#but still this poor thing… I really feel for him…

[the-oh-in-24601]

Not to take from the point of the post (women being allowed to make decisions for themselves in peace), which is completely correct! But I'd like to point out that being with someone you don't feel anything for is also bad *for them*...

This is from personal experience, but staying together when you don't really feel as much for them as they do for you, "just because they never hurt you or anything"... just makes everybody waste their fucking time!

I deeply regret doing that *once*, when I was younger and inexperienced... and I don't even regret it for me because, as I said, he never hurt me and it was only 6 months... but I know I hurt him because *he* had strong feelings

That man cried in public when I broke it off. We wasted each other's time for 6 dumb months. All because I heard when people said "don't, he's such a good boy"... but it made me so uncomfortable to keep it up that I broke things off

Glad I did. Couple years later he's happily married to someone who actually loves him and I'm living my fucking life... but it took many a "why did you break it off? He was a good boy..." and me explaining it wouldn't be fair for people to understand! Many a "he's married now did you know?" and me saying I'm happy for him, like c'mon!

Anyways, I just wanted to say that this practice benefits literally no one and it baffles me that society still insists on it... it's so weird, if you love men so much, shouldn't you wish they got with people that are actually a match? It's not even about "the poor nice guy who did nothing wrong" at this point, just oppressing and blaming women for their independence

The "poor nice guy who did nothing wrong" is a strawman. It's an excuse, a reasoning, misogynists use to criticize women who make decisions for themselves and won't be bullied into shit... if that guy is actually nice, he'll likely be sad things are over, yeah, that's understandable... but he'll also respect you and your decision

shaking women by their shoulders with all my strength, screaming YOU DONT NEED TO GET PERMISSION TO BREAK UP WITH SOMEONE!!!!

[monzabee]

pleading the fifth - a. hotchner

criminal minds masterlist || part of the nanny series

Summary: a rather... interesting complication happens when jack’s nanny is called to school by the principal. the only person who can save either of them? it's aaron, of course.  

Pairing: aaron hotchner x nanny!reader

Word Count: 2k 

Warnings:  yelling (kinda), poor Jack is punished without a reason, other than that none?  

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

You’d consider yourself a rather calm person—a pacifist, really. You don’t confront people, you don’t get unnecessarily angry, you can’t even recall a time you’ve raised your voice in public. But right now? Right now, you are trying your hardest not to bash the principal’s head into his desk as he stares you down. It’s a glorified staring contest between the two of you, with Jack as your unwilling audience and referee.  

When the school first called you to tell you should come into the principal’s office, you thought of the worst. The worst being Jack having an accident, or one of the crazy criminals his dad deals with escaping prison and somehow finding him—which should serve as a reminder for you to stop falling asleep to murder podcasts.  

But no. Instead, you find yourself in a situation so utterly ridiculous, so mind-bogglingly absurd, that you’re starting to wonder if Aaron spiked your morning coffee before he went into work as a juvenile prank. “You’re telling me,” you say slowly, pressing your palms against the desk, “that Jack is in trouble… because he didn’t answer a question in class?” 

��He was exhibiting disruptive behaviour, which hindered the ability of the other students in class to participate.” The principal explains, he’s an aging man with thinning hair and an ever-present scowl, folds his hands neatly in front of him and you find it hard to take him serious due to the absurdity of the situation.  

You blink. “Disruptive? He didn’t even talk!” 

“His silence, Miss Y/LN,” he points out, whilst he’s pointing at Jack, “was disruptive to other students.” 

Jack, sitting beside you, shifts uncomfortably in his chair. His little hands are folded in his lap, his lips pressed together in a firm line. He looks more annoyed than guilty. Your feel for him, for you know he’s not a bad kid, he’s the complete opposite, really. “But still. You called me down here because he didn’t want to answer a question?” 

“Yes,” the principal continues. “His teacher asked the students to share what their parents do for a living. When it was Jack’s turn, he refused to answer.” 

You glance at Jack. He meets your eyes and gives the tiniest shrug, as if to say Yeah, and?You return your attention to the principal. “With all due respect, I don’t see the issue here. Jack’s dad is a federal agent. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable talking about it.” 

The principal sighs, rubbing his temples as if you’re the one being difficult. “Miss Y/LN, we encourage transparency in our students. Sharing personal details fosters a sense of community and trust within the classroom.” 

You stare at him, waiting for the punchline. “And you think forcing a child to disclose information about his father’s dangerous job is a healthy way to foster trust?” 

The principal’s scowl deepens. “It sets a precedent. When children refuse to participate, it encourages others to do the same. That’s not how we run things here.” 

Jack finally speaks up, his voice steady but tinged with frustration. “I did participate. I said, ‘I plead the Fifth.’” 

You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. 

The principal looks unimpressed. “That’s not participation.” 

“Actually,” you say, unable to help yourself, “it’s a constitutional right.” 

Jack nods excitedly. “Exactly.” 

The principal rubs his temples. “Miss Y/LN, this is not a debate. We called you in because Jack’s response was disrespectful and set a bad example for his classmates.” 

“Oh, come on,” you say, exasperated. “He’s a seven-year-old, not a criminal. He didn’t swear, he didn’t insult anyone, he just chose not to disclose personal information about his father. And frankly, I think that’s smart.” 

“Oh, you misunderstood me—he talked about Mister Hotchner’s job.” The principal clarifies, “He refused to tell the class what his mother does as for a living.”  

You blink.  

Once. Twice.  

Slowly. 

Jack is still staring at his lap, clearly uncomfortable. The principal is watching you expectantly, like he’s waiting for you to snap your fingers and magically produce an answer that will satisfy him. You take a breath, steady and slow, before asking, “And did it not occur to you that Jack doesn’t have a mother?” 

The principal’s expression falters for just a second before he recovers. “Well, I—” 

“No, really,” you cut him off, leaning forward with your elbows on the desk. “What exactly were you expecting him to say? That she passed away? That she’s not in the picture? That it’s none of your business?”Jack’s fingers tighten around the hem of his shirt, his small shoulders hunching. “Because all of those things are true, and dare I say, this is just a great ground for a lawsuit.” 

“I—” The principal clears his throat. “We didn’t realize—” 

“Oh, you didn’t realize?” You let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “You’re an educator, and you didn’t think that maybe, just maybe, forcing a child to talk about a subject he’s uncomfortable with might be a bad idea?” 

The principal shifts uncomfortably. “Miss Y/LN, we were only trying to encourage openness. Jack could’ve explained it to class—” 

You’re done. You pull out your phone and hand it over to Jack. “Go out and call your father, tell him to come here as soon as he can.” 

And Jack, being the sweet and smart kid that he is, doesn’t hesitate for a second. He takes the phone with a small but satisfied smile, hops off his chair, and walks out of the office, pressing the call button as he goes. Once you’re satisfied he’s out the door, you turn back to the principal.  

The principal watches him leave, his jaw tightening. “Miss Y/LN, I don’t think involving Agent Hotchner is necessary—” 

You arch a brow, crossing your arms. “Oh? You don’t? Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you want to discipline a child for not wanting to discuss his dead mother in front of his classmates.” 

The principal shifts in his chair. “That is not what I said—” 

“It’s exactly what you said.” You let out a slow breath, reigning in the urge to throw his stapler at him. “Look, Jack is a kid. A good one. He’s polite, he does his work, and he keeps to himself. If he chooses not to answer a personal question in class, that’s his right. And you know what else? If Aaron were here, I guarantee you he’d be saying the same thing—but with a lot less patience than I am.” 

Aaron Hotchner is used to walking into tense situations. In fact, he thrives in them. He’s spent years profiling criminals, negotiating with hostage-takers, and dissecting the minds of the most dangerous people in the country. But right now? Right now, as he takes in the scene before him—his son looking uneasy, you standing rigid with barely contained anger, and the principal sitting behind his desk with an expression that’s quickly morphing from smug authority to barely concealed nervousness—he knows exactly what kind of situation this is. 

It’s one that will not end well for the man in front of him, and not because he’s about to chew the principal out, but because you’re just as angry as he is.  

“I’d like to hear why my son was called in for disciplinary action.” His voice is calm. Even. But it has the weight of authority behind it—the kind that makes grown men break eye contact and shuffle in their seats.  

The principal straightens, clearing his throat as if that will make Aaron any less unimpressed. “Well, Agent Hotchner, I assure you this is simply a misunderstanding,” the principal starts, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Jack refused to participate in a classroom discussion, which we found to be disruptive.” 

Aaron’s jaw tightens. “Disruptive,” he repeats flatly. He’s aware that the look he gives the man is quite off-putting, but he couldn’t care less given that his son has been put on the spot. 

“Y-yes,” the principal continues. “We encourage transparency in our students, and when Jack chose not to share what his mother does for a living—” 

Aaron hears you scoff at the flimsy excuse the principal offers. He also hears the faint shuffling of clothes, and he doesn’t need to turn around to see that Jack has tucked himself over to your side. It’s a comforting thing that he does whenever he feels overwhelmed, and though the two of you have tried very hard to help him overcome this, he feels glad that Jack has you at the moment to bring him relief.  

“He doesn’t have a mother.” Aaron’s voice cuts through the air like a knife. Sharp. Final. He’s also very aware of the fact that your lips are curling in an unapproving way, and of the fact that this can be an uncomfortable topic for most. But why should his child be put in an uncomfortable situation by the very people who are supposedly tasked with his well-being. 

The principal falters. His mouth opens, then closes, before he manages a weak, “I wasn’t aware.” 

Aaron’s expression remains unreadable, but his tone drops, making his displeasure crystal clear. “Then maybe you should have been.” 

Beside him, you shift slightly, and when Aaron looks over the shoulder to you, you have your arms protectively around Jack as you level the principal with an unimpressed look. “That’s what I said.” 

Aaron almost smirks. Almost. But the sight also tugs at some of the strings of his heart. 

The principal stammers, scrambling to regain some semblance of control. “Agent Hotchner, I assure you—” 

“Assure me what?” Aaron interrupts smoothly. His voice remains even, but there’s a razor-sharp quality to it now. His annoyance is amplified due to the fact the he is back at looking at the middle age principal instead of his son and you, but he tries to remain as stoic as he can. “That you failed to consider the emotional well-being of a child under your care? That you thought coercing him into sharing deeply personal information was an acceptable way to foster ‘transparency’?” 

The principal swallows. “I—” 

Aaron doesn’t give him room to recover. “Jack is a child. A good child. If he chose not to answer a question, there was a reason for it. And instead of respecting that, you decided to make an issue of it. You called in his guardian, wasted her time, wasted my time, and most importantly, made my son feel like he did something wrong when he didn’t.”The principal’s face is rapidly losing color, and you find it highly amusing to watch Aaron tear him a new one as you absentmindedly stroke Jack’s hair. Aaron takes a step forward, just enough to make the older man shift uncomfortably in his chair. “Jack will not be receiving any disciplinary action for this. Furthermore, I expect a formal apology from both you and his teacher.” 

“Agent Hotchner, I—I don’t think that’s necessary—” 

“I do.” 

The silence in the room is suffocating. The principal, realizing he’s backed into a corner, nods stiffly. “Of course.” 

Jack may be young, but he isn’t oblivious. He understands things far too well for a child his age—has seen too much to be anything but painfully aware of the way the world works. And right now, he understands that the adults who were supposed to protect him in this environment have let him down. 

Aaron takes in a slow breath and releases it just as steadily. He won’t let this moment define Jack’s time here. He won’t let this school—this principal—become another source of stress in his son’s life. 

He turns his attention back to the man in front of him, watching the principal squirm under his gaze. “I trust this won’t be an issue again.” 

“No, sir.” The principal nods quickly, his hands folded tightly together on his desk. 

The final look Aaron gives the man is cold, and you’d be lying if it isn’t at least a little bit satisfying to watch. With the matter settled, Aaron turns to Jack, his face softening. “Let’s go.” 

Jack doesn’t hesitate. He hops off the chair and moves toward his father, but not before looking up at you. There’s something in his gaze—relief, maybe, or gratitude—and your heart clenches at the sight. 

You ruffle his hair playfully. “Come on, kid. Let’s get out of here before your dad arrests someone.” 

Aaron sighs. “I don’t arrest people for incompetence.” 

You smirk. “Pity.” 

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington X F! reader, friends to lovers, flashing (f) WC: 762 Summary: Steve's amazed by the number of things you can fit in your bra when you refuse to lug around a bag with you.

In the last two hours you'd pulled out a wad of fives to pay for the snacks you'd both picked up at the gas station, then a lighter as the two of you sat out on the hood of Steve's car, overlooking Lovers Lake while you had a smoke and last, a pack of minty gum for you to chew and smack on when you got back in the car.

What fascinated Steve was that none of these items had been stored inside a bag like one might expect, all of them pulled out of your bra like it was an entirely normal thing to do. Unable to ignore it any longer and more than a little flustered, he finally breaks his silence on the matter.

"Okay, I have to know. What else do you have in there?", Steve carefully gestures vaguely in the direction of your breasts, looking all kinds of exasperated. You return his look with an amused smirk.

"I'll give you two guesses", you puff your chest out, the answer so obvious it makes him roll his eyes.

"Not them- uh, those. I mean, c'mon. Doesn't it ever get, I don't know...uncomfortable having to wedge it all in there?", he asks trying and failing to choose his words carefully while his eyes flicked back and forth between your face and your cleavage.

You see your chance and pounce at it, especially since he'd set you up for it so perfectly.

