Yeah Now We've Entered The Back Pain Stage

Crying and puking, Google maps made the Gulf of Mexico say Gulf of America

The first clip 😭🤣

CR: @ackleslut TikTok

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

Sunflower Vol. 6🌻

This is my first short story about H, which I posted on my main blog. I’m not really used to writing anything longer than three paragraphs lol, so writing 3k+ is new to me. I hope anyone who comes across likes this little thing I made up :)

Where Harry is caught up in his lingering emotions about Camille...

It’s been a longer day and more difficult than usual and it’s only almost noon. Since Camille, he’s had days that are damn near perfect, others have been like this; sluggish and dreary. His friend has been tending to him, making sure he’s there to support his moods.

Haven’t been out all day, why would they be? It’s raining. A perfect day, perfect excuse to stay in and simply do nothing. At least that’s what Harry thinks, not so much of his friend. “Harry, mate, we’ve got to cheer you up, yeah? We can’t keep you watching romances, just not healthy, not now at least. What do you say?” It takes a moment for the words to reach him, and he takes his time to think about it, but nothing sounds appealing and he hasn’t even heard what Oliver has in mind.

Very slowly Harry pulls himself up onto his elbows and looks at Oliver who’s on the opposite side of the couch. “Little seems to intrigue me today Ollie, but if you think you’ve got something that tickles my fancy then have at it.” The tone in his voice is irritable, and he doesn’t want to deal with anything that Oliver has to offer him. As maddening as it makes him, Harry understands that he’s just trying to help, so if it’s a good enough distraction he’ll consider it.

“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind with finishing the last few tracks on the album and... Camille, even though that subject seems to have been at ease until today. You shouldn’t let the idea of the situation tear you down mate-”

“I don’t need a lecture here, okay? I thought you wanted me to get off my ass and do something?”

“Calm down H, really. This is what I’m trying to get on about. Now listen, I was getting at that we need to get you out of the house and go for a jog, yeah? Clear your thoughts and talk about it afterwards. You don’t have a choice, actually, because I hate seeing you like this and quite frankly, I’m sick of the attitude.” Oliver then chucks an oversized pillow at Harry’s face which caused him to giggle and is an indicator that he’s in acceptance of the small gesture.

The jog was miserable yet effective. There were moments where it didn’t seem worth it to finish, but knowing Olly, he wouldn’t allow quitting. Quitting means not growing and not growing means you stay in the same place and rhythm you were in when you started. Hard work pays off after all. It’s moments like these that he appreciates Oliver for knowing exactly what Harry needs, clever bastard.

Now that Harry was thinking more about his state of mind, in the fucking rain which is drenching him, he realizes that he needs to accept his feelings, and at the same time he needs to learn how to manage them and work through the hardship. There’s a point where he needs to move forward instead of stopping in one place when thinking of Camille, similar to going for a jog. Damn Oliver always getting in his head. He gives him a glance after this thought and raises his hand to give Oliver the finger to which he finds amusing.

“You know how much I hate you for that God awful jog?” Harry says breathlessly while trying to dry himself off with a towel. He’s only being sarcastic which is being caught on by Oliver, who knows it was much appreciated.

“Oh but how you love me for it brother, I saw some gears turning in that massive head of yours!! How are you feeling? Tell me about it.”

“I’ve just come to notice that I can’t let myself stop in my tracks whenever I’m upset about Camille, you know? I need to be able to accept how I feel, learn from that, and move on because I’m getting nowhere being like this.” He points to himself and shyly looks down at his feet. “I’ve got to be happy where I’m at, sometimes I am but there’s a part of me that isn’t quite there yet and it’s frustrating…”

Harry takes a deep breath because he feels himself getting a bit emotional, throat closing up and all. Playing with the areas where his rings usually are, a nervous tick he has. How is it that it’s been half a year and he’s still somewhat sad over her? Why is it taking him so damn long to let go? Harry then continues in a sad, quiet voice, “I have all the intentions of trying to move on, I’ve been chatting with people, but there’s just something keeping me.”

Oliver understands that there’s not much he can do or say in this moment, just to let him say what’s on his mind, and Harry loves that about him, that he just knows when to be silent for his friend. The pair just sit peacefully for a while until Harry speaks up, “You know what, this whole morning has been eventful and I’ve started to get inspired by that pesky little run of yours. I’m in need of that extra inspiration if you know what I mean mate.” His whole demeanor changes, eyes gleaming and a smirk emerges, then there’s this mischievous look on his face and that’s when Oliver knows exactly what to do.

--

During the creation of this new album he’s been experimenting with substances most find questionable, shrooms are one of them. It’s something he’s been afraid of admitting since he’s supposed to be a role model, but if he’s not being himself can that be deemed upon him? It’s a different perspective for sure, and maybe he does it to look at life in a way that he just can’t accomplish sober. To give himself access to more ideas which could aid in his writing process. It’s worked for a few tracks and he wouldn’t change how the songs came about, not in the slightest. Other times on his trips, it’s just been a mess of crazy animations and colors to which nothing arises and it discourages him a little but there’s no fault in it. Just wasn’t the right time or right trip.

Before Harry takes the shrooms, he meditates and allows his previous, heavier emotions go to ensure that his trip will be a good one. He sits in a dark room with a salt lamp that illuminates the space with its orange tint, just enough to make figures out. He sits with his legs crossed and his hands laying on his knees, keeps his eyes closed and breathes evenly. This goes on for about half-hour. Thinking to himself, everything that has been, is out of his control and everything now is what he can control. The jog helped him ease into positivity and meditation is helping this process. A positive mind leads to a positive trip. He then moves onto what he wants to try to focus on during his time away from reality…

Harry looks back at the conversation he had with Oliver before his time to himself.

--

“So what song do you want to focus on H?”

“I’ve been having a hard time figuring out what I want Sunflower to be like. It’s been all over the place, I’ve written it about Camille, written it about men and women that I talked with briefly. That song has been rewritten five bloody times. I need to focus it on one thing but I don’t know what...”

--

When everything is sorted out in his mind, Harry meets Oliver in the living room where they were hours before. All the lights are off except another salt lamp barely lighting the room, blinds are drawn so no light can interrupt his journey into the unknown. Oliver has the shrooms mixed in some green tea, it’s cooled off enough to sip on generously. Harry doesn’t want to admit it but he’s eager to get high. Not in a sense to escape his problems of course, just to have perspective and an open mind more so than what he’s experiencing at the moment, and he wants it now. Usually it takes him, minimum, thirty minutes to feel the full effects, so the tea is gone sooner rather than later.

