Needthat - Blog Posts

⋆˚࿔ capes and crayons

turns out the mha boys make pretty good fathers.

— includes: kirishima, kaminari, sero & shinsou (in that order)

contains: f!reader, established relationship, fluff, pet names, kids LOL

authors note: i missed writing these

word count: around 450-570 for each

⋆˚࿔ e.kirishima

“i love you.” your husband whispered, placing a kiss on your neck. it was nothing sexual, rather something similar to a relevant secret shared through the wind’s breeze. 

you giggled, hands combing through his hair as his breath ghosted over your skin. it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary to wake up this way. your husband lips on your skin, whispering sweet nothings in your ear in a way that recharged you more than eight hours of sleep could.  

“can’t we just stay like this all day?” he muttered. his grip on your hips tightened as he leaned closer to your body. you could feel the smile on his lips against the crook of your neck. 

you ruffled his rose dyed hair and sighed, “eiji, baby, you know we can’t. the gir—”

and like most mornings, your moment of bliss was cut short. “MOMMY! DADDY!” a shrieking voice exclaimed from the near distance. 

eijiro peaked up at you and you shot him a knowing look back. 

before either of you had time to move your bedroom door creaked open and in came mei and hana; your four and seven year old daughters. 

“DADDY!” mei, the younger of the two, ran up to the edge your queen bed, hands splayed over your covers as she attempted to lift herself up. 

eijiro peeked himself from you and sat up. he immediately picked her up, large hands on either side of her torso as he lifted her high. “good morning my beautiful girls!” mei giggled as eijiro brought her close, drowning her face in affectionate kisses.

hana followed close behind her, arms crossed as she found a spot on your side of the bed. “were you guys kissing?” she asked, face displaying a not-so-pleasant expression.

your eyes widened momentarily before you hooked your arm around hana’s and pulled her close. “what? of course not.” you laid a firm, cradling hand on the back of her head and tilted her head down, placed a sweet kiss on the crown of her head. “how’d you two sleep?” you redirected the conversation, giving your husband a playful sideway glance before bringing your focus back to the young girls. 

“awesome!” mei’s hands shot up as she excitedly bounced in eijiro’s lap. you always wondered how that girl always had so much energy in the morning. “in my dream, daddy let us have ice cream before school!”

a breath escaped your nose as you tilted your head, “really?” you asked. 

you could already imagine the conversation the two girls had before entering your room: hana coaxing mei into asking for ice cream for breakfast, telling her to bat her eyelashes and give dad that sweet smile that she knew he always folded to. 

“yup!” mei chirped innocently. 

you held back a laugh and putting on a serious ‘mommy face’, your brows furrowed, ready to tell the girls that ice cream wasn’t something you eat for breakfast. but when you glanced over at eijiro, you only found a grin that mirrored mei’s.

“mommy, can we really have ice cream for breakfast?” hana asked, hand clutching onto your wrist as she also attempted to bat her eyelashes at you.  

“yeah, can we?” eijiro joined in, smiling face undeniably charming under the sun's morning glow.

you sighed, shaking your head. but there was a smile creeping up on your lips. “alright. what flavor do we want?”

⋆˚࿔ d.kaminari

“guys! we’re going to be late!” you shouted. 

it was a beautiful sunny day in musutafu, which wasn’t rare alone. what was rare was the fact that you and denki are both off of work. and it being a weekend meant the kids had no school. so, beautiful day plus no work and no school equals family outing!

but you wouldn’t be able to have a fun family outing if you couldn’t even leave the house on time. 

with your youngest son— kenji, who recently turned two years old —hoisted up on your hip, you walked over to your six year old twin daughters’, emi and mio, bedroom. 

the door was slightly open. you could hear soft giggles coming from one of the girls and the quiet murmur of your husband's voice. 

quietly, you pushed the door open. you are met with the familiar shine of your daughters’ sunflower painted bedroom walls— which was nearly blinding on a sunny day like this. there were a couple of articles of clothing scattered across the light brown wooden floor. 

denki was politely sitting in the middle of the room, legs crossed over each other and his back facing you. 

“i think kenji was wearing a blue shirt like this!” denki held up a light blue shirt to mio’s chest. it had a flying dolphin printed on the front and ruffles along it’s perimeter. 

mio grinned, hovering her hands over the shirt as her eyes glistened in admiration. “i like it.” her voice was soft, almost a whisper. 

emi on the other hand was bouncing on her bed without a single care for the dolphin decorated shirt. she hopped off her mattress and approached denki, “but mommy is wearing a pink shirt! i wanna wear a pink shirt too!” her face scrunched up, as well as her hands, as she stomped her foot.

mio glanced at her sister with a judging look and denki just laughed. he took both emi’s hands, unraveling her fist and squeezing her palms. “you can’t match with mommy because i’m matching with her.” i pointed at his light pink shirt unapologetically, “see?”

emi’s eyes grew wide and— “BU— BUT WHY CAN’T I MATCH WITH HER TOO?!” she cried out, tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to spill out. 

