#Just a lil longer and I can do even more of that :3 | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

youdontknowe · 2 days ago

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OK take two for this week cus I took a bit longer to read the last chapter 💙

(Gonna start using numbers cus I always have to cross reference when I read your replies lmao)

1. He’s so caring it’s sickening (I’d melt)

2. Cackling ‘proposing is probably off the table’ and the funniest part is it’s not even off the table if he did ask

3. lol cas being concerned about her drooling

4. I love a good cas drop in cus he has all the lore

5. I hope you include Dean enjoying cooking when/if the bunker comes along. My favourite thing about Dean is he can cook

6. Lmao she’s always gotta throw in some words that can be taken suggestive by Dean. Keep him on his toes and horny

7. Dean you will ALWAYS be better than your arse of a father. I bet John wasn’t even that good of a husband compared to how Dean already is (I have no base for this I just feel it in my soul)

8. Dean really has a power kink huh like he just finds her being powerful a huge turn on

9. ‘Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time.’ And you’d love it if you knew

10. “No.” “You got a better idea?” “…no” that just sums up their dynamic mostly

11. Dean isn’t god fearing he’s Bobby fearing

12. Lmao sammy snitching is so fucking funny and then he’s got a oh shit moment and then He’s back to it

13. It’s funny he always considers the possibility of being stabbed for risk factors like she wouldn’t personally check herself into hell if she hurt Dean

14. These fuckers are about as bad at procrastination as I am

15. Oh ho ho I do love me a cat fight with ruby

16. ANOTHER GODDESS REFERENCE! (I’m keeping track of that from now)

17. Awh flashbacks of Bobby??

18. ‘The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin,’ oooooo unintentional equivalent of cas marking ribs thingy?

19. Poor Jo she’s gotta learn to knock otherwise she actually might walk in on them mid sex

20. “he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.” I see you and your kinks 🫵 (me too, me too)

21. “ Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep” OH MY GOD?!

22. Jo ‘just fuck him already’ harvelle

23. Awh Jo would be an amazing sound tech

24. Oh he’s so gonna short circuit when he finds out he’s the first EVERYTHING

25. Her just throttling the damn thing is so awesome

26. Anndddd the wheels fell off the car (the roof fell off the church?)

27. Oh no I’m scared for jo please don’t let this be the ‘ehehe secrets’ from weeks ago 🥲

28. Oh no

29. Oh my god I don’t usually cry but I’m crying. Owie

30. Oh god poor Dean first Jo now she’s leaving again

31. Oh god everyone’s crying even Dean

32. End note: the ultimate fridging but atleast YOU gave her a personality (take note directors)

33. Your mean, why would you put me in a false sense of security and Rip it away that fast??? Do you want me to just cry why way through this fic??? But seriously that’s some fucked up goood writing. none does angst like you do, and imma just go eat my pasta and cry some more. See you next week 💙💙 pls be nice to my lil heart (even if your not I’ll keep reading anyways cus I love you)

Chapter 20 - Wait For Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: first chapter that made me cry writing it. Enjoy.

Chapter Title from Little Talks by Of Monsters and Men

Word Count: 18.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean has a lot of feelings, and you make a plan. Usual Warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, pining, action

Chapter 19 - Chapter 21

Read on A03!

“What happened?”

Sam’s question was low. Quiet. Careful, because the last thing they wanted to do right now was disturb Her, passed out on the back bench of Baby.

She hadn’t moved since Dean guided Her there. Her eyes had fluttered, She’d hummed his name in the prettiest sound he’d ever heard, and then slumped right over. And Dean had indulged himself. He’d wrapped Her in a blanket, and carefully shifted Her around until she was in a comfortable position. He’d even pulled off Her shoes and placed a kiss on Her brow, scanning over Her one last time, just to be positive nothing was wrong.

And it wasn’t.

Visibly.

There was no blood, and Her hair was a little matted, but he had found Her lying in the ocean.

No blood. No wounds or scars.

Nothing but Her eyes and lips a little puffy from crying.

And the taste of Her back on Dean’s lips. Fruit and sugar and salt, and Dean got damn well why She liked those colorful girl drinks so much. They tasted like heaven.

But he wanted to keep tasting them on Her.

She’d kissed him. She’d kissed Dean. She’d been crying and freaking the hell out, but son of a bitch, She’d kissed Dean, and that had to mean something. His shirt was still wrinkled where She’d grabbed him, and he wasn’t going to smooth it out. He kept touching his lips like a teenage boy, and running his tongue over Her teeth because She’d done that during the kiss, and he wanted to feel the rush of it again.

And what happened was that Dean was addicted. There had never been a chance of him going back, but now he was gone. Her’s. Only Her’s. He’d have sat down in the ocean at Her side—until they were both just salt and brine—if it meant the mud washed off, and Dean got to be Her’s.

He wasn’t sure now was a good time to tell Her that. He didn’t have the words for it yet, and he didn’t trust that kiss to mean She’d be his. She’d been emotional. Sobbing in Dean’s arms then trying to climb him, and he’d never have Her any other way but blinding and demanding, but Jesus, he wouldn’t know what to do if She turned him down.

Dean couldn’t get on his knees and swear that he was Her’s aloud, only to be kicked back down into the mud. It might make him a pussy, but he wouldn’t survive it. Then She’d leave, and Bobby and Sammy and Jo would kill him for making Her leave, and they’d be fucked because they couldn’t do this without Her.

But that’s not what Sam meant by what happened. Sam wanted to know about the seal. The case. He didn’t want to hear about how Dean was trying to work out what Her wanting him would look like.

Probably like kissing him, and crying for him, and climbing onto his lap in the dead of night.

He didn’t have a damn clue what to after he worked it out. Proposing was probably off the table. They’d kissed twice, hadn’t even slept together, and weren’t technically dating.

He’d figure it out. When all of this was over, Dean would figure it out. Right now he had to answer Sammy’s question.

“Found her on the beach.” He muttered, glancing to Her in the rearview mirror. Her hair was shiny again. That was a good sign. “She was just lying in the water, dude. Tide was rising and she was just fucking lying there. Nobody else around, no blood. Nothing.”

“Did she say-“

“Nope.” Dean’s jaw twitched. “Mentioned that she took care of it, but that’s all I got. Sammy, I’m…” Dean trailed off, looking to Her again. He couldn’t damn help it.

“I know.” Sam muttered, and Dean wasn’t sure he did—Sam didn’t live in Her orbit, didn’t feel like the world was worse when She was sad, didn’t dream about Her and crash down into Her all the time—but he let it go. “But you know we might have to go back, right? After we drop her back at Bobby’s, we can’t just leave the seal unresolved.”

“She said she took care of it.” Dean grunted, and Sam sighed.

“Dean, it’s- We can’t risk it. I trust her, I do, but I’d go back and check your work too, just like you’d go back and check mine-“

“No. I wouldn’t.”

“Yes, you would-“

“I wouldn’t.” Dean snapped, shooting Sam a glare. “You told me you took care of it, I’d take you at your word. And let’s face it, Sammy, between the three of us, she’s the most likely to deal with one of these by herself.”

Sam gave Dean a sad, too soft look. “She was trying to drown herself, Dean. We still don’t know what happened, while she was gone-“

“Sammy. Drop it.”

“I’m not doubting her, man, but she’s always been- You know-“

“I do know.” Dean hissed, his grip strangling the wheel. “I know better than anyone, Sam. I’ve seen it a hell of a lot more than you have, and I’ve seen it worse, and you know what? At least she’s fucking eating and sleeping. And I know shit happened, I’ve had to stitch up her goddamn stomach because shit happened, but she says she took care of it, and I’m trusting her, because that’s what you do, when you-“

“Do not crash the car.”

Sam started, and Dean sighed, glaring back to see Cas sitting in the backseat. He didn’t care that he’d gotten cut off. It was good he’d gotten cut off.

He cared that Cas was in the backseat. Where he could’ve disturbed her.

“Jesus, Cas.” Sam muttered, running a hand through his hair. “That was- I mean, I appreciate the warning, but shit.”

“My apologies.” Cas muttered. “I needed to speak with you as soon as possible, and I could not wait for a better time.”

“Fine. Just keep your voice down.” Dean grunted Her name. “She needs the sleep.”

He glanced back to see Cas nodding, watching Her with an odd expression. She’d slumped into his side. Not like She slumped into Dean’s—where She’d fall half over his lap and Her face would end up buried in his body—but with Her head on Cas’ shoulder and her body relaxed.

That was good. Dean could trust Cas with Her. He’d seemed to respect Her, and he’d been willing to bend further stupid Heaven laws for Her, so Dean didn’t have to worry.

“Should she be sleeping like this?” Cas looked up to them with a small frown. “It doesn’t seem like a peaceful environment, and there is drool falling out of her mouth-“

“She does that.” Dean muttered, and Sam smirked. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“I didn’t say anything-“

“You were gonna. She drools Cas.” And it was freakin’ adorable, but that didn’t feel like the point right now. “What’d you need to talk to us about.”

Cas said Her name slowly. “The seal is… dealt with. Thanks to her.”

Dean shot Sam a smug look. “Told you.”

“Yeah, alright. You did.” Sam sighed, twisting in his seat to frown at Cas. “Is that it? You just wanted us not to worry about the seal?”

“No. I am here to…” Cas took a long breath, his frown deepening. “Warn you. We are displeased. With how this case was handled.”

Dean scowled. “We? Is that you talking, Cas? Or just the asshole angel department managers?”

“I do not know what a department manager is-“

“He’s asking if you’re mad about the case.” Sam interjected carefully. “And I’m wondering too, Cas. If you’re mad at us-“

“I am not mad at you.” Cas said, and Dean didn’t miss his weary glance at Her. “I was not told the details of what happened, only that we are angry.”

“You keep saying we.” Dean muttered, narrowing his eyes at Cas in the mirror. “I don’t care what a bunch of holy dipshits think of what happened. Hell, I don’t even know what happened, but-“

Cas cut Dean off with Her name, and his whole body tensed.

Sam cleared his throat. “Cas, we’re really not following-“

“It is her.” Cas repeated Her name, his words slow and careful. “She is… complicating things. Lilith made a move to break the seal that crossed several lines. We are not sure her intention was to break the seal.”

“Well, what the hell does this have to do with-“

“She stopped the seal, but she is not supposed to be involved with the seals. Or you. At all.” Cas met Dean’s eyes in the mirror. “I warned you to be careful. This is why.”

Dean’s teeth were going to break. He had been careful. He was always careful with Her, because he’d been real goddamn reckless before. When when Dad was in his ear, telling him that women were mostly good for longer nights and better days, but nothing compared to family. That careful wasn’t any way to treat a person, because they had to be able to fend for themselves.

She could fend for herself. She’d stopped a seal by herself. That was why Dean needed to be careful with Her. He couldn’t just fuck around with the living, breathing star, dropped right into his hands. He had to hold it, soothe it, care for it.

“We were careful.” He grunted, and Cas sighed.

“Not careful enough.”

Sam shook his head. “But you haven’t told us why, Cas. We’re not sending her away, and we can’t be careful if we don’t know what we’re being careful against-“

“Because I cannot tell you.” Cas snapped. “There are things at play that I do not understand. That I suspect my superiors don’t understand. My brothers and sisters are still dying, Lilith is still opening seals, and all I have been told is that the girl can’t be allowed to interfere. That precautions will be taken if she continues to step out of line.”

Something was tight around Dean’s throat. “You said she couldn’t get zapped-“

“And that is still true, but there are… other ways. To put her back in line.”

“In line?” Sam’s voice had risen slightly. “In- In what line-“

“I do not know.” Cas sighed, and She was still fast asleep.

Dean hoped She was dreaming well. That She was entirely obvious to the conversation, thinking of only pink-sand beaches and movies and sugary drinks. That maybe, in Her sleep, he was there. He didn’t even had to be wrapped around Her or kissing her stupid. He just wanted to be there, for Her, by Her choice.

“We’re not ditching her, Cas.” Dean muttered, making his words firm. Final. “She stays with us. And if you’ve got a problem with that-“

“I have no problem with it.” Cas muttered, glancing down to Her peaceful face. “But I have no sway in what Heaven desires. And they have deemed her a threat. We cannot account for her, and that makes her dangerous.”

“She is not dangerous-“

“We both know that is not quite true.” Cas gave him a flat look. “I am risking a fair amount by being here, Dean. By warning you.”

Sam swallowed. “Warning us?”

“Be careful. I am still trying to learn more about exactly what the Magdalene is meant to be, but…” Cas sighed. “My progress is slow. And if it comes down to it, I will not be able to interfere directly. So be. Careful.”

There was a whooshing sound, Cas vanished, and She was left curled on the seats.

Sam and Dean didn’t fight for the rest of the ride. They barely even spoke. Cas had said more than enough.

They needed to take care of Her.

And Dean wasn’t good at a lot of things.

He could sing, but he couldn’t really carry a beat. He couldn’t bake, but he was fine with that. Wasn’t like he’d ever had a kitchen to practice in anyways. He didn’t have a damn clue how to do all that art critic shit, because as far as Dean understood it, color was color and words were words. He couldn’t take apart a painting and point to all the ways it worked. He liked things because he liked them, there was no fucking reason to justify it, and that was all anyone needed to worry about.

He was alright with kids. Sometimes, in the dead of night, he’d be able to see a little kid with his nose and bright eyes, laughing the way Dean did and grabbing at shiny hair. Then he’d push that though way far down because now wasn’t the time for that. That wasn’t something he even got to have. No apple pie life was barreling in his direction right now. Maybe not ever.

He’d like one. He’d always liked one. Years ago, he would’ve lain on the bed and imagined a time that Dad would tell him and Sammy to hang it up, and Dean would’ve been allowed to build something like that.

Dad never did that, though. He left Dean and Sammy to deal with Hell and demons and angels and the rest of the shitshow, and he’d yanked Dean’s chance for that away. Told Her to leave. Made Her leave. And the what-if game wasn’t useful—it’s never been useful—but Dean still had a secret fantasy that helped him fall asleep sometimes. One where She was in his arms, but nightmares weren’t a worry. He would be allowed to bury his face in Her hair, and in the morning he’d wake Her up with kisses all over her face. Then She’d giggle, and let Dean pull Her into the shower, and he’d touch Her everywhere as She dropped her brow on his chest with a soft, happy sigh.

But it was just a fantasy.

And Dean had done that to himself.

Because most of all, he wasn’t good at being good. A good man didn’t torture people. A good man didn’t damn the rest of the world for one woman, a good man got the job done, and a good man didn’t make pretty girls cry. If Dean was good, he would be guarding all the seals without a problem. If Dean was good, Dad would be proud of him, and Dean was pretty goddamn sure Dad would beat him into the dirt if he could see what Dean was doing now.

Parking the car, and carrying his girl to bed. Grinning to himself when She nuzzled her nose into his neck.

“Dean.” She mumbled, her eyes fluttering up onto his, and his cock twitched in his pants.

She needed to stop doing that and pouting.

It was going to make him lose his damn mind.

“Hey, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his voice low. Sam had called and told Bobby they’d be home early, so they wouldn’t get killed for walking inside, but if Bobby woke up and saw Dean carrying Her bridal style into her room, Dean might end up on the wrong end of a shotgun.

“Where’r we.”

“Home.”

She hummed. “You smell good.”

“Thanks.”

“S’ like… cinnamon.” She blinked up at him again. “You’re so big.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Ba- Sweetheart, you should go back to sleep-

“Are you going to sleep?” She poked his chest as Dean set Her down on the bed. “You need it too, Deano.”

“I know, I just gotta get you down first.”

“‘M not a child.” She started to pout. She was trying to kill him. “I can put myself to bed.”

Dean just raised his brows. “You want to put yourself to bed?”

“No.”

He chuckled, letting himself be a little fucking greedy, and brushed some hair from Her eyes. “I know, Princess. I’ve got you.”

She made another cute grunt, and let Dean help Her to bed. He faced the door while She changed—managed to fight off a boner when he realized She was wearing his shirt—smiled to himself when she flopped onto the bed, and felt like he was goddamn flying when he scooted in next to Her, and she wiggled right into his side.

Dad wouldn’t have wanted him to be a good man like this. Being Her shadow and falling into Her every single fucking second, not doing the hard thing and leaving Her to focus on the seals. Dad would’ve called Dean weak.

But Dad hadn’t been a good man, either.

And Dean still had too much of Dad in him. Too much anger, too much hate, too much mud built up under his nails to ever fully be clean of it. People had always said he looked like Dad, too. And he used to stand a little taller because of it. Because John Winchester was the best fucking hunter in the world. A shield of a man.

Just as Dean had wanted to be.

But Dad hadn’t been a shield. He’d been a bludgeoning, dull-edged blade that hacked up everything then left it behind him. He’d hacked up Ellen, and Sammy, and Dean, and Her.

Dean was a blade too.

A weapon that carved things up and spilled blood and would follow whoever wielded him around like a sick fucking dog.

But in all of Dean’s sins, he’d always have one thing Dad never did.

Her.

Dad had Mom. He’d lost Mom, and lost his goddamn mind trying to get her back. And Dean needed that to be the difference.

Dean wouldn’t lose Her. He wouldn’t even think about it.

So he wasn’t good at being good. Or being gentle. Or knowing when to stop, or keeping himself in check, or keeping peace.

But he was good of taking care of things. Baby was in perfect condition, and she’d stay that way until Dean was in his grave, then a long while after that if Sammy didn’t want to get fucking haunted. He folded all his clothing in his bag, and washed out all the stains on his jacket because it was all he’d ever really had. His guns were always clean, and whatever they needed for a hunt, Dean always found.

And he took care of Her. When he kept himself in check, Dean took damn good care of his girl. Even if She only got to be that in his head, Dean would always take care of his girl. Since She’d gotten back, he kept some of Her favorite snacks in his bag, like he was trying to lure a damn stray into his house. Sometimes he’d be showering and check on Her fancy shampoo and conditioner that no one else was allowed to use—not that Dean would know how to use it—just to make sure She didn’t need any more. He always ordered Her a drink, because that was another way to take care of Her. He’d started to leave his shirts casually on the dresser, trying to bait Her into wearing them.

It was working. She started sleeping in them almost every night after Florida, and—just like how neither of than slept without the other anymore—they didn’t talk about it.

They didn’t have The Conversation.

But for now, Dean just wanted to have Her. And if this was how he got Her, that was all he needed.

Still Her shadow, because—for reasons Dean couldn’t begin to understand—he didn’t need to be a good man to be Her shadow. So until She banished him from Her side, he’d stay. All the way down.

If Dad had a problem with that, he shouldn’t have tried to take Her away.

Dean had found Her anyway. He’d always find Her.

If Dean knew anything, he knew that Heaven and Hell could do whatever the fuck they wanted to him, but he’d always come back and find Her. And until that hand was forced, he’d do fucking anything to keep Her at his side. Maybe kiss Her, just one more time. Just to say he had.

She’d been sleeping in his shirts. She’d kissed him. And Dean had been risking soft touched on Her arms when he wanted Her attention, been getting sweet smiles in return, and son of a bitch, he didn’t have a fucking idea how Dad could’ve ever hated Her.

She was awesome.

She called Dean smart when he told Her about how he’d worked out the magician case. She’d sat with him while he fixed the Firebird’s headlights, smiling at him and holding his beer as they talked about anything but the everything. She was still crawling over Dean in bed and looking at him with bright, hopeful eyes, asking if he was hungry then holding his hand as they drove back to the convenience store. Leaning Her head on his shoulder as they ate in the car.

And Dean still had all his fantasies. He was still a sick, rotten asshole, because when She called him smart, he wanted to swallow Her pretty words with his lips. Wanted to roll his body over Her’s, to kiss Her stupid into the couch cushions and not stop when he got hard enough to poke into Her thigh. Maybe She’d moan his name, grinding up into him, and Dean would get to love Her until she was shivering and whining under him.

She’d whine. Dean knew Her, even if he’d never been Her shadow like that, and She’d be pretty and snarky and bratty under him, and son of a bitch, he wanted to see it. He wanted to indulge it and tame it and hold Her when she was a writhing mess, doing that eye-flutter thing as she came. While he’d been fixing the Firebird, all his thoughts that weren’t devoted to fix the car you got Her—you idiot, because she deserves Heaven at her feet and the best you can offer her is a car—were made of setting down his wrench, walking between Her legs, and seeing if she’d push him away.

If She didn’t, and he’d been brave and wrong enough to push his luck again, Dean would’ve palmed Her over her jeans until she was panting and begging for him. Maybe he’d shove two fingers into Her pussy, and see if he could get Her eyes to glow silver again.

See if he could worship and hold Her well enough for Dean to be the only person She needed.

And it was getting out of control.

Everything was rushing around them—Lilith had broken more seals, and Ruby still had her claws sunken in Sammy, and the angels kept being fucking douchebags—but all Dean couldn’t stop thinking about Her. About a life where She’d still crawl over him in bed, but he’d roll Her over and fuck her into the mattress. They’d still go to the Convinces store, and still hold hands, but there wouldn’t be any looking over their shoulders for demons or monsters. She’d lean on him all the time. She’d love him all the time, and Dean would find a way to give Her all the comfort and luxury She deserved.

He wouldn’t get that world. Not anytime soon, while they were still dealing with everything. But at least, for now, he didn’t have to worry about losing Her.

She’d benched Herself. When they’d gotten back from Florida, and carefully told Her what Cas had said, she’d benched herself.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay with that?” Sam had asked, watching Her carefully, and She’d nodded.

“I can still help.” She’d mumbled. She’d been writing on a napkin again, that same repeated word from the resort. Dean needed to steal one of those and give it to Cas, just to know what the hell She was thinking about all the damn time.

Bobby had said Her name, his voice low and firm. “It’s not that I don’t love havin’ you home, but you’re gonna drive us both up the damn wall if you’re just sittin’ around-“

“I won’t just sit around. That angel girl is still missing-“

“Anna?” Sam had frowned, and She’d nodded.

“Yeah, and I can try to find her. If she hates heaven, she might be willing to help us. And, Bobby, the book I made you guys get before...”

She’d trailed off, and there had been a glossy look in Her eyes as she was picked at Her nails-

Dean had grabbed Her hand. Just to stop more blood from being drawn, he’d grabbed Her hand in front of Sam and Bobby.

He hadn’t gotten shot.

Bobby had barely even scowled. But he’d also been mostly focused on Her.

“The one in Romanian?” He’d grunted, and She’d nodded.

“It’ll take a while, but I want to try and work through it. See if there’s anything we can use.”

Bobby had nodded, and She’d gotten the book. That was, apparently, how She spent most of Her days while Sam and Dean were gone. Bobby said that She’d curl up in the library and translate until she passed out on the couch, and Bobby carried her to bed.

It wasn’t as bad as in those few months before Dean’s death.

But it still wasn’t good.

She hadn’t told them exactly what had happened. How She’d stopped the seal. But when they’d asked, She just shrugged it off, refusing to look Dean in the eyes. All he knew was that they hadn’t kissed since, and that She was trying to goddamn kill him.

Because the benching had lasted for exactly a month before She was gathering them in the kitchen, the table scatted with a lot of loose papers, all of them fucking covered in Enochian.

Sam picked up one of the papers—squinting at it like it might suddenly turn into something he could read—as Dean dropped at Her side.

There was nowhere else to be.

“Any luck on Anna?” Sam asked, and She shook Her head.

“I still haven’t figured out how to summon an angel. I mean there’s like, prayer. But they don’t have to answer that.”

Bobby frowned. “Could ya’ figure out how to summon an angel? I mean, I know you got all your rituals, kiddo, but we ain’t even sure how angels work-“

“They’re beings.” She shrugged, sorting through the papers. “And they don’t have souls, but they can still be summoned. I remember seeing something about it in the original book-“

“The one you lost?”

She nodded at Sam. “Yeah. So it’ll be in here,” She tapped the Romanian book, her gaze never leaving her papers. “But I just have to find it.”

“You never told us how you lost it.” Dean muttered, and She sighed, giving him a soft smile.

He got a soft smile. Between Dean, Sam, and Bobby, Dean was the one who got a soft smile.

His grin back took up his whole face, even as She dodged around his question. She’d smiled at him.

“The hunter people in Mexico stole it.” She hummed, twisting the skin on Her finger, and that was a lie. Dean wasn’t sure which part, but it was a goddamn lie.

“If you don’t have Anna,” Sam said, before Dean had a chance to push Her. “Then what’s, you know.” He gestured to the table. “This.”

She grinned at Sam, a smug sort of light dancing in Her eyes. “I’m so glad you asked, Samuel. This is our way out.”

“Out?” Dean frowned. “Out of what?”

“The seals.” Her smile was almost manic. It was still pretty. “Anna said that there were 600 of them, right? If Lilith fails one, she can probably either try again, or move onto another. But,” She grabbed the paper out of Sam’s hand, presenting it to Dean. “I can lock them.”

They were all silent for a long moment. Staring at Her as she looked around the room, sitting tall in Her chair with her chin raised. It was a chipped, old, wooden piece of shit that Dean knew had been broken before, but under Her, it looked like throne.

Dean cleared his throat, glancing back to the paper. “I can’t read this, Princess.”

“Oh, right.” She flushed slightly, pulling it back and scanning over the Enochian words. “It’s basically just a recipe. We can either do a trial run, scale it down and have me lock one, or we can go for the big game and I’ll lock all of them at once.”

Bobby frowned at Her. “What does lock ‘em mean?”

“It means Lilith will try to break it, and it won’t do fucking shit.” She glanced down at the paper, then grabbed a chewed-up pencil to scratch another note. “I think if we had more time, I could maybe re-make the already broken seals, but she’s already gotten thirty-four of them. I don’t want to wait.”

“How do you even know this will work?” Sammy frowned around the papers. “I mean, was it in the book?”

“No.” She shrugged, spinning the pencil between Her fingers. “I thought of it. Myself.”

“Course you did.” Bobby grumbled, and She stuck her tongue out of him.

“You raised me like this-“

“I ain’t complainin’ kiddo, I just.” He sighed, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know how ya even begin to think of this shit. And Sam’s got a good point, we don’t got anythin’ to prove it’ll work-“

“It will work.” Her words were firm as She rubbed her wrists, and She gave Dean an almost desperate look. Like he was the only one in the whole world, the only one who needed to hear Her and stand by her side. “Please, I just- I know it’ll work. And I can do it, I promise. Cas said I’m made of magic. He said I’m half Magdalene. Maybe this is my thing. My change. I’m not making super-demons, I’m stopping the rise of Lucifer. Lilith doesn’t get to win.”

Dean just stared at Her. He couldn’t even find any words. This was way above his paygrade, even if that same paygrade had been getting higher and higher every year. It was too big a jump, going for just stopping one seal to trying to lock all of them, but She was always making insane plans and moves like that. And She always said there was another way, and Lilith doesn’t get to win, but there must be a catch. A cost. There was always a fucking cost, and Dean wouldn’t pay it if it was Her, but Her eyes were blinding and consuming and pleaded on his, and She’d never led him wrong before-

Sam coughed, and Her attention turned away.

“What’s a super demon?”

She shook Her head. “Don’t worry about it. I just- I can do this. And I think that we should go for the big one, because once I do this the angels are going to be on my ass-“

There it was.

The price.

“No.” Dean snapped, and Her gaze shot back to him as Bobby sighed.

“Dean-“

“No. We’re not doing this.” Dean grunted Her name, gesturing around the table. “You’ve been staying off the radar to avoid the angels, not give them a big, neon sign to come and take you.”

“They won’t take me, Dean, I’ll be fine-“

“You said it would take big game to lock all of them-“

“And I have that big game.” She folded Her arms over her chest raising Her chin. “And I’m ready to do it. Jo’s got all the ingredients for us, we just have to meet her at the roadhouse.”

Sam blinked at Her. “Jo’s been helping you with this?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, rubbing Her wrists. “I- I was talking to her about Florida and Bolivia, and she- That’s not the point. We can do this. I can do this.” Her attention turned back to Dean. “Please.”

Son of a bitch. She was saying please and giving him the flutter eyes, and Dean had a horrible, boiling and dreadful feeling about this, but She said please.

And he should’ve known better than to think She’d just bench Herself. Of course She’d been working on something like this. A way around. A risky, insane way around.

“I don’t like it.” He muttered, and She gave him a flat look.

“Do you have a better idea?”

Son of a fucking bitch. “No.”

She gave him a sweet smile, and he sighed.

He’d back Her up, because it was Her. Dean had to back Her up. That was how this worked. He was Her shadow, and he couldn’t protect Her if he didn’t back her up. She’d just fuck off and do it anyway. At least this way, Dean could take all the blunt ends of the fallback. Bobby could have someone to blame if it went wrong. If She lost it, Dean would take care of Her.

She needed to do this, so Dean would do it with Her. Whatever She needed to be happy. If She thought this was Her Magdalene thing, then Dean would stay with Her all the way down.

But he’d need to have some fucking words with Jo, after. He was trying not to think about how She’d told Jo about Florida and Bolivia—about everything Dean didn’t get to know—but that wasn’t what the words would be about. They’d be about encouraging Her to push herself, to make stupid fucking plays that might end in Her getting hurt.

Some small voice in his head kept muttering that if this worked, it wouldn’t be done—there would always be more monsters, more horrors, more problems to solve—but all those fantasies he had would be closer to reality. Maybe Dean would finally find the guts to take Her face between his hands and have The Conversation.

Princess, I want you. Always want you. Even when we were kids and I was a fucking idiot, I wanted you. Wanted you since you walked into my life, and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on and build you a million cars. Buy you a house. Give you the apple pie life you deserve.

That was it. What he’d have to say.

If they got through this, he’d just have to say it.

And he’d faced literal fucking Hell, and walked out on the other side with Her still staying. And nothing Dean could do that made Her happy, made Her satisfied, could ever be a sin.

She was more than angelic. She was bigger than anything in the sky.

So Dean would do this. For Her.

“What’d you boys know about what Thing One and Thing Two have been plannin’?” Ellen asked, and Dean sighed.

They’d left Bobby’s soon after the kitchen meeting. The longer they waited, the better chance Lilith had of getting more seals. Of getting some type of wind of their plan, and stopping it. She’d explained how this was a Magdalene spell, so even if it wasn’t directly from the Book, if Lilith heard about someone ordering dirt from Jerusalem to the States, she might put two and two together, and it would end poorly.

Dean was already pretty sure it was going to end poorly. And he’d been trying not to drink when they’d gotten to the roadhouse. When She’d been sitting right next to him—close enough for him to smell fruit and sugar, close enough for their thighs to be pressed right together—but then She and Jo had scrambled off early, and he’d made Ellen give him the strongest shit they had.

He wouldn’t get drunk. She never said She hate it when he drank, but he’d seen Her nose twitch at the smell of it. So he’d moderate, just enough for Her to still want to share his bed and press into his side.

But he’d still drink.

“Ain’t nothin’ more than you.” Bobby sighed, frowning at his own bottle. “Ya know, I got half a mind to beat Cas’ angel ass, tellin’ her ‘bout it like that. Know he meant well, but, fuckin’ Christ.”

Sam frowned. “I thought we wanted to know what she was?”

“We wanted her to have some peace.” Bobby grumbled. “I’d been hopin’ we’d find out she’s just some typa fallen angel or hybrid or somethin’. Not this.”

“Jo mentioned your angel friend said she was like Cleopatra?” Ellen gave Dean an amused look. “That make you Antony, or Caesar?”

Dean scowled, ignoring Sam’s snort. “I don’t know what the hell that means.”

“Cleopatra was married to Caesar, and had an affair with Marc Antony.” Sam shrugged, a shit-eating grin on his face, and Dean just stared at him.

“What.”

Sam said Her name, giving Dean a pointed look. “She’s Cleopatra-“

“She ain’t Cleopatra.” Bobby snapped. “She ain’t anythin’ but her, not matter what heaven seems to think.”

“It doesn’t sound like she has a choice, Bobby-“

“Always a choice.” Dean muttered, cutting Sammy off with a glare. “If the angels got some sort of contract with her that she didn’t sign, we get her out of it.”

Something scratched at the back of Dean skull. It was made of how She’d told him about her family tracking their bloodline, while the Magdalene’s were genetic. And how she was destined for some sort of crazy marriage, and Cas had said there was more about Her. He couldn’t talk about it now. Dean had promised not to tell anyone about Her family, and he’d rather cut off his own arm than betray Her trust.

But he’d have to talk to Her about it later. She’d probably take all the pieces in Dean’s brain and connect them quickly, because She always understood him like that.

He missed Her. She was just upstairs with Jo, but he fucking missed Her-

“Do you think it’s like, a predetermined thing?” Sammy said, and they were talking about the Magdalene thing. “You guys made it sound like heaven doesn’t even know what the Magdalene’s bring-“

“That’s cause Cas made it sound like that,” Dean muttered, turning his bottle in his hands. “Said they tracked them, but didn’t know where they came from.”

Ellen frowned. “Ain’t those big boys supposed to know everythin’ about everyone?”

Dean shrugged. “Apparently not.”

“Good they don’t.” Bobby grunted. “Means we got a leg up on ‘em. Cas said he ain’t been able to track her-“

“No,” Dean shook his head. “Cas wouldn’t tell me how he tracked her. But he could. It’s just one of his dramatic secrets.”

“But she’s still off the angel’s radars.” Sammy frowned into the air. “Did Cas mention anything about the soul stuff she can do?”

Dean shook his head, and Ellen cleared her throat.

“I wouldn’t worry about the angels findin’ her. That one could hold Her own against an army of gorillas and robots.” Ellen paused, tilting her head slightly. “In fact, I ain’t that worried at all. She’s strong, and stubborn, and less somethin’ drastic happens, She’s not goin’ anywhere that Dean isn’t.”

Dean choked on his beer, shooting a quick look at Bobby. Silent on his stool. Staring at his own bottle.

Likely still carrying a gun.

“I, uh- I don’t-“ Dean stuttered Her name, trying to find his way out of a hole he hadn’t even dug. “I’m not- We’re don’t- I mean, she’s-“

“Jesus, Dean.” Ellen gave him an amused look. “You’re give yourself a damn heart attack, if you don’t slow it down.”

“But-“

“Look,” Ellen gave him a flat look. “I’ve been tryin’ to be subtle ‘bout it for a few hours, kid, but that clearly ain’t workin’. What the hell is goin’ on with you two.”

“I, uh- Nothing. We’re friends.“

“Friends.” Ellen didn’t believe him.

Dean didn’t need Ellen to believe him. He just needed the horribly silent Bobby to believe him.

“Yeah.” He said quickly. “I mean, we’ve always been friends. Good friends.”

“Really good friends.” Sam drawled, grinning like a fucking bitch. “Such good friends that you’re sleeping in the same bed, right?”

Bobby already knew that. That was fine. “We get nightmares, asshole-“

“I get nightmares too. Do you think I can cuddle with-“

“No.”

“Why not?” Ellen looked far too fucking amused at Dean’s torment. He was starting to worry this had been some sort of trap. “She and Sam are friends too. What’s wrong with her sharin’ his bed?”

Dean was going to fucking vomit. Bobby still hadn’t looked at him.

“She doesn’t want to share my bed.” Sam sounded amused, and victorious, and Dean was going to knock his teeth out. “I don’t call her princess, or make her cars, or drive her to the corner store in the middle of the night-“

“How the fuck did you-“

“I was taking a shit when you guys got back last night.” Sam shrugged. “Saw all the food wrappers.”

Ellen sighed, giving Dean a look that was almost disappointed. “Dean, if you really think you two are just friends-“

“He doesn’t.”

Dean needed to run.

“I mean, they are friends, but he knows there’s more.”

Before Sammy ran his big mouth, Dean needed to run.

“Because you don’t make out with friends, do you, Dean.”

Later, Dean was going to run Sammy’s head through a wall, then throw some very stainable foods on all of Jo’s clothing for snitching.

But for now, he was dead. Dean was fucking dead.

Bobby was looking at him. Probably sizing up where the best place to shoot him would be. If Dean got a vote, he’s like it to be the brain. Gone quick, no pain. Just put down like the wet, mangy dog who’d been trailing after Her, who’d never deserved Her light and beauty, let alone Her love or touch. And Bobby knew that better than anyone. Bobby might be the only other person who understood just how vital She was to the world continuing to turn. And Bobby knew Dean. Knew what Dean had done. That Dean could never, ever be more than Her shadow, and even that was pushing it-

“You kiss her?” Bobby grunted, and Sam’s eyes widened slightly. The little shit seemed to have been so caught up in snitched to Ellen, he must have forgotten Bobby was there.

Dean hoped that this time, he’d get to come back as a ghost and haunt to fucker to his own grave.

“Yes, sir.”

Bobby scoffed. “Don’t sir me, Dean. She kiss you back?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long, slow breath. This was it. He was dead-

“Thank fuckin’ Christ.” Bobby muttered, shaking his head. “Finally.”

Dean froze. “I- Uh-“

“I ain’t fucking stupid, ya ijdit.” Bobby gave him a flat look, and Dean swallowed. “I got eyes. Ears. A damn brain. If you think I ain’t noticed how you look at her all the fuckin’ time, then I’m worried about your brain.”

Dean blinked, and shook his head. “It’s- I didn’t- We only kissed. That’s it. No funny business, and she kissed me the second time-“

“The second time?!” Sam looked far too happy about this information. “When was the second time?”

“Florida.” Dean grumbled. “That’s not the point, Sammy. She kissed me-“

“You two bein’ safe?” Ellen raised her brows, and maybe Hell could do him a favor, open up, and swallow Dean whole.

“It was just kissing, and we’re not fucking idiots-“

“So you will have sex-“

“Sam-“

“Dean.” Bobby voice was low, but they all fell silent. “Listen. I meant it. I’m… glad. She needs someone who gets her, and you two- I ain’t able to be mad at ya for makin’ her happy. But if you break her heart. You leave her waitin’ for you, make her cry even one fuckin’ time.” Bobby narrowed his eyes. “I’ll make your time in Hell look like a fuckin’ nunnery.”

Dean gave a small, firm nod. He could live with that. If he ever hurt Her, he’d more than deserve whatever Bobby fulfilling that promise looked like.

And Dean didn’t bother to tell them that The Conversation still hadn’t happened. That Dean’s brain kept running away from him and calling Her his girl, but in reality, that wasn’t anything different than before.

Nothing Dean felt or thought about Her was different from before. Parts of it were amplified—he’d had a very firm and now impossible rule about never fantasizing about Her outside of touching himself, but now he couldn’t listen to her talk without imagining what She’d sound like when Dean shoved his face into Her cunt or stuffed her mouth full of his cock—but it was still the same.

Even before the kiss, he would’ve spent the rest of the conversation thinking about Her. If it wasn’t those fantasies, it would be Her siren-like voice haunting him on the wind, all while he tried to figure out what the hell She and Jo were doing, and if he’d get stabbed for trying to crash it.

He would’ve found a good reason to leave a little early before, as well. Would’ve ended up slowly opening the door to Jo’s room, and grinned at just the sight of Her. All the lights were off, save for the glow of the TV—still playing some sort of chick-flick Dean didn’t recognize—and She still looked like a goddamn dream.

She and Jo had fallen asleep against each other, under the same blanket.

And It was good She had Jo. A friend that didn’t have anything complicated. Sure She had Sammy, but at the end of the day, the kid was still Dean’s brother. So if for some reason Bobby ever had to fulfill that oath, She’d still have Jo.

And Sam was also right.

Dean wasn’t just Her friend. He’d never been just Her friend. Even when he’d been keeping Her away from Dad, hunting with Her in secret, they’d never been just friends.

They had to have The Conversation. Dean would find a way to survive if She ripped his heart out of his freakin’ chest, but Bobby hadn’t been mad. If Dean was really bad for Her, Bobby wouldn’t have thanked God Dean kissed Her. If She didn’t want Dean, on some level more than just a quick fuck or two emotional kisses, Bobby wouldn’t have said She needed Dean.

Maybe She craved him too.

Maybe.

Princess, I want you.

He could do it.

Later.

He’d do it later.

For now, Dean would pick up Jo’s beer and Her soda, brush all the hair from Her face and smile at Her in the dark—there didn’t need to be any witnesses, because Dean wasn’t touching for anyone but Her and his own selfish hunger—before detangling Her from Jo to get her to bed.

She made an adorably disgruntled sound as Dean hauled Her up his chest. And it amazed him sometimes. How the same glowing, soft eyes blinking up at him could give dagger stares that made demons afraid. How those slightly parted, soft lips could curl into deadly sneers, and the same haunting voice that was mumbling his name could spit the most venom he’d ever seen.

