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deanbrainrotwritings · 4 months

Text

— GIMME HALF

REQUEST : “hi!! I was wondering if you could maybe write an age gap (legal obv) with female!reader × dean winchester where the reader is like in her 20s and dean's in his 40s :) just some rough smut with choking and hair pulling and spitting (if you're comfortable with it) and dean being like super "hungry" for her, like he's waited a long time for it to happen. also lots of dirty talks cause i absolutely love them hahah :) anyways im in love with your writing and all your stories! thanks a lot! <3” — anonymous

PAIRING : dean winchester x professor!reader (f.)

CHARACTERS : miracle, sam winchester

WARNINGS/TAGS : explicit(18+), angst, enemies to lovers, age gap, voyeurism, smut, oral sex, p in v, praise kink, choking, hair pulling, dacryphilia, rough sex, spitting

WORD COUNT : 8.4k

A/N : devil wears prada song title. @spnkinkevents : #12daysofspnkinkmas2023 — chair sex and food play. I wrote this half-asleep while listening to ASMR, like… that’s how I write most of my stories, plus, they’re always written between 00.00-02.40. Doctor Who references, ‘cause I’m a nerd. I got carried away…. Cliffhanger bc I’m cruel.

There were countless pros and cons to having houses built so close together with windows facing the same direction.

Pros: Accidentally seeing your hot neighbour walk around naked in the living room and kitchen. Accidentally catching your hot neighbour jerk off when they think that everyone’s asleep.

Yup, she’s seen all of that and more. All from that nameless, freckled, green-eyed man next door.

Even wholesome things, like him playing with his cute dog, babying the little rascal and spoiling it. Him cooking and baking, being wholeheartedly content with feeding it to the tall, Hazel-eyed puppy dog of a man, the tall man’s gorgeous deaf wife, and his tiny adorable son; the blue-eyed, dreamy dude in a trench coat; and that endearing young boy with blue eyes who looked like a combination of all three of the men.

There were times where she’d seen the green-eyed man dressed as a cowboy and even a princess to entertain the little baby boy—his nephew. For sleepovers with him, he’d read him bedtime stories while being completely animated. He’d build a bunch of forts, with sheets, the couch, pillows, and some Christmas lights. He'd talk to the little boy and hold serious conversations despite neither of them being able to understand each other. He’d teach the young boy and the baby boy how to fix cars—at least he tried to. He’d pack his best friends' lunches every morning with his hair unkempt, half asleep, while sipping on some coffee. He’d even take naps with the baby, treating him as his own son.

He’d do ridiculously endearing things, too, such as baking bread at night when he couldn’t sleep. He'd read books only when he was alone, as if he’d be made fun of by his friends, and she finally understood why. They were either romantic, erotic, or completely nerdy and abstract. He had range. He’d watch cheesy soap operas and rom-com k-dramas when he did chores. He loved to collect things such as Pokémon cards and even legos.

There were a million things he did that she thought were cute. The windows into his house were like the screens of a television, like her favourite character, she got to see him when he’s relaxed and surrounded only by those who love him

As for the cons, we’ll get to that…

When they first moved in, it was about three and a half years ago. She’d been visiting her family in Kansas City for her oldest brother’s birthday in June.

When she returned to Lebanon, they had already settled down. There was a brown and beige Ford pickup truck, a black Subaru—both parked in the front, and a sleek black Impala in the driveway.

The youngest, Jack, waved at her one day when he returned with Cas after buying groceries. Then, Cas awkwardly introduced himself and Jack, and gave her the names of the other two men who were brothers, Sam is the tall one and Dean was the freckled one.

Sam was the most social one. He’d spark up conversation with her whenever he saw her, dropping bits and pieces of information about himself, his brother, his fiancée, Cas, Jack, and Dean’s loyal dog, Miracle.

After seven months of living together, Sam moved out with his wife, Eileen. They’d just gotten married, and they both invited her. She’d gone, the wedding was pretty, cute, and modest. Y/n had spoken to a few of their close family and friends. Dean, however, kept to himself the whole night as if he were grieving. He’d smile occasionally if any of his friends came to him, he was enthusiastic, and then he'd go back into himself.

Four months later, Sam and EIleen returned; she was pregnant. It was a boy, he’d planned on naming him after his big brother, which Y/n thought was adorable. He hadn’t told his brother, but planned on telling him the day his son was born.

Y/n could tell Dean had mixed feelings about his brother’s departure, mostly negative feelings. He loved Eileen and his nephew. But when it was just him, Cas, and Jack, he'd often drink, despite concerned, useless interventions with Cas. Unless Sam, Eileen, and his nephew were there. He’d never even glance at that top-shelf cupboard.

The good thing was that at least Dean was a happy drunk.

The first time she interacted with Dean was a few weeks after she’d returned from Kansas City, she assumed two things: his heart was closed off to new people, and he’s one hot, irritating, grumpy, sour, old man.

It was the spring semester at Kansas University. Y/n was grading her students’ creative, personal essays in the office downstairs. She was perplexed by the small percentage of her students and their inability to use proper grammar or follow the thorough, detailed checklist she created to get them to pass easily.

Just when she thought she’d gotten great at making their lives easy, they return the shittiest, half-assed essays. She felt bad for the bad grades, but since the rest of her students managed to get perfect scores or at least proficient scores, she couldn’t just let them pass.

Loud banging on the door startled her from reading an impressive essay. Her blood ran cold and she scrambled up from her rolling chair, ignoring that she pushed it halfway across the room.

Her socked feet were quiet on the wooden floor, making her way quickly down the hallway until she got to the shelf where she kept her gun. She pressed it against the door and looked through the peephole, then relaxed when she saw Dean.

She was irritated by the loud knocking, though, regardless of how cute he looked when he was clearly pissed off. She opened the door and set the gun down on the table where she usually placed her keys.

“Lady, have you seen the mess you made outside?” Dean asked her, pointing behind him. She stared at him, stunned by how much prettier he looked up close. Her cheeks turned hot, but she looked past him trying to see whatever he was pointing at.

She looked at her red Mustang parked in the front as a reminder to restock the kitchen, then looked close to where his house was. She winced at the mud and the running water from her hose going into his nice lawn.

“Shit,” she murmured, toeing her socks off before moving past Dean to turn the hose off. She got distracted by the mud and the puddles as she pulled the hose, and coiled it back where it should have been. It’s been a while since she last let her bare feet feel this beneath, the smell of wet dirt was amazing, even when it wasn’t caused by rainfall.

“Do you always do shit like this?” He asked from behind, his tone harsh.

She frowned when she turned to look at his furious face, careful to not touch her forehead with her muddy hands when she used her wrist to move hair away from her face.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised, tilting her head at him. He just rolled his eyes at her, then he stared at his lawn, and ran his hand down his face. “Did I do somethin’ else to piss you off?” She asked, looking around to see if there’s anything else she may have forgotten.

“One, your cat’s too damn loud, crying and meowing for my damn dog when you let him out,” he started, which made her blink in confusion. She didn’t expect something like that to get on his nerves. “And B, why the hell do you have cameras facing my place?”

She narrowed her eyes at him, her ego being injured fueled her anger and defensiveness. “Okay, listen, Doctor Who, I said I was sorry, okay?” She could tell her words stunned him by the furrowing of his brows in bewilderment, disarming him and shutting him up. “It’s not my fault your dog likes my cat, too. And the cameras are off, they’re there to scare people, so fuck off,” she snapped before she stop herself.

Dean scoffed at her, “fuck you.” She rolled her eyes at him this time, staring daggers into his back when he turned around to get to his home.

“If you’d fuck me, maybe you wouldnt be such an asshole.” Her snide words made him freeze. He laughed dryly and he turned to face her once more, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Pretty sure I’d still hate you, sweetheart,” he chuckled, crossing his own arms. That stung, even if she didn’t know him personally and half the time she spent romanticising him based on the little bit of information she had. “And I’d rather go fuck some other chick.” She clenched her jaw and breathed in slowly, angry heat began rising up her neck the faster her heart started to beat.

Entirely unintended, she venomously spat, “according to your brother, you haven’t been lucky enough, and you’re not going to be.”

“You talking to my brother about my sex life?” He stepped closer to her, his nostril flaring in anger. Betrayal and hurt crossed his features and she realised her mistake.

“No, just overheard him ‘cause you’re an overbearing douchebag,” she lied smoothly. Truth was, Sam and Eileen did accidentally—drunkenly—tell her how hard it was for Dean to maintain a serious relationship for more than three months. They don’t remember sharing that information. It was easy for her to casually ask about Dean’s love life and availability, masking her attraction to Dean as mere surprise as to how the younger brother got married before the older one. “Makes sense now why no one will sleep with you,” she laughed mockingly, stepping closer to him defiantly.

His face was red now, too. Angry, offended, he rolled his eyes at her smug face and body language. “You don’t know shit about me.”

“Sure, yeah, if that makes you feel better,” she snorted, patting his very nice, broad shoulder with her muddy hand as she made her back into her house. Preoccupied by the small mud-print on his beige Henley, he couldn’t get the last word in or stop her from leaving him flustered in her swampy driveway.

That was the start of a horrible relationship with her neighbour. The neighbour she had a crush on.

He found all kinds of reasons to complain. Big and small. And she secretly did things to piss him off, occasionally sabotaging his plans.

The thing was that deep down, she still liked him, but he made her so angry and frustrated. And it felt good to see him angry and frustrated by things she caused either on purpose or accidentally. Any attention was better than no attention.

Eventually, that all changed. The fun, the it’s-better-than-nothing feeling, it didn’t last. Fourteen months later, she stopped the cruel games and decided to avoid him completely.

When her friends offered to take her out, she agreed, even if she wanted to stay home. If Dean was home, she made sure to never say no to them, and sometimes she’d offer to take them out. Wherever.

She’d started to grade at the cafe, library, or the diner, even if Dean went to all those places often. At least he wouldn’t say anything there around all those people.

When she grew closer to Sam, Cas, and Jack, she’d find excuses not to go over to Dean’s when they offered either food, game nights, movie nights, or random hangouts. They started to notice too—the tension, the avoidance, the hostility—and they’d go over to her place instead, often without Dean, who’d choose to go out to avoid staying home alone.

It was awful. The rejection started to hurt, yet, he had her heart in the palm of his hand. Deep down, she knew that Dean wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like her.

Eventually, Dean ended his animosity, too, and everything went back to ‘normal’. She slowly started to reject offers from her friends to test the water, stayed home to grade, and didn't permit her cat to leave even if it cried for an escape. If she took him out, it was with a leash she eventually got him to get used to.

They ignored each other when they crossed paths—in the driveway, at the grocery store, at diners, at the cafe. They acted like complete strangers. She’d keep her curtains closed, at least she did for the windows that face his house. She made her presence as unnoticeable and as invisible as she could to prevent causing more damage to each other.

Then, about two months ago, on Halloween, Sam, Eileen, Cas, and Jack went to her house to collect candy. Sam made a point of staying back while the rest of them walked to where Dean was waiting—looking anywhere but at her house—to convince her to go to his and Eileen’s place for Thanksgiving.

He was honest, cute, wide hazel eyes attempting to convince her to try and make amends with Dean. She didn’t doubt it, when he told her that Dean felt guilty, but her pride was bruised, and her heart was broken. She told Sam she would be visiting her own family for that holiday. She omitted that she’d be going to her mother’s house a few miles away, still in Lebanon. And she easily convinced her mother to let her stay the rest of the week until she had to go back to work.

Now, Christmas was near—in four days, to be exact. It wasn’t the holiday spirit that made her change her mind, it was the hurt and the exhaustion of planning her life around avoiding Dean.

So, she called Sam, she asked if he could do anything to get Dean alone tomorrow.

For the rest of the day, she would start to prepare everything—even though it was Dean who created the mess—she was willing to make the first move and hopefully meet him halfway.

She couldn’t lie that she felt embarrassed by how excited she was to see Dean. She couldn't even differentiate the meaning of the butterflies in her stomach, but she powered through her fluttering heart and her shaking hands as she prepared everything before going to see him.

She considered not doing it at all, calling it quits—but the consequences of that quickly made her miserable. That would just mean more avoidance, more hiding, more changing everything about herself to make him happy.

All of this over one little misunderstanding. One bad day where her mouth ran without consulting her brain first ruined what could have otherwise been a good friendship—perhaps even a romantic relationship.

She was twenty-six and just like Dean, she hadn’t had a serious relationship since… Well, ever. The last time someone convinced her to date them was in highschool, and even before that, it took her a month—or less—to figure out she wanted nothing to do with them. She didn’t like the people she dated. She realised quickly that she didn’t even want a future with them, she didn’t even allow them to kiss her or touch her. So she figured that if she didn’t want to marry them, what was the point of wasting her time?

For so long, the first thing she thought of when she felt attracted to someone was: can I stand the thought of their touch? Can I see myself kissing them, letting them kiss me? Can I stand the thought of the fights and staying with them through thick and thin? Can I picture myself with them in the future, permanently?

The answer was always ‘no’ and the attraction died immediately after the realisation.

With Dean, the answer was different. Not for some stupid reason, like fate, or the boy-next-door trope. No. This was reality, and the real reason was the fact that she got to see who he was before she was attracted to him.

It was the selflessness, the love in everything that he did, the gentleness of his heart, the kindness that radiated from him, and the ease in the way he did chores, the way he made his friends laugh, his playfulness, the loyalty, the way he was clearly protective.

It was the open windows of her house into his open windows that let her see through him, down to his very beautiful core. It was the lack of hidden things, the openness of his soul because he felt safe, unwatched. It was real because Cas, Jack, and Sam were proof that even though Dean wasn’t perfect, he was worth it.