“denki!” you stepped into the room and your husband immediately whipped his head around, guilt written all over his face. he jolted up as you walked past him and to emi. you crouched down to her level, and using the hand that wasn’t holding up kenji, you wiped the single tear that had fallen down her cheek. “hey, hey,” you shushed. “you can wear pink to match with me, okay? don’t listen to daddy.” 

emi’s expression was quick to change, “yay! i’m matching with mommy! i’m matching with mommy!” she cheered and ran to the dresser, already looking for a shirt to replace the one denki had previously picked out for her. 

you smiled and turned to pat mios head, silently thanking her for behaving, before standing back up to face your husband.  

you adjusted kenji on your hip and brought your eyes up to denki’s golden ones. “really?” you prodded.

“what?” denki smirked, slipping a sly hand on your hip as he leaned close to your ear. “you’re still mine, right?” 

you scoffed as he placed a kiss on the outer shell of your ear. 

⋆˚࿔ h.sero

you pretended to not hear the soft click that came from the front door of your house as you silently finished drying off the dishes. maybe if you stayed quiet enough he wouldn’t notice; he wouldn’t pester you about it. 

but you knew better. 

“babe? where are you?” hanta called out. you listen as you hear the telling sounds of him taking off his boots, then his jacket, and finally putting his duffel bag down.

you remain still and silent. 

“y/n? baby?” he calls again. after a second he finds his way into the dimly lit kitchen where you were standing. immediately, his voice drops from the sweet tone it was previously dripped into something more serious. “y/n.” he deadpans. 

your body stiffens as you hear him step toward you. “i can explain…” you bite your lip as hanta comes up behind you, head falling onto your shoulder. 

he hands climb up to your stomach, caressing the eight month old bump that laid heavily attached to your body. “explain why my very pregnant wife is doing the dishes when i specifically told her i’d take care of it?” his tone is low. he isn’t mad but it was clear he wasn’t joking either. “come on sweetheart. doctor says you shouldn’t be doing this stuff. that’s what your husband is for.” he murmured, rubbing his nose against your neck. hanta was unable to hide his affection for you, even when he was ’upset’.

you titled your head back in his direction, accepting his warmth. “but hanta, i can’t just sit here and do nothing.” you whined, “it’ll kill me.” 

it was true. laying in bed all day made you feel uncomfortable and stiff; your legs aching, and your back hurting. 

the only thing that could keep your mind off the pulsing pain was work. but of course hanta didn’t agree with that. 

“you’re killing me.” hanta whined back. he lifted his head, placing a kiss on the back of your head before saying, “come on, let’s get you two to bed.” he caressed your belly once more and you sighed. 

“fine.”

“don’t get all moody with me.” he teased and gave you another kiss, this one being sloppier and on your cheek. “want a foot rub ma?” he asked.

“god, yes. please.” you falter. 

“come on then.” he takes you by the shoulders and guides you towards your shared bedroom. 

when he flicks on the lights, rina— your four year old daughter —groaned softly. after a second she flipped over and sighed, seemingly falling back asleep.

“she’s been out since ten.” you whispered. 

“yeah?” hanta nods as he seats you down on the bed. he moves to your closet to change into his pajamas. 

you push the loose strands of hair laid on rina’s forehead back. her hair has been in dutch braids for two days, hanta having done it during a family movie night after endless pleading. and because she had asked politely and ate all her vegetables, hanta complied. (but your sure if she didn’t do either of those things hanta would still do it)

hanta appeared at the foot of the bed, tapping your foot. you position your legs on top of his lap and he lets out a content sigh as his hands move to message your feet with slow and intricate motions that were so full of love. “she’s so well behaved. we got lucky.” he says quietly. 

“or maybe she got it from me?” 

hanta lifts your leg up to kiss your ankle. “yeah, probably.” he smiles. “but this one?” his eyes fall on your bump and it’s as if his eyes are reflecting a sparkling night sky. “he’s gonna take after his daddy.”

you laugh at your husband's reference to himself as ‘daddy’ and let your head fall back onto the pillow as he pressed small circles into the soles of your feet, feeling the most comfortable you have all day. 

⋆˚࿔ h.shinsou

“hey babe, did you buy food for kumo?” you yelled from behind the kitchen counter. you bend down, searching through the grocery bags that were spread throughout the kitchen floor.  

hitoshi emerged from the bathroom, rubbing his wet lavender hair. “‘course i did. what kind of father would i be if i didn’t?” he titled his head as he rubbed focused on one side of his head. 

“the same father you were last week.” you said through gritted teeth, rolled your eyes as you stood up. 

he scoffed. “can’t find it?”

you shook your head.

hitoshi dropped his towel onto his shoulder and walked into the kitchen. he crouched down, skimming through the bags like you had been moments earlier. 

he searched through one bag, then moved to another, then another. you watched with your hands on your hips, an amused expression painted on your face. 

then hitoshi coughed, “hey— uh, y/n?” he hands slowed down, but didn’t stop. 