He’s lost all concept of time and more so reality, he can still feel his weight heavily sunken into his couch. A sign to him that he’s still on the incline to the climax of his trip. It feels like he’s about to pass out, but that’s how he usually gets when he takes shrooms.

It feels like it’s been hours since he’s drank his tea and notices disappointment in his mind because nothing has presented itself to him, but he isn’t feeling any emotional connection due to the overpowering euphoria the shrooms have on him. Harry is looking into the darkness that seems infinite, he can barely make out some colors in the distance which are slowly getting bigger? Closer even? Are they swimming towards him? Tries to reach out for them but can’t move his arms quite yet.

All that’s on his mind really, are the colors and shapes moving toward him. Getting bigger the closer they get. They’re moving around in a spiral, then moving over and under one another, then before he realizes they’re engulfing him. Very vivid shades of yellows, pinks, blues, purples. They’re flying around him like Cinderella’s Fairy Godmother’s magic stars wrapping around her, turning everything into beauty. With Harry, though, it’s not stars, the colors are outlined with black and the strands of colors are bubbly in shape, like some hippy styled font.

The flamboyant yellow animation is what attracts him the most, and it begins to pull at his shirt. He notices when he looks down, hands being molded from the shape and when he looks back up he’s met with a Sunflower.

In this particular moment Harry can’t feel the weight of his body anymore, he’s not paying attention but he’s reaching the peak of his high. He’s not worrying about Camille or figuring out how to construct his song, in fact those thoughts are completely absent. And suddenly the Sunflower has a face? Its mouth is moving and Harry can hear something coming from it, he just can’t make out what it is. He’s gotten impatient trying to guess it’s vernacular so he gives up. He can’t take his eyes off it, the way its petals are slightly red on the bottom and progress into a rich orange to a bright yellow on the very ends. The way its hands feel brushing over his arms, so silky. A pretty, beautiful, gorgeous flower it is, isn’t it?

All the while the other strands of color have disappeared from around him which he cesses to notice because he’s too fixated on this heavenly creature. The way it’s looking at him, the way it has to look up to meet his eyes. It smiles and Harry is just mesmerized. How can something be so breathtaking?

Then something comes over Harry and before he really has time to think he says aloud, “Sunflower, my eyes want you more than a melody.” Once this phrase is said the Sunflower disappears and Harry is engulfed in darkness again. Confusion takes over him because he was wanting to get to know it and understand why it came to him. There’s a period where he tries walking around but it’s not doing any good, there’s nothing to see. Maybe she’ll come out if he tells her something else. But how does he know its a woman? Can’t place a finger on how, he just knows. He coos, “I don’t wanna make you feel bad, Sunflower… Sunflower?”

Harry spots her in the distance, seems as if she’s peeking from around a corner in this sunless void, so he walks to her. She’s the only thing that lights up in the darkness. Turning around the invisible wall where she once was, he admits, “I couldn’t want you anymore-” he’s suddenly in a house and he has the slightest idea of how he got here, but this feeling of familiarity consumes him. Feels like he’s been here before, knows where everything is, could point out her favorite book on the bookshelf in the living room, which he’s standing right in front of. There’s also a sensation that comes over Harry, he knows that she’s in the kitchen, making him breakfast. And he also has some knowledge of who this is, like someone he used to know.

He makes his way towards the kitchen which is through a doorway that connects to the living room, he’s remembering the emotions he’s had for this not-so-stranger. The all consuming love he has, the adoration, the curiosity of knowing every aspect of who she is.

When met with her back facing him, Harry takes a few strides forward then wraps his arms around the slim waist of the Sunflower. Taking in her wonderful sweet scent from her petals, he lays his head on hers, humming by the contact that he’s making with her. “Sunflower, sunflower, sunflower” he keeps repeating near where her ear would be if she was human. She’s paying no mind to him while she’s fixing up pancakes and eggs.

The pair stay comfortably where they’re at for a few minutes before Harry can’t help himself. He turns her around to get a proper look at her beautiful face, shining eyes, pointy nose, nice full lips that he can’t take his eyes off of. Just amazed that he’s in the presence of her, again, remembering the countless times they’ve done this before.

She smiles at him like she had done before and Harry can’t take the butterflies that rumble in his stomach, they’re too overwhelming. He leans down to connect his lips with hers, and he’s remembering a scene almost identical to this. Where’s he’s kissing her and dancing in the kitchen early in the morning. The sun hasn’t quite warmed their house yet and he knows she’s cold even with her thick pajamas on. Harry’s warmed by the mere sight of her, the sight of her being happy. Mainly because of him.

“I couldn’t want you anymore, tonight” He whispers against her lips, leaving noticeable goosebumps all over her vined skin, he has just enough time to witness how she looks before he’s falling into the abyss of darkness. It’s swallowing him. Then hears his voice echoing all around him, “Tonight, tonight, tonight…”

He shakes his head, wondering where he is, again. His eyes are the death of him, so tired and throbbing. Realizing he’s in his bed, weakly pulls himself up and to the bathroom to brush his teeth because he has this weird taste in his mouth. A bitter taste.

Taking it to mind this is how he spent some of his mornings getting ready, hardly any motivation to get the day started. Before he got to know her. He wanted to come home to someone who would love him, to share dreams and ideas with. Someone who just got him. To find comfort and trust in.

Then he remembers how they met…

—

It was during some random trip to whatever country it was, can’t seem to remember clearly enough. But, he met up with his friends at this nice restaurant. Wasn’t particularly interested in what everyone was talking about, so he occasionally looks around the restaurant to see other people enjoying their conversations. This particular time though a woman catches his attention. He immediately knew that she was something he needed to have in his life. The way she carried herself so confidently and so elegantly has him weak in the knees.

Fortunately enough she was there because Oliver wanted to introduce them so Harry had every excuse to talk to her. And he was beyond ecstatic about it when he realized she was walking towards him, with a smile she was so desperately trying to contain.

(Oliver met her at some fashion convention he went with with Harry. She mentioned his name to Oliver and told him that she’d like to get in contact with Harry. She had to leave abruptly for a reason and the opportunity hadn’t arrised until later. Eventually the Sunflower told Oliver she’d have a few rest days during one of her business trips, and they planned the trip for Harry to meet her. He’s never told Harry that’s why they had a “boys trip”.)