"I don't mind a tight fit, Steve", you chew on your gum with a wink, torturing the poor boy as you leisurely blow a bubble big enough to pop.

"You- you know what I uh, what I meant", he tells you while trying his damndest to appear composed, his voice giving him away when it cracks enough to make you snicker.

He does have a point though, you could admit that much as you cut the jokes and decide to answer with a simple shrug. "I don't know. It's something I just got used to. There's enough space for everything I need. And besides, I hate having to carry a bag around. those things make my shoulders sore as all hell", you explain honestly although you can tell that Steve's nowhere near ready to move on from the subject just yet.

"Tell you what. Since you're so interested, how about a game? loser has to do whatever the winner says if you can guess how many other items I've got in here.

"Seriously?", he checks, eyes all round and alert.

"Yup", you confirm.

Knowing of three items already, he thinks hard. Much harder than he ever has before, his eyes fixed on your breasts, trying to ascertain what else might be hiding under your clothing, even working up a light sweat near his temple which makes you giggle.

Steve's making it out to be some sort of life or death deal and honestly, you liked how seriously he was taking this, showing you how much and how badly he wants to get a peek under your sweater.

"C'mon Harrington. Don't wanna be out here all day you know", you chide after another minute ticks by.

"Okay...five?"

Reaching inside, out comes the lighter, the gum and the money again, his eyes still hopeful when you fish out your apartment key followed by a tube of lip balm only for his face to crumble when you finally pull out a spare hair tie.

So close. He'd been so damn close as a really pitiful look of defeat spills over his face.

"Okay, so what to you want from me?", he groans, ever the sore loser.

You might have won but you don't feel any thrill in having done so. If you were being completely honest, you weren't exactly mad at the thought of Steve winning. In fact, you'd quietly hoped for him to do so just to see what he might have asked of you.

Well, you've got a pretty good guess as to what it might be.

Boobies, of course.

You didn't have to. You really didn't have to but the sight of him like this makes you feel oddly compelled to reward him anyway. Anything to wipe that dour look on his face.

Reaching round, you watch Steve's perplexed face with glee as you unclasp your bra and pull it out through your sleeve so seamlessly, winking at him before picking up the hem of your shirt and lifting it up to let him see your breasts bounce free and bare.

"Your undivided attention", you grin at his cherry red face, knowing full well this wouldn't be the last time you let him see them.

[solmire]

Cockslut!reader is always beside Satoru.

He is the one, who is trying to hide from you, from your filthy mouth and a little pussy which doesn’t know how to stop and always eager to feel his cum deep inside.

You don’t know how to keep your hands away from such a piece of art. If he were a lollipop you would suck and lick him like it is the last thing you could do before dying.

It’s really funny, that you still suck him off like you are gonna die in a minute and the last thing you would like to feel is his cum on your tongue with a mushroom heavy tip in your mouth.

“H-honey, please… I am empty, I can’t do-ahh-this an-nymore” Satoru was holding the edge of the table for dear life. He is going to cum for a fourth time in a row, and all you did was deepthroating his thick cock for 30 minutes.

“Baby, stop lying” you pull out his cock with a pop sound, your pupils are too dilated, too thirsty for his cock, signaling Satoru that he is not gonna make it alive. The mix of rosy cheeks and plump lips on your face was too much to handle for a poor man especially when he sees how you grope your tits with a free hand, meanwhile the right one was tightly squeezing his balls, making him cry out loud. “I knooow, that these breeding balls are full of semen and just for me”.

“No-no, i-it hurts” he is literally whimpering and pleading you to stop this torture, but the way he grabs your face with his two palms and starts roughly fuck your face tell you the opposite.

Oohhh, you love when he is turning to an animal with the only ability - fuck your face like a pocket pussy. You are not his love of his life anymore, just a stupid face to fuck and a tummy to fill with his cum.

But, is it really the problem?? You are just a loving wife, who is always ready to fulfill a marital duty.

[daylightmidnights]

Okayyyyy finally I'm done reading it!!! First of all, the writing is so good and era-appropriate i think (obviously I don't know how people in the 1800s spoke but yeah) and the narration felt just how they narrate period films and shows. It's so engaging. I especially loved the pacing of the chapter. How it covered all the important points in this one and now the story can move forward from the next chapter.

I love that yn is hesitant but doesn't decline the offer. Because yes queen take the opportunity amd you won't have to be poor anymore and you can tell him to provide for your family too. It's a win-win. Also love that she knows how to read and knows basic math and isn't a genius by birth or some shit. She also cares about the people of the kingdom and their future in the hands of this extremely handsome man child of a king. Maybe she can knock some sympathy, empathy, kindness blah blah blah into his heart. Her character is very interesting. Looking forward to how it develops further.

Now about Harry. I really wanna slap the shit out of him. But he's also very entertaining so we'll look past it for now. I liked that he found her pretty even when she was in the street. And he's not condescending about her being a beggar, even though she'd surely feel more humiliated when she learns he chose her just to piss people off. He's so fucking proud of his royal prick and royal come....i just wanna smack him in the head. I hope yn stands up for herself and doesn't let him do as he pleases all the time. I want Harry to suffer so bad and then I want him to be obsessed with her and be a jealous little thing when someone else talks to her. And if he's still a prick after the wedding and threatens her saying he has other girls waiting just to mess with her, I want her to be confident and tell him that since she is the queen now she can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants and no one would say a thing. Ohhh it'd be so fun to see the back and forth and bantering. I can't wait for the next chapter. You're ruining me Guru!!!!

I also wanna say that I'd like this story to go as you want and as you plan. I mean sure you'd give our input as readers and about what we'd like to see. But you do that with every other fic, I want this one to be a product of your imagination only. And I'm sure what you'll decide would match with what the most of us want from this.

Okay that's all for now. Maybe I'll have more to say when I reread

[1] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 1 Word Count: 8,282

Ch. 1 Warning: smut (not w/Y/n), mention of a funeral, manipulation and coercion, corruption kink, humiliation

. .

The sky was gray, which seemed fitting for the occasion, and a single bell from the watchtower at the kingdom's town center slowly clanged the funeral toll.

It was a sad day for the prosperous kingdom of Thornekeep. The king’s funeral was quite the spectacle. There was not one citizen with a dry eye, for King Augustus Styles was beloved by all. The townsfolk stood along the cobbled road as two steeds pulled the king’s covered coffin to the cathedral for a ceremony that would end the elder King Styles’ reign and make way for the prince to be crowned by birthright.

The young prince was at the front of the procession riding on a lone horse wearing battle armor, along with his father’s shield and sword. No one could read his expression as he kept his eyes on the road ahead toward the cathedral. The people of the monarchy were not so keen on the prince. He was not as warm as his father, and he often ruffled feathers. Some would say he was downright mean. But what could they do? He had been brought up for this very thing. To rule and protect the kingdom and its people. They would have to put their trust in him no matter what.

The ceremony was attended by the royal court, Privy Counsellors, Lord Mayer, Realm High Commissioners as well as the family of the King. Prince Harry Styles sat on the woven red wool chair at the front as the announcement was made by the Council and the accession declaration was called before the Prince stood to receive his crown.

When the ceremony had concluded the old Sovereign’s casket was taken again by steed for the final burial where the whole of the kingdom stood in wait as their new King made his proclamation over the land and the kingdom to the public.

And so it was. The new Sovereign of Thornekeep, King Harry Edward Styles, would rule over the people henceforth.

.           .           .

“Your Majesty, we apologize for the intrusion, but it is time to get to the order of official business.”

“You wouldn’t have to apologize if you weren’t intruding, now would you?” Harry’s groggy voice spoke as he remained sprawled on his back in his warm velvet bed with three naked women lying draped over his limbs still fast asleep and unaware of the two men standing at the King’s chambers door.

“May it please Your Majesty if we return in one half-hour’s time? Our Lord Mayer and the Orders of Council are awaiting you in the Great Hall. This is a very important meeting, Sir.”

Harry knew he had a meeting set up. He knew it was important to keep it and he understood the gravity of it all. But he couldn’t resist when he took three lovely young things with him to his chambers the evening prior and they each let him do as he pleased. He’d just been crowned King for Christ’s sake! He deserved to sew his wild oats before things got heavy and real and it was time to get down to the nitty-gritty of his new stifling responsibilities.

“I will find myself in the Great Hall in one half-hour’s time. No need to return.”

“Yes, Sir. And what should we tell the Lord Mayer of your tardiness?”

“Fuck’s sake! I don’t care! Tell them I’ve got my privy member sallying forth and I’m in the sack with three concubines if you like! The Lord Mayer can wait a half hour. Give him a thumb of brandy. Tha’ should keep him with a smile.”

It was this very attitude that had the folk of Thornekeep nervous. Harry’s proclivity for saying what he pleased with little regard for the people he was saying it to.

The two men bowed their heads and backed out the door, closing it behind them before Harry sat up, pushing the women from him and stretching his arms overhead.

His first full day as King. He’d not looked forward to wearing the crown. But he knew what he needed to do and he had no choice just as the kingdom had no choice but to accept him as he was; full of grit and scandal, haughtiness and ego.

His bare feet landed on the heavy wood floors and he scratched his member before draping a sheet over the naked women in his bed. They’d all had too much to drink and Harry figured they could stay put until he returned. Maybe another round or two would do him some good and sober him up before he kicked them out to get back to their duties. Whatever those were.

He robed himself that morning and even though he’d been offered a personal dresser to assist him, he declined. Harry didn’t like the idea of having a valet in wait unless he was feeling like making them watch him fuck whoever he took in his bed for the night. That could be fun… Harry liked being watched. Maybe he’d reconsider and take a personal assistant after all.

The council and mayor were sitting in their places in the Great Hall when Harry sauntered in, unkempt and smelling of muff. Everyone stood and waited until he took his seat at the head of the long wooden table. Light poured in through the stained-glass panel behind him and everyone awaited the King’s call to order.

“We may begin,” he spoke. And so it started.

It was laid out for Harry the major issues that always needed tackling, allocation for funds and the people of Thornekeep, the Kingdom’s allies, and enemies, projects left undone that were awaiting signatures or provisional work. Then there were the upcoming events and additional contracts that needed sorting.

But there was also the concern of the King’s marital status.

“You’ll need a Queen. Someone to continue the Styles’ lineage for Thornekeep. The people will want to know they are under the rule of a stable Sovereign.”

“What does it matter how the people feel? I can rule without a Queen. I’d rather not be hindered.” Harry waved a hand as he spoke unconcerned.

“Your Majesty, with all due respect, how do you expect to have a child out of wedlock?”

The cheeky grin that pulled up on Harry’s face had his advisor suddenly standing to stop the King from answering that question but Harry only laughed and looked at the man. “Sit. Do not interrupt me again. I think Our Lord Mayer would like a lesson in biology and I’m not one to turn down a teaching moment.”

The advisor relented with a sigh (what was he to do? tell the King not to speak?), sat back down and Harry began. “One does not need the burden of wedlock to create offspring. It’s quite simple you see…” All the men knew where this was going as Harry continued. “All I need to do is stick my fiddle within the sweet quim whiskers of a beautiful woman and keep it in until I’ve done my duty. Could take a few rounds to set but I imagine soon enough the woman receiving my bounty will be heavy with child and upon the moment of birth will provide me an heir. No need for a marital contract of any sort.”

The men of the council looked around at one another in near shock at Harry’s dismissal of tradition as the Lord Mayor spoke. “That will not do. It is imperative that you find a Queen, my Lord. You need a woman that will raise said heir in the castle with you, bring them up properly, and teach them our ways. This will be your legacy. You must see that.”

Harry knew of course that his words would fall on deaf ears. He knew he’d have to marry and make a show of it. But he did rather enjoy seeing the looks on the faces of the fancy and feathered men, all tensed with their sleek coverings of velvet and wool and white tights tucked into silk and leather shoes with shiny silver buckles and heels that made them appear taller than they were.

“Fine. I’ll have my selection in a fortnight.”

His selection. As if he were choosing a dish to be served for dinner. But that is how Harry saw it after all. He would have his choice of dishes just as he would have his choice of women. It would be the roasted venison with piping hot potatoes, smothered in butter, and artichokes for his dinner, and for his wife, he’d take the pretty redhead with the plump bottom and big bosom lying in his bed. She had the kind of tummy that would take a child well he figured.

Making his way to his chambers he whistled a tune to himself, his mood not diminished by the news of his new tasks, for he was about to wet his fiddle once again. The redhead did seem quite desirable in that moment. But instead, upon entering his room, the redhead was missing.

The two others were lying on their backs and turned to see the King enter. Sitting up quickly Harry pulled his robe off and shut his door. “Where is the redhead with big breasts?”

“She was gone when I woke, Your Majesty,” the one with dark hair spoke.

“Well, bullocks. Do you know her name?”

Both women shook their heads no. “No, King.”

Harry sighed and continued removing his clothes. Well, if he couldn’t find a wife that night, he’d enjoy what was leftover in his room. He had a fortnight after all. Plenty of time to find someone he could tolerate. He had no intention of selecting anyone from the pool of suitable women the advisors told him about. That was a bore.

“You.” He pointed at the fair-skinned girl. “Sit in that chair and face the bed.”

Harry’s undervest was pulled off and he was left naked as he walked up to the one with dark hair and grinned at her. “You’ll suck my cock while she watches.”