“yeah?” your brows furrowed at his unsure tone. “what? don’t tell me you forgot it.” you squatted down  besides him to look again. but before you could touch the bag hitoshi spoke again. 

“no, no. it’s not that. i know i bought it.” he shook his head. “it’s.. something else.” 

you were more confused now. “what is it?”

hitoshi sucked in a breath through his nose and looked at you. “can we.. have another one?”

your mouth immediately fell open. “what?“

“look. i know we said we’d only have one, but kumo is lonely. did you know that? she practically cried every night for company.”

“babe that’s— i…” being too dumbfounded to form a proper sentence, you close your mouth and think. 

“please?” 

it wasn’t normal for hitoshi to get like this, all pleading and desperate. 

“toshi… can we really handle that right now?” you said cautiously. you didn’t want to get his hopes up, but seeing the way he was so persistent and seemed to mostly want this for kumo’s benefit, you couldn’t shut the idea down just yet. 

“why not?” his brows raised in reason. there was a glint of something in his eye, something that showed that he knew he’d already won.

but before you could confirm your decision, kumo crawled into the kitchen. she stopped at the bags near the archways threshold, sniffling them before skipping to the bags near the oven. she smelt the bag, then pawed at it. the bag folded under the weight and out rolled a can of cat tuna. a low purr rumbled from kumo’s throat. 

“kumo, you’re a genius.” hitoshi shuffled towards the oven and opened the can of tuna, letting kumo eat straight from it as he pet her. “great older sibling material.” he pointed out, glancing towards you briefly as he continued to pet her spotted head. “kumo! you're getting a little sibling!” he crooned, taking both his hands to run her hands over her ears and then scratch her chin.

you swore there him and his cat antics would be the death of you.

i want to see sae and kaiser link up

kamisero for my friend <3 @505wallets

Law and his tattoos are a unique piece of art

Yes, I look at them respectively and dreamily! Who doesn't? Right?

I've got no shame!

Hello!! I just want to say before I request anything that I absolutely ADORE your writing. You’ve quickly become one of my favorite writers! I’m constantly checking to see if you’ve posted LOL please keep it up! <3

if it’s not too much trouble, could I request us doing face-masks with Tsukishima or Akaashi? Either or both is fine, I have zero preference!

Thank you in advance mwa mwa !!

🌱

This is adorable and I am in LOVE. I literally just spat this out lolol Me being a favourite writer of anybody is a dream 🥹 Thank you for enjoying my work!! I'll make sure to post just for you 🥰 I hope you enjoy <333 --

It started with a panda.

Or rather, it started with you, lounging on the couch with a ridiculous animal-print face mask plastered to your face, scrolling through your phone like nothing was out of the ordinary. You wore it like a second skin—completely unbothered, completely at peace.

And then Tsukishima walked in.

He froze halfway through the doorway of your shared apartment, one brow raised as he took in the sight of you in your oversized hoodie, face glistening with a panda-shaped sheet mask.

“...You good?”

“Thriving,” you said simply, not even bothering to look up.

He didn’t respond right away. Just dropped his bag by the door and walked in with that usual lazy gait, eyeing you like you were some sort of cryptid he wasn’t sure how to handle.

“You look ridiculous,” he said eventually, standing behind the couch now, arms crossed.

You peeked up at him with a smirk. “That’s rich coming from someone who used to wear sport goggles indoors.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. You stuck your tongue out.

“Is this one of those self-care things?” he asked, nose wrinkling slightly as he stared at the mask. “Like cucumbers-on-the-eyes and bath bombs?”

“Exactly that,” you nodded. “Except these ones are more fun. They have animals on them.” You pointed to the half-empty package on the coffee table. “You wanna be a tiger or a polar bear?”

He stared at you.

You stared back.

“Absolutely not,” he said flatly.

“You’re doing it.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

You were already peeling one of the masks from its packaging with careful fingers, holding it up like a peace offering. It was orange-striped with little ears on top. Then you reached behind you and grabbed a matching tiger-print headband, complete with pointy ears.

"And this," you said, holding it up triumphantly. "To keep your hair out of your face."

He looked positively scandalized. "There is no way I—"

"Oh, you are," you cut in, already nudging it toward him. "C'mon, Kei. Don't you want the full experience?"

He looked at the headband, then at you, then back at the headband like it personally offended him. But when you wiggled your brows at him and smiled with full confidence, he muttered something under his breath and snatched it from your hand.

"You owe me so much for this."

"Add it to my tab."

He rolled his eyes but said nothing as you helped him unfold the mask and carefully place it over his face.

“Okay, hold still. It has to line up with your eyes… okay, a little to the left—no, my left… there.”

You leaned back to admire your work. Tsukishima, volleyball star, tall and smug and forever exasperated, now sat beside you wearing a bright orange tiger face mask that made his scowl look ten times funnier.

“...You look adorable.”

“I look like a joke,” he said dryly.