From then on though, he was always wanting to spend time with her. She was reserved for the first few months and that’s why Harry pines over her. The mystery of it all excited him. Something was keeping her though, she didn’t know exactly what but she knew that Harry could make her happy. And the whole point was for her to get close with him. She planned a trip for fucks sake. When the time came it all just scared her, having someone knowing, or wanting to know everything about you.

So all Harry could do was wait patiently for her to know what she wanted, but it wore on him sometimes. He wanted nothing more than to get to know what she was about but she was out of reach, barely. Wanted so badly to make her his. To give his love to the girl he’s been admiring from a distance. A distance that she’s been keeping. The girl that made his heart jump out of his chest whenever she spoke or looked him in the eye.

—

She was what motivated him, when they were finally together. She gave him an energy that consumed him. Always wanting to learn from her, about how she thought or the experiences she’s had that deeply impacted her. Endlessly wondering what makes her, her.

He couldn’t want her anymore than he already did.

And when he thinks that thought he’s dropped back in their home, staring at the bookcase like he had been doing before. Walking towards the kitchen like last time, “Kiss in the kitchen like it’s a dance floor…” he blurts out with a smile that consumes his face. Recognizing that he’s looking from an outside perspective this go around, watching him and the Sunflower do the exact thing he experienced not too long ago.

But then his heart drops, that isn’t him dancing with her. It’s another man dancing with his girl. He pictured a whole life with her, their kids dancing with them in their kitchen. A tradition he’s always wanted to start with the love of his life. But now she’s sharing something with this man that they’ve done, something that was supposed to be theirs. Harry wishes at this point that he could start over, to do things different. Where had things gone wrong between them? How long has it been since went separate ways?

“Sunflower, let me inside, wish I could get to know you…”

There’s this feeling within him that he knows it’s been too long for him to convince her that he’s everything that she needs. (More selfishly though she’s everything he needs). When clouds cover the sky he wants to be the light that she requires to stand tall.

The euphoria from the shrooms is strong still so he hasn’t had time to dwell over this sadness too much. Merely just a feeling, no attachments. It’s an upsetting sight to see but there’s this airiness to it. Room for understanding is the best way Harry can make sense of it in his current state. What once was, is. Nothing he can do but understand. Be grateful that he got to live a portion of his life with her. To be happy for her.

So he lets her die, metaphorically. “Sunflowers just died, keep it sweet in your memory…” The memories are for him to keep but no longer dwell on. And that’s when he knows. He’s happy. Happy by himself, about his situation with the Sunflower, happy that he’s taken the time to realize that things come and go. And new seeds can be planted in a different melody with someone else.

When Harry’s no longer thinking about the Sunflower, the colors come back to pick him up, almost desperate to whisk him away. The pinks, yellows, blues and purples bring him to a destination unknown and he doesn’t give a damn. Just floating endlessly. He’s basking in his euphoria, not chasing after anything anymore. Giggling to himself because he’s carefree and joyous. Cheering himself on, “Woo-woo, woo-woo, woo-woo, yeah!” That sound is all that surrounds him as he drifts off into a sea of color.

Ten Years Gone {d.w.}

2. The Passenger

Warning: none

Word count: 2.1k

A/N: Any and all feedback is welcome! Please hit up my inbox, I love yapping! She’s a slow burn type of story, on purpose? Maybe. I have so many things I want to do with Dean and Novena. Happy reading :)

Novena was shivering as she was walking back to her house, she really wished that she could afford to fix her car after what Vince had done to it. The tires slashed, side mirrors broken, dents all over, and he had cut her brake line. Usually she’s good at reading people from the jump, but with Vince there was always something that seemed to cloud her judgement. And with her dad passing–paying for the funeral expenses put a hole in her wallet that’s been difficult to come back from. 

The weight of the world was really crashing into her lately. The pain was unbearable at times, so much so that she was having nightmares that would leave her gasping for air. The only person left in her life who really knew who she was, what she was, is gone. Hot tears rolled down her face, the cold wind made sure to sting her cheeks; Novena didn’t bother wiping away her sadness. 

She had another ten minutes of freezing her ass off before she was able to wrap herself in her thick comforter. There was a car coming up from behind her, and a sweet familiar purr radiated from it. That car was at the bar when she left, it could only be one of two people… While she wasn’t necessarily scared of the guy who tried to hit on her, it wouldn’t be pleasant interacting with him again. The person who was driving slowed to a stop and rolled down the window.

“You need a ride, stranger?” Dean shouted from across the road.

Novena’s shoulders eased their way down to a neutral position, grateful that she wouldn’t need to defend herself. Swiftly making her way over to the pristine jet black Impala, she leaned down to meet his gaze. 

“I thought you were that asshat for a second.” Dabbing her nose between saying, “I’d love a ride home, it’s wicked numb out here.”

“That’s almost an insult, you thinking that he’d have a nice Baby like this.” Dean had a serious look on his face while he patted his steering wheel, but then it turned into this adorable grin, one that warmed Novena to her core. He has such a charming smile, nice straight teeth with pointy canines, and his smile actually seemed to reach his eyes this time. “You getting in or not, crazy girl?”

“Yes, yeah. Thank you!” A chuckle escaped from Dean’s mouth—it met her ears while she was running to the other side of the car. He reached over the passenger seat to open the door for her, and she quickly plopped herself onto the seat and shut the door. 

“Where are we headed?”

“You’ll take this road all the way down pretty much. House number is 44, on the left. I’ll let you know when we’re close.”

“Sounds good.”

The pair sat in silence. The rumbling of the Impala and the way it smelled like gasoline and faintly of apple pie, was comforting. Instrumentals of an old rock song filled the air. Then, out of nowhere, she became extremely aware of her surroundings. Time seemed to stop. 

When she moved her head to look at Dean, it felt like her neck was being weighed down by an invisible force. This sequence of events feels so vivid, so unmistakable from one of her dreams she had months ago. The way his hand was lightly cradling the wheel and how he slumped in the seat so casually, the song she wished she could remember, and the feeling of affinity for a man she doesn't know. Only she couldn’t see the man's face in her dream. Deja Vu. 

With her illusions fading, she snaps back to reality. “You never told me why you were in town. What brings you here, Dean?”

His eyebrows twitched with sadness and careful consideration, his grip on the wheel tightened, and he readjusted himself in his seat. Dean didn’t know if he wanted to tell the truth to Novena or not, since it was so easy to unwind in her presence. He still can’t believe that that actually happened, it was so unnatural for him to act that way. To feel his emotions. In public. A white lie couldn’t hurt her, right?