He enjoyed his position of power. Women never told him no. Not when he was a prince and certainly not now as King. He had the young woman take him down her throat and checked in with the fair-skinned girl. “Keep watching. Want to make sure you get a good look at how well she does it. Just like last night. This one knows how to suck.”

Her slick mouth encased his girth and he groaned as he stood at the bed, the girl on her hands and knees taking the King on her tongue and gagging violently around his length.

“Oh, a noise maker!” Harry moaned, “Keep up the good work my little whore…”

The girl sputtered and pushed away from him, gasping as she looked up at him. “I’m not a prostitute! I’m–“

Harry interrupted, balking, “I don’t care. Think of it as a term of endearment. Get back and finish the job. It’s much better when you don’t speak.”

“King… perhaps you could just fuck me? My throat is starting to hurt.” She rounded her eyes at him.

He sighed as if it were an annoyance. “Okay. Turn around, face down.” He looked over at the girl on the chair. “Still watching?”

She nodded. “Yes, King.”

Harry poked himself into the pretty woman and she was already slick for him. He enjoyed a cunt just as much as he enjoyed a mouth and the view he had was rather delightful. He rocked into her and watched as her pussy lips gripped him, her insides coating him with a glisten that smelled like a proper cock wrapper.

His heart began to thud harder as he thrust into the hilt, smacking his hips into her soft round bottom and moaning in gasps as he felt his testicles squeeze and tighten. 

The girl was making her own little grunted noises but Harry wasn’t concerned if she finished or not.

Harry’s breathy moans changed into something deeper and more guttural the closer he got and he began to pound into her harder.

“Ahh! Oh!” She hollered as she was spread open by the King’s large cock.

But before she could even find her end Harry was pulling himself from her and spraying her back with his royal come and moaning in delight at his release.

The girl fell into the bed with a whine and the King noted the one watching was sitting at the edge of her seat with her eyes upon his cock.

“S’nice in’nit?” He turned toward her with his member in his palm. “Clean it off. Let’s make my knob shiny and new again.”

The girl was quick to lean in and take him in her mouth, licking off the slick from the other one who was left unsatisfied on the bed.

And when he’d had quite enough and his prick was deflating he parted from the girl and patted her cheek. “There we are. Off you go. Both of you. I’ve got to find myself a Queen.”

 .           .           .

Y/n had seen the procession with the new King from his father’s funeral at the cathedral. He was a handsome man with a strange emotion set on his face. She couldn’t tell what it was, but sadness, it was not. She’d heard all the talk about him from when he was a Prince. An ass of a man with an ego the size of Rome. And now, worries of the new King’s reckless attitude being trouble for Thornekeep.

No one could know exactly what to make of it. He’d not yet really had a chance to do much of anything. As Prince, he served in the Royal Army. It was said that he led a very strict outfit during times of conflict and was good at negotiation. That he loved confrontation and could coordinate a group of soldiers to be the best and most feared on the lines. But what did that mean for the citizens of his kingdom? The monarchy relied on his strength and wits to lead. While it was a promising thing that he was good at combat and negotiation, what about the finer details of being a sovereign leader? How would the people fare?

 “Right prat our new king. Doesn’t give a shite about us lot. You wait and see. S’gonna fuck the poor til we’re caged up like hogs. I don’t trust ‘im.” Lane was three quarts of beer in and Y/n watched as he guzzled from his tin.

The pair were sitting outside in the cold near the corner of the factory where the middle-income earners worked. Hoping for any scraps they might be willing to part with.

Y/n was a beggar. She would hold out her fabric basket or her satchel and try to look as haggard and tired as she could. But most just sniffed at her and walked past. She was young and while not the picture of health with her greasy hair and bones protruding, she was not fully unhealthy either. Most who gave to the poor were poor themselves. So she tried to look worse off to get anything she could.

A loaf of bread, a small salt fish, and whatever fibrous mash of grains and beans could be spared was allotted to each household weekly. And for Y/n, that was not enough food for her parents, her grandmother, and her three little sisters. She often went without eating and was the only one who could handle the chilled air for hours at a time to beg anyone who would spare a morsel.

Thornekeep was a rich, thriving kingdom but as was the norm for every city, town, and kingdom across the land, poor people did exist. Y/n had heard tales of other kingdoms that never allotted any food to households. And how some didn’t even have a roof over their heads at all. She was told she should be thankful that she wasn’t sleeping on the streets with the rats and their excrement as was common elsewhere.

But she wasn’t thankful. Her lot in life was hell. No one deserved to be treated as she was even if she was given a monthly stipend.

The debutante was held a week after King Harry’s crowning. Of course, Y/n would not attend. She was not of that world nor even close to being in a league where one would want her hand in marriage. What a laugh! Y/n imagined herself being presented among all the young beauties in their fine dresses with jewels and pinned and curled hair. What man would look at her and think he’d offer a proposal?

The young ladies and their mothers were all dressed to the nines. Shoulders held back, hair pinned high, fake smiles plastered on their faces… They were there to show the kingdom they were eligible for marriage and to compete for the king’s eye.

King Harry would be in attendance to select a bride for himself. He seemed to reject the normal route of having a queen selected for him. There were many who were raised up for that very thing and so his choice should have been easy. But he was stubborn. No one was surprised. Every woman presented to him, of those that his court felt would be a good match, he hardly even looked at before rudely sending away. 

Gossip traveled through Thornekeep as the ball was held to show off the citizens’ most beautiful and affluent daughters around. If he didn’t want the perfectly crafted, and trained young women fit to be his wife and queen, then perhaps he’d find one at the ball.

As always, Y/n sat perched near the castle gates holding out a small fabric basket for anyone to give anything and, as always, the scraps she did get were barely fit for filthy stray street dogs. Most of the people on that day were tucked away and out of sight in their covered carriages, horses trotting past, kicking up mud. She was used to being disappointed. Used to being ignored. Used to going hungry at the end of the day.

 "Dungworms, all 'em. Don't care if they dress in linen and fur. They're nothing but beetle-headed rot. Hate all 'em," Lane moaned as a coach passed them by. He threw a vulgar gesture toward them, but only after they were out of sight. It wasn't worth it to get in trouble over.

"S'true. Can't wait for the Spring. At least then we'll have the sun warming us while all the ratbags pretend they're better than us."

They laughed as they looked into the gates that were opening for the carriage. The castle was a majestic landmark. Y/n imagined that inside it was warm with fireplaces in every room and a hot stove in the kitchen that was constantly cooking food for the king and all his staff.

Maybe one day she'd be lucky enough to sneak inside without being caught. She could hide in one of the many rooms and pilfer food little by little and warm her bum at night by one of the fires.

She sighed at the silly dream, as her stomach growled and the gates clanked shut.

 . .

The young women were all pretty enough. Harry was sure any one of them would be a fit. It wasn’t like he needed to do more than fuck the new queen until she was pregnant anyway but still… He found the freshly washed, smooth-skinned, rose and powder-scented young ladies of Thornekeep to all be a bore. And what good was making such a boring selection? Harry wanted people to watch. He wanted to see as all the advisor’s jaws fell to the floor. He wanted to make a scene. None of these fancy-frocked girls would do. He needed something more exciting that would really ruffle everyone’s feathers.

Stepping away from the pomp and circumstance of the ball he stood out on his balcony and watched out over the front of the castle yard with people milling about and stringed music floating up toward him. The gates were open with guards at the stand as new arrivals made their way in but he noticed a small group of peons sitting not far from the wall with their baskets and tins held out hoping for a scrap.

And he had a sudden idea. Using his small telescope he fitted it against his eye and lengthened the eyepiece to get a better look. Among the group of menials was a young woman. She was thin (too thin) and she had a scowl about her face but the thing that really stuck out to him was that she was… pretty. Not pretty in the way that many would notice but with a month or two of larded foods and sugared pastries, she’d be just as pretty as any of the girls in the ballroom. 

Even better, she was of peasant stock and the kingdom would lose their mind over such a pairing. It was perfect. He could simultaneously cause a stir among the lowly proletariats, the middle-class bourgeoisie, and the affluent magnates at the same time. No one would expect it. And no one could stop it.

Harry descended the stairs as everyone in the room had eyes on him. The King easily dodged anyone looking for attention or conversation and pushed through to the front as he exited the castle. His guards followed close behind with Fred, one of his men in waiting, scrambling to catch up with Harry’s long-legged strides. 

“King Styles! Where are you going?”

“Off to meet a young lady who sits opposite the wall. I think I’ve found my Queen.” 

The King’s approach felt like slow motion. Guards surrounded as he sauntered along the path toward the gates and Y/n couldn’t imagine why the King himself would be walking through them and not be driven in a carriage. Mud was kicked up on his fine dressings and shoes but he seemed unbothered by the mess.

“You.” He pointed, his finger (adorned with a heavy gold ring) appearing to be directed right at her. “What’s your name?”

Looking to her left and right she furrowed her brow as she looked back to the young king.

“Can you hear or not? You, the one with the fabric basket, what’s your name?”

Putting her hand over her chest she responded. “Me? Your Highness, forgive m–“

“Said– what’s your name, girl?” He spoke in a clipped, annoyed tone.

He stopped in front of her feet, standing tall over where she sat upon the dirt and brick. “My name is Y/n. Your majesty.” She bowed her head.

“None of that. Up. Stand up.”

She felt his hand groping underneath her armpit as she was pulled upward, clutching onto the empty basket.

"How old are you?"

Y/n looked behind herself toward Lane and then back at the king. "I'm 20, your majesty."

His odd inspection had her feeling a bit miffed. She would have told him to watch his hands and to be gentler but this was the king. She couldn’t have imagined what interest he had in her but when he turned her around and held her out in his arms to view her backside he spoke. “We can work with this. Bit skinny but soon enough she’ll be well fed.”

“Your Highness… sir, the young women in the ballroom are far more… Why you can’t possibly–“ his attendant spoke.

“I can do as I please and I say this is the one, Fred.” The King spoke before he twisted Y/n back around and examined her rag of a dress before speaking. “Bring the coach around. I need to have her come in quietly at the back where the servants enter and then brought up to the Rose Room forthwith. We’ll need a few ladies-in-waiting as well. Do that for me without running your mouth to anyone and I’ll give you the night off.”

She watched with wide eyes, confused as the man called Fred scurried off back to the castle and then turned to look up at the king. “Your Majesty, I don’t understand. What is your business with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“On the contrary. Your luck is about to change. With a little sprucing you’ll be quite darling I think. You’ll live with me in the castle henceforth.”

Her lips parted as she dropped her empty basket and looked down at Lane who was also in shock with his mouth agape at the whole encounter before looking back to the King. “I don’t understand. Why will I live with you? Am I being sequestered or summoned for a servant’s job?”

“Oh no. Nothing like that. In one month’s time you’ll be crowned Queen. You and I will produce an heir to the throne once our nuptials bind us for good. You’ll be given your own room with your own attendants and we’ll fatten you up in no time to prepare you for carrying my offspring.” 

She gasped and felt everything around her spin and spin and spin until all was dark and her mind stopped reaching for answers.

Harry caught her in his arms before she fell to the ground. He wasn’t surprised she fainted, given how malnourished she appeared. A guard and two of his aids helped bring her inside once the carriage arrived and up to the room that would be hers. A down mattress, silk and velvet bedsheets and blankets, a fireplace lit with a pot of warm water on the hearth, and a tray with a bounty of food were all waiting for her.

And if she was shocked by the King’s announcement about her being the Queen then waking up in such a lavish room that smelled of flowers and the smoke of a warm fireplace surely had her confused.

When she sat up, she felt the weight of a goose-down blanket draped over her body heavily. Blinking her eyes she saw a flickering fire and the ornate details of the room she was in.

“Madam…” A woman was suddenly stood at her side with a towel draped over her arm. “The King has requested that you bathe and eat before we bring you to him. Which would you like first?”

She shook her head, unsure of what was going on exactly. “I… is this for me?” She gestured toward the tray of food. Colorful fruits and a loaf of hearty bread caught her eye. She could go for a meal.

“It is. Would you like anything more?”

She quickly slid her legs from under the blanket and stepped toward the tray. The bright red apple beckoned her so she picked it up and took a large bite of the skin and flesh before tearing off some of the bread and stuffing that in her mouth as well.

There were blackberries, pears, bilberries, plums, a bowl of boiled potatoes, and cream. A pitcher of red wine beckoned with a pretty crystal goblet to drink out of. There was a whole smoked and salted fish, a gob of butter, and her favorite, a plum tart.

She’d nearly eaten the whole tray when she realized the woman had filled a tub with warm water and perfumed oil. She sat down the emptied glass feeling buzzed from the wine and stuffed so full that her ribs ached.

The room she was in was easily twice the size of the slum housing her family was given. The room was opulent and lit with fuel sconces and lanterns. A fireplace kept the space warm and the furnishings were a feast for the eyes. She imagined that the porcelain bowl near the tub would pay for a month of food for her family.

"Your bath is ready, madam. If you'd like I can leave you alone while you bathe or I can assist."

Y/n stepped in closer to the bathtub. It was one of those built-in tubs that you stepped down into, not the metal ones you had to climb up in. Her family didn't even have their own tub. It was shared with the men from the workhouse across the way and set at the back of the buildings outside.

But here, the tub was inside in a warm room and there was even a ledge to sit. Privacy. She'd love a little privacy.

"I'll be fine on my own. Thank you."