You took a photo.

“Delete it.”

“Never.”

Despite all his complaining, Tsukishima stayed there with you for the full fifteen minutes, arms crossed and huffing dramatically every so often. But he didn’t move. And when you started scrolling through your phone again, his thigh pressed just a little closer to yours.

And when the timer went off and you both peeled the masks off with grossed-out noises, you glanced at him with a grin.

“So?”

“So what?”

“Do you feel refreshed and radiant?”

Tsukishima rolled his eyes. “I feel sticky.”

You laughed and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “You’re glowing, tiger boy.”

He shook his head but didn’t push you away. In fact, a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Maybe face masks weren’t the worst way to spend a lazy evening.

FREAK LIKE ME — SIM JAEYUN

boyfriend! jake x fem reader 1040 words warning making out partying skinship vampires miniskirt wearing thigh grabbing biting hickies manhandling jake pushes a pendant with his initial into your skin genre suggestive asf fluff at the end mikaela’s note inspired by THIS edit. jake is the hottest man in my life and this is my belated birthday post to him | collection

Jake’s ring clad fingers sit in your thigh, the cold silver contrasting the warmth of his palm. Yet it was the only comforting thing in the room, aside from your boyfriend’s presence beside you, keeping you distracted from the unusual party scene and your uncomfortably short skirt.

You decide to focus your attention on your boyfriend, who’s come to this belated halloween party dressed as a ‘vampire nerd’, or at least that’s what he calls it. And to no avail you’re matching with him as his vampire mate — a bite mark drawn onto the right side of your neck with matching fangs to complete the look.

“Can’t get enough of my vampire look can you, sweetheart?” Jake teases, pulling you closer to him by your thigh. He watches as your curled eyelashes bat, face flushed a shade of crimson — and it ignites something in him, something so raw and animalistic.

The hold you had on him was exactly why he’s so intrigued by you: like a supernatural spell to keep him wrapped around your finger, to get his heart palpitating whenever he just looks at you. Intoxicated. Despite being his exact opposite, he was intoxicated by you.

You hum in agreement, fingers moving to brush his messy hair back. It was well established that Jake was the best looking man you’ve ever seen in your life. His thick lips and tanned skin, lean yet muscular body along with his accent you could listen to for days — and everyone has told him that, yet he constantly seeks your validation like a lost puppy.

“Well, I think you look ravishing as well,” he grins, fangs on display. And you think that he pulls the vampire personality off too well for your liking.

“Makes me want to bite you,” Jake whispers, lips eerily close to your ears as his fingers move along your thigh, leaving a chilling trail. “Here,” he stops, fingers close to the hem of your skirt.

You hold your breath in hot red anticipation as your boyfriend’s fingers move again, up your waist and to the left side of your neck. “Here,” he breathes, voice slightly strangled as he inhales the inebriating scent of your perfume. His fingers gently caressing the skin of your nape as your fingers wrap tightly around his forearm.

He watches you closely as if you were his prey, his silver contacts pulling you in like hypnosis. Jake’s tongue darts out, pressing against his fangs as he eyes your lips and how you involuntarily imitate his previous actions. Your mauve tinted gloss invites him like a moth to a flame and it drives him insane how you wait for him so patiently, hooked onto his every move.

“And here,” he finishes, out of breath. His veiny hands dancing against your skin to your lips, thumb pressing down ever so slightly on it. You tug on the fabric of his shirt, shifting around in your seat before Jake mutters a string of curse words, pulling you up, fingers wrapped securely around your wrist as he leads you out of the house and into the familiarity of his car.

The squeeziness of Jake’s backseat doesn’t distract you one bit, not when you’re straddled over his lap, arms around his neck, with his hands grasping the dip of your waist. And Jake grins, looking up at you in sheer happiness: it’d suddenly hit him that he’s here, with you and his mind goes haywire at the way you look at him.

“You gonna kiss me now baby?” he teases, urging you to make the first move and you move down fast, urgently, as if he was air and you were ten feet deep in water. And Jake has never gotten so lost in a kiss before: his heart keeps missing beats and his hands can’t seem to bring you closer to him. His senses ignite and his skin burns at your touch — as if he was a vampire and you were sunlight. He thinks if this was what it feels like to be burned alive, he would gladly surrender himself to such suffering as long as he could be with you.

Your hands manoeuvre around his back, fingernails grazing as you let out a soft moan. The silence around you explodes and a world of colours appears before your closed eyes.

Jake pulls away, the heat of his breath pounding against your lips before he pulls you back in again. This round it’s slow, as if he has all the time in the world, every thought in his brain stripped out and replaced with you.

you. you. you. you. you.

He groans into the kiss as you shift on his lap, thighs pressing against his as his fangs sink into the pillow of your lips before he kisses down to your collarbones.

Your fingers now wrapped around his luscious brown locks as your head tilts back in ecstasy, brain and heart chanting Jake’s name like a mantra in fervent praise, as if he was their God, their saviour.