The Doctor did say once: the good things don’t always soften the bad things, but vice-versa, the bad things don’t necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant.

For the first time, she was willing to take a chance.

She smoothed down the silky emerald-green dress. It was pretty, flowing down her body perfectly, stopping at the middle of her calves…. Actually, now that she looked at herself in the mirror, her curls perfectly maintained, the light touch of makeup, the heels… was it too much?

She ignored those anxious thoughts and made sure she had everything she needed and everything that she prepared before stepping out into the cold.

The spaghetti straps didn’t stop the cold, but the heat of her nervousness at least did something as she walked up to his door and waited after knocking gently.

When he opened the door, he was stunned to see her.

“What?” He asked bluntly.

She could tell that the way she was dressed caught him off guard. His eyes moved from her face, up to her hair, back down to the boxes in her hands, and lower to her feet.

“I’ve got pie,” she said the first thing her mind thought of. Yes, it was blunt, yes, it disarmed him further… It was not smooth, but Dean looked behind him, and then he looked at her once more while biting his lip before opening the door wider, and stepping out of the way for her to enter.

She exhaled shakily as he scratched the back of his neck. Out of habit, she slipped out of her heels before stepping inside his home, planting her bare feet on the soft, long rug he had. He kindly, wordlessly, took her heels from outside and placed them on the shoe rack he had inside before shutting the door behind her.

She felt so… warm. Finally, she was inside the place she longed to be in. Right where Dean was. Along the walls there were dozens of pictures, but she didn’t go too far, she waited for him.

She felt his presence behind her and it made her shiver, but she couldn’t bring herself to look back at him. Instead, she stared at photos of him with Cas, Sam, Jack, and other people she hadn’t met. Women and Men. Dean was smiling in all of them. And in a large majority of them, they were looking at him while he looked at the camera.

What a funny thing.

“Here,” he said from behind her, his deep voice sounded soft, gentle, unlike the last time they spoke to each other. It made her shudder. “Let me help.” She slowly braced herself when she turned around, staring into his beautiful green eyes, illuminated magically by Christmas lights.

“Thanks,” she whispered, carefully loosening her grip on the objects in her hand for him to take what he wanted—which was everything.

She stepped to the side when he murmured, “no problem,” and started to walk off to the kitchen. She followed him slowly, took a look around, respectfully, curiously, just when she heard the clicking of nails and the thump of paws on wooden floors, and the bark of his dog headed in their direction.

“Miracle,” Dean grunted, setting everything down on the table, “not inside.” While the fluffy dog did stop its excited running, his enthusiasm was not lost as he wagged his tail, and playfully got down on his stomach in front of her feet. Still on his belly, Miracle approached Y/n slowly, paws and tongue at her toes, as if testing the waters.

“Hey,” she greeted softly as she squatted slowly and laughed quietly, gently scratching Miracle’s head as he nudged her hand with his wet nose, staring up at her with adorably wide eyes—much like Sam did. “You’re so cute,” she cooed, her heart warming up when Miracle barked quietly.

He then jumped up and turned towards Dean, who was watching them—perplexed, happy, conflicted.

“You were asleep,” Dean scolded, but sweetly took Miracle’s head in his hands and kissed him between his ears. Miracle whined and stepped away, sitting in front of Dean as if saying ‘I’ll be good if you let me stay’. “Whatever,” Dean groaned with a smile, which made Miracle happy, because he laid his cheek on his paw and stared up at Dean, resting.

Now, it was awkward.

Dean caught her staring at him, her expression inquisitive. She cleared her throat awkwardly, but she couldn’t form words. She only now noticed that he was wearing a faded black shirt and hotdog pyjama pants.

“So…” Dean began instead, “pie.” It wasn’t any better, but it’s as she always said: it was better than nothing.

“Yes,” she confirmed, “strawberry… you weren’t getting ready for bed…?” She inquired, tipping her chin in the direction of his attire.

“Not to sleep,” he reassured her, taking a few steps toward the cupboards to pull out two plates, glass cups, and then some utensils from the lower drawer. “Why are you doing this?” Dean asked quietly from where he was across the kitchen, everything still in his hands.

“I deserve better that’s why,” she snapped. He blinked at her, guilty, but she paused and took a deeper breath. Careful to not smear her eyeliner, she rubbed her temples instead. She reached behind her to wrap her ankle around the leg of a chair to pull it out and sit down. “Sorry, I don’t like… being angry,” she breathed out, looking out his kitchen window into her dark living room. She switched the Christmas lights off. “It's very stressful because I…” She turned to look at him and forgot her words as he came closer.

He looked cuter in person and prettier, still. Three years and nothing has changed, he still had her heart right in his hand.

“Why?” He pressed, placing everything down on the table in front of her. Looking up at him felt intimidating, so she averted her gaze. He was much older than she was… it made her… feel dumb. See-through. Like he could figure her out in seconds.

“Because I’m friends with your friends,” she admitted without looking at him, then she reached out to arrange the plates, cups, and utensils. He sat down thoughtfully, and watched her unstack the small boxes she brought over.

“You’re doing this for them,” he laid out flatly, but he took a seat next to her and stared at her. His eyes on her made her self-conscious, flustered. She bet he could see everything, all the ugly and the weird in her.

“I’m doing this for me,” she corrected him gently, “I just want to be happy,” she sighed, removing the plastic wrap she placed over the pie she baked. “Is that selfish?” She wondered out loud, taking the knife, she stared at it.

“No,” Dean sighed, wrapping his hand around hers to take the knife. She inhaled sharply at the warmth of his touch, his calloused palms brushing against the back of her hand, sending warmth over her chest, pressing into her wrist with her heart excitedly pounding against her ribs.

She released the knife into his hold, trying to hide how much he affected her, but she doubted she could fully do that with the Christmas lights exposing the blush she could feel on her face. She could feel her veins pumping blood faster, caught up with the heavy beating of her heart. If he looked down at her neck, he could probably see it in her veins.

She looked away, down at Miracle who was still peacefully laying on his belly, and Dean looked away towards the beautiful pie to start slicing into it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, taking her plate to give her the first slice. She looked up at Dean, taking the plate with a generous slice of strawberry pie.

“I wanted to be the first to say it…” She complained playfully, trying to maintain eye contact with him, but his beauty was intimidating, forcing her to look away, “soon as my ego stopped being sensitive,” she added.

Dean laughed softly, placing his own slice on his plate. The sound of his laugh made her smile, her stomach flipped with elation, at the crinkles by his eyes. Her breathy exhale made him look at her.

“Well, I’m forty-four, my ego’s been bruised enough times,” he told her, “I don’t care much for it when…” he trailed off and chewed on his bottom lip thoughtfully. She bit her lip, too, trying not to stare too long at his pretty mouth.

“Well, thanks,” she murmured, her jaw twitching as she looked away from him.

“I’d consider all this an apology,” he told her, gazing at her as she opened two rectangular boxes. She smiled, shaking her head. She pulled out a bottle of homemade eggnog along with a decorated jar filled with white frosting, and a small container with crushed peppermint candy. “This isn’t… poisoned, right?” He teased, still watching her while she opened the bottle of rum eggnog, she tilted her head at him, amused. “Just making sure… you did make all this…” he trailed off, impressed.

“Taste the pie,” she encouraged as she started making the drinks.

“You’re just trying to shut me up,” he chuckled gruffly, but he picked up his fork and started to dig in. The strawberry filling barely touched his tongue when he moaned, she watched him not even begin to chew. His brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, savouring the pie.

It made her blush, but she focused on covering the rim of the cups he brought with the whiskey frosting she made and the peppermint candy shavings before filling it with eggnog.

“You made the frosting, too?” He asked, tipping his head towards the jar. His mouth was full, some strawberry filling dripped down the corner of his mouth, but he picked it up with his tongue. She licked her lips, trying to stop herself from breathing airily, and passed him the eggnog with a nod and slid the jar of frosting towards him to serve herself some eggnog.

Dean dipped his finger into the frosting, collecting a large amount before wrapping his lips around his finger to suck the frosting off. She forced herself to look away from how hot he looked and ate her own slice of pie instead.

“I’ve seriously been missing out,” he murmured regretfully. “I was real childish,” he told her, “I never should’ve gotten pissed over… everything-”

“Dean,” she interrupted him, giving him a sheepish smile, “you already apologised and I forgive you. Besides, I did things, too.. on purpose… so, I’m sorry.” She pursed her lips and took a sip from her eggnog, swiping her tongue along the sweet frosting.

“You did things on purpose?” He repeated, a smirk on his face. She breathed out a laugh and nodded bashfully. “Why?” he wondered, leaning into her curiously, subtly moving his plate of food towards her. She considered being blunt, but she chose to test him instead.

“Probably the same reason you got pissed at everything I did and didn’t do,” she laughed, pulling a piece of strawberry out of the pie to put it in her mouth.

“I doubt that,” Dean muttered, picking up his own drink, and taking a large gulp. She eyed him closely, her eyes becoming hooded when he licked across his lips after drinking to collect the thin layer of sweetened alcohol on his mouth.

“What was your reason then?” She wondered flirtatiously, her voice low and seductive. She pushed her plate away with her arm., and mimicked his body language, scooting forward in the chair.

She watched as his eyes darkened and his jaw clenched, his hand tightening around his fork before he dropped it. She’d never quite been stared at that way before, but it suddenly—almost, made her laugh. Her legs felt weak, her stomach heavy, almost fooling her into thinking she couldn’t get up, but she did.

With a rapid heart and shaky knees, she pushed her chair back, and Miracle lifted his head in alarm. Dean leaned back in his chair, sliding his palms up his thighs, and watched hungrily as she lifted her dress up her legs, squeezing in front of him and part of the table to sit on his lap.

“Seems like we’ve both been missing out on a lot of stuff,” she whispered, her stomach fluttering for a variety of reasons, but mostly from excitement. He bit his lip, eyes twinkling as he placed his hands slowly on her thighs. She sank her teeth down on her lip, too, breathing heavily when his hands began sliding up her thighs, lifting her dress higher, and higher.

“You look beautiful,” he whispered, continuing to move her dress up until his hands were wrapped around her hips where he could realise she wasn’t wearing any underwear. “I thought I should tell you, before I ruin you,” he rasped, tightening his hold on her hips.

“Fuck,” she moaned, moving forward in his lap until their hips were pressed together. She brought her hands into his hair, and pulled it gently, bringing her mouth close to his, but she never kissed him. She breathed against his lips and when he leaned forward to kiss her, she pulled back teasingly.

“You’re seriously gonna make me wait?” He whispered, slowly rolling his hips up into her, his hard cock pressing into her wet core. She gasped softly against his mouth and laughed breathlessly.

“You feel good,” she praised, flushing as she ground against him harder.

“I’d feel better inside you,” he smirked, sliding one of his hands farther up her dress, his warm palm flattening up her stomach reverently, stopping beneath her breasts..

“I bet,” she moaned, arching into his touch before finally pressing her tinted lips against his. Dean moaned softly against her mouth, pressing against her hungrily, then lifted her up, carefully moving his plate and cup aside to lay her down on the table.

“Miracle, bed,” Dean ordered when he pulled away from her lips. The dog obediently stood up and excitedly made his way to where Dean’s room was. Dean kissed her once more, drawing her attention away from Miracle and back to him.

She’d never been kissed the way Dean kissed her or touched the way Dean touched her. His hands were everywhere, testing, learning, skillful. He scratched her skin sending sparks down to her already soaked core, kneading her body roughly until she moaned against his mouth. He squeezed her and made her wet. He dug his blunt nails into her and made her nerves ignite. His hands smoothed across her, sailing over her body like she were an ocean and he was a sailor.

He was desperate, devouring her mouth with his tongue and his teeth, putting his all into the kiss, licking her lips, teasing the inside of her mouth, brushing against her warm tongue. He yearned to memorise the taste of her mouth, to feel close to her, pressing and moaning against her the way he’d done when he ate the pie and frosting. He nibbled on her lips, tugging, biting, claiming, taking the air from her lungs and pulling away at the perfect time.

He rolled his hips into her frantically and finally started to move away from her now-swollen lips, the colour of her raspberry tint robbed and replaced by the redness of his kiss.

He dragged his teeth teasingly along her jaw and licked his way down her neck, pressing his stubbled face into her neck, kissing and sucking softly, searching. She rolled her head to the side, giving him all the access he needed, until finally, she moaned loudly when he sucked into her sweetspot. He smiled against her throat, feeling her take handfuls of his shirt, her hips wiggling impatiently beneath him.

He kissed lower still, then back up to the other side of her neck, and bit her collarbones, kissing every inch of her skin, her shoulders and her sternum. She loved every second of it and slipped her hands beneath his shirt, touching and scratching his skin, pulling him closer as he bucked into her bare core.

“Did you know your shirt was see-through when we first met?” He whispered into her cleavage. She laughed and replied with a breathless ‘no’. “Well.. your tits on display, legs bare in those tiny shorts, all pissed as hell… it was hot,” he chuckled, lowering the thin straps of her dress until the top started to reveal her breasts.

“Is that why you jerked off that night?” She asked, gripping his hair and tugging hard. He grunted and laughed, staring into her lustful eyes.

“You saw?” He teased, bringing his hand to her breast, squeezing roughly. “The answer’s yes.. And everytime after that, it was also ‘cause of you,” Dean confessed, “couldn’t stop thinking about you, every day and every night. I thought I hated you, but I guess I just needed to fuck you.”

She chuckled, gripping the hem of his shirt, dragging it up his body as he latched onto her nipple. She hummed softly, tugging hard at his hair, in complete bliss as he wrapped his mouth around the bud, licking, sucking, and biting until she whimpered for him to give her more—which was impossible. He moved onto her other breast, savouring her warm skin with his hotter mouth, tugging her neglected nipple with his fingers, twisting and pinching.