The woman nodded and left the room after folding a cloth and placing it near the tub. Y/n began to take her clothes off, the dirty rags left in a stinky pile on the wool rug before she dipped a toe into the bath. The water was hot. She could see the steam rising from it as she slowly slunk down inside and settled her bottom into the seat ledge. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting the water surround her body and soak away the dirt and grime between all her bits and crevices.

And the scent wafting from the water was glorious. Like a flower with honey and tea caressing her skin. She used the small cloth to wipe herself down and then dunked her head to clean her face. The last time she had a proper bath was over a month prior. Her usual cleanup method consisted of a wetted rag wiped over her privy area and underarms.

But to have a hot bath scented with herbs and flowers by a warm fire in a room decorated with the finest fittings was a dream. A real-life fantasy come true. She couldn't wait to tell Lane about the whole thing. It almost all had her so distracted she'd forgotten the reason why she was there in the first place.

She let her limbs float outward as she closed her eyes and basked in the delicious silence. Everything in her life was chaos and noise and panic. But in that moment, none of that existed. Not until the door of her room was being opened and the young woman who'd filled the tub had returned with heavy material and silky fabrics draped over her arms.

She laid the clothes out on the bed in a row as Y/n watched from her spot in the tub.

"I've an outfit here the King has selected for you. I'll help you put it on once you're ready."

Y/n stretched her neck and peered toward the bed. "The King. Will I be seeing him once I'm dressed?"

"Yes, madam. He would like to see you when you're ready."

The reality of it all was heavy when she was helped from the tub and felt the prick of chills run over her skin. As warm as the fireplace made the room, it was still winter outside and she shivered as she dried her skin.

The young woman helped dress her. Y/n'd never worn such frocks before. It was a complicated task, getting dressed in fine clothing. She lost track of all the layers as she was fitted and the material tied around her and her body tossled. But even she could admit, once all the fabric was put into place and the woman began to fuss with her hair she looked quite captivating.

For a beggar.

She was led through a carpeted hall that seemed to stretch the length of the whole of Thornekeep until they were stopped at a wide doorway that opened up to a pair of mammoth wooden double doors. The young woman glanced back at Y/n before she rapped her knuckles over the heavy door firmly.

The door didn't open right away. Moments went by as Y/n shifted on her feet and the young woman nervously smiled at Y/n.

"I'm Phoebe. Think I forgot to introduce myself," she spoke quietly as she trailed her sight over Y/n's dress. "Hopefully the King is kind to you. He's been… difficult—"

The door was pushed open and a beautiful woman with olive skin stepped past them. "He's all yours," she spoke in a sultry voice that Y/n could only hope to one day mimic.

Phoebe gestured for Y/n to pass through and Y/n stepped into the King's chambers. If she thought her room was spectacular, his was a sickening show of lush wealth and haughty, needless adornments.

She was startled when the king spoke from his lounge. "Come. Sit."

Y/n and Phoebe walked deeper into his room and stepped down into a sunken seating area. Harry sat up straight and motioned toward Phoebe. "Not you. Leave us."

When it was just Y/n and Harry and she'd delicately sat her bottom at the furthest spot from the king she could find, Harry got up and placed himself next to her. "Are you scared of me?" He asked with a bright tone, as if it amused him.

"Your majesty, I don't know how to act. I've never seen such indulgent things in all my life as today."

He nodded and looked her over. "What are you wearing?" He lifted at her skirt and she batted his hand away on instinct.

"Phoebe said you picked it for me."

"Who is Phoebe?"

Y/n blinked and looked toward his chamber doors and back at the king in confusion. "The lady who helped dress me and… She was just here with me. The one you sent away."

"How sweet that you learned her name already. And I didn't pick this for you." He plucked at the fabric. "I asked that you come here in nothing but a robe so I could inspect you."

She scooted away from him, her heart racing at the idea of showing herself to him without clothes. Harry laughed and leaned himself back into the large cushioned seat and draped a leg over his knee as he watched her curiously. "You are scared. Good. You should be. Take off your clothes."

Shaking her head she squished herself as far from him as she could but he simply reached his leg out and hooked his foot under her ankle to pull at her. "Don't do that. Said remove your clothes, girl."

"Yo– your majesty… I don't even know how these were put on. I don't know how. I… I've never…" Her heart was racing and she felt her fingers tremble as he sat and grinned at her like this was a game to him.

"What? You can't remove your coverings because you don't know how? I can deal with a timid vazey, but not a liar. Off with your things."

"No! You're rude! I will not!"

The king scoffed, surprised at her disrespect, as he pushed himself up to stand and stood over his bride-to-be. "I am rude, you'll learn well. But I have needs and you're here to keep them. Look at me when I speak to you."

Hesitantly, Y/n lifted her face upward to look into the eyes of the man who she could hardly believe would be her husband. That part—that didn't feel real. Not at all. It couldn't be.

"Have you ever been touched by a man before?"

She thought she might pass out as her skin heated under the scrutiny of his gaze. "No. Of course, not. I'm unwed."

He laughed. "Plenty of unwed ladies get their fannies fucked and fingered, my poor feather-brained girl. You're a virgin?"

She nodded, keeping silent, though not happy about the insult to her intelligence. Perhaps she wasn't as smart as someone with a royal education but she knew how to read and could do basic math, which was more than almost everyone in her social stratus.

"I see." Harry sighed and reached down to grip her jaw and look her over like she was an animal. "Surprised no one has warmed their member with your quim yet. Rather sickly but you are pretty. Have you ever seen one?"

She gulped loudly. "Seen… seen one? What?"

He clicked his tongue and smirked. "A cock, my dear. Have you seen a cock?"

Y/n, though a virgin, wouldn't call herself a prude. She was used to crash speak and rude men but the king was a shock to her. She never imagined someone with his pedigree could be so filthy. "Yes."

He let go of her jaw, keeping his eyes set on hers as he lifted his brows. "Oh, you have. And did you play with it?"

"No!" Y/n looked down at her lap and inhaled a breath. She couldn't believe the conversation she was having with the king.

She felt his long fingers at her jaw again, forcing her to lift her gaze back up at him. "Don't look away from me when we're talking."

She knocked her head up and down and he dropped his hand away from her.

"Would you like to see mine?"

Her eyes widened and she shot her gaze down toward his crotch and then back up to his face. "No."

He smiled and let out a hearty laugh as he began to unbutton his forest green silk tricot coat. He eyed her, waiting to hear her protest again but when she simply watched him he continued to undo his outer layers until he had access to his breeches and tucked his fingers into the buttons at his front flap. Raising a brow he paused to give her a chance to tell him to stop.

But she only watched, flicking her gaze from his hands up to his face. She wouldn't admit it but she was curious. Scared a little of his demeanor and that he was the sovereign and could do as he pleased with her if he wanted, she still wondered what it might look like.

His pink lips curved upward slowly as he unhooked one button and let the fabric drape dangerously low. "I'm not going to make you suck it or anything. But if you want, I won't deny you your pleasure."

Y/n bristled and blinked her eyes away from him to the edge of the room before looking back up at him. "You're rude."

He smiled sweetly, a handsome dimple dipping into his cheek like he wasn't just about to whip out his big fiddle and show her. "You said that, yes… Keep going? Or stop? Up to you. I've got plenty of others I can show it to. They're all waiting, just hoping you disappoint me. They'd love to be in your shoes right now. Vying to be the next Queen of Thornekeep. If you don't want to be here you may leave and go back to the street. What will it be?"

She inhaled slowly and fought the stinging embarrassment that needled at her insides. She wasn't keen on seeing the king's privy member but his handsome face was alluring and if she said no, would she not be kept as Queen? Did she even want to be Queen of Thornekeep? She could say no and he'd send her back out into the cold with her old brown rags and her fabric begging basket. She'd have quite the tale to tell but that would be it. Everything would go back to how it always was. She'd continue sitting in the street and asking for kindness from strangers who wouldn't even offer her a glance, as the excruciating pain of hunger slowly ate her alive.

"Continue," Y/n spoke as confidently as she was able to. She didn't want that life anymore. Though she had no idea what she was getting herself into with the king, she figured it was better than life as a beggar. Cold, dirty, starved, angry, riddled with pain in her bones like she was an elderly woman… Being fed, bathed in perfumed oils, and dressed in fine silk and wool skirts, inside a warm castle, with a bedroom all her own wasn't just tempting, she wanted it. Even her bed and its heavy down blanket were to die for. Worth the humiliation.

Plus, if she told herself the biggest truth of it all, he was dashing. More than just dashing. He was the most fine-looking man she might have ever laid eyes upon. But she wasn't ready to admit the way his green eyes had her pulse fluttering like a small bird.

Harry reached down to run a finger over her jaw gently while he unplucked the second button from the front flap. "Keep your eyes on mine for a moment."

She tried to wet the dry desert of her throat as she steadied her eyes on him, which turned out to be quite the task when she could see at the limn of her vision his hand working something fleshy just in front of her. His cock was out, she knew that much, but she wanted so badly to take a quick glimpse.

"Mmm… Your eyes are pretty," he spoke, still moving his hand about. "How many cocks have you seen?"

Blinking her eyes softly she puffed out a shaky lungful of air. "I don't know. The men at the workhouse who use our tub just walk around nude."

"And they never touched you?" His finger felt sweet on her face and for a moment she thought he was a man she could find herself trusting, loving even. Perhaps she was too naive.

She shook her head. "I wouldn't let them."

"They tried?"

"A few."

He clenched his jaw and stretched his neck as he lifted his sight away from hers. She resisted the urge to peek at his crotch even though she could have gotten away with it right then as he wasn't looking at her.

When he returned his gaze down at her he stepped in closer, pushing her legs apart to stand between her feet. He glanced down at himself and moved his hand from her jaw. "Look at your king's cock."

Y/n swallowed hard and blinked as she shifted her stare downward until she saw the big thing in her face, swollen and thick. And long. His big palm was wrapped around the space of him that grew out from a thatch of dark hair.

Now, she'd seen cocks before. Soft ones, hard ones, weird and infected ones… The workmen didn't care who saw when it came to bathtime and some of them even tried to get her to participate if she were anywhere near them. But Harry's was… well, it looked fit for a king she supposed. Maybe all royals had clean, pretty pricks.

"Touch it."

She glanced up at him, struggling to even breathe. Not only was the corset pulled too tight around her ribs, but the king's vulgar words and his cock in her face were making her feel quite fettered and discombobulated. Her chest heaved so hard she was worried she was about to burst the stay lace that held the corset together.

She reached her fingers upward and focused on the very tip of him where there was a small slit that carved outward like it was draped in a blanket made of smooth flesh. The rest of him was a little more crude with veins that ran along the rigid flesh. When she touched the top of it with her fingertip she gasped and pulled her hand away. It was like a warm small naked creature that'd been warmed by the fire for a bit too long.

"He's not going to bite. He might spit at you, though." He laughed. "Touch it. No need to be virtuous with me. You'll have to get used to handling it anyway."

"It's the first I've touched. I… Where should I place my hand?" She was genuinely worried she'd do it wrong, and he was the king so she was cautious.

King Styles reached down to grab at her hand and he spat a big glob of slick from his mouth that pooled into her palm. She winced as he placed her hand on the long shaft of himself, pressing her fingers around his girth and guiding her upward to his smooth tip.

"What do you think? Not bad, right?"

When he let go of her hand she slowly continued smoothing his spit over his flesh and peered closely at the organ. It was a curious thing to touch a penis. She was surprised by how warm it was and the mechanics of how all that worked were still somewhat of a mystery to her. She understood that men used their pricks to stick babies into women and that it hurt and it was disgusting.

"It feels funny. S'really warm."

"Is it?" He smirked down at her as she examined him, her hand still sliding in very stunted strokes up and down. He quite enjoyed the way she looked at it in awe. Of course, the way she was handling him did him no good. That wasn't going to do anything for him but she'd learn soon enough what he liked. Whether she liked it or not.

"How does it feel for you?" Y/n knew enough to know that for men, it felt good and that while what she was doing wasn't sex, it should be favorable for him.

"You'll need teaching but your little hand will never feel quite as nice as your mouth or the warm treasure you're hiding between your legs."

She stopped and frowned at him. "I haven't ever—"

"Yes, we know. You haven't touched a man before. But we'll change all of that, won't we? Keep going with your hand and spit on it."

Sliding her palm over his tacky skin she spat over the spot just above her fist and smeared her saliva upward. "What will I tell my mum and dad? I should tell them where I am and—"

"Oh, girl." He patted her cheek condescendingly. "Let's not talk about mum and dad while you're working my knob. Tomorrow we'll fetch them."

She swallowed and tried to focus but everything was so overwhelming.

"Are we going to have intercourse?" She looked up at him with big pretty eyes.

"Of course we are. How else do you expect to find yourself with child?"

"I don't know… I'm scared to do it. I don't like the idea of it."

Harry pushed her hand away and tucked himself back into his front flap as he sighed. "You're no good at this. And if you don't want to learn how to be good for me then there's no need for you."

He turned to walk away, leaving Y/n sitting on his plush sofa she sat up straight, confused. "Should I… What shall I do?"

Harry pulled his jacket into place and rebuttoned it as he looked at her with an indifferent expression. "Go to your room or stay here. I don't care particularly either way. I was disappointed by you so I'm going to have to call in someone who can please me properly. Someone who can do the things you can't. If you want to stay and watch and learn then so be it."

Y/n stood up quickly and clasped her hands together in front of her hips. "Your majesty, please—"

"My King. You'll address me either as My King or My Lord. Yes?"