“Dean?”

“Yep.” He walked slowly, trying his goddamn best not to disturb Her more than he had to. “It’s late, you know.”

“I’m not clock.” She grumbled, giving him the cutest fucking pout in history. “How do I know you’re Dean?”

He frowned at Her. “Cause, uh- I’m me, sweetheart. Unless you got another Dean on the side-“

“Just you.” She shoved Her face right into his neck, and he had to be fucking dreaming. “’S always just you, De.” She giggled to Herself. “Was a stupid question. I know you’re you.”

“Yeah?” He hummed, shouldering their door open. “How do you know, Princess.”

“You’re gold.” She hummed. “And strong right here.” She poked a little to the right of his heart, and Dean stopped in the center of their room as She blinked up at him. “Only my Dean is gold like that.”

She might as well have fucking shot him. Her Dean. He was Her Dean.

He’d be Her whatever. Son of a bitch, Dean would be Her court jester if that was the only place She offered him.

It wouldn’t be.

Court jesters weren’t allowed to share the Princess’s bed. They didn’t get to help Her into one of their shirts, keeping their eyes firmly fixed away from the bounce of Her breasts. Jesters didn’t get to kiss Her brow and have Her wrap her arms around their neck.

That was a job for shadows.

She’d told him that She could sense when souls wanted each other, and hadn’t really explained it, but Dean needed his soul to start doing some fucking work for him. To make it real fucking clear that, the moment She said the word, Dean was going to wrap around Her and never let go. Do half The Conversation before it even started, so that Dean could finally be allowed to kiss Her brow and trail down Her nose, ending on Her lips and pulling every perfect sound She had to offer from her throat.

Make Her happy.

Bobby had said Dean could make Her happy.

It was a little fucking terrifying. Just how much She was to him. More than the world. More than all the stars in the sky.

And laying in the dark, Her curled into his arms, Dean was glad Dad was Dead. That he’d gone a fucked-up kind of heroes death.

The alternative was that Dean would’ve kept crashing up into Her—covered in mud and feeling so fucking good every time She took him all the same—and then Dad would’ve kept prying Her away. Making Her leave. Making Dean lose Her.

And Dean would’ve killed him, or punched him, after simply losing his fucking mind trying to convince himself he didn’t want Her on Dad’s orders.

Princess, I want you. Always want you.

He’d always wanted Her. It didn’t matter what anyone did to him or told him, Dean would never stop wanting Her. The only thing that would keep him away was Her saying no.

But son of a bitch, if She said yes.

Dean fell asleep to fantasies of Her saying yes. Of Her telling him she wanted him.

He woke to Her still in his arms.

And he didn’t stray for the rest of the day.

For as long as Dean could manage, he stayed at Her side. Hanging over Her shoulder as She and Jo went over the plan on last time, running down the ingredient list. Guiding Her to the Firebird with a hand on Her back, and tailing after Her in the Impala as they headed away from the roadhouse.

She’d wanted space. Just in case, She’d demanded that they do this somewhere with space. Just a few towns over, where it was mostly field and birds. Bobby and Ellen would be on standby just in case. Sam, Dean, and Jo would bring their guns, just in case. They’d get a motel and wait a day, just in case.

“I thought we wanted to move fast?” Sam frowned at the Firebird ahead of them, and Dean sighed.

“Apparently there’s a sweet spot, Sammy. Not slow enough for Lilith to hear about it. Not fast enough for demons to show up and have us miss them.”

And no demons showed up. They got a two bed to share, did routine sweeps of the town every few hours, and found no demons.

But one demon found them.

There was a knock on the door, and they all froze. Jo one the bed with a book, Dean on the couch with the TV and Her and Sammy at the table, doing something on the laptop.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was slow as they all stared at the door. “Did you order food?”

“Nope.” He muttered, and Jo stood up slowly, her gun in hands. Dean reached for his own, he knew Sam was doing the same, and She-

Her grip was white-knuckled on her knife, and She was staring at the door with a little more intensity the rest of them. Her face was colorless, and Her eyes were wide, and Her mouth opened as Jo touched the door handle.

“Jo, wait-“

Jo pulled back, but she’d already unlocked the door.

And when it swung open, Ruby was grinning on the other side.

“Could you guys at least pretend you’re happy to-“ Ruby’s eyes landed on Her, and the bitch paled. “Fuck.”

A lot of things happened at once. Jo slammed the door shut before Ruby could run, Dean aimed his gun at Ruby’s temple, and Sam threw himself in front of Ruby as something in the room started to shift.

She wasn’t advancing with the knife. It was just spinning in Her hands as she stared at Ruby, and Dean had never seen her look at anyone with that much pure fucking hated. Usually there was some sort of starlight dancing or flickering in Her gaze, even if She was angry.

Maybe Dean just hadn’t seen it up close last time. Because it was the same as Boston. She was amplified, and everything seemed to be revolving around Her, and her pupils were silver.

And it wasn’t just starlight anymore.

It was a supernova.

It was wrathful.

“What the fuck,” She hissed, and Dean could swear Her voice was echoing around the room. “Is she doing here.”

“I don’t know.” Sam said quickly, giving Dean an almost desperate look. “Dude, I swear I don’t know. I didn’t bring Ruby, I didn’t even tell here where we were-“

“He didn’t!” Ruby jumped in quickly. “Fucking- I’m here to help, I’m always here to help, and that’s not going to change, no matter how much you id-“ The world grew technicolor, and Ruby stammered over herself. “I’m trying to warn you! Alistair knows you’re here!”

Dean felt his blood go cold. Alistair. Alistair had promised to take Her, to hurt Her, and he knew they were here.

Sam said Her name slowly, not moving from in front of Ruby. “She doesn’t have any reason to lie. And if Alistair does know-“

“Then we’ll move fast tomorrow.”

Ruby frowned. “Move fast on what-“

“Shut the fuck up.” She snapped, and Ruby paled. “How do you know Alistair knows.”

“Because I’ve been tracking Hell’s Assassins. And they’re headed here.”

Jo blinked. “I thought they’d been takin’ orders from Azazel-“

“They take orders from the top dog.” Ruby said, still watching Her wearily. “Right now that’s Lilith. And she’s passed them onto Alistair, to help him however he wants. And he’s sending them after you guys.”

Her cold glare on Ruby didn’t waver. “And why are you telling us?”

“To help-“

“Don’t lie.” She hissed. “You fucking left me-“

“Because Lilith pushed me out of my meat-suit! I- I told Sam-“

She raised Her hand, and Ruby fell silent. Dean felt like he should be doing more than just standing here. Maybe he should be going out and getting every bit of candy and sugar, and a collector edition copy of Indiana Jones, and a whole lot of body scrub and makeup, and forming some sort of fucking alter to the goddess in their motel room.

And it was still just Her. It was just Her, everywhere. In everything. The whole fucking world was Her, and Dean could feel it.

He wanted to live in it. Live in Her.

Another thing that would have to wait for later. Because right now, it seemed like Ruby was pretty damn close to getting killed, and Dean wanted to see that.

“Here’s how this is gonna go.” She said, Her eyes still locked on Ruby. “I’m not going to kill you, because Sam’s my friend, and I care about him, and I want to trust him. But if anything goes wrong tomorrow, if anything other than a few, easy-to-kill Hell’s Assassin’s show up,” her eyes narrowed. “I won’t kill you. I will obliterate you. Literally. Got it?”

Ruby nodded, and She smiled. A toothless, mocking, crude smile that made Her look a little like a Queen.

Dean shouldn’t be this turned on by how mean She was being. Knowing that didn’t stop him from wanting to launch himself at Her and pin Her to the wall. Kiss Her until all that raw fucking power was directed at him, and he could throw it right back at Her with only his hands and dick and mouth and care.

Not in front of Jo and Sammy.

But later. If Dean got Her, he wanted to figure out what that fun little trick could do in bed. If he could use it to fuck Her, if She’d be able to see his soul while they fucked, if maybe he could bury himself deep enough inside of Her that he’d be enough of Her to see Her soul.

It would be beautiful. All of Her was beautiful, so Her soul would have to be too.

Dean would have to wait for later. A lot of things were going to happen later.

But now, he watched Ruby shuffled back out the door, and ran to Her side as the world collapsed back into Her. She was swaying slightly on Her feet, as the world became just the world again. And Dean caught Her.

That was his job.

“We should go to bed.” She mumbled, Her head rested slightly on Dean’s shoulder. “We’ll need to be up early tomorrow.”

“Can we do it tonight?” Sam suggested, and She shook Her head.

“Need the Sun for it.”

“Oh. Sure.” Sam gave Dean a confused look, and Dean just shrugged.

His job wasn’t to question about Her methods.

It was to orbit around Her as they all got ready for bed, crawl into the mattress at Her side, then pull Her right into his chest and lean down to whisper in Her ear. Low enough that Sam and Jo couldn’t hear, because this wasn’t for them.

“I still don’t like this.” He murmured Her name, and She met his gaze in the dark. “There’s gotta be another way-“

“This is the other way,” She whispered, offering him a soft smile. “And I can handle some Hell’s Assassins-“

“I know you can, b- Sweetheart-“

“Then let me-“

“I will.” Dean leaned forward, their noses bumping slightly. “This is what we’re doing, I’m backing you up. All the way down. But I want you to know I still think it’s a pretty shit idea.”

She giggled. “Your objection is noted. Go to sleep.”

He rolled his eyes, unable to fight his grin. “So bossy-“

“Can’t hear you,” She burrowed Her face his neck. “Night, De.”

“Night, Princess.” He muttered, running a hand through Her hair, and the boiling dread was back.

But he’d still do this.

For Her, Dean would do anything.

He clung to Her, through the whole night. Kept his face buried in Her hair and his body half on top of Her’s, because he was allowed to. Maybe She’d feel it. See it with Her magic soul pheromones.

And if She didn’t, Dean would tell Her in the morning.

—————

“Look.” The big man made of green—who hadn’t hurt you and all the birds and flowers seemed to adore—was kneeling down to meet your gaze. “I don’t know if you ain’t able to talk, or if you just won’t, but I can’t keep callin’ you kiddo. You know what a name is?”

You know what a name is. You have one. This man has one too, although you’d forgotten after he told you. You’ve just been calling him the Big, Green Man.

And he’s still looking at you. You’re supposed to answer his question, but you don’t remember how. You know your own name, but you’re also the pressure of the house foundation, and the weight of all the beer the Big Green Man is keeping in the fridge, and the tension of the guns on his wall.

You hate guns. The last gun you saw had been in your father’s hands, and it had been aimed at the head of your cousin.

He’d gotten in trouble because he’d tried to touch you. Hurt you. Half his face was already covered in boils, because you’d screamed and all the Silver light in your body had surged up to protected you. And you’d just wanted him to go away. You’d just wanted all of them to go away, and leave you alone again. They hadn’t stopped hating you, after the ritual. They only hated you more, because it wasn’t supposed to be you.

You hadn’t wanted him to die.

But your father had apologized to him, and pulled the trigger.

He’d never apologized to you. Nobody did.

Most of this is your fault anyways. And nobody wanted to hear you talk. To plead for it to stop, because it was too much and you could see your cousin putrid, greasy sort of brown sinking down into the floor, and his blood on your clothing already missed him, and you wanted to go home.

You didn’t get a home. You were on hold until the Sky decided to take you.

And you haven’t seen the Sky, since you ran.

You haven’t spoken for a while before that.

So you’re just blinking at the Big Green Man. And he’s blinking back, scanning over your face for an answer you don’t know how to give him.

“You know how to write?” He grunts, and you blink at him. “Shit, wait here kiddo-“

The Big Green Man walks away, and you wait. He’s safe. His guns aren’t angry like your fathers are, and there’s beer in his fridge but it’s sad. Not violent like the wine your grandmother and aunts poured down your throat to keep you satiated.

You’d vomited that up, before you ran. It made you tired, and you couldn’t afford to be tired.

But the Big Green Man was making you sleepy. You could rest in his big house with all the books, and nothing would try to hurt you.

He comes back with a pen, before you can curl up to sleep.

“If you’ve got a name,” he grunts, placing a paper on the coffee table and passing the pen into your hands. “Write it here.”

You look between him and the pencil, and give it a little testing scribble. Its ink is red, and that’s wrong. You’re not red.

The Big Green Man frowns as you push the pen back across the table. “You able to write?”

You nod, and he sits up a little straighter.

“Somethin’…” He glances down to the table. “Wrong with the pen?”

You nod again, and slowly push to your feet. The Big Green Man has a desk, and the desk must have a pencil, and-

There it is. There’s a yellow highlighter too. And it’s not Golden, but it’ll do.

The Big Green Man watches you as you return to the couch, and scribble your name on the paper. The graphite is a little silver. And that’s you.

“Huh.” The Big Green Man repeats your name back to you, and you nod. “You remember my name?”

You shake your head, and the Big Green Man reaches for the highlighter. You snatch it away with a frantic shake of your head. That’s not for him. That’s for the boy the Sky says he hates and doesn’t want you to find.

And you—not the you staring at the Big Green Man, who’s going to grab a pen from the desk until he finds the right color and writes down that his name is Bobby, but the you now—don’t remember that part. But these types of dreams tend to have small things that you’d forgotten, or maybe made up in the first place. You’re never sure if it’s real or just another dream at all until-

“Hi, Princess.”

There he is. “Hi, De.”

Dean’s pressed right into your side on the couch, and suddenly Bobby isn’t so big anymore. You’re not that small, either. And it’s a little like you’re flickering back and forth between the little girl who’d sat on the couch and the… Whatever you are now. Who’s leaning into Dean’s side.

“Why does Bobby look so young?” Dean mutters in your ear, and you laugh.

“This was eighteen years ago, Deano. Would be a little sad if he didn’t look young.”

“Huh.” Dean frowns at the air. “Eighteen years ago I was…”

“Ten.”

“Uh, yeah.” He raises his brows at you. “How’d you know that?”

“I did math, Winchester.” You grin at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “It’s this thing with numbers, where you add them together and take them away, and then you get other numbers-“

“Alright, alright.” He rolls his eyes, but his arm his looped around you, and you’re lying against him on the couch as Bobby keeps talking.

“You didn’t add a last name,” Bobby mutters, and he looks back to you. “You got anyone, kiddo? Family?”

You shake your head, and Dean tenses beside you.

“You’ve got me.” He mutters, sounding a little like a dejected puppy, and you give him an amused look.

“I didn’t eighteen years ago. This me,” you gesture around the room. “Didn’t have anyone.”

“But you had me.”

“I didn’t know you.”

Dean scowls, like the very fucking idea of that is intolerable. “You coulda. I coulda found you.”

You hum, your smile never wavering. He’s adorable, and you love him, and you can’t say it aloud, but you grab the yellow highlighter from the table—Bobby seems to be caught in some kind of static as your attention remains on Dean—and hold Dean’s gaze. “Do you want to have me, Dean?”

And it’s a dream. You have to remind yourself it’s a dream.

But the open, hopeful, sheer look of desire on Dean’s face isn’t as foreign as it should be.

His voice is low, almost hoarse. And the whole dream seems to be filling with a golden haze that makes you feel a little high as he leans down, holding your gaze.

“I always fucking want you, Princess.” He mutters, and you swallow. “Wanted you since you walked into my life and it felt like you shoulda been there the whole time. I’d want you if the world was ending. And if you’ll have me, I’ll worship the goddamn ground you walk on, baby.”

Baby.

You know I love you, baby.

But this sounds more real, and yet it’s just as fake, and you don’t know why your mind hates you so much.

Yet you’ll take all of Dean you can get. Even if it’s just a dream.

“Okay,” you whisper, uncapping the highlighter and slowly moving it to his brow.

You’re not sure what you’re doing. Dean clearly isn’t either.

But you let the Silver take over, and start to write on his forehead, just like you’ve been practicing. His name, but running away from you as you add more, and suddenly it’s your name too, and then-

The word—words?—are glowing, and sinking into Dean’s skin, and he’s holding your gaze, and you love him, and the Sky can never be allowed to take him away or you’ll do a hell of a lot more than just scream and beg-

Your eyes flutter open, and you’re staring at the ceiling, covered in a big, warm weight and drowning in the smell of spice.

Dean’s snoring above you. And you don’t know when you flipped over, but he’s pinned you between the mattress and his body, and his face is in your neck.

You could stay here forever.

But you have a job to do. And you have to move. Fast.

“Dean,” you whisper, running your fingers through his hair, and this isn’t overindulging. He’s on top of you. You’re just trying to wake him up gently. “Wake up. We’ve gotta go.”

The snores hitch, and your smile grows.

“C’mon. Up.”

“No.” He grumbles, and you giggle softly.

“I know you’re awake now, Deano.”

He pauses, tensing slightly. “No, ya’ don’t.”

“Sleeping people don’t talk.”

“Could be sleep talkin’,” he mutters, still not moving. “You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do.” You push at his shoulders lightly. “Up, you big baby.”

His head turns, eyes blinking open, and if he doesn’t decide to get up now, you’re not going to have the strength to push him.

He’s so pretty. And in the morning light, there’s no part of him you can see that isn’t Golden. It’s in his eyes and soft on his skin and woven through his hair, and you love him, and you’re not allowed to say it.

You can’t let it affect work either. And it can’t show on your face.

So you’re trying to smile at him the same way that you’d smile at Sam or Jo. But he’s perfect, and all around you, and it’s not affecting work if Sam and Jo aren’t even here to do the work-

The door slams open, and Jo waltz through it with the timing of some sort of sick joke.

“Oh, good, y’all are-“ She freezes in the center of the room, eyes widening. “Shit, I didn’t mean to- I can come back, if you’re- y’know-“

You flush and Dean twists to shoot Jo a glare.

“If we were, it would’ve been ruined already, Jo.”

Jo’s eyes are going to burst out of her head. “So you were-“

“Not yet.” Dean pushes up off of you, pauses, and leans down to press a kiss to your brow.

Not yet.

Baby. I love you, baby.

You’re just staring up at him with wide eyes and parted lips, and you’re going to melt into the mattress. The Spiderweb loves this. It’s bursting and sparking everywhere, the ache between your legs building as you just stare up at Dean, and his lips tighten slightly.

“You good?”

You smile at him, nodding a little stupidly. “I’m awesome.”

His mouth twitches slightly, and he nods. Brushes a little hair from your face before he moves away.

And you just keep lying there. Dean and Jo are talking about how Sam’s at a shitty diner down the street, and Dean should go join him so they can case the old church you’re using before the ritual starts. Jo will stay with you, going over the plan one last time, and Dean will survive one damn hour without you.

“But she needs to eat-“

“And I brought food.” Jo calls your name. “You want some pancakes?”

“Yes, please.” You might be whispering. You still feel sort of molten.

“See.” Jo’s talking to Dean again. Her voice isn’t ever really firm like that when she’s talking to you. “Go get your own food, Dean. And I already yelled at Sam ‘bout Ruby, but double teamin’ never hurt.”

Dean grumbles something about killing Ruby himself, if she shows up, and you hope he does. Sam and Dean fight about that kind of stuff all the time, and you really don’t want to be the one who has to kill Sam’s demon friend.

Dean can do it for you.

Dean’s always doing stuff for you.

“See you at the church.” He mutters, suddenly hovering above you like the angel he is, and you smile at him.

“Okay.”

“Eat what Jo brought you.”

You nod, still a little dizzy and lost in just the sight of him. “Okay.”

His lips twitch slightly. “You sure you’re alright down there?”

“Yeah.” You’re definitely whispering, and Dean’s face splits into a grin.

“Don’t do anything insane.”

“I would never.”

He rolls his eyes. “Jo-“

“Nothin’ insane. I heard ya, Dean. Now go.”

“She’s so mean to me.” Dean mutters, his fingers brushing so easily through your hair, and the Silver has never been this happy in your body. “You’d never be that mean to me, Princess.”

Jo snorts. “Yes, she would-“

“Nah.” Dean grins at you, and you can only grin back. “Pinky promise you’re gonna eat.”

You nod again, not trusting yourself to speak, and lock your pinky with Dean’s. His smile is the best thing you’ve ever seen. This plan has to work, so Dean can smile like that all the time.

“Good girl.” He mutters, and his attention turn away just before your love and need for him escapes, splattering all over your face.

Dean and Jo exchange a few low words, and you just keep staring at the ceiling. Baby. I love you, Baby. You know I love you-

“Y’all are so gross.” Jo groans, dropping down on your mattress. “I mean, that was worse than if I did walk in on you fuckin’-“

“Jo.” You mumble, giving her a flat look. “We aren’t fucking.”

Jo sighs. “You’re not holdin’ out on him cause of... that thing, are ya?”

“I don’t wanna talk about it-“

“He won’t care.” Jo’s voice is firm, and you turn to see her almost glaring at you. “Don’t ruin this for yourself just cause you think he’s gonna get weird about it.”

“I’m not-“

“You are. Dean’s not gonna give a shit if you’re a virgin. I think he might get all caveman about it, actually. He seems like the type.”

You need to stop telling Jo everything about you. At this point, all she doesn’t know about is how you-

“I mean, you love him. Don’t think you’d love him if you really thought he’d get all fuckin’ shitty ‘bout something like that.”

Fuck. “Jo, I- I don’t-“

“You don’t need to say it.” She shrugs, holding your gaze. “’S why I’m sayin’ it for you. Dean wouldn’t do that to ya’. I really think if you tell him, he’s gonna get like, all fuckin’ commanding. And you’d be into that.”

“Jo-“

“C’mon. You can lie to each other, but you can’t lie to me.” Jo is lucky she’s basically your sister. Anyone else would’ve been stabbed by now. “You love him. Sam told me he’s been moanin’ your name in his sleep, when you ain’t there.”

“He has?” You need to sound less hopeful. It’s not selling the I don’t love Dean angle that well. “I- I mean, I don’t care-“

“Yeah, you do.” Jo smirks at you. “You want him to kiss you, and hug you, and fuck you- Shit!”

You slam a pillow over Jo’s face, and when she tries to retaliate, you let just enough of the Silver out to make the pillow burst into only feathers.

Jo scowls. “I hate when you do that.”

“Yeah, well, I hate when you tease me about Dean-“

“But you deserve it! You are so obvious, it’s like- Oh my god, you remember when we were at the roadhouse a few months back, and that hunter from Louisiana started talkin’ to you?”

You blink at her. “No?”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Course you don’t. You were lookin’ at Dean.”

“Hey-“

“Well the asshole was tryin’ to get in your pants, and you were just makin’ those fuckin’ I love you eyes at Dean-“

“I don’t-“

“Yeah, you do. It’s like,” Jo flutters her lashes, pouts slightly with an open mouth, and you hit her with another pillow.

“I do not fucking do that.”

Jo seems completely unfazed, which is really annoying. “Yeah, ya do. And you were makin’ those eyes at Dean, and the hunter didn’t see ‘em, but you didn’t see him. You were bein’ polite, but you’re real fuckin’ shit at flirting-“

You gape at her. “You’re really mean this morning-“

“I’m sick of you and Dean dancin’ around each other!” Jo throws her hands up in the air, flopping back down on the mattress. “And you keep interrupting my story! The point is that Dean got all barky and mad at the hunter, and you didn’t even notice cause you were too busy eye-fuckin’ him!”

“Barky?”

Jo grins. “I think he fuckin’ growled. I’m tryin’ to tell you that you’re not good at pickin’ up signals, and you love Dean, and he wants be allowed to love you, and if you’d just fuck ‘im, shit would be so much easier.”

You let out a long, slow breath, and before you can even open your mouth and ask Jo to drop it, she’s holding up a finger.

“Look, how about this. What’s your dream life?”

Dean’s asked you that before. And you’re not sure where Jo is going with this, but she’s going to get the same answer he did. “I’ve never thought about what else I’d do-“

“I’m not askin’ what else you’d do.” Jo shrugs, holding your gaze. “I’m askin’ about your dream. If everything works out and you get a perfect world, what’s it look like?”

You stare at Her, and the Silver is rioting inside your body.

A perfect world. Not a realistic one, where you’re either still locked up, or the Sky has taken you, or you’re just hunting until it kills you, or everyone around you dies and you turn to stone, waiting for them to return.

A dream.

You can see it, forming far too fast. It’s just water-painted colors and ideas, but it’s still clear. No monsters or demons or angels, and the Sky is gone. Bobby’s just running his yard, and Sam’s back in college, doing whatever he wants to do. You and Jo get coffee every weekend, and these kinds of conversations never have an underlying sense of danger around the corner.

And Dean’s everywhere.

All his clothing doesn’t stay in a room he never sleeps in, but is tucked into the same drawer as yours. He works in the scrapyard with Bobby, and you don’t know exactly what you’re doing—you’ve really never thought about it—but it’s something useful, where you get to read a lot and talk a lot, and nobody ever gets hurt.

And you come home to Dean every night, and he kisses you everywhere. He falls asleep with his head in your lap and your fingers in his hair, and all your rules are broken because you tell him you love him all the time. And there’s a future. It’s not just the thing to get to tomorrow.

Tomorrow is promised.

The longer you think about it, the more the Silver spreads. And you’re a little afraid to say it aloud. Aloud makes it real.

So you just shake your head, twisting the skin on your finger. “I don’t know.”

Jo knows you’re lying. She raises her brows, and her lips tighten into a line, but she doesn’t push it. She knows you well enough not to.

“Think about it,” she shrugs, and you nod. Now that it’s in your head, you don’t think you’re ever going to stop thinking about it.

“Do you have one?” You ask, lying back down at her side, and Jo frowns at the ceiling.

“I think it used to be this.” She mutters. “Huntin’. But I dunno, I’d just wanna fuckin’ chill. Get a cat.”

You give her an amused look. “A cat?”

“Yeah. I’d relax and get a cat, work in somethin’ with sound. I was really good at that,” she says your name, giving you a grin. “The sound shit? From the lich case. I liked it. Lotta buttons.”

You snort. “You want to work in sound cause there’s a lot of buttons?”

“Yep. And don’t act like buttons ain’t fun to push.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “I’d love to have a job that’s just pushin’ buttons. This job is… you know.”

You do know. And if this works, Jo could have an out. Your dream world is just a dream. You have too much hanging around you for it to be any more than a dream. But the Sky doesn’t watch Jo. Demons don’t hunt her. She’s not a Magdalene, or salvation, or damnation.

That’s why you’re doing this ritual in the first place. For Jo.

You didn’t tell Bobby, because he’d tell Ellen. You didn’t tell Sam, because that would involve explaining that Jo got the idea from hearing Ruby talk about it, and then he’d say that’s not what Ruby meant, and try to make your talk to Ruby.

You couldn’t tell Dean. If you told Dean that Jo had overheard Ruby talking about the possibility of locking all the seals, then came to you to see if it was a possibility, he’d get mad at Jo for pushing you. And she hadn’t pushed you. Not on purpose. But she’d wanted to know if that was in the cards, and it had been, and then she’d wanted to do it.

“If you think you can,” she’d said over the phone, her words slow. “I don’t think we’re getting’ a better solution.”

“I know.” You’d sighed, frowning at your notes. “But I- I don’t trust it.”

“If you think it’ll take too much-“

“No. I’d be fine. I just- I don’t know. We’ll do it.”

“I’m serious, if you ain’t on board-“

“I’m on board. I’ll pitch it to them tomorrow. Can you start-“

“Been workin’ on the ingredients since you gave me the list.” Jo had said your name carefully. “Thank you. I know this is dicey, but it’s gonna work. You’ve got it. We can do it.”

You’d nodded, and hung up.

You’ve got it.

You don’t feel like you’ve got it, but you had to have it. This ritual was volatile, and the Silver still feels like a muscle that spams and tenses and seizes up under the wrong amount of pressure, but you’ve got this.

Ruby showed up last night, and that was making the Silver roll and howl in a kind of alarm over your skull, but you could deal with Ruby. You’d meant it. If she’d set this as some sort of trap, and you showed up tomorrow to find hundreds of demons, or a pack of hellhounds, or Alistair himself, you’d crush Ruby with the Silver until she was fucking nothing.

And you want to tell Dean about it. Tell him that you have this itching, rash-like feeling over your wrist and along your bones, and something just feels wrong. You don’t know if you can do this, but you’re repeating it over and over until it feels a little more true.

But if you’re going to use the monster for something, you might as well use Her for this.

It has to stay between you and Jo.

And you’ve got it.

“We should start movin’.” Jo mutters, pushing up off the mattress. “Ready?”

You’re not ready.

You nod anyway.

Jo runs over the ingredients one last time while she waits for you to change, and everything is in order. You’ve got your jacket, your knife hidden safely inside, and the flask in your pocket. Filled with whore tears.

You don’t really want to know how Jo got those.

“I think you should tell him where we’re done.” Jo hums in the Firebird, and you shoot her a glare.

“Don’t you have your own love life to worry about?”

“Ha! So you admit it’s a love life-“

“I’m gonna crash the car-“

“No ya won’t. Dean gave it to you.” She bumps your shoulder, and you can’t stop your small smile. “And I was serious, before. You don’t even have to jump right in with the love shit. You can just say I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.”

You sigh. “Can’t I make you do it for me? Like we’re in middle school?”

“Nope. Cause then you’re gonna tell him that he’d be the first, and like, I know we don’t wanna fetishize that, women are more than their bodies, he’d want you if you’d fucked a million dudes-“

“Jo-“

“He would. Right now, it probably ain’t even occurred to him that you haven’t. And I want you to see his dumb little monkey brain explode when you tell him.”

You shoot her a glare. “Dean’s not dumb.”

“I know.” Jo shrugs. “But he’s gonna short-circuit. Promise.”

You just shrug, and try not to think about it. It’s easier if you don’t think about it.

There are just too many other things to think about, besides is Dean going to like you back. The Romanian translations, and the ingredients, and if the Silver is going to settle the heel down and cooperate. If Hell’s Assassin’s do show up, how you’ll handle them.

But he might. Everyone can’t be wrong. There might be a world where you can wrap your arms around Dean, rest your chin on his chest, and say Deano, I like you, and if you wanna fuck, I’m down.

You’ll rephrase it.

And you’re not supposed to overindulge. Asking Dean to fuck would definitely be overindulging.

But he smiles at you, the moment you and Jo walk into the church. Dean grins at you like you’re not about to take a huge, deadly fucking gamble. Like he’s about to ask you to go get some food and watch a movie.

Like a date.

Softer than just fucking. And instead of sweeping the pews for lingering sulfur and demon marks, you could lean over the table and hold his hand.

Maybe.

If he asks you, you’ll never be strong enough to say no. It’s why you’re not telling him you don’t want to do this.

He’d say don’t do it, Princess. And then you’d go home.

He’ll talk you out of it. You don’t really want to be talked out of it, not when it could be the way. Not when you promised Jo.

So you’re going through with it. It won’t be rushed or experimental. Jo tracked down all the right ingredients—and you’ve really decided to not ask questions about it—and the Church is supposed to help the spell draw power as holy ground, but you’re mostly using it for your own peace of mind.

Because this all on you.

“Do you guys-“

“We’ve got everything.” You mutter, turning over the skull of a sickly bird in your hands. “Sun’s almost through the windows, and we- There needs to be one thing in every cardinal direction. This,” you hold up the skull. “Comes with me to the dais. Jo’s taking the South and the tooth, Sam’s West and the blessed fruit, and Dean’s-“

“Black pearl covered in lamb’s blood, East.” Dean frowns down at his item. “How the hell did you get this stuff, Jo-“

“Don’t worry about it.” You and Jo say in unison, and Sam snorts.

“Is that really it?” He asks, frowning at his apple. “Just stand in the corners of the room and all the seals will lock?”

“You have to stand in the corner of the room.” You mutter, pulling your flask from your jacket. “Bottoms up.”

You down the whore tears in one gulp, trade the flask for the knife like it’s a security blanket, and turn on your heels before you can lose the nerve.

Everyone finds their places fast. And all they’ll have to do is stand there, with their items at their feet.

You have to work.

Sam’s looking around the room. Jo’s looking between you and the teeth, a taut but hopeful expression on Her face.

Dean’s looking at you. Only at you.

If you look at him, you’ll run to him. But you have to focus.

You squeeze your eyes shut, and let the Silver move out. You’re the freedom of the wind and the wisdom of the Earth, the warmth of the sun on a river miles away, and every single leaf on the trees. It’s all bending toward you, as you continue to expand.

And you keep your eyes squeezed shut. You’re the dirt and the flowers and the stars, you’re flying up and you’re all the invisible stars in the Sky, and it’s watching you, closer than usual. So fucking closely.

Then you bite your lower lip until you drawn blood, grab everything by the fucking neck, and focus.

You’re not sure what you’re throttling. Only that you’ve found it, deep, deep, deep under the Earth, and you’re choking it.

Lock. You hiss at it, and it balks. Close and lock.

There’s a boom through a little more than the world and the Sky is flaring in warning.

It’s angry.

That means you’re fucking doing it.

Lock.

This time there’s a rattling sound like bones and insects.

Fucking lock.

Something hisses and crashes, and Dean roars your name. Sam’s shouting too, and so is Jo, but you can’t really hear any of it.

You’re in the blur.

You’re fucking everything, and you and feel the wind ripping and biting at your skin, but it doesn’t hurt because you’re not you. You’re all Silver, and you’re everything, and the hissing is growing. Like something is fusing together. And you’re so big, you’re fucking everything, and you’re close. You’re so fucking close. You can fucking do it-

Then you feel it.

The Silver building too high, and the hissing starts to ring in your ears. It’s blaring and going fucking wild, ripping through the world to try and get back to you, because something is wrong.

You’re everything, but you’re not the Gold. And He’s roaring for you and running with Silver, but there’s no need to grab it and command it like to rest of the universe. Because you could grab the blue and the infected purple, and command them. Will them. But you could never touch the Gold like that, because it’s not something to be played with or harmed. The bit of Silver in it is pure.

And He’s calling for you, so you have to answer.

Something is wrong.

Your eyes shoot open, still in the blur, and you’re crashing back down into the Gold.

But every falls apart so fucking fast, and you’re not fast enough to piece it all together until it’s done.

The roof of the church is gone. Half rubble around you, and opened up for the Sky to see. Sam’s knocked out on the floor, and there’s an angel. Not Castiel, because even in another vessel, he’d still be running with electric blue. This angel is filled with yellow.

Not yellow like Dean’s gold.

Yellow like poison.

She’s got a long blade aimed at Jo’s throat. And you’d rip her apart with your bare hands.

But Dean.

Dean’s surround by Hell’s Assassin’s. Three of them. Two holding him on his knees, the third aiming a shotgun at his skull.

The Spiderweb is going haywire. The Silver is scratching at your ribs and skin to be let out, but you’re keeping it pinned down your knife on your forearm. It’s too uncontrollable. If you let it get too far from you, it might not just be the angel and the demons who die.

So you’re frozen.

And Dean’s in danger.

“What-“ You clear your throat, because you sound a little like a scared fucking child. You are a scared fucking child. But you can’t let it show. “What do you want.”

“I don’t know about the girl scout.” The demon with the gun hisses, jerking it’s head at the angel. “But we’ve been sent by Lilith to warn you to stop. She says that you’re meddling in things you don’t understand, and that if you don’t back up, we’ll kill your little human toy for real this time. Lilith don’t need him no more. And this time.” It’s lips curl into a horrible smirk. “There won’t be no coming back, so-“

“I’ll stop.” You say it quick, and it’s the easiest trade in the world. You’re not losing Dean twice. “Please, I’ll stop, just-“

Dean groans your name, and there’s a little blood trickling from his temple. You hadn’t stopped it. You’d been to fucking big, and you’d let him get hurt. “Finish it- Don’t- I’m not worth it-“

“Shut up.” You snap, and Dean just shakes his head, coughing a little bit of blood.

He’s staring at you. Blinking once, over and over and over. Not safe.

You know it’s not safe. That’s why you’re going to stop.

“Is that it?” You ask, looking to the angel. “If I crawl back to my hole and stop interfering, will you leave?”

“I don’t care about the interfering.” The angel says, and she almost sounds sad. “You can’t be trusted, and if you don’t come with me, I’ll kill her.” The angel gives Jo an apologetic expression. “Sorry.”

Jo just glowers at her, and you swallow.

“If I come with you-“

“No!” Dean’s roar echoes around the ruins, and the even the demons flinch slightly. “You’re not going fucking anywhere. Anna, you’re being insane-“

“I am being rational. Seeing clearly.” The angel—Anna, the one they’d told you about—sighs. “Ruby’s right. She’s been warning you, but you wouldn’t listen. And she may be a demon, but she,” Anna nods to you. “Is far worse. I know she’s a Magdalene. Castiel is not as good at snooping as he thinks. And she’s warped your mind.”

You shake your head frantically, the Silver still pounding. “I- I’ve never- No-“

“Men of God are drawn to Magdalene’s.” Anna mutters. “You are the Magdalene. You’re unstable, and too dangerous. You’ve blinded them-“

“I’m not fucking blind!” Dean shouts. “I don’t give a goddamn fuck about all of heaven’s drama and politics. Ruby’s the unstable bitch, Anna, you’re being insane-“

“Dean, please be quiet.” Anna presses the blade further into Jo’s throat, you’re fucking dizzy, and there’s a soreness deeper than your muscles. “I’m trying to help. We can do this peacefully. She’ll go, and the demons will release you. Or we can finish the seal ritual, then go. But she can’t be allowed to live. Her name is written in languages humans can’t even read. I’ve seen it in the parts of Heaven Castiel has never been allowed. She’s their tool-“

“I’m not.” You mumble, and it’s somehow enough to make Anna listen. “I’m not their tool. And I- Dean, I’ve never warped you-“

“I know, Princess-“

“But I’ll go with you.” You keep your eyes on Anna. On the blade, poking into Jo’s throat. “Let Jo go, and I won’t even fight.”

Jo’s eyes widen, and Dean’s shouting your name, but you can’t look at him. You have to keep looking at Anna, or you’ll see the gun pressed against his skull and the world will split in half. And the Sky is watching, and it’s always hated you looking at Dean. You can’t afford making it angrier. Not right now.

Anna’s trying to protect Dean. You can understand that, more than anything. You’re going to do more than just kill Ruby, but you won’t blame Anna for trying to protect Dean. And maybe you have warped him. She’s not wrong that you shouldn’t be allowed to live. That you’re unstable and dangerous.

Maybe she’ll be strong enough to do what John Winchester couldn’t.

“I’ll let you take me.” You whisper. “Just let Jo go.”

Jo’s trying to shake her head, but it doesn’t work with a blade pressing against her skin. And Dean will be fine. He’ll have Sam and Jo, and they’ll explain to Bobby, and everyone will be fine. If anything, you’ll be saving everyone a whole lot of trouble, by going with Anna. Sam won’t have to worry about you killing Ruby. Jo can use this as her reason to get out. Dean and Bobby will have a harder time, but Bobby will never have to deal with your insanity again, and Dean can find that sweet, easy girl he deserves, without you in the way.

And the Sky is watching. If it wanted you to live, it would do something, but it’s only watching.

So you’ll-

“Anna.” A horrible cold voice is coming from right behind you. “You’ve done so well. Much better than we expected. Almost enough to be forgiven for your… Transgressions.”

Dean’s lips curl into a sneer. “What the fuck are you doing here, you bald douchebag-“

“I believe you were told to be quiet, Dean Winchester.”

And Dean’s voice just… dies. Goes silent.

You move before you think. Whirling around, your knife raised, and aimed for the neck of a balding man that vanishes with a ruffling sound, then reappears a little off to the side.

“Oh! You’ve got a bite!” The man laughs to himself, soothing his suit, and there’s a clattering sound as Dean starts to struggle against the demons.

“Do I just, uh, shoot him-“

“Don’t be insane, Fiona.” The bald man gives the demon a flat look. “If you kill Dean Winchester, we kill you and bring him back.”

Another demon scoffs. “You ain’t ever been strong enough to kill us, Zachariah-“

“But she could.” The bald man—Zachariah—nods to you, and the room goes quiet. “Anna is quite correct. Which is a little more impressive than usual, as she is so often wrong. The best thing to do would be put the beast down, but I’m afraid that might cause quite some problems with my bosses, so for now, just a muzzle will do. Kill the girl.”

Dean’s mouth his still opening and closing, but no sound is coming out. You feel like a haze. Like this is just a horrible waking nightmare, and soon the Sky will crash over you in a fury, and you’ll wake up.

You need to wake up.

But you don’t.

And the Sky just watches.