“Please,” she moaned, yanking his hair so he’d pull away. Dean growled against her flesh and bit down hard on her breast, before pulling away, drawing a mewl from her of his name.

“You could be nicer,” he muttered, allowing her to lift his shirt up off his body, but he continued to kiss her breasts, sucking gently around the flesh to leave red marks. He lifted her feet up on the table and pressed her thighs close to her chest, opening her up to admire her soaked sex.

“We’re long past nice, pretty boy,” she teased blushing and biting her lip when he stood up straight. She didn’t look at him, too insecure to watch him as he brought his hand to the inside of her thighs, teasing her vulva.

“You think I’m pretty?” He grinned, circling her entrance, moaning at copious amounts of arousal on his fingers. “So wet… you that needy for my cock inside you?” He asked smugly.

She looked at him now, heat flooding up her face at his obscene words. Before she could say anything about it, the tattoo on his chest drew her attention away from the adorable pride on his face.

“You’re a hunter,” she stated, stunned, blinking at him with a smile. He looked down at himself then at her, speechless. She lifted her hips and hitched her dress up higher to reveal her ribcage where she had the same tattoo, twice as small.

“You’re a professor,” he remarked with arousal on his face, pushing his finger into her. He lowered himself down her body and wrapped his arm around her legs, holding her open as he breathed warmly against her wet cunt.

Before she could close her legs to him demurely, Dean dove in, his mouth hot on her pussy. He ate her out the same way he kissed her, teeth making her whimper, his tongue parting and tasting, picking up the flavour of her wetness as she moaned.

He salivated on her, humming in satisfaction while he sucked her clit into his mouth while he fingered her. Her hands found his hair once more, pulling hard and almost painfully, but his cock jumped each time inside the thin material of his pyjamas. Dean added a second finger as he moaned against her swollen clit, knuckles deep, pressing against the front of her textured walls, drawing silent moans from her, making her squirm more and more.

“Fuck,” she panted, “you’re so good,” she praised, flexing her hand above his head before gripping at the honey strands. He slurped lewdly, devouring her pussy, squeezing her hips desperately holding her close to his face while she pushed him harder against her cunt. “Dean… I’m close,” she moaned, closing her legs around his head.

He moaned again, adding another finger, shoving deep as he circled her swollen clit with his tongue, drawing figures on her clit possessively. She gasped loudly and cried out his name, tensing up when she orgasmed, her walls clamping down on his three fingers. The rapture of her orgasm seemed endless as he continued to tongue at her clit, it made her writhe uncontrollably, and he smirked against her pussy.

Her whiny laugh and the way she squeezed his head to stop him made him chuckle, and he tapped her thigh once he pulled his fingers from within her pulsing walls. She released him, melting into the table while he licked his fingers clean of her release.

“You taste good,” he told her earnestly, “so fucking good.” She bit her lip, giving him a look of disbelief. He narrowed his eyes at her, leaning down to lick a long stripe up her pussy, then down, pushing his tongue past her clenching, wet hole.

“Dean, fucking…” she moaned, “oh, God, why does that feel good?” She snickered, then he pulled away hovering above her. She opened her eyes to his smug face, his clean fingers squeezed her cheeks roughly until she opened her mouth. She furrowed her brows, whining out with her hands around his wrist so he’d release, but she shut up when he spit in her mouth.

“Taste yourself,” he ordered, licking his lips. Her pupils dilated as she looked into his eyes, the tangy taste of herself made her mouth water and she swallowed. “D’you know how hot you are?” He asked rhetorically, kissing her roughly once more, ravenous and stopped only when he felt her hands pushing his pants down his legs.

“I want you, Dean,” she whispered against his mouth, biting his lip before returning the passion of his kiss.

“Where?” He asked teasingly, wrapping his arm around her waist, he sat her up on the table and gently held her face in his hands, before releasing her to strip completely.

“I want you inside me,” she told him coquettishly, hopping off the table to slowly let her dress pool around her feet. “I want to ride you, to feel you stretch me open…” she walked towards him, watching him completely aroused, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, “I want you to fill me up, and make me cum on your cock…” she licked her lips, staring down at his cock, erect and leaking precum. “... I’ve never seen a dick this nice,” she told him, wrapping her hand around the base and stepping closer to him.

He grunted, “suck it then.” She laughed through her nose, releasing his cock to fondle his balls. He moaned, stumbling slightly. “I’ve been wanting to shut you up with my cock in your mouth,” he told her, a smirk on his face, “now, I’m just thinking how pretty you’ll look with your lips wrapped around me.” Dean reached up and curled his fingers around the back of her neck.

She looked behind him, removed her hand, and tipped her head to the chair, “sit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grinned, kicking the chair towards him like she had earlier, then he sat, legs wide and tempting. “You’re sexier than you were in my imagination,” he told her, watching her get down between his legs, kissing his thighs while looking up at him through her curled lashes.

“Keep talkin’,” she grinned up at him, taking his heavy cock in her hand once more. Dean gave her a sexy look, smug and aroused.

“I wanna finish in your mouth,” he told her, “want to see you swallow my load.” Pleased, she moved forward and began kissing and licking the length of his cock, teasingly and experimentally feeling the velvety, veiny texture against her hand, tongue, and lips. “I want to hear you choke on my cock, and see what you look like with tears in your eyes as I fuck your pretty face.” She moaned softly, intrigued by the description of his fantasy.

She dipped her tongue into the slit, moaning at the taste of his precum, drooling over the soft head of his cock before sucking him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” he moaned, tangling his fingers in her hair. She slowly took him deeper, pulling him out of her hot mouth teasingly, then swallowing inch by inch of his hard cock. “You’re so good at that, baby,” he panted, letting her take her time at her own pace, but he gripped her hair tightly. “Don’t stop,” he moaned, staring into her eyes as she continued to take his cock, bobbing her head, not stopping until he hit the back of her throat. She swallowed around him, and he bucked his hips up, releasing a whispered curse, attempting to keep his eyes open to watch her suck him off.

She got comfortable between his legs, taking his freehand to put it in her hair. He took her hair, put it together, and waited for her permission before slowly lifting his hips, pushing his cock slowly into her throat. When she gagged, he slowly pulled back, then pushed back into her, lips parted, releasing quick breaths.

Eventually, he started to fuck her face in earnest, lifting his hip up off the chair, pulling her hair hard to guide her on and off his dick. Her spit dribbled down her chin in a mixture of his precum. She swallowed as much as she could, moaning and blinking tears that tickled her eyes and her jaw.

“You look so fucking…” he chocked on a moan, “so damn sexy.”

She ignored the soreness of her jaw, relaxing it as best as she could as he fucked her near mercilessly. Her pussy throbbed with every sound of his pleasure, clit aching for attention at the way he gazed down at her with burning desire, but she refused to touch herself, enjoying the build-up, the desperation for another orgasm, for his touch.

He throbbed in her mouth, turning to mush beneath her mouth. He even began to whimper and moan her name, praises and dirty words becoming scarce in attempts to hold back his orgasm, edging himself with her mouth. It didn’t take long for him to hold her with her nose against his pelvis breathlessly.

He pulled her off his cock, and released her hair to wipe tears tenderly from her hot cheeks with his thumbs, trying to get his mind off the near-pleasure of her mouth around his cock while catching his breath.

“Yummy,” she rasped, pulling a breathless laugh from him. She wiped her chin with her shoulder and smiled up at him, slowly getting up on her knees to get rid of the ache of sitting on her legs.

She got up, leaning back against the table, admiring him in his red, flushed, somewhat sweaty state. His hair was a mess from her hands and he had a blush around his neck to his ears. She knew the hardness of his body accounted for the fact that he was a hunter, as well as the scars she felt beneath her soft hands, bite marks, bullet wounds, and healed slashes.

“Come closer,” she told him and he laughed, bringing himself and the chair closer, stopping when she sat on his thighs, fixing herself over his strong thighs. “Gonna cum if I tease you?” She asked, tapping the head of his cock. It twitched instantly and he moaned.

“Depends,” he replied breathily, sliding his hands up her body. She hummed softly, spreading her legs, positioning his cock near her soppy folds.

“On what?” She cackled playfully, parting her folds with one hand, circling her clit with her fingers. He watched her lustfully, the wetness that made her pussy shine coated her fingers.

“How wet and warm you feel on my cock,” he replied truthfully. He grabbed her hand and moved it out of the way anyway, taking his cock to push it between her folds, pressing the tip against her clit.

“Fuck, Dean,” she moaned softly, grasping his shoulders, “you feel… I need you,” she whimpered, rolling her hips along the length of his cock. He moaned with her, moving her hips closer to him, her wetness coating his cock.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart…” Dean moaned, watching her lean back against the table, positioning the soft head of his cock to her entrance. Completely enthralled, he watched himself slip inside her, and she watched him, biting her lip hard in concentration, the stretch of her walls around him almost painful. “Fuck… I can feel how bad you need me… I need you just as bad,” he panted, flexing his hands on her thighs, desperately trying not to thrust up into her warmth. He dug his nails into her flesh, his head tipping back, his hips rolling up.

“Dean,” she moaned again, starting to lift herself up and down his cock, reaching up to cup her breast. “Shit, you feel amazing,” she breathed out, grinding her hips against his until he was fully inside her.

“You okay?” He asked, one of hands drifting up to knead her breast comfortingly. She nodded, buried her fingers in his hair and brought him in for a kiss as she bent her knees, and tucked her feet in between his thighs.

“I could cum like this,” she mumbled against his lips. His chuckle rumbled through his chest and he shook his head, her pussy clenched at the sound and she started to lift herself up again.

“Don’t worry,” he told her, sucking on his lip momentarily. “I’ll make you cum so hard…” He paused to moan, thrusting up into her slowly, meeting her hip. “...you’ll never want to fuck anyone else,” he promised her, building up the pace of his thrusts until she stopped moving with him altogether, letting him fuck up into her needy cunt.

“You’ll only wanna be fucked by me,” he continued, watching her lean back with her elbow on the table, her hands roaming his warm body, “and I’ll be there, ready to fuck you hard.” He looked over her shoulder, at the jar of frosting. “Pounding into your sweet cunt,” he swore breathlessly, reaching behind her, dipping his fingers to gather frosting, “makin’ you beg, makin’ you impossibly wet.” He smeared frosting over her nipples, over her collarbone, her sternum, until he had no more while she moaned his name needily.

“Makin’ you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He gripped her hip with frosting-coated fingers, leaning forward to lick and suck the whiskey frosting from her body. “I’ll fill you up as many times as you want,” he vowed, smoothing her hand up her back, into her hair once more, pulling until she whined his name. “I’ll fuck you wherever you want.”

Her pussy continued to gush over Dean’s cock the more he talked—his breathless, husky voice taking her over the edge. Each rough pull of her hair made her mewl and whimper as she rolled her hips desperately against his.

“Dean, please,” she whispered, scratching down his back, digging marks into his skin the harder and faster he thrusted into her. Loud skin slapping, the wet sound of her pussy being penetrated, with every push of his cock in and out of her, squelching and driving her crazy. She dug her nails into her palm, making obscene sounds that made her self-conscious.

“I’ll fuck you all over your house, all over mine.” Another moan of his name, another rough pull of her hair. “I’ll fuck you in my car, in your car, anywhere and all over town.” He pulled away from her sticky chest, licked his lips at the sight of her, so she screwed her eyes shut. She felt a warm pool of wetness on her pelvic bone, opened her eyes to him spitting between their bodies, watching his saliva drip down her folds to her clit.

She’d never heard of or experienced sex quite this raw and dirty.

“I’ll make you scream my name, make you forget how to talk, how to walk…” She leaned back into him, panting into his ear, keeping him close while rubbing her clit. He yanked her hair, forcing her to look at him.

“Dean…”

“I’ve wanted you for so long,” he whispered, closing his eyes, he breathed against her lips, “and I want you forever.”

As he promised, she cried out his name when she came, squeezing his cock hard, coating him in her release. He grunted her name, cursing loudly as he came inside her, his hot seed spurting into her, filling her as he said he would.

He circled his arms around her as she writhed once more, releasing her hair as she put her arms around his neck, panting and catching her breath until the pleasure subsided.

“I want all of that,” she murmured after a few moments of silence, kissing his cheek. He squeezed her and moved back, bewildered. He moved hair from her face and tilted his head at her, drawn to her nakedness, her flushed beauty. “First, I want to shower…” Slowly, carefully, she climbed off his lap, her legs shaky, her pussy releasing the mixture of their pleasure.

“That’s a good start,” he told her softly. “Son of a bitch,” he mumbled when he stood up from the chair and looked around at the mess in the kitchen. “No one’s coming home anytime soon… thanks to Sammy…” Dean trailed off, smoothing his hand over his head to fix his hair.

“Thanks to me,” she came clean with a shy smile, bringing his gaze up to hers. His eyes twinkled and he laughed loudly, tugging her towards him again by her arm, his lips pressing against hers.

➥ sempiternal

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studioghibelli · 3 months

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fade in to you- a joel miller x reader

summary: love can often times be unrequited... until it isn't.

warnings: tommys!girlfriend reader, kind of a jerk!tommy, pining!joel, soft!joel, 00's joel/era, implied age gap, some angsty angst, no smut this time y'all i'm in some sort of babygirl mood tonight or something idk.

notes: this is a short lil' somethin' for my sweet twizzy @ilovepedro <3 <3 <3

Cherry red lips stained the rim of the glass, the sides sweating beneath the heat of the summer moon. The lights on the back of the porch illuminated the grill, and the half busted radio in the corner crooned out whatever the radio was deciding to play that night. The canopy of stars twinkled down upon the bungalow, crickets nestled in the blades of grass in the backyard chirping and igniting the atmosphere aflame with the reminder that nature was all around.