Jake thinks everything he’s ever craved for is nowhere near comparable to you. This is what it was to crave — to crave your body against his even though there was no space between you, to crave the sweet taste of your skin and lips not even a millisecond after he’s pulled away, and to crave you: your heart, your mind, your soul.

His mouth skillfully leaves behind a trail of love bites before he flips you over. You back pressed against the seat of the car as Jake hovers over you, his necklace with your initials dangling over you: a reminder of his devotion to you.

Jake leans down to press his lips against the pendant of your necklace — a reminder of your devotion to him. The cursive ‘J’ initial digs into the neck of your throat as he returns, a goofy smile apparent on his face.

“You’re such a freak, sweetheart,” he points out playfully, eyes gazing into yours.

You mimic his grin, teeth out in display as you reply, “but you like it.”

“Like it?” Jake tilts his head, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, “I love it, just like I love you.”

© SJYUNS

SWEET MOTHER OF PEARL this man is gorgeous

I LOVE HIM AND HIS SWEATER AND HIS BLUE GLASSES????? i want blue glasses now. also ignore the watermark barely cutting in... I found this video taken like a few years ago on yt (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OOwgf7PS36k). another hour-long talk I haven't fully watched yet am still posting about WHOOPS(I'm not good with finishing things)

holy smash but uhhhhhhhhhh yeah that's pretty much it!!

i need to look up how tf to put multiple pictures into Tumblr w/o it forming a long ass line... also yt kinda scares me bc I never know what channel can be trusted/what's really new or just a reupload AUGDHS but I got this SS from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cFcPPbAZy4 !! no I haven't finished it and yes I am still uploading this oopsie ( I do this a lot unfortunately)

someone HAS to hear me out

i honestly prefer him w a mustache, but STILLLLLL

this is just a photodump atp

wishing I could freeze time so fanfic writers could write all of their slow-burn enemies to lovers and gay porn and fix-it fics and all of their WIPs and prompts without having to worry about life and other responsibilities

John Lennon backstage at Candlestick Park in San Francisco, CA | 29 August 1966 © Jim Marshall

i have accidentally stumbled across a dom4sub, femme-appreciating, nsfw side of tumblr and i don’t wanna get out

someone pls draw romione like this, if not, i will lol (in like a 1000 years bc i have so many uni things to do and i don't even have time to draw anymore igehfiys)

Height

anyways, suguru has the sluttiest waist

[517/547] — until we meet again, jungkook ♡

drummer!jk is doing things to me as i write him (going feral) 😊

we need more drummer!jk as a society.

HURT MY FEELINGS

─── hockey player! stanford! dean winchester

warning! sexc time, p in v, unprotected sex (don't be silly wrap your willy), cheating

word count! 3.6k

the house is alive, practically throbbing with the bass of the music blasting from every corner. it’s the first big party of the semester, and everyone seems determined to start the school year with a bang. red solo cups are everywhere, laughter and shouts mixing with the pounding rhythm. the place is packed—too packed—and the air feels heavy, a mix of alcohol, sweat, and cheap cologne.

dean leans against the arm of the worn couch, matt, one of his hockey teammate beside him, laughing about some dumb summer story. his arm is draped casually around lana’s shoulders. she’s perched close to him, her hand tracing slow patterns on his chest, her giggle loud enough to rise above the noise. they’re surrounded by a circle of teammates and their girlfriends, the conversation flitting between summer internships, upcoming games, and the professors everyone’s already dreading.

dean’s in the middle of some half-hearted response about his internship when you walk in.

his voice stalls. he doesn’t mean for it to, but he can’t help it. his eyes zero in on you instantly, cutting through the haze of bodies and noise. you’re with kennedy, laughing about something as you make your way to the drink table, and damn if you don’t look like you just walked out of one of those stupid teen movies lana keeps making him watch.

you’ve always been able to turn heads. but tonight, it’s different. it’s like you’re doing it just to spite him.

lana shifts beside him, tugging his attention back. her lips brush against his ear, something flirty and suggestive spilling out, but he doesn’t really register it. she must notice where his gaze lingers because her touches grow bolder—her nails scraping his jaw, her lips trailing over his neck. dean forces a grin and leans into her just enough to play along, but his attention keeps drifting back to you.

you don’t look his way. not once. not even when kennedy’s eyes sweep the room, sharp and observant as always, like she’s daring anyone to come over and ruin your night. it’s almost impressive, really, how you’re managing to avoid him—or maybe you’re just lucky. either way, the distance gnaws at him. are you ignoring him, or do you genuinely not care that he’s here? he’s not sure which answer stings more or better yet why it stings.

hours blur by, the party growing messier as the night deepens. lana disappears at some point, off with her friends—or maybe to make herself the center of attention somewhere else. dean doesn’t care enough to track her down.

he spots you again at the drink table, alone this time. the crowd around you has thinned out, and there’s no kennedy to run interference. you’re focused on mixing something into your cup, your movements unbothered, graceful even.

before he can talk himself out of it, dean pushes off the couch and makes his way over. he doesn’t bother with subtlety; he walks up like it’s the most natural thing in the world, a cocky grin already tugging at his lips.