“I’m here for work, just got in tonight actually.”

“And what do you do for work?”

Dean looks over to her wondering eyes and smirks, “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

She bites back, “Try me.”

“Alright, feisty pants. If you want to know so badly, I work for the government—if I say much else I might have to kill you.”

“Like the CIA or FBI or something?” She asks, squinting her eyes at his sarcasm.

“Yeah…or something.” He says, winking at Novena.

“Here, this house on the left.” She jerks her body towards her home as she points to it. 

Good, she’s distracted. Dean lets out a silent sigh of relief.

They arrive at an older house, and it has to be more than sixty years old. It’s a huge Victorian style place with a sunroom patio that wraps around the whole extend. The paint was a worn out, pale yellow with chips everywhere. Dean bet that this house in its prime would have looked so inviting, so homey. The driveway that led along the side of the house was snowed in so he parked on the street. Her porch light wasn’t on and the street lamps sucked. 

Dean thought to himself, Damn, she lives alone? Here? Everything about this place screams sketchy. 

Maybe he’s reading too much into it, it’s dark and he’s exhausted, but not enough to offer to walk her to her door. He wanted to make sure that he watched her go inside safely. She insisted that she was fine to walk the short distance, but Dean didn’t take no for an answer.

“Novena, I’m walking you up there. C’mon.”

“You seem apprehensive, Dean. Like something is gunna come outta the woods behind my house and attack me…”

He cocked his head towards the porch, “You can never be too careful.”

Amusement escaped her mouth. He really was serious because the look that he gave her was so intense that she thought his eyes would cut right through her. His sharp glance softened then concern washed over him briefly before looking away, scoping out her yard. The smile slowly faded from her face at Dean’s change in behavior. 

“Thank you, for walking me to my door like a gentleman. You really didn’t have to. Nothing bad ever happens in this town.” She pauses as a shiver runs through her. Rubbing her hands together, she assures, “I’m safe—if that’s what you’re worried about.” 

“Why would someone in my position be here if it was safe?” All of a sudden, her porch light flickers on. Weird. How did it—? That’s when he saw a glimpse of worry in her eyes, fuck. Purgatory had made him too hard, too blunt. 

“Look, I didn’t mean to scare you. If you need anything,” he reached into his jacket pocket, “here’s my number. Feel free to call me anytime.”

“Uh, on your card it says detective R. Plant? Like, Robert Plant from Led Zeppelin…?” She stares into his eyes before confirming, “Are you the scary thing in the woods I should be frightened of?” 

Shit. He totally forgot that those cards had one of his aliases on it. What an idiot. 

If Sammy were here he’d have a perfectly good explanation to cover his ass. Dean laughs nervously, fidgeting with his ring not knowing what to say. “Yeah, uh, I’m supposed to be undercover and I gave you my real name at the bar... Trust me, I am not the big bad wolf.” 

A strained smile found its way across Dean's face. Anxiety washes over him and before he knows it he blurts out, “If anything, I’m more of the little piggy that went to the market.”

Fuck! What was he saying? That doesn’t even make sense! He pressed his fingers to the corners of his eyes and shook his head in embarrassment.

The sweetest giggle came from Novena. Again, she laid her hand on the side of his face. Her hand was so cold, yet so alluring. Like the air around them, time seemed to be frozen, and again, so was Dean. He yielded so effortlessly to her touch; his mouth slightly ajar, losing himself within her gaze.

Novena pulled away and bid him a good-night then walked into her house. 

Her touch lingered on his skin. Dean wanted to chase after her. To knock on her door just to look at her before he left—there was this pull to her that he couldn’t describe even if he wanted to. He hasn’t been touched by a woman in so long that he almost forgot what it felt like. Almost forgot how gentle and loving someone could be…

A light came on somewhere in the front of the house, and a thunderous bark jolted Dean out of his trance. He definitely wasn’t sticking around for Novena to find out that he was still on her porch. And that dog sent a chill up his spine. The weight of the bark almost felt like it was meant for him. A warning.

You’re so pathetic. Get yourself together man, he thought to himself.

Dean made his way back to Baby, and headed for the 24 hour motel he saw when he entered town.

—

He didn’t sleep well on that poor excuse of a bed. Even when he had to sleep on the ground, that’d been more comfortable than that thing. The pounding in his head would not go away, no matter how many cups of coffee he had. Regretting the amount of liquor he had the night before.

There was a lead in the neighboring town concerning Kevin. Garth had called and said that there was demon activity, and people going missing from all over the state. Dean had already checked out the four other towns to see what information he could gather. 

All victims had disappeared out of the blue. There wasn’t much to go off of, and it was looking like the beginning of a dead end. He forgot how draining it was to be doing all the work by himself. Driving everywhere, talking to everyone, doing research on his own. The time it took to work a job doubled. Hell, it felt like it tripled. 

Going to the vic’s parents house wasn’t any help either. The mom was a total mess, who couldn’t answer a single goddamn question. It was like talking to a brick wall, and it made Dean want to smash his face into one. Instead, he chose to take it out on Garth.

“Man, I got bupkis. Are you sure this has something to do with Kevin?”

“Dean, you gotta trust me. There’s definitely something goin’ on up there. Would daddy Garth steer you wrong?”

“First of all, don’t ever call yourself that again. Second, I think you’re wrong about this one. Doesn’t seem plausible enough to be Crowley. It’s only men—”

“I have’tuh jet, got a call on another line.”

“But—” Then the call dropped. 

Even more frustrated than before, Dean slammed the car door shut. Immediately apologized to Baby for the aggression. He took a second to collect himself. To figure out a game plan. He wasn’t sure that it was the King of Hell’s minions at work.

—

He had combed through records for hours at the local library. He might have found something, but it definitely wasn’t demon related. Garth fucked up and Dean was going to make sure he knew about it.

The sun was setting behind the grey clouds, and there seemed to be no end to the snowfall. The library was warm and sleep consumed Dean. Light snoring filled the silence and drool was pooling on his jacket. He was so far gone, that he didn’t feel that someone was tapping on him to wake him up.

Then something slammed on the table with a loud thud.

Dean bolted up, pulling an arm up with his hand in a fist, while the other reached for his gun. Looking up at the son of a bitch who alarmed him.

Novena smiled down at him, “Fancy seeing you here, Flatlander.”