Inside, a baseball game was flickering across the screen of the television, and people funneled in and out of the sliding glass door that whined and ached each time it was moved. Grabbing beers, swaying to the music, shouting at the game- anything they wanted to do, really.

Joel stood to man the grill, his broad shoulders stretching the seams of a heather gray shirt, tanned arms glimmering with sweat beneath them. The sleeves almost seemed too tight against his thick biceps, but that only made them more appealing.

As he flipped the burgers, steaming and sizzling against the grill top, Joel tried to remind himself not to look at those cherry red lips. He tried to urge himself to have enough resolve to not become intoxicated by your soft, plump, red mouth, that was just right there in the corner of his eye sight.

It was the least he could do, seeing as you were his brother's girlfriend.

When you walked in that night for the barbeque, he couldn't help but stare, couldn't help but take in your beauty. You wore a sundress the color of azaleas, accompanied by a floral scarf tied around your hair and those sticky, sweet looking lips.

Those lips that haunted him

Did they taste like cherries, too? Joel immediately shook that terrible thought away, it was gone almost as soon as it had entered.

And thus began his usual routine when you were around. The cold shoulder, the short responses, the purposefully-trying-to-avoid-you maneuvers that he had become quite masterful with. Despite this, there was still that tug deep in his belly, that draw towards you and your aura.

"Joel?" Your sweet voice filled his ears.

"Hmm?" He winced at how curt he sounded.

The sinking tone of your voice made him swallow thickly with guilt. "Do you... do you have anymore of that margarita mix?"

"Above the kitchen sink." Joel explained, his voice now a bit softer.

He couldn't turn around to look at you. Not when your hips swayed so femininely against your dress, not when your dewy skin glistened beneath the dusty golden light, not when those lips looked to tantalizing, so delicious.

Joel was so lost in thought, he burnt one of the burgers.

The night went on, smooth and happy, everyone chatting and talking amongst themselves. Joel had sat himself on a patio chair farthest from you, eating the burnt patty with furrowed brows. His eyes were glued to the ground, his mind once again, for the millionth time that June evening, wandering with thoughts of you.

The backdoor slid open with that familiar creak, and he heard Tommy exploding with excitement at the ongoing baseball game.

"Hi, baby." Your voice rang through Joel's ears. He looked up, watching Tommy give you a quick, uninterested kiss. His stomach churned.

Tommy went to the beer cooler, grabbing a fresh bottle of Modelo. At the same time, the radio cranked out an all too familiar song.

I want to hold the hands inside you

I want to take the breath that's true

I look to you, and I see nothing

You gasped, jumping to your feet with eyes wide, cheeks thick with your sticky sweet smile. "Oh, Tommy! This is my favorite song. Dance with me?"

He shook your hand away, turning to you with a scrunched up face. "You know I don't dance, woman. I got a baseball game to get back to." Joel felt his jaw clenching with annoyance, but before he could say anything, Tommy spoke once more. "You comin' in to watch it?" He asked his big brother.

Joel's eyes followed you. He traced over the fallen expression that had sunk into your cheeks, he watched the way your eyes fell with embarrassment, the way your lips pressed into one another.

"No." Was all Joel said, before he glued his eyes back to the ground. He knew Tommy was rolling his eyes, and before he knew it his brother was stomping back inside, leaving him alone with you.

An awkward silence hung in the air, before Joel stood up so quickly, it caused you to jump. "I, uh-" He was rubbing the back of his neck now, taking notice of the incredulous look that had grazed across your face. "I'll dance with ya."

Your smile, sunshine and flowers, ignited the dark air around. "Really?"

He nodded, holding a hand out for you. "It's now or never, darlin'. This is a short song."

An angelic laugh escaped your throat, and you took his hand, standing to your feet. You weren't an oblivious fool. You knew Joel was handsome, and you knew every woman in town was pining after him.

How could they not?

His umber curls, thick shoulders, curved nose- he was a work of art. Tommy was handsome, it ran in the family, but there was something about Joel that was so gripping, so hard to forget. You had noticed his eyes the first time you met him. Those chocolate eyes, so deep and mysterious. They had pulled you in the moment you saw them.

And when Joel had seen you for the first time, he experienced what could only be described as a religious experience. He felt the kind of emotions that one felt when looking upon Van Gogh's Starry Night, or Monet's Poppies. The kind of awe that struck your chest hard with a kick, the kind of awe that settled upon your soul with no hopes of ever letting out, the kind of awe that a man could never forget.

Each time he saw you, you only grew more beautiful. Perhaps that was just a symptom of him falling deeper in love.

"I didn't take you for the dancing type." You whispered as his hands found the curve of your waist, strong and sturdy as they wrapped tightly around you. When your hands moved to his shoulders, you felt a breath of air get stuck in his throat.

"I'm not." Joel's eyes looked down, peering in to your own. You cursed the butterflies which erupted within you.

"Then why are you now?"

There was a short moment of silence, the kind that made your skin crawl with anticipation. You had no clue where this quiet would lead.

"Because I can't stand seein' my brother treat you like that." Joel's voice was earnest, genuine, and you saw those hardened eyes cross over with a feeling you had never seen on him before. Softness. Gentleness. Love.

You live your life, you go in shadows

You'll come apart, and you'll go black

Some kind of night into your darkness

Colors your eyes with what's not there.

"Treat me like what?" You whispered, voice barely there against the backdrop of the radio.

"Like you ain't the most beautiful girl in the world." Joel's grip tightened around you, and he instinctively pulled you close. "Like he ain't the luckiest bastard I know, gettin' the chance to be with you. To kiss you, feel you."

With furrowed eyebrows, you closed your eyes tight, too scared, too unsure of what to say next. You had spent months trying to stop it, you had spent months trying to swallow that horrible, awful feeling that crept inside every time you saw Joel. Despite this, you knew. You had always known.

You were with the wrong brother, and you always had been.

The quick glances, the hidden smiles, the wandering eyes- Joel thought he hid it well, but he could never fool you.

Both of you knew you were in deep shit, both of you knew the water was rising, heating, but you were both helpless, unable to stop it.

And stop it, you had tried. Many, many, many times.

When Tommy was on top of you, moaning your name, feeling your skin, you couldn't help but think of Joel. When Tommy ignored you to watch his baseball games, you couldn't help but daydream about Joel, and how you knew he would dote upon you more than a stupid sport. When Tommy stayed out too late with his raucous friends and came home drunk, you wondered what Joel's arms would feel around you, behind you in bed as his mouth planted kisses on your shoulders, blanketed by the sweet cover of nighttime.

Finally, you spoke. "I don't think that I know what to say, Joel."

Joel took in a deep breath of air, and you felt his chest vibrating against you. "I know. I don't expect you to say anythin'. Just knew I had to tell you sometime."

You swayed together slowly, beneath the canopy of the summer sky, eyes fluttering shut with every movement of your bodies. Joel tensed when you pressed your cheek to his chest, your bodies molding together in harmony.

He liked this. He could get used to this.

Your chest rose and fell against his, your hands moved up and down his arms, caressed his shoulders, felt his body. You touched him like you loved him, you ignited something deep within him. Joel felt wanted, he felt loved, he felt appreciated.

Your tenderness reminded him that he was alive, that he was worthy. You had lit a flame deep within him, a new appreciation for the beauty of the world, a new outlook on life.

He would fight for you if it came down to it. Anything to keep that dazzling smile and those perfect eyes in his life.

Strange you never knew

Fade into you

I think it's strange you never knew

"Do you love me?" You asked abruptly, voice caught in the back of your throat. You don't know what came over you or why you felt the need to ask, but you couldn't help yourself. Your gut had always told you something was there resting between the both of you, and tonight you were going to find out.

Joel's fingers gently dug into your sides, and you felt the beating of his heart quicken against your cheek. You wondered what he was feeling, you wondered if he had ever felt this way before, if he was even feeling what you were. An inexplainable feeling that washed over you wordlessly, a feeling you were unable to express with words.

"Yes." His fingers crawled up your back, tangling into the ends of your hair. "More than I probably should."

You nodded against him, arms digging in to his shoulders tighter.

You craned your neck to look up at him, eyelashes fluttering against your rosy eyelids. Those cherry lips sparkled in front of him, and Joel wanted nothing more than to lean down and feel them, taste them, explore them.

Joel had never seen a more beautiful woman.

If there was one thing for sure he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, it was that he had never seen anything as beautiful as you in the entirety of his life. Not even the sunsets above the ocean or the wild flowers in the valley, not even the stars at the Grand Canyon or the clear water of a river compared. You were prettier than them all. Serene, celestial, ethereal- he had never known a face like yours, nor had he ever gazed upon a beauty quite like the one you owned.

His thumb slowly traced the height of your cheekbone, and your eyes darted to his adams apple that bobbed up and down with the breaths he was swallowing. No doubt nervous, you thought.

"I-"

"You don't have to say anything." His thumb moved down the length of your cheek until it was resting on your jaw. "It's okay. I know."

"Kiss me."

Joel's eyes darted to your mouth, and he let out a quiet sigh. "I wish I could."

"You can."

"I can't do that. Not to Tommy."

You smiled a sweet, ever so saddening smile, your soft hand creeping up to cup his cheek. The bristles of his patchy beard scratched against your palm, a feeling you wanted to get used to.

There were lots of things you wanted to get used to with Joel. His arms wrapping around you from behind in the kitchen, his arms around your waist as you slow danced to music, his beard pressing in to your skin as you held one another.

Maybe in another life.

"You're a good man, Joel Miller."

"I ain't." He mumbled, shaking his head. A dry laugh crept past his lips. "You don't know half the things I've thought, all the things that make me a shitty brother just for thinkin' 'em. All the things I'd do to you if you were mine."

"I can be yours." You whispered, lip catching between your teeth. "I can be."

"You can't. Ain't how this works. Believe me, darlin'.... you don't know how bad I want things to be different." He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

Your throat hitched around itself, the feeling of his kiss on your skin igniting a volcano of yearning which erupted within your chest. All you could do was hold on to him tighter.

A stranger's light comes on slowly

A stranger's heart without a home

You put your hands into your head

And then smiles cover your heart

"That's all I'm gonna get from you then, Miller?" You asked with a smile, your fingers tracing out the outline of his jaw. His kiss still lingered on your forehead.

"For now." He responded, and you watched the ghost of a grin plant itself upon his lips. "Who knows, maybe the world will end and we'll get our chance."

And Joel, as he so often was, was right.

The world would end in three months time, and perhaps your own time together would soon follow. But until then, you both returned to the shadows, eyes colored with what wasn't there.

#joel miller x reader #studioghibelli #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fic #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller au #joel tlou #joel the last of us #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal fandom

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neil-gaiman · 4 months

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Hi! I am a huge fan of your work and I was just wondering what inspired you to diversify the Sandman when adapting it for TV? I watched the show when it came out and have since been insufferably obsessed (I literally never shut up about it if I'm honest). I was gifted the first few editions of the comic not long after and noticed differences like Lucienne being a white man as opposed to the female black actress that portrays them in the show. Johanna Constantine obviously also changed to a woman and Desire's pronouns changed from it/its to they/them. Obviously I think its awesome that you're adding diversity to something that was previously not as inclusive, but I just wanted to know at what point between learning the series was being adapted for television to the show being on Netflix were all these decisions made and why.

I think all of the changes you mention were discussed and agreed at the dinner David Goyer, Allan Heinberg and I had on the Friday night before we pitched Sandman as a TV show to Netflix (and Apple and Amazon and co) in June 2019.

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doraspenlow · 11 months

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Sopranos Sunday: A Call To Action

Are you feeling morose about the end of HBO’s Succession? Does the current state of television, vaguely defined by binging shows in a week and mostly forgetting them, make you sad? Have you always wanted to watch The Sopranos, considered by many to be the greatest show of all time, but you just haven’t gotten around to it? Well, I’m like you, and I have an idea for you, inspired by this tweet I saw yesterday:

This struck me as a good idea for tumblr, because it would involve many things tumblr loves, namely:

Prestige TV (See, Succession)

Serialized Narratives (See, Dracula Daily)

Mobsters (See, Goncharov)

Doing things collectively (See, Dracula Daily and Goncharov)

And commitment to the bit (See, this whole website)

So. Let’s do it. This Sunday, June 11th, let’s start a journey back to turn of the millennium New Jersey. That evening, around 8-10 PM (prestige tv timeslot) go to HBO Max or an… illicit… website, and turn on episode 1 of The Sopranos. Blog about it. Speculate about what might happen in future episodes (it’s more fun if you don’t spoil yourself). The next Sunday, watch episode 2. And so on, and so on. This will be a Commitment (The Sopranos has 86 episodes, so at a pace of one a week that’s nearly two years) but I believe in the tenacity of tumblr users. And I think we’re ready for the odd Breaking Bad memes but about The Sopranos now.

If you feel moved to join me, spread the word! Post any liveblogging etc in the “sopranos sunday” tag! And if you’ve already seen the show, maybe this would be a good time to rewatch? Anyway, have fun! I hope to see you all this Sunday night!

