me finish.”
“i didn’t need to.”
“okay, but in my defense the cassette tape thing was romantic.”
“the cassette tape thing was insane” keonho corrected.
sean looked genuinely conflicted. “i thought it was kinda sweet.”
“thank you sean.”
“no, wait” sean said carefully. “what was the part after you recorded the songs?”
martin crossed his arms. “i was going to leave it in her locker.”
“normal so far.”
“with a note.”
“still okay.”
“and maybe” martin said, looking suddenly less confident “pay the janitor twenty bucks to play our song over the morning announcements.”
silence.
james blinked once. “our song?”
“not our our song” martin said quickly. “just, like. a song that reminds me of her.”
“which song?”
martin hesitated.
keonho gasped softly. “oh my god, it’s ‘fernando’. “
martin looked offended. “it’s not ‘fernando’ .”
“ ‘and i love her’ ?” juhoon guessed.
martin looked away.
sean slapped a hand over his mouth. james actually stood up from the chair in disbelief.
“ ‘human nature’ ?” james repeated. “you’re kidding.”
“it was playing during our first kiss” martin snapped defensively. “which none of you would’ve known if you people respected privacy!”
“you told us that voluntarily” keonho reminded him.
“while crying” sean added.
martin looked personally betrayed. “i was emotional.”
“you still are emotional” james said. “and that is exactly why you are not hijacking the morning announcements with michael jackson.”
martin flopped backward onto the couch dramatically, throwing an arm over his eyes. “then what am i supposed to do?”
juhoon, calm as ever, reached into the chip bag. “something she would actually like.”
martin moved his arm enough to look at him. “what does that mean?”
juhoon shrugged. “you keep thinking about what would impress her. not what would make her happy.”
that shut the room up for a second.
because annoyingly enough, juhoon usually ended up being right.
martin stared at the ceiling.
you liked little things. you weren’t impressed by grand gestures or loud speeches or flowers taller than your torso. martin had once shown up to your house with twelve roses after an argument and you’d laughed so hard you accidentally chocked.
“what am i supposed to do with all these?” you’d asked between laughs. “open a flower shop?”
you liked details.
warm cherry coke left in your locker before math because you’d mentioned once that the vending machine always sold out by third period. songs recorded off the radio. inside jokes scribbled in notebooks.
remembering things, martin sat up slowly.
“…oh no” james muttered immediately, recognizing the look on his face.
“i have an idea.”
“that’s the exact tone serial killers use before documentaries are made about them.”
but martin was already grinning now.
“okay” he said, pointing at all of them. “i need your help.”
friday morning arrived cold and bright.
you were standing at your locker adjusting the straps of your bag while your best friend attempted to convince you that low rise jeans were a conspiracy.
“they hate women” she said firmly.
“you say that about everything.”
“because everything hates women.”
“fair.”
you spun the dial on your locker. something fell out immediately. you yelped.
a small packet hit the floor at your feet.
your best friend bent down first, suspicious by nature. “what the hell is-“ she stopped. then slowly held it up.
a pack of strawberry mentos.
you froze. because strawberry mentos were weirdly specific.
you’d once mentioned. once, months ago during a late night phone call, that the strawberry ones were impossible to find because everyone always bought the mint ones first.
your best friend looked at you carefully. “oh, this is bad.”
“it’s probably not from him.”
inside the locker sat a second thing.
a clearly canadian. cold. your favorite flavor. wild cherry.
you stared at it. your best friend stared at you staring at it.
“…oh he’s insane…” she whispered.
there was no note. which somehow made it worse.
no dramatic declaration. no apology. no please talk to me.
just things you liked.
you looked down the hallway. martin was nowhere in sight. which also felt intentional.
your best friend leaned against the locker beside yours, narrowing her eyes thoughtfully. “okay. i hate to say this.”
“then don’t.”
“…that’s actually kind of smooth.”
you grabbed the clearly canadian before anyone else could see it. “it doesn’t mean anything.”
“baby, that drink is literally sweating.”
“it’s a beverage.”
“it’s flirting.”
you shoved the locker shut harder than necessary.
across the school, martin sat in chemistry pretending to understand covalent bonds while losing his mind.
“she found it twenty minutes ago” keonho whispered from the desk beside him.
martin stared straight ahead. “i know.”
“how do you know?”
“sean’s girlfriend’s cousin has first period near the lockers.”
keonho blinked. “that is an insane information network.”
martin ignored him. his pencil tapped nervously against the desk.
did you know it was him? you definitely knew it was him. the mentos had probably given it away immediately.
he bought six packs because the gas station cashier kept judging him every time he dug through the candy shelf looking for the strawberry ones specifically. worth it tho. probably. maybe.
he dropped his head onto the desk. keonho snorted quietly. “you’re down catastrophic.”