“The girl?” Anna whispers, glancing down to Jo in her arms. “No I- That would be wrong Zachariah, even for you. I don’t think it’s even her time-“

“Yeah, but it would’ve been.” Zachariah shrugs. “What’s a year, really? And this’ll be faster, and- Look! I’m thinking outside the box! Blondie still goes, and she’s barely consequential. The whore heads back to her place, the bosses are happy, and you get off scot-free! You don’t even have to come home, but we can reset you. Give you that vile little human life you always wanted, two point oh.”

Anna’s still not moving. You need to do something, but if you do it wrong, you’ll just kill Jo yourself, and take Dean with her. And you can’t hurt them, you were supposed to stop hurting them, but it feels like something is keeping the Silver coiled, and when it explodes, too much might go with it.

Zachariah sigh. “C’mon. Be honest with me, Anna. I know you hated being one of us, but she,” he points to you. “Is not an angel, or a human. And aren’t you mad at her for taking what might have been yours? For ruining everything, and making Dean Winchester barely give you more than a second glance? She will be damnation. She’s reckless and emotional. I mean, even more than you.”

You need to move. To do something, other than standing here and being sick, but it’s all moving in the stupid fucking blur.

Anna looks at you. Then Jo. Then Dean, and all the spineless fucking demons, who aren’t even trying to do anything. They might see this as a win. You’re dealt with. You’re put down. That’s all they needed to do.

Then Anna looks to Zachariah, like a nervous fucking child, and he nods.

“You’d be free.” He says, and Anna’s throat bobs. “And you could come home. We’d listen to you, this time. About the humans.” He holds his hand up. “Promise. You just need to give us something, and it’ll be like you never left.”

The world falls apart all at once.

Anna’s blade tilts down, drives into Jo’s stomach, and you lose control.

Zachariah’s gone. The Silver tears through the world for him, but he was fast, and may have known what was coming. Must have known. He killed two birds with one stone.

You.

And Anna.

Because when the Silver can’t wrap around Zachariah, it wipes out the Assassins in one wipe, atomic blow, and moves into Anna. Into every single arm and eye and wing, and grabs them. Shreds them. Rips them apart, all of Anna’s grace moving out and out and out into the world and evaporating into nothing, bigger parts falling onto the floor and being ground into the same, and then she’s gone.

Her vessel’s body is dead on the floor, and there are no wings splayed behind it.

Dean’s skull and soul are still intact.

But Jo-

You sprint over the rubble, not caring as pipes and brick scrape at your skin. Your knee’s burn as you skid onto the ground at Jo’s side.

“Shit-“ She’s coughing blood as you pull her off the ground, into your lap. “’S bad, ain’t it-“

“I can fix it.” You mutter, and it’s mostly to yourself. You can fix it. It’s just a wound, and the Silver can fix it.

“Can you tell my mom I’m sorry, and-“

“I need to focus, Jo.” You swallow, laying your hand on her stomach. Already hot and sticky.

Your fingers already stained in red.

But you can fix this.

The Silver leaks out. Carefully at first, just enough to start the flow and mend. You just have to stop the bleeding. If you can stop the bleeding, you can get her to a hospital, and she’ll be fine.

She’ll be fine.

Every time the Silver patches over something, it rips back open, but Jo will be fine.

She has to be fine.

Jo mutters your name, and you shake your head, biting down on your inner cheek. “It’s okay-“

“No.” You mutter, and the Silver runs itself deeper into Jo’ body. Fuck stopping the bleeding, it’ll just weave into her and offer her a little while longer, and- “I need- The car, we need to start the car-“

Dean says your name, his hand carefully on your shoulder, and you don’t really care when he got there. “I don’t think-“

“Start the fucking car.”

It’s almost a screech, but Dean doesn’t flinch. He just offers a hand in your periphery to Jo, who meets it with shaking fingers.

“Don’t be dumb.” Jo whispers, and you can’t tell if you’re choking on your own blood or the air. She’ll be fine. There’s no need for this, because you’re going to make her hold on, and she’ll be fine-

The Sky flashes above you, and the Silver is almost rocketed out Jo’s body. Her whole body shakes with the cough.

Dean squeezes Jo’s hand, kisses to the top of your head before walking away.

You’d screamed at him. You hadn’t meant to scream at him. And you want him to come back. You can’t do this without him.

And you’ll get through this. You always do.

But every time you find a new way to keep Jo, the Sky rips it away.

She’s too pale. The pastel blue in her body is faded. Washed out. Like a river draining, leaving only a mud bank.

She says your name, and you shake your head again.

“Can ya look at me instead of tryin’ to fix it-“

“I am fixing it. It just keeps- Fuck-“ Your fingers curl against her, and this re-tear is bigger than it had been before. “No-“

“Please stop.” Jo mumbles, her voice wavering. “You heard ‘em, I’m gonna die anyway-“

“Don’t say that word-“

“But I’m gonna. It’s alright. Least you already avenged me. No hauntin’ for me. Maybe I can have a grave.”

“Jo.” You whisper, and the Silver retreats one last time.

The Sky won’t let you fix her.

And you don’t know what to do.

“Is it gonna hurt?” Jo’s voice is too soft, and you shake your head, fighting the lump in your throat to speak. You won’t let her go alone.

“For you?” You ask softly, and Jo nods. “No. I don’t think so. I- I think it might feel a little weird at first, but then it- It won’t matter.”

“What about for you?” Jo blinks up at you. There’s almost no blue left. “Is it gonna hurt for you?”

“For me…” You don’t want to tell her. She doesn’t need to hear the truth.

But you’ve never been good at keeping things from Jo.

“For me it’s going to hurt a lot.” You can taste the salt as you speak, but you push on. For Jo. “For a really, really long time. But I’ll be ok.”

“Promise?” She mumbles, and you swallow.

“Promise what?”

“Promise you’ll be ok?”

“I-“

“Please.”

You’re not sure.

But Jo deserves something.

So you nod.

But the blue is already gone when you find your voice. “Promise.”

You sit with her. Until Dean comes back to take you from the desolated church, you sit with Jo. And think you whisper to him that she wanted to be buried, and not burned. And he might have told you that Sam’s up, and he’ll make sure it’s taken care of.

You’re not sure though.

It’s hard to think past the little remnants of blue, still on the tips of your fingers. Clinging to you, because the rest of them is gone. And you press your fingers into Dean’s neck as he carries you to the Impala. Hard enough for a little to stick to him as well.

You might be crying. You’re not sure of that, either. The world is horribly blurry, and you can’t speak because it’s too much.

You feel like the little girl again. The one who hadn’t wanted anyone else to get hurt, and never knew what to do, so she never spoke. The only difference is now, Dean’s wrapped around you. The car stopped at some point, and Dean’s covered you in him. It numbs everything. Makes you breathe a little easier. And his thumb is running down your nose as he murmurs in your ear, and the world is still awful, but at least you can breathe. At least Dean is here.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “I’m sorry, Princess. That- I’m sorry.”

Your body shakes with something, and it’s probably a sob.

He’s sorry. You did this, but Dean’s sorry. You should’ve gone with Anna, and Jo should still be okay, but Dean’s sorry.

You curl into him. He’s the only thing you don’t think you can hurt, so you sink your fingers into Dean’s back and hold on. And he stays. You’re certainly sobbing and shaking, and you’d screamed at him, and it should be your body on the ground, but Dean stays.

It’s twice now. That it should’ve been your body. That you should’ve done better, but you lost. Failed. That all that stupid fucking power you don’t even want failed.

And this is different than Dean’s death.

Dean came back. Cas saved him.

Jo was killed by an angel.

She’s gone.

And you did this. You should’ve told her no, I’m not doing to seal thing. We’re already pushing our luck. You should’ve been in more control, and killed Anna the moment she showed up. You shouldn’t have drowned in the power, and been faster when everything went to shit.

You don’t think you can hurt Dean. The Silver’s always moves around him.

But you killed Jo. You were weak and emotional and sick, and you killed Jo. Everything that’s gone wrong has been you. The lich. The boto. The angels have been angrier because of you, and Hell’s Assassins had a gun to Dean’s head because of you.

And you can’t hurt Dean. And he’d never hurt you.

But a gun had still been pressed to his head, in your name.

And you know what you have to do.

“Dean?”

He grunts, and the sun might have set then broken back into the sky. It doesn’t really matter either way.

“I need to go.”

“Yeah,” he sighs, and you know he doesn’t understand. “Sammy’s getting her home, Princess, so we’ll meet him there-“

“No.” You whisper, leaning back to meet his gaze. “I need to go.”

You can see the moment it hits him. And his features harden, and his jaw clenches as his grip on your body tightens. Like he can keep you there with force. “No.”

You give him a sad smile. “You can’t stop me, De-“

“Wrong.” He snaps. “I can stop you. I- I’ll fucking call Bobby, and I’ll siphon all your gas, and I- I’ll sit on you-“

“You’ll sit on me?”

“You’re goddamn right I’ll sit on you!” He’s shouting now, and you don’t flinch. He’s not mad at you, and you can’t really stand to be angry right now. “You’re not allowed to just leave, you-“

“You owe me a favor.”

Dean’s eyes flash. “That was fucking years ago-“

“Less than two.” You shrug. “I need to go, Dean. I- I can’t stay here. I can’t. I’ll hurt someone-“

“No, you-“ He shakes his head, and you hope his hold leaves a bruise. “You fucking promised you’d stop running. You promised.”

You did.

But you also promised Jo you’d be okay.

And if you stay somewhere that you’re the problem—the sickness, the monster, the damnation—and Sam or Bobby or Dean get hurt because of it, nothing will ever be okay again.

“I’m not running.” You curl your fingers at the top of his shirt, keeping your words gentle. “I can’t be here, but I told you. You can’t lose me. You’ll know where I am, and we’ll call, and I’ll come back.” You scan over his openly pained features, and try not to feel it too deep in your own body. “You and me, Dean. All the way down. I’ll come back.”

You’ve never seen Dean cry before. It’s nothing different than his usual sadness. Just a little bit more. Tears rolling down his cheeks that catch the light then fall between your bodies. And he knows you’re not moving on this. Dean knows you, and if it comes down to it, he won’t really try to stop you.

“You gotta come back.” He mutters, his voice barely a rasp. “If we’re using old shit, you owe me a dance, Princess.”

“Okay.” You whisper, and it’s hard to smile. You’re so fucking tired, and you’re not going to sleep in Dean’s bed for a while, so it will only get worse.

But you have to smile.

Otherwise you’ll be selfish, and breakdown again in Dean’s arms. And he might not be fighting you, but once again, if you let him hold you and care for you, you don’t think he’ll ever let go.

Dean holds his pinky up with raised brows. He doesn’t need to say what it’s for.

You’ll come back.

So you hook your pinky through his, and when he uses it to pull you down into another kiss, you let yourself have it.

Long and slow. He’s not trying to rush it, or take more. You think Dean knows that the moment this is done, you’ll be gone. So every bit of this kiss is about time. His hands roam your body slowly, and his lips mold and nip and press into yours, and you let him have whatever he wants. Soft sighs and moans, knuckles brushing back under your shirt, a hand tangled in your hair to pull your hair back. He kisses over your neck and collarbone, and you only let out a soft hum of his name.

It’s more of him that you’ll get to have. More Gold on your skin, some of it covering over the blue. Preserving it.

And you don’t tell Dean you love him, when he pulls away. Or when you both refuse to say goodbye, and Dean just ghosts a softer kiss over your lips before you climb off of him, and stand in parking lot alone.

But you still broke a rule. You’re too tired to keep your love off your face. And if Cas sees it, when he takes your prayer and lands at your side, he doesn’t say anything.

“You wish to go.” He mutters before you even open your mouth, and you sigh.

“I need you to fly me away. Far.”

“Will you be returning?”

You nod, and you can’t look over your shoulder. Dean’s still in the car, and if you look at him, you’ll run back to him.

“And this is really what you-”

“Yes.”

Cas sighs, and nods. “Alright. It will be… uncomfortable.”

“I can handle it.” You mutter, and you can’t look back. “Cas?”

He tilts his head at you, his hand already resting on your shoulder, and you sigh.

“Please be careful. And make sure Dean…”

You trail off, but Cas understands. “Dean will be in one piece, when you return. I swear it on my grace.”

“Thank you.” you mumble. “I’m ready.”

It’s right before you’re gone, that you look back.

You never could help it.

And Dean’s watching you, and you want to run back to him, but it’s too late. The world turns into a rush of color and cold, and you’re gone.

You’ll come back.

You promised.

End Note: Fridging Jo for a *woman*, now that’s what I call progress (i’m joking because if I don’t I’ll start crying again)

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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#writer appreciation

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meowuff · 1 year ago

Text

Just some doodles~

Trying ma best for anatomy and stuff :T

Close ups of ma fav~!

#Used every free sec I got to doodle ma Boi~#Just a lil longer and I can do even more of that :3 #I WANNA DOODLE MORE #Trying out a lot of different poses and how to #Well #Draw them #I think I did an ok job #:D #rottmnt #rottmnt oc #oc #mika #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #Oc Mika

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madamechrissy · 2 months ago

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Took you Like a Shot

Pairings- Rich Frat/fuckboi Toru x Preppy Sorority reader

Summary- One VERY drunk encounter between your greatest rival ever - on your last day of college- leads to you being knocked up. Satoru Gojo, a fuckboy, fratboy, rich little jerk, has been a rival of yours since you all met in College, every damn grade you fought for he got with ease. He crashed every Sorority party you threw. The two of you are so infamous in your rivalry, your friend groups were rivals, and for some reason, life is playing some damn joke on you both. Now... you have to tell him the news - but how Satoru takes it surprises you. Can you both raise a baby together!? And do you even really know each other?

Contents/Warnings- gonna be flashbacks to the rivalry/that night, nerdjo but make him a fratboy, enemies to kind of begrudging partners, but then as the pregnancy progresses, they fall in love hehe (gojo is an idiot) MDNI - 4 parts (I THINK) in this chap-explicit sexual content, oral (m and f recieving) light angst, lots of feelings developing, Satoru is a lil shit but he's tryingg, cumplay, creampie, cervix kisses, mating press, flashbacks of their past rivalry- WC- this chap- 11k ( a lil longer one for ya) art in the banner by Yuana on X

Comments and reblogs so appreciated if you enjoyy <3 (extras here and here)

<<<Chapter One - Masterlist - Playlist- Chapter Three>>>

Chapter Two

One Week later

“Are you… are you high!?” You whisper, as Satoru Gojo steps out of the back seat of his car, grinning up at you, sunglasses covering his eyes, but when he tilted them down, they’re bloodshot, he winces as the sunny day hits them, his head pounding.

Maybe going to a party last night was a bad idea?

Fucking Suguru and Sukuna.

“What? No! Do they have good food here!?” He’s eyeing the restaurant eagerly, tummy audibly growling. “I’m starving.”

“Satoru, tell me you’re not blitzed before we meet my parents.” You hiss between your teeth, crossing your arms under your breasts, just drawing even his faded attention to them.

“Those tits, god they keep getting-”

“Nope. Answer me.”

He whistles, shaking his head, before he grins once more, lopsided and far too charming. “No way, sweets. Straight as… a whistle?”

“A whistle?” Your raised brow shows your obvious confusion, you lean over to sniff him, smelling no pot however.

“Damn baby, right here?” He’s chuckling at his own joke, he may look like a million bucks in this gray Armani suit, so damn gorgeous it’s ridiculous. “I’m fine I swear, and ooh… don’t you look good.”

“Um… thanks?” He lowers those glasses as you lead him over to the stairs. It's bustling and busy, nice but casual, not what Satoru was used to, but when you explain it’s your favorite place, he’s intrigued. “This way, you’ve met my parents, yeah?”

“A couple times.” He pauses as you step in front of him, staring at that ass in this fucking sundress, making his already fucked up state worse, as he remembers the first time he noticed that ass.

*****

Four years ago

“Well hello, pretty.” Came the slow drawl of the voice behind you, it’s your first day of college, you’re so nervous but excited, this was a big opportunity for a girl like you, a full ride scholarship so elite. You look around, seeing the white haired man whistling as he stares at your ass, his sunglasses perched on his straight nose.

“Gojo?” You ask then, since you all met Senior year of high school, he’d certainly never called you pretty.

His blue eyes lock on yours over his shades, blinking then, thin brows together. “When did you get such a nice ass?”

“A nice what!?” You turn now, shoving at his chest, which almost makes you blush at just how built he feels.

You remember seeing him shirtless playing basketball, dribbling that and dunking in school, but the two of you never talked, you were the new girl Senior year and quiet, he was as popular as it got. This year, you want to have a life, have friends, not just be the shy girl.

You have a plan.

And he certainly can’t fuck that up.

“I didn’t know it was you, shit, you been like… doing squats or-”

“Can we not talk about my ass? Also how was I pretty from the back?” He’s grinning, bright white snarky little grin.

“I bet it’s pretty from the back-” Smack. “Ow, what the hell!?”

“You are an ass, Satoru Gojo.” A crowd gathers, gasping as Satoru takes off his shades, a red mark on his face.

“Give a girl a compliment and she smacks you for it!? Prissy little brat.”

“I don’t want your pervy compliments, manwhore.” You hear the oohs and whispers rolling more and more, as he crosses his arms, smirking like the little shit he is.

“Pervy? No, you should be honored to have them by me, goody goody.”

“Conceited jerk! Ugh!”

“Little nerd!”

“Me!? Don’t you play Digimon!”

“Yeah but you play DnD.” You cross your arms now, glaring up at the tall handsome jerk of a man, in his stupid blue polo that brings out his eyes, very unfortunately.

“DnD is classy.”

“Okay dungeon master.”

“Ugh!” You both stomp off in different directions, as everyone disperses, already talking about the two of you, people who never noticed you in high school now saw the girl who slapped ‘the’ Satoru Gojo.

Satoru’s friends, Suguru and Sukuna come up to him then, as he rubs his cheeks, and he sees Utahime talking to you. “Oh great, she’s talking to the number one Gojo hater.”

“She smacked the shit out of you, dude.” Suguru snorts, clearly blitzed, where his eyes are white they’re bright red. Satoru rubs his cheek, as you walk off, that nice ass in those jeans jiggling just so, while your hips sway.

“Just told her she had a nice ass.” He grumbles, Sukuna and Suguru lean their heads to the side, whistling, earning you looking back at the three men.

“Really!?” You cross your arms, and they all snort in laughter.

“They’re pigs, I know. Hey, we should sign up for the sorority, don’t you think!?” Utahime asks, you bite your lip nervously.

“A sorority?”

“You’d do great, baby.”

“Shoko!” You both hug her, as she sucks on the tip of her cigarette, looking back at the boys and laughing a bit.

“They’re still staring at your ass.”

“My god!” You take off your hoodie then, wrapping it around your hips, flipping the three of them off, Sukuna and Suguru laugh, but Satoru’s just staring, blue eyes far, far too much to handle.

Blue eyes you fell into when you first saw him.

Before he opened his mouth, that is.

*****

Present Day

The memories fade off, when you head up the stairs to the rooftop restaurant where you were meeting your parents for lunch, and you hear a low whistle as you step up each stair. You turn, hand on the railing while the breeze whips your dress around just a bit, when you see him staring right at your ass.

“Satoru!”

“It’s getting bigger, pregnancy is kind of hot on you.” You gasp now, as he’s licking his lower lip, eyes traveling up your body.

“I’ll smack you!” You whisper, turning and leaning close, while his hand now comes to rest on your waist, feeling far, far too good.

“It’s a compliment, Pookie, relax.”

“I’m not your ‘Pookie’ and-” He pinches your ass now, earning his smack, but this time he dodges, before casually strolling up the stairs, hands in his pockets, as you’re fuming and stomping along next to him.

“You’re a brat.”

“A brat!?”

“Never could take a compliment for shit.”

“A big ass isn’t-”

“There you two are!” Your parents wave you two over then, and Satoru puts an arm around you with ease, waving and grinning, hand precariously close to the ass that has driven him insane since the first day of college.

“Hey guys!” You greet, grinning but whispering through your teeth. “I’m gonna kick your ass later.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time now.”

“Gojo! What a… surprise.” Your mom looks at you curiously, you haven’t told them yet, but surely seeing you with Satoru Gojo was a shock. He smiles with ease, taking her hand and kissing it with a wink, as if he’s a gentleman and not someone who just pinched your ass.

“Hey there, Gojo.” Your dad says now, shaking his hand, and you both sit across from them, as the pretty waitress flirts right with Satoru, he ignores her and has an arm draped around your waist.

He plays a very good boyfriend.

Maybe his arm feels a little too good?

Pregnancy hormones, surely.

“You don’t want mimosas?” Your mom asks curiously then, as the waitress offers the bottomless special, you shake your head, and Satoru’s blue eyes assess you carefully, your hand flitting to your stomach.

You already were sacrificing, sure it’s just drinks, but he’d gotten blitzed the fuck out last night, something about that feels off to him. He can’t pinpoint or place it, when you take his hand in yours, it feels too good, your warm hand so tiny compared to his own huge hands, he falters for a moment, mind all over the place until he sees the shock on your parents faces.

Oh shit.

You just told them!

“Pregnant!?” Your mom says far too loudly, and you see the curiosity of those around you, shushing her then. “What!? How?”

“You wanna know how? Take a guess mom.” Your eyes narrow, and then your mom sighs, as your dad still blinks in shock.

“With… Gojo?” Her assessment turns to Satoru then, who’s gulping down his own icy drink, some rainbow frozen concoction, so fast his head hurts, he holds it then, whimpering.

“Brain freeze, ouchie!” He’s screaming out, earning more looks, as your mom turns back to you, watching the six foot four man waving his arms like he’s caught on fire, a question on her lips.

“Him though? Honey…” You sigh then, standing up and cupping Satoru’s face then.

“Open up.” He opens his mouth now, as you press your thumb against the roof of his mouth, to the avid attention of the entirety of the rooftop now, when Gojo sighs in relief, blue eyes fluttering open, meeting yours.

“S’better!” He mumbles, you laugh then, you can’t help it, damn him if he’s not amusing and… freaking cute, pouting like a puppy around your finger.

“It’s a trick I learned.” He’s tempted to suck on your finger then, so much he kind of does, making you heat up, pulling back and wiping his drool off your dress, as you both sit back down, and your parents look at each other.

“Oh.” They both say then, making the two of you blink in confusion.

“Oh what?” You ask.

“I guess I see it now.” Your dad’s words fill you both with confusion, but you have to admit, it works in your favor, too.

“Yes we are… together.” You say softly, scooching your chair a little closer, when Satoru’s hand rests on your thigh, burning your skin with the contact.

Pregnancy hormones, right?

Nothing else… yeah?

“We are, and she’d like to keep it.” Gojo’s soft words surprise you, making you meet his gaze, wondering then- “Gonna be a Satoru junior!”

“Satoru junior!? What if it’s a girl?”

“Still Satoru. Oh wait, Satoruette.”

“Oh god,we are not naming it Satoruette!”

Your parents laugh then, and the tension eases, soon your dad is talking to Satoru, and they’re speaking on sports, of course Satoru was also a star basketball player, amongst everything else. That’s one area you never were not missing too much, you cheered of course but it was not really your passion, also every game seemed to be some argument between you two.

“Are you sure about this, kids are a big responsibility, especially financially.” Your mom’s words hit you hard, you know that of course, and don’t take it lightly. “We can help some but things are a little tight-”

“No mom, no. This isn’t for that, though you can totally buy them some cute little toys or clothes if you want.” Her eyes get misty, as your hands join over the table. “This is just to tell you. I can do this mom.”

“But honey, your career…”

“I can do it. I know I can.” She sighs now, leaning over and brushing your cheek, Satoru watches the affection then and hears her words.

“Then I’m proud of you, I always am.”

God, what would Satoru do if he heard those words?

His parents barely gave him affection growing up, always on this island or this cruise, this country or that destination, never acknowledging how hard Satoru worked, just informing him of his duty. Taking over the business, college was useless to a family like the Gojos, maybe a nice decoration for that sky high office building just waiting with his name on it.

No straight A’s, no winning games, nothing got one tenth of the affection you just got for something that’s essentially not the best thing at your age. No, your mom is proud of you, and he watches your tears flow down your cheeks, realizing he’s seen you cry a few times now, but never in four years, while you’re smiling tremulously at her.

“Thank you mom. I needed that.” You’re on her side of the table, hugging, as your dad clears his throat a bit.

“Gonna make an honest woman out of her?”

“Dad! Satoru, don’t listen. Old fashioned man.” You tease, wiping off your cheeks and smiling so brightly, the sun hits your skin, skin that’s just glowing, and it makes his breath catch for a moment.

You’re beautiful.

He always knew you were banging hot, a little pretty brat, but he never realized until that moment, with everything glowing about you, that you’re beautiful too, an inner beauty that makes his fogged brain clear for just a moment. The crush he’d had for so long suddenly shifts into something more, even moreso than after the night you two shared that led to this moment.

“Are you okay, they’re a little extra.” He notices you’re right then, looking over to your parents and shaking his head.

“They’re great actually.” The sincerity in his voice hits deeply, you smile over at your parents, then back at him.

“They are, huh?” You grin, so clearly devoted to your family.

How must that feel to be?

So loved.

“So… dinner in a few hours with your parents, right? Should I dress a certain way?” Satoru’s demeanor shifts, you frown a bit at it, touching his shoulder. “You okay, this is a lot.”

“I’m fine.” He needs another hit of that blunt or ten before he deals with his parents, however.

“Are you gonna continue basketball, Gojo?” Your dad asks, Satoru sighs, frowning and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t.” His words make you sick as you’re struggling to just keep water down, have you already fucked his dreams up?

“The baby…”

“No, no.” His hand sits on yours with far too much ease, like it’s been there in that spot for as long as you can remember, squeezing it. “Nothing to do with that. The family business.”

“Oh… I’m sorry, you were amazing though.” He smirks just a bit at that, you sure would never have said that back then.

“Ya think so?” You nod then.

“I was a shitty cheerleader.” He smiles.

“You were.”

“Hey!” You shove him playful\y, as the food is brought out, Satoru has ordered an obscene amount of food, already digging in. “Remember nationals?”

“Oh god yeah.”

Three years ago

Satoru and the team had almost won nationals already, and you and the cheerleading squad are on the sidelines, about to head into the center of the loud basketball court, the rubber of your cheer sneakers sliding just so, squeaky over the floor as you all prepare. Satoru has a bunch of girls all over him, snapping selfies, as he’d already secured their guarantee, so of course he was the MVP of the team.

You watched him avidly, how good he was, not that you’d admit it, especially as your fists go to your hips, preparing for the routine, and Satoru’s chuckling just a bit at you, smug expression on his stupid pretty face. You can’t stand him then, when he cups his hands over his face, shouting your name.

“You can do it.” He’s mocking, one thing you were not good at was fucking cheerleading. You couldn’t flip for shit and were afraid of heights, this was a terrible combination.

Some people laugh, as your friends pat your back, encouraging you. When the routine begins, and you’re up in the air, standing stiff, you panic, the room starts spinning damn near. You feel yourself lose balance, falling in front of a court with thousands of people watching.

And one loudly laughing.

You can’t cry, you can’t cry.

You brush off the helpful hands of your friends, hopping up and immediately regretting it, your entire body aches, and you see a bruise already forming along your knee, scraped up and dripping blood.

And he laughed at you.

God you can’t stand him.

You limp off when Satoru sobers up, seeing you’re clearly hurt, and runs towards you, pausing you before you run right out of there. “Funny, huh? You get a good laugh at me?”

You glare at him, eyes watery then, and he falters, instantly feeling terrible, he didn’t think you hurt yourself, and the fall was comical. It’s what you both did, make fun of each other, laugh and point when one of you fucked up, but even the side of your face has a blossoming bruise, which he touches, earning your trembling lip.

He’s never seen you cry.

“Are you crying?”

“Really, came here to mock me even now!?”

“No I…”

“I am not crying, and I’ll be fine. I quit.” You’re limping off, even when Satoru’s hands hit your waist, feeling far too good.

You shove it down, shove it all down.

“You quit, competitive ass no way.”

“I do.”

“C-can I carry you, to get it checked? The doc is here-”

“Carry me, what kind of joke is that, to make you look even better? The basketball court is full of quiet murmurs, many worried about you, and cooes of how sweet Satoru is. His blue eyes light up with fire as they narrow.

“You think I am asking to help so I look good.”

“You always care how you look. And you look perfect, you have the perfect life, and here I am - falling in front of a room - to you fucking laughing. I’m good.” You pull back from him, wincing in pain as your knee is swelling even more.

“You’re being a stubborn brat, you have to get checked. What if you-”

“Tell them I quit, if you wanna do anything for me. You won’t have to see me as often either, works out.”

“I…”

“Congrats on the win, I’m sure.” He watches you limp away, your friends running after you, eventually he walks back, your face haunting him.

Maybe if he didn’t taunt you?

Maybe if he didn’t laugh…

You clearly got hurt, thrown off maybe because of him, and he’s just left there, quietly informing the team you quit. When he’s back to his team, even they look at him a little seriously, his coach coming to tell him about sportsmanship, and how he shouldn’t laugh like that.

Satoru tried to apologize the next time he saw you, but instead of the banter, with your leg wrapped up, you turned and said nothing to him.

Shit he fucked up.

*****

Present Day

You are walking Satoru to his car, as you both have a few hours to go, while his mind whirls with regret, with memories of you. You had brought up nationals as a joke at how bad you were, but all it did was make him remember just how fucking horrible he was to you.

“What’s wrong, intense huh?” You look at him with concern he doesn’t really deserve, your dress blowing just a bit, earning you clutching some of the thin material in a fist.

“I was an ass that day. Nationals.” You look down now, taking a little breath, shaking your head.

“It probably looked funny-”

“No. I was an ass. I’m… sorry.” Your pretty face is frozen in shock, mouth wide open while you try to comprehend his words.

“You’re apologizing for something like that?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh…” You both stand there for a bit, when you remember how upset you were, god you two didn’t talk for months, a gnawing feeling growing.

Do you know him truly?

“Thank you for that. But, it’s the past, we shouldn’t dwell.” Your hand is soft on his shoulder.

“Pregnancy making you a mush.”

“Says you, apologizing for your past, like some Eboneezer Scrooge.”

“Pshh.” You both laugh a bit, before you clear your throat, dispelling some of the tension between the two of you.

“I’ll see you soon, Satoru.”

“Sounds good.”

Doesn’t sound good, his parents are not something he wants having you scrutinized, the cozy vibes of today will be long, long gone, he already knows.

******

“Holy shit… you’re… rich rich.” Satoru snorts, rolling his eyes as you two use the brass lion knocker that evening, twilight making the sky a myriad of purples and pinks, casting the softest glow.

“Yeah, the ‘richest in the state’.” He finds it all far too pretentious, but you can’t help but feel a mixture of intimidation, and awe, the high iron gates and gorgeous mansion in front of you, in the prettiest white with light blue there was, as if it was molded for Satoru’s color.

Could anything replicate his eye color?

Why are you thinking that way!?

“Are they alright with this?” You ask quietly, hearing the footsteps head towards the door, ever so slowly.

“They are… well you’ll see.” The tone, while he’s still blitzed the fuck out clearly, perhaps more, is dark for a simple dinner. “I already told them.”

“Oh… you did?”

“Yeah, when I found out, trust me, throwing you to the wolves is an understatement of my parents.” The door opens, after an uncomfortable long moment, the butler opens it and bows at his waist.

“Master Gojo, come come.” He claps his hands, nose literally up in the air like some damn commercial for ‘grey poupon’ or some shit. Satoru’s family home is even more beautiful on the interior, floors polished to a glassy sheen, white marble of course, along with dual winding steps, in crushed white velvet with mahogany rails.

Everything in here is impeccable, sparkling, chandeliers over head with the insanely high ceilings, you tilt your head back, to see the intricate work decorating it, swirls of gold and blue, like you’d see in old royalty. It doesn’t fit a damn LA home, as rich as the area is, no it’s damn near Versailles.

You swallow down a sudden lump of anxiety, when Satoru’s hand squeezes yours, gently, and you look at him. His eyes are slightly glazed, his jaw is tight, his grip reassuring, but the way he looks around, like he himself is uncomfortable in his own home, makes you realize how much he truly hates this place.

You never considered someone so privileged could feel this way, his utter disgust is clear as day. “I know, it’s overboard.”

“No, I mean it’s beautiful…” Your words trail off, because the butler has already led you to the dining hall, where a table so long it could fit fifty people is set for the four of you. You spot his mother and father at the end of the table, their expressions unreadable, but you know they’re sizing you up.

The chandeliers are dimmer here, the walls lined with paintings that belong in a damn art gallery, including a giant painting of Gojo, his father and you’re assuming his grandfather, so giant they take over the entire room. The atmosphere is so thick with tension in the air that you could feel your lungs crave fresh air.

Is this where he grew up?

The smell of surely a five star meal wafts over to you, but your stomach feels like it’s in knots, when you see the elaborate display, and you see Satoru’s mother. She’s got long silky white locks, but dark eyes, elegant and beautiful as she stands up, while his father has the exact shade of blue, Satoru is clearly the perfect mix of the two gorgeous people.

“Ah, Satoru, and you…” She addresses your name, a cold smile as she gestures for you to sit. “Come have dinner.”

“Pleased to meet you all, thank you.” You say politely, even as this feeling of being… in some petri dish under a microscope takes over. Satoru’s plopping down, making his father’s brows lower.

“Can’t pull out her seat?” He demands, and Satoru sighs, but you’re already sitting down.

“This looks so delicious, thank you.” You try to ease the tension, while you all follow into polite, menial conversation, their words feel practiced and hollow.

You think of your upbringing, a little cozy home, far from rich or fancy, but your mom cooked every night. And that little old kitchen table they still have, the one long past its prime, was filled with laughter, tears, or sometimes even lively debates between the three of you.

Not this.

“So, let’s cut to it.” You hear, while you’re nibbling on a bite of probably the best filet mignon you’ve had, but your fork clatters to your plate at his father’s words.

“Really, couldn’t give it twenty minutes?” Satoru’s words are icy cold.

You tense as you sit at the table, scrutinized to a tee, his mother and father’s eyes cooly assessing you up and down. “You have an amazing degree, lots of community activism, some sports it seems.”

“You… researched me?” You ask, his father shrugs.

“Of course we did, we need to know if you’re good stock.”

You nearly spit out your drink, Satoru’s jaw tenses so much you see a thin blue vein popping out from his jaw, pulsing under that skin. “She’s not an animal, the fuck you mean good stock. Are we breeding corgis?”

“You know what he meant.” His mom says, dabbing a handkerchief on her lips and sighing, leaning back to look at you. “She’s beautiful, and clearly intelligent, no record ever, unlike your long one.”

“Whatever a couple charges. And… so what, then she’s okay for your standard then?” Gojo says with a glare, as you heat up in embarrassment.

“She seems like she may be good quality, though her family isn’t exactly up to par.” You throw down your napkin then, standing, and Satoru curses, knowing you sure weren’t letting that slip. He murmurs your name, but you’re far gone.

“My parents are the best there are in the world.”

“They’re poor.”

“Poor!? They aren’t on the streets, they live in a fucking superb.”

“Bad language, check that off.” His mom murmurs, and Satoru blinks at their audacity, watching as his former rival - was it former? - fire sign brat - about to go unhinged, was so enjoyable his lips twitch in humor.

“Is there a checklist you’re keeping for me?” You demand, they look at Satoru then.

“She seems angry, is that usual?” His mom asks, earning Satoru’s smirk.

“She’s fiery is all.”

“Talk to me like I’m a person, stop acting like I’m a picture, someone who fits your son in your eyes.” They both falter a bit, watching while you’re crossing your arms now, he hears your heels click on the floor, echoing while he can clearly see the fury raging on your pretty face.

“We don’t disapprove.” His father says then, making you pause, as well as Satoru for a moment. “She… sorry, you seem like you have your life together. Squeaky clean, dean’s list, high up journalism opportunity. We are supportive of the two of you getting married.”

“Married!?” The two of you shout at once, you plop back down in your seat in shock, sipping water while they look at each other, then the two of you.

“Of course you’ll get married, the sooner the better before-”

“It’s not 1810, we won’t be getting married.” Satoru cuts in. “In the future perhaps, but it’s common for people to not marry.”

“That’s unacceptable for your position, and you know it. What sort of scandal would that cause?”

“Scandal this, image that, fuck it.” Satoru downs the glass of wine in front of him, shaking his head now as he answers his mother. “I’ll take care of the baby, but we aren’t getting married for your image.”

“I highly encourage you to change your mind, a marriage and baby would look good for the corporation.” Satoru rolls his eyes at his father’s words.

“Everything for the image, huh?” He smiles sadly, eyes hollow, and you realize then and there that you’ve never really known a damn thing about Satoru Gojo.

You pictured it, the rich boy he was, flaunting his wealth in shirts worth your bills for the month, how cocky and conceited he seemed, how foolish. But now it all starts clicking together like little puzzle pieces you can finally press together. How could he handle parents like this?

“We will help support the heir, regardless.” His mother says, a little softer, you watch as Satoru stands then, hands gripping the table tightly.

“I don’t need help, and we are not royalty, as close as you think we are, don’t call it the ‘heir’ please. I think I’m… full though. You?” He holds out a hand and you nod, placing yours in his, while his parents stand across the elegant banquet table as well, stiff and stuck up… and just cold.

“Satoru, we aren’t displeased you’re having the child, just the way you’re going about it. It’s uncouth.” His father’s words make him squeeze the fuck out of your hand, while he pulls you to stand.

“Uncouth huh?”

“You’re uncouth all together, you always are. When you’re supposed to be the pride of the family.” You glare now, yanking Satoru around, until you stand directly in front of his parents.

“Guess what, I’m proud of him, even if you aren’t, okay?” They gasp at your audacity, but Satoru just blinks, staring at you.

“You’re a mouthy little girl, aren’t you?” You laugh then, right at his mother, shaking your head.

“You’re going to be grandparents, you should focus on becoming good ones, huh? Not financially, either. Focus on being someone we can feel good about you being in their lives, about the coming over.”

“Well, we won’t watch the baby. We could pay for a nanny-”

“No.” You cut his mother off again. “All due respect Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you need to get it together if you want to be in this baby’s life. No nannies, no being uppity, you need to support your son, okay?”

“We-”

“No, I mean really support him. He got straight A’s, he was a star basketball player, leader of his fraternity, now he’s stepping up to care for his baby. What more did you need to be proud of!?”

Satoru speaks your name again, tugging at you, while his parents frown then, staring at each other. “We should go.”

“Thank you for dinner, Mr. and Mrs Gojo. I hope I can see you all again.” You say now, holding out your hand, firmly shaking each of theirs, before you let Satoru pull you away, steps echoing through the elegant halls on those marble floors. Pretentious statues staring at you both the whole way, you can feel him, seething. “Shit, I said too much, I’m sorry…”

“Will you stop?” He’s pulled you past the door man now, until the two of you are finally outside, so he can breathe.

“How do you even handle them?” Your question makes Satoru laugh, without humor, while you all stand in front of the Gojo mansion, the night breeze swirling around the two of you, the moon so full and bright it’s illuminating his perfect skin.

“How do I handle them…” He’s shrugging a broad shoulder now, as the two of you wait for the car to arrive. “I didn’t have to very often, they weren’t around.”

“No wonder you…”

“No wonder I what?” He whispers, raising a thin brow now, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“I shouldn’t say anything.”

“No, when have you ever held back, hmm little preppy ass brat?” It’s your turn to glare, crossing your arms.

“I wasn’t attacking you here, I was trying to be understanding, to… just try to get you, okay?”

“Why, do ya feel bad for me?”

“No!” You do though, shit. You feel horrible that those are his parents, not that they are cruel, they don’t care about him as anything other than a figurehead.

“Don’t feel bad, I have everything I ever wanted, right?” He uses your own words in the past against you, making you falter, blinking rapidly. “What’s that display, though, playing a girlfriend so well?”

“What display?”

“That you’re ‘proud of me’ or whatever.” He’s mumbling now, looking away from you, making the clenching in your tummy worse. “That’s feeling sorry.”

“That’s defending you, okay?” His eyes catch yours, more feelings than you ever expected to see from Satoru Gojo, eyes that were arrogant were swirling with more emotions than you could fathom.

“I don’t need you to.” You scoff now, shaking your head, biting on a lower lip he’s dying to kiss, a mouth he wants to devour, with every puff of breath in the cool night, he sees goosebumps along your shoulders and arms. He should offer you his fucking jacket, he should…

You’re touching his face, hand cool on his heated cheek, as you glare right up at him, making him ache to pull you against him. “If we are going to raise a baby together, we need to do a lot better than them. And we can do better, okay? I know you can.”