#sopranos sunday #the sopranos #succession #television

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bunnys-kisses · 11 days

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it came to me on a sunny day - dad!simon - inspired by the song 'my girl' by the temptations

maybe i'll make this a whole fic? idk... lemme know <3

telling simon you were pregnant was nothing but a shock. but it was inevitable. you two weren't the best when it came to protection, so one night of passion led to the conception of your daughter.

you mostly wore simon's jacket due to you being pregnant most of the winter. you kept telling yourself that you'd get a jacket to accommodate the growing bump, but by the time you got around to it, simon's sweatshirts kept you warm enough. even though simon still put a hat on you every time you left the flat.

simon just loved the swell of your belly, he always smiled when he felt the movement of your daughter. he would lie on the couch, legs dangled off the edge in an uncomfortable manner to be closer to your belly.

if you both weren't so worried about protecting simon's identity, you would've put him online to tout him as 'father of the year'. in your second trimester you did get married at the court house. it was an informal affair, something to put on paper. he promised that the two of you could have the whole celebration after the baby was born.

"simon." you said, "watching johnny choke on a fry that kyle threw into his mouth after the ceremony is worth more than some stupid party." you then leaned over to kiss him, your ring felt comfortable on your finger.

however as you entered your third trimester and your fingers became swollen, you had you wear your ring around your neck on a chain. when you felt about it, simon simply said, "chain's closer to your heart."

when summer came your little rosemary was born. she was born in the end of june, your friend remarked that she was a cancer sign. simon was there the whole way, even when you punched him when a particular hard contraction hit.

"i'm gonna kill you, simon." while that wasn't the first time he ever heard that phrase, it was the only time it ever made a shiver run down his spine. but he was your rock the entire way, the full ten hours it took to delivery rosemary riley.

she came out screamin' though, a far cry from the silent nature of her father. you had never seen simon cry too many times, but the first time he held the pudgy newborn, you could see him hold back the tears.

"simon."

"yeah?" his gaze didn't leave his daughter.

you patted him on the arm, "you can cry, no one's going to judge you." you knew he always felt like he had to be the protector of his little family. but when you leaned over, exhausted yourself, and kissed him on the cheek. the emotion flooded out of him.

you were parents now.

simon took to being a father really well, despite his nervousness (that he never showed on his face) to end up like his own father. he realized that it was a lot easier to be good parent than he thought.

"i love you both." he often said to you, "thank you."

he said that you gave him a second chance at life. after everything, the pain that caused him to shut down and become a killer for the military. you and rosemary allowed the coldness to turn warm. while he still was intimidating outside the home, in the safety of where you lived, he was able to be the caring parent he was denied growing up.

"rose." he said in his low voice, "where are ya goin'." then picked up the toddler with ease so she didn't topple the television on top of her, "you can see it just fine over here." then carried her back to the couch.

you both did your best to not raise an ipad baby, rather you made good use of the second hand printer you had and let you colour and draw to her hearts content. and books. so many books.

"that's a bear, rose." you said as you pointed to the drawing in the book you were reading to her before bed, "b-e-a-r."

"B!Ear!" she chirped as she kicked out her little legs under the covers. she was a very smart girl.

she gets it from me, simon said jokingly.

of course he often let his little rosemary colour in his tattoos with washable markers while they're sitting outside on a nice summer's day a year or two down the line. the little girl is still getting used to holding markers and colours outside the lines of the tattoos. but simon finds it endearing.

nothin' is gonna hurt his girls.

"honey." you said.

"yes?"

"i think we're giving rose a sibling a lot sooner than we expected." <3

(i wanted to write something tender on this beautiful spring day. if it's sunny where you are today soak in the rays!)

#bunny speaks #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #simon ghost riley #ghost call of duty #call of duty x reader #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon ghost #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost fluff #dad!ghost #dad!simon riley #dad!simon ghost riley

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junietuesday · 2 years

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NEVER GETTING OVER EVERYONES OLDER DESIGNS. POLLY LOOKS SO FUCKING GOOD AND SPRIG IS SO GENDER AND ALL THE GIRLS ARE SO SO PRETTY??????!!!!!!!!

#june speaks #june watches television and such #amphibia spoilers #amphibia

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tojivu · 4 months

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nightmares ⋆ nanami kento

an. my finals start in june i'm gonna explode yall

cw. sfw. gn!reader. kento has nightmares and he needs you

playing. oh my god by fog lake.

nanami's been getting more sleep ever since he left jujutsu tech and that shitty nine to five he used to slave at every damn day — along with the fact that he's able to spend more time with you. he likes to say that it helps him sleep, having you within arms reach (something that was extremely rare in the past, considering he had no time to rest).

kento thinks you resemble closely to a human sized pillow, and he often treats you as such. his arms are wrapped around your frame, one of his legs laying on top of yours — his chest rises and falls slowly, small snores leaving his lips — and you're thankful, very thankful; nanami was never able to sleep this soundly when you two lived in tokyo.

you try your best to push his heavy weighted figure away: you groan and complain that he's too big to be sharing this bed with you and that he should be sleeping on the floor instead. yet, you welcome him with open arms every night — pressing kisses to his forehead and running your fingers through his blonde hair.

you'd rather clingy and sleepy nanami who uses you as a personal bolster pillow in the night than sleepless nanami who locks himself away in his office, or exhausted nanami who drags his feet through the entrance of your home with bloodied limbs. it broke your heart more times than you could really count, seeing kento that way.

nanami kento saw his life flash before his eyes in shibuya, and all he could really pray for was to make it out alive so he could see you one last time — even if it were just for a few minutes. he clung desperately onto the last bit of energy and will he had in hopes of making it out alive; even if he was mutilated to a point beyond recognition, he needed to be with you. that was the only way he could let himself go — he would crawl back to your home if it meant he could kiss you one last time.

he never told you how long he'd be gone, or if he'd even come back at all: so you waited anxiously, refreshing news pages and watching the television every night for some sort of good. any sort of indication kento was okay.

he doesn't return home. you only see him when you rush down to the hospital they take him to — barely conscious, holding on to hope he didn't know he still had. nanami regains his full consciousness in the weeks following, the first thing he says being that he's done.

yes, nanami didn't want to risk it. never again.

it's 2 in the morning and you're unable to sleep, nanami's groans and sudden flinches are keeping you up.

"ken?"

the expression on his face is horrific — you feel the guilt wash over you like a wave, high and then crashing; so your fingers find his arms and you try your very best to shake the man awake.

your husband wakes up with a whimper; tired eyes almost brimming with tears at the fact that he is awake and you are real. his mouth is sealed, unable to utter a word, but the way his lips tremble tells you everything he cannot say.

"are you—"

soon, calloused fingers are gripping the flesh of your waist and pulling you impossibly closer. a nightmare, you can already tell: his hands feel clammy and his breathing is laboured.

"ken," you whisper. "'s okay. i'm here."

he sucks air through his teeth, trying to catch his breath. his body shudders at your touch as you graze over his skin — tracing circles on his bare back, your lips on his forehead. kento feels like he's about to cry, but he's not sure from what: at the fact that he had the worst dream of his life, or the fact that he's not dead and you're still here.

"'m s-sorry," he mutters. his voice is strained, still that deep and low tone that you're familiar with — but your heart still breaks as he apologises. "i'm sorry for waking you."

"don't be sorry," you comb your fingers through his hair using your free hand. "you know i don't mind it."

he sniffles and you yearn to hold him even tighter, but you think he would suffer broken ribs if you went through with that; so you settle for his head on your chest and your arms wrapped around his back.

"love you," nanami mumbles, voice getting softer and his grip looser — he feels his heart calm and his mind empty when you touch and hold him just like this. "i love you so much."

nanami wanted to be your protector. he hoped he would be for the remainder of his life — he likes to think he's doing a decent job at it now — but sometimes, it feels as though you are his; you fit awfully well to the title.

he supposes that's why he sleeps longer with you in the same bed as him; it's a peaceful thing knowing you're next to him if he has another bad dream, or if he feels cold and needs your warmth — or if he just wants to lay with you.

"i love you more, ken," you lulled, the tips of your fingernails scratching the skin of his trapezius; he recognises the heart shapes you trace on him. "get some rest."

"okay," he hums, his nose poking at your collarbones — his lips slowly leaving trails of kisses along them. "goodnight, darling."

your lips curl into a smile almost instinctively and you think it's embarassing, but it's much too dark for kento to see you blush at the name he calls you. you're thankful.

"goodnight, baby."

he's thankful that it's close to pitch dark, as well — kento thinks you can't see the smile he has on his face — but what he doesn't realise that you can feel him on your skin; feel the way his cheeks puff and his lips form the small smile you are so familiar with.

090124 — happy new years Tartaglieo fandom my gcse's are upcoming.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami fluff #nanami kento fluff #nanami x reader fluff #nanami kento x reader fluff #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x reader fluff #nanami kento #nanami kento jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami x you #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #jjk gf

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gustingirl · 2 years

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Some House MD facts i read on imdb that i can’t stop thinking about:

Although other characters occasionally insinuate that Dr. Robert Chase (Jesse Spencer) was a bit dim, he came up with more correct diagnoses than any other supporting character throughout the series.

Dr. House is a polyglot. He knows English, Spanish, Portuguese, Russian, French, Hindi (a little), and Mandarin.

It is common throughout the series for House and his team to suggest a diagnosis for a patient that was the previous episode's correct diagnosis.

Dr. Eric Foreman (Omar Epps) never wears the same outfit twice. (slay)

In season two, episode twenty-four, "No Reason," when Dr. House was shot and hospitalized, his hospital wristband reveals his date of birth as June 11, 1959, which is the same birth date as Hugh Laurie.

House is based on Sherlock Holmes, but Holmes, in turn, was based on a doctor Arthur Conan Doyle knew while studying medicine, a Dr. Bell, whose specialty was diagnosis.

Hugh Laurie did not actually like the title "House."

The standard way to use a cane is to hold it on the opposite side of the injured leg. Dr. House, of course, knows this but, consistent with his contrary nature, insists on keeping his cane on the same side as his injured leg.

Three out of six original cast members are left-handed: Lisa Edelstein (Dr. Lisa Cuddy), Omar Epps (Dr. Eric Foreman), and Robert Sean Leonard (Dr. James Wilson).

The team performs an "LP" or Lumbar Puncture in nearly every episode.

House's apartment set is also Amber's apartment and Wilson's early apartment. Although every time the apartments are dressed in different ways for the other characters, but always maintain the same layout. This is usually done to save money on production costs.

It's not a coincidence his name is Gregory House. The word "gregarious" means sociable, which House is the complete opposite of with strangers, but he's very social with his small inner circle.

House wears the watch that Kutner gifted him for Secret Santa right up until the show's final episode, a small sign of House's humanity.

A favorite line of Dr. Chase, namely when courting Dr. Cameron, is "see you next Tuesday," and after being fired uses the line "see you next Thursday." If we convert "see" to the letter C, and "you" to the letter U, together the acronym for either line spells a word that cannot be said on American television. This is all the more fitting to Dr. Chase's character since he is from Australia where the word is generally nowhere near as egregious as it is in the States, and consequently more commonly used there.

And my favorite one:

After a student in the audience of Hugh Laurie's edition of Inside the Actors Studio (1994) asked Laurie if he thought Dr. House should be romantically involved with Dr. Allison Cameron, Dr. Lisa Cuddy, or Dr. James Wilson; Laurie said, "I suspect that if the show runs long enough, he's going to run through all of them. What order that unfolds in is not for me to say. I think any of those relationships is, of course, believable. Two people can always find some comfort or attraction, so I think all are possible. I think Robert (Sean Leonard, who plays Dr. Wilson) might have something to say about it. I don't know how Robert would take that. But you know, I'm game."

#house md #dr house #gregory house #james wilson #lisa cuddy #alison cameron #robert chase #eric foreman #hugh laurie #robert sean leonard #lisa edelstein #omar epps #jennifer morrison #jesse spencer

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writing-for-marvel · 1 year

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Triage

[He’s Hazardous To My Health Series]

Paramedic!Bucky Barnes x Resident!Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist | PART 2 > >

Summary: A slightly reckless and exceedingly charming paramedic carries a young girl into your ER, proving that not all superheroes wear capes.

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, set in an emergency room, I am not a healthcare worker and my medical knowledge is limited to what I’ve seen in Greys Anatomy lol, incident where people are injured from a derailed train, mentions of wounds & surgery & loss of life, injuries to a young child, needles & stitching, my terrible attempt at writing flirty banter

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: based off the winner of this poll, we say hello to paramedic!Bucky ❤️ this is my first entry for the Connect 4: Into an Alternate June-iverse Event by @buckybarnesevents, fulfilling the prompt ‘First Responder AU’. Thank you to @rookthorne who looked this over for me and gave me the confidence to keep writing it 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

“Incoming trauma. Train collided with a car and derailed. First wave ETA three minutes.”

At the moment your director of emergency medicine announces the tragedy and flood of imminently arriving patients, the televisions in the emergency room switch to breaking news - a presenter, wearing a solemn expression, speaks as a split screen shows what you can only describe as a colossal catastrophe.

The ER becomes silent as all eyes focus on the screens, only the rhythmic beeping of the pulse oximeters cut through the silence, a heavy weight blanketing the room as the realisation of what you’re seeing sets in.

You can’t hear what precisely he’s saying, but you can’t bring yourself to look away whilst watching the live chopper vision of smoke billowing from the train laying unnaturally on its side, barely any movement from the scene makes you wonder if anyone could have survived the incident.

The three minutes before the ambulances arrive go by in a flash, feeling like you hardly have time to mentally prepare for the extent of injuries and potential loss of life you will be facing. Then, almost in an instant, as if flicking a switch, chaos in its purest form descends upon the emergency room.

You watch on as paramedics and firefighters wheel patients in on gurneys, one by one filling up the limited trauma beds in the ER. Dr Stephen Strange directs medical personnel, making sure each case is assigned to an appropriate physician, the more serious injuries bypassing trauma intake all together and heading straight towards surgery.