”real cute that you think being my leftovers is something to flaunt,“ he says, leaning against the edge of the table. his voice is low, teasing, laced with just enough snark to draw a reaction.

you glance up, caught off guard by dean’s approach. the music pulsates in the background, blending with the din of voices and laughter around you. your expression tightens momentarily, a mix of surprise and irritation flickering across your features.

"flaunting? please," you retort, voice laced with a sharp edge. "i'm just here to enjoy the party, dean. like everyone else."

his grin widens, though there's a flicker of something in his eyes—something unreadable, buried beneath layers of cocky indifference. "enjoying yourself, huh? seems like it."

you resist the urge to roll your eyes. "believe it or not, i don't spend every waking moment thinking about you, dean. shocking, i know."

he hums, tilting his head like he's considering your words. "yeah? 'cause you walked in here like you had something to prove. all dressed up, laughing a little too loud, looking right past me like i don’t exist." his eyes flick over you, slow and deliberate. "almost like you wanted me to notice."

your grip tightens around your cup. "don’t flatter yourself."

dean smirks, leaning in just enough for his words to brush against your skin. "too late."

you scoff, shaking your head. "you really think everything is about you, don’t you?"

"well, in your case? it used to be," he throws back, smug and infuriating.

anger coils in your chest, hot and sharp. "yeah, until you screwed my best friend."

his smirk twitches, but he recovers fast, shrugging like it’s nothing. "what can i say? she was available. you weren’t."

your breath hitches, a sharp inhale cutting through the noise of the party. "you’re actually disgusting, you know that?"

dean’s grin doesn’t waver. if anything, it grows. "and yet, here you are. talking to me instead of walking away."

you linger, just for a second. long enough for dean to think you might actually say something else, might keep standing there and feeding into this back-and-forth, letting him push and pull at you like he always has. but instead, you just huff a laugh—sharp, unimpressed—and turn on your heel, walking away without another word.

that shouldn't bother him. it really shouldn't.

but it does.

dean watches you disappear into the crowd, his jaw tightening as irritation flares in his chest. he doesn't like being dismissed, least of all by you. so before he even thinks better of it, he moves, weaving through the throng of bodies, catching glimpses of you as you head toward the hallway.

"seriously?" he calls, dodging a couple making out against the wall. "you're just gonna walk away now?"

you don't stop, but you throw a look over your shoulder. "figured that’s what you wanted, dean. you got what you came for—riling me up. congratulations."

"see, i think you’re giving yourself too much credit," he retorts, tone laced with mock amusement. "not everything is about you, sweetheart."

you scoff but keep walking, shoving past some guy who’s too drunk to even notice. the hallway is slightly less chaotic, though the occasional group stumbles by, laughing too loudly, sloshing their drinks as they go. the noise is still there, muffled by the walls, but it feels different—more closed in, more personal.

dean catches up, grabbing your wrist just as another couple stumbles past, too wasted to care about the argument unfolding. you yank your arm back, glaring up at him.

"don’t touch me," you snap.

his jaw ticks. "then stop running away every time i try to talk to you."

you fold your arms, standing your ground. "oh, my bad, did you think i owed you a conversation? after what you did?"

dean rolls his eyes, stepping closer, challenging. "god, you love this, don’t you? pretending like you're above it all. like you don’t still think about me."

you let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "you're delusional."

another pair of drunk partygoers stumble past, eyeing the two of you with vague curiosity. dean barely spares them a glance before he makes a split-second decision.

before you can react, his hand wraps around your wrist again—not harsh, just firm—and suddenly, he’s tugging you through a half-open door.

"dean—"

the door clicks shut behind you, muffling the chaos of the party. the space is small, just a bathroom—dimly lit, slightly messy, the counter cluttered with empty red solo cups. the distant bass of the music still hums through the walls, but in here, it’s just the two of you.

"you have got to be kidding me," you seethe, crossing your arms. "dragging me in here like you have anything worth saying?"

dean lets out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair before looking at you like you're the one being unreasonable. "oh, come on. since when do you run away from a fight?"

you scoff. "since when do you think you deserve one?"

his smirk falters for half a second before it’s back, cocky and infuriating. "you act like i did something that wasn’t inevitable."

your jaw tightens. "are you actually trying to justify screwing my best friend?"

dean exhales, shaking his head. "i’m saying you act like i’m the only one who screwed up."

you blink, caught between disbelief and fury. "excuse me?"

"you think i didn’t notice?" he challenges, stepping closer. "the way you started pulling away? acting like i was just another thing on your to-do list instead of your boyfriend?"

your breath hitches, but anger surges past the shock. "that’s rich, coming from you. if you were so damn miserable, you could’ve broken up with me instead of crawling into bed with lana!"