“Flat-wha–?” Dean looked down at his wet jacket sleeve, and quickly wiped his face with the arm that was close to punching her. “You shouldn’t scare a man like that. I could’ve…”

“Settle down. You wouldn’t hurt me, tough guy.” She picked her books up and shoved them in her purse. While tucking her hair behind her ear, she gave Dean puppy eyes and said, “Mind giving me a ride?”

He nods, “You’re lucky I’m tired sweetie, otherwise those needy eyes of yours would be useless.” He groans as he stands up, “Might have to start charging you for gas, I ain’t no Uber.”

“You’re such a liar.” You’d do anything for me. She thought.

“Don’t push me. Let’s go.”

—

tags! @ambiguous-avery @deans-spinster-witch @aylacavebear @jackles010378

If I forgot to tag anyone please come at me, I have a horrible memory. I hope this part is good, I've been going through it irl lol. And please come at me if this is absolute dog water <3

A lot of the girls on here really need a huge, huge comforting hug from a man with big arms & it's evident more and more each day

In the Fields We Lie

Summary: World War I is at its climax. Dean is figuring out his life before his name gets drawn from the draft. Falling in love while he can. Will he get the life he always wanted? Or will the war destroy him? Word Count: 3k

Warnings: british!dean?? let's spice it up a little bit! I just know his deep voice with this accent would eat me alive if I could actually hear it! Also, world-building. No legit tw's.

Prologue

They say that in the midst of darkness and a time where nothing prospers, the mind tends to wonder. This is the time where inspiration strikes and masterpieces are made. There is, more than anything else we have in the world, is time. What we do in that allotted space is up to us to choose. What shall we occupy ourselves with? Where shall we let our minds wander off to? Distant lands or perhaps a reality that we dream of that is better than our present? Do you dream of being in your lover's arms? Or do you wish you could have taken back those harsh words you said to your mother recently? Others have to think quickly, in a fraction of a second, or else they will not live to see the light of day. 

In that darkness there is chaos and when everything turns quiet, is that moment of primal instinct to save your life or to accept that death will grab you and bring you to a hell that you have not seen yet. Anything to keep the mind busy in times of hardship is crucial. That is how we survive. The silence, especially in the time of war, is deadly. So deadly that it could turn anyone crazy.

Every soul is trying to keep themselves safe and there is not an option otherwise, unless they have lost their way. Lost hope. Those are the people you have to take care of, to watch out for. Without community and camaraderie, there is no purpose. Without care for others is the destruction of oneself. Without the care for oneself is to rot. Those who only think of the betterment of themself are soulless. To be self-sufficient is another story. To have support behind you, next to you, in front of you–gives you strength. To know that others are experiencing life similar to yours is comforting because ultimately you’ll feel less alone.

—

England

17 December, 1915

Friday

Dean Winchester was young and eager to work. He had always put some money to the side but now, with no end in sight to this war, he's been saving every penny. Maybe he could afford to send his brother to university–to save Sam from being a pawn in someone else's game.

It was a particularly cold morning, grey clouds coated the sky as far as you could see. The freezing air hitting Dean in the face feels like a pound of bricks. He’s already slipped and landed on his ass twice this morning while walking to work. Dean got a respectable job as a high-end tailor three years ago–a trait he has been naturally good at, all thanks to his mom.

He’s okay with having a wet bum because he knows the ladies he works with are going to have a good time making fun of him. What he isn’t okay with is his inability to stop daydreaming about his neighbor, and that is exactly what he does walking two kilometers to work.

They are acquainted. Dean has helped her move furniture and tried to fix her shower pipes once but failed miserably. Leaving him no other option but to pay for maintenance and to allow her access to his washroom. She had occasionally made him food whenever he came home late, or she would purposely bump into him in the morning before work to put a smile on his face.

They enjoy each other's company so much that they go to the market together to buy groceries. Sometimes, Dean stargazes in the park right below their building. On the occasion, she sees him through her kitchen window–every time she joins him to make sense of the clouds and their shapes. They’d always lay in silence, enjoying the presence not only from one another but the vast universe above them.

In this particular moment all Dean can focus on is her being in his home, using his shower. Being the gentleman that he is, he respected her privacy when she was over to wash up, which was every night for a week. But he also couldn’t, and presently cannot help but imagine her beautiful figure underneath her clothes.

The sound of her humming to herself in the shower echoes through his mind as snow crunches under his feet. Her voice sounds like a goddess blessing all of creation, a thought that had crossed his mind yesterday. She slipped the very first time she had been over and fell pretty hard; she screeched but then laughed hysterically. It was something Dean could get used to. Her coming over made Dean feel whole–made his flat less lonely.

Another thing happened yesterday. She had forgotten a change of clothes, and it was then that Dean knew he was truly in love with her.

—

Dean was making some boiled chicken and pasta when he heard the shower handle squeak and a handful of choice words fall from his beautiful neighbor's mouth. He assumed that she was rushing too fast while getting her toiletries together that she had forgotten something vitally important...

She had a date who was waiting for her outside the building. Jealousy raged over him when she told him that a particular man was taking her out to dinner. Apparently, they’ve known each other since grade school, even dated in their early teen years, then reconnected at a mutual friend's wedding. The negative emotions he was feeling quickly dissipated when she said his name.

“Dean…”

She sounded worried. Why was she worried? Was she nervous?

“Fran, I know your nerves are getting the best of you, but I’m sure you look lovely…” He turned around to find her in just a towel. Eyes widened, jaw dropped, and heart racing at a million miles an hour. Too stunned to speak, Dean quickly spun on his heels so he wasn’t starring. “Shit, I- I’m, I-”

She’s now laughing at his embarrassment. All worry washed away from her voice, “I forgot my dress. I guess I was so excited to get ready that I forgot it. Can I borrow a blanket or shirt to cover up in?” 

After a few moments of silence she walked up to him and tapped his shoulder and spoke, “Dean, it’s okay. Turn around.”

He did as he was told, making sure that when he did, he only looked into her eyes. She was so beautiful–so confident in her body and in herself to let a man she wasn’t with, to look at her when she was indecent. A strand of curly hair fell into her eyes, before she could move it herself. Dean gently pushed the lock behind her ear, and both of their breaths caught in their throats. 

Dean managed to whisper, “I’ll um, go grab you a shirt.” He never walked so fast in his life. Making sure he picked out a nice shirt that smelled good was top priority. He ended up dabbing some cologne on the collar just in case.