Your eyes land on one man in particular between the sensory overload of people - tall, broad shoulders with long chestnut hair, carrying a young girl with one strong arm as he pushes a gurney with the other. Who you can only assume is the girl's mother, is unconscious and has blood staining the roots of her long blonde hair. Your heart aches for them as she’s handed over to the surgery team in wait, and even though the ER is filled with many conflicting loud voices, you hear the high pitched cry of the young girl for her mommy. The paramedic, now with his second arm free, pulls her into his chest before making his way to one of the trauma beds.

“You!” Dr Strange’s voice pulls your attention back to the fray and you find he’s pointing directly to you - you’ll forgive him for forgetting the name of a new resident during this moment of crisis. “The young girl with Barnes, she’s your responsibility.” That’s all the instruction he has time for before moving onto the next resident.

As you make your way through the maze of people towards the young girl, your mind flashes back to the footage of the wreckage and how grim it appeared. It seems like a miracle that this young girl is conscious and looks relatively unharmed with the exception of a few abrasions.

“I’m the one who brought her in, she’ll be all alone while her mother is in surgery, all I’m asking is to stay with her while she gets examined.” The well-built paramedic, Barnes, argues with your head nurse, pride and admiration swelling warm in your chest - he’s standing up for a scared, young girl who can’t voice what she needs right now.

“That’s perfectly fine.” You cut in, knowing Christine is a stickler for protocol and would never allow non-family members to stay with patients, even in dire circumstances. If there is a time to bend the rules slightly, you figure this is it. “I think she feels a lot more comfortable with you here anyway, isn’t that right sweetie?” The young girl nods her head, little hands reaching out to grab hold of the paramedics’ large one, eyes brimming with frightened tears.

“Thank you.” He mouths as Christine storms off to deal with the many other patients that require her attention. Your focus now switches to the precious girl in front of you - no matter how hectic the ER gets, how devastating the incident is, your thoughts need to be directed solely on her care, and not ogling at the attractive EMT who is currently soothing her.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” You ask the scared, little girl, but not before offering your own as a sign of good faith. She looks up to Barnes for reassurance before answering.

“Sasha.” She confesses with a small voice, partially hiding her face in the broad paramedic’s arm as she does so.

“Okay Sasha, I’m here to check you over, help patch up these cuts and make sure you have no other injuries so we can get you up to see your mommy as soon as possible. Can I do that for you?” She nods her head, sitting up a little straighter in the bed all the while maintaining a tight hold on Barnes’ hand.

“Can you tell me who your friend here is, Sasha?” You ask as you start your examination, feeling the medics’ pair of eyes watching you intently, something more than just concern for your patient's well-being has heat creeping up your chest to the tips of your ears in silent attraction.

“Bucky. He pulled me from the train.”

“All by himself? Wow, he must be super strong to do that.” You glance up at Bucky to find him staring at you with what you hope is a mixture of captivation and endearment. He offers an enchanting smile, making butterflies, which have no right to exist in an emergency room, flutter in your stomach.

“He also got my mommy too.” Sasha adds, you suspect with the youthful intent to impress you even more.

“As well!” You say in a dramatic tone which makes her beam a proud smile that she did in fact amaze you. “Sasha, I think you got rescued by a real life superhero.” You continue in a staged whisper that not only has Sasha giggling, but brings a flush to Bucky’s cheeks. The bashful blush only makes him more attractive in your eyes.

As you continue your examination, cleaning and bandaging all lacerations, keeping Sasha distracted by asking about her favourite activities and animals, you can progressively feel her opening up and trusting you more. From your experience, it can be difficult to earn a child’s trust when they are in such a foreign place, surrounded by strangers, and in particular in this scenario, when a parent isn’t around. Having Bucky, whom she formed a bond with as soon as he rescued her from the train, stay by her side through the ordeal, has been to both your benefit.

Once you cleaned all her cuts, making sure Bucky held her hands so Sasha could squeeze when the disinfectant caused a sharp, stinging sensation, you begin examining her stomach, prodding her abdomen for any signs of tenderness.

“Does that hurt, Sasha?” You enquire when she flinches and whines at your touch.

“Yes, right there.” You're proud she trusts you enough to admit that, though now concerned about potential internal bleeding. You need to act fast, but you don’t want to instil more fear in her given she’s already had a large dose today.

“Okay, it’s nothing to worry about yet, but I’m going to order you a scan so we can see what’s going on in your tummy.” Your eyes flick instinctively to Bucky, to provide some consolation in a time where you’re both worried about the young girl you’ve both become attached to in such a short time. You see the considerable concern furrowed in his brow soften when his eyes meet yours.

“Will it hurt?” Sasha’s frightened voice breaks your heart - she’s had to endure enough pain and suffering for the day, watching her mother cling to life in an ambulance, you’re desperate not to add to it.

“Not at all, it’s as painless as having your picture taken!” You explain, watching the alarm melt from her features, and feeling the tension in Bucky’s shoulders relax simultaneously. “All you have to do is stay really, really still, can you do that for Bucky and I?” The notion that there is a Bucky and you makes something in your chest buoyant.

“Yes!” She promises without missing a beat and Bucky squeezes her small hands with a relieved smile.

When Sasha’s attention turns to the nurse whose job it is to take her up for the scan, you notice Bucky discretely wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. He says a sweet goodbye before she’s wheeled away, knowing this is where a paramedic and hospital patient part ways. Sasha enthusiastically waves back to both of you as the nurses wheels her away, not stopping until they turn a corner and she’s completely out of sight.

Bucky clears the lump in his throat before stating, “I think it’s my turn to leave now.”

“Don’t think I can’t see you wincing every time you move. Sit your cute butt down, you aren’t going anywhere till I check you over too.” You say as you finish completing the form to refer Sasha for the CT scan, missing the downright cheeky smirk plastered on Bucky's face.

“You think I have a cute butt, huh?” You can hear the smugness in his voice and you have to fight the corners of your mouth from upturning in a smile. He does have a cute butt - not that you’ve been staring - but you’re certainly not admitting that to his gorgeous face.

“Not the point - now, shirt off so I can take a look.” Finishing your paperwork, you finally look up to notice his cocked head and flirty smile. Having studied long hours in med school and worked even longer hours all last year as an intern, you recognise it’s been a while since a stranger has looked at you with this level of desire.

“At least buy me dinner before you ask to see me naked.”

“I’m a doctor, I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” You challenge, even though you’re positive his strapping frame, which fills out his uniform completely, will be even more impressive without a shirt. You have to swallow the saliva forming in your mouth so you quite literally don’t drool at the thought of his unclad body.

“Why don’t we find an on-call room and I can prove to you it’s not.” He teases in a low, alluring voice and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself smiling like an idiot - it, however, does not stop your face from warming like a heating pad. It’s infuriating how beautiful he is, and it’s definitely criminal to act as cocky as he is right now.

“Only if you let me patch you up first.” You bargain.

Bucky finally concedes, unbuttoning and shrugging off his uniform shirt to reveal a wound in his side about the length of a teaspoon which is still trickling blood. The tightening concern which overwhelms your body at the sight of the gash, which is much worse than you predicted he’d be concealing and will require stitches, distracts you from the allure of seeing his shirtless chest.

You shake your head, knowing he would have been fully aware he was injured since pulling Sasha and her mom from the train, and in an incredible amount of pain, but waited until others received treatment before allowing himself to be tended to.

“You should have told me about this.” Tentatively you place gauze over the cut, gently applying pressure to stop the oozing but not firm enough where he’s in pain. You can feel his attentive eyes following your every careful move, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear his breath hitch in his throat and feel his thumping heartbeat quicken as your hands graze his bare skin.

“There are many people in need of more urgent care than me.”

You look up at him from your position tending to his abdomen to find his face intimately close to yours. You can’t help yourself, being this close to him, but your eyes flicker to his lips, noticing a faint scar along his top lip you could only perceive by being this close.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it at all.”

Bucky gazes deeply into your eyes with a vulnerability which makes you doubt whether anyone has ever appraised him that he is worth taking care of. The thought feels like a punch to your gut.

“It’s relatively superficial, I can look after it myself.” He attempts to brush you off. If this weren’t your first time meeting the guy, and you didn’t feel like you were overstepping by protesting, you wouldn’t let him dismiss you so easily. “Can’t you overlook protocol this one time and give me the okay to get back out in the field? We are still looking through the wreckage for survivors, need all hands on deck” He flashes you wide, puppy dog eyes which have you melting at the knees. You suspect this isn’t the first time he’s used this ploy to get what he wants.

As if he can sense your resolve dissolving the longer you look in his mesmerising eyes, he starts to stand. But no, you aren’t going to let those ocean blues and infectious smile stop you from doing your job, and showing Bucky that his well-being is just as important as anyone else who came into the ER today. Placing your hands on his bare, broad shoulders, you push him back down onto the bed.

“You won’t be able to help anyone when you’re back in here with sepsis because this wound got infected.” You comment as you prepare the suture kit and implements you’ll need to first clean out the wound.

“At least that way I’d be able to see you again.” He jests, before sharp intake of breath as you begin disinfecting and debriding the laceration.

Even though you realise he’s joking, hopefully only about not taking care of his wound properly and not about wanting to see you again, you suspect there’s a small sliver of truth he’s hiding. There typically is a grain of truth in every joke - he seriously would have returned to the scene without receiving treatment if you hadn’t stopped him, twice.

“You don’t need the excuse of a life threatening illness to see me again. In fact, I would prefer it that way.”

Bucky eyes you with fondness as you finish up washing out his wound, even through the sharp sting and you expressing your disapproval of his careless actions. You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve the warmth in his gaze, but you enjoy it nonetheless.

Once the area is numbed, you can instantly sense the ease which overcomes Bucky at no longer being in discomfort. Though the grunts and groans that slipped past his lips were rather sexy, you much rather seeing him in an absence of pain.

The two of you stay in comfortable silence as you lend all your attention to the placement and execution of each stitch, knowing that if you do a good enough job, a wound this size will heal to an almost imperceptible scar. Though it’s difficult, you restrain your focus from how the taut muscles of his stomach flex as you're working.

“Alright, almost good as new.” Is what you comment once you’ve thrown the last stitch and placed a bandage over the area. “You’re ready to get back to being a real life superhero.” You tease, knowing the effect the word had on him last time. You’re pleased to see that same blush bloom lightly over his high cheekbones.

“Thanks for lookin’ after me, doc.” Bucky shows his gratitude with a lopsided smile you could get so used to basking in. As he buttons up his shirt, you allow your eyes to linger on his clearly defined abs for a second before they’re covered over. He really has no right to be as gorgeous and charming as he is. “And for being such a bright light in what has otherwise been a very dark day.”

“Same to you, Bucky.” Guilt eats away at a small part of you that during what is for a lot of people in this hospital such a tragic day, you’ve instead actually enjoyed the company of a cheeky paramedic.

“Take care of Sasha for me, won’t you?”

“She’s in the best hands.”

“I don’t doubt that for a minute.” He says with a tone which makes you think he’s only referring to you, when you were in fact meaning the entire hospital staff. Your heart flutters at the implication.

When neither of you say anything more, silence lingering for an almost awkward length, Bucky turns to leave. Even though you know you eventually must part ways, your heart aches that the end has seemingly come so soon. Luckily, you have a reason to call him back and spend an extra moment together.

“Hang on, you need to sign a release form before you’re allowed to go.” You say, hand brushing his as you provide a clipboard and pen, a shiver running up your arm which you hope Bucky doesn’t notice. If he does, he doesn’t mention it as instead he quickly surveils the document and chuckles.

“If you wanted my phone number, all you had to do was ask.” Damn him and that cheeky, smug grin you’re already falling for.

“This is purely protocol.” You counter, wanting to take his cocky persona down a peg. Bucky simply smirks, as if he can easily see through your half-truth like glass.

“So you’re telling me you don’t want my number?” He challenges, and though you don’t want to admit he’s won this back and forth between the two of you, you’ll consider yourself a winner as long as you come away with a means of contacting him after today.

“I didn’t say that.”

He hands you back the clipboard, a corner of the sheet torn off with his number scribbled specifically for you to take. You try not to look too desperate by taking the note immediately and putting it in your pocket as you plan on doing as soon as he isn’t watching you.

“The next time I see you, I hope we won’t be in an emergency room.” The suggestion there will be a next time makes giddiness rise in your chest as if you’re a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Don’t count your luck, James.” You tease, having spied his true first name on his patient form. “I haven’t called yet.” You try to sound calm, even though you can feel your heartbeat quickening the longer those captivating blue eyes regard your every move.

“I have a feeling you will, even if it is just to tell me Sasha’s pulled through alright,” Bucky pauses, slowly leaning in so you have a perfect view of his exquisite eyes, and his dilated pupils, as he lowers his voice. “Or for a rain check on that on-call room rendezvous.” He calls your bluff before flashing what you’re now sure is his signature smirk, leaving you with a fluttering heart and butterflies in your stomach.

As you watch Bucky walk out the exit of the ER, turning to shoot you a wink before the door closes behind him, you know three things for certain: firstly, you’ll definitely call him tomorrow, secondly, this man is going to utterly ruin you, and finally, you’re going to let him.

Part 2 > >

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rustedhearts · 1 year

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i got you, babe (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: the beginning of your pregnancy leaves you bedridden with illness and dependent on your husband. steve happily dotes on you.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

tags: pregnancy, depiction of vomiting, sappy/lovey-dovey newlyweds being cute!

a/n: just somethin' sweet for the kids. enjoy! see you never

california, june 3rd, 1996

The hum of the television filled the rosy, sunlit room with a comforting thrum. The curtains made the afternoon light tolerable, casting a gentle brightness across the bedspread pulled up to your chin. Who’s The Boss? came on a few hours ago, and you were in too much pain to roll over for the remote. Nevertheless, there was something comforting about that muffled laugh track. Something soothing in the bright pixilated colors and muted patterns. It reminded you of mornings before high school, watching morning programs from the kitchen table with a freezer burnt waffle.