She nodded quickly, stepping closer to him. "Yes, my King. I only need a little more time to learn. I promise tomorrow I'll be better for you. I'll do whatever you need. Please don't replace me."

Harry lifted a brow, his still unreadable expression was worrying to Y/n but the way he scraped his eyes down her frame made every inch of her body burn. He wouldn't tell her but he was pleased with her already despite what he'd told her. She was desperate and quite pretty and that was all he required. She played into his rude affront exactly as he hoped and it had her worried he wasn't going to keep her. He had no plans to touch anyone else now that he had his mind made up. She'd do just fine once she learned to be more obedient and malleable.

"We shall see." He flicked a hand in the air and then gestured toward his door. "Off you go. You'll try again to be better tomorrow. You'll have one more chance to prove yourself to me."

She felt defeated. Walking slowly past him she turned to look back once more and watched him step out onto his balcony, the lace curtains blowing in the wind as he moved out of view. Pushing at the heavy wooden door she bit down on her lip to keep herself from crying. She didn't know if she was more upset with herself for not being bolder, or if she was angry at how the king had just treated her so poorly and insulted her. The situation was discouraging but she was determined. She'd dealt with worse, hadn't she?

Phoebe met her outside the doors and walked her back toward her room. Y/n wasn't sure how she was going to work up the courage to be enough for the king. She didn't want him to find another to take her place so she needed to do something. But what?

"Would you like anything, madam?" Phoebe asked.

"Are there books here in the castle? A library?" Perhaps she could read about pleasing a man if such a thing existed.

"Yes. A grand library. I can't read myself. Are you able to?"

Y/n nodded. "I can read, yes. I'd like to see it. Would you show me there?"

. .

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[thekoalapastriesbakery]

COMFORTS OF HOME

oscar piastri x male!reader

request: Glad to hear you're out of hospital, hope you're okay!!! (I'm still freakin' sick. Better, deffo, but sick 🥲 and my computer half-stopped working so I'm stuck studying from my shoddy phone screen. ) Anyway. I come humbly asking for any and all Oscar comfort crumbs you can provide? Kindest regards, – 🎃

summary: your boyfriend takes care of you while you're sick.

warnings: sick!reader, mentions of different sickness symptoms, clingy!reader, mild implications of reader having low self esteem

word count: 448

oscar wasn't always very good with words.

he loved you—he truly did—he just wasn't particularly good at verbalising it. he much preferred to show you instead. you didn't do many expensive things together, because you never felt the need to. being home together or going out to a park or the beach … that was more than enough for the two of you.

tonight specifically, you were just spending a night in and watching a movie. oscar sat beside you. your legs tangled together under a blanket as the movie screen lit up the living room.

you hadn't been feeling great for a few days. you weren't too terribly sick, but it was enough that your head pounded and your bones ached. oscar was brilliant throughout all of it. he had so many activities planned for the two of you over the holidays. then, day two into your vacation, you got sick. a fever, a cough, and a headache that would not leave you alone. you felt awful—not least because you felt like you'd ruined the whole trip.

oscar assured you over and over and over again that you hadn't ruined anything. he made you soup, checked your temperature, and coaxed you into drinking plenty of water.

the movie played in the background. your head rested on oscar's shoulder, curled into his side as you blinked sleepily.

"you tired, honey?" he asked softly.

you hummed quietly, nuzzling your face into his neck. "hot."

oscar sighed and kissed your forehead. he winced slightly at the heat coming off it and gave you a sympathetic glance.

"i know," oscar murmured. "i'll get you some more water, okay?"

a mildly irritated noise escaped your lips as oscar tried to get up. you wrapped one arm around his waist and tugged him back, desperate not to be left alone. over the past week, you'd tried everything you could think of to get rid of this illness. painkillers, anti pyretics, soup … the only thing that made you feel better was to cuddle with your boyfriend.

"honey …" oscar chuckled.

regardless, he didn't really put up a protest. who was he to argue against medicinal snuggles for his sick boyfriend? he could never refuse you.

"what?" you whined, pouting at him. "'m sick. you should be nice to me."

"poor baby."

you huffed playfully at your boyfriend's teasing. nevertheless, the two of you lapsed into a comfortable silence with the movie playing in the background. oscar didn't pressure you to keep talking, or make you feel bad for getting sick on your trip. he never pressured you into anything.

oscar didn't say i love you often. but he showed it all the time.

©thekoalapastriesbakery :: please do not copy or rewrite my work on any platform !!

author's note: i love cute n cuddly osc so muchhhh, i hope you're feeling better jacko!

comments + reblogs appreciated!

taglist: @raizelchrysanderoctavius @crispysoup318 @op-81-lvr-reblogs @ncrsbrg @spoonfulofmilo @justaf1girl @widow-cevans

[seospicybin]

SEOSPICY PREVIEW.

COCKY: FINAL CHAPTER.

Bangchan x reader. (s,f)

Synopsis: As a researcher developing a specialized condom in extra large sizes, you never expected the company’s product manager, Chris, to volunteer as a test subject—let alone for things to get this complicated. Balancing professionalism with undeniable chemistry, you must navigate a partnership that’s strictly business… or so you keep telling yourself.

Preview under cut!

...

The noise of the party fades behind you as you slip out of the building, the cool night air washing over your skin. You let out a slow breath, relieved to finally be away from the crowd—and more importantly, away from Chris.

Pulling out your phone, you open the ride-hailing app and quickly request a taxi. As you wait, you cross your arms, tapping your fingers against your sleeve, your mind still racing from the night's events.

Just as you exhale and glance down at your phone, you feel a firm hand on your shoulder. Your breath catches, and you spin around, startled.

Chris stands there, his eyes immediately locked onto yours. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the slight furrow in his brows. "I'm assuming you were avoiding me all night," he says, his tone light but eyes sharp.

You shake your head a little too quickly. "No, I wasn’t."

He chuckles at your poor attempt at denial, slipping his hands into his pockets. "Right. So it’s just a coincidence that every time I looked your way, you turned and disappeared?"

You press your lips together, feeling caught but unwilling to admit it. Instead, you sigh and change the subject. "Why are you out here, anyway? Shouldn’t you be inside celebrating?"

Chris tilts his head slightly. "I could ask you the same thing. The product launch was a huge success for you—you should be celebrating, not sneaking off like this."

You shrug, keeping your tone casual. "I'm just exhausted."

His smirk softens into something more thoughtful. "Then let me give you a ride home."

You open your mouth to refuse, grasping for an excuse. "You’ve probably had a few drinks. You should stay and enjoy the party."

Chris shakes his head. "I only had one drink." Then, with a small smile, he adds, "I was too busy looking for you all night."

Getting no answer from you, he tries again, his smile never faltering. “Come on, just let me drive you home.”

You hesitate, shifting on your feet. “Chris, it’s fine. I can just take a taxi.”

He exhales, tilting his head. “You’re really gonna make me go back to the party alone after I spent all night looking for you?” His tone is teasing, but there’s an underlying sincerity in his voice.

You cross your arms. “You don’t have to leave just because I am.”

“But I want to.” He takes a step closer, his voice softer now. “Let me take you home.”

You sigh, knowing he won’t drop it. And truthfully, you’re too tired to argue. “Fine,” you mumble.

The car ride is quiet, the city lights flashing by as Chris drives steadily through the streets. You’re still processing everything—the party, the launch, the exhaustion weighing down on you—when Chris suddenly speaks.

"Are you free next weekend?"

You blink, caught off guard. "Huh?" You turn to look at him, your voice coming out in a stammer. "Why?"

Chris keeps his eyes on the road, his fingers drumming lightly against the steering wheel. "You’ve been exhausted and stressed these past few weeks. I figured you could use a break, so I want to take you somewhere to relax."

Your brows knit together. "You don’t have to do that."

"But I want to," he says simply, glancing at you with a small smile. "Besides, as a product manager, I have to take care of my hardworking employee."

You narrow your eyes at him. "That’s a lame excuse."

Chris chuckles. "Maybe. But it’s still valid." Then, as if sensing your hesitation, he quickly adds, "And don’t worry—there’ll be no more tests." His voice dips into something teasing, but the reassurance is clear.

When he finally pulls the car to a stop in front of your apartment building, you reach for the door handle, pausing only to turn to him. “Thanks for the ride home,” you say softly.

Chris doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes find yours in the dim light of the dashboard, holding your gaze with an intensity that makes you hold your breath. There’s something in his expression, something that makes your stomach twist in a way you’re not sure how to interpret.

"Goodnight," he finally says, his voice quieter, deeper.

You inhale sharply, steadying yourself before replying, “Goodnight.” Then, without another word, you step out of the car, shutting the door behind you.

As you stand there, you watch as Chris’s car pulls away, the red taillights glowing in the darkness before disappearing around the corner. Only then do you let out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, turning to head inside, your thoughts a tangled mess.

...

Full fic will be released this Friday, March 28. Or you can read it early on my Patreon page:

[venusbyline]

I'm a slut for pathetic men humping pillows and now I can't get out of my head the image of a pathetic whimpering Aegon humping his pillow while his sister lets him only see her pussy (only see, nothing else)

FGS I JUST HAD LUNCH A FEW MINUTES AGO AND NOW I JUST SAW THIS ASK 🔥🔥

Frrr, this is so Aegon coded, holy shit!!! Also, I can mainly imagine young!Aegon II doing something like that 🤭🤭 he's so hot too

⚠️: dry humping, underage masturbation, voyeurism, overstimulation, virginity kink.

Aegon was sooooo desperate to fuck his little sister before their marriage. He really wanted to just flip her over on her stomach and press her into the bed, ripping her innocence out of her as soon as possible. Unfortunately, he is trying to be a good big brother and respect the boundaries she's set until the day of the official consummation finally arrives.

Then Aegon settles for the deal: she sits with her legs spread beside him and Aegon places his own cock between a pillow. He looks at that plump wet core, he can even smell her arousal, her juices dripping naturally while she watches her betrothed older brother grinding his hips up and whining like a pathetic mess, begging to let him fuck her maidenhead.

He curses and growls when she feels shy and denies those pleas, his sudden frustration making the poor little girl close her legs in fright, and Aegon immediately curses himself. He whimpers a desperate apology and convinces you to show her pretty cunt again.

Loud tearful moans escape his lips, the long silver hair sticking to his forehead as he begins to rub himself faster against the fabric of her pillow, staring hungrily at his sister's little cunt. He can picture himself licking that swollen bud, picture what it will be like to stick his cock inside that tight hole and hear her moan his name like a young whore. Aegon can picture many things as he hump his own cock in the soft pillow, whining his sister's name and rolling eyes in pleasure when he finally reaches his high, keeping rubbing himself to make sure his cock is sensitive in an aching, almost raw way.

He sees the little girl's wide eyes, her innocent body remaining exposed despite the blush that paints her cheeks after realizing the state Aegon left the fabric in, all stained with cum. Also admiring the dirty and pathetic sight of her older brother and future husband, the thick rosy shaft still throbbing with lingering spasms.

[winchestergirl2]

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

👀👀 Oh Dean is that how you always say thank you? lol

how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

Is that a little Friends reference there?

He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge.

Oh Lisa, I imagine a get together to celebrate is the last thing anyone is going to want to do right after giving birth. I'm going to give her the benefit of the doubt here and assume she's trying to be nice and wants to feel included.

5 YEARS??!! I just wanted to shout at them here, they've gone 5 years and still haven't worked out they should be together! I can kind of understand it though, there has been a lot of misunderstandings and miscommunication happen from the beginning with these two.

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

Oh she's with Benny. I can understand that he's a good guy. I have a feeling he may end up getting hurt though.

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

Ah Lisa has picked up on it, although I don't think Robbie's birthday party was the best time to start bringing that up.

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

Lisa really hit a nerve didn't she and the bike is where his frustration is really coming out.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

Hmm... interesting 🤔

That whole scene between Dean and Lisa after they left the restaurant was so sad. I did feel sorry for Lisa there it must be so difficult having to face up to the realisation that the person you are in a relationship with is in love with someone else.

“But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

The strength it must have taken to say that!

I'm so happy that Dean decided to fight for his family! I really wanted them to end up together.

Although poor Benny! I was afraid he was going to get hurt...

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

My heart broke for him💔

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

Perfect ending to this lovely story. I thoroughly enjoyed this lovely 💖

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot. 

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.  

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER... 

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.” 

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this. 

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours. 

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines. 

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off. 

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?” 

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt. 

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change. 

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything. 

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything. 

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad. 

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less. 

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary. 

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived. 

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing. 

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes. 

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition. “I could make us some burgers, toss in a couple of beers and a movie night,” he adds.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you. 

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet. 

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple. 

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.” 

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head. 

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.” 

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says. 

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time. 

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there. 

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself. 

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be. 

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh. 

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip. 

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask. 

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.” 

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes. 

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself. 

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks. 

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly. 

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.  

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.  

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.” 

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb. 

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really. 

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little. 

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean's smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes. 

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you. 

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free. 

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister. 

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad. 

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends. 

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases. 

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it. 

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean. 

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect in this, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

**As a reminder, One More Day (Dean x Latina Plus-Sized!Reader) comes out on 4/04 - the day after my birthday!~

Until then, please let me know what you thought of If I Stay! 😘 I might write more for these two in the future...