She was too busy admiring the books on his bookshelf to notice that he had come back, so he cleared his throat before speaking, “Fran, you better change quickly before your date thinks you’ve fallen in the toilet.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny Winchester. Gimme that.” Snatching the shirt like it was hers to begin with. She disappears behind the washroom door and reappears seconds later it seems like, but maybe that’s from the state of shock Dean’s still in. Fran has to ask him this twice to get his full attention, “Will you watch for any unwanted eyes as I walk to my flat?”

“Of course I will. Let me see your key so I can unlock your door.” 

Walking past her is painful, he can feel his excitement pushing against his trousers. It’s only just started but he needs to be free of Fran soon or else she’ll see his indecency. Moving quickly and lightly, making sure not to cause a ruckus and concern the nosey neighbors. He unlocks her door and sets her key on the small table that sits just to the right of the door. Making sure that no one is in sight he quietly calls out her name. She holds her dirty garments to her chest as she sleepwalks to him. Hopping almost. Bloody cute, this one, Dean thinks to himself. As soon as she’s in her doorway Dean stands in front of her with both arms outstretched, and hands grabbing the baseboards to make for a better cover for Fran.

They are extremely close again, both of their hearts are pounding so hard it’s a surprise they can’t hear each other's heartbeats. 

“You better have fun on your date. Hurry along then, you don’t want to miss him.”

“Oh, I will. Aaand… don’t tell me what to do.” Fran winked at him and then closed the door in his face. Dean smiled and walked back to his flat. He ended up burning his pasta on the stove. If this was any normal night, he would have lost his wits if he burned his food, but he made an exception for the gorgeous woman that stole his attention.

—

Ever since that incident, a very particular image of Fran has been taking over Dean’s mind. The shirt that Dean gave her was a pale pink shirt and he never realized, that without an undershirt underneath, that it was sheer. When Fran came out of the bathroom, her hair had gotten the fabric around her breasts wet. It was only for a brief moment that he looked, and Dean swears that she did it on purpose. She was perfect, everywhere. He thought he saw her smile when he gazed his eyes up and down her body, seeming almost satisfied with his actions. An angelic devil.

Too distracted by his thoughts, he barely realized that he was arriving at work. Taylor the Tailor: “Let Taylor, Tailor You!” was displayed above the building in bright red lettering. It was a quaint little shop that sparked Dean’s interest when he first moved to the city. Before he even asked for a position, he had to come in for a repair on a set of trousers. Long story short: while moving into his flat, he had slipped on some ice like he had been doing presently, and ripped them right down the bumline. Quite embarrassing, even more so, considering one of his neighbors came out of the building right as it was happening and laughed. It turned out to be Fran. She still teases him about it.

His mum taught him how to sew, crochet, and knit, so already having experience was attractive to the owner, Mr. Taylor. He was hired on the spot actually. He loves everyone he works with and that’s the reason why he’s stayed with the shop for almost two years. 

He welcomes Mimi and Rena as he walks through the main room and towards the back to set down his jacket. Dean can hear the two older ladies gossiping about who knows what but it makes him chuckle. They think they’re whispering but they’re both basically shouting at each other.

“Ladies, ladies,” Dean interrupted them, “No need to whisper about how gorgeous I am, when I’m right here!”

Rena rolled her eyes, while Mimi stood up and made her way to him. Mimi takes his blue bowtie from his hand and begins to put it on for him. A little tradition that they’ve made. Dean is fully capable of doing it himself but he lets her. They both gain from it. “Thank you, my darling,” He kisses her on the cheek when she’s finished. “And how are both of my girls today? Ready for the weekend?”

“Always ready for the weekend, Winchester. Two days out of the week where I am free of you.”

“I’m truly hurt by your words Rena. You know what that does to my ego. Everyone loves me, right Mimi?”

Mimi laughs, “You are very lovable Dean. Rena is just an old fart. You’d think after so many years she’d warm up to ya.” That is exactly how each day goes. Rena is the stern and conservative type but has her moments, Mimi is a freer spirit and can get along with both of her coworkers, and Dean is, well, Dean…

The day is long and cold, everyone is being careful not to let their fingers get too stiff. Their day has only gotten longer, because right before five o’clock, a woman comes in. She is in desperate need of fixing her husband's work attire that her children had shredded with scissors. Three shirts and four trousers. She was a fairly sweet woman and she would pay them extra to get it done for her by Monday morning. They all obliged.

To make things fun, Dean took on three garments that were badly damaged, and told the ladies he would finish all of them before they finished their two pieces. This didn’t amuse Rena, but she ended up finishing before him and she was greatly satisfied, giggled even. Getting out of the shop around half past nine was quite impressive and everyone patted themselves on the back for the hard work.

“Get home safe my loves, I will see you later. Rena, you better think of me!” He yells at them when they’re about to round the corner of the street. It makes Rena furious.

The weather changed within the last two hours, snow is falling fast. He usually doesn’t mind walking through it, but he’s afraid that he’ll fall like he did earlier. His tailbone was still throbbing. As if summoning the inevitable, he slips and one of his legs extends too far out in front of him. Almost ripping his pants, again! Thank goodness for having hands to catch you. It was a close call—the amount of stretch he felt was worrisome. 

As he approaches his building, he notices an all too familiar Rolls-Royce that belongs to someone who is the epitome of rubbish. Someone who is used to getting his way. Maybe it’s the money he has or possibly the fact that he has not struggled a day in his life–is why Dean hates him so much. There’s definitely another reason that has nothing to do with those things though. Dean is reluctant to go inside the entryway but likes to make this man suffer.

“Hello, Dick! It’s awful seeing you here,” Dean coldly welcomes him, “Where will you be taking Fran tonight?”

“For the last time, it’s Richard. And it should be none of your business, but I know she’ll tell you anyhow. We are going to my brother’s engagement party, and before you say anything–”

“Speaking of engagement, when will you ever ask Fran to go steady with you? Oh wait, that’s right, you were too busy getting your dic-” By the look on the other man's face, Dean knew Fran was walking up to them, “Dick! So lovely to see you mate!” He then turns around, smiles at his beautiful neighbor. As he walks up to her, he whispers for her to be safe, and heads up to his flat. In the stairwell Dean could hear Dick tell her how much he annoys him, and that is always his goal.

“Such a nosey neighbor…”

“I think he’s perfectly fine, Richard. Leave him be…” Her voice is so soft. She wouldn’t be talking so tenderly to him if she knew that he was seeing other women besides her. It infuriates Dean to his core, but he can’t tell her because she would rip him a new one and he does not need anything else being torn apart. Second, Fran would be so devastated and Dean doesn’t want to deliver that news to her. She will find out sooner or later, and Dean prays that he gets front row seats to Dick getting his balls kicked in.