It killed Steve to leave you home alone, but you promised you wouldn’t leave the bed. He’d already missed so many training sessions with Big when you found out you were pregnant. What you assumed to be food poisoning from bad Chinese became a week long stretch of puking your guts out, and one visit to the doctor came with a sonogram print out of your spec of a baby. Steve tumbled into panic mode, and when you kept sprinting from bed in the middle of the night to hurl your dinner, he found it hard to leave your side.

But the puking came in waves now, and only when you were standing upright. So you promised, after thirty minutes of banter and pointed glares from your husband, that you would stay home alone so long as you didn’t leave the bed. At first, you huffed and pouted. But as the tv mumbled and the house fell quiet, you realized: maybe this wasn’t so bad. It was actually kinda nice.

Until the first wave hit. Like drifting atop a massive wave, or how it feels to go too fast down a steep hill on the gas. Stomach plummeting, skin chilling, mouth watering. You hauled yourself upward and leaned over the bed, unhinging your jaw over the pink, plastic trash bin placed at your bedside. You winced at the acidic stream spewing from your throat, coating your mouth and nose with a taste and smell most like ammonia. It made your eyes pool with hot warmth and your palms grow clammy. Every cough, dry heave, or hurl came with a dull ache in your eyes.

Flinging yourself back against the pillows, you fumbled blindly for the glass of water Steve left for you on the nightstand. It dribbled down your chin and across the satin of your pajamas, but you were too tired to care. With careful caution, you rolled onto your side and buried your nose in Steve’s pillow. It still smelled like his Old Spice shampoo and Polo cologne, and you sighed as you rubbed your cheek against the cotton surface.

Something about the pregnancy made you constantly desperate for Steve. It was actually a little ridiculous, how often you found yourself clinging to Steve, pouting and sometimes even tearing up when he had to go to another room without you. You knew you were being childish and whiney, but you just couldn’t help it. He was so big and warm and soft, and you loved the pressure of his arms around you. You felt cold and bare without him around.

You were just beginning to sniffle, lip wobbling, when Steve tiptoed into the room. He grinned when he found you exactly where he left you: lying on your side cuddled into bed, the television running. Steve carefully came around the bed, bending to find your half-smushed and tear-struck face.

Your eyes rounded at the sight of him, a sharp sniffle cutting through the room. “Steve…what are you doin’ back already?”

Steve cooed, fingers coming to swipe away your tears. “Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you lyin’ in bed all alone. How you feelin’, honey?”

You pulled the blankets closer to your chin. “Not good. Threw up again.”

Brushing your hair away from your eyes with a heavy palm scented of leather and sweat, Steve frowned. “My poor girl. Brought you a smoothie, maybe it’ll help.”

Steve stood, placing a plastic bag on his nightstand. It crinkled as he dipped his hand inside, and you winced into the pillows, mumbling a pitiful ‘loud’ that made him chuckle.

A perfectly pink smoothie with a plastic straw was soon held out in front of you, and when you frowned and refused to move, Steve sighed. “Angel, c’mon. You gotta sit up just for a second.”

When you continued to pout, the brooding boxer rolled his eyes and sank down beside you on the edge of the bed. “You’re such a baby. C’mere," he grumbled.

Palm cupped around the nape of your neck, Steve gently guided you to a seated position, bringing the straw to your mouth. You suck down a few sips, then took the cold cup from him to hold as you sank back against the pillows. Steve instantly fluffed them, arranging them so you could see the television better and drink without choking. You flushed at the firm kiss he left on your head. Being pampered by Steve felt like heaven.

“Got you some other stuff too,” Steve mumbled, heading toward the door.

He reappeared moments later with another bag and a cellophane-wrapped bouquet of pink tulips. You awed, a cheek-aching grin reaching your face as he returned to the bed. His hairline was still sweaty, cheeks flushed from exercise. You placed a cool hand damp with condensation on his hot face and stroked it gently.

“Steve…you didn’t have to do all this.”

He shrugged, setting the flowers gently on your blanketed lap before reaching into the bag for more gifts. A plastic container of plump red strawberries (that you'd been eating like candy), a pair of fluffy, lilac purple socks rolled up, a large glass bottle of vanilla scented bubblebath that looked far too expensive, and a tiny white leather box (which, when opened, revealed a beautiful opal ring). You stared at all of it piled on your legs, overwhelmed and irrationally emotional.

"I want you to be comfortable at home, 'cause...well....'cause I don't know when you'll be feelin' good enough to be up and about, you know? And-and I can go to the bookstore and get you somethin' new to read—I know you have, like, every fuckin' book in the world but—"

"—Steven."

"Yeah."

You shimmied upward, shakily reaching to place your smoothie on the nightstand. Steve was quick to come to your aid, snatching the smoothie to place it down though you were an inch away from doing it yourself. His hands were always open and ready to catch you if you fell. His cheeks grew pinker by the minute, and when you cupped your hands on either side of his warm neck, stroking your fingers through his hair, he seemed to grow tomato-red.

"You're the most wonderful thing I've ever seen, Steve Harrington."

Like a puppy in a storefront or a boy with a boo-boo, Steve Harrington's eyes welled to saucers. His lips parted with playful protest, but he silenced immediately when the warmth of your own pressed against them. Sure, you'd thrown up half an hour ago and tasted like watered-down battery acid, and the awful taste of bile and cigarettes mixed like water and vinegar on your tongues—but Steve loved the fuck out of you. He'd kiss you no matter what.

"Mm," he hummed, chasing the entrance of your mouth, "so glad," he tipped his head again, nipping and pecking, "you like," his hands touched your cheeks, squishing them close, "it."

You pulled away, grinning toothily and heaving for air, swollen-mouthed and matching Steve's flush. "Love it. Love you."

Steve chuckled, swiping his thumb across your lower lip. "Never seen you like this, angel. Woulda gotten you knocked up a long time ago if I knew you'd be this bad."

Eyes rolling, you batted playfully at his firm chest—but soon after you nudged him away, you clawed for his t-shirt and pulled him close again. Steve swooped in and kissed your neck, suddenly just as giddy and adoring as you. You giggled, clutching to the hair at the nape of his neck as he peppered your collarbone in kisses. Steve was just glad to see you were no longer pouting.

"Well, Mrs. Harrington," Steve mused, nosing at your jawline, "feelin' up to takin' a bath? You can take your smoothie."

You nodded. "I'll try."

Steve squinted, rubbing his hand against your side. "We'll bring the bucket...just in case."

You smiled, accepting another loving kiss to your clammy forehead. "Just in case."

Steve stood, carefully collecting your new items to place them on the chair near the bed. As you inched toward a seated position and kicked off the covers, Steve rushed back and snapped his fingers.

"Ah—hey! Don't go thinkin' you can walk, baby."

You gaped at him, an incredulous giggle spewing from your mouth. "What? Steve, don't be ridiculous—"

"—no walking. C'mon, angel, here we go."

Hoisted in his arms bridal style—the way he carried you through your wedding present (a beautiful home in Hawkins for the off season)—Steve took wide strides toward the bathroom. You clung to him, squeezing your eyes shut tight as waves of nausea washed over you.

"Steve, the bucket!"

Steve eased you onto the edge of the jacuzzi tub, rushing into the bathroom for your pink trash bin. It was in your hands with your hair pulled back before you could even lurch with your first gag. Steve rubbed your back and turned on the bath all in one quick go.

"I got you, baby," he mumbled, patting your back as you spewed a smoothie stream. "I got you."

♡ ♡

#rolly!#boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #boxer!steve #joe keery #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington blurb

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twostepstyless · 1 year

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Authors Note: Reminisce on the day our favourite golden retreiver entered Harry and Y/N's lives and the journey it took to get him. Thank you very much Japanrry and Bell the Shiba Inn for the Harry with dog content we've received this week it truly couldn't have come at a better time.

Word Count: 4K+

SFW

***

the middle of june 2020

“Jesus Christ, Y/N,” Harry let out a soft chuckle, reaching over to pull a couple of tissues from the box they had to keep on the coffee table, passing them over to Y/N who was cuddled up against Harry’s side as tear tracks ran down her face.

“Baby, it’s fine,” Harry’s hand rubbed soothingly up and down Y/N’s arm, “why y’crying? Look the dogs happy, he’s wagging his tail and the little old man’s happy he’s got a new mate,” Harry tried his best to point out that they were actually watching quite a sweet story unfold on the television.

“I know,” she wails as a sob wracked through her body.

“What is going on in your brain?” Harry laughs as he pries the scrunched-up tissue from the grip in her fist, sitting her upright on the couch and began to wipe away at her tears before pinching the tissue over her nose and allowing her to blow into it before wiping it away and dropping the tissue to the side.

“It’s just lovely isn’t it,” Y/N said through the remaining sniffles of her tears, “he lost his wife and was looking for a little pal and the dog’s owner died and now they ha-have ea-” she hiccups as a new stream of tears begins to cascade down her cheeks, “now they have each other,” she casts as her eyes up to the television to see Bill, the elderly widowed man, head home with his new dog who had grey whiskers littering his snout and face not dissimilar from his new owner, ready to see out their final years together.

“You’re so cute,” Harry cooed with an amused smile while turning the volume of the tv down as the blaringly loud ad break sounded out through their living room.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Y/N whines, palming the remaining tears away from staining her cheeks before burying herself back under Harry’s arm, her own reaching across his middle to tether herself to him.

“M’not, m’not, I promise,” he hummed, his thumb smoothing soft circles on her arm. “S’a nice idea, innit?” Harry said quietly, a few moments later.

“Wha’s that?” she asked slowly, tired from all the crying.

“Having a dog,” he murmured.

“Yeah?” Y/N tilted her head up to look at him, her nose brushing his jawline.

“Mhmm, a little furry mate to cuddle up with at night sounds right up my street,” he looks down at her, nose brushing against her forehead before pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She sighs in contentment and leans into the brush of his lips, “what? Am I not cutting it anymore? I’ve not shaved my legs in a bit, I can be furry if that’s what you’re after,” she teased as Harry huffed out a laugh.

“Shut up,” he chuckled, “y’know what I mean, m’heart.”

“Mm, I do, it does sound a nice idea,” she hummed, eyes beginning to flutter with tiredness.

***

Three months had passed when the thought fluttered into Y/N’s head again. It had come and gone every so often, but this morning she woke up with the idea at the forefront of her mind. She padded down the stairs to find Harry in the kitchen, preparing their breakfast.

“Morning m’heart,” Harry spoke, handing her the coffee had had prepared for her the second he heard her shuffling around upstairs.

“Mmm, morning, thank you gorgeous,” she took a grateful sip before stretching up on her toes and pressing a kiss to his lips in greeting.

“Sleep good?” he asked as he began plating up her eggs for breakfast.

“Mhm, how was y’run?” she spoke through a yawn that slipped out.

“Was good, seen a golden retriever take a dive into the biggest puddle you’ve ever seen, the owner looked so fed up and was moaning his head off to the dog,” Harry laughed as he handed her over her plate before taking his own and setting up shop beside her as they had breakfast together.

Y/N thought it was funny he should mention dogs this morning and chose to bring her idea up now.

“D’you remember that thing y’said to me a few months ago?” she asked.

Harry nearly choked on his food as he laughed, he swallowed down before asking, “reckon y’could narrow that down for me, love? That’s a bit vague even for me to guess.”

“We were watching telly, an’ I had been crying…” she divulged.

“The dog programme?” Harry quirked his eyebrow as he took a mouthful of his own coffee.

“Mhm, and you mentioned something about it being a nice idea, having a little dog,” she gnawed on her lip.

“I did,” Harry said with a knowing smile, wanting to coax her into saying what she was thinking rather than him assuming.

“And… I guess, I was just wondering f’you were serious about that?”

“About what?” he put his fork down, spinning in his seat to face her, thumb pulling at her bottom lip to release it from the bite her teeth had on it.

“’Bout having a dog,” she spoke quietly.

“Yeah, I was serious,” he confirmed with a smile.

“I guess I was jus’ wondering if that’s something you would be thinking about having now, I guess… with me?” she finally asked.

“Miss Y/S/N, are you asking me to own a dog with you?” Harry asked in faux shock, a teasing lilt evident in his tone.

“Get fucked,” she whined at his teasing.

“Shh, of course I want that with you, jus’ didn’t realise you were thinking about that,” Harry speculated.

“Jus’ a little bit, it planted a seed when y’mentioned it and it keeps popping back up every so often, then you said about that dog on your run and I could just see you out running with our own dog,” she spilled.

“Sounds like a dream, doesn’t it?” Harry smiled.

“Yeah,” she sighed, content it had went over well.

“Why don’t we start having a look around, look up breeders and all that, see what we’re after?” he suggested.

“Uh well… I was thinking, why don’t we go visit a rescue place, know like the one out the other programme off the telly that always makes me cry?”

“Battersea?”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Y/N nodded.

“Sounds perfect, sweets, why don’t we take a drive down at the start of next week? See what they say to it?”

“Really?” Y/N asked, struggling to hide the excitement from her voice.

“Yeah, think we’d make brilliant dog parents, we would definitely let our dog play in the puddles without moaning like the guy I saw this morning,” Harry said confidently.

“Yeah? Tell me that again when we’ve got a dog taking mud baths every other day for a laugh and you need to wash them up afterwards.”