Satoru exhales at your words, blinking back emotions. “How do you know?”

“I just know, you’ll be more involved, you’re not like them, alright? You’re arrogant, you annoy me, you're a perverted little shit.” He laughs a bit, softly now, big hand wrapping your delicate wrist, easing off his face, but not letting it go. “But you’re not them, you’re just… Satoru.”

“Shit.” He pulls you against his hard chest, making you both falter, your own eyes darting to his lips, far too close when he leans down.

If he kisses you, you’ll melt.

“Say something dumb or pervy.” You whisper, he grins now, shaking his head, while his hand slips down your waist.

“There’s been one thing on my mind looking at you-” The car pulls up now, and he clears his throat, hands slipping down your cool arms. “Time for you to go home. Do you want me to ride with you?”

You nod then, sliding into the back of the black car with him, as he sends the address to the driver’s gps, leaning back, arm over the seat, so close to you, his long legs spread wide, brushing on your still chilled skin. You feel the warmth of him, as you fall into an uncomfortable silence, you can’t stop wondering about him, the boy you thought you knew.

You turn your head to find him staring right at you, openly, not the ogling stare of before, no it was so different. Contemplative, studying, heating you up everywhere it touches like his hands themselves are touching you, burning a trail everywhere they land, in the quiet dark of the car.

“What is it?” You murmur, biting back a moan when his hand touches your thigh, feeling so good you almost fail at concealing it.

“Beautiful, that’s what I’ve thought all day.” Your cheeks heat up, you look away then, words you’d never expect Satoru to say.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful. Okay?” His fingers brush your hair back, off your collarbone, trailing them across it then, as your chest rises and falls with every breath. “I can’t stop thinking about it, shit I always knew you’re drop dead gorgeous, but I guess today is the first moment I thought it.”

“You can’t-”

“I do mean it. Glowing, fuck.” He’s too close then, and you’re gulping, throat suddenly dry, inhaling that hundred dollar a spray cologne, intoxicating as it fills your senses.

“Satoru…” He’s exhaling, breath hot against your lips, lips you’ve bitten to death in attempts to hold back, what’s glimmering to the surface.

“We hate each other, I don’t want that, not for this baby.”

You blink rapidly, your own hand slipping up his chest, feeling his heart race as it does. “I don’t want it either. I want them to have loving parents, even if we’re not together.”

Together.

Satoru’s never dated, he’s had women in and out of his bed since he turned eighteen, sometimes multiple girls in one night, chasing some feeling that he has never gotten, except with you. But even after that night, he never contemplated it, dating someone, being with them, was he worthy of that, especially with you? He couldn’t even give you his jacket.

Suddenly he takes it off, making you giggle when he wraps you with it. “It’s not cold inside the car, silly.”

“I suck, I’m an idiot and… I am not a gentleman, at all.”

“Satoru…” He shakes his head as you cut him off.

“No, it’s true. I was fucked up before an important day for us, and I couldn’t even give you my jacket tonight when I saw you freezing.” You pull it closer, when he’s brushing a hand under it, right on your waist, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re doing fine all things considered, I wasn’t kidding. I am proud that you stepped up, it means a lot to me, okay?”

“Don’t be so nice.” You glare, making him moan softly at how sexy you always are when you do.

“You’re being nice, too.”

“I know. Everything I’m thinking, though baby?” He’s got his other hand entangled in your hair, and you can’t stop the soft cry from escaping your lips. “It's filthy.”

“Filthy, huh?” Your voice is just a breathy whisper, he can't stop thinking just how cute you are.

“You can’t begin to imagine what I’m thinking. Seeing these rock hard all fucking day, so full already.” He’s gripping your tits then, squishing one in his palm, and a thumb brushing over it, making your hips roll, pressing your eager cunt against the seat, dying for the friction, while he’s so close you can taste him. “They want to get sucked on, don’t they sweetheart?”

You nod wordlessly, earning Satoru’s moan as he presses you down on the seat then, his own jacket falling under you, hand pushing down your dress, revealing your pretty breasts to his view. You gasp when he brushes his thumb on them, bare, lowering his snowy head, and you’re frozen there, trying to remember all the years you hated him, he hated you.

Why can’t you think of anything but how bad you want him?

“Shouldn’t I take care of you, too? Don’t you ache baby?” He’s murmuring, mouth hovering, as he just barely brushes his lips on them.

“S-sensitive…” He presses another kiss, and your hands entangle in his silky locks, cunt so wet it’s making your panties sticky.

“Sensitive, then do you want me to make them feel good?”

“Should we… ah!” He’s lapping at your nipple with his talented tongue, swirling your nipple, and your moan fills the car, to the point you’re sure poor Kiyotaka could hear you, making you slam a hand on your mouth. Satoru chuckles, little shit that he is, lapping at the other one.

“You want it so bad, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” He sucks your nipple into his hot mouth, you can’t stand just how good it feels, your hand entangling in his locks, pulling him off, as your chest heaves with your labored breaths, and he hovers an inch above you.

“Is it just… sex then? Do we just have amazing sex?” He smirks now.

“It was amazing? That’s the first I heard.”

“You know it was, arrogant ass. For me I mean.”

You falter a bit, you’re sure Satoru’s more experienced, you’ve watched him have more girls on him at once than men you’ve known. Satoru sees your hesitance, pressing a kiss on your lower lip now, nipping it slowly with his teeth, unleashing the heat in your core, until you’re throbbing with need.

“You felt so good wrapped around me.” You whine out at that, as he presses kisses to each corner of your mouth, gripping your breast again, heavy weight over you, his words and caresses making you pulse now. “Felt you cumming, so tight, think I don’t wanna be back inside you?”

“Shit… this is insane.” You’re shaking your head, when he kisses down your neck, back arching up for more. “If we are going to… we’d have to be exclusive, for the safety of the baby. So you really better think about this. At least while I’m pregnant.”

As if Satoru had been with anyone since you.

“I wouldn’t put the baby at risk.” Your eyes lock, noses brushing against each other, while he touches your tummy, feeling the slight roundness just barely already, making him lose his mind.

“While I’m pregnant I mean… if you do want anyone else and want this to stop… just tell me so I know?” He nods, unable to say the words, that he just wants you.

“Guess what?” His husky voice resonates in your ears, like he’s speaking to your pussy directly.

“W-what?”

“I can cum so deep inside your tight little cunt, all you want. ” His words fuck your brain, what was left of it, his fingers brushing on your slick heat now. “Fuck, you’re soaked, you like that thought huh.”

“It’s just hormones, mnh!” He’s laughing at your attempt.

“Hormones hmm?” You nod weakly, then cry out as he sinks two fingers in your pussy, pressing up in those gummy walls, that spot that has you weak, seeing fucking stars.

“Fuck you for hitting it so quick-ah!” He’s smirking as he watches you, the sounds of your squelching wetness filling his ears, making him feral.

“Wanna cum on my fingers or my mouth?” Your lips part, brows together, uncomprehending his words.

“Y-you eat girls out?” He chuckles then, curling his fingers up inside you just so, as your slick pools down his hand, already gripping him like a vise.

“Do I seem so selfish?” You take several shaky breaths, eyes rolling back as he hits some spot even you don’t know about, bringing you higher and higher. “Think I don’t wanna bury my face between your thighs?”

“It’s… intimate…”

“You’re cute.” He’s kissing lower, lower, your thighs trembling when the car comes to a stop, and Satoru’s fingers are coated in your slick when he pulls them out, dripping off his fingers, when he sucks on them, making your jaw drop. “Fuck you taste s’good.”

“Jesus, hormones and you are dangerous.” He’s smirking, when you sit up, biting on your lip once more. “Do you wanna come inside?”

“Cum inside that pussy?” You roll your eyes.

“Oh never mind…”

“No, no, no! I do!” He follows you out of the car, while your hands tremble, trying to unlock the door, you both barely get in before your lips are all over each other, you keep thinking, this is insane.

Insane.

It’s just the situation, why he’s ripping that dress off you, leaving you naked and bare to him completely in moments with practiced hands, moaning softly when he sees your body fully, that night he hadn’t seen all of you. His hands grip your hips then, yanking you up like it’s nothing, right into his arms. You cling to him, kissing him desperately, still fully clothed, while he presses you on the door.

“Fuck me, please.” Your desperate plea alone makes him leak precum, while he stares at your gorgeous frame.

“You’re begging me? Never thought I’d see the day, preppy little brat.” Your glare just makes him harder, as you shove at him now.

“Satoru!”

“You’re demanding pregnant, aren’t you?”

“Oh my god just… shut up please…” You slam your lips on his, grinding shamelessly against his belt, that hits your clit just so, making him drop that persona for just a minute, how sexy you are, how good you feel. “God just fuck me.”

“Room?” You point weakly as he carries you, and you’re thrown right on your bed, he stands up then, pulling off his dress shirt, revealing that perfect body, glowing slightly with the moonlight filtering through your blinds. You sit up, yanking on his belt with shaky hands, yanking his pants down and revealing how hard he already is under his boxers.

Your body violently responds when you see how much he wants you, for some reason that means more than it should, than two people making the best of such an insane situation, tugging his boxers down until his cock springs free. You’re lapping at his pretty blushed tip before he can think, eyes looking up at him from lowered lashes, making him whimper from just that.

Satoru whimpering triggers something in you yourself, you’re sucking his veiny length, as his hands entangle in your hair, his head falling back, abdomen flexing while you take him deeper. “B-baby, fuck… taking it that good, huh?”

He’s mad you’ve ever done it.

He’s mad anyone’s even seen your eyes at this angle. God he can’t stop thinking how pretty they are, even as his cock throbs inside your hot mouth, and you suck him so fucking hungry. He can’t stop thinking of how gorgeous you are, how he’s not sure he even deserves this from you, like he’s in some fucking dream, sweet thoughts mixing with the wet sounds of you sucking him up.

He’s feeling the suction, your hot wet mouth so eager, when you touch your throbbing, needy clit, running it in circles, while you sit there serving him, feeling him lose it with every stroke. His eyes flutter shut for a moment as he fucks into your tight throat, feeling so good when his tip brushes the roof of your mouth, leaking pearly pre cum.

“Fuck, you’re so hungry for it, aren’t you?” You pull back with a pop now, when he swipes the drool off your chin, and your hand strokes him, earning another sweet little whimper.

“Shh. Just fuck me.” You whisper, pulling back and turning, on all fours with that sexy ass in the air. He pauses, dying to fuck you, but dying to taste you more, you gasp when Satoru flips you on your back, and you blush in the dark room. “Don’t you wanna…”

“I said I was eating you out. Gonna deny me the meal? Ya that mean?” You’re stammering as he kisses down your tummy, shoving your thighs apart, lapping a stripe up your slit, you’re pulling his hair so hard it hurts, screaming out, just making his cock throb harder.

“Toru I haven’t had anyone… do that…” He pulls back now, and your hands ease, when he sees something he never saw in you before, the confident, feisty little brat that you are.

You’re nervous.

He eases up a bit, resting on his elbows, pressing kisses against your inner thighs as he inhales you, god you smell even better than before, taste even better than he remembers. “I love to do it, if you want.”

You exhale in relief, nodding shyly then, another thing he wouldn’t associate with you- shy. The girl who just ripped down his pants, sucking him like a pro, is nervous to get pleased this way. “I want it, fuck I want it bad. Just a little… you’re seeing all of me, like all.”

“I am seeing so much of this pretty pussy.” He presses a kiss higher up, breath ghosting your sensitive clit when he parts your lips, watching arousal drool out of your cunt. “Prettiest, actually.”

“N-no…”

“Mmhmm.” He licks you again, and something far too intimate forms, when Satoru Gojo is buried between your thighs, worshipping you with his talented tongue in long, slow strokes. “Fuck you’re so wet…”

“Hormones?” He just grins, you feel his teeth against your pussy, when your body relaxes for him, when you spread your thighs, letting him see you, while he presses his cock against the mattress.

“Hormones.” He slips his tongue up to your clit then, and you don’t hold back anymore, a few more strokes and you’re grinding on his face, making his groan vibrate against your sensitive clit. “Mmm…”

“There, there oh my god!” Did Satoru Gojo have to be the best at everything? Did he have to ruin you when his blue eyes watch your face contort in pleasure?

“There you go, you like it right… here.” Satoru slips two fingers in your slutty little hole, pressing up as he flicks his tongue, and you’re clinging to him now, while he works you with a tongue far too talented, you’re instantly jealous of every girl that’s had Satoru like this.

Wild thoughts, stop that.

“Loosen up, just feel it sweetheart.” He says now, feeling you tense around him, and you nod then, eyes rolling back when he fucks those fingers into you, scissoring them in and out, while flicking his tongue right on your clit, twitching in response. “Let go f’me, huh pretty?”

“Mnh!” You shatter at his urging, his mouth, his teeth, tongue, all of it merging and destroying your surroundings, you’re cumming so intense you cannot see anymore, and Satoru’s eagerly drinking you up. “Satoru!”

“Mmm…” He’s lapping all the wetness that’s gushing out of you, fingers easing out to grip your hips, while your thighs tighten on either side of his head. “That’s it, so greedy f’me, want more?”

“Please!” You’re fucking his face now, god he can’t get enough, burying his face against you, shaking his head side to side, while you’re so sensitive the next orgasm comes so quickly, you’re yanking him up, kissing his lips and reaching down, stroking his cock once more, watching snowy lashes flutter.

“God, you’re so ready aren’t you?” You just nod, and when Satoru presses his tip past that tight ring of muscles, sinking deeper, it’s even more intense.

You’re fully sober this time, with swirling blue eyes looking right at you, as he slides in your tight cunt, which struggles to take him at first, even after so much play, Satoru is huge, certainly bigger than you’re used to. You grip his shoulders, manicured nails pressing in, when he rocks his hips just so, kissing your lips, letting your taste mix between the two of you.

“God you’re so wet, fuck…” He’s enamored by you, lifting a thigh then, pulling back and jerking his hips so he’s shoved deeper, your cry drank by his eager lips, that can’t rip themselves from yours.

How is he supposed to ever be with someone now?

You feel like heaven, he won’t say that corny shit, but it’s all he can describe it to, watching your pretty face as he fucks into you slowly, and both of you freeze for just a moment. He grips your hand in his, entwining his fingers as he lays it over your head, your heart races as your pussy struggles to take more, greedy for his every stretch, every stroke.

“S’good I… ah- please, more!” You’re begging him, shameless as you do, when he slams his cock in deep, tip kissing your cervix, your head falls back, his lips devouring your neck while he bends over you.

“Taking this cock like you’re made for it.” Satoru hears your cunt sucking him in, so wet it’s squishing loudly, mixing with the slapping of your skin, as he starts to go faster, watching your eyes nearly black as they dilate. “There you go, look at you. So greedy.”

“Ngh…” You can’t form words anymore, not when he feels better than that night, not when he’s fucking every thought, worry and woe away, you can’t even remember what brought you here. You can’t remember anything, think of anything but his cock, slamming deeper and deeper, his tip dragging on that spot now on your walls. “There, there!”

“You’re so bossy, what a brat.” You can’t scowl, but he knows you wish you could, as he grins down and does just that, eyes hungry while they watch you falling apart under him, pulling back then, groaning as he watches his cock bulging your tummy, making him more sensitive inside you. “Look, so fucking hot, I’m so big in you, aren’t I baby?”

“C-conceited… mmm, y-yes…” He turns your chin, making you blush, where you watch his shape inside you.

“Gotta see this while we can, gonna be so round soon.” His words should bother you, but they don’t. He’s imagining it with you, and it takes him over. “I’ll be easier then with you.”

“Gonna take it e-easy?” You’ve got your thighs up high now, Satoru watches your little hole swallowing him, cock coated in your slick, so wet it’s dripping down his balls, that smack against your ass, harder and deeper now.

“Well I won’t be able to do this.” He’s folding you in half, leaning over you to cup your face with huge hands, slamming deeper than you’ve ever felt, so deep it damn near hurts, but you’re craving it, dying for it, hands gripping his shoulders helplessly while you lose yourself in his eyes.

Insane blue, pupils shrunk to pinpoints, while he hovers over you, breaths mingling together in the night, you’re folded so in half your knees damn near touch the bed. “So d-deep…”

“You can take it, like a good girl. Slutty pussy, listen to her.” You’re too fucked out to get offended, let him call it a slutty pussy, it’s what it was, after all.

“Ngh- Close, close.” He’s slamming his cock harder, tempo increasing as she soaks him so much he almost slips out, only for you to whine desperately, nails leaving crescent moons against his arms, he hisses in pain and pleasure, kissing you deeply, tongues dripping, messy and desperate.

“Fuck…” He’s close, he realizes, a man who could go forever, you’ve already cum, but he wants you cumming over and over until you’re a sobbing, pretty little mess for him, but you feel far too fucking perfect wrapped around him. “Want to cum with me? Want me to fill your slutty hole?”

His dirty words just make your walls flutter, earning his soft whine, right against your ear, his hands gripping your waist bruisingly. You nod weakly, whispering in his ear now - ‘Cum in me’

“Oh god, fuck yes. Want all my cum, don’t you?” You look up, intoxicated by him, losing your mind completely while he’s working you, pulling back to press on your thighs, feral grin spreading across his pretty face. “You’ll take it so fucking good like this.”

“Satoru!” You scream when he thrusts his hips just so, slamming that cervix, forcing you to cum again, to the point your ears are ringing, body on fire for him, every memory of you both thrown out the damn window.

“Beg for it.”

“No!”

“Beg.” He’s smirking, and you shake your head, clenching around him and watching him lose control, his cheeks flushed, lips parted in a gasp.

“You beg to cum in me.”

“No.” You both laugh, then the motion itself brings Satoru to the edge, tightening impossibly around him. “Fuck it, please, let me fill this pussy.”

“You really begged I- ah!” He’s glaring, slamming his cock deep, stuffing your cunt so full.

“That’s it, milk me huh?” You’re too far out, your pussy is milking him with your aftershocks, when he’s pumping you with those hot white ropes, endless sticky, gooey cum. You’re so full from it coating your walls, warm and hot and perfect, all the way even in your tummy. “There you go, taking s’much fuckin cum.”

“S’much I… Satoru.” His cum alone has you addicted, he pulls back now, watching his cock slowly pumping cum in and out of your hole, watching the way it trickles down his huge cock, glistening and mixing with you.

“You took me so well.” His praise is too much, it’s all too much, while Satoru eases back, on his elbows, hovering just so. “God you’re fucking pretty like this, so fucked out.”

You bury your face. “Am not fucked out.”

“No, need more?”

“I’m… we…”

“That’s what I thought.” He eases back, pulling away fully, seeing the mess of both of your fluids fall over the bed, pulling your pussy lips apart, watching it all pour out, drip by drip. “How is this little thing gonna push something out?”

“They stretch silly!”

“Well, clearly, took me so good.” He’s fingering the sticky cum, desperate and feral, cock glimmering from you, damn near ready to fuck into you again.

For a moment you both stare, Satoru’s scooping it out, before sucking on it, your breath is rapid at the motion, his cheeks hollowing, tilting your chin up. “Satoru you’re… a whole freak.”

“Open.” You tentatively do, allowing him to open mouth kiss you, his cum and yours in your mouth, but you crave it, so much you’re pulling him desperate. “You’re gonna be freaky just for me, aren’t you?”

“Shh.” He’s chuckling watching you drink up his cum, while you come down from your high, when he brushes your hair back, you struggle with just how much you feel, how badly you want more.

You’ve never felt anything like this.

How can you and Satoru have this?

“Um… is poor Kiyotaka waiting?” You manage to say softly, to diffuse the feelings threatening to bubble to the surface. Satoru rolls his pretty eyes.

“He gets paid good to wait!”

“Oh jesus. Let’s not keep him waiting forever.”

“Ya kicking me out? Rude. I had you cum how many times?” You giggle, that sound clutching him, pulling him by the goddamn heartstrings.

“I need sleep, and don’t you have a trip coming?”

“Shit… you remembered.”

“You all always took that trip.”

“What did you do during spring break?” He slips on his clothes, as you grab a robe, throwing it over yourself and wrapping it with a tie.

“Study.”

“Boring.” He eyes the books by your bed then, along with a fresh bag of hot cheetos, he laughs softly at that, touching the baby books curiously. “Cravings?”

“God yes, bad too.”

“I wonder… will you be showing more when I get back?” You heat up at his question, brushing back messy hair, while Satoru buttons up his shirt.

“Will that suck for you, physically?” He hears the worry, which seems ridiculous, fuck you’d just be sexier.

“Shit no. You’ll look hot.”

You’re fiddling with the ties of your robes now, his words and your wobbly leg a lethal combination. “You think?”

“Fuck yeah, milf and all.”

“Shit.” You pull him down, kissing him again, he’s gripping your terry cloth robe, yanking you to him, while the fan above you both serves no purpose, the both of you are so overheated. “Thank you, I needed it. All of it.”

“The dick is that good?”

“Psh, go on.” You turn him now, shoving him.

“I feel used!? I feel like a booty call! For a horny pregnant girl.”

“You got me pregnant, so.” You pinch his ass, he gasps, feigning upset, only making your smile brighter, your heart lighter.

Then you realize.

You’re gonna miss him, shit, a guy you couldn’t stand is starting to become… comfortable, enjoyable and clearly your body…

She’s a wreck for him.

“Satoru please if you want to be with someone else, let me know.” He is sucking you off his fingers as you speak, he turns and raises a brow.

“I would let you know. But… I think having you take all my cum? Pretty fucking elite.”

“A-plus?” Your lips twitch, and his white teeth glint.

“4.3 GPA pussy.”

You both laugh, and soon you’re standing by your door, trying to not think so much, to just let it be. So you both have fun, so you…

Fuck you already want him again, what’s that.

“If you masturbate thinking of me, video it would you?”

There he is.

Fuckboi Gojo isn’t gone, he just fucked your brains out.

“Oh god. No, go on.”

Satoru chuckles a bit, slipping on his coat now, as you both stand in the doorway, your mind rushing, feeling him trickle out of you, knowing this is batshit, knowing it’s just sex. Right, sex, that’s it… agreement, sex, some sort of understanding, that’s all that this was.

Don’t get too attached, don’t fall into his blue eyes.

“Thanks for today, though.”

“Thanks for the dick or-”

“Jesus do you stop?” You shove at him now, and he pulls you against him, far, far too close. “Thank you for being here.”

His jokes calm, as he sees it, how serious you are, so unsure when you look down, and he tilts your chin up. “Of course, I’ll be back for the next ultrasound, okay?”

“Okay.” You both stand there, kissing after sex, what’s it mean?

Don’t you hate each other?

“Gonna miss me, hmm?”

“No way.” You peck a kiss on his lips though, before you can stop yourself, leaving him blinking on the porch, when you get off your tiptoes, and turn to the door. “Be safe and don’t be late for it.”

You shut the door then, leaving him aching to go back inside, to be inside you, fuck he’d stay in your heat all the time if he could, fill you over and over until you’re so full of him you can’t take it. He pauses before he turns around, wondering then, should he go on this trip?

Should he just stay?

He shakes himself out of the spell you’ve cast, as his friends start texting him, wanting to know if he’ll be ready tomorrow, he texts them back, slipping in the back of the car, where Kiyotaka is taking a nap. Satoru leans forward, with a ‘boo’ damn near earning a smack as he wakes him up, the tired man panicking.

“Relax, you’re fine buddy.” He smacks his narrow shoulder, making Kiyotaka jerk just a bit, before exhaling.

“You were in there a long time, Mr. Gojo.” He says with yawn, focusing now, putting the car on with a purr of the engine.

“Yeah I was.”

“Not as long as most of your… escapades.” Satoru glares at him now, blue eyes narrowing as his driver clears his throat.

“Are you saying I busted quick, Ijichi?”

“Sir I-”

“Hah did you bust quick?” Satoru realizes somehow he has called Suguru, and hears Sukuna cackling in the background.

“Oh fuck you three, mmkay I lasted like a champ… kind of.”

“How long was he in there?” Sukuna asks, and Ijichi looks back at Gojo, who’s shaking his head and mouthing a plea.

“I was merely kidding, Mr. Gojo was in there so long I fell asleep.”

“Thank you, as I said.”

It wasn’t that quick was it?

You sure came enough for him, god he feels you all over his fingers, his mouth, you’re soaked into his goddamn taste buds- how could you think for a minute that he’d want anyone else? He knows his reputation, but how do you not know the level of obsession you send him to more and more every time he sees you, since he’s been inside of you twice.

This was more intimate.

His hand had gripped yours, he’d looked into your eyes as he lapped at your pretty pussy, you’d taken him so good, too. Your cries are echoing in his head as he realizes his friend is talking. “Huh?”

“Pussy that good? Share with your friends, hmm?” Satoru scoffs at Sukuna, rolling his eyes.

“You wish, I’m not telling you two shit.”

“So special? Are you down so bad?” Suguru teases, making Satoru’s jaw tense just a bit.

It was just your hormones, it’s the situation, it’s just sex.

Right?

Right… no.

No sex doesn’t do this to him, this is…What is it? Is it because you’re having his baby, is it his feelings that have pent up so long for you?

“Probably not coming on our yearly trip.” He hears, clearing his throat.

“I’m not gonna miss it, think I’m old and tied down now?” His friends laugh, but his heart aches, thinking of how fucking bad he’ll miss you already.

You fix the bed, flushing as you see the rumpled sheets and blankets, before laying down in bed, covering your face as the memories hit. His touch, his tongue, his eyes just staring into yours. Was it because it was easy for the two of you, because you’re pregnant already? Convenience?

You can’t stop wracking your mind.

Not seeing him for almost a month…

Fratboy Gojo🙄: Good night, sweet dreams about this dick.

You glare at the screen.

You don’t respond, seeing him typing and typing.

Fratboy Gojo🙄: I’ll keep in touch, please if… you need to talk I’ll have my phone, okay?

You sigh now, turning on your side, while Gojo watches those three dots, finally walking into his penthouse, mind wandering to you. He wants you… in his bed, he wants to stay, to ignore his best friends, ignore the tradition. Your pussy is… a demon surely, making him hard just thinking of it again.

Sorority Brat 💦😻: I don’t wanna bother you, I’ll be fine.

Satoru frowns at that.

Fratboy Gojo🙄 I want to know how you are.

His own vulnerability makes him feel sick damn near, but you heart the message, making him simp like some idiot with a dopey grin.

Sorority Brat 💦😻Then I will keep you updated, I hope you have a lot of fun.

Guilt gnaws at him, leaving you alone, to go on some trip, while your body would surely go through more changes. He doesn’t even want to miss it, but he can’t just… he has to still have his life, right? For now, was it just… sex to you because you’re horny, and he’s there?

Did it mean more?

Sorority Brat 💦😻 Good night, Satoru.

You watch him heart the message, as your hand drifts to your tummy, thinking about the little growing baby inside you. It almost feels surreal, as do the feelings for Satoru Gojo.

Fratboy Gojo🙄 Good night, Sweets.

this one took a bit but it WAS a little longer- I'd expect chap three to be long as well! I will post a preview of that tomorrow as it's already in the works ;) (will time skip one month!) I hope you all enjoy, ty for being patient! ILYSM

Taglist #1- @jannythewriter-pt2 @gojosoups @lycoris-radiata-4-sale @cutiepi-iee @poisonousspiderlily @closerbutnevertogether @myahfig4 @shokosbunny @coq1myun @rinny27 @abibliolife @coq1myun @megumisthirdog @p4lli @turtlebangtan @webshooterrr9 @aldebrana @msqudo18 @s0ulsnatchaaa @ovela @midnaamethyste @nearlyfuckingwitches @shibataimu @msniks @missthatgirl @fantasy1nightmare0 @maddyhehehehhe @yourst3pm0mmy @haithamsbb @rentheannihilator @ilovebeansyay @lemonswirlz @dilfkentolover @evelynxxo @bkgnotsuma @suki91 @burntasian @nakiich @hyunjinsruinedpainting @miniv1x3n @minascasket @ihrtmack @contaminatedcupcake @girlwithn0j0b @tokyi999 @vamqyx @queenofthekill @verriees @vullzo @jkslaugh97

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kurooh · 1 month ago

Note

I SAW RECS R OPEN YAAAY!! can i req morning sex w inarizaki boys where reader wakes them up bc shes needy?

if its too much, just with suna plspls? <3

☆ HIT IT IN THE MORNING ! — HAIKYUU

⊹₊˚. featuring miya atsumu, miya osamu, aran ojiro, kita shinsuke, & suna rintarou messin’ around with you when the morning rolls around.

warnings. 18+ content — mdni, fem! reader, consensual somnophilia, oral sex, cuddlefucking, creampies, squirting, minor stomach bulges, some fluff, prone bone.

xoxo, juno. hi!! this request is from summer 2024 & i really hope you see this nonnie 💘 i’m so sorry i didn’t get to this sooner

MIYA ATSUMU.

atsumu’s the heaviest sleeper around, sighing contentedly every now and then as he cycles through his dream, eyebrows jumping up and twitching when it only seems to grow more pleasant. it takes a little longer than it should for him to finally stir, his first yawn melting into a soft moan when he registers the sight between his legs.

this is when he wonders if he’s toeing the precipice of sleep and consciousness, too delighted to believe that this is a dream until you pull off of his cock with a pop. “good morning, tsumu,” you purr, a smile playing on your spit slick lips while you dip your head toward his glistening tip. “sleep well, baby?”

atsumu’s head falls back against the pillows when you take him in your mouth, unbearably tight and oh so hot. blond hair fans out around his head, reminiscent of a halo. “mornin’ to you too,” he chokes out, swallowing dryly, “haah, damn—that’s my girl. g-gonna make me cum like a—okay, shit.”

he can’t hear the giggle, but he sees the amusement dart across your face as you purposefully push harder, forcing his cock another inch deeper. from your place between his thighs—the best seat in the fuckin’ house—atsumu looks gorgeous, with his mussed hair, lidded eyes, and flushed cheeks.

“y’know, ‘s actually rude to laugh at yer husband if he stutters. if i wasn’t gonna—oh, oh—spread those pretty thighs right after this, i’d give ya somethin’ to laugh about.”

with a white-knuckled grip, atsumu fists the sheets between his fingers, fighting every instinct to jerk up into your mouth and make you choke. but you make it look like it’s too easy, gagging quietly and not even tearing up when it happens. frustrated, atsumu shoves a hand through his hair, yanking roughly at the tufts, just like you do whenever you’re on his lap and giving him a kiss.

“ya better be teasin’ me right now,” he says—whines—without any heat behind it. “d-don’t make me drag ya on top of me, babe.”

he nearly rips his hair out, back flying up and off the bed when you swallow around him. the squeeze of your throat and your audible struggle is almost too much for him to take—he might actually cum so hard he puts himself right back to sleep.

in order to save himself the embarrassment and give you the princess treatment you deserve, atsumu pauses, willing himself not to be greedy. his clammy palms settle on your shoulders, and he bites back a moan upon seeing the slight bulge in your throat.

“‘kay, wait—lemme eat ya at the same time, sweetheart. get up here.”

MIYA OSAMU.

“‘m so thankful i get to wake up next to ya every day. even better when yer the one wakin’ me up, my pretty lil sexomniac.”

“call me that again and i’m leaving this room before you can finish the sentence,” you snap, voice weaker than you’d like it to be, “don’t—fuck—test me, samu.”

osamu only snickers from above you, finding your threat ridiculous in its entirety. you wouldn’t voluntarily try to leave, and it’s not like you really could either; he’s pressing his chest to your back while he rocks his hips into you, both stretching and filling your cunt deliciously. with your hips and abdomen flat against the bed, he’s able to push deeper than usual—just as ‘he’ did in your dream, and it clearly had an impact on you. you’ve been together for years, but this is the first time you’ve woken up half naked and grinding all over a surprised though pleased osamu.

“uh huh,” he drawls, and his tip presses against your cervix in a filthy sort of french kiss. “well, ‘s nothing to be ashamed of, baby. and hey, i know ya wouldn’t go that fuckin’ easy, ya hate openin’ the restaurant on weekends.”

“in my dream, work didn’t exist,” you say blandly, growing impatient with his lack of energy. yes, it’s a saturday morning, but osamu said he’d fuck you the way the dream version of him did, and this is far from it. “stop teasing me and fuck me like you mean it, samu.”

a laugh bursts out of him, but soft hands find the curves of your hips and squeeze, blunt nails digging into your skin. “when’d ya get so bossy, angel?” and before you can retort something back, he follows up with, “not that ‘m complaining, though. ya tellin’ me what to do turns me on.”

you keen loudly when osamu goes from one to a hundred, ears ringing with the sharp smacks of skin against skin. heat surges through his body when he buries himself to the hilt inside you, groaning at the tight, all-encompassing squeeze of your cunt around him—you always take him so well, making enough noise to completely shut out the nagging of responsibilities in the back of his head.

it’s a saturday morning, and osamu is enjoying it to the fullest with you. his grip on your body tightens, palms growing damp against your skin.

“swear ya were fuckin’ made for it, angel,” a groan surges out of his chest, shaking his entire torso under its pressure, “i jus’ can’t get enough of ya, yer always drivin’ me crazy.”

he’s folded over you, burning face pressed into the crease of your neck while he babbles endlessly. everything he’s saying makes your stomach twist with arousal, but what makes it feel even better is the fact that all of it is true—the fit of your bodies couldn’t allude to anything else, and you do drive him a little insane every day.

“keep that pace ‘n you’ll make me cum, samu,” you pant, clawing your fingers into his hair, “mmmh, oh my god—g-gonna cum all over you—!”

osamu nods into your neck, rambling more nonsense that eventually fizzles into muffled gasps of affectionate petnames and such. you fall off the edge and straight into liquid euphoria soon after, gushing all over his cock with a pitched whine. and goddamn, he’s so lucky to cum deep inside you at the same time, gushing against your cervix while your walls milk him for everything he’s got. as he rides out the high, weakly bucking his hips into your ass, osamu holds you closely.

an irritating, grating sound (his ringtone that atsumu set for him) splits the pleasant come down in half and he groans, half collapsing on top of you. “have the manager open today,” you purr, more convincing than you should be, “i don’t wanna leave the bed just yet.” then, more quietly afterward, “also, my legs are numb.”

ARAN OJIRO.

“this good, baby?” aran murmurs into your neck, voice thick with sleep as a warm palm smooths over your abdomen, “feelin’ me here?”

absolutely, you are. he’s big, and not completely aware of just how much he’s stretching you out—it’s a tight fit, but you can take it. shuddering with heated bliss, you groan and press back against his chest, “how could i not?”

aran only laughs, easily holding up your leg while his hips slide slow against your ass. “yer cute, always complimentin’ me so much.”

stripes of sunlight scatter over the bed, split by the blinds and illuminating small specks of dust in the air. this is supposed to be a lazy morning, but it only is for one of you—he’s in no rush, opting to draw this out as long as he can before finally making a mess of you. his movements are slow and languid, endlessly aggravating.

as if he can hear your complaining, aran allows his fingers to coast down your belly and toward your aching clit. you cry out with relief, clawing at the sheets when he finally touches you, unceremoniously pressing the pad of his thumb into your clit. it’s only a light bit of pressure, but damn—sparks of heat burst along your spine and shoot straight to your pelvis.

your voice cracks over the words, hips chasing his touch. “ooh, r-right there.”

“right thereee?” he parrots, in a voice that makes your pussy throb with sheer need. warmth races to your cheeks and sizzles in your stomach, right where his hand had been—it’s not quite the same sensation, but your hand settles there. a gasp tears out of your throat when you actually feel him, his cock leaving an aran-shaped impression inside you.

“oh, oh my god,” your lower lip quavers, an audible tremble pushing through your words, “you’re jus’ so fucking deep, i can’t—”

“heh, and to think ya thought we just couldn’t go slow,” as each word leaves him, his thumb moves over your clit a little faster. “i’ll make ya cum hard just like this. whaddaya think, baby?”

“i want to,” breathless and teary, you nod frantically, feeling your toes curl as the arousal burns a crater in your stomach, “please, need you to keep going. hngh, it’s—it’s so damn good.”

aran’s voice is soft still, but a touch more suave now that he’s finally pushed past the sleepiness. strong and accentuated with veins, his forearm flexes as he pushes further between your trembling thighs. “that good, huh? good enough to make ya cry?”

a breathy yes! tumbles out of you, and aran continues, enjoying the intermittent spasming of your pussy. now that he’s completely focusing on you, there’s less movement of his hips, although he does push up every now and then to make you mewl.

“yeah, yes,” you stutter out, feeling a thin sheen of sweat starting to form on your forehead, “g-getting closer, don’t you dare stop.”

aran can both see and feel you digging the heel of your hand into that soft spot on your lower stomach. such a simple technique, and yet it amplifies every single sensation to the max—tears spring to the corners of your eyes, and he knows you definitely won’t be able to hold out much longer.

pleasure looks ethereal on you, complimenting your already pretty features and flattering you in a way that makes his heart swell. it’s all for him, all because of him—fuck, he could cum to just the thought.

so aran holds off, letting you twist and sob on his cock while your hips struggle to decide on chasing his touch or running away from it. there’s so much sensitivity that it might just send you into overstimulation before orgasm, something you haven’t experienced together yet.

“cumming, i’m gonna cum,” you squeal, voice breaking and pitching into a whine when the ecstasy washes over you. you can’t quite breathe by the time you’re coming down from your high, trembling all over and yet still thinking about when the next will come. aran presses a chaste kiss to your temple and playfully flicks a finger over your sensitive clit, because he can already grasp what you’re thinking about.

“finally ready to move past the warmup, babygirl? i hope yer not too tired, i haven’t even gotten ta properly fuck ya yet.”

KITA SHINSUKE.

shinsuke sometimes gets hungry at night, so he ends up heading into the kitchen to eat an apple or he’ll push his head between your thighs. he wouldn’t have it any other way until he woke up to your cunt hovering right over his mouth, soaked with bittersweet arousal.

“oh, shin,” you moan, hiccupping over the words, “y’always do me so good—god, yes, jus’ like that!”

his tongue strokes over you again, starting at the bottom of your slit and dragging all the way up to your clit, silky soft yet rough. shinsuke thinks you sound oh so pretty, whining and whimpering for him with your fingers twisting in his hair.

“ride it,” he groans, voice muffled. to make sure you get the memo, he pulls your hips down encouragingly. “use my tongue, sweetheart. yeah, ya got it.”

shinsuke’s proud to let you steal his air away, if it’s for something as meaningful as this—you’re so focused on making use of his tongue that you don’t even notice his hips uselessly rutting up into the air.

the air fills with obscene, wet squelches and the smell of his spit all over your inner thighs. you’re both bending forward and arching back as the impending high sears its way through your entire body in the form of countless sparks of heat. “‘s coming,” you sob, words bunching together, “i - shin, it’s gonna be messy.”

your orgasm crescendos before it finally rips through you, cunt squirting waterfalls all over him. shinsuke desperately laves his tongue against you, sucking down everything you’re giving him without a shred of hesitation—it’s just so much stimulation that it subverts the length of your high, and a delightful shriek tears out of your throat.

“shin,” you plead, lower lip wobbling as you try to twist your hips away, but to no avail. he’s got you, and he intends to finish this meal, just like he’s always been taught. “i won’t—shit, i can’t cum again just yet! if you’d wait a second—”

mercifully, he loosens his grip on your hips but still doesn’t allow you to go. he looks up, an eyebrow raised expectantly as though he doesn’t believe you. no nonsense as always, it seems.

“ya can and ya will,” he says simply, shutting you up before returning to flicking his tongue against your twitching pussy. now that you’re more lucid than before, you’re able to pick up on the noisy creaking coming from beneath you. it’s when you swivel your head around that you actually notice the dampening spot on the front of his boxers—white cum seeping through the fabric.

shinsuke kind of notices you looking and feels his cheeks grow a degree warmer. it’s nothing to be embarrassed of, he knows, but still.. maybe he can help ease the process of forgetting along with another orgasm or two.

he clears his throat, letting the tip of his tongue circle your clit. “eyes on me, c’mon. we ain’t done just yet.”

SUNA RINTAROU.

“rin,” you whisper-hiss, voice scratchy with sleep and tight with unmistakable desperation. “open your eyes.”

‘is there a fire?’ is the first thing he thinks, until he blinks the sleep out of his cloudy eyes and sees the genuine distress on your face, feels you sitting directly on top of his hard cock. the need for friction is intoxicating, especially with such thin layers of fabric between your bodies, and—wait. rintarou can actually feel himself leaking precum through his boxers, and there’s a damp spot forming right where you’re sitting on him.