—

The storm only got worse throughout the night. The power went out shortly after Dean got home. Currently at the kitchen table reading a book but failing horribly from sore eyes, waiting for Fran to be dropped off. At this point it could be likely that she had to stay with Dick and his family, which is revolting. It’s none of Dean’s business where she is, who’s she with, and he shouldn’t be waiting up for her but something isn’t sitting right. Looking back on it now, it seemed too late for an engagement party. Maybe it was a surprise and maybe the couple went out to dinner while everyone set up? He needs to go to bed and stop worrying, Fran is a grown woman and she’s more than ready to stick up for herself. She’s fine.

Looking out of his window one last time, to make sure he doesn’t miss her, is when he sees headlights crawling towards the building. Assuming it’s Fran, Dean sighs in relief and heads to his washroom to get ready for bed. As he gets done brushing his teeth is when he hears her walking up the stairs and decides to meet her in the hallway. Knowing she can barely see up the stairs from the power outage, he brings out a candle to give her when she gets home.

“How was your night out Miss Fran?” He questions as genuinely as he can, as she reaches the last step. She’s too quiet. He walks closer to her once she reaches her door and leans against the wall. She looks sad. Her eyes and nose are red. Dean can make out where the tears streamed down her face. His stomach flips and he feels nauseated instantly. 

What happened to her? He wants to ask but knows it’s not the time.

Her voice is hoarse, “You know, you don’t need to wait up for me—it’s sweet but a little strange.” She half heartedly jokes. “My night was fine, thank you. See you tomorrow, yeah?”

“Of course. Here, take this…” He straightens up, taking a few steps to get closer to her, and he smells the alcohol coming from her breath. It must’ve been a rough night because she hardly drinks. 

Handing her the candle and keeping eye contact he whispers, “So you can see where you’re going. I’ll come get you tomorrow.” 

Dean wipes away a fallen tear from her face with his thumb and kisses her cheek in that same spot.

So softly she murmurs, “Goodnight Dean.”

“Goodnight Fran.” He says with equal gentleness. With even more longing.

—

A/N: Please let me know what you think!! I edited this on four hours of sleep lol.

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted (idk if yall wanted to be tagged but hopefully it's okay!)

okay hear me out… early seasons dean winchester ??

dean winchester would’ve had nipple piercings if john hadn’t raised him to be so scared of self-expression tbh

Red Wings {d.w.}

Warnings: 18+ MDNI!! Period sex, descriptions of blood, slight blood kink, pet names, unprotected sex (wrap it unless that's what you want!) Also, I know 'Red Wings' refers to oral sex, but I've only ever known it to be from penetration--so it's penetration in this. (if i missed anything please let me know. also let me know if this is fucked and if i should delete). Word count: 2k

A/N: Any feedback is appreciated, especially on this one. Feel free to be brutally honest. Happy reading, hopefully!

—

It’s no surprise that Dean doesn’t mind cleaning up period blood. It’s a part of his job description for hell's sake. And he’s damn good at getting deep stains out of your underwear, or on occasion where you bleed through your pads and stain the sheets during the night. He’s more than happy to help during your vulnerable days. In fact, he loves it. Loves taking care of his sweet girl. 

Dean has been through numerous types of pain, but he will never know what it’s like for his body to attack itself. Doesn’t understand the breast tenderness where even a loose shirt hurts to have on. Cramps so debilitating that you can’t even stand–that move to your back, to your vagina, and sometimes it zaps your damned asshole. The iron deficiency that gives you headaches and makes you so tired and weak. Sometimes the pain lasts for hours without a break. 

He keeps begging you to get checked for endometriosis–and has been secretly doing his research because it makes him feel useless that he can’t soothe the pain. You’re stubborn though and don’t listen to him. 

The cramps aren’t the worst tonight but they’re bad enough that you keep wiggling around and aren’t able to fall asleep. You’ve noticed recently that Dean sleeps lighter when you’re on your period–he’s more intune with you and your body. Always ready to make sure you’re okay. He’s groggy when he turns over and drapes an arm over your waist. His hand slips under your shirt and goes to your stomach, the warmth acts as a heating pad. Then he starts massaging gently, going from one side to the other, then pushing down towards your uterus. Once he’s done that for a couple rounds, the massage gets deeper, and that’s when you let out a throaty groan.

The pressure that is placed on your stomach actually helps relieve the cramping. 

“Feel good, baby?” Dean mumbles, his warm breath tickles your ear.

“Yes…really good,” You exhale. “How’d you know to do this?”

“Found a video on youtube. Hate knowing how much it hurts you. Had to figure something out for my girl.”

“Fuuuck.” The release is too good to be true.

Dean leaned over your shoulder, kissing your forehead, then your cheek–still massaging. “You, um…you know what else I came across that could help your cramps?”

“Hmm?”

“I read,” he pauses to kiss your shoulder, “that period sex helps release endorphins or whatever and acts as a natural painkiller. Would you–would you want to try…?”

You never entertained the idea of having period sex. It was messy and the clean up would be a nuisance. Also, Dean already had to deal with washing blood from his own hands from the job, plus whenever you bled through clothes and periodically on the sheets. Even if you insisted on cleaning everything yourself, he’d make it his responsibility. You didn’t want to burden him or trigger a trauma response with how heavy your flow could get.

Admittedly, his willingness to do anything for your aching body was turning you on. It was something the two of you have never done. With anyone.

“Let’s try it. But we’re stopping if—“

“If your cramps get worse. Of course, sweetheart.” You saw him wink at you in the dimly lit room and your core heated up. He could read your mind so effortlessly.

Dean gives you a gentle kiss on the lips before getting up and walking out of the room. Coming back a minute later with a dark towel. 

“Lift your hips up fr’me.”

You follow his instruction and he slides the towel underneath you. And when you settle back down he pulls both your underwear and sweatpants off. You remove your tank top while Dean takes off his boxers. His cock springs out of them–you didn’t even realize he was hard in the first place. Your clit pulses at the sight. He eyes you–taking in your beautiful bare body as he begins stroking himself. A small groan leaves his plump lips while he climbs on the bed, positioning his legs on either side of you. 

Dean remains straddling you, pumping his dick slowly–you watch his precum building on his tip, threatening to leak down his shaft at any moment. With his other hand he finds your clit. You can’t help but to jerk back, not being used to him touching you during this time of the month.