***

21st of September 2020

Y/N couldn’t sit still in her seat as Harry drove them to south London. She would settle for a few minutes then a shit-eating grin would split across her face, her knee would bounce in a nervous excitement and the occasional wiggle of her hips as she tried to settle herself down, which Harry kept catching out the corner of his eye with an amused smile gracing his features.

“Jus’ remember we’re not for sure leaving with a dog today, I know you’re excited, I am too, but let’s just be realistic, we might not find our fit today, more importantly, the right dog might not find us,” Harry reached over to squeeze her bouncing knee as they began to drive over the Chelsea bridge, officially entering Battersea.

“No, I know, m’just so excited to see all the dogs and you’re right, they need to be the ones to pick us,” Y/N said nodding her head, glad they were on the same page of letting the dog that was meant to be theirs come to them on its own.

Harry pulled the car in to park, switched the engine off and turned to face his love, “we ready to do this?” he unfastened his seatbelt.

“This is a big step for us, isn’t it?” Y/N mirrored him, taking off her seatbelt.

“How do you mean?”

“Well getting a pet, s’quite big, isn’t it?” Y/N explained as if it was obvious.

“Y/N/N, we already own a house together, have done for nearly 8 months, I’m pretty sure we’re alright,” Harry joked, reaching over and tucking her loose hair back.

“Yeah, but a living, breathing being is a bit more than bricks and mortar is it not?” she leant into his touch before nudging his hand away with her head and taking his hand in her own.

“Well, the plants are doing alright,” Harry laughed, smoothing his thumb over her knuckles. “Is this a conversation we should’ve had before coming here? Are y’worried about us having to co-parent our future pet?” he asked.

“No, m’not worried… I don’t know,” she resigned with a sigh.

“’Cause y’know that’s not going to happen, I told you I was all in with you in our first year together,” Harry smiled fondly.

“Y’told me within the first few months,” she pointed out with a giggle.

“Exactly, we’ve got three years locked in the vault, a dog isn’t going to upend this, if anything I reckon, he’s going to solidify our future together even more,” Harry leant forward and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of her lips.

“You said he. Y’think we’re going to get a boy dog?” she breathed out.

“Mhm, got a feeling. Now c’mon, I feel like I can hear him calling out to me through all the barking,” Harry opened the driver’s door allowing the sound of all the barking from inside the rescue centre to flood into the car.

***

“Look H, this one is called Binx,” she pouted as a greyhound’s nose appeared through the gaps in the fence as Harry appeared beside her after talking to a few of the volunteers.

“She’s cute,” Harry said as he read over the information posted outside the dog’s area, “it says she doesn’t like a lot of people around her, m’not sure that’s a good fit for us, there’s constantly people in and out our house and we wouldn’t be able to take her with us a lot of the time,” Harry explained, sounding sad they would have to move on from the little beauty who was staring up at them.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Y/N said sadly. “Bye cutie,” she waved her hand at the wide-eyed greyhound who relaxed back down in her bed once her visitors moved on.

“So, the volunteer, said they have someone they think we’d like to meet,” Harry grasped her hand and lead her back to the blue painted desk at the front of the rescue centre, portraits of all their current dogs that are looking for homes hung on the wall behind the woman with the thick-rimmed glasses who was smiling brightly sat behind the desk.

‘Hiya love, welcome to Battersea,” the lady spoke, with a thick accent that Y/N guessed was from the West Country.

“Hi nice t’meet you, I’m Y/N,” she greeted the woman.

“I’m Bonnie, love, I was just chatting with y’fella here and I’ve got someone I think could be a fit for you guys, if you would like to meet him?” Y/N’s eyes gleamed in excitement as Harry jabbed her playfully in the side at the word ‘him’, his guess potentially coming true.

“Most definitely, we’d like to meet anyone that you think could be a fit for us,” Harry answered for them.

“Right then,” Bonnie stood with a groan, “right this way, let me just grab a handful of these first, he’s very food driven,” Bonnie laughed as she shoved some dog treats from the jar on the desk into her pocket, and lead the couple through a painted blue door to the side of the desk.

As soon as they entered the room, they heard a high-pitched squeak rather than a bark. A squeak that was trying to be a bark but wasn’t quite there yet. Bonnie stood to the side to reveal a fenced pen, where a rambunctious little pup was running in circles letting out his squeaky bark to greet his new visitors.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N breathed out under her breath, hand squeezing Harry’s tight as the approached the pen.

“So, this little baby, he’s not got a name yet we’ve just been calling him ‘boy’ is a fourteen-week golden retriever,” Bonnie told them as she quietened the puppy down with a few treats from her pocket.

“He’s so little,” Y/N cooed as she knelt down next to the pen as Harry sat cross-legged next to her, watching the dog explore his little pen.

“Was he born here, then?” Harry looked towards Bonnie, asking for more of the dog’s story.

“Uh no, this lad and his brothers and sisters have got a bit of a sad story actually, they were found on the 16thof June, in a bin bag dumped down by the river. We got them dropped off here and we worked out they were probably only a day old,” Bonnie said as she scratched the happy dog behind the ears.

“That’s awful,” Y/N gasped.

“Yeah, not the best start in life but they were all hand-reared by our volunteers, this little one by me, and believe me if I could take him permanently, I absolutely would,” Bonnie smiled at the golden retriever whose tail was wagging hard enough it was creating a draught.

“So, the rest of the litter?” Harry queried.

“Already found their forever’s, my little pal here was the smallest of the bunch, struggled to keep him with us right at the beginning but he’s here now waiting for his own turn to find forever,” Bonnie said as both Harry and Y/N pouted at the bright little light of a soul contained in the golden retriever sat in front of them as he nudged the volunteer’s hand for another treat. “Why don’t I open his pen up, we’ll let him out, let him have a good old sniff around the room and we’ll see if he takes to you guys, if he seems comfortable enough, I’ll slip out the room and let you have a little one to one with him,” Bonnie explained, handing over the remaining treats she had stuffed into her pockets into Harry and Y/N’s hands, “sound good?”

“Absolutely,” Harry agreed quickly.

“Yes please, I’d love t’meet him proper,” Y/N confirmed.

“Cracking,” and Bonnie bent down and lifted the small gate containing the dog into the pen and opened it wide for him to come out. His tiny head whipped round to see what Bonnie was up to, ears flopping at the movement as he began to run as fast as his legs could carry him out the gate.

The couple giggled as they watched him run laps around the room, stopping to sniff at every corner and crevice he came across. As soon as the puppy heard the couple on the floor giggling, he skidded to a halt and turned in place to look at them, tilting his head, his ears swishing with the movement. He approached the pair sitting on the floor, tripping over his paws that he was still growing into as he approached Y/N first circling around where she was knelt down.

“Hi baby boy,” she uttered, reaching her closed fist out to him, the treats contained inside, as his wet, black nose bumped against her hand, giving it a tentative lick, “I think I’ve got something you’re going to like hidden in there,” she began to withdraw her hand causing the golden dog to whine pitifully and follow her hand, reaching up towards her by placing his front paws up on her knees. Harry sat and watched the glow of happiness radiate from his girlfriend. She was generally a happy person but seeing her feed the dog his treats from her outstretched palm, Harry felt like he was witnessing something click into place inside of her. Like the little dog was the missing puzzle piece of her, of them. “You’re just the sweetest little sunshine aren’t you,” she giggled as the dog licked her palm free landing back on all four paws before he turned his attention to Harry’s cross-legged frame, tilting his head at the man.

“Hiya mate,” Harry murmured, holding his hand out letting the pup smell him first before leaving the safety blanket of Y/N. The couple were so engrossed in the puppy they didn’t even spot Bonnie, smiling knowingly, silently slip out of the room, closing the door behind her. Harry hand fed him a few treats, the dog shuffling forward so he was sat in front of him. Harry let his free hand come up and give the dog a few little scratches behind the ear as he watched Bonnie do earlier which made his little tail sweep the floor in happiness. Once he had finished his treats, the dog seemed perfectly happy in Harry’s company, so much so that he climbed straight in between Harry’s crossed legs and rest his head on Harry’s thigh, staring up at the happy couple.

“I think he likes you, H,” Y/N whispered, letting her hand smooth down the dogs back, her nails scratching lightly as Harry’s thumb smoothed up over his nose and forehead as the dog blinked heavily, his young body clearly tuckered out from all the excitement.

“Yeah, you think so?” Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from his new best mate.

“Considering he climbed straight into your lap, I’m thinking yeah,” Y/N laughed as she let her head fall onto Harry’s shoulder.

“He seems pretty smitten with you too,” Harry pointed out, and sure enough, the dog, through his heavy eyes, was staring straight up at her.

They sat quietly in the peace, Harry’s lap warm with the weight of his tired little body, Y/N’s arm growing achy from its constant stroking down his back but she didn’t dare stop.

Bonnie shuffled back into the room, “well, my lovelies, how are we getting on?” as Y/N and Harry’s gazes snapped up to look at her, before both smiling softly and back down to their sleepy boy.

***

Harry had never been more grateful for the traffic that kept them driving well below the speed limit between south and north London. Their new four-legged baby was passed out in Y/N’s arms in the passenger seat as the slow rumble of the engine and Y/N’s constant pats and soothing words keep him asleep on the big scary car journey back to his new forever home.

“We’re going to need to think of a name,” Harry said softly as he chanced a look down at him as they stopped at a red light.

“Hm, any suggestions?” she asked.

“None at all, what did you call him at the rescue?” Harry switched gears as they finally made it through the traffic lights.

“Hm, sunshine I think, I can’t see us shouting Sunshine across the park,” she mused.

“Sunny? Or could be spelt S-O-N-N-Y?” Harry suggested.

“Fuck no, my auntie had a yappy little thing called Sonny when we were growing up and he was a little arsehole of a dog,” Y/N snorted.

“Sonnys off the list then, what else is like sunshine… sunflower, nope can’t have it look like m’dog’s named after my own song,” Harry proposed before cutting himself off just as quickly as Y/N giggled.

“Hm, Sunflower, s’like my favourite painting,” Y/N mentioned as an aside.

“The Van Gogh one, right?” Harry clarified.

“Mhmm.”

“Vincent Van Gogh…” Harry said. “…Vincent… that’s cute,” Harry gave her a quick look.

“That is cute, reckon he looks like a Vincent too,” she peered down at their new baby.

“Loadsa nicknames from that too, Vince, Vinnie, Vin,” he listed.

“Vincent Styles, his proper Sunday name” Y/N nodded.

“My surname? Don’t want to double barrel it with yours?” Harry checked.

“Well m’hoping one day we’ll all have matching surnames,” she said shyly.

“Reckon that could be arranged, right Vincent?” he asked the dog who has stirred from his sleep.

***

“Okay, wait right there, wait, wait, wait,” Harry said quickly as he parked them up at home as he got out the car and ran round the front of it, throwing open the passenger door to Vince letting out a squeaky sort of bark at the sight of his new Dad. Harry reached in and took Vinnie straight from Y/N’s arms to carry the dog into his new home.

“Oi, you little fucker, don’t steal our dog from me,” Y/N laughed as she got out the car following Harry up their front door as he tried to fight the keys into the lock while keeping Vince close to his chest.

“He got loads of Mumma cuddles on the way home, s’my turn, right m’boy? Daddy gets a go now?” Harry spoke to the dog as he got a loving lick against his cheek as he passed Y/N the keys to let them in the house when he gave up trying to unlock the door. Before Y/N could slide the keys into the lock she took her phone and took a quick picture of Harry with his thumb up cradling a curious Vincent against his chest. His first picture with their boy.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she opened their front door, “welcome home Vincent,” she sang as Harry carried him inside.

“Welcome to your forever, Vincent,” Harry spoke as he set the dog down in the hallway where he immediately started sniffing and exploring, seemingly comforted by being surrounded by the scent of his new parents.

***

21st of September 2022

“Vince!” Y/N shouted across the park as Harry let out a loud whistle with his fingers between his lips. The dog turned to face them with a guilty looking expression on his face, his paw hovering over the biggest, muddiest puddle he was able to find in the park. “Don’t even think about it Mister,” Y/N warned calling after the dog, his paw inching closer to the murky water.

“Vincent, get your furry little arse back here, come see what Mum’s got for you,” Harry shouted this time, hoping to entice him away with the promise of a treat, and he did look tempted. Especially when Y/N rattled the treat bag but the promise of a big muddy puddle was just something too hard for him to fight.

“He’s going to jump in,” Y/N said with a sigh.

“He won’t, he won’t,” Harry tried to speak it into existence.

“He will,” and with one large splash their golden retriever turned into a brown, muddy retriever.

“For fuck’s sake,” they both groaned in unison as they watched Vincent roll onto his back to get himself thoroughly coated in the muddy water.

“I thought he was supposed to be food driven,” Harry whined as Vincent removed himself from his mud bath and gave an almighty shake.

“Oh, he is, with everything else, that died a death for mud baths after the first muddy puddle,” Y/N giggled, already knowing they’re going to have to deep clean their bathroom after Vince’s bath time later.

“You’re happy as a pig in shit, aren’t you?” Harry asked the dog as he trotted up to them, tail wagging happily, “yeah, you look like a pig in shit as well, mate.”

“Two years today, we’ve had you Vin, and you’re still driving me and Dad to the brink aren’t you,” Y/N cooed, giving him a treat anyway, he deserved it today.

“Wouldn’t change you for the world, m’boy,” Harry reached down to give him a scratch behind his ears, after all this time it was still his favourite scratch and pat to receive. Harry immediately regretting doing so as his hand came back caked in dirt.

“Happy gotcha day, Vincent,” Y/N cheered as the continued their walk as Vincent barked in response. This time a full, booming bark full of personality, so much different than the little squeaks he gave them two years ago.

***

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