“aw, baby,” rintarou says dryly, palm lazily skimming over your bare thigh, “thought you had enough earlier. what happened?”

“well,” you begin hastily, fingers slipping under his waistband to tug the clothing away inch by inch, “i was really hot, so i woke up, and i was still soaked from earlier. also, you were humping my ass.”

if rintarou wasn’t as tired as he is from having fucked you in more than three different positions, he’d playfully push you off him for making him sound like a dog with a stuffed animal. instead, he settles on wrinkling his nose emphatically, hand dropping back to the mattress.

“okay. just for that, i’m not helping you out over here.”

you deflate, having just lifted his boxers almost off of his thighs. him and his damn attitude, always acting up in your moments of need. rintarou mentally takes a photo of your disappointed face and saves it into his long term memory, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“nooo,” you whine, debauched, and his dick starts to get harder. “what if i ride you?”

because he’s too petty for his own good, rintarou mimics your tone with a smirk on his face. “yesss. you can try, but it’s not like you can handle it.”

“uh huh,” you look down your nose at him, all while angling his cock so you can sit down on it. rintarou’s breath hitches in his throat when your pussy swallows him whole, hot and tight and so damn wet as it squeezes firmly around him. you huff out a breath, throwing him a proud look—but he notices the pinch of your brows, the minute tremble of your lower lip. “see? what was i just saying, rin?”

“right,” he says, folding his arms behind his head to sit and watch. that same snark makes its way through just the one word, and you’re determined to fuck it right out of him—so you set your hands on his chest and properly plant your feet on the bed, on either side of him.

“holy fuck, rin,” you mewl, sounding like some kind of fucking pornstar, all natural and operating off of sheer lust, “you’re hittin’—yes, right there!”

sweat blossoms between your thighs and his, allowing for more slip n slide as you slam down on him with enough force to rattle him to his core. rintarou’s never been fucked before, but this is definitely something he could get used to—his cock seems to be thinking along the same lines, having the audacity to throb with sensitivity this quickly.

your babbling continues, growing filthier and filthier the more you lose yourself in the moment. there’s something so delicious about the way you’re taking what you want from him, and the realization ignites an inferno in the pit of his chest. “s-so deep, that’s it,” he sees your pretty eyes roll back the millisecond his tip plunges into a soft, spongy spot somewhere around your cervix, “i could just—i could cum just from this.”

rintarou realizes that you’ve woken his ass all the way up, and you’re also proving him wrong, doing both at the same time. what is he supposed to say, now that you’ve got him choking on his own words? he absolutely knows his fate is sealed when a bitten moan slips out of him and you arch a brow in response.

“what did i tell you, rin?” you ask smugly, voice still strained as you brush a hand along his clenching abs, “deep down, y’know i can handle you.”

#kurooh #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #hq smut #hq headcanons #hq x reader #atsumu smut #atsumu x reader #osamu smut #osamu x reader #kita smut #kita x reader #aran smut #aran x reader #aran ojiro #suna smut #suna x reader #haikyuu imagines

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cream-stew · 1 year ago

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How about monsterfcking with Neuvillette? Him in his dragon form pounding and breeding reader's pussy until his cum leaks out and when Neuvillette saw his cum leaking out he tries to push it back in using his thick fingers but it just won't stay inside, a lot of his cum wasted so he fucked Reader full again with a new batch of cum and cockwarmed him after their down<3

(What if after they have sex, Neuvillette carries Reader to the bathroom to clean both of them and Neuvillette still inside of Reader but ended up fucking when Neuvillette and Reader are inside of the bathtub)

Sorry if my grammar is wrong! English is my third language hehe and I'm still learning

🔞minors dni

warnings: afab reader, breeding, creampie, multiple orgasms, squirting, tummy bulge, size kink, mosterfucking

// note: no worries anon I could understand perfectly <3 thank you for the request this was fun

he's bigger than you even in his more human form, but like this, arms and legs covered in light blue scales, thick horns crowning his head, he's just. huge. straight up huge. he has you in a mating press and your face can barely reach his pecs, your legs can't even hook on his shoulders, they're ramrod straight as he grips your ankles in his big hands.

his cock is a really tight fit too... your pussy is stretched to the limit as he pounds into you, leaving you gaping each time he pulls out before slamming back inside with full force. now you can really understand why he decided to fuck you on the floor this time, putting down soft blankets and pillows so that you'd still be comfortable, but simply refusing to do it on the bed: he would have destroyed it in minutes, his strength and stamina in his half dragon form is insane!

when he finally cums inside you, when you're well on your way to a fourth orgasm, you think maybe he'll calm down a little but nope... he just changes tactics, never pulling out completely again, bc he doesn't want his cum to leak out of you :(

he keeps fucking you with really shallow thrusts, just as fast as he did previously, praising and encouraging you to just hold on for "a little longer" bc he needs to cum again, to claim you fully and stuff your cute little pussy to the brim :(

your eyes are tearing up a lil by then, but it feels so good that you can't find it in you to complain... so you let him pump you full one, twice more, until you hear him grumble and mutter something under his breath, until his huge fingers replace his monstrous cock, trying to fuck the cum back inside you. "what a waste" he complains. in his lustful haze he doesn't understand that your pussy is way too small to hold on to all that cum, so the only solution he can find is to fuck you again...

except this time, after pounding into you so so roughly, making you squirt on his cock for who knows how many times, he doesn't pull out after cumming... he just makes you cockwarm him, thinking that there's no way it'll leak out if he keeps your pussy sealed off like that!

it's hours before he allows you to move, but he still doesn't let you go, carrying you to the bathroom with his rock hard cock still buried snugly against your cervix, an evident bulge in your tummy. he summons enough warm water to fill the tub before lowering the both of you inside, effectively making you straddle his hips as the new position allows his cock to reach even deeper inside your womb.

it'd be relaxing, the warm water soothing your sore muscles, if he didn't grab you by the hips to move you back and forth on his cock :/ he uses you like a fleshlight, bouncing you up and down and jerking off inside your pussy as you desperately clutch to his shoulders, moaning and babbling, and when he doesn't stop even after cumming one more time inside, you just accept that you're going to fall asleep in his arms, and he's probably going to keep fucking you through it until you wake up in the morning🥺🥺

#genshin smut #genshin impact smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette smut #neuvillette x reader

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fics-lovebot · 2 months ago

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jujutsu kaisen fic recs pt. 3

main masterlist - jjk fic recs pt. 1 - jjk fic recs pt. 2

· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations

these are my personal favs, so pls reblog if you like any of my recs❤️

yuji finds out gojo has a family - ( @kingkonoha ) fluff, lowkey angst, hubby!gojo, dad!gojo, so,,, this made me cry, i love yuji sm he deserves the world :( this is part two and it also made me crY MY MF EYES OUT :))))))))

can´t stop drinking - ( @kingkonoha ) ANGST, death, blood, dad!gojo, husband!gojo, mentions of wanting to die, a curse kills you and your son allegedly but in reality the elders had lied to him all these years, part 2 made me fucking crying

lambent - ( @xo2dee ) kinda fluffy, true form!sukuna, pregnant!reader, heian era customs, hubby!sukuna, a lil cannibalism, THIS NEEDs A KDRAMA

paparazzi´s pov - ( @rayveneyed ) fluff, award winning actor!sukuna, singer!oc, he likes messing around with supermodels but then the both of them meet at a fashion show, next thing you know oc got an anklet with his initials in garnet AÑDLJSÑFDLJ i really like this, would love to see a longer version

mangoes - ( @sttoru ) fluff, pregnant!reader, hubby!sukuna, tru form!sukuna, SOOO CUTEE, this acc had me giggling and kicking my feet

nanami drabbles - ( @sugurizz ) pwp, pls yall readdd part 2 and part 3, its crazyy

fifteen minutes - ( @roseglazedlens ) nanami smut. “Say that again. Louder. Can’t hear shit with the sound of my dick slapping into your cunt.” that´s all I have to say, your honor

protective - (@kingkonoha ) headcanon, hubby!kento, my man my man my man my man i love thissss

the horniest - ( @arminsumi ) gojo smut, ITS SO GOOOOOOOOOODDDDDD, he´s horny af, pussy drunk, obsessed, borderline crazy for that wap

phone calls - ( @kingkonoha ) slice of life, hubby!gojo, dilf!gojo, his wife and his daughter are his only priority, this is so sdkfjskdjfh :´( i love it

jock bf!yuuji - ( @tteokdoroki ) smut, fluff, all-star jock!yuuji, weird gf!reader, college au. one thing about me, i LOVE jock!yuuji. READ THIS AS WELL PLEASSEE

In denial - ( @rosesaints ) smut, sub!yuuta, "he doesn’t believe that it’s real until you’re actually sinking down onto his cock" period.

protective hubby - ( @slttygeto ) teacher!suguru, pregnant wife oc, it´s cutee

focus - ( @arminsumi ) suggestive, flirty!geto, tutor!geto, “you’re doing so good for me… keep going.” I HATE ITTTTT, i would fold like a mf lawn chair bitch OOF

wap - ( @tonycries ) smut, going in raw for the first time. i caNNOT EVEN BEGIN TO DESCRIBE HOW GOOD THIS IS JUST PLEASEEE GO READ IT

warm heart pastry - ( @cckaisen ) text, fluff, crack, first of all,,, i love yuji, second of all satoru REALLY needs help, and third of all WHY IS INUMAKI ALWAYS ON SOME SHIT??? lmaooooo

love struck - ( @xxsabitoxx ) fluffy, ex-fuckboy!satoru, he´s experiencing love for the first time :((((( IT´S SO CUTEEEEEEEEEE

love dumb - ( @arminsumi ) gojo fluff, blurb, you make him lose his composure, can´t even focus bc you´re over there existing, someone should make a longer version of this! so good

will always be yours - ( @nezuscribe ) smut, fluff, so basically toji only does rough sex, doggy style being his fav, but when it comes to you he prefers the loving-face to face-intense eye contanct type of sex (more like love making) bc being with you makes him feel ten different emotions at once :) DÑFLJSLDFJ

ridin dirty?! - ( @screampied ) smut, mechanic!toji, the beggining had me giggling and blushing sdlfhlsjh, he´s too fucking cocky lmao, writing his number on her asscheeks and stuff

losing his mind - ( @daisynik7 ) smut, dom!reader, hubby!kento, sub!kento, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, WHEEEEEEEEW, 10000/10, now this is new

his protégé - ( @augustinewrites ) fluff, slice of life, fiancé!kento, dinner time with yuuji, it´s so wholesome :´)

insecure bully!gojo - ( @saetoru ) angst, lil fluff, he´s a bully and he´s in love, but its not enough. part 2

best of the best - ( @saetoru ) smut, fwb! satoru, big sHIT talker omg, he lit asks you to be his gf wHILE he´s making you cum,,,,,best bf ever tho

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theonewiththefanfics · 20 days ago

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Sisyphus No Longer (one-shot)

Synopsis: Robby knows chaos intimately. He knows how to navigate it, and guide others through. But sometimes life throws a curveball so big, not even he can get out of the range of impact.

Pairing: Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x fem!Reader

Genre: mainly fluffy, lil bit of angst (Robby just lives in an anxious state of mind worrying about his girlfriend)

Warnings: swearing, bit of medical talk (hopefully mostly accurate lol, nothing explicit, though if you pick up on anything please do let me know, and I'll add it here 😊), innuendos, but no smut this time around.

Word count: 10,879 (here we go again 🙃)

This is a follow-up to An Itch You Can't Scratch, but I think you can read this on its own as well :) Please don't copy my work or repost it onto other platforms. all of the characters belong to HBO Max.

Robby’s life was chaos. But it was chaos he was used to.

He knew how to navigate it, like a ship under the blanket of fog. Knew how to bend the mist to his will, and twist it to reveal the correct course of action.

For example, chaos causer No. 1 – Myrna.

She was a regular at the Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Hospital. She dished out verbal assaults, like it was a Friday at a bar, trying to flash anyone who even threw her a glance, all the while being handcuffed to a wheelchair. The one time she’d managed to Houdini her way out, had sent the whole unit into a tailspin.

But Myrna was a constant in his life. She brought a sense of levity during his incredibly stressful days and allowed him to crack a grin or two. He was her Fruitcake and she was his Fruitfly. They just worked like that.

Then there was chaos causer No. 2 – Good old Gloria.

If there was one thing in the world Robby hated, other than people who took their primary medical advice from Reddit forums, it was suits, and people in them. Especially those that tried to run hospitals, while prioritizing cost-cutting, instead of the safety of their staff and patients.

“Would people recommend this emergency department to their friends or loved ones?” Gloria had asked him a couple of days prior, singing her usual song, albeit in a slightly different key.

The only thing that’d saved her had been the fact a mother had walked in with her five-year-old son, a piece of crayon stuck in his nose.

“Gloria, quite honestly, nobody is walking around recommending emergency departments, because nobody wants to be here. The last thing on the mind of someone with a split open head or a dying parent is leaving a five-star review. But sure. Be my guest. How about you go around the people sitting here, having waited eight hours to be seen, and ask them what they thought of the service today.”

She bristled at his light, but clearly aggravated tone. “I imagine eight hours is a long time to wait.”

“It is. You know how we could cut it down?” He crossed his arms. “More nurses. More staff. More equipment. It’s that easy. But unless you wish to get a rainbow sneezed on you, I suggest you walk away.”

She wasn’t amused by his words, but when Dana sidled up, helping him steady the kid against the unpleasant feel of forceps digging around his nose for a sky-blue piece of crayon, she muttered in a low tone, “This is all alleged, and if anyone asks, nobody has seen or heard anything. But there’s a rumor going around, that someone might’ve put sardines behind the radiator of a certain someone’s car.”

It had taken everything in Robby not to bust out laughing, even as the kid sprayed him with cerulean snot, which brought him to chaos causer(s) No. 3 – the whole of the Pitt.

Ever since his one-night-stand and fleeing escapade had been revealed a month prior, by none other than the woman who was his girlfriend now, nobody was allowing him to live down the words she’d dished out upon her admission to the ED.

Four hours.

Shaking mess.

God fucking help him.

He was Mr. Stamina now.

A ladies’ man (though he considered himself the man of only one specific lady).

His closest friend Jack Abbot had even heard about this. As he’d come in to overtake the Pitt the evening after Y/N’s discharge, he’d clapped Robby on the back and requested his tips and tricks for lasting that long in bed.

“What?” Robby scoffed, pulling off his stethoscope and zipping up his bag. “I can handle a whole ED on top of the hospital board for twelve hours straight, yet you don’t think I can handle one woman for four?”

“I never said that.” Jack lifted his hands in mock surrender. “The real question is – when you two first met – was that during one of your seven days off-shift?”

“Fuck you, man.” Robby pushed past him, ears reddening like ripe raspberries.

“Nah, brother. That job seems to be taken already.”

Robby had just given him the middle finger as he walked away and clocked out.

That had been his life every single day since Y/N had taken a chance on him, and had become the one chaos-causer he was still trying to adjust to.

It had been a little over a month since she’d broken her leg, and it had been a little over a month since they’d officially started dating.

(He’d scoffed at the term at first. “Dating?” he’d asked. “In my big old age?”

“Okay,” Y/N had mocked him. “Would you like to call it ‘wooing’? ‘Courting’? Do we need a chaperone to watch over as we graze our fingers alo-,”

“Alright,” he sighed. “Point taken.”)

He couldn’t be any happier though. The way they’d gotten reintroduced wasn’t one he wished to repeat because seeing Y/N in any kind of mild discomfort made him wince, but he would always be thankful for the universe granting him another opportunity.

He wouldn’t say that by the time she’d come to his place of work with a bone sticking out of her leg, he’d given up on love for himself, but Robby had resigned to the fact that maybe, a relationship, a romantic kind of love, wasn’t in the cards for him anymore.

And yet now, as he dragged his tired legs over to the place she shared with her best friend Sara, his mind couldn’t help but wonder what had he done in this life or maybe a past one, that’d granted him such happiness.

A paper bag of croissants crinkled as he patted down his trousers, searching for the spare key Y/N had given him. Mainly it was because Sara was sometimes out late bartending at her second job, and his girlfriend, her leg still in a cast, was slow to move around the apartment. But still, Robby always knocked first.

It felt intimate, coming into her space like that.

Like returning home, rather than simply staying over at someone else’s place.

He heard shuffling and voices echo before Sara opened the door, welcoming him inside. His brown eyes ventured to the couch on instinct where he’d usually find Y/N, her leg on the coffee table while the two friends watched a movie or a show or a serial killer documentary, only to find it empty.

Robby didn’t have to wonder long where she was, as he turned his neck and found Y/N in a heated conversation, her back towards the living area of the studio-type apartment, phone on speaker as a male voice argued back.

His brain was immediately overtaken by the doctor side of it – he wondered how long had she been standing for. Had she elevated her leg at all during the day? What was her pain level? But the words that came out of her mouth completely overrode the code, as it wasn’t something he expected to hear at all.

“No, you know what you’ve done, Harry? You’ve effectively killed our mother.”

“What’s going on?” Robby asked Sara, as the woman plopped down onto the couch, his gaze frantically scanning Y/N’s form. “Is Mrs. Y/L/N alright?”

Sara waved him off. “She’s fine. In fact, she’s never been better. No thanks to the hurricane over there though. Just listen. Y/N’s been ripping her brother a new one for like twenty minutes already.”

Placing his backpack onto a chair, and sliding to sit on the armrest, he watched as Y/N opened and closed random cabinets, her back taut as a string.

Even angry she was beautiful, Robby thought.

Maybe old and worn men like him did deserve kind and gentle things.

However, the way she spoke to her brother, well... She was as gentle as a cactus spike. “Harry, why the fuck would you do that? Why the fuck would you let her go alone?”

“She’s not gonna be alone, holy shit, Y/N/N! Take a fucking chill pill!” her brother exasperated on the other end of the line. “Dad’s going with!”

“Oh, great!” She threw her hands up and slammed an overhead cupboard closed. “That’s just fucking fantastic! You’ve turned us into Annie! Do you not have enough braincells to realize just how many people go missing while on cruises?”

Robby looked towards Sara who was watching the drama unfold with a wineglass in her hand. “Cruises?”

“One of her mom’s dreams has been to go on a cruise,” she explained. “She’s been joking that when one of her kids makes a million, they’ll get her a cruise pass.”

“And Y/N’s brother made a million?” From what he’d been told, Harry was five years younger than his sister. “Smart kid.”

“Dumb kid.” Sara snorted. “And not a millionaire. He just lives to torture her, I guess. He got their parents cruise passes for Y/M/N's birthday three days ago. Y/N even chipped in thinking it was for a new car or something. Quite frankly, I’m with Harry on this one. Their parents deserve a nice vacation in the Caribbean, but when Y/M/N phoned her to thank them for the present the two got for her…” Sara whistled. “I thought an eye might pop out of her skull. Or at least a vein, so now she’s been having the most epic crash-out. Want some popcorn?”

He could do nothing but shake his head and cross his arms, a smile blooming on his lips as he watched Y/N war with her brother.

“And if they get killed?” Y/N glared down at the phone on the kitchen counter. “It’s international waters! No jurisdiction wants to deal with that shit! They’ll become a fucking unsolved case!”

“Oh my god, they’re not gonna get killed!” Robby could just imagine her brother pulling his hands through his hair as Y/N didn’t relent. “They’re two pensioners who just want to relax on a big boat and see some sights with a Margarita in their hand!”

“And what if they are? Do you know where they keep the dead bodies on cruises? Next to those fucking Margarita mixes!”

Harry’s sigh was royal. “And who exactly has such a vendetta against them?”

“There’s a lot of bad people out there.” Y/N scoffed incredulously. “Do you need me to send you links to all the documentaries there are about people who’ve died under mysterious circumstances while on a cruise?”

“No, what I think is, you need to lay off true-crime for a while. You’re starting to sound like some red-pill conspiracy theorist! Mom and dad just want to have a vacation. Besides, you’re never like this when they fly somewhere.”

Y/N huffed, putting her hands on her hips. “Okay. Fine. How about this – mom is completely time-blind and dad’s a topographical idiot. What if they forget their passports while on some excursion or get lost? I don’t want to see them on a single TikTok about pier runners and whatnot.”

“They drove all through Spain, Italy and France last summer, and fun fact – didn’t manage to get lost,” Harry griped. “I think they will be just fine, especially because they will be with a group and a whole ass guide.”

“That’s not good enough!”

“Why can’t you just be happy for mom and dad? You know she’s wanted to go on a cruise for ages! She was so happy when she saw it was from both of us.”

“Harry…” Y/N rubbed at her forehead, but before she managed to say anything, her brother said something that made Sara choke on her wine.

“Why are you so fucking strung up? Is that new doctor boyfriend of yours not giving you any?”

Quite honestly, if he’d been drinking anything himself, he would have also choked. He hadn’t known Y/N had talked to her family about him, nor had he realized she’d told them it was a serious relationship. It made warmth bloom in his chest. Or maybe that was just the blush turning him tomato red.

“Actually, he’s -,” she twisted around and finally noticed he was sitting in her living room. “Right here,” Y/N finished in a clipped tone. “I’m gonna go. Next time I see you, Harry, you’re dead. Start writing a fucking will.”

With that, she ended the call and gave Robby a sheepish smile. “Hi. Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I gathered as much,” he chuckled, back popping as he stood up and went to Y/N. It was almost instinctive how his hands found their way to her waist, resting on the dips above her hips. “Seemed like you were in a pretty intense argument. Wanna talk about it?”

“That depends.” Her hand trailed up his chest and settled on the nape of his neck, nails scratching against the skin there, a pleasant hum reverberating through his body. “Will you tell me that my brother is correct, and I’m obviously overreacting about this and that my parents will be totally fine? Or do you have common sense and wish to remain in a relationship with me?”

He gave her a crooked smile. “Can’t it be both?”

Y/N threw her head back and groaned, which gave Robby the opportunity to lean down and press a kiss against her pulse point, his own heart jumping in delight as he felt it speed up. He still couldn’t stop reveling in the fact, he had such an effect on this young, amazing woman.

“I know,” she huffed. “I know they will be fine, but I can’t help but worry. I have this irrational fear of cruises. I can’t explain it.” Suddenly she snapped her head up so fast, her forehead almost collided with his teeth. “Oh God. Don’t tell me you’re gonna be like that someday. Because if one of your dreams is to go on a cruise, I think we need to end this right here and now.”

“Sweetheart.” He cupped her face in his palms. “I don’t plan on going on a cruise anytime soon, nor once I’m geriatric. Unless you’re coming with me, I have no intentions of going on such trips.”

Y/N sighed and nodded, seemingly accepting his response. “Okay good. Because I do not have the mental capacity it takes to solve crimes.”

“They will be fine. It’s admirable you care for your parents so much, but they will be alright. And I do agree with your brother – you’ve got to stop watching true-crime for a bit.”

“Well, there’s not much for me to do at home. I still have two weeks until Langdon gets me out of cast number two,” she grumbled and took hold of the crutches she’d placed against the kitchenette. “Work from home is great, until you’re done for the day, and you’re already home. I gotta kill the time somehow until Sara gets home or you come over.” Y/N snorted, raising a brow. “Kill time. Get it?”

Robby just huffed a laugh as they made their way over to the couch, Sara having moved to a loveseat, so they could cuddle while he unwound from the day he’d had.

“Leg’s doing alright?” He checked in, as Y/N put a pillow onto the coffee table and placed her foot there.

“Just fine. Like it was yesterday. And the day before. And the day before, and ever since Langdon and Santos put it on.” She leaned over and pecked his lips. The kiss was short, but it was something he’d been dreaming of ever since he woke up in his own bed, in his silent and lonely apartment. “Give them some credit.”

It had been about three weeks prior, that Y/N had come back to the ED for her scheduled appointment with Frank to remove the post-op plaster cast, get the stitches out, and get her leg into the one she’d be wearing for the rest of the recovery time.

When she’d hobbled through the doors, Robby instantly rushed over to help her, smirks and wolf-whistles thrown their way. If he hadn’t been the attending, he was sure they would’ve gone on for the rest of the day. (The nurses did. He didn’t have the power to stop them).

“Back to work, people!” He called out. “Or I’m putting everyone on sanitary duty!”

That got the residents and med students scrambling to find a patient. Dana though, was not under his control like that.

“He treating you good?” The blonde nudged her chin in Robby’s direction. “Because I can give you the combination of chemicals needed to remove bloodstains so that not even Luminol will find a trace.”

Beside him, Y/N snorted at her words, taking the wristband Dana handed her. Without even thinking, Robby slipped it out of her fingers and wrapped it around her hand. An unmistakable heat rose on his face at the action. So simple, yet so telling of where his head was at, what his heart was thinking.

“He’s fine.” Y/N glanced up at him. “Maybe a bit overbearing with the leg thing, but I just chuck it up to those wires they implant in all of your brains when you finish med school.”

“If you say so.” Dana raised her brows and nodded. “Just know – the offer stands.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep it in mind,” Y/N chuckled and nodded at Robby that she was ready to move to the exam room where Langdon had already prepped the bed while Robby helped her get situated. Once she was as comfortable as she could be, he crossed his arms and asked, “You okay with a resident coming in and watching, sweetheart?”

He could feel Frank’s eyes snap towards him, the younger man’s mouth curling up in a grin at the nickname that’d slipped past uninhibited, but he didn’t dare look at him. It was like dealing with a wasp – ignore it and hope it goes away. (It didn’t).

“Sure,” Y/N shrugged. “As long as this isn’t some ploy from Saw where my leg will get spontaneously amputated or something.” She threw Langdon a gaze. “It’s not, is it? Because I’ve been having these really weird dreams where my leg just falls off while I’m doing something, and I don’t know if it’s my brain adjusting to the situation, or giving me a premonition I might be ignoring.”

“I doubt Dr. Robby would let anyone touch you with an IV line without supervising.” Rubber gloves snapped against his wrists, but the smirk on his face grew twice as large, as he, no doubt to fuck with Robby, added a little, “Sweetheart,” at the end of it.

“No, I would not.” He deadpanned, and if Frank was gonna be that way, so could he. “Santos!” Robby called out into the hallway, eyes locking on the intern who was milling around the HUB, who he knew Langdon didn’t particularly get along with. Seeing the smile drop from his cocky face was enough of a win. “Come and assist.”

“But that’s just a -,”

“A great learning experience?” Robby stopped whatever rebuttal was about to come out of Trinity’s mouth. “I concur. Now come and help Dr. Langdon.”

She was smart enough not to roll her eyes at him, but her ire was palpable for being called in on such a minuscule job. She had a lot of potential, there was no denying that, but she was too overconfident for Robby’s liking, too alike the many cowboy-types he’d met and had to deal with, so he hoped by making her do the small jobs, she’d start to realize every single thing they did, was important.

A proper IV line was important, listening to the patient as they explained their problems was important, being a steady and soothing presence was important. Even if you were only there to hold someone’s hand – it was sometimes the most important thing they could do.

Langdon huffed as she entered the room, but remained professional as he introduced Trinity as their intern, the woman offering Y/N a small smile to which she responded in kind.

Together they helped her move up her sweatpants to rest against her thigh while Langdon prepped the cast saw. “You alright with Dr. Santos performing the procedure?” he checked in with her.

Robby noted how Y/N squirmed in the bed at the sight of the blade. She was a squeamish person, he knew that, but she was more squeamish because of her overactive imagination. “Can’t say I’m too thrilled about anyone coming near me with a saw, but you people gotta learn at some point, right?”

“I mean, from my experience, everyone could take a page out of a mime’s book,” Trinity smirked as Y/N cocked her head. “They don’t scream.”

Robby brushed a hand down his face as his (unofficial) girlfriend widened her eyes. “Santos, really? That’s -,”

“Dr. Robby?” Dana interrupted him before he could tell that kind of bedside manner didn’t work on patients who already had dreams about spontaneous amputations. “Can you come here for a sec? We need a second opinion.”

He didn’t want to. Despite the fact that he was the attending, and the attending on the shift no less, the thought of leaving Y/N’s side was abysmal. But he couldn’t neglect his duties and show such favoritism, just because his heart worried the whole time she wasn’t in his line of sight.

“I’ll be back in a minute. Santos, listen to Langdon,” he told them and with that went over to Dana, Mel waiting by her side, a nervous bounce to her feet.

It was an easy consult, more to reassure the mother of a sick teenager, the medication they would put him on, wouldn’t interfere with others he was taking and cause an allergic reaction. As he explained it to her, confirming Mel’s diagnosis and Dana’s recommendations, he could hear the saw turn on even a couple of rooms down.

“Go,” Dana nudged him on the hip. “Or you’ll pop a vessel thinking they might be cutting something off that doesn’t need to be cut.”

He brushed a hand over his face, feeling the blood rushing to his cheeks as he excused himself and went back to the examination room. As he moved closer, voices could be heard in low tones.

Robby shouldn’t be hovering like that. Y/N was in great hands. He knew nobody would deliberately hurt her, and Langdon, despite everything, was a good teacher. As he reentered the room, giving her an encouraging smile, he took in how Frank instructed Santos to move down the line, answering Y/N’s question as to why an oscillating saw was so much different than a rotating one and why they had to be used in a different manner – a lifting motion, rather than gliding one.

Y/N let out a sigh of relief as the plaster cracked in two and was removed from her leg, no doubt the feeling of it euphoric. He knew how though it had been on her, but as Santos came to remove the lining, something shifted in her.

The gaze she threw Langdon was alarmed. Almost panicked.

It made Robby straighten up.

“So.” Frank started, sitting down on a wheely chair and moving closer to the appendage while Santos got to work on unbinding the gauze that separated Y/N’s skin from the cast itself. “Wanna tell me what you’ve been up to?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she responded in an obviously fake-oblivious tone, not daring to make eye contact with either him or Robby.

“Oh, I think you do.”

“Nope,” she popped the p. “Absolutely do not.”

Robby raised his brows at her, but she just kept looking at the ceiling as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

Frank let out a deep sigh. “Look, I can see that you have been doing something, and I need to know what. The talk about infection wasn’t just to scare you. You have stitches that are still healing. If something got inside the wounds there, it could end really bad. Spontaneous. Amputation. Bad.” He used the words she’d said before.

After what felt like hours, but was probably no more than ten seconds, Y/N muttered, “Hypotheticals?”

“If you must,” Frank’s words were weary, especially as he threw Robby a confused look over his shoulder.

“And you?” she nudged her chin towards the attending. “Do you promise not to have some sort of a meltdown? Or worse – give me a lecture?”

Robby’s mind was a frantic mess, trying to think what horrible thing could have happened, what emergency had he not seen, when finally, she relented.

“Alright. Fine.” The words were basically bitten out. “I may or may not have, hypothetically of course, used a spatula to scratch. And maybe some… metal bookmarks I have. And uh, a wooden skewer, a clean one though. And umm… there might be some bobby pins and hairclips inside as well.” After a beat she added, “They kinda got stuck, and I couldn’t fish them out.”

And, sure enough, when Santos finished removing the lining, three bobby pins were embedded against her skin – one on the top of her foot, one against her knee, and one behind in what Y/N called it, her knee-pit.

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose, huffing a breath, as Frank did the same. “Is that all you used to scratch?”

“Yes.” Y/N didn’t dare look at either of them.

“Honest?”

“Yes!” she asserted, before quietly adding, “Nothing else would fit.”

Santos snorted from where she was cleaning down Y/N’s leg and applying an anti-scar ointment on the hurt skin, removing the bobby pins as she went along, thrashing them before the woman could ask for them back.

Robby couldn’t really fault her for her actions. The itchiness and discomfort a plaster cast could create was a lot to deal with, especially with how she’d been cooped up inside for a whole week without much to do.

“You could’ve caused a serious infection,” he sighed and put his hands on his hips. “You know better than to do that.”

She threw her head back in a groan. “Please, Michael. I asked you not to lecture me. I tried, okay? I really did. But then I just kept thinking about how itchy it was, and you weren’t there to stop me, and it just all boiled over. By the time I had the bobby pins stuck, it was too late. So, actually, it’s all your fault.”

He could only let out a slow, steady exhale and shake his head as he moved to stand by her side while Langdon and Santos gathered the materials for the new cast.

“So,” he broke the settled silence, hoping to stop the pout that’d bloomed on Y/N’s face. “The spatula. Was that the one you said melted on the stove?”

“Yeah,” she grimaced as his resident and intern had to position her leg properly. “I wasn’t gonna like, wash and put it back with the utensils, you know? That’s disgusting.”

“That’s what’s disgusting?” Robby looked down at her.

“Uh huh, keep talking like that, and see where it gets you.” She pointed up at him. “As of right now, we’re still in the situationship phase.”

“Situation-what?”

“Oh, please don’t break his mind like that,” Langdon butted in, as he lifted her leg slightly and told Santos how to properly attached the 3D-printed cast. Y/N let out a hiss of pain and he watched how her grip tightened on her sweats.

Robby didn’t even think twice before his hand slipped inside her palm, allowing her to squeeze it.

“Alright, good girl.” Langdon nodded at the woman on the bed before looking up at Robby, the way his jaw clenched, and snickered. “Oh, sorry. Is that a thing between you two? I hope I’m not stepping on some toes here.”

“You know what, Frank?” Robby squinted at his fourth-year resident. “I think I might have just found Gloria some spare funding.”

“Point taken,” he said with a laugh before removing his gloves and addressing Y/N. “How’s the pain? This cast is much lighter, as you can probably already feel, and will be easier to navigate in terms of movement and hygiene gene.”

“Manageable,” she nodded running a hand down the new material covering her leg. “Tylenol – two tablets every six hours, but no more than six a day.”

“Perfect,” Frank nodded and took hold of her chart, writing down her words. “And the pain level now?”

“Like a four? Maybe five?” Y/N hissed. “Can’t say this was too comfortable of a procedure.”

Robby smoothed a finger down her cheek. “Do you feel like you need any medication right now?”

“Maybe?” she huffed. “It’s just that with the moving,” she shuddered and swallowed hard. “I like, I could feel like plates and screws grating against the bones. Like I know they actually weren't, but it felt like they did, and just yeah… I think it’s apparent I don’t do well with these kinds of things. I honestly don’t understand what kind of steel stomachs you have. I would have thrown up all over the place if I had to see shit like this every day.”

“Well, if Gloria thinks our patient satisfaction scores are low now, she should be glad you don’t work here.”

Y/N huffed at Robby’s words. “This Gloria woman should come down and try being a doctor or a nurse herself. I know I’m not the easiest of patients as is,” she winced and threw him an apologetic glance. “And I think I might have traumatized that kid – Whitaker – the first time I was here, but from what you’ve told me about how people treat you… Sound like she’s about as close to real medicine, as Katy Perry is to being a real astronaut.”

“I like you.” Santos pointed at her. “Let’s keep you around.”

She just shrugged, giving Robby’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll stick around for however long this guy wants me to.”

His heart thumped in his chest. He wanted to say, “And if I want to keep you around forever? Will you stay?” but all he did was squeeze her hand back.

It wasn’t the time or the place for it. They were still, as Y/N had said, though he barely had any inclination as to what it meant, the situationship phase, but hopefully there would be more phases. And he wondered where it would lead him.

He was no longer a single ship passing through the night. He had a new constellation in the sky he could follow, as he managed the residents and students, evaded Gloria and her bureaucratic bullshit; whenever his mind needed a respite, he turned to the new stars gleaming in the cosmos.

As Dana had discharged Y/N, and Robby walked her to wait outside for the Uber, he allowed himself to skim his knuckles along hers. She responded by intertwining their pinkies.

And now it had been a month of that.

She was a month of evenings and nights spent together. A month of mornings waking up grumpy that turned to laughter and kisses. A month of good coffee, and bad movies, but he never took it for granted. He finally had a truly safe space to come to after days when he thought nothing good could exist in the world.

The worst time of day though was the very early mornings, like right then, when he had to leave the space he’d come to cherish so much.

When he was cocooned by her arms and blanket, his body soaking up the warmth Y/N offered, like leaves do the sunlight. Cracking a bleary eye open, he noted the slit where he’d forgotten to pull it tight.

A heavy sigh left him as she groaned, pulling at his back so their chests could be pressed closer.

“Don’t." He could feel her mouth move along the skin of his pecks. “It’s way too early to wake up and I’m way too comfy to let you.”

“I need to get ready for work,” Robby brushed a hand along Y/N’s hair. “You can still catch some sleep.”

She just huffed, shaking her head, grumbling softly, “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep, and you know it.”

His heart stuttered in his chest, but before he could say anything, she’d already sat up, glaring down at him, as if he’d insulted her. “I’ll get the coffee ready for you.”

“You don’t have to –,”

“I’m already up.” Y/N let out a yawn almost unhinging her jaw like a snake. “Might as well save you some time.”

She was just about to slide out of the bed when he rose too, taking hold of her wrist. “I meant what I said last night. Every word.”

Ever so slowly, mind still addled by sleep, Y/N smiled, leaning back over and kissing him, not caring about either of their morning breaths. “So did I.”

Maybe Robby didn’t actually hate mornings. Not when she poured him his coffee to-go, not when she stood before him, mussing his hair a little and pressing her lips against his.

“I’ll be back by nine.” He wrapped his hands around her waist if only to prolong the time they had together. “And I’ll bring back some of those croissants from the patisserie down the block.”

“The Crème Brûlée ones?”

He hummed against her mouth in confirmation, before pulling away.

“You know, every day you make it harder and harder for me to let you go.” Y/N scratched the nape of his neck.

The smile he entered the ED with was idiotically big, so much so when he met up with Jack on the roof, the night shift attending couldn’t help but break his stoic demeanor.

“Jesus, brother.” Abbot dragged a hand down his face, a corner of his mouth pulling up in one of those rare smiles. “The girl’s got you whipped like a prepubescent teen.”

“I feel like a prepubescent teen with her around,” Robby laughed. “Keeps me on my toes, I’ll tell you that.”

Abbot just nodded, looking over the Pittsburg skyline. “Happiness suits you. You deserve happy.”

He could only smile, because the truth was, ever since the conversation they’d had before falling asleep wrapped up in one another, he was almost euphoric.

They’d been curled on her bed, her legs over Robby’s lap as both of them were engrossed in some form of literature – her in a fantasy book, the kind when he’d asked what it was about, she’d twisted the pages away from him, hiding her face that was no doubt heating up, while he was reading the newest of the medical journals.

It was almost on instinct how his hand rested against Y/N’s thigh, squeezing the flesh there, prodding against the skin where the cast met it when she huffed and squirmed away.

“Don’t," she muttered. “Because unless that hand of yours might slip higher up, you are not allowed to touch like that.”

His lips pulled, ego rising at her words. “I’m just checking if everything’s good here.”

“Everything’s good there,” her eyes drifted to her leg. “Besides, that’s just mean, what with you imposing celibacy on me.”

He threw his head back in a laugh, eyes closed tight at the motion, and he could feel her hand move to the back of his neck. He tilted his head to look at Y/N.

“I like seeing you laugh,” she scratched at the short hairs there, her Y/E/C eyes, a color that had quickly become his most favorite in the whole world, so incredibly soft as she looked at him. “I like seeing you relaxed. I sometimes think you forget how to be human. How to be just Michael.”

“Well, being with you reminds me of it.” He took her hand and pressed a kiss against her knuckles. “It’s easy with you around… it’s easy to be just Michael.”

“Yeah?” She tilted her head back to get a better look at him. “Is there a magic button I can push to turn off that doctor brain of yours, so you don’t worry about me that much?”

He gave her a small grin. “It’s not the doctor part of the brain that worries about you. It’s the one that’s slowly falling in love.”

Instantly, her whole body stiffened, mouth falling open.

And so did his, because fuck, he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. At least not yet.

Their eyes didn’t leave one another, but for a second there, Robby thought Y/N might not be breathing until air stuttered in her chest.

“Umm,” he cleared his throat and took out the novel from her hands, tucking her bookmark in it before closing the pages. “Look… you don’t have to say it back. I know it might be too soon, but it’s something I’ve been feeling for a while. And… it’s not something I’m gonna take back.”

“So…” Y/N swallowed hard. “So, these aren’t like empty words?”

“No.” Robby gave what he hoped was a warm smile, her eyes lowering to watch how he fidgeted with the corner of a page of his journal. Gently, her fingers slipped between his, easing the rising anxiety. “I mean every single one of it.”

Her little ‘okay’ was nothing more than a trembling exhale as he watched her mull over her thoughts. Just as he was about to say something to let her off the hook, to tell her anything that would interrupt the gathered silence, she spoke up.