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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[paniniani]

can u do a fix where yn gives shoto aphrodisiac as a joke?

aphrodisiac! shoto x f! reader

an: nsfw, female reader, teasing, praise, sub/switch shoto, aphrodisiac, dubcon (just bc of aphrodisiac), this took so long, a man who yearns is a man who earns 🗣️ 2.1k words!

hearing the sound of your giggling, shoto turned his attention away from the shitty reality tv show you were both watching, faintly smiling at the sight of you laughing at your phone.

"what is so funny y/n?" he gently asked, peeking over your shoulder to see... a box of chocolates on your screen? slightly tilting his head in confusion, he waited for you to explain. he was so sweet, so innocent, you almost didn't want to tell him.

"i doordashed these stupid sex chocolates that i've been seeing on tiktok, i'm pretty sure they're a scam but it's just so funny to me that i wanted to get them as a joke."

"sex... chocolates?" he asked, voice trailing off after his words. oh boy. i guess you were on different sides of tiktok. "theyre like.. these aphrodisiac chocolates that allegedly make you hor- i mean they increase your sexual desire. but i don't think they're real, and it just seems so silly with these stupid ads i'm getting all the time."

"hm.." he looked off, seemingly deep in thought. "i don't really understand why i'd need this because i already find you.. very attractive, but i'll try it for you, even if it's just as a joke." his honesty made you blush, you loved how sweet he was to you (but secretly wanted to see him desperate for you instead). "aww shoooooo" you doted, peppering him with tiny kisses.

a few hours later, you got a notification that your order had arrived. after opening the small box, you snapped one of the chocolate squares in half, still half laughing at how stupid of an idea this was. calling out his name, you told todoroki to come into the kitchen, smiling at his still confused kitten-like expression as he stood in front of you.

reaching up to ruffle his hair, your hand slowly traced down the back of his head, pausing at the intersection between his neck and jaw, causing him to swallow hard. "you hungry sho? open up.." he quickly followed your instructions as you fed him the candy, thumb gently stroking the corner of his lips as he chewed. a flush spread across his face at the gentle care you were giving him. perfect, you thought, you already had him blushing.

as you waited for the effects to kick in, you went back to your room to get changed, settling on an oversized, off the shoulder tee which was hiding the real surprise: a brand new black lacy lingerie set, two tiny pink satin bows adorning the joint where the two cups met and the the lace seam of your (extremely) cheeky underwear. you'd never worn this kind of thing around him, he was in for a real shock.

re-joining him on the couch, you didn't miss the way his eyes burned into your now exposed thighs, you knew they were a weakness for him and decided to exploit it-- poor guy had no clue what he was in for. as you continued your show, he softly placed a hand on your leg, rubbing gentle circles.

thirty minutes later, you were engrossed in the drama of the episode and somehow forgot about the situation you'd created. you didn't even notice the growing tent in his pants as your favorite character narrowly avoided getting voted off. you'd been ignoring shoto's uncomfortable shifting and unsteady breaths for too long, and he couldn't take it anymore. the constant touch on your thigh suddenly turned into a hard squeeze, causing you to jump as he spoke in a serious, uncharacteristically breathy tone.

"y/n..... feel funny.. need you to help. please." his eyes were squeezed shut, jaw clenched and eyebrows drawn together as if he couldn't bear to look at you. poor sweet boy, you really should just give him what he needed, but you decided to make him wait a little longer. "hm? sorry shoto, i don't know what you need, you're gonna need to use your words." blushing bright red, his eyes snapped open at the rustling of you slowly, tantalizingly stripping off your shirt. "it's a little hot in here isn't it?"

you heard his breath hitch as you revealed more of your thighs and hips, conveniently turning away from him as the black lace covering your ass became exposed. looking over your shoulder, your mouth formed an o at the sight of him. todoroki was pretty much eye-fucking you, his hand needfully palming at his pants as tiny flames occasionally rippled off of his body. oh fuck. he had it real bad.

"please. can't take it. need you." he choked out, a drop of sweat (or maybe a melted piece of ice) trailing down his neck. voice almost a whimper, he managed to continue: "need to be inside you. i'm not going to be able to control myself much longer. please y/n, please-" "mmm, i'll think about it" you cut him off as you continued to strip in front of him, finally revealing the matching black lacy bra you'd been hiding. shoto softly cursed-a sound you'd never heard from his mouth- you were just waiting for him to lose it.

when you made eye contact with him and let a brief smile flash across your face, something flickered in his expression. what was once a look of sweet yearning snapped into what could only be described as absolute need. in a flash, he grabbed you by the hips and nearly threw you onto his lap, your face inches away from his own extremely red one. pleading, he tried one more time, clothed legs uncontrollably bucking up into you.

"please.. y/n. it hurts.." he softly whined, voice cracking as his throbbing cock began to leak through his pants. you've never heard him so undone, or seen his eyes so clouded with lust. "oh poor poor boy, m gonna make you feel better okay?" you murmured as you pulled his sweats and underwear down his thighs, revealing his twitching, painfully hard dick. you took your time settling between his legs, which proved to be a huge mistake-- you'd teased him for too long, and he was at his wits end.

before you could process it, he gripped the back of your head and shoved his dick down your throat, causing your choked-out cries to echo around him. between whimpers and shaky breaths, he spoke as calmly as he could: "i'm s-so sorry baby, i can't control myself. always taking such good care of me, need-mmph need you so bad." moaning around his cock at the praise, you allowed him to use you as his own personal toy as his hips bucked wildly, thrusting faster and faster deep into your mouth. "oh f-fuck-nnngh gonna- gonna, i'm gonna-"

using all your strength to pin his thighs down, you managed to stop his movements. you slowly pulled your mouth off of his cock, tongue gently tracing the tip. shoto's jaw was on the floor, eyebrows drawn together and were those.. tears? "w-why'd you stop?" he quietly wailed, having had his orgasm ripped away from him. "because sho," you purred as you placed his hand on the elastic of your thong, his fingers gripping your hip.

"first, i know how good that fucking cock is and i need it in me right now. second, i know you love it when i take control and make my sweet boy beg to cum." if his face was flushed earlier, it's a complete tomato now. you giggled at his silence. "cat got your tongue or something? that just won't do.. wanna hear you nice and loud for me okay?" nodding quickly, he fell back on the bed facing you, hands pulling at the high waisted lace of your lingerie. he pressed a single kiss to the bow adorning your underwear, making your heart skip a beat as he looked up at you with pleading eyes.

"please love, you look so beautiful, i'm sorry i couldn't control myself earlier. please touch me use me r-ride me, still hurts s-so bad." despite edging him to the point of tears, his voice was still calm. he was always so gentle to you despite how you treated him. with slow motions, you removed your thong, watching how his eyes lingered on the string of slick that connected it to your dripping pussy.

straddling him with your plush thighs, you gripped him with one hand, watching how his eyes fluttered shut as you dragged his length between your soaked folds, relishing in the shaky breaths that even this slight contact caused. you couldn't help but let out a groan when his angry red tip brushed against your clit, you were feeling almost as desperate as he was.

you gazed down at his face twisted in pleasure, eyes still scrunched shut as if looking at you would be too much for him. taking advantage of this, you grasped his length in both hands. slowly guiding the tip into yourself, you pulsed with need at the stretch. his eyes snapped open, tortured breaths turning into pleading moans: "ahhmmph-please, pleaseplease put it all the way i-" taking pity on him, you sank all the way down onto his cock, shoto writhing with pleasure underneath you as he covered his face with his muscular forearms, piercing eyes shyly peeking out at you.

overwhelmed by the feeling, todoroki couldn't help himself--you felt way too fucking good--he tightly gripped your waist with one hand, scooping your ass up with the other. from beneath you, his hips stuttered as he attempted to fuck upwards into you, making you clench around him and throw your head back as he thrust deeper and deeper, reaching places that your fingers simply couldn't.

"s-sho- fuck. shot-o" you begged, thinking of your promise to make him feel good, but it was hard when you were reduced to a babbling mess as soon as he entered you. "w-wait, wanna fuck ride you, stop stop please let me fucking ride you please let me make you feel good-".

in an unbelievable act of self control, his hips stuttered to a halt, white-knuckled hands gripping your hips. he looked unreal beneath you, lips parted and abs shaking as he followed your instructions like he always did. "s-so tight y/n.. so soft so- hhng does it feel good? please tell me it feels good" he babbled as you played with your nipples, letting him calm down for a moment before you continued, gripping onto his shoulders.

leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, this sweet gesture turning sinful as you kissed down his face, tracing his jaw. when you got to his not-so-secret sensitive spot right below his ear, you sucked hard, accompanied by a roll of your hips against his own. his breathy, deep moans sound so pretty in your ear, you could hear the restraint in his voice as he tried to remain still for you.

"that's it, nice and good for me" you murmured into his neck, picking up speed as you began to slowly bounce on his dick, addicted to the sounds he made combining with the unholy sloshing of your pussy sucking him in. you could feel your high fast approaching, the friction too good to handle. shoto wasn't much better, you noticed his abs straining to hold out for you.

"love pl-please let me, so close please, m-gonna" he gasped, hips twitching but still letting you take control (just how he liked it). tracing your lips back up to his ear, you replied, barely coherent. "f-fuck yeah sho, fucking cum for me, so close, 'm right there with you yeah?"

quickening your pace, your eyes flutter shut as the overwhelming pressure in your stomach finally snaps, a shudder of pleasure exploding through the two of you like fireworks. hot sticky ropes of cum paint your insides, and you open your eyes to see shoto's head thrown back as he loses himself in his climax. eyebrows drawn together in pleading, tiny flames rippled across his body as he lost control. his body trembled as your cunt pulsed against him, milking him for all he had.

when the waves of pleasure finally subsided, you leaned down and pressed your mouth to his. slowly pulling off of his cock, cum spilled out of you, sinfully dripping down his defined v-line and onto the couch. "sho? you doing okay? that was a lot.." you whispered, wrapping around him like a koala. after catching his breath, he finally replied in a low whisper. "do.. do they make those in dark chocolate?"

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

slow kisses - Joel Miller

900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts

bio : This story is part of the 900 Followers Milestone Celebration - kissing prompts.

person ordering: anon

warnings : fluff, married life, desire to have sex, Sarah is still small, a few curses

[my masterlist]

You were sure you had reached your maximum level of exhaustion. Such a level had to exist, right? After a whole week at work, where no one spared you, when you had to combine household duties with raising a four-year-old daughter - you had every right to feel tired.

And there was your husband, Joel. The owner of a construction company, who worked just as hard as you and had just returned home.

You heard him take off his shoes and slowly walk up the stairs. Soon, in the bathroom doorway, you saw the face of your beloved man. Hair tousled, eyes tired, but still with a smile just for you.

"Sarah, is he sleeping? It's so quiet..." he murmured, brushing his lips against your cheek.

You sighed. "Yeah, I promised her we'd go for ice cream tomorrow and she went to bed early."

"So we'll go." he rested his chin on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and looked at your shared reflection in the mirror "I'm so fucking tired... This renovation is killing me."

"I know, honey. You snore so loudly that..."

"I don't snore at all." Joel was outraged, frowning and quickly pinching your butt "You also collapse on the bed at the end of the day. Ughh... We both work too much."

He snuggled against your back and inhaled the sweet scent of shower gel. “Would you like a little you-know-what today?”

You chuckled. "Sarah's sleeping, you don't have to speak in code."

"God! I want to fuck you, baby. I miss you so much."

You both wanted to give your daughter the best, and now you were in the thick of it and a lot of things just piled on top of each other. You couldn't even remember the last time you had time to yourself or when you had real sex, not a quickie ten minutes before your alarm.

"Take a shower and we'll meet in bed, okay?" you said, turning in his arms and kissing him on the lips.

"Give me ten minutes."

But when Joel came out of the bathroom after twelve minutes, you were lying on the bed, dozing off slightly. You woke up to the feeling that someone was slowly kissing your legs and going higher and higher.

"Joel..." you moaned when you felt his still damp hair on your skin.

"I want you." he mumbled in your ear, and then... yawned.

"Oh, yes. We're so tired, nothing will come of it."

"Baby..."

Lazy, slow kisses were placed on your neck, shoulders and cleavage. Your husband's heated body would really tempt you if you didn't know what state you both were in.

"Maybe you'll just jump on me, baby, huh?" he looked at you pleadingly with his sweet eyes "You like being on top."

"Yeah, but today I'd rather be on the bottom and do the bare minimum."

"Jesus..." he groaned, burying his face in your breasts and inhaling your scent deeply "I'd like to fuck, but I'm not even sure if I'll get hard."

"Poor thing..."

You took his face in your hands and kissed his soft lips. You couldn't even kiss harder. After the warm bath, your bodies had become so lazy that they refused to do anything. Joel was so pleasantly warm, the mattress so comfortable. He didn't seem too keen on any activity either.

"Maybe I should set the watch a little earlier?" you suggested "We'll do it in the morning, before Sarah wakes up."

"My wife is a fucking genius." he sighed and slid off you, lying down next to you "I'll fuck you tomorrow. Be sure of that."

"I am, baby."

You quickly set the alarm on your phone and immediately felt a strong arm pull you to Joel's solid body. A few more slow kisses went to your exposed neck and shoulders.

"I love you. You know that?" he murmured quietly.

"I love you too, Joel." you replied, feeling the bed slowly swallow you.

"Tomorrow we'll fuck..."

"You're damn right."

You fell asleep almost at the same time. But it wasn't the alarm clock that woke you up, but a sweet promise. Something hit you hard and suddenly tore you from your sleep.