"yeah? and you could’ve given a damn before it got to that point!" his voice rises slightly, his frustration cracking through the surface.

you shake your head, laughing bitterly. "so this is my fault now? unreal."

dean exhales sharply, gripping the edge of the counter, his knuckles white. "i didn’t say that."

"you didn’t have to," you bite back. "and you know what? i would’ve rather you just said you didn’t love me anymore. that, at least, i could’ve respected."

dean flinches, something unreadable flickering across his face before he masks it with another infuriating smirk. "yeah? that what you need to hear? that i didn’t love you?"

you swallow hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "did you?"

he doesn’t answer right away. his lips press into a thin line, his shoulders tense.

the silence is unbearable. you should just leave. shove past him, throw the door open, and let this be the last time you ever let him get under your skin.

but then, dean exhales sharply and shakes his head, muttering, "fuck," under his breath like he hates himself for what he’s about to do.

the next second, he’s on you.

his hands grip your face, his lips crash against yours, and for a moment—just a fleeting, reckless moment—you kiss him back. because anger and heartbreak and longing blur together, and you don’t know how to stop yourself.

your hands fist in his shirt, dragging him closer. he groans against your lips, deepening the kiss, like he’s been starving for this, for you.

and maybe, just maybe, you have too.

the kiss is hot and desperate, months of pent-up anger and desire pouring out. the back of your thighs hit the countertop as dean presses against you, one hand tangling in your hair while the other grips your hip. you bite his lower lip, eliciting a low growl from him.

"god, i hate you," you breathe against his mouth.

"yeah?" dean murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck. "show me how much."

your nails dig into his shoulders as he sucks at your pulse point. you arch into him, a soft moan escaping despite your best efforts. dean's hand slides under your shirt, his touch scorching against your skin.

"this doesn't change anything," you gasp, even as you tilt your head to give him better access.

he chuckles darkly against your collarbone. "keep telling yourself that, sweetheart."

you grab his face, pulling him back up for another heated kiss. it's messy and rough, all clashing teeth and battling tongues. your fingers hook into his belt loops, drawing him impossibly closer.

dean's hands roam your body hungrily, like he's trying to memorize every curve. your hands return to his hair, tugging at it as you revel in the groan it draws from him. the bass from the party thrums through the walls, matching the pounding of your heart.

"fuck, i've missed you," dean mutters, his voice husky with want.

you hate how much those words affect you, how they make heat pool low in your belly. instead of responding, you capture his lips again, pouring all your frustration and longing into the kiss.

his hands slide down to your thighs, gripping them tightly before hoisting you up and placing you on the counter. you wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, gasping as he grinds against you.

"dean," you moan, your head falling back against the wall.

he takes the opportunity to attack your neck again, leaving a trail of marks that you know you'll regret in the morning. but right now, you can't bring yourself to care.

your fingers fumble with his belt, desperate to feel more of him. dean's own hands push your skirt up, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

the rational part of your brain is screaming at you to stop, reminding you of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. but the way dean is looking at you, with that mix of hunger and something deeper that you're afraid to name, makes it impossible to listen to reason.

"last chance to back out," he murmurs against your lips, his eyes searching yours.

you know you should. you know this will only complicate things, that you'll hate yourself in the morning. but the feeling of dean pressed against you, the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with something uniquely him, is intoxicating.

so instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, capturing his lips in another searing kiss. "shut up and fuck me," you breathe against his lips.

dean groans, his hands steady as he slides your panties down your legs, stuffing the fabric in the pocket of his jeans. heat floods your cheeks, but it's quickly eclipsed by the growing need uncoiling in your belly.

his fingers find your slick folds, rubbing circles over your swollen clit. you moan, arching into his touch, and he groans low in his throat, the vibration sending shivers down your spine.

"god, i missed this," he mutters before dipping his head to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. his fingertips graze over your entrance, and you whimper, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

"dean," you mewl as he pushes a finger inside of you slowly, curling it in a way that makes you see stars.

"missed this too," he growls, picking up the pace of his ministrations. he leans in to suck at the sensitive spot on your neck where your neck meets your shoulder, knowing very well it's one of your weak spots. you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders as sensation after sensation washes over you.

he adds a second finger, thrusting them both in and out in time with the pounding bass from the party outside. his other hand gropes at your breast through the thing fabric of your shirt and lace bra, tweaking and pinching your hardened nipple until you're writhing against him in pleasure.

"oh god," you whimper as an orgasm threatens to crash over you like a tidal wave. "de-dean!"

he must sense how close you are because he removes his fingers and stands upright again, licking his digits clean before shoving his boxers down just far enough to free himself. "wrap your legs around me," he rumbles against your ear before nipping at it with his teeth.

you do as he says, locking him between your thighs as tears prick at the corners of your eyes from the intensity of it all. dean lines himself up with your entrance, the tip of his cock teasing your folds. you whimper, digging your heels into his lower back to urge him on.

he captures your lips in a searing kiss as he pushes inside you, swallowing your moan. the stretch is familiar yet foreign, your body remembering him even after all this time. he stills for a moment, allowing you to adjust, his forehead pressed against yours.