“I mean, if you were fucking with me right now, it’d be like the meanest thing in the world.” She sniffled and wiped at the corner of her eye. “I uh… I can’t say I’m there yet, you know, but when I think about us… when I think about maybe a few years down the line it isn’t scary. Does that make sense?” She huffed, her fingers squeezing his tighter, as if afraid he’d disappear, and he squeezed right back, promising he wouldn’t. “Anytime I’ve been in a relationship, I’ve never really been able to see past the next few days. A few weeks maybe, but with you… I can see years. I can even see us with a cat.” Y/N let out a teary laugh, and Robby’s own bubbled up in his chest. “I mean if you don’t get tired of me before that.”

“I’ll never get tired of you.”

“You get what I mean.” She pulled up their interlinked hand and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I just… it’s a tangible future. A solid one.”

“And solid’s good?”

“Yeah,” Y/N wrapped her other arm around Robby’s back, holding onto his waist like he always did hers. Like she was the one terrified he might slip away. He’d never dream of leaving, not after knowing how it felt the first time. The two weeks of regret and guilt made him wonder if he had norovirus with the way his stomach constantly roiled. “Solid’s very good.”

Afterwards, they simply basked in the silence, and not before long, they were both side by side, covered by Y/N’s down duvet. He could tell she was just on the cusp of sleep when his words brought her back. “Cat? Singular?”

“Maybe two,” she shrugged in his hold, yawning. “Or more. It depends on how many tears it takes for you to adopt a whole shelter, and trust me – I took theatre in high school. I can cry on command.”

Robby snorted shaking his head.

“But honestly,” Y/N continued, “I’m down for almost like any kind of pet, as long as it’s not a gerbil or a Guinea pig.” He felt her frown against where her face was tucked in the crook of his neck. “Those things die traumatic and dramatic deaths, and, not to toot my own horn here, I think I’m traumatic and dramatic enough for the both of us.”

They fell asleep debating whether or not a landlord would allow them to keep a python as a pet, and Robby debated all the ways he could covertly block any search results on her devices about snake breeders.

It was the question he’d presented to Dana and Heather, by the time it was four in the evening and the ED had slowed down a bit, hoping to get some advice from the two women.

“Wait, don’t tell me you’re afraid of some little snake!” Heather pointed at him over the counter where he sat at the HUB station. “Dr. Robby! I didn’t take you for such a wuss!”

He removed his glasses rubbing at his eyes. “First of all, she said she wanted a cat at first. And now suddenly I have to contend with the fact I might have to live with a twelve-foot Amazonian predator?”

“Actually, royal pythons grow between three to six feet, not twelve,” Dana said. The two threw her a gaze, and she shrugged. “Kid’s going through a weird reptile phase, so I’ve been getting all kinds of interesting facts about them.”

“Do not let them interact.” Robby pointed at her. “They will only encourage one another, and then both of us will -,”

But his words were cut short as the pagers came to life, pulling all of the Pitt into action as a fire was happening in a local area, three ambulances inbound, five minutes out. However, any sort of thoughts about preparation for the incoming got washed away when the words Green Garden Glen came up.

Instantly, Robby’s blood ran cold, his head snapping towards Heather and Dana. “That’s Y/N’s apartment complex. That’s her address.”

“Robby, don’t go there,” Dana said, taking him by the biceps. “We don’t know anything yet, okay? Call her first while we still have some time. We’ll handle the prep.”

“Fuck!” he buried his hands in his air, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, yeah. Okay.”

It was a miracle his hands were steady as he fished the phone out of his pocket, years of conditioning taking over, even as his mind was like a ship being tossed around by a hurricane. But as the line kept beeping until an automated voice told him “The number you are trying to reach is unavailable,” he could feel the boat begin to sink.

“Did you get through?” Heather asked, a frown on her face as Robby shook his head. “You know it doesn’t mean anything. The cell towers probably just can’t handle the influx right now.”

But any words he might have, were stuck somewhere between his heart and his throat, as his brain mulled over what might’ve happened. Had it been her and Sara’s apartment? What was the damage? What was the cause? A candle? An oven? A stove? A forgotten hair-straightener?

Robby would have kept spiraling like that, had it not been for Collins who brought back his attention to the present as the first gurney got wheeled in, an elderly man on it.

He’d been around Y/N’s and Sara’s enough to recognize him as their first-floor neighbor, the one with a penchant for yelling at people who he believed were there to steal the roses he grew below his window.

Mohan and Whitaker were examining him as they got instructed to wheel him to room eight by Princess.

“Conscious and somewhat coherent,” Robby heard Whitaker describe while the neighbor kept rambling on and on about how the fire must’ve been set to kill his plants. “Surface level burns to the upper arm area and stridor in the lungs from smoke inhalation. Lidocaine was administered on the scene and continuous oxygen is being given.”

“Recommendations?” Mohan asked.

“Keep him on oxygen,” Mel piped up from where she’d joined the two. “Monitor the levels and if needed, prescribe antibiotics afterwards.”

“And the burns?”

“Given how it’s surface level, we’ll hook him up to an IV to replenish the fluids in his body, and wrap it up with some bacitracin on the affected area. A tetanus shot for precautionary measures,” Whitaker rattled off, eyes shooting between Mohan and Mel. “Is – was that right?”

“You’re doing good, kid,” Mohan nodded and with that, they all disappeared into the assigned room.

Robby’s eyes scanned the ED – Langdon was intubating a woman with the help of Mateo and Javadi, Dana had taken on a mother with a child, a bleeding burn wound to the kid’s leg, and Collins was coordinating with Princess and Perlah, all the while he stood there like a fucking idiot.

“Get it fucking together,” he muttered to himself. It would do nobody any good if he didn’t do his job. He was the attending, for fuck’s sake. People relied on him. And yet he couldn’t move. It was only when a voice he dreamt about sounded in the room.

Robby might’ve gotten whiplash from how fast he snapped his neck towards the entrance and saw Y/N get wheeled in on a gurney.

“I’m fine,” her words were muffled by an oxygen mask as Dana rushed for her. “Seriously. Just got my leg bumped against the doorway, but I’m alright.”

But the words had no meaning when Robby’s eyes zeroed in on her stomach.

Red. Deep, dark red seeped through her (his) shirt, the one she walked around the apartment with, the one he’d remove from his body on her request and lay on a chair for her to wear the next day. It was now covered with too much of her blood.

Why wasn’t Dana putting any pressure on it!?

He was just about to rush to her when Heather stepped in the way. “Robby, no. You shouldn’t do this.”

“The fuck I shouldn’t, I need to!” he exasperated, watching as McKay ran for her and together with Dana, wheeled Y/N out of his sight.

“You, know this better than I do, we’re not supposed to treat people we know and care about.” She once again got in his way. “Don’t give Gloria a reason to get on your ass about preferential treatment.”

“I don’t give a shit about Gloria or the administration!” He snapped. “Not when the woman I love is actively hurting!”

“Yes, you do,” Heather asserted. “And it’s because you do, you will let McKay and Dana take charge. You know she’s in good hands with them. And you’re no good to Y/N without a head on your shoulders.”

“Heather, please.” He dropped his head. “I can’t…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to understand what he meant, because he’d already said the quiet part out loud.

He loved her. Plain and simple. He wasn’t falling in love, not like he’d told Y/N the previous night. He already was in love. He just didn’t want to scare her away, by telling the true intensity of his feelings. And how could Heather or anyone ask him to step aside when his worst fears were coming true?

After he’d heard about her nightmares about how she thought her leg might spontaneously fall off, certain images had appeared in Robby’s mind during the darker times of the day – Y/N in his ED, hooked up to a million wires and tubes, a ventilator keeping her breathing, while a neuro told him there was no brain activity.

He’d woken up in a cold sweat that night, one of the few times they’d stayed separate. A full moon had blazed through his window as he’d made himself a cup of coffee and plopped down onto the couch.

Robby had debated about calling or texting Y/N, just to make sure it had been only his mind working against him when she’d called him first.

He picked up on the first ring. “Sweetheart?”

He was breathless to hear her voice.

“Sorry,” Y/N muttered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” his reply came quick, soothing her worries. “I was already up.”

“Why?” He could hear her shuffling and huffing as she no doubt pulled herself into a sitting position. “Was it a bad shift? Need to talk?”

“No, no…” he shook his head, even though she couldn’t see. And it hadn’t been a bad shift. It’d been a usual one, though his mind did wander to Jack and how it was going now. The night brought out every type of insane. “ ‘S probably just the moon. I forgot to pull the curtains closed.”

“Ahhh.” Robby could practically see the grin stretching on her face. “So now you agree with me? That the full moon does make people crazy.”

He chuckled recalling the debate they’d had the previous day. “I never disagreed with you. Anyone that works in any type of social sphere, knows full moon equals trouble. I just said people are not like the ocean – we don’t get the water in our bodies pushed and pulled at like that.”

“Whatever you say, gramps. I don’t need you to confirm I’m right and you’re wrong.”

They’d spoken for well over an hour that night, falling asleep on the phone to one another’s breathing as their lullabies.

What if he didn’t get that anymore? What if he no longer had the chance to fall asleep next to her? To watch her put her makeup on? To help her wash her hair or curb her shopping addiction?

What if he no longer could have that solid future with a cat in it?

Fucking hell, he’d take a billion pythons if he had to, just as long as Y/N was there to help him with them.

He wanted to fight. He wanted to rage and shove Heather away, but he knew she was right, and as that settled in his mind, all the energy left him like a tidal wave.

Robby barely felt her pull his face to the crook of her neck, his hands weaving around her shoulders searching for any kind of grounding.

“I can’t lose her,” he muttered, tears he’d tried to suppress falling unabated onto her uniform, while Heather rubbed a hand up and down his back. “I don’t think I can get through that.”

“Look.” She pulled his face out from where he’d hidden it and made him look her in the eyes. “Go and help Santos. I’ll go talk with McKay and Dana, and see what the status is.”

And there was nothing more he could do than just nod.

It took her over three agonizing minutes, three minutes of him attempting to do his job as an attending, three minutes of challenging the decisions of his students, and making them explain their conclusions before Collins returned.

The rock sitting atop Robby’s chest finally rolled away when she said, “Y/N’s fine. McKay and Dana gave her a thorough examination, and apart from mild smoke inhalation, there are no cuts, no burns, no bruises, no nothing.”

“Thank you.” He pulled her in, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thank you for being a sound voice when I couldn’t think straight.”

“She’s really important to you, huh?” Collins pulled back, teasingly emphasizing the word ‘important’.

“I yeah…” He dragged a hand down his face, the tips of his ears blushing, which meant he was probably as red as a fire truck already. “Yeah… She’s… something.”

Heather patted him on the arm. “I’ll help them finish up here. You go and check on your… something.”

He was never living down his words, but he didn’t care. By the time Heather had taken over, Robby was already halfway across the unit and entering the room where McKay and Y/N were conversing.

They’d switched out the oxygen mask for a nose cannula, which meant she had to be getting better, but the second their eyes locked, Robby was by her side, her cheeks in his hands as his gaze roamed over her face and body.

“Michael, look at me.” Y/N placed her palms over the top of his hands.

“I am.”

“No, you’re assessing me,” she countered him. “I said, I want you to look at me.”

“I’m…”

“Michael…” her tone was soothing. Warm. Comforting. And finally, he glanced at her. “I’m fine. And before you say or ask anything – it’s not blood.”

Her hand went to the back of his neck, scratching at the skin there, trying to calm him. He should be doing it to her. Y/N had been the one who’d just gotten rescued from a burning building. But he couldn’t tell her no, as her fingers wove through his messy hair, calming his racing heart.

“I was making dinner. Found that pasta recipe, the one I told you about when mom and I went to Valencia and got drunk off a pitcher of Aperol.”

“So, this is…” His eyes went to the large red stain on the front of the shirt.

“Tomato sauce. Poured the whole fucking jar onto myself when the fire brigade arrived. Sirens scared the shit out of me. Didn’t have time to change before I smelled the smoke and started on my way down.” Y/N smiled at him. Not a teasing quirk of the lips, but a reassuring one. She probably saw he wouldn’t be able to handle it in that moment. “It’s just tomato sauce.”

And as what she was saying, registered in his brain, Robby could note the tangy and slightly sweet scent of the fruit. There was also some basil and garlic in there as well. And the color? Yeah, as he looked it over again, it wasn’t the dark and rich tone blood had, but a lighter, more orangey one.

He looked up at her, her hand on his cheek. “I’m fine.”

It was enough for him to pull Y/N into an embrace, knowing it wouldn’t hurt her.

She was alright.

She was living and breathing.

Her heart was beating in a steady rhythm against his chest.

She was safe and in his arms.

As he catalogued these things, noting them down into the chart he had of Y/N in his head, Robby finally allowed himself to relax, as her hands moved up and down his back, dragging away the horrible images that’d invaded it.

It was McKay clearing her throat, that suddenly reminded Robby where he was. “I uh, I’ve scheduled an x-ray for that leg of hers.”

“Which I don’t need.” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Well, as your doctor, I say you do,” McKay countered.

Robby intertwined their fingers. “Do it for me, please. All the jostling as you got down the stairs couldn’t have been good for the break.”

“Fine,” she groaned. “But honestly, I wasn’t doing much of the climbing. Halfway down a fireman got hold of me and I got carried the rest of the way.”

“Oh.”

That was all he said, but it was definitely the wrong thing to say, because of the way Y/N’s gaze snapped to his, scanning his face for something. And when she found whatever, it was, she was looking for (a slight twitch to his left eye), her lips pulled back into a ferocious grin. “Jealous?”

Robby sputtered before scoffing. “Of what? They were doing their job. If anything, I’m grateful for them.”

And he was, of course. The thought of the firemen not getting to Y/N in time as she clambered down her fourth-floor apartment with a broken leg, was terrifying. But he couldn’t do anything to stop the blush from rising, nor could he hide the way his eyes shifted to McKay who was grinning just as much as his girlfriend.

God, the Pitt would have a field day discussing him.

“Don’t worry.” Y/N leaned up and pecked his cheek. “I kinda like it when you’re jealous, but as much as men in uniforms are hot, I prefer mine in hoodies.”

A violent heat exploded through his body, especially as she looked him up and down like he was a walking-talking meal, and McKay didn’t do him any favors by letting out a low whistle and even pawing at him.

That made Y/N throw her head back in a laugh, only to elicit a big coughing fit. Immediately, his palm was pressed against her back, helping her ride it out. Her teary eyes lifted up to meet his, mirth still glimmering as he wiped a tear from the corner of it.

“Serves you right,” he mumbled, and chuckled, kissing the top of her head before helping her lay back.

As McKay went on to check with radiology and get her a gown so she could get out of the dirty clothes, Robby handed Y/N a cup of water, before asking, “Where’s Sara? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” she sighed, giving him back an empty cup. “She went out of town to visit her girlfriend’s parents at around two-ish? I don’t have my phone with me, though. Could you give me yours so I can give her a call?”

“Of course.”

“The apartment’s fine, by the way,” she said as she punched in Sara’s number. “The fire inspector said we’re okay to live there, as the only damage is the smell, but I’ll just air it out.”

He despised the words coming out of her mouth. The thought of Y/N in an apartment that smelled of fire and smoke, surrounded by danger – Robby’s brain simply couldn’t comprehend it, so his mouth moved before he could tell it not to.

“Move in with me.”

The phone in her hand clattered to the ground, but neither cared. “What?”

“Move in with me,” he said again, only a bit slower, to allow his head to catch up with what was happening. Not that it helped.

“Michael…” Y/N let out a nervous laugh. “We’ve been dating for barely a month.”

“I know, I just… I mean…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your place is ruined.”

“My apartment’s fine.”

“Okay, let me rephrase that – as if I’d let you move back somewhere fire detectors are more decorative than action figures.”

She raised her brows at that. “How’d you know the fire detectors didn’t work?”

“You said it yourself – the sirens scared you. Means the detectors didn’t do their job. The building’s definitely not up to code.”

“Look…” Y/N took one of his hands in hers, squeezing them whether to comfort herself or him, Robby didn’t know, but he held onto her touch nonetheless. “The only reason you’re asking me right now is because you’re scared. So please don’t get me wrong, when I say ‘no’, it’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because I want you to ask me when the time is right. Not after some emergency, but when you feel like you’re truly ready for it. I told you before – there’s no rush.”

His heart warmed at her consideration. They’d had a similar conversation before where Robby’d laid out his insecurities of him being older, of feeling like he had to play catch-up with the younger generation and the world that was constantly changing.

She’d thrown him the most epic side-eye she could muster while half awake and looking at him over the bowl of her oatmeal. After a long moment of silence, she sighed, chewed what was in her mouth and put her spoon down. “Do you really think I don’t feel the same way? I mean, you’ve done so much already in life. You have so much experience, and you’ve contributed so much good to the world. I constantly feel like I have to play catch-up with you. With proving my worth, with proving how even though I’m twenty-six, I’m worthy of you.”

“You are! Why would you ever think any different?” He was flabbergasted even at the insinuation she wasn’t.

She raised her brow at him. “Then why would you think that way about yourself?”

Y/N had him there. Michael chuckled and shook his head, raising his coffee in a toast. “Touché, sweetheart.”

Now, she was looking at him from the hospital bed, eyes just as kind as they’d been that morning. “When the time comes, I will say yes. But I want this to be something not done under duress. If it makes you feel any better, I can stay at yours for the night, but I’d like to go home and grab a few things before that.”

“I can lend you clothes if you need them,” he eagerly offered. Call him a simp, as the youngsters said, but he lived for seeing Y/N in his clothing. Once the cast was off her leg and she’d gone to at least a couple of rounds of physio, he’d get her to wear just one of his shirts with nothing underneath. And hopefully she’d allow him to peel that piece of clothing off too…

“Oh, no, that’s not… that’s not it.”

Robby’s brows rose at the sudden stuttering and shyness, her heart picking up its rhythm and announcing it to everyone through the monitor she was hooked on. Now it was his turn to grin. “So, what’s going on?”

Y/N buried her face in her hands. “You’re gonna think I’m weird.”

“Sweetheart,” he hung his head like it was a horrific prognosis he was pronouncing. “You already are.”

“Micheal,” she dragged his name through a laugh. “I’m being serious.”

“And so am I.”

“Alright, fine… Just please don’t laugh at me.”

“I promise.” Though it was tough as it was to keep the smile from his face.

She took in a deep breath as if steeling herself before nodding. “I uh, I got a weighted blanket.”

Robby’s brows rose. “Okay… I’m not sure why I would find it weird. I mean if you think I’m such a blanket hog, you could’ve just said so.”

“No,” Y/N shook her head, chuckling. “It’s not because of that. Though I have read that statistically, relationships where partners sleep with separate blankets, are healthier, happier and last longer, but it’s not because of that.”

“Then why?” He brushed a finger along her cheekbone. “You having trouble sleeping?”

He couldn’t remember Y/N tossing or turning much, though quite often if he got to her place after a prolonged shift, she’d already be in bed by then. Quietly, he’d shower and pull on a clean pair of boxers, before sliding into bed next to her. Like a magnet, she’d turn towards his chest, her good leg slipping over his hip and head moving to lie next to him on the pillow.

“You’re one creepy crawly,” Michael had once told her as they were settling in for the night, his arms in a tight hold around her waist. By the morning, it would be numb, but he’d take it if it meant she stayed close. “It’s like you’re trying to get inside my skin.”

So, he thought of that moment, when Y/N asked, “Do you remember that week when Jack asked to switch around for the day shift? It was literally the worst sleep I’ve ever had. And not because of anxiety or anything else… because I just can’t fall asleep normally without you.” She lifted her eyes to his and gave a shy shrug. “I can’t do it without your weight pressed against mine, or without feeling the dip in the bed when you sleep next to me. You… you’ve burrowed inside me like that.”

The night when she’d called out of the blue came back to him.

How quickly she’d sense him slipping into the sheets beside her.

That same morning when she said she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep after he’d woken to start the day.

So many little things fell into place.

“So yeah.” Her eyes were filled with hope as she looked at him. “When you do ask me to move in, properly ask me, I will say yes. Please don’t doubt that.”

Robby was sure his heart was about to burst from his chest.

On the one hand, he hated knowing Y/N couldn’t fall asleep without him being there. She shouldn’t be losing valuable time her body could be using to heal and rest, just because of him and the job he had.

On the other, knowing the impact he had on her life, knowing just how important he was to her…

Because she was that important to him too. Whenever he was too tired after a shift and went back to his place so as to not disturb her, his mind always remained there. He fell asleep to the image of Y/N playing behind his eyelids and woke up with her voice whispering ‘good morning’ in his head.

He craved her presence, craved her smile and looks. He wanted for her mornings and evenings, and happiness and pain she might have. And for once, he felt like someone craved him that way too.

“So…” Robby knew he must be red all over from the way his body felt on fire. “Can I ask you next week then?”

Y/N chuckled, pulling him by the sleeve of his hoodie, so he could lean over her. “You’re impossible. But you’re my impossible.”

Their sighs of relief mixed together, as their lips met.

He wouldn’t tell her he was in love with her. Not yet. There was nowhere to rush.

Robby was no longer Sisyphus, rolling a boulder up a hill, only to watch it crash back down.

He was Odysseus finally returning home to his Penelope.

Tags: @kathrinemelissa A/N: I don't feel like this is my best work. I've rewritten this like three different times, and I had a couple of ideas that at the time I felt I could combine into one, but I don't think this flows as good as I would like it to, but I just really wanted to write from Robby's perspective for this one :( Part 3 is already in the works, and I'm definitely feeling better about that one :)

If you wanna be tagged, let me know :)

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bbokicidal · 7 months ago

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A Simple Analysis. | OT8 [SKZ]

Warnings: I'm gonna be straight discussing these men and their pp sizes so if you don't want to read about that then just skip this post, no biggie.

Notes: I'm just theorizing what I think they're like 'n I included some good 'ol references. Please note - these references include pictures/videos of the boys AS WELL AS pictures that are NOT the boys but are references to what I picture in my head when I write smut for them. I also need to thank @skzms because I Lowkey could not find bulge pics/vids on my own and their post really helped me out w that.

Extra Warning: There are twitter links in this post, so you know what that means!! Watch at your own discretion losers, I don't want ppl in my inbox whining that I use refs that 'don't look like them' like obv jfc let me hop on bub quick to ask Chris for a dick pic smh.

Extra extra warning: I like slowly lost the ability to think the more I wrote this because all I was doing was looking at SKZ cock so I mean. forgive me.

Chris

HEA. VY.

Heavy Heavy Heavy !!!! I said what I said !!! And if you want to know why, you can simply look at this video!! If I'm being totally honest here, I don't think he's massive down below but I do think he's a little above average at least. Maybe -- mm... six and a half inches? Pretty sure it's pretty, pink, and always leaking pre because he gets hard so easily.

Also, pretty sure it's relatively thick. I mean, we've seen it a few times before in his pants/shorts, so... definitely enough to make you whimper when he's splitting you open. <3

I'm not even gonna like. explain why I think this bc I'm pretty sure we all know but it's veiny as fuck and you cannot argue w that.

And his favorite thing is when you mention during sex how full you feel just bc of how heavy he is. :]

In conclusion: Pretty pink fat cock that is more than enough to make you feel incredible each time you fuck. <3333

Minho

This man is... packing. p a c k i n g.

Packing like I'm pretty sure it's not like thick thick but it's thick enough and it's probably more on the purple side than the pink side, and it's so fucking long--

Not as heavy as Chan but definitely bigger. Bigger, longer, one pretty blue vein running up the side. Literally so perfect and just the right size for your hands to fit around. Also not too long to the point where it hurts to take it but definitely... big. Seven, at least. At. Least.

And his favorite thing is when you whine about how he's fucking you so good that you might die. Dunno why that comment specifically gets to him, but he makes sure to fuck you a little deeper after that.

In conclusion: pretty cock for a pretty man and so fucking yummy.

Changbin

Okay look people might disagree but I think Binnie's a lil on the smaller side !!

Now look. I'm not saying 'bah this bitch has a small cock' I'm just saying it's not a cervix-kisser like a few of the men on this list. It's just right!! It's the perfect size to be perfectly comfortable when fucking and he knows that 'n he's happy with it. (I'm thinking five, bc five is a comfy size.)

However.

He will ABSOLUTELY split you wide fucking open with how thick he is. This man has the chubbiest, pink, mouth-watering, pussy-dripping, eyes-rolling-back, tears running down your thighs, cock ever !!! He's gotta prep you for so fucking long and there is always soooo much foreplay to you two having sex because he's just so thick that if you don't prep lots it's gonna hurt a lil and Bin really really just wants to take care of you. :(((

And his favorite thing is seeing the way you struggle to take him in your mouth because of how thick he is. :]]]]]

In conclusion: best cock on this list. <3

Hyunjin

Hoh. My God.

Hyunjin,,,, ... Hyunjin's packing a fucking rod of a cock, I can't even lie to you. I'm like 90% sure it's at least eight inches and if it isn't then I'm dead. Y'all thought Minho was big? LAWD have mercy, Hyunjin's got a fucking PIPE on him. A third leg, if you will. Shit slaps his thigh when he walks if he don't wear briefs.

SO. PRETTY. I keep saying all their cocks are pretty BC THEY ARE I JUST KNOW IT but Hyunjin's cock is actually fucking gorgeous like it's the type where even if you're someone who's like "I don't like dick pics" and he sends you one?? you're like "omg y'know what I've had an epiphany"

Not like heavy or thick like the others but soooo long, soooo pretty, soooo mouth watering. The type of cock that has you actually drooling and getting fucked dumb every time he puts it in you.

And his favorite thing is when you do just that ^ and go all quiet n whimpery during sex because your brain is mushy.

In conclusion: Monster cock and no one can convince me otherwise !!

Jisung

Mm, okay. I think it's -- average?? But see I dunno why but I'm picturing a little on the thinner side. (AND NO THAT ISN'T MY SUB JI SUPREMACY MINDSET SPEAKING) but just bc it's a little thinner doesn't mean it's not heavy !!!

And even though it only might be like - five and a half, it's still so cute and so pretty and so fucking tasty!!!

Also like a firm believer that he jerks it at least twice a day, sorry not sorry.

And his favorite thing is when you blow him because you just take it so well and he loves seeing it all disappear down your throat <33 mm mm mmmm !!

In conclusion: Mmmm,,, cutest cock on the list <3

Felix

Y'all keep saying Felix has a little cock just bc you enjoy Twink Felix and look - I too enjoy Twink Felix but I also believe in frat boy Felix supremacy SO -

Big dick Felix in the building !!!

Pretty sure he's above average. Like, 6 or 6 and a half, maybe?? SO pretty, cut, pink, so so cute, so fucking yummy looking.

Easily like, the slickest cock on the list. And if you know what I mean, you know what I mean. if you don't that too bad ig.

The type of cock you wanna like. put in your mouth forever and just never stop giving him head fr.

And his favorite thing is when you jerk him because sometimes he just doesn't have the energy or care but he wants it. Plus your hands look so much better on it than his do. :ccc <333

In conclusion: Pretty, big, hefty cock that fills you up soooo good. Also constantly leaking cum n making a mess but you didn't hear that from me !!!!

Seungmin

Y'all,,, I'm not just saying this because I'm a Seungmin bias but,,,

This man has a fucking. rod. Not like Hyunjin-length rod but rod that's like at least seven inches and I refuse to believe otherwise because have you seen the,,,,

Fucking!!Monster!!Of!!A!!Cock!!!!

Thick! So thick! So heavy! Rivals Chris w how heavy he is !!

And his favorite thing is when you choke on it because raaahhh!!! (im not okay)

In conclusion: 2Min Monster Cock Squad

Jeongin

Holy God y'all.

Think I mentioned it once in a post where I was like, "P sure Jeongin has a big dick because as soon as he hit 21 he had this massive boom in confidence n I'm p sure it's bc his dick grew like 6 inches"

Sooooo,,, pretty sure he's also in the monster cock squad.

Like, at least seven inches, again. So big, so tasty. The type of cock that makes you pray to God it won't rip you apart because I just know he fucks hard, bro.

And his favorite thing is when you actually scream during sex because of how good he makes you feel. <3

In conclusion: Jeongin big dick supremacy, we all know he's packing a fucking log of summer sausage in his boxers.

Taglist : @dwaekkicidal @jabmastersurpriseee @possum-playground @thatonedarkskinnedsiren @oc3anfloor @theyadorevalerie

#skz imagine #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz smut #bangchan smut #lee know smut #Changbin smut #Hyunjin smut #han smut #Felix smut #seungmin smut #Jeongin smut

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ktownshizzle · 12 days ago

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Watermelon & Suga | myg

✎ ˎˊ˗ Pairing: Min Yoongi x plus size female!reader ✎ ˎˊ˗ Genre: idol!au, Fluff, Smut, Drama, Whirlwind romance, Love at “second” sight

✎ ˎˊ˗ Summary: Inspired by the events of Dday Phuket Vlog, Yoongi meets you, the island girl of his dreams, and now he can’t stop thinking about you.

✎ ˎˊ˗ Warnings: Dday rockstar Yoongi, I love this MC I think she a baddie, writing might feel a little too indulgent at times, A world with no language barriers, A relevant time skip, check the dates. Sex on a boat, public sex/slight exhibitionism kink, unprotected sex (be safe!), oral (m&f), spanking, fingering, squirting (in that order lol), slight degradation and dirty talk but MC likes it, sweet pet names, tell me if I missed anything, but yeah… sex on a boat and then some, Yoongi is down atrociously bad for our curvy queen and is desperate to worship her and validate her <3

✎ ˎˊ˗ Word count: 10k!

✎ ˎˊ˗ Notes: Finally!!! Worked on this for months ever since some of y’all plagued me with Phuket vlog Yoongi as honeymoon hubby material and I couldn’t stop the fantasy from unfolding. It did take me a while to bang this out (I blame the Nerds), sorry. Nonetheless I hope y’all enjoy this lil slice of paradise. 💜 Thank you Aqua for betareading.

🗓️ June 2023 - 📍Phuket, Thailand

The air smells like salt and sunlight, a mix you’ve grown so accustomed to that it no longer feels special. Just another Tuesday workday on the Andaman Sea.

It’s nice and calm out today, barely a ripple on the surface. There’s a light breeze from the southwest, nothing too exciting, just enough to keep things cool. No storm on the radar, and the water's warm enough for a good snorkelling sesh. Basically, a perfect day to fall in love (with the sea).

Your usual clients are giddy tourists, high on Tiger beer and oyster omelets. But today seems quieter, more chill somehow, even though your group today is unlike your typical clientele. Today, you were asked to sign an NDA.

The rest of the group has boarded already. Some seven men and women that comprise a group of musicians currently in town for their concert tour. Now, you’re just waiting for the last member to join. The VIP, apparently.

So who’s the diva?

Well, after 15 minutes, he finally decides to grace you with his presence.

“Min Yoongi?” you call tentatively.

He nods, barely glancing up as he steps onto the boat. A quick bow, respectful but distracted. You direct him to a seat near the stern, his cologne lingering in the air as he passes you.

To be fair, he’s not flashy, no monogram logos in sight, no jewelry, or any other loud proclamations of being the proverbial shit. Dressed in a black and white shirt with a plain black rash guard and shorts, a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes, he could’ve been mistaken for anyone. But there seems to be a deliberate nature in how he moves, careful and understated, like he’s trying to avoid notice but not entirely succeeding.

Swag can’t be faked, even if he did walk a little bit like your grandpa. Those New Balance slides? Yeah, you’ve seen it in your halbeoji’s home.

You turn to speak with Soomchai from the coast guard—a moderately cranky but well-meaning old man who’s been doing this for decades. He scratches at his scalp through his faded fisherman’s hat as you hand him the passenger manifest.

“You’re staring too hard,” he quips, licking the pad of his index before flipping the pages.

Huh? “I’m not.” You say.

“So they’re famous, eh?” he reviews the names on the clipboard, surreptitiously glancing over your shoulder.

You look behind you, half of them are already asleep, half basically on their phones.

“One of them, yeah. You know BTS?”

His face remains unchanged as he counts the passengers. “I don’t and I don’t trust the lot of them. Want me to accompany you?”

“Loong Soomchai,” you smile at the man who has taken you under his wing since you moved here last year. “Chill. Besides, I have a black belt in taekwondo, if you already forgot. I can easily toss them overboard, then they’ll really be your problem.”

“Aish,” he waves a dismissive hand at you. “I’m on line 3. Stay safe.”

“Roger, that,” you speak into your hand-held radio, your voice blaring on the receiver tucked into the older man’s cargo shorts.

Soomchai’s slouched frame disappears as the boat pulls away from the dock. You brace your legs and adjust your stance. The boat shifts beneath you—but you don’t. Learning how to move with the water, how to balance your weight just right, was something that came with time.

Before you officially start the tour, you check your rash guard, snug across your chest, and smooth down the high-waisted swim shorts that you are wearing. You’re quite happy with your fashion choice today. It made you feel like a Bond girl—but curvier, tougher, more badass.

Usually, you would take a moment to observe your audience, make eye contact and exchange smiles to open the communication. Your VIP, though, sits with his arms resting on his thighs, gaze fixed on the water as though it holds answers to questions only he knows. You wonder if he’s the type to make small talk or if he’d prefer you stayed silent.

Still, it’s your job to guide, to narrate, to fill the spaces between the silence and the sea. You start with the usual pleasantries and introductions, your go-to joke to break the ice, and you’re off.

“If you look to the right,” you gesture, “you’ll see Koh Tapu. You may have heard of it as James Bond Island, because a scene from The Man with the Golden Gun was filmed there.”

A polite murmur rises from the other guests. Some snap photos. Min Yoongi doesn’t look up.

You let the silence stretch, wondering if you should say more. It’s not often you get guests like him—someone who seems so unbothered, yet weighed down at the same time.

It isn’t until you glance back at him again that you realize he’s watching you now, his eyes sharp beneath the brim of his cap. Caught, you quickly look away, focusing instead on the shimmering turquoise of the water.

“How many times have you done this tour before?”

The question surprises you. You’re not sure if you should be offended, but you answer swiftly anyway. “Hundreds of times,” you admit with a shrug. “But the sea changes every day. It’s never exactly the same.”

You smile at him, genuine. “I imagine it’s a bit like your concerts. You practice it a thousand times, but it's still different in every show, every city, every audience… Makes things interesting.”

Something in your words seems to resonate with him. He leans back slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “I get that,” he says softly, more to himself than to you.

After that, you noticed Yoongi’s guard begin to lower. He’d nod occasionally at your explanations, even ask a question here and there—about the history of a limestone karst or the kinds of fish they might see while snorkeling. His voice was quiet, with a faint rasp from overuse that made him clear his throat now and then.

“You know this fish?” Yoongi asks, holding out his phone to show you a screenshot.

“Wow, that’s beautiful…” you lean forward slightly.

He coughs a bit, scratching the back of his neck as he leans back. “Yeah, uh, they said it’s native to these parts.”

“I’m not familiar,” you squint. “Can you send me the photo? I can ask one of the other guides—I’m still no expert on marine life, I fear.”

There’s a pause. He gives you a look you can’t quite read, brows slightly raised, lips pressed in something not quite a smile. But it’s not disapproving either. Just...

Oh shit. You just asked for his number. Or to exchange Kakao. Same thing. You basically asked to link up.

Such an idiot. A flush creeps up your neck. Stupid, stupid girl. You weren’t thinking. God, he probably thinks you’re trying to pull a fast one on him—playing the helpful guide when really, you just wanted an excuse.

People don’t just ask for Yoongi’s number. Of course not. Unless they’re someone. You hope he doesn’t file a complaint after this.

You straighten, your voice a little brighter, a bit too eager to salvage what’s left of your professionalism. “But, um, actually, no need. We’ll see a ton of species later when we get near the caverns. I’ll make sure to keep an eye out for that one.”

“Mmh.” He nods. You can’t quite tell if it’s thoughtful or distracted by your word vomit.

But as you turn to walk across the deck, you can feel his eyes burning holes on your back. Low on your back. Maybe lower even.

Should you look? Maybe you’re just imagining it.

You chance a quick glance. And your eyes meet his. Looking at you with an interesting glint. His lips lift slightly. You tilt your head, curious. Pulse racing. Giddy.

Okay, maybe your job is safe after all. But your heart? Eh.

When you serve them a plate of watermelon slices, the group’s energy shifts. One of them jokes about how they should’ve brought soju, while another eagerly reaches for a piece, groaning in satisfaction the moment he tastes it.

You place the tray in front of Yoongi, and he immediately plucks a slice. He bites into it, and for the first time all morning, you see a full-blown smile—pretty enamals and pink gums on show.

“Good?” you asked, unable to stop your own grin from forming.

He nodded, wiping his thumb along the corner of his mouth. “It’s perfect.”

“What’s your favorite fruit?” you throw out a neutral question as you struggle to ignore the stray liquid he’s trying to chase down with his tongue.

“Tangerines,” he replies. “The ones from Jeju Island are the best. Have you ever been?”

“No, unfortunately.”

There was a beat of silence before he adds, almost to himself, “But this… this is nice.”

He pushes the plate towards you. “You should have one.”

“Ah, maybe later.”

“Don’t be shy,” the plate moves another inch closer. You pick up a slice, mumbling a thanks.

Sugar fills your mouth as you sink your teeth on the watermelon, juice dribbling on the side of your lip which you immediately catch with your tongue.

Unlike you though, he’s watching. Openly. Shamelessly. The way his eyes dart from your mouth to your eyes is not lost on you and you can’t help but feel excitement pooling in your belly.

“Sweet.” you remark, before sucking the juice from your thumb. Baiting him.

He smirks, “Looks like it.”

“You always flirt using fruit?”

“You’re the one licking your lips.”

You grin.

As a tour guide, you’re used to the art of the harmless flirt. It comes with the job—tourists with sun-soaked nerves and too much vacation confidence, tossing compliments like loose change. You’ve learned how to play along just enough, to keep things light, fun. A wink here, a tease there. Part of the act. People like feeling charming, and you don’t mind giving them the illusion.

But this feels different.

Right now, it’s just you, the sea, and this idol watching you like he’s the one mesmerized.

And maybe it shouldn’t matter, the way his gaze lingers—not over the places you’ve been taught to hide, but the ones you’ve learned to own. The dip of your waist. The curve of your hip where your swim shorts sit snug.

There’s something about being looked at like this—not with hunger or pity, but with curiosity, appreciation, even. And it makes you want to keep his gaze a little longer.

‘Cause you know who he is. You’d recognized the name when you saw it on the manifest and when you signed the documents. He’s an idol. Part of Bangtan Fuckin’ Sonyeondan. A man with a carefully manicured image, a life guarded by rabid fans, dissected by media men with too many opinions, surrounded by sexy, slender women.

You’d think men like him don’t get to have ‘normal’ moments like this. They don’t make casual conversations about fish or share food with a rando. But here he is, acting like this is real. And god, why does it feel like it might be?

Honestly, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe you’re not the only one who knows the art of the harmless flirt. Maybe he’s not even that interested.

But you’re gonna play along. See where this goes. At least for now.

Later, after anchoring in a secluded cove, you bring out the snorkeling gear. Most of your guests dive in with ease, their laughter echoing as they race toward the reef. Yoongi lingers on the boat, fiddling with the straps of his mask.

“Need help?” you ask, stepping closer.

He looks up, sheepish. “Is it that obvious?”

You laugh softly. “A little. Here, let me.”

He hands you the mask, watching as you adjust the straps. His gaze feels heavier now, like it’s searching for something beyond the simple act of fixing the gear.

You’re used to people skimming past you with their eyes, but when Yoongi looks, you feel like your skin is on fire. His gaze dips, just for a second, on the spot where the zipper of your top sits against your boobs. He doesn’t comment, doesn’t smirk—probably thinks he’s being sly. But you’re on to him.

“You’ve done this before, right?” you check, eyes teasing, as you pass the mask back to him.

He shrugs. “A long time ago. I’m out of practice.”

“Good thing I’m here.” You flash him a reassuring smile and step into the water, gesturing for him to follow.

You surface and nod. He hesitates only briefly before jumping in—but his foot slips slightly on the boat’s edge, and he lands with an ungraceful splash and shriek that echoes across the cove. You can’t stop the laugh that bursts out.

“Grand entrance,” you say, grinning as he surfaces with a shy expression.

“Glad I could entertain you,” he mutters, pushing his wet hair back, and if that isn’t one of the sexiest actions you’ve ever seen done by any human being. God.

“Here.” You take a chance to reach for his hand, and to your mild surprise and relief, he takes it. “Just relax. The water will do most of the work.”