"Daddy!"

Your daughter jumped again and threw herself between you and Joel. You heard a muffled groan.

"Jesus, Sarah..."

"Get up, daddy! We're going for ice cream! For ice cream!" she babbled. You rolled onto your back and looked at the girl sitting on Joel's chest. Her small hands ruffled his hair even more.

"Give me a few more minutes, please."

But Sarah took no prisoners, and soon you both had to get out of bed. The strange feeling that you had forgotten something plagued your mind. It wasn't until the alarm on your phone went off that you and Joel looked at each other. He shrugged.

"Maybe next time." he said, winking at you. "Ice cream is much more important, babe."

[crimsoncandy04]

It's ya girl. Back at it again with the smut no one asked for but I'm doing it anyways because the world needs my thoughts.

Anyways since we're not selfish lovers here and I already wrote about Wanderer and his variants eating your cunt and making you scream...

Here's how I think it would go if you said you wanted to suck their dicks in return.

Kabukimono (my baby I love him he's so sweet and he's not gonna survive)

He’s the most innocent of Wanderer's variants, so he’d blink in confusion at first, honestly not understanding what you mean and why that part of him seems so special to you.

He'd let you but would be hesitant and nervous.

"Okay. If you really want to."

Then he notices the way your lips curl into a sly little smirk. You kneel down and start trying to undress him. And then? Immediate panic.

Because now he realizes that you're serious and weren't just joking. (He's excited but also this is a first for him so the poor guy is just a mess. Be gentle with him)

His face erupts into red, and he nearly faints once he feels your lips around his cock.

He is NOISY too. Moaning wildly at just the slightest touch and maybe even tearing up and crying a bit when you take more of him in your mouth and start to move a little faster.

Don't tease him. You might make him malfunction somehow. (Kabukimono.exe has stopped working)

Wanderer (he likes playing hard to get so you'll have to beg a little for it)

He’s not letting you off easy. His gaze flicks up from his clothes dick, and his smirk is dangerous. He slowly, deliberately reaches a hand down into the confines of his shorts and strokes the length of his manhood, watching your reaction the entire time.

“Oh?” he muses, voice dripping with mock innocence.

“That’s funny, because you look like you want something else instead.”

(He's actually very excited at the idea but he's not really as vulnerable as he used to be so he's going to try and distract you rather than just admitting he's kinda nervous. You'll have to be sweet but adamant)

He'd tease you and maybe try to drag things out but once he's balls deep in your mouth? He'd start to lose it. He'd groan softly and maybe whimper a little but at some point he goes completely feral and grabs your head before starting to thrust into your throat and fucking your mouth.

(He's still careful not to hurt you though. And if you make any sign of discomfort or sound like you're distressed he'd stop immediately.)

Scaramouche (Bro is hella quiet. And he's not moaning for you in a million years. It sucks but his actions speak of his secret desperation and honestly maybe getting him off could calm him down a little?)

Do you want to die?

Because you’re dead. Absolutely dead. He stops mid thought, narrowing his eyes at you with a look that’s equal parts suspicion and amusement.

Then, ever so casually, he leans in his lips brushing your ear.

“Say that again.” His voice is low, dangerous, daring you to repeat yourself. If you do? Oh, he’s making you regret it. He’d smirk, slow and taunting, before undressing himself and exposing his hardened cock to you before forcing you onto your knees and ordering you to pleasure him.

If he sees you hesitate after his response he'd taunt you.

“Hah. Not so bold now, are you?”

And he's rough too. Grabbing your hair and forcing his entire dick deep into your throat as he makes you take it as far as it can go. He loves watching you suffer. If your eyes start tearing up or he hears you make any kind of noise, it'll just arouse him further. He wants to see you slobbering and sucking on his cock in the filthiest, most obscene way possible just to make you suffer for wanting him in such a vulnerable position.

You played with fire. And now you’re burning. But the flames have never felt so good.

[slutsareteacherstoo]

“A cold running through her daycare had finally latched on to her fresh immune system, turning his usually jovial baby into a shell of herself. He told his higher-ups that he needed to take the day to care for her in his mother-in-law's stead, but what he really needed was time alone to deal with his uninvited guest.” - i like these sentences

Every shift in his demeanor and thousand-yard stare showed that he was reliving a hellish time she couldn't protect him from.  - 😞😔

“…his lips attached to hers for needy kisses that felt more like life rafts to keep him above rough waters than affectionate gestures.” —oooh thats a different, haunting kinda desperate

And ooh the spiraling. The imagery of grief as menace

Me taking notes about them patches cuz imma need ‘em when i start school✍🏿 😭

Not Charles Barkley 🤣nah why you had to do Nyla like that 🤣

Damn bad ass kids 😂poor Satchel

Whew this time in the water. Something so healing about the water.

Whew some tears streamed down the sides of my fact not gonna lie

The quotes/lines weren’t the only ones of note I just wanted to read and feel before analysis. So today might just be a feeling day, less quotes and structural analysis (not that you ever asked 🤣 but like in general even if don’t, that dont mean there weren’t certain things that hit or that i didnt enjoy 😭) but more so about the feeling, cuz I’m resting for the first time in a long time. And with that stillness, comes all the things you’ve kept at bay now vying for attention. I loved this snapshot alot. Patrice’s care and tenderness for husband, but not treating him like he’s fragile. The realness of grief, Terry’s specifically and how you really can’t prepare for how it comes to your door and when and why. 💜

Amen

Summary: Terry and Patrice learn more about their love through life changing news on New Year’s Eve.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Mentions of Death

Inspired By: Ask #1 + Ask #2

MASTERLIST

Grief was a bitch. 

A mean, ugly, unwanted bitch that had settled beside Terry as an unwelcomed guest just when he thought that he'd banished it out of his life, never to return. Over two years of joy that he'd fought tooth and nail to maintain came crashing down once grief came strolling into town without warning. 

Mike was dead. He knew that. He'd reckoned with it, talked himself through the anniversary of his death once before, sent well-wishes to his aunt every time he could, cried in the shadows, mourned, lashed out, and sat in silence with the knowledge that his little cousin would never come through the door again. Mike wouldn't see another birthday. He wasn't around for the wedding or Christmas. They'd never see another football game together. Mike would never meet Nyla. 

That fact came as a sobering realization while Terry watched his only daughter's chest rise and fall as she slept peacefully in her crib for the first time all day. A cold running through her daycare had finally latched on to her fresh immune system, turning his usually jovial baby into a shell of herself. He told his higher-ups that he needed to take the day to care for her in his mother-in-law's stead, but what he really needed was time alone to deal with his uninvited guest. 

Leaning over the sturdy walnut railing keeping his little girl safely inside her crib, he watched her with the ghost of a smile on his lips. Mike would've loved her. Terry was sure of it. He'd make his way to Fayetteville at any opportunity and cause havoc, probably irritating Patrice but definitely doting on Nyla in a way that only he could. 

Tears that had been fighting to see the world all day pricked Terry's eyes yet again. He almost let them fall but found himself blinking them back once Patrice pushed open the door and poked her head inside. 

She smiled despite work wearing her thin and waved with her fingers. "Can I come in, or would that be too much?" 

"Of course, you can," he answered, trying to put on a brave face to hide the true turmoil inside. 

Seeing her stand there, her bright smile directed at him like he was the sun, moon, and stars, was the first time he'd felt anything other than the weight of regret. He needed her to come into the room. 

Tiptoeing, Patrice approached Terry and peered over the crib's railing to look at Nyla. "How was she," she whispered before softly touching her forehead to check for heat. "Doin' any better?" 

"A little. I got her to eat and play for a bit before the medicine kicked in. She should be out for the night and good enough to sit with your mom by the ceremony on Monday. But, we'll see." 

"Good. Thank you for taking the lead. I know she was happy to have you around." She took a second look at her pride and joy, then focused all her attention on Terry. Worry and sadness had found a home on his brow line as they remained furrowed in thought. She leaned her head on his forearm and looked up at him. "And what about my other baby? How was he today?" 

The date wasn't lost on Patrice. She noticed when Terry slowly retreated into himself the week before. She saw him looking at Mike's Instagram when he thought she wasn't paying attention. She heard the conversation with his aunt when he promised to come by and see her the next time he could make it to Baton Rouge, even though she knew that time wasn't coming. Every shift in his demeanor and thousand-yard stare showed that he was reliving a hellish time she couldn't protect him from. 

No amount of soothing could pull him out of his rut. But that wouldn't stop her from trying. 

Terry continued to stare down at Nyla as he answered. "I'm okay. Not too up, not too down." 

"You need anything?" Terry didn't respond with words once he finally tore his eyes away from their daughter to look at Patrice. He only shook his head. "Can I give you a hug at least?" 

His first dose of physical affection for the day felt like the wind was gently placed back into his lungs as Patrice pulled him closer by his shoulders. His hands found her waist first, giving the spot a short squeeze before allowing his arms to fully encircle her body. 

"I love you. You know that?" 

"I know." That was the one thing he was sure of. His heart and mind were splintered into a million pieces, but he knew Patrice was there to help him put each one back in their proper place. His lips found her temple for a lingering kiss as he closed his eyes to ward off the sadness, still trying to take center stage. "I, um…I... didn't have a good day today…" Terry struggled with the words, opening and closing his mouth in hopes that something would come out while Patrice listened to him try to articulate his thoughts. A deep breath and closed eyes helped him settle before he spoke. "I could use some time together. Whatever you have tonight, I'll take it. I know you have to be up early tomorrow, so even an hour is –" 

His words were cut short by a simple kiss on his cheek. Patrice pulled back to look at him and flashed a reassuring smile. "Give me a few minutes to get changed, and you have me for however long you need me. I'll stay up late and everything. Dasia will understand if I cancel my hair appointment for tomorrow."

"I don't want you to do that." 

"We'll play it by ear," she answered to douse the early flames of a disagreement. "Twenty minutes. You can time me." 

Terry nodded in understanding and silently agreed to let Patrice out of his sight when he needed her most. Whether she was gone for 30 seconds or three days, the time away felt slow. 

Terry tried and quickly tired of distracting himself in Nyla's nursery before quietly slipping out and taking the trek to wait for Patrice like a lost puppy.

He settled into the plush velvet chair in the corner and sighed with the weight of the world on his shoulders. Closed eyes heightened his sense of hearing, giving him full access to Patrice's singing in the shower. 

Mike would've loved the Patrice he heard so much about. He'd call her 'big sis' and annoy her the way little brothers do. They'd argue endlessly but still find time for secret handshakes and inside jokes. He'd finally have someone on his side to pester Terry and receive sound advice from when the going got tough. They may have taken him in as their overgrown first child. They could've worked together to get him on the right path and save his life. 

Unfortunately, Terry would never know. The not knowing left the door wide open for sadness to creep back in. 

He breathed deep and tried to will grief away with Patrice's voice as a lullaby in the background. And for a moment, it complied. The dark, heavy cloud slipped off his back and down to his feet with every exhale, lightening the weight on his arms and shoulders until he felt close to a Terry who was safe, sound, and far from the troubles of his past. 

Mike would want that. He'd like to know what Terry had going on as the last person expected to settle down into a family man. He'd probably poke fun at his older cousin for attending birthing classes and fawning over ruffled outfits in Target when what he knew of Terry was brooding, reserved, and quietly menacing. Mike had seen his cousin kick up dust with the worst of them. Seeing Terry as a man who wouldn't so much as cough too loud if his wife or daughter was around would be a sight. 

As grief slowly packed its things and headed for the door, his comfort emerged from the steaming bathroom, looking like a lighthouse in a raging storm. 

Patrice's humming paused once she noticed Terry sitting in the corner. "Missed me," she teased, drawing a small, dry chuckle from her husband as she made her way to their dresser. "You could've joined if you wanted."

"That's alright. I know you need your time to decompress.” He gestured toward the garment in her hand. “Need help with that?"

She could've put her clothes on with no assistance, but Patrice knew that Terry wouldn't have asked if he didn't need the distraction. She granted his covert request for her attention by quickly plucking matching pieces from her sleepwear drawer and placing them in his outstretched hands. 

They spent time in comfortable silence while he slid soft cotton up her legs and then helped her into her shirt, kissing random spots of exposed skin along the way. "I didn't ask about your day. I'm sorry. I got a lot of…other stuff on my mind. How was work?" 

"It was work. Nothing too important. Glad it's the weekend. Two more days, and I get to see my first graduating class of freshmen that I taught. Isn't that crazy? I'm getting old, huh?" She laughed by herself. 

Terry avoided eye contact despite his faint smile, preferring to tie the drawstring at her waist in a neat bow like she preferred. "Never old. Only better."

"You're too sweet." Patrice cuddled him close when he was done and rubbed a spot at the nape of his neck to soothe him into closing tired, heavy lids. "I know it's tough, but I promise you'll be okay, babe. The sadness isn't gonna go away, but you'll learn to live with it. You'll learn to make space for all those feelings inside you at once. And I'll be here when you need someone else to hold some of them, too." 

Terry sighed. "I'm not tryin' to be a burden for you, P. We have enough going on as is." 

"You're not a burden, Terry; you're my husband – my friend."

To be accepted with all of the muddy waters traversing his mind and heart felt like too much to ask for in Terry's mind, especially from someone who'd spent so much time wading through all his bullshit without complaint. He owed her his life, the full weight of his love, until the day God deemed their time together but a beautiful memory forever etched in boxed trinkets and old photos. 