His voice sweet and slow like honey, “It’s okay baby. Blood won’t hurt me none.” 

A small croak of approval emits itself from your throat while you shake your head in agreement. Replacing his large fingers over your small sensitive bud, he presses down slightly and moves side to side. Just how you like it. Concern sits at the forefront of your mind about your blood spilling out at any moment. But with every moment that passes while Dean touches you–while you watch him touch himself–is another moment that eases the thought of the clean up that has to happen later. You eventually lay back down, resting your head on your pillow, elevated just enough so you’re still able to watch. 

“That’s my girl. Just relax.” He stops pleasuring himself and drops himself over you with his free hand, and leans down planting a kiss on your lips. He pulls away and brushes his lips against yours, “You ready? I need to hear you speak this time.”

“I’m good, I’m okay.” You say as you brush your fingers along the side of his jaw, a little smile blooming on Dean's face. “Go slow at first?”

His eyes narrow at you, taking his fingers off your clit to find himself, gradually guiding his length into your bloody cunt–moaning, “Always,” once he feels how much warmer you are. 

You can’t describe it, but having him in you definitely feels like ecstacy. Every pump was almost overstimulating, the slickness turning you on. The fact that he was in you raw, had your mind spinning in circles. Your walls gripping him as tightly as possible, and your body begging him to keep going. Desperate cries escaped your pretty little mouth. Wrapping your legs around his back so he had no choice but to keep going–whispering quietly, “Don’t stop”, repeatedly in his ear. 

How was sex this blissful? Maybe because you’re more sensitive? Or hornier than usual? Which was hard to believe, it’s virtually impossible because you always wanted him to fuck you senseless. But this was different. You wanted Dean so fervently. The feeling is almost primal…

“Fuuck,” Dean grunted as he pumped his dick into you, “Baby…you feel so good. So warm.” 

His head bobbed down like he couldn’t hold it up anymore, so you held him in your hands–making him look into your lustful eyes. He was breaking already. When he’s close his nose scrunches, his bottom lip quivers, and his eyebrows knot up. He’s mouthing, “I’m close.”

“No–”

“Shit, am I hurting you?” Dean immediately halts his actions, taking himself out of you and sits you up, “I’m sorry. I–we can stop...”

When you giggle, Dean can’t hide his confusion. He’s so adorable when he’s concerned. “I’m fine, my love.” You place a tender kiss on the hand that had made its way to your cheek, “Just didn’t want you cumming yet. I wanna be on top.”

“Don’t scare me like that.” He glares at you as he takes your place on the towel. 

You look at his pelvis before you climb on top of him, and there’s a decent amount of blood coating his dick and thighs. A part of you is guilty for bloodying him up, but the devilish side of you loves the sight. It’s not other people’s or monsters' body fluid on your partner, but it’s your own. No violence caused this—well besides your uterus hating you, but that’s not the point. The point is that he will do anything to make you feel like you’re on cloud nine. Even if it means staining his skin red.

A loud animalistic moan came from Dean once you slipped his cock in you. Grinding your hips slowly at first to really savor the moment, to take in the beautiful man beneath you. His hands gripping your love handles guiding your movements. Small whines leave you as he makes you speed up, making you grasp onto his hips. 

At this point everything is getting you so riled up and you can’t help it. Any insecurity has left you. There was blood that had smeared on Dean’s stomach, most likely from the hand that grabbed his member, and that was the final straw for your self control. Dean noticed the sinister look in your eyes.

“You like seeing that don’t you? Your blood all over me?” He asks behind gritted teeth, pounding your wet and bloody cunt, “Fuck me baby.”

And that’s exactly what you do. You lay yourself into the crook of Dean’s neck and bounce on his hard length. The sound of his skin slapping against yours drives you mad, involuntary cries escape from both of you.

He’s pulling your hair with one hand and gripping your ass with the other, “That’s it, pretty girl,” he slaps your bottom, whispering in your ear, “can feel you tightening around my dick.” Dean then pushes you up slightly, lifts his head up finding one of your breasts, and starts flicking his tongue against your nipple. The hand that leaned you upwards is now kneading your tit.

That was your weakness—him playing with your nipples. They’ve always been sensitive and are the reason for most of your orgasms, which is where you were heading. Fast. Dean’s taken over again. He’s humming into your breast as he takes it in his mouth, and his hips are bucking into yours at an ungodly speed. Your stomach is twisting at the stimulation, your body is shaking. There’s no strength left to support yourself, you begin to sway. Dean eventually guiding you to rest onto him.

“Dean, I’m…I’m cumming.”

“Yeah, angel. Can feel you throbbing. God…” He lets out a sharp exhale, eyes rolling back–he’s so close to spilling into you. Reaching down to pull himself out of your pussy–but you refuse, needing him in every way imaginable. Pulling his hand away from where you two were connected, “I–I can’t hold it. Baby, please!” 

“Cum in me.”

“Wha–”

You grind as fast as you’re able to.

 “You heard me,” seductively exaggerating your next words, “Cum. In. Me.”

“Oh fuuck, yeah–yeah…” Dean howls your name as he releases his load into your swollen hole, the heat from his climax flowing through you. The euphoria that was clouding your judgement slowly wearing off. Breaths are evening out, while you still slowly move yourself up and down–milking little spasms out of Dean until he begs for you to stop.

“Dirty girl, having me cum in you. Didn’t expect you’d like period sex this much.” A huge grin spreads across his face, love in his eyes, “How’s the pain?”

You say as you cup his face with one hand, returning the happiness, “Gone.”

“Good. Also didn’t expect you to get turned on by having your blood covering me.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, it’s hot. C’mere.” Grabbing you by the nape of your neck, he pulls you into a soft, sensual kiss. “I felt so close to you, watching how turned on you got. How wild you looked, made me want to give you my children.”

“Well, you did. Technically.” You smirk. A look of defeat washed over him, he was serious. His demeanor makes you compose your humor, “Well, this is a good start then.” 

There’s that adorable smile and those cute crows feet that crinkle around his eyes.

“Let’s wait a little while though, I have a feeling you’re gunna want me to fuck you while you’re on your period more often.” 

“Mmh, how’d you know?”

“Honey, you gave me my first set of red wings and you got so hot and bothered by it. I know you, know what you want.” He gets off the bed and yanks you into his arms, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

—

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted @ambiguous-avery @deans-spinster-witch (if you want to be untagged, there's no judgement!)