He follows your lead, his fingers tightening slightly around yours as you float together. The reef comes into view below, vibrant and teeming with life. You glance at him, his face half-hidden by the snorkel mask, and find him watching you instead of the reef.

“You’re missing the best part,” you pull your hand away, pointing toward the colorful fish darting between the coral.

“Am I?”

You take your mask off only to roll your eyes. “Are you always this smooth?”

He pulls the mouthpiece out just enough to smirk at you. “Only when it works.”

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes you.

“Admit it,” he says, leaning closer, his voice low. “You’re having fun.”

You don’t deny it. Instead, you start wading away, gesturing towards the reef. “Come on. The fish are much better company.”

Back on the boat, the atmosphere is lighter. Yoongi is more relaxed now, his earlier distance replaced by a quiet warmth. As you steer toward the island for lunch, you feel his gaze on you again.

When you glance over, he doesn’t look away this time.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Nothing,” he says, though his lips twitch into an understated smile.

At the island, the group disembarks for lunch, their excitement palpable. Yoongi lingers by the railing, his gaze flickering between you and the others.

“Come with us,” he says, his voice low enough that the others don’t hear.

You shake your head, smiling apologetically. “I can’t. Protocol.”

He looks as though he wants to argue, because he seems like the type that gets everything he wants, but resignedly nods, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Next time, then.”

“Next time,” you echo, though you’re not sure if you believe it.

While they eat, you stay behind on the boat, finishing your own lunch, which one of the island ahjummas hands you as soon as you dock. There’s still some leftover watermelon, so you have it for dessert. It’s sweeter than any you have had all summer, but not sweet enough to distract you from the thought spinning in your head: Did the Min Yoongi really just invite you to join their group for lunch?

He was probably just being polite. Right? But then why did he stare at your lips for ten whole seconds when you were exploring the caves?

Fuck. You really need to get Lasik because your eyes cannot be trusted. Maybe a psychiatric evaluation too, while you’re at it.

Who are you kidding? At this point you can only afford the oh-so ahjumma-chic wide-brim hat so your lone brain cell is not fried by the sun.

BUT. Why does it feel like you had a connection?

Him with his kind eyes and that sexy smile. You’re so fucked.

Shaking your head, you grab a beer from the cooler and chug it, the cold brew doing its damnednest to wash down your delusions. For a moment, the only sound is from waves against the boat’s hull.

But then, footsteps.

You glance over your shoulder.

Yoongi is walking into the shaded area of the boat, pushing damp strands of hair with his beautiful fingers.

“Hey,” you say, clocking that he’s coming in alone. Your pulse races.

“Hi.”

“Craving more watermelon?” you ask, smiling as you gesture to the plate.

He leans against the table, his gaze steady, but there’s something else there. “I was,” he says, his voice softer now, “but I think I’m craving something else.”

Your breath stutters. The plate in your hand feels heavier. The tips of his fingers brushes along the edge of the table as he walks closer, and closer.

“There’s, uh, more delicacies on the island,” you try to use your tour guide voice, but you’re faltering. “Thailand has, umm, over 1,000 species of fruit, you know…”

“Mmm.” A faint smirk touches his lips, but his eyes are fixed on you. He’s literally in front of you now, so close that the air is sucked out of your lungs. You notice every macro detail—the faint streaks of sunscreen on his cheek, the fine grains of sand clinging to his hair, the way his scent is a mix of the sun and the ocean and his own musk. And those lips. Goddamn those lips.

“What is it that you like?” you ask, your voice small and shy as he studies you, too.

“I think I prefer,” he murmurs, before leaning in. “This.”

His kiss sparks upon contact against your mouth. His lips are a little chapped, but still soft. A hand slips around the back of your neck, guiding you closer until your lips part, and his tongue slides in. There’s not one second of hesitation, like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You angle your head and kiss him back, a little messy, a little breathless. It’s not the kind of kiss meant for daylight, not while you’re at work, not something that belongs on a boat in open water, but fuck if it ain’t so goddamn good you forget where the hell you are.

His other hand settles on your middle, firm, squeezing against your soft waist. You’re keenly aware of every place your bodies meet—your chest against his damp shirt, your thigh brushing his leg, the faint heat radiating off his skin in the humid air.

You’ve never done this. Nope. Not while working. Not with guests, especially. But Yoongi doesn’t feel like a guest anymore. Doesn’t feel like a fantasy or a celebrity or whatever version of himself the world thinks he is.

He doesn’t feel new–like someone you just met. It sounds crazy that you connected on a level that doesn’t quite match the short amount of time since you’ve exchanged names. You can’t even correct your actions at this point. Not when he tastes like coconut and you’re slipping farther away from clarity.

Your hands move on instinct, sliding up under his shirt, fingers tangling in the sticky strands at the nape of his neck. “Yoongi…” His name escapes you like a plea, like you’re already wrecked—and maybe you are.

His tongue strokes yours, and it’s incredibly filthy how he’s sucking it into his mouth like he wants to own it. Own you. You moan. Your knees weaken. Your brain empties. The only thing you can feel is him—his mouth, his breath, the growing pressure of his body against yours.

Fingers are slipping under the hem of your shorts, gripping you behind with no hesitation.

“This ass,” he mutters, then smacks, and the sound cracks in the air. Your breath catches, a gasp hitching from your throat as slickness floods your bikini bottoms.

“Shit–somebody might see us,”

“Nah, nobody else is gonna come here,” he pauses, smirks. “Except you, twice. Then, me.”

The confidence. “Oh my God.”

“We ‘bout to break protocol.” He squeezes your ass again, groaning into your neck. “You want this?” he rasps. His lips latch onto your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you shiver. “Tell me.”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathe. “Come…”

You grab his hand and lead him toward the hatch, pulling it open and motioning for him to climb down. He does without question, dropping to the lower deck with a soft thud.

You grip the ladder, descending slowly, legs already shaky with anticipation. But before you can hit the floor, his hands are on your thick thighs, firm. Squeezes once.

“Stop,” he commands. “Face me.”

Your heart stutters, but you obey, turning to face him as you grip the edge of the floor deck which is now at your eye level.

“What are you—?”

“You keep an eye out,” he says, voice low and dark with intent. “I'm just gonna eat you out real quick.”

Your breath catches—shocked, aroused, completely undone.

He curls his fingers into your waistband, tugging your shorts and bikini bottoms down in one smooth motion. A gust of humid air brushes your exposed skin as your knees nearly give out.

But you don’t get a second to process, because his mouth is already on you, making out with your pussy lips. His tongue licks a long, hot stripe through your folds, and your nearly fucking cum right there.

The metal ladder is cool against your ass as you struggle for balance. Your grip tightens on the deck, knuckles almost white. His hand slides up to part your thighs just a little more, anchoring you open for him. You feel his hot breath, before his tongue dives back in—savoring, circling, sucking.

You panic—just briefly. You spent hours in the ocean. You probably taste like—

“Mmm,” he hums against you, like you’re the best thing he’s ever tasted. His grip on your thigh is a bit harsh as if he could read your mind that you wanted to squirm out of his grasp.

There is something so incredibly arousing about feeling him, but not seeing him. Hearing him, but not touching him. As if the sensations are heightened. Every feeling more palpable because of sense deprivation.

Next thing you know his fingers are teasing your entrance, collecting the slick from your pussy.

You feel a wet tap against the side of your mouth and words aren't needed as you suck his digits in. You’re drunk of your own taste and heady scent, the feel of his bony knuckles massaging your tongue tipping you closer to the edge.

But then his fingers are gone and you almost want to bite it down but then he slides it into your cunt and Christ alive.

He is moving in and out of you so shallowly, just knuckle-deep, the pads of his fingers barely scraping your inner walls. You move your arms to grip the ladder behind you, giving you the leverage to rock forward, coaxing it inner, deeper.

Fuck is he laughing right now?!

You halt your movements as you hear a throaty chuckle from underneath you.

“Why’d you stop,” he teases, kissing up the softness on the inside of your thighs.

“Hook your thigh over my shoulder,” he mumbles against your soaked heat, voice low and so filthy it makes your whole body tense.

You do as he says. Your leg lifts shakily, your body is burning with the exertion but his hand is already there, steadying you, guiding you, draping it over the curve of his shoulder like you don’t weigh nothing.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, just before his tongue dives back in.

It’s messier now. His fingers pump deeper, faster, the pace almost punishing as they curl inside you, finding that spongey spot that makes your thighs seize. His tongue flicks over your clit in short, relentless strokes, matching the rhythm of his fingers.

You cry out—loud, desperate, your hand gripping the ladder like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the earth. Your hips jerk, trying to escape, but he growls and tightens his hold, tongue moving even faster.

“Fuck, Yoongi—I’m gonna—”

And then it hits. A blinding, body-shaking orgasm that tears through you so violently your vision goes white. You scream as your legs almost gives out, but his arm braces your hips as you fuckin’ squirt, soaking his chin, his neck, the tops of his shoulders.

He lets out a surprised, delighted laugh, breath hot and sticky as he looks up at you.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, eyes glazed, chin glistening. “You squirted all over me, you dirty girl.”

You whimper, half-mortified, half-high, your body still twitching. “Sorry…” you squeak.

His tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth, and he grins—smirks, really. Completely pleased with himself. “Don’t. Sexiest thing I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re trembling so hard you can barely stay upright, your leg slipping from his shoulder. He catches it, presses a final kiss to your inner thigh, then plants your foot down on a step.

“Come here. Be careful,” he says, voice gentler now. He guides you by the waist, helping you down the last few steps until your feet hit the floor.

Your body collapses into his chest on instinct, and he chuckles again, arms wrapping around your middle.

“You okay?” he asks softly, nose nudging yours.

You nod, breath still catching in your throat. “More than okay.”

He pulls back just enough to flash that lazy grin. “Good. ’Cause I’m not done with you yet.”

He spins you back around, pressing you against the ladder. You gasp as his hand flattens between your shoulder blades, your palms bracing the handles above you as his hips roll into yours from behind—slow and grinding, just to let you feel what he’s working with.

“Still want this?” he asks, voice low, gravel edged with need, his hard cock moulding itself against your plush ass cheeks.

You push your hips back into him. “Yes. God, yes.”

There’s a frantic shuffle of clothes, from his end, his swim trunks dropped and kicked away, and then… He slides in with one rapid thrust, burying himself to the hilt. Your mouth drops open, lungs pierced, your breath knocked right out of you.

“Fuck—shit,” you choke, forehead pressing against your arm.

“F-fuck,” he groans, fingers tightening on your hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts to move, hips snapping forward sharply. Each thrust drives you against the ladder, the sound of skin on skin echoing in the tiny space, the scent of the ocean mixing with the thick heat of your bodies.

Yoongi rocks against you desperately like he’s been holding back all damn day. Like he’s finally been let off the leash. Mercifully he slows down, but he is pulling you up by your hair so your back is resting against his chest.

“Yoongi,” you say his name breathlessly, and he releases his ponytail grip as you struggle to stay upright. He licks the skin by your ear, whispering dirty things you’ve never heard of in your entire life, twitches against your walls.

“You like that, huh, you little slut?”

Fuck. You didn’t expect to like the name so much. An involuntary clench of your pussy and you know he got the idea. It’s not just the name, but it’s the way he is literally manhandling you, fulfilling all your small girl fantasies.

“Mmh.”

“Yeah, you love it.” His fingers find the zipper of your rash guard top sliding it down just enough for his large hands to slip inside and grab a fistful of your breasts.

“Your tits are so soft, shit. Wan’ suck on them so bad.” He growls.

“Want it,” you mewl, pushing your chest forward for him to grasp.

“I bet you do, huh. Maybe later, if you’re a good girl I can suck on these. Make you cum just licking at your nipples—want that?”

“Uh-huh, please,” You sound so whiny, fucking back into him as he fondles and tugs and pulls at your sensitive nubs.

“Spit,” he instructs, his palm out. “Let’s get these nice and slick.”

A wet glob from your mouth lands on his palm and he slaps it against your tits. You whimper at the sting, but it’s quickly relieved by the soft massage against your breasts.

“Feel good?”

“So good. Ah–” your words are cut off as he folds you again to his liking.

Yoongi fucks like he is used to being watched, but right now? There’s no audience. No stage. Just you, bent over, body shuddering with every thrust, moaning like you don’t care who hears it.

Your hands scramble for grip, nails digging into your own skin as his rhythm gets rougher. His fingers trail up your spine, tracing the dip at the small of your back before curling into your hair and yanking just hard enough to make you gasp as he continues to rail you from behind.

“Harder, please, Yoongi…”

“So desperate,” he pants, breathing hot against your neck. “So fucking good like this. You feel—” a groan breaks his sentence, “—so goddamn perfect. A pretty little— cocksleeve just for me.”

You’re trembling now, thighs shaking as pleasure coils low and tight in your belly. You feel everything—his cock, thick, hot, hitting just right with every snap of his hips and your body is unraveling fast.

“Ahhh. Right there, fuckin there. That’s it…” You glance over your shoulder, and fuck he’s so fucking hot and he’s fucking you so good and…

“You gonna come for me again?” he growls, one hand sliding between your thighs. “Shit. Give it to me, you dirty fuckin’ girl.”

You cry out as your orgasm slams into you, body clenching tight around his cock, eyes squeezing shut as white heat galvanizes every nerve. Yoongi curses behind you, hips stuttering once, twice—and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside you with a growl that sounds more animal than human.

You both stay there, shaking and sticky and utterly breathless. The only sound is the ocean lapping against the hull and your heart pounding in your ears.

Yoongi’s hand doesn’t leave your waist, his fingers sink against your soft skin a bit firmer, though somehow gentler, too. Then, his lips press once, twice, thrice, softly, against your shoulder blades. You don’t understand what’s happening. It feels intimate, too intimate.

“Umm…”

“Is there a bathroom here?”

“A tiny one, yeah. Over there.”

You wince as he pulls his cock out, walls pulsing once as if you wanna keep him inside you if you can.

“C’mon,” he taps your ass playfully, lightening up the moment. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

By the time the group is back on the boat, skin sun-warmed and bellies full from lunch, the mood is mellow. No one makes any comment as to why you and Yoongi are already on the boat, or why you both have different tops on. You’re slightly relieved. But it also makes questions swirl in your brain that you don’t really want answers to. You shove it in the recesses of your mind and focus on getting back to work. You’re still on duty after all.

You check on the other guests, making small talk about the yummy lunch spread. You know they had grilled squid, pad thai, mango sticky rice… like every other group you’ve toured, and it’s always a dopamine rush to see everyone so satisfied.

Someone puts on music through a Bluetooth speaker, the kind of acoustic guitar track that feels like the end of a movie. The boat sways gently as it begins to head back toward the mainland.

You pretend not to notice when Yoongi lingers near the bow, waiting until the others have found their seats before sliding into the open spot beside you.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits close enough that your arms brush when the boat dips slightly with the tide.

You glance at him once. Twice. On the third time, you catch him already looking at you.

Neither of you smiles. He just reaches for the beer you hand him and takes a long sip, throat bobbing.

The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s in limbo. Like neither of you wants to name what happened, not while you’re still in it. Still riding the aftershocks of something way too fucking good to put into words.

At one point, he rests his arm along the back of the bench behind you. His fingers graze your shoulder. And you know it’s not by accident.

Your hand brushes his knee when you reach for a stray towel. Not by accident, either.

The sun dips lower as the coastline comes into view, and a knot begins to form in your chest. The same one he must feel, if the way his hand keeps tightening around his bottle is any sign.

Eventually, the boat eases into the dock. The group starts gathering their things—bags, towels, sun hats, laughter loud again as people gear up to head back to city life.

You move to help untie the mooring lines, and when you return to the deck, he’s standing by the edge, a small bag slung over one arm.

The others are already walking off. Bowing to you and thanking you for the tour. He’s the last one to leave just as he was the first to arrive.

“This is where I’m supposed to say thank you for the tour,” he murmurs, eyes still on the sea.

You nod. “This is where I say, come back anytime.”

He turns to you then. And for a second, the tiredness in his eyes softens.

“Will you be here, if I come back?”

You don’t answer right away. Just offer a small smile. “Maybe.”

He nods like that’s fair. Steps forward like he might hug you, or say something more. Maybe he considered it. But instead, he slips past you with a final glance.

The dock creaks under his steps. He doesn’t look back.

You watch him walk away until he disappears into the crowd.

Your chest aches with something unnameable.

You know how this goes. Men like him probably have groupies all the time, in every tour stop. You were Phuket. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

At least, you tell yourself, he was a really good fuck and you finished twice, which is more generous than any other one night stand or quickie you’ve had. A great story to tell your future grandkids that you once fucked a very famous idol. Okay, maybe not your grandkids. Maybe not a story to tell, actually. (You signed an NDA!) But something to shove in your heart, let every ventricle lock it tight there. But the taste of him is still on your lips, and the way your heart stutters in your chest says otherwise, like the memory is already struggling to be freed.

You’ve just stepped out of the shower when the knock comes. You freeze.

It’s late—well past when anyone should be dropping by. You don’t get visitors out here. Not unannounced. Not at this hour. Wrapped in your towel, you tiptoe barefoot to the door, heart thudding.

Another knock. Slower this time. Softer.

You squint through the peephole and nearly forget how to breathe.

It’s him.

Yoongi.

You open the door, towel clutched tight, words lodged in your throat.

It’s really him. Hood pulled low.

His eyes sweep over your form, too. Wet, barely covered… but he recovers enough to explain what is going on.

“I know this is crazy,” he says, before you can even speak. “But I had to see you again.”

He stands there, blinking at you under the harsh hallway lighting in your apartment building, like he’s afraid you’ll shut the door in his face.

“How did you even—?”

“I went back to the pier. Found the old guy? Practically begged him. And he gave me your address.” He exhales, shaking his head with a laugh. “I think he only did it because he felt sorry for me.”

You’re still standing there, stunned, the scent of body wash clinging to your skin.

“Can I come in?” he asks, quieter now. Like he’s unsure of the answer. “You’re in your towel.”

You nod, even though you’re still in shock, stepping aside. You adjust the towel on your chest.

“Make yourself at home. Let me just put clothes on.”

Yoongi slips off his shoes and steps into your little house like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He looks around. It’s nothing special—worn tile floors, mismatched furniture, an abandoned oatmeal bar on the coffee table—but he doesn’t look disappointed. He looks like he’s breathing for the first time all day.

You grab a shirt and sleep shorts, quickly changing in the bedroom. When you return, he’s leaning against your kitchen counter, eyes scanning the fridge magnets, the little details of your life like they mean something.

You glance up at the clock, 8:30 p.m.

“I was gonna eat ramen,” you say, trying to play it cool.

His lips twitch. “You got enough for two?”

You both end up cooking together. He cuts vegetables with a precision that is completely uncalled for for a cheap pack of instant noodles. You make a comment and he huffs his chest with pride, his knife skills now in full show as he chops the onions in record speed.

You laugh at how he makes a face and complains about being in tears afterwards.

The kitchen fills with steam and the smell of broth. You sit on the counter while it simmers, beers in hand. He stands in front of you, and your legs part instinctively, letting him through. Like he belongs there.

It’s oddly domestic. Ridiculously comfortable. Why? You still don’t get it.

You’re talking about nothing—favorite childhood snacks, weird airport food, your least favorite sea creatures—when the silence slips in between you.

He’s watching you now, the way you laugh, the way you push your hair behind your ear. His beer forgotten on the table.

You meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, but unlike in the boat, they’re not unreadable. In fact, they’re very much readable and you don’t hesitate to call him out for it.

“You’re gonna kiss me again, aren’t you?” you raise a brow.

“Been thinking about it since you opened the door in that towel.”

So he does.

He kisses you slower this time. More careful. Not rushed, not frantic like it was in the boat. He cradles the back of your neck, the other slides beneath your shirt to rest against your waist.

You’re kissing each other like you’re trying to remember. Like you’re trying to make it last. His mouth moves with so much purpose, almost like he’s writing over the hurried, hungry moment from before and replacing it with this—reverence, sureness, clarity.

When he pulls away to breathe, you whisper, “This is crazy.”

He nods. “I know…”

At least you can agree on that.

Later, he’s between your thighs on the couch, and this time, he doesn’t tear at your shorts like he’s chasing a high. This time, he touches you with all the time in the world, so you feel it all. When he slides your shorts down, he pauses, eyes locked on your center, pupils blown.

“I wanted this before,” he murmurs, kissing your inner thigh. “But I didn’t take my time. I didn’t show you.”

“Show me what?” you ask, breathless.

He presses another kiss to your other thigh, then another, closer and closer to your mound.

“That you deserve to be worshipped,” he says. He drags his tongue along your puffy folds, slow and tender. You arch into his mouth with a gasp, already so close just from kissing in the kitchen. But maybe it’s also the rasp of his voice, and the refreshing honesty, the way he seems to be convinced that you were special.

So this isn’t like the boat. You, suspended against the ladder. It’s not messy or wild. It’s not just lust, or tension exploding in secret.

This is something else. You, suspended in a different reality. Yoongi, telling a different story with his mouth.

He eats you out with care, overwriting that animalistic fuck at sea. His hands cradle your supple thighs as he buries his face deeper. His tongue works in slow, deliberate circles, building towards your peak.

“Watch…” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear between breaths. He puts his index and middle fingers in his mouth, dragging it across his sinful tongue. Teases it against your hole before pushing it in agonizingly slow, relishing the way your body is writhing in pleasure.

When he pushes the length all the way in, you fist the cushions. “Yoongi—oh god—”

His mouth envelops your clit in a gentle suction as his fingers go in and out of you.

“Ahh, so close…”

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re shaking again, voice breaking on his name, thighs trembling on either side of his face.

He stays between them even after. Kissing. Calming. Worshiping.

You’re still breathless when he pulls back, lips slick, hair mussed, cheeks flushed with heat and pride. He looks up at you like he’s just done something holy—and maybe he has.

You’re still dazed by the time he pulls back, lips glossy, hair wild from all your pulling but his eyes, soft, focused completely on you. He rises slowly, kissing your stomach, bunching up the fabric as he goes, and you can’t even bring yourself to feel a little embarrassed like you sometimes do, with every cover that’s shed, every piece of you revealed, because he is treating you with the kind of reverence you’ve never felt before. Blind to the flaws, he’s not about to leave any part of you untouched by the pink petals of his lips, helping you out of your cotton tee.

When his face meets yours again, you’re already reaching for him, pulling him close, needing his mouth, his breath, the low rasp of his voice in your ear. You’re so high on this feeling. Of being wanted–no–worshipped, for who you are. He kisses you like a man obsessed, hands sliding under your thighs as he coaxes you onto him, settling you over the hardness pressed tight beneath his sweats.

You’re straddling him now, knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side, your body still trembling from the orgasm he pulled out of you. And then—you pause.

You hesitate. Just for a second.

The reality of it creeps in and your saboteur whispers the insecurities you’ve worked so hard to hide. You’re heavier than him. Curvier, fuller. And even though he just made you fall apart on his tongue, there’s a flicker of doubt when you feel your weight settle onto him.

He notices instantly.

“Hey,” he murmurs like he knows, threading his fingers on your hair to pull you towards him, lips brushing the corner of your mouth. His other hand grip your hips, sliding back to your ass where he gives it a soft squeeze. “Don’t do that.”

“I just…” you look away, voice small. “You sure you’re comfortable?”

He lets out the softest fucking laugh, breath hot against your throat. “Baby, sit on me.”

His grip tightens, pulling your hips flush against him. You feel all of him—thick and very solid right against your slit and you can’t help the moan that escapes you, mixing with his own with the slightest friction.

You whine when he thrusts up just once, just enough to make your clit drag against the bulge in his boxers.

“Shit. You’re so sexy…” he breathes, hands sliding from your hips to your thighs, then your asscheeks, cupping them with both palms. “You feel what you’re doing to me right now?”

You nod, dazed, as you roll your hips, slow and testing. He groans like it’s killing him—in the best way.

“Wanna see you ride me… wanna feel you come on my cock. You think you can take it?”

“Shit, yeah…” You respond with a shameless grind.

“I think I’m addicted to you,” he smiles, ogling your tits, the way they jiggle for him.

“Yeah?”

He licks his bottom lip, nodding.

“Off,” you gesture to his clothes, his tee tossed haphazardly on the floor. You lift your hips slightly to give him room to shimmy his bottoms down.

His cock flops against his tummy, heavy and reddened. Your mouth wants it too but your hands are already guiding him to your slick entrance on its own accord like it knows better. You finally sink down onto him and his head drops back against the couch, jaw clenched, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck. You feel like heaven.”

You gasp, reveling in the fullness of him, the stretch. You ride him slowly at first. Letting him feel all of you. Letting him watch.

And he does. Watches the way your body moves over his, the way your breasts bounce with every roll, the way you take him so deep he can barely speak.

“Look at you,” he pants, hands moving everywhere—your waist, your ass, your thighs, back to your breasts.

“Shit…” he pants, eyes moving to where you’re riding him. “You’re so fuckin’ hot… fuckin’ perfect.”

He palms your breasts, groaning low in his throat. “Can’t get enough of these.”

He leans forward, licking the valley of your chest before closing his mouth around your nipple, sucking hard enough to make you cry out. Your walls flutter around him in response, and he lets out a low, wrecked groan, before smacking your ass.

“Fuck!”

“Bounce for me, baby,” he gruffs hungrily against your skin, and he delivers another spank. “Come on…”

You do—riding him harder, feeling him twitch inside you. His mouth stays latched, teeth grazing sensitive skin. He’s relentless, filthy, utterly focused on unraveling you.

When he finally pulls back, he finds your mouth again, devouring your moans between kisses as you both hurtle toward the edge.

“Gonna cum, Yoongi—” you gasp.

“With me, baby,” he pants. “Fuckin’ cum with me.”

He bucks into you harder, faster, harsher and finally you cum together—this time with his name sobbed into his neck—he holds you there, pulsing inside you as he paints your walls white, whispering things he probably shouldn’t say, things you ache to hear.

His head is fully tipped back on the couch, breathing heavy, body a little glossy from his sweat and yours. The aftermath clings to your skin, but the fire hasn’t burned out. Not even close. You’re not done.

He worshipped you, called you a goddess. But, aren’t you his dirty girl? His slut? And when he looks like the hottest man alive—

He looks up when you shift beside him, his brows pulling just slightly. “Wait. What’re you—”

You don’t answer. Just move lower, letting your hands glide down his chest. His abs twitch under your palms.

“I wanna taste you,” you whisper. “Suck you dry….”

He groans—low and hoarse—as you move between his legs, your mouth ghosting over the crease of his thigh. He spreads them automatically, lazy and loose, cock already half-hard and still wet with your juices. A drop of cum beads at the tip, glistening.

“Shit,” he breathes, pushing a hand through his hair. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You hum in amusement, dragging your tongue along the underside of his cock—slow and soft, just enough to make him twitch. Then again. Firmer this time. And when you wrap your lips around the head and suck, you feel the ripple it sends through his entire body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” he hisses.

You take your time. Lap him up, your cum and his combined. Lick up the length of him again, then back down to the base, tongue swirling as he expands in your mouth. The weight of him is perfect against your tongue, the way his girth stretches your lips obscene but delicious.

His hand finds the back of your head, not forcing—just resting there. “God, baby… that dirty mouth…”

You bob your head, eyes flicking up to meet his. He looks fucking ruined already, jaw slack, stomach trembling with every flick of your tongue. You clench your throat against his tip and feel him jolt. You love the way his body reacts, the little tremors in his thighs, the tension in his neck.

“Don’t stop,” he pants. “Just like that—fuck, you’re acting like a real slut right now.”

Yes, fuck. You choke involuntarily, swallowing against his tip. He groans, lips lining up into a smirk. You take him deeper, popping him off first to admire your handiwork, cock swollen and red. Let spit drip down your chin. Let your throat work around him as your hand pumps what you can’t take. You can feel him losing it—his moans getting louder, filthier, raspier. He swears under his breath, head thrown back against the pillows.

“Shit, shit—I’m gonna cum,” he warns, eyes fluttering open to find yours again. “Swallow for me, baby. Be my good fuckin—fuuuuck—”

You take him in faster, tongue firmly pressed against that vein as you slide up and down keeping your lips vacuum sealed, and finally—

He comes with a choked-off groan, hips jerking, both hands tangled in your hair now as his cock pulses on your tongue. You take it all. Every filthy, salty, slimy drop. You swallow without breaking eye contact. Brandish your tongue with pride.

He blinks down at you, stars in his eyes as he releases the grip on your scalp to move to your chin. “Shit. You’re unreal.”

You smile.

You wish this was real.

Somehow he convinces you to move to the bed so he can clean you up. He emerges from your tiny toilet with a warm washcloth, damping it against your leaking cunt.

“C’mere,” he lays on his side, gesturing you to move into him. Alarm bells sound in your head but you can’t bring yourself to stay away when your lips are already towards each other like magnets.

Yoongi’s hand is splayed across your lower back, fingers idly tracing soft, lazy shapes into your skin. His other arm is tucked behind his head, smug and relaxed and still looking thoroughly fucked out.

The night goes on like that. You kiss, cuddle. Talk about small things—more favorites, random things—the suspicious little mole by his arm, scary things—his upcoming military service. And you share with him your own—favorites, why you sleep with an alien plushie, your uncertain future with your job and the economy going to shit.

Hours after, your heart is unrecognizable, suddenly morphing into the shape of someone you just met. It should feel wrong. You’re still not sure why it doesn’t.

“You’ve ruined me for anyone else, I fear,” he says, voice rough, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips.

Go away, butterflies! You snort into his shoulder. “Pshh don’t lie.”

“Why would I do that?”

You lift your head slightly, looking at him. “Okay.”

There’s a beat of silence—comfortable, but loaded. His thumb still circles lazily over your spine.

“You should give me your number.”

You consider him for just a moment. But decide to shake your head. Not because you wanna see him sweat, but because you resolve not to.

His brow shoots up to his forehead like he didn’t expect that response.

“If you’re still thinking about me after two years…” you say, not quite looking at him, “Then find me. Just like you did today.”

He huffs, repeating his request. “Or you could just give me your number.”

You meet his gaze now, seriousness in your eyes. “I’m not gonna do that.”

“Why? You were hustling me for it in the boat…” he teases with a sly grin.

“Shut up, I just wanted to help you find your fish.”

He pokes his tongue in the inside of his cheek, still waiting on you, deciphering that look.

“Look. I don’t want to wait around for your text or your call. I’m not that girl.”

“Then don’t,” he says simply. “I mean, you won’t have to. I do plan to call. And I’m a pretty good texter, actually.”

You roll your eyes, tracing a slow line over his chest with your fingertip. “Be for real. You look like the type who won’t charge their phone for days.”

He gasps dramatically. “You’re… super wrong. And I have a fucking cool library of cat memes. You’ll be missing out.”

“I think I’ll live.”

“Fine.”

There’s a moment. He tilts his head toward you, so adorable, so boyfriend, like you’re an old couple bickering about something mundane, like who’s gonna check the front door if it’s locked. Certainly not a conversation that basically dictated if you will ever see each other again.

Then before you know it, you jut your lip, unable to stop yourself from acting cutely.

“Kiss me?”

He grins, cat-like. “I’ll do you one better. I can also give you tongue.”

You groan. “God, you’re cringe. You sure you have fans?”

“A fucking lot of em.” He hovers above you, his inky bangs tickling your forehead. “Shut up and take it.”

Tongue teasing against the seam of your lips, he kisses you breathless for the hundredth time tonight. His hand slides up to cup the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, deepening it just enough, with a lot of tongue, as promised.

It’s that feeling.

You could stay here forever.

And that’s the problem.

For now, you let it be what it is. Just a moment where your body fits perfectly against his, your laugh harmonizes with his, and it feels like—just maybe—you were really meant to find each other in the middle of the sea.

You’re both hovering by the door, breaking every rule in the one night stand playbook. This wasn’t supposed to feel like this..

But it fucking does.

He’s dressed the same way he came in last night—cap tugged low over damp hair that smells faintly of your shampoo. You’re in your oversized T-shirt and sleep shorts, bare feet brushing the cold floor. It makes the contrast feel starker somehow—him stepping back into the world, you still rooted in this little bubble of what the night became.

“You think we'll see each other again?” he mumbles, leaning his shoulder beside the door. It’s a quiet question, almost tossed out like it’s nothing.

“You’re you,” you say simply. “You have the world in your hands. It really just depends on one thing.”

His brows lift, a flicker of interest breaking through the fatigue in his face. “And what’s that?”

“How bad you want this.”

That makes him pause.

His eyes dip down your body like he can’t help it. Then his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

“Don’t make this harder,” he huffs.

“I’m not,” you whisper back. “I’m just being honest.”

“I don’t want to leave,” he says, barely audible.

You shrug, trying for casual even though your chest feels like it’s about to collapse. “But you have to.”

And that’s all there is to it.

He turns, opens the door.

But he doesn’t leave. Not immediately. He stands there, hoodie sleeves too long around his hands, looking back at you one last time.

His gaze doesn’t wander. It lands right on your face, and stays.

“Maybe next time,” he says, just like he did in the island.

You nod, barely. “Maybe.” You try a small smile.

He hesitates for a second more. Tries that small smile to mirror your own.

Then he leaves. And this time, it’s goodbye.

The door closes with a soft click, and the room is too quiet all over again, everything intact like he was never even there. Except he left with maybe just a tiny piece of you and replaced it with a bit of sparkle that you don’t notice immediately until you step back in your room.

That morning, you fire off a text to Soomchai asking why he gave a stranger your address and demand he send you a generous portion of his seafood pad thai as a peace offering. He obliges.

🗓️ June 2025 -📍 Phuket, Thailand

Life goes on. You didn’t have much choice in that.

The tours picked up again after the rainy season, but not in the way they used to. Fewer tourists, more locals. The occasional influencer. You learned to smile a little brighter. Talk a little faster.

But when things got tight—and God, they got tight—you picked up a second job teaching English online. What started as survival became something sustainable. Eventually, something yours. Your own business, your own pace, your own students across time zones who asked if Thailand really was that beautiful. You always smiled when they did. You tell them how sugary sweet the watermelons are.

And then there was the bracelet.

The one Yoongi left on the nightstand without a word. Understated but expensive in a way you only noticed when you turned it over in your hand and saw the brand pressed into the clasp. You kept it for months. Until the rent was due and the electricity bill was on its last notice and your fridge was nothing but leftover rice, soy sauce packets, and a bottle of beer.

The pawnshop paid you enough to stay afloat for four months.

And then last week—after months of hard work, after finding your footing again, you walked back into that same pawnshop and bought it back. The bracelet.

Not that he’d ever come looking for it. But it felt right having it again. Like you were reclaiming something. Maybe not him, but you.

You think of Yoongi sometimes. Not in the hopeful, aching, delulu way you used to.

He’s no longer in headlines. Gone stone cold on socials. Even ARMY wants to do a recon mission to find him. But he’s doing his bid to serve his country so the absence must have been necessary for him. At least you hope so.

You play his music when you’re cooking, or on the rare evenings you chill on your balcony with a cold one and the humid breeze and his husky voice and the sweet piano melody lulls you to sleep.

It wasn’t clear then, but it is now. He simply was a blip on your timeline. An unforgettable 24 hours that changed the pace of your heartbeat. And you don’t hold it against him anymore.

If anything, he reminds you of your favorite line from one of his songs: “Future’s gonna be okay.”

And deep down, you really believe that.

It was one of those nights. Adele was blaring through your bluetooth speaker. And you’re out singing the shit outta her in the kitchen, lyrics be damned, crooning in your frilly little apron with a wooden spatula being used as your mic.

“Never mind I’ll find, someone like youuuuu…

I wish nothing but the best for youuuuuuu toooooo

Bla bla bla I bet I remember what you said

La la la sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…”

It’s probably the onions but you’re now crying and it feels phenomenal and oddly cathartic.

Your phone chimes with a text.

Soomchai: Hey. Sorry I know it’s late. Stopping by to drop off dessert.

Strange, but okay. Everyone likes a freebie. Especially when it’s sugar.

You’re rinsing dishes when the doorbell comes.

You wipe your hands, heart racing for a reason you can’t name. You open the door.

And he’s there.

Not Soomchai.

Min Yoongi.

Wearing a hoodie just like when you last saw him. His hair is a bit shorter, face slightly more gaunt and just as guarded. There’s a weariness behind his eyes—one you recognize instantly.

He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t step forward.

Says one thing as you struggle to regulate the thumping of your heart.

“Dessert?”

You stand there, barefoot and blinking at him, stunned into silence. You want to ask why now. You want to ask what changed. But instead, you step aside. Quietly.

He walks in, a plastic bag with dessert in tow. Takes off his shoes. Looks around like the space is familiar and foreign all at once.

And then—

“I tried to forget you,” he says, voice a bit raw. “Turns out I can’t.”

You swallow hard, emotion clawing up your throat.

“Me too,” you say softly, lifting your wrist so he can see the glimmer of his bracelet. You haven't removed it since you got it back.

He nods, walking closer. He hesitates just long enough to make your pulse quicken.

You stare at him, waiting.

“Wanna try this again,” he says. “If you still want to.”

You don’t answer right away. You just step forward and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in the warm cotton of his hoodie. He exhales, slow and shaky, like he wasn’t sure you'd say yes. How could you not? He walks in with a pretty face, and even prettier words.

“I missed you,” you whisper.

“I missed you too,” he replies.

And that night, he proves how much.

“Butterflyfish,” you whisper.

“Hm?” His voice is drowsy, the sound vibrating softly against your forehead.

You tilt your head back, just enough to glance up at him—but his eyes are already closed, lids heavy, expression peaceful in that half-dream state right before sleep.

“The fish you were looking for,” you say quietly. “Back then.”

There’s a small pause. A breath. Then a soft, sleepy grunt of remembrance.

“Ah.”

His arms tighten around you, warm and sure, like he’s tethering himself to this moment. To you.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

You feel it more than hear it—his lips brushing your hair, the words settling between your ribs.

“For helping me find what I was looking for.”

The End :)

A/N: … and now we know deez fish. 🤭

I hope this story was like a brief vacay in the tropics just like in Yoongi’s vlog, and made you feel like you were there in the moment with him.

Well—tell me what you think! Favorite parts? Please leave me a note and reblog if you enjoyed this story! 🙏🏼😘

Thank you for reading, you lovely, beautiful human. xo

Check out my masterlist if you want more Yoongi.

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gothgoblinbabe · 8 months ago

Text

The Art Of Make-believe Matrimony (pt.2)

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW 18+, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fem reader, soft dom!Logan, good ol’ face sittin’, sloppy oral (m receiving), swearing, use of pet names - babydoll, sweetheart, pretty girl - teeth rottingly sweet fluff, emotional(?) sex, mild angst, i think thats it but if there’s any more pls lmk!

Read pt.1 here

Summary: part 2 is finally here! I’ll be honest i think the majority of it is smut, but if you’re not interested in reading that, you can stop at the point where you and Logan drive home from the restaurant :) <3 this is probably the most detailed nsfw thing i’ve ever written so it’s a lil’ longer than what i’d usually write for smut but I really wanted to deliver on this one.

Taglist: @deardo11 @pastelpinkflowerlife @joyfulpeanutsalad @jonesem11 @carollinnasic @likeficsinthewnd @mrs-ephemeral

Word Count: 9.5K

divider credit here and here

It had been about a month since the whole ordeal with Logan - the exchanging of fake rings, sweet nicknames and kissing in the driveway - and to everyone else, it seemed like nothing had changed.

You’d still taunt each other during training, bicker over the small things and butt heads on almost everything, but it was all accompanied by stolen kisses in empty hallways, nights on the roof spent stargazing and small, sweet moments in between. You were going to come out with it - tell the team what had been going on behind closed doors - but truthfully, you were both fearful of the possible outcomes. What if this didn’t work out? What, you’d go back to hating each other - for real this time? So you kept it hushed, intending to give the new ‘relationship’ - a word neither of you used, yet - a sort of trial run. Neither of you admitted it aloud but you knew this way, if it really wasn’t meant to be, it could save you the embarrassment of admitting you were both wrong.

As the days went on, though, it became harder for either of you to keep up the act and even more difficult to keep your secret. You came close to being caught more often, having to stutter out an excuse each time. Jean and Ororo still knew what was going on - having been the ones to greet you in the hall when you’d gotten back from that dinner party - but gave you their word that it would stay a secret. The former of the two even feigned surprise when Scott mentioned he thought he saw you nearly kiss Logan in the kitchen, insisting he must've been seeing things.