“i know.”
by lunchtime, the entire thing should’ve ended there. except it didn’t.
because when you got to your usual cafeteria table, there was another surprise waiting. sitting in the center of the table was a tiny plastic dinosaur.
you stopped walking. your best friend made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a cackle.
attached to the dinosaur’s neck with pink ribbon was a folded piece of notebook paper. you opened it cautiously.
>⩊<.ᐟ dinosaurs are objectively cooler than your new lab partner.
- m. ᢉ𐭩
you stared at the note. then, against your own will, smiled.
small, sudden, helpless.
because your chemistry lab partner actually was the worst.
your best friend pointed at you immediately like she’d caught you committing a crime. “there it is.”
“what?”
“that smile.”
“i did not smile.”
“you literally sparkled.”
you folded the note quickly, cheeks warm. “it’s just funny.”
“mmhmm…”
“and dinosaurs are objectively cool.”
“you are this close to forgiving him because of a toy brontosaurus.”
“it’s not a brontosaurus” you said. “i think it’s-“
you stopped. your best friend looked delighted.
“…oh my god, you’re gone.”
before you could defend yourself, the cafeteria doors swung open.
and there he was. martin walked in mid conversation with james, messy hair escaping in every direction, leather jacket hanging off one shoulder, silver chain catching the light. like those slow motion scenes in the movies.
then he saw you. his sentence stopped completely. for a second, neither of you moved. then his eyes dropped to the dinosaur in your hands. your lips twitched.
then martin nearly walked directly into a table. james grabbed the back of his jacket at the last second. “jesus christ, keep walking, don’t embarrass me man.”
keonho made a choking noise behind them that sounded like suppressed laughter.
martin recovered badly. you looked down quickly before he could see your face again.
your best friend leaned closer to you very slowly.l “oh” she whispered. “he came to play.”
ʚɞ play “heaven” by bryan adams
that should’ve been the end of it. it wasn’t. because fifth period came with rain. hard rain. the kind that hammered against classroom windows and turned the school parking lot into a blur of gray puddles and headlights.
by the final bell, everyone was crowded under the school roof waiting for rides, complaining about the rain.
you stood near the vending machines hugging your bag to your chest.
“my mom’s gonna take like twenty minutes” your best friend groaned beside you. “she drives like she’s transporting ancient artifacts.”
“at least she’s coming.”
lightning cracked somewhere far off. someone yelled. you watched the rain spill off the edge of the awning in silver sheets.
then-
a familiar leather jacket appeared in your peripheral vision.
you stiffened immediately. martin stopped beside you, hands shoved into his pockets. for once, he didn’t look smooth. he looked nervous.
wet hair falling into his eyes, chain glinting faintly beneath the fluorescent lights, fingers tapping anxiously against his sleeve.
your best friend’s eyes widened. then- she spotted someone across the parking lot and gasped. “oh my god wait, that’s my ride.”
you turned to her so fast. “what?”
“good luck!” she whispered aggressively.
“don’t leave me here-“ too late.
she was already sprinting into the rain like a soldier fleeing war. you stared after her in betrayal.
martin laughed softly beside you before he could stop himself.
you crossed your arms tighter and scoffed. “you planned that.”
“i absolutely did not.”
“you were a liar back then, you’re still a liar now too.”
he sighed. “okay” he admitted. “maybe a little.” rain hammered the pavement.
neither of you looked at each other directly.
“the dinosaur was triceratops, by the way” martin said after a moment.
you blinked. “what?”
“earlier. i overhead before i entered.” he shrugged. “you were gonna correct her.”
you stared at him.
martin glanced over finally, softer now. “you always get annoyed when people mix them up.”
you looked away quickly. “that’s because people are wrong.”
“yeah” he said quietly. “they usually are.”
for a second, neither of you spoke. just rain. just fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. just martin standing too close again after two months of not close at all.
then a car horn sounded somewhere across the lot. your ride. you stepped back automatically.
something flickered across martin’s face for half a second before he covered it.
“right” he said lightly. “see you monday.”
and god. that shouldn’t have sounded so intimate.
you started toward the rain. “if you’re lucky.”
martin’s grin appeared slowly. warm. devastating. “yeah?”
you rolled your eyes and continued walking to the car.
martin stood under the awning watching you go until james appeared beside him holding two sodas.
james handed one over silently. martin took it without looking away from the parking lot.
“…you think she kept the dinosaur?” he asked, sounding stunned.
james cracked open his soda. “probably. congratulations. your girlfriend likes plastic reptiles.”
martin looked at him immediately. “she’s not my girlfriend.”
james took a long sip. “not yet.”
ᝰ.ᐟ a/n: chapter two guys! thank you guys so much for the love i received on chapter one🫶🏻
gracieabrams
amandla
areudirty
stormborns
origamiaround
turnnoffyourmind