"fuck," he groans, his breath hot against your skin. "you feel so good."

you roll your hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him. "move," you command, your nails digging into his shoulders.

he doesn't need to be told twice. dean starts to thrust, setting a punishing pace that has you seeing stars. your head falls back against the mirror with a dull thud, exposing your neck to his hungry mouth. he latches onto your pulse point, sucking and biting, adding to the marks you'll have to hide later.

the bathroom counter creaks beneath you with each thrust, the sound mixing with your muffled moans and dean's grunts. you're vaguely aware that anyone could walk in at any moment, but the thought only adds to the thrill.

you cling to him, your nails raking down his back as he sets a punishing pace. the anger, the hurt, the longing - it all pours out in the way your bodies crash together. it's rough and desperate, nothing like the gentle lovemaking you used to share. but right now, it's exactly what you need.

"god, i've missed you," dean mumbles against your skin, his voice rough with emotion. "missed this. missed us."

his words send a shiver down your spine, and you tug at his hair, pulling him in for a bruising kiss. your tongues battle for dominance as he continues to pound into you relentlessly, hitting that spot deep inside that makes you see god himself.

you can feel yourself getting close, that familiar tension building in your core. dean seems to sense it too, because one of his hands snakes between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit.

"come f’me, sweetheart," he commands, his voice rough with exertion. "come all over this dick f’daddy."

his words, combined with the dual stimulation, send you over the edge. you cry out as your orgasm washes over you, your walls clenching around him as waves of pleasure crash through your body.

dean follows soon after, his hips stuttering as he empties himself inside you with a guttural groan. for a moment, you both stay there, panting and trembling in the aftermath.

reality starts to creep back in as the high fades. dean pulls out slowly, both of you wincing at the loss of contact. he tucks himself back into his jeans while you slide off the counter on shaky legs, smoothing down your skirt.

the silence between you is heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering tension. you avoid his gaze as you try to fix your hair in the smudged mirror, your mind racing with the implications of what just happened.

dean exhales, rubbing a hand over his face like he’s trying to ground himself. you don’t look at him, keeping your focus on your reflection as you smooth your hair into place, willing your heart to stop racing. the silence between you stretches—too thick, too loud—until he finally speaks.

“so, what now?” his voice is quieter than before, rough around the edges.

you freeze for half a second, gripping the sink. then you let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “there is no ‘what now,’ dean. this—” you gesture vaguely between the two of you. “this was a mistake.”

he stiffens, his jaw ticking. “yeah? sure didn’t seem like a mistake a few minutes ago.”

you whip around; eyes sharp. “oh, don’t do that. i told you this wouldn’t change anything.”

dean shrugs, his smirk forced, like it’s the only armor he has left. “whatever you say, sweetheart.”

you glare at him, stomach twisting at the stupid nickname. but before you can respond, a loud knock rattles the bathroom door.

“occupied,” dean calls, irritation bleeding into his tone.

the door handle jiggles aggressively. “yeah, i don’t care,” comes kennedy’s sharp voice. “i know she’s in there, dean. open the damn door.”

your stomach drops.

dean sighs, running a hand through his hair before unlocking the door. the second it swings open, kennedy steps in, eyes scanning the situation in a millisecond. her gaze flicks between you—flushed, disheveled—and dean, still annoyingly smug. her lips curl in disgust.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

“kennedy—” you start, but she holds up a hand, eyes dark with disappointment.

“save it.” she turns to dean with a glare sharp enough to cut. “you’re a goddamn disease, you know that?”

dean smirks, unfazed. “good to see you too, ken.”

she rolls her eyes and grabs your wrist, tugging you past him. “come on.”

you don’t fight it. you don’t even spare dean another glance as kennedy pulls you into the hallway, the cooler air hitting your flushed skin like a slap.

and of course, because the universe loves to screw with you, the first person you see is lana.

she’s standing near the end of the hall, laughing at something one of her friends said—until she sees you. her eyes flick over your appearance, and something in her expression shifts.

you don’t stop walking. don’t even acknowledge her.

kennedy keeps a firm grip on your wrist as she leads you through the party, her pace brisk and furious. “we’re leaving,” she mutters. “before i actually murder him.”

you don’t argue.

because as much as you hate to admit it, she’s right. you need to get out of here. away from dean. away from the lingering heat on your skin and the mess you just made.

because no matter how good it felt in the moment, this—whatever it was—was never going to happen again.

breezy's notes: huge shoutout to my pookie bear dolly for letting me share a lil bit of stanford! dean and give him my own twist. hockey! dean is literally like 3 months old, but i finally decided to put him to rest aka post this. there is a bot that goes along with this, but i actually hate him and have to rearrange his insides (s/o justyce for that one) so he can act right before i release him to the masses. this was so much more than i expected to write but look at what happens when i actually lock tf in and do what i have to. RIP hockey! dean you were my first baby and ily

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