You’d been washing some dishes and handing them off to him to dry and put away, both of you alone in the kitchen after dinner.

“Hey, do you wanna come up to my room in a little bit? Maybe watch a movie?” he offered in a low voice, standing so close that your arms touched.

Neither of you had actually had the chance to be alone like that yet and the idea made your stomach erupt in butterflies.

“Hm - If I didn’t know any better, Logan,” you chuckled, “I’d think you have some ulterior motive.”

“And If I did?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling and you rolled your eyes.

“C’mon,” he cooed, “what do you think?”

You were looking up at him, your noses inches apart as he leaned down further. One of his hands came to rest on your lower back.

“Hey, guys, have you seen my - “

Scott’s voice echoed through the kitchen and you both jumped, Logan trying to put distance between you and nearly tripping over his feet in the process. He cleared his throat and rubbed the back of his neck and you kept your eyes glued to the dishes in the sink.

“Uh,” Scott tilted his head, “have you guys…seen my phone?”

“Nope,” Logan was quick to reply, drying and putting away dishes now like it was his job.

“Um, no - sorry,” you shook your head.

“Hm…okay,” Scott mumbled, clearly suspicious of whatever it was he’d just seen. You both exchanged a look of panic when he left the room.

“That was close,” you huffed, returning to the task at hand.

“Yeah,” he agreed, “and he’s probably the last one we want to find out - Summers is a blabber mouth.”

You knew exactly what he meant. If you told Scott anything, he couldn’t keep it to himself. One time Jean had tried to plan a surprise party for your birthday and you already knew about it before she could even pick the decorations.

Jean and Ororo had thankfully kept their word, though. It was damn near torture for them to keep from shouting the truth aloud every time you got into your usual spats. The sly jokes, however, were another story.

“Will you two just kiss already?” Jean had blurted when you were pelting each other with beanbags during an outdoor game of cornhole.

Ororo wasn’t any better.

She was sitting next to you at dinner one night, Logan across from you. Everyone was chatting about their days or telling stories and she volunteered you to share.

“Anything new happening with you? You seem extra happy lately,” she was grinning.

Your eyes darted to Logan and then back to her, taking a deep inhale.

“Uh, nothin’ - nothin’ new,” you swallowed, "just happy.”

Logan was smiling to himself, his gaze focused on his dinner.

After everyone had finished dinner and vanished off to their rooms, he stopped you at the bottom of the staircase.

“Hey,” he nervously scanned the hallway while gnawing on his bottom lip, “can you meet me in the garden out back in fifteen minutes? I wanna show you somethin’.”

“Sure,” you nodded, “but the ‘something’ better not be beef jerky and a picnic blanket - which, by the way, is not a date.”

He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes, a contradiction to the smile tugging at his lips.

“That was one damn time - you’re still mad about that?”

“Eh - not really, but I am gonna mention it in every argument we will ever have,” you joked.

“Oh, shut up, ya’ brat.”

You giggled and he beamed at the sound, already undeniably smitten with you. He’d never been so sure of any other feeling in his life. Your serene voice, your perfect hair, the smell of your perfume, the way you walked, the way you laughed and smiled - it was all things he’d taken notice of before but chose to bury within himself, terrified of whatever it was that had given you so much power over him.

Set on trying to impress you, he’d gone around the garden that morning and picked a couple flowers out of each different plant he saw. He felt a little ridiculous - his six foot frame and two hundred pound body towering over a bed of tulips and daffodils - but he reminded himself this was for you; to see that smile on your face that could bring him to his knees. He had fallen for you and he fell fast. He didn’t know when he’d truly realized it - maybe during one of your midnight conversations or during one of the movie nights when you made yourself comfortable under his arm - but it was a feeling so intense that he’d never experienced anything like it before. He’d never had that ache in his chest, the pain of wanting someone so badly that it physically hurts; the twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach when he thought of losing you, the way the thump of his heartbeat became so much louder and faster when he caught even a glimpse of you. Weeks ago, he probably would’ve made fun of the poor sap who was acting just as he was - like a lovesick dog on your leash - but he found himself finally starting to embrace the idea that there was someone for him in the way there was for Jean and Scott or Marie and Bobby. Maybe it wasn’t all permanent - nothing ever was - but whatever connection he had developed with you was one of the only things that he thought of first thing in the morning and right before he went to bed at night.

After what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, you made your way outside and to the well kept garden. You admired every variation of flower in bloom while you walked, taking in the peaceful atmosphere of the garden in the moonlight. You planted yourself in the middle of the extensive displays of flora, nervously rocking back and forth on your heels. You scanned the landscape and that’s when you spotted him.

Logan was making his way towards you and even through the darkness, you could see the bright arrangement of flowers held in his hands. Your heart felt like it swelled so much with adoration that it was going to burst. He’d done this for you, went out and handpicked every flower. Receiving so much affection from him was unusual, in a good way. Recently, he’d absentmindedly begun holding your hand in his at times, talking away while his fingers intertwined with yours like it was second nature. He’d play with your hair, kiss your cheek, embrace you from behind, even pull you onto his lap so you could nuzzle into his chest. Even when you weren’t alone, he was having trouble keeping himself off of you. He’d place a guiding hand on the small of your back or let his touch linger when your fingers brushed up against each other - small things, almost unnoticeable. It was a stark contrast to his behavior weeks before and you couldn’t have been happier.

“These are for you,” Logan held the bouquet in front of you, pointing at some of the bulbs, “a couple of ‘em might be a little bent - I may have accidentally yanked ‘em out of the ground with more force than I needed to.”

You were beaming, your hands on your cheeks in excitement and surprise. You delicately took the arrangement of flowers from him, admiring the beautiful ribbon that kept them together. Jean had helped with that, of course.

“Oh, Logan,” you pouted, “these are beautiful!”

“I wanted to give you somethin’ nice, y’know - after being such an asshole for so long,” he shoved his hands in his pockets.

You knitted your eyebrows, “you didn’t have to, you know.”

He shook his head, waving a hand dismissively, “c’mon, none of that, princess. You deserve ‘em.”

Your heart felt like it would jump out of your chest whenever he’d call you sweet names. He’d called you princess before, sure, but only to tease you. The way he said it now was affectionate, as if to say you really were a princess in his eyes. You were head over heels for him already but you held your tongue, fearful that it was far too soon to admit something like that. The last thing you wanted to do was drive him away and lose the only relationship you’d had in years that made you absolutely lovesick to the point of losing sleep.

“I wanted to, uh - I wanted to tell you something, too,” he began, resting his hands on your waist. He seemed a little nervous with his bottom lip tucked between his teeth.

“So, tell me,” you smiled up at him. You’d be lying if you said you weren't a little nervous yourself, picking up on his hesitation.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, standing up straight and keeping his eyes trained on yours.

“I love you.”

You only blinked in response, lips parted in surprise.

“You don’t have to say it back if you don’t - “

“I love you - I love you, too.”

It was like letting go after holding your breath for so long, a sense of relief that couldn’t compare to anything else.

A wide grin crept onto his face, one he couldn’t hold back even if he tried. Your expression mirrored his - complete adoration for one another.

He was staring down at you the same way he had during dinner that night you first kissed. You’d wondered since then what it was, what made his pupils dilate when his eyes focused on yours or why he would tuck his lip between his teeth. You knew now that it was love.

“It’s gonna be even harder now to keep this - us - a secret,” he mumbled in a low voice. He brought his hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. He cupped your cheek after, unable to keep his hands off you.

“Well,” you bit the inside of your cheek, “we could tell them? Tell everyone, I mean.”

“Do you think you’re ready? I mean - not that I'm not ready, but I don't want you to feel rushed into anything.”

Your knees could’ve buckled right then and there at how truly sweet he was with you. You took his words into consideration and had a realization.

“We haven’t even really figured out what we are yet. What would we tell them?”

He nodded solemnly, grazing his thumb over your cheekbone, “Yeah, you’re right.”

You hoped this would be it - this would be the moment he finally told you that you were his girlfriend, you were something - but he gave a small smile and dropped his hand from your face.

“It’s getting late, we should get back before anyone notices we’re gone.”

You simply nodded, clearing your throat to replace the exasperated sigh you were about to let out.

You followed him on the way back, mind racing for the entirety of the short walk and drowning out anything Logan was saying. You wondered if he’d ever ask you that one question at all. Maybe he’d said he loved you to keep you hanging on, wrapped around his finger. Maybe it was meant to be casual and you’d misunderstood.

But there was a bouquet of flowers in your hands. You’d fallen asleep on his chest more times than you could count, held hands at any moment you could and he did just tell you he loved you. So, maybe he did mean it.

As you snuck down the hallway to your bedroom with the arrangement of flowers, you wondered how long you’d have to keep this a secret.

Unbeknownst to you, it wouldn't be much longer.

It all came to a head when the team decided to go out to dinner together, settling on some chain restaurant. You’d coincidentally ended up next to Logan in the large booth, the both of you on the very end of the table. You were all reading from the menus and Marie piped up from across the table.

“Honey, do you wanna switch seats?”

She was talking to you. You didn't look up from the laminated paper in your hands, responding automatically without a second thought.

“Nah, I'm fine.”

She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion and looked at Bobby, who only shrugged. You two never sat next to each other, usually bickering so intensely that you’d be asked to shut up or leave the table.

The unusual interaction was soon forgotten when your drinks were brought over, the waitress placing them in front of each of you. She was pretty and her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Logan being on the very end made him the closest in proximity to her and you being so close meant that you could hear her hushed voice when she leaned down before she walked away.

“And here, this is for you.”

She slid a napkin onto the table, your eyes automatically drawn to the movement. There was a clear phone number written in ink, her name scribbled underneath next to a smiley face.

Everyone at the table had noticed the interaction and waited for Logan to speak after she walked away. Instead, they watched in curiosity as he silently slid the napkin under his drink, the ink bleeding immediately from the condensation on the outside of his glass.

“Okay, what's up with you?” Scott questioned from across the table.

Logan raised his eyebrows, “I don’t know, what's up with you?”

“I asked you first.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Marie chimed in then, leaning forward with her elbows on the table to interrogate him, “you always take girls’ numbers when they give ‘em to you. Why not hers?”

He shrugged, “just not interested.”

“I call bullshit.”

“Watch the language, kid.”

“Whatever, you’re so full of it!”

You pretended to be uninterested in the conversation, folding your napkin into unrecognizable shapes.

“You know what? I think you might be in love,” she giggled, “you’ve been way too happy lately. Like, absurdly happy.”

You froze in place, gwaning on your bottom lip.

It was true, though. He was waking up early, smiling more, making more jokes that weren’t at Scott’s expense - they really had never seen him so happy.

“Um,” he hesitated for a second when you stole a glance at him. He was smiling to himself already.

“I guess you could say that.”

Everyone turned to stare at him in mild disbelief, including you.

“What? I was just kidding! Oh my god, you didn’t tell us?” Marie exclaimed, “spill it!”

Jean and Ororo were smiling wide behind their hands and exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, she’s real pretty,” he started, “and she’s sweet.”

You were trying so hard to fight a smile, covering your mouth with your fist as you leaned an elbow on the table.

“I never thought i’d hear you talk about someone like that,” Marie knitted her eyebrows and stuck out her bottom lip - the kind of face you’d make when a kid confesses their first crush.

Logan rolled his eyes and scoffed, a grin stuck on his face. Marie was still asking questions, determined to not let the topic go till she knew every detail.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Logan was nervously chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looked like he was thinking of an answer.

“Uh… I don’t know. I haven’t really asked her.”

You must have been pink all the way to the tips of your ears. You brought your glass of water to your lips, hoping it would help cool your face.

“Why not?”

Marie was really not gonna let this go and you dreaded to hear the answer come out of his mouth.

Logan sighed, picking at the skin around his fingernails as a nervous habit.

“Just a little nervous, I guess. I don’t wanna screw it up.”

“A girl that makes you nervous? When do we get to meet her?”

Your eyes were stuck on the wood grain of the table, both of your hands covering half your face at this point.

“When the time is right,” he responded, taking a sip of his drink.

Ororo rolled her eyes.

You’d all finished eating a good while later and the check came. After you’d both put cash down, he mumbled under his breath with his hand shielding his mouth.

“Meet me outside in a second, okay?”

He slipped out of his seat and you watched him disappear around the corner.

No one had noticed him leave his seat, too engrossed in conversation. After a minute or two, you muttered something about using the bathroom before you left the table and swiftly made your way back to the entrance you had come in through. It was starting to rain a little, barely drizzling.

Logan was standing in the parking lot with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets. He beckoned you over when he saw you, taking your hand in his and leading you to a spot outside that wasn’t directly in front of the door. His nose was starting to turn pink from the cold evening air and your cheeks were doing the same.

“So,” he swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, “I guess it’s about time I asked you, huh?”

“Ask me what?’

You were smiling so wide that your face ached. You knew exactly what, but of course you wanted to hear him say it.

His expression mirrored yours and he let go of one of your hands so he could cup your face.

“Would you be my girl?”

It may have been a little juvenile - the teasing, the hiding, the avoidance of labeling what you had - but it had worked.

“I already am,” you told him, leaning up to plant a kiss on his lips. He happily reciprocated, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you even closer.

If either of you had taken a second to look around you first , you would’ve spotted the rest of the team turning the corner the second you kissed him.

“No way!”

Marie’s squeal echoed through the parking lot and both of you jumped, turning towards the sound. You both stood in stunned silence, Logan’s arms still locked around your waist.

“Uh…” He was like a deer in headlights.

“I should’ve guessed,” Scott clicked his tongue, irritated that he hadn’t figured you out sooner.

“Guessed what? We’re - uh, we were just - “ Logan shot you a look, hoping you’d be able to think of something on the spot - even with his arms still locked around you. You could’ve squirmed out of his hold, made some unconvincing excuse about having something in your eye and needing his help. You almost did. Looking up at him, his features highlighted by the flood lights that illuminated the nearly empty lot and his cheeks peppered in rain drops, you had a realization. You didn’t want to lie. You didn’t feel the need to anymore. You weren’t afraid it wasn’t going to work or that you might be better off as enemies rather than lovers. Everything felt like it was finally right - as if every piece of your life finally fit into its perfect place. If you were wrong - fuck it. You’d deal with the consequences later if you had to.

“Kissing. We were kissing - we’re dating,” you sputtered out to your friends, looking back to Logan after. You almost expected him to be embarrassed, to tell you to keep your mouth shut.

But he was smiling. He was smiling wider than you’d probably ever seen. He leaned his head down to kiss your forehead affectionately, mumbling into your hair, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag now, huh?”

You hummed in affirmation and peeked back at everyone else.

“How? Since when? Oh my god, I need to know everything,” Marie was as giddy as could be, nearly jumping up and down.

“Since they went on that mission where they had to pretend to be married,” Ororo piped up, “they liked pretending a little too much.”

You all began walking to the two cars you came in, Logan’s arm draped around your shoulders. He was holding you so close that you were practically stepping on his boots.

“Aw,” you heard Marie whisper to Bobby from behind you, “they’re so sweet together.”

“Now that they're not trying to kill each other? Yeah,” he replied with a small laugh.

“I thought you guys hated each other,” Scott said, “what happened?

“Well,” you smiled to yourself, “he’s a good fake husband, so I figured he might make an alright boyfriend.”

You stopped when you approached the car and Logan wrapped you into a tight embrace, your face smushed against his chest. You giggled into his shirt until he finally let you go.

“How’d you guys even keep it under wraps anyway?” Scott asked.

You looked up to Logan, “Willpower?”

He chuckled, “I don’t know, really,” he rested his hands at your waist, “I guess we got lucky that you guys aren’t too bright.”

Ororo lightly smacked the back of his shoulder, rolling her eyes but holding a smile on her face.

You all piled into the cars you’d came in - you, Logan, Marie and Bobby in one and Jean, Scott and Ororo in another - and made your way home. Logan drove and you sat beside him, his hand in yours for most of the ride.

When you all got home and everyone went off to their rooms, Logan stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist.

“Would you, um,” he looked to the floor for a moment, biting back a smile, “would you maybe want to spend the night in my room?”

You and Logan had been alone together a handful of times, but never like that - in his bedroom. The thought made your palms start to sweat. It wasn’t that you hadn’t thought of it - you’d been together about a month now and every time you’d gotten the chance to make out, you usually didn’t have an opportunity to go any further. Someone would call your name, Logan’s phone would ring, you’d hear footsteps - always something to pull you apart. It was torture, knowing you could kiss him till his hands started to creep up your shirt or your hand rested on his belt buckle but never actually get to go any further.

“We don’t have to do anything but sleep,” Logan could see the hesitation in your expression, “whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“I’d love to,” you replied, letting him take your hand in his and lead you down the hall.

“How about this - I'll change into pajamas in my room, you can change in yours and then come down,” he swiped his thumb over your knuckles, “is that alright?”

You almost wanted to insist you could change in his room - let him see you bare in front of him like you wanted for weeks - but you simply nodded and slipped your hand from his grasp as you walked the short distance to your room. After changing into a tank top and pajama shorts, you shuffled up to his door in your slippers and gave a small knock.

He answered in an instant, wearing sweatpants and his usual white beater. You unintentionally let out a sigh, eyes immediately scanning over his muscular torso under the thin white fabric.

Christ, he’s hot.

“Everything alright, pumpkin’?”

It didn’t help that he was so damn sweet to you.

“Huh? Uh - yeah, I just,” you stopped, realizing there wasn’t much of a need for an excuse, “I like the way you look in that.”

You boldly reached out to playfully tug the hem. He smiled and used your hand on him to pull you out of the hallway and into his room, wrapping you in his arms.

“Yeah?” He said softly, kissing your cheek and forehead before finally meeting your lips, “I like the way you look in these.”

His hand slid down to the hem of your shorts, hiking them up a little to squeeze your upper thigh.

You giggled, a blush forming across your cheeks.

“And you’re so damn cute,” he led you to his bed, laying down and patting the spot next to him, “c’mere, sweetheart.”

Still, even after all those weeks, the pet names made you feel weak in the knees.

You obeyed instantly, crawling onto the mattress and snuggling up next to him. You rested your head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat, steady and strong.

Logan had a mirror across the room, coincidentally angled so that, from where you were, you could both see your reflection. He was playing with your hair when he began to stare at your reflection, smiling to himself.

“What?” You interrogated, looking up at him and then back to the mirror.

“We look good together,” he admitted, “well, you look good.”

You clicked your tongue, “are you kidding? Please, girls practically throw themselves at you.”

“Well, there’s only one girl I ever really wanted to throw herself at me.”

“I think you got your wish.”

You still had that spark - the back and forth quips and competitive nature - except that it was always something sweet now.

“I love you, a lot,” he muttered into the top of your head, pulling you as close as you could lay to him with your leg slung over his thighs.

“I love you too, Logan,” you smiled into his shirt, taking in the smell of him.

His hand came to rest on your thigh, gently kneading and squeezing. You already felt your breath quicken and heart start to race again as his fingertips traced the hem of your shorts.

“Like I said,” he cooed, having picked up on your rapid heartbeat, “we don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

Staring up at him, his large hand still kneading your upper thigh, you’d decided - just like in the parking lot earlier - you’d had enough of holding back. You swiftly brought yourself further on top of him, straddling his lap with your knees on either side. You didn’t give him time to protest as you cupped his face and kissed him in a slow mess of tongues and teeth, savoring the feeling of finally having him beneath you. It wasn’t long before his hands found home on your thighs, his fingers already slotting beneath the fabric of your shorts. He then slid his hands up to squeeze your ass, pushing you even further into him while your tongue explored the inside of his mouth. When you finally pushed yourself up with your hands on his chest, he almost looked dazed.

“I wouldn’t start somethin’ you can’t finish,” he panted, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll finish,” you joked, raising your eyebrows at the innuendo.

“Yeah? I know you will.”

You squealed and giggled when he flipped you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head.

“Been wantin’ to get my hands on you like this forever, you know,” he continued with a wicked smile, peppering kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, “thinkin’ about you.”

“W-What were you thinking about?” you managed to stutter out, eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head when he began to lightly suck and bite at your warm skin.

“Having you here, in my bed. Getting to undress you, having your thighs ‘round my head.”

You nearly choked on your saliva at the filthy way he was mumbling against your skin and squeezing your hips.

“Me too,” was all you could say, lost in the feeling of his hands now sliding under your tank top, resting right below your tits.

“ ‘s that what you thought about?”

You can tell he wanted you to say it, let him know just how bad you wanted him.

“I thought about being in your bed, sitting on your lap,” you took a deep breath, “and having you - having you, uh…”

Your sentence trailed off, cheeks tinted pink.

“What, sweetheart? C’mon, don’t be shy. What do you want me to do, huh?”

He still knew how to tease you, even if it wasn’t out of spite anymore.

“Fuck,” you swallowed audibly, “want you to eat me out, fuck me - anything.”

You sounded desperate and you knew it. You really didn’t care, too engrossed in everything about him to even consider it.

“Really?”

Your eyes met his, filled with lust and ambition to please you any way you wanted. His lips were parted in surprise when he first heard your words, slowly turning into a devious smile.

“Please.”

That was all he needed to trail his lips down your shoulders, gently pushing the straps of your tank top down. He sat up to let you pull it off and if he wasn’t already set on worshiping you, he definitely was now.

You’d yanked the garment over your head and onto the floor, revealing your bare chest.

Logan groaned, laying you back down and almost immediately latching his lips onto the newly exposed and incredibly soft skin.

“So beautiful,” he mumbled against you as he took one of your nipples in his mouth, swirling his tongue.

“Oh my god,” you huffed quietly, arching your back to push yourself even further into him.

He was trying to hold back a smug grin, switching between each breast, sucking and biting gently.

“ ‘s good, baby?”

You were lost for words, even more so when you could see the string of spit that connected his mouth to one of your tits.

“Mm-hm,” you hummed, your fingers having found their home in Logan’s hair.

You whined when he pulled his mouth from you with an audible pop.

“Words, sweetheart,” he told you, his eyes glued to yours while he licked his own spit off his lips.

“”Fuck, yes, yes -“

You were cut off by your own moan, gasping when you felt the pressure of his thigh in between yours. He slid his hands down your body to grab your ass in an attempt to grind you down on his leg.

“I like it when you make those noises for me,” he muttered into your chest, his hands still kneading your ass when he pulled you forwards.

You wanted him for so long that the reality of being with him had made you over sensitive to his touch. Even through the fabric of your panties and shorts, the feeling was intoxicating.

You were practically whining as he ground you down so hard that you were soaked all the way through your shorts and panties, the fabric of both sliding to the side.

“Fuck, you’re so wet already,” he chuckled a little, feeling the soaked patch on his sweatpants, “all for me?”

You hummed, hands tugging at his hair, “for-for you.”

His hands came around to the front of your shorts, his fingers hooking onto the fabric.

“Can I take these off you?”

“Please,” you responded immediately, already lifting your hips off the bed so he could drag your shorts down your legs.

When he turned to throw them somewhere on the floor, he caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror. Your chest was heaving and your hair was all over the place from rolling around in the bed. He could see that you were still looking up at him, even when he was turned away.

“I got an idea, scoot up a bit,” he told you suddenly when he turned back to face you. You moved forward on the mattress as he momentarily stood up, stripping himself of his beater. He sat behind you and arranged himself so that he was holding your back against his chest with his arms around your waist, his legs spread out so you could lay between them.

You instantly caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. Your head was leaned back on his shoulder and he planted delicate kisses down your neck.

“ ‘s that why you wanted to sit like this?” you nodded weakly in the direction of the mirror, your eyes nearly fluttering close when he slid one of his hands to rest on the inside of your thigh.

“You look real pretty, I wanna see all of you,” he explained, his middle finger grazing your cunt through your damp panties.

Your eyes were glued to your reflection - your legs spread with his hand between them and purple hickies darkening on your chest. Logan was staring at your reflection too, his mouth still working on your neck.

“Look at you, all spread out for me,” he mumbled into your ear, “so fucking gorgeous.”

You couldn’t help the moan that escaped your lips. If he kept saying all those filthy things, it wasn't going to take long before you were coming apart in his arms.

You shivered when his fingers hooked around the wet crotch of your underwear and moved it to the side.

You could hear him swear under his breath from behind you, his fingers barely grazing your heat.

“God, Logan,” you were squirming, trying to push your hips towards his hand, “you’re gonna make me beg?”

You could see him smirk into your shoulder in the mirror, “you know what?”

He moved his hands to drag your panties off, nearly tearing them in the process.

“Yeah, I am.”

He let his head fall back to rest on the headboard, lidded eyes staring into your reflection while his hands laid still on the outside of your hips - even farther away from where you wanted him. He really wasn’t going to move an inch until he heard you beg for it, though he couldn’t help himself from digging his fingers into your soft flesh.

You groaned in frustration, “Fucking hate you.”

“Nah, you don’t.”

His lips grazed your earlobe and you wanted to roll your eyes at the smug look on his face, “Now, c’mon, baby. Beg.”

You moved your hands behind you so you could thread your fingers through the hair at the back of his head.

“Fuck, please, Logan - need you.”

“Need me how?”

He really was an asshole.

“Need your hands - need your fingers, please,” you groaned.

“I don’t know, you think you’ve been a good girl? Think you deserve it?”

You would’ve been pissed at him had he not turned you on beyond belief. You gave in, becoming putty in his arms.

“ ‘m good - been good for you,” you whined, using one of your hands on his to try and move it between your legs, “please.”

He sighed, returning his hand back to the hot skin of your inner thigh, “Shit, need me that bad? Huh, pretty girl?”

You were so worked up you could have cried from his teasing. You nodded eagerly, attempting to clamp your thighs together to force his hand to at least graze your cunt that was dripping onto his sheets.

He clicked his tongue and used his strong hands on the inside of your thighs to spread your legs again, “Gotta keep ‘em open for me, sweetheart.”

He dragged two of his fingers between your folds, messily toying with you. You gasped, gripping his arm and inadvertently leaving imprints from your fingernails.

“So fucking wet,” he huffed, gaze glued to the reflection of your spread legs in the mirror, “Pretty pussy’s all mine.”

You were already whimpering and moaning from the slightest touch.

“ ‘s yours - fuck, I‘m-I’m yours,” you sighed, eyes fluttering closed.

He hummed in agreement, his fingers prodding at your entrance.

“Please, please, please,” you whined, trying to push your hips forward.

“I think you’ve been real good, angel,” he was slipping his fingers further into you at an agonizingly slow pace, “think you deserve it.”

You were whining and whimpering so loud that you were sure someone had to have heard you by now. You couldn’t help the noises slipping from your mouth, feeling like you’d black out just from the sight of Logan’s fingers slipping between your swollen lips and into your cunt.

When he finally thrusted his fingers into you all the way down to his knuckles, you brought a hand up to cover your mouth in an attempt to muffle what you knew would be a pornographically loud moan.

He clicked his tongue, grabbing at your wrist to tug your hand away.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he panted into your ear, curling his fingers inside you, “wanna hear you - want everyone to know who’s makin’ you feel good like this.”

His thumb started to draw circles around your clit in rhythm with the movement of his fingers and you could feel the pressure in your stomach starting to build.

“Fuck,” he cursed, his jaw hung open while he watched his fingers disappear inside you over and over again with ease, “takin’ my fingers so well. I think you’d take somethin’ else real well, too.”

The intent of his words nearly drove you over the edge, your mind unable to stop conjuring up images of what it would be like when he finally did fill you like you’d wanted him to.

“Logan, Logan, I’m -,” you groaned, so close to finally coming on his fingers.

Until he slipped them out of you and pulled his hand away completely.

You choked out a sob, squeezing your eyes shut in frustration.

“I’m gonna let you finish, don’t worry,” he promised. You watched him suck his fingers clean before he used his arm around you to rearrange you both so that he was laying on his back and you were facing him with your legs straddling his torso. You could feel his erection poking at your ass and you licked your lips when you imagined being able to take him in your mouth, letting him fuck your throat to the point that your chin and the base of his cock were coated in your drool.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Logan’s voice brought you out of thought and you let him guide your legs up until your knees were on either side of your head.

You looked down at him in curiosity, not yet understanding what it was he wanted to do.

Noticing your expression, he wrapped his arms around your thighs to pull your dripping pussy closer to his mouth.

“I’m gonna let you finish, baby, but it’s gotta be on my mouth. Sit.”

“You…” you hesitated for a second, feeling your face redden, “you want me to sit on your face? What if I crush you? Or suffocate you?’’

He chuckled at your concern, lovingly caressing your thighs, “You won’t, trust me. It’ll feel good, I promise. Besides, If you did suffocate me? I don’t think I’d wanna go any other way.”

You laughed nervously and let him pull you down further, sinking onto his face. His tongue swiped up your folds and you gripped the headboard so you wouldn’t fall forward.

“Jesus, Logan,” you gasped, your other hand gripping his hair, “feels so fucking good.”

“Uh-huh, told you, princess. Jus’ lemme take care of you,” he mumbled into your pussy, eating you like he was starved. He moved his head back and forth and up and down to lick every inch of you he could.

“I think I would’ve - ah, would’ve said somethin’ to you much sooner if I knew you could do this,” you joked a little, your small chuckle turning into a gasp when he slipped his tongue even further down so he was inside you. He hummed into you, his nose nudging against your clit. You began to grind your hips back and forth over his mouth, drunk off the way he moved his tongue.

“Atta girl,” he grunted, “use me, c’mon.”

His hairy arms were hooked around your thighs like a vice, to the point that you couldn’t lift your hips even if you wanted to. When his eyes weren’t trained on you above him, they were squeezed shut in an attempt to savor every second his tongue was in your pussy. He was pulling your thighs forward every time you rocked yourself back and forth, desperate to feel you come on - in - his mouth.

You could already feel the pressure building in your stomach. The obscene wet noises coming from his mouth messily eating your cunt didn’t do much to ease it, either. Your eyes rolled back and you continued to ride his face, mouth hung open in ecstasy. Logan could tell you were close just from how sloppy your movements had become.

“Gonna come for me already, honey?”

You hated how hot it was when he teased you, mocked your desperation.

“Fuck, yeah,” you groaned, your hips rolling forward.

“Lemme see it, pretty girl, come for me.”

You gasped at the filth spilling from his lips into you. It was more than enough to finally make the tension snap in your lower stomach, still rocking your hips over his mouth while you whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer.

Logan was practically growling into your cunt, feeling your muscles contract around his prodding tongue. He was trying to catch anything that possibly came from your release. You tasted good, but when you finished? Even fucking better.

“Lo-Logan, too much, s’ too much,” you tried to protest as he kept your thighs locked around his face, still lapping at you without slowing his pace. He hummed in response and finally let you go when he was sure he’d licked you clean.

You lifted your hips and moved to sit beside him on your heels, almost in pain at the loss of physical contact. When you finally got to see his face, his lips were red and raw, his chin and even the side of his cheeks coated in your slick. You watched in awe as he wiped his cheek, bringing his hand up to his mouth after to lick it clean.

“Taste fucking amazing,” he assured you, keeping his eyes on yours when he sucked on one of his fingers.

You caught sight of his obvious and rather large erection and your mouth began to water. Once again, you were lost in the thought of how good it would be to feel the weight of his cock in your mouth.

“You alright, baby?”

“Yeah, I - um,” you sighed, leaning forward on your hands, “can I - can I have it in my mouth? Just for a little bit?”

Your hand rested on his hip, fingers grazing the waistband of his sweatpants, dangerously close.

“Shit,” he huffed, his cock twitching from the anticipation, “you wanna?”

You nodded eagerly, pulling his pants and boxers down his thighs when he lifted his hips.

“Hey,” he tenderly stopped your hand as you reached to touch him, “I’m tellin’ you now, girl - you can suck it ‘cause you asked so nicely but I’m not comin’ unless it’s in you.”

He let go of your wrist and tucked a piece of hair behind your ear, continuing to speak.

“I can fill your throat another time, yeah?”

You were speechless, lidded eyes switching from his face to his swollen cock and back again. You nodded in agreement.

You guessed Logan would be big - he was generally a large guy - but you could feel the drool gathering in your mouth when his cock sprung out of his boxers to hit his stomach. He was fucking huge. You might’ve been nervous if you weren’t so eager to fit him into your mouth. You finally leaned down to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, softly licking at his leaking tip.

Logan threaded your hair between his fingers, gathering as much as he could to form a makeshift ponytail that was held together by his fist.

“Like seein’ your pretty face. You’re so fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?”

His words only spurred you on and you gathered as much saliva as possible so you could spit onto his cock. When you did, you started to stroke him in a slow rhythm that had him rocking his hips towards your hand already. His mouth hung open and his eyes were glued to your movements, watching you work your hand up and down. Your spit coated your hand and his cock to the point that it was dripping down his balls.

The moment you finally closed your mouth around him, he was practically a mess.

You took him as deep as you could, relaxing your throat and steadily breathing. You gagged as his tip hit the back of your throat and he groaned. He watched your head bob up and down while you simultaneously stroked whatever you couldn’t fit into your mouth. He huffed out your name in between cursing under his breath. His gaze caught the mirror he’d nearly forgotten about and he could’ve came just from the sight of your mouth drooling around him.

“So good, baby,” he sighed, licking his lips, “you look so pretty suckin’ my cock.”

You reveled in the praises spilling from his lips. Chasing more, you used your hand that wasn’t around him to cup his balls and massage gently. He actually whimpered and you could feel Logan’s legs start to shake a bit.

“Alright, enough - ,” he grunted, using his grip on your hair to pull your mouth from him and push your hand away.

You almost looked hurt, pouting while looking between him and his glistening cock. Truthfully, you liked the taste of him. Loved it, really, so much so that you had to hold back from diving right back into position. Just the idea had you clenching your thighs together when you thought of it. When your mouth was already on him? You were so wet again that it was starting to smear across your inner thighs.

“Sorry, doll,” he apologized while swiping fallen strands of hair from your face, “too close.”

It felt exhilarating being able to turn big, bad, scary Wolverine into a whimpering mess after only a couple minutes in your mouth.

“I’m gonna come in you,” he reiterated, “gonna make you mine.”

You just about melted into putty from his words.

“ ‘m yours, ‘v been yours.”

Your voice was desperate and you crawled onto him, straddling his hips. Your bare cunt slid against the base of his cock and his hips jerked up.

“Fuck,” he panted, “you wanna know somethin’? Been thinking about this for so long, even when I thought you hated me - I couldn’t help it.”

“Me too,” you replied, hands on his chest to steady yourself, “even when I thought you hated me. Used to think - to think about jus’ getting you alone.”

“Yeah?” He teased, one of his hands coming down to align his cock with your entrance, “what did you think about doing when you got me alone, hm?”

“I - ah, f-fuck,” you tried to speak, stuttering when he started to slip himself in as slowly as possible, “letting you fuck me, having - having your fingers in me.”

“So, is it as good as you imagined?”

“Mm,” you tried to respond and only whined from the pressure of Logan pushing you down further onto his cock and stretching you out, “better, it’s better.”

“You think you can take all of it, sweetheart?”

“I need it, please, please, Logan - need you.”

You could rarely recognize your own voice, strained and desperate.

“Only ‘cause you begged so nice.”

In one hard thrust, he pushed your hips down onto his.

Your jaw hung open and your eyes rolled back into your head. You’d never felt so fucking full before, like he reached every inch of where you wanted him.

“Fucking - Christ, Logan, you - ah,” your sentence was cut off when he began to grind up into you, using his grip on your hips to keep you steady and gently help guide you up and down.

“Hm? What, baby?”

When you sat back down on him, he used an iron grip to keep you where you were, pushing himself as far into you as he possibly could. The friction on your clit made your pussy twitch and he definitely felt it, pulling you back and forth a little bit.

Again, you couldn’t speak - too distracted by the indescribable feeling of having him sheathed completely inside you. Your eyes started to water, tears forming from the overwhelming pleasure in the pit of your stomach.

“Fuck me,” you nearly sobbed, leaning forward to bury your face in his neck, “please, please.”

He finally let you lift your hips up and down again and you were a whining fucking mess. Logan could see over your shoulder into the mirror and he marveled at the white ring you left around the base of his cock every time you lifted your hips. You were messy, exactly how he wanted you - he’d probably lick you clean after, if you’d let him.

You were rambling into his neck, panting, “so fucking - you’re so big, oh my god, need you all - ah - all the time.”

He was smirking to himself, smug from how he was able to fuck you to the point that you were just letting go completely - telling him every thought that popped into your mind while you were still on top of him. You worked yourself up to a steady rhythm and he indulged in the image of your tits bouncing above him when you sat up.

“So good, honey - takin’ me so well, like you were made for me,” he groaned. His eyes never left yours.

“ ‘m made for - for you,” you slurred, rolling your hips.

“That’s right, sweetheart. Who’s this pussy belong to, huh? Tell me.”

“Yours, I - it’s yours, Logan.”

Your thighs started to ache pretty quickly, your pace faltering as he kept steadily drilling up into you.

“Are you sore, baby? You wanna switch?”

His voice was so soft in comparison to how he was speaking moments earlier through gritted teeth. You nodded and let him lay you on your back, climbing over you and caging you in with his forearms on either side of your head. He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, both cheeks, the tip of your nose and finally, your lips. You were absolutely giddy from the sickly sweet moments you shared inbetween the times where he was fucking you so hard you were out of breath.

Your ankles locked behind Logan’s back to pull him into you while he tried to guide himself with his hand. He slipped back in effortlessly and ground his hips forward, pinning you down to the mattress. One of his arms was snaked around your back to hold you closer and the other was holding your wrists together above your head.

His hips rolled forward and he hit a spot inside of you that made the fire in the pit of your stomach rise.

You choked out a sob and tried to squirm in an attempt to free your wrists, but you both knew there was no way you’d wiggle out of his grip unless he let you. To no surprise, a man made of mostly metal was almost impossibly strong when he pinned you down with his hands and hips.

“I gotcha’.” he panted, so close that your noses brushed together when he thrust forward, “you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart.”

As if you’d want to move from your spot underneath him.

Your eyes caught the shining metal of the dog tags hanging from his neck, swinging back and forth over your chest when he moved. When you looked back up to his face, his eyes were boring into yours. His face was flushed and his mouth hung open, sweat accumulating on his brow. He looked fucking gorgeous. You were going to tell him so, try to lean up to kiss him, but he spoke again before you could.

“I’m in love with you - ‘m so in love with you, you know that?”

The pace of his thrusts quickened and you could’ve cried at the sincerity had he not been drilling into you so hard that you could barely open your eyes.

“I - I’m, ah - in love with - with you, too,” you choked out between gasps.

“So pretty,” he muttered, finally letting go of your wrists so he could hold your chin to force you to keep your eyes on him, “i’m so fucking lucky.”

It was all too much - the sincere adoration in his voice combined with the filthy way he was snapping his hips into yours - and you could feel the knot in your lower stomach start to come undone.

“Logan, fuck, I’m -,” you tried to tell him you were close, but his thrusts were knocking the wind out of you.

“God, please - c’mon, c’mon,” he was pleading through gritted teeth, trying with everything in him to hold back from coming before you did. His hand slipped between your bodies so he could draw tight circles around your clit and your eyes squeezed shut in ecstacy.

You were chanting his name after a couple more strokes, tears rolling down the side of your face while he pounded you through your orgasm. You were practically seeing stars, your legs shaking around his waist.

He could feel your muscles contract around him and his movements became sloppy. He was grunting with every roll of his hips, muttering praises under his breath.

So fucking pretty

Look so beautiful like this

So perfect

He was spilling into you seconds later, animalistically groaning into your ear. His hips slowed to a halt, his arms still wrapped around you. You were both shiny and sticky with sweat, panting with flushed faces. When he pulled his face from your ear, he was beaming like an idiot, already drowsy.

“Was that good, baby?”

He was still out of breath, using one arm to weakly hold himself above you while he stroked your hair.

“Are you serious? More than good,” you chuckled, “amazing.”

He tenderly kissed your forehead and rolled beside you, immediately wrapping you in his arms.

“Don’t we have to clean up?” you asked, eyes already starting to flutter closed.

“Mhm,” he hummed, nuzzling his face into the back of your neck, “can do it later - wanna cuddle.”

You grinned wide, amused by how damn cute he was. You simply hummed in agreement, resting your hand over his.

“Logan?”

“Mm?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

A/N: I had to close my laptop and walk away a a couple time while writing this so I hope it drives you as insane as it did me! I'm gnawing at the bars of my enclosure

If you enjoyed, thank you for reading and pls like/reblog!! <3 and thank u sm for the love on part 1!

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