He wanted to give her the moon as she stood stroking his pain away with her fingertips but settled for kissing his way up her sternum on the way to her lips. 

One day, when other emotions had dwindled, and he was feeling more like himself, Terry would lay his head on Patrice's lap and tell her about the atrocities that had shaped the time before they reacquainted. That day wasn't today, and all he could think of was pouring his gratitude for her graciousness into making sure she was satisfied in the one area he could control. 

Shorts that had only been on her body for mere minutes found a new home on the floor alongside her top. Patrice was weightless in Terry's arms as he carried her to their shared bed, his lips attached to hers for needy kisses that felt more like life rafts to keep him above rough waters than affectionate gestures. 

Patrice questioning if he was sure about his actions fell on deaf ears, and soon, all of her inquiries became lost whispers in a room swirling with the sounds of desperate lovemaking. Terry left his mark on her neck and chest while he worked himself out of his clothes. 

His voice came in gravelly against the shell of her ear. "I fuckin' love you, Treece. Don't ever leave me." He was pleading and caught somewhere between raw desire and tremendous despair. "Please, don't ever leave me." 

"I'm not going anywhere, baby," Patrice reassured without hesitation.

Terry left soft kisses and big, salty tears on Patrice's cheeks once their foreheads met. "Please. I need you, Patrice." Grief was back and taunting him in his ear with its partner in crime, Doubt. She'll leave, just like everyone else. You don't deserve her. Lies filled his head with no shut-off valve in sight. The tears turned into sobs he couldn't ignore with breathing techniques or a change in his thought process. "I'm sorry. I just need you. I can't do this by myself. Don't leave." 

Patrice quickly cast amorous feelings aside to wrap her arms tight around Terry. "Woah, woah, TJ. I'm here! I'm right here." 

Grief was a bitch. Even when he threw his best punch at it, grief always hit Terry back with a haymaker that left him staggering and woozy in defeat. 

The moments after his heaving, hyperventilating meltdown became a blur of Patrice's soft-spoken instruction, lavender bubble bath, and candlelight. When he came back from a mental trip to Shelby Springs to live out alternate realities, where he emerged victorious with Mike by his side, he found himself nestled between his wife's legs, surrounded by fresh hot water and scented white foam. 

Patrice moved behind him, plastic crinkling as she peeled the back off of something he couldn't see before bringing her wet hands around to his face. "These'll help with the puffiness," she declared like an experienced esthetician informing a client. "I used to use this every other day in grad school. Cry all you need. No one will ever know by morning." 

A 'thank you' tried to rise from his throat, but Terry quickly found his voice too hoarse to say anything worth a damn. Patrice didn't mind, though. She was content to press another cold patch underneath his eye before grabbing the shampoo rinse cup resting near the baby monitor at the edge of the tub. 

Terry closed his eyes as the warm water washed over his short curls, sitting neatly behind a sharp hairline and tapered sides. His hair glistened under flickering lights provided by small flames in glass components. Patrice used her acrylic nails to work magic against his scalp, turning shampoo into a mountain of suds to cleanse the pain. 

"I swear every time my Nana and mama scrubbed my head, I felt like a new person after. One time, I was going through the worst friend breakup I've ever had, and by the time Mommy finished with me, I didn't even know that girl's name. Didn't even matter anymore." 

"What happens after the scrub, though? You just…go back to normal?" 

Patrice chuckled as she ran another stream of water across his head to start on a second lather. "Hell no. That's where the patches come in." Terry allowed himself his first genuine laugh all day, taking a stone out of grief's stronghold. His fingertips ran back and forth over the wet skin on Patrice's legs as he sat with his eyes closed in a battle for his sanity. They let the quiet ripple of water around them fill the humid air in the room, preferring to enjoy the feel of skin on skin over extraneous conversation until Patrice began running conditioner through each of his thick strands. "I love when you wear your hair like this. The haircuts are nice, but when it's grown out, it reminds me of young you." 

"Hot-headed, couldn't buckle down enough to work through being mad at not getting scholarships to still go to college me?" Terry scoffed, finding the notion of a younger, far less polished him being someone worth missing. 

Patrice shrugged. "I didn't know that Terry," she confessed. The stories of his anger felt like fables to Patrice. The only Terrence Richmond she'd ever known was sweet as homemade banana pudding after Sunday service and a whip-smart boy with the world at his feet. "My Terry and his little fro was always kind. Always noble and lending a helping hand. And now he's got a baby girl in the other room with a head full of her daddy's curls after she looked like Charles Barkley for three months." Terry smiled at the mention of Nyla and how she'd inherited at least one part of him after taking her mother's entire face. Patrice watched him reach for the monitor and bring it closer to his face for a look at his second favorite girl before she continued. "My Terry is who Mike loved. I never met him, but I know he saw the best in you. We all do, baby." 

More silence sat heavy as Terry wiped away fresh tears gathering at his waterline. Of course, they'd see the best in him when he couldn't see the best in himself. 

Grief came knocking again with Doubt in tow, but Terry ignored them to slide deeper into the water and rest his heavy head on Patrice's chest before speaking. "Mike and me…we used to get in a lot of trouble at my granny's house." 

"Yeah? Two badass kids, huh? Tell me about it."

"One time," he started, already smiling at the memory. "We got her beagle, Satchel, sick because we kept feeding him shrimp out of the gumbo. He threw up all over the back porch, and Mike got so scared that he told on us, thinking we wouldn't get the switch if we were honest." 

"Did y'all?" 

Terry laughed and nodded. "Wore our asses out. I hated that damn dog for the rest of his life. It wasn't his fault, but I was just a kid." 

"You knew better, though." 

"Whose side are you on right now?" Terry asked, looking up at Patrice with faux offense on his face. 

She giggled back. "Okay, my bad!" A final round of water cascaded down Terry's shoulders and back, washing the ugly soot of regret off of his grief to reveal the love making up its inner parts. Patrice kissed his wet hair and held her lips there even as she spoke. "Can you tell me more about Mike? I wanna know him through you."

The invitation erupted a dormant volcano deep within his Terry's heart.

He told stories of his cousin and their time together until the lavender-scented bubbles evaporated into tepid bath water. Until grief felt more like gratitude for memories made. Until Patrice's stomach ached from laughter. Until the clock struck midnight, and tears started to roll again. Until Patrice had wiped his entire face with her delicate fingertips several times over without a single inkling of exasperation or judgement while they lay face to face beneath cold sheets. And until she finally closed her eyes from exhaustion and turned her back for some shut-eye. 

Then, he talked to God. A long list of thank you's emerged from his heart. A thank you for keeping him alive, one for time spent with Mike, one for his daughter, and another for the only person keeping him afloat when all he wanted to do was drown. 

Terry looked at Patrice and smiled. Light from the television illuminated her face, highlighting her knitted brow and slight frown as she lay in the throes of a dream he could only imagine was vivid enough to evoke such a clear expression of disgust. The thought alone produced a genuine smile. 

Clicking the power button, Terry found himself in complete darkness, fighting for the words to finish his prayer. He sighed and looked back toward Heaven. "She's perfect, God. Even when she isn't. If you never give me anything else, thank you for Patrice."

"Hm?"

Patrice's groggy response to her name being called made Terry roll over on his side to calm her back into sleep. "Nothing, baby," he spoke into her shoulder before pressing a kiss on her skin. He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her closer, earning a content sigh. "I was just praying for you."

She smiled without opening her eyes. "Well, amen to that."

Tears tickled Terry's waterline, this time filled with overwhelming gratitude. A blessing like no other. 

"Yeah. Amen to that."

-----

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[syluxs]

shower for two

pairing: sylus/reader

summary: showering together for the first time, you expected something intense--overflowing tension, something unmistakably heated. but instead, it was easy, playful. sylus has proved once again that he wasn’t like other men, washing your hair like it was the most natural thing in the world

notes: pure fluff i wanna combust

honestly, you had expected this to be….. intense. awkward. full of charged tension. after all, seeing each other naked during that time was different--there was an urgency, a purpose. there was an unspoken heat that left no room for hesitation. but showering together? you were both level-headed, fully aware, with nothing to hide behind. that made it feel almost too different. also, it was a me time thing for you back then. a moment of solitude. a time to think, to let your mind wander, to just be in the calm. it wasn’t supposed to be shared--at least, not with anyone else before you started dating sylus. this was yours, something personal, something just for you.

yet here you were.

sylus was completely unfazed. with an ease that only he could pull off, he took off his towel and neatly hung it up--because of course he would. he wasn’t some unhygienic guy who would just let it drop onto the floor.

your eyes widened at his action, mouth parted slightly in shock at him being so casual abt this.

he noticed, of course, and let out a deep chuckle, clearly amused by your reaction.

“really?” he teased, tilting his head at you. “it's nothing you haven't seen before.”

you frowned at him, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flustered. slowly, deliberately, you removed your own towel--though far less smoothly than he had--and awkwardly hung it up, mirroring his movements like some kind of hesitant, poor attempt at composure.

you stood there for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, as if staying still would somehow make you invisible. your posture was stiff, like you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.

finally, after a deep breath, you hesitantly stepped toward the shower, trying to make yourself seem as small as possible.

sylus immediately noticed your unusual sheepishness. instead of teasing, he simply let out a soft chuckle and, like it was the most natural thing to say, he said, “why are you hiding, kitten? you're beautiful, you know that.”

your entire body tensed. it was such a casual compliment, but it hit you like a tidal wave. you could feel ur stomach making all sorts of movements, heat rising to your face as you struggled to keep your composure.

maybe this was just the honeymoon phase, since you had only recently started dating. but still, it had always been like this with sylus, even before you were together. the feelings were always intense, ready to swallow you whole.

he reached out and turned on the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping under the stream. you watched as he tilted his head back, running a hand through his wet white hair, his red eyes momentarily closing as he let out a deep, satisfied sigh. the sight made your heart do an embarrassing little skip. his toned muscles stood out under the bathroom light, water running over the sharp lines of his broad shoulders, down the contours of his chest. with his hair pushed back, his sharp, handsome features were on full display--something you tried so hard not to openly admire.

instead of making a snarky comment or throwing a teasing smirk on at how shy you were acting, like you expected from the dynamics where you two started out, even before dating, he just… hummed. content. relaxed.

“water’s nice,” he murmured. “you getting in or just gonna stand there and stare?”

you scoffed, stepping in. “not staring. just mentally preparing myself.”

“for what?” his lips twitched. “afraid you’ll get overwhelmed by my beauty?”

“more like bracing myself for the ego explosion.”

sylus chuckled, stepping aside to let you under the stream. the warm water cascaded over you, washing away any lingering awkwardness. for a moment, you stood there, eyes closed, enjoying the sensation.

then--

“hey, move,” you grumbled, nudging his side when he took up way too much space. “you’re hogging the water.”

“i am the taller one here,” he pointed out. “makes sense i take up more space.”

“that’s not how this works,” you huffed, shoving at his arm. “equal shower rights. scoot.”

he let out a dramatic sigh but shifted over, giving you a bit more room. but just as you started shampooing your hair, you felt a hand on your head.

you blinked up at him. “what are you doing?”

“saving time.” he said as he lathered the shampoo into your hair.

you narrowed your eyes. “this is suspiciously nice of you. are you planning something?”

“do i need a reason to do this?” he smirked. “besides, your height makes it easier for me to reach.”

“maybe you're enjoying this a bit too much.”

“maybe,” he admitted, fingers massaging your scalp in slow, deliberate movements.

you almost melted on the spot. okay, maybe sharing a shower wasn’t that bad. in fact, it was actually kind of….. nice. relaxing.

but, of course, sylus couldn’t resist being sylus.

“you look like a wet cat right now.”

“oh my gosh, get out.” you playfully pushed at him, but he barely budged, his laughter only growing.

sylus was completely unbothered as he grabbed some soap and turned you around. “stay still,” he muttered, running his hands over your back with gentle efficiency. his touch was firm but careful, working in slow, methodical circles as he scrubbed away the suds.

honestly, with how most men were, you expected this to have some kind of tension, maybe even turn into something intense, something undeniably charged with anticipation. but it wasn’t. not even close. and you felt so good about that, because once again, sylus had proven he wasn’t like other men. damn.

you huffed but let him, feeling oddly pampered.

when he finished, you grabbed the soap and grinned up at him. “your turn.”

sylus raised a brow but turned around, giving you access to his broad back. you dragged the soap along his toned muscles, biting back a laugh at the contrast of how nonchalant he had been about touching you versus how stiff he got when you did the same.

then, unable to resist, you playfully smacked his ass.

he jolted, nearly slipping. “what was that for?”

“couldn’t help myself,” you grinned. “prime, golden opportunity.”

his ears turned red, and for the first time since you stepped in, he looked flustered. “you're unbelievable.”

“aww, don’t be shy, kitten,” you teased, mimicking his earlier words.

sylus groaned, covering his face with one hand. “i regret everything.”

he may have said that, but he didn’t mean it. not even a little. the way his lips twitched, the way his red eyes softened when he looked at you--it was obvious. no matter how much you exasperated him, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

[count-on-mi]

Twice Interactive Story Part 22 Can't Live Without You (Momo, Chaeyoung)

You look at the phone, you still have not changed the wallpaper with you and Nayeon. 'Momo...' You quietly say her name.

I close and lock the door before calling Momo back.

You sit down and take a deep breath, then you call Momo again.

'Y/N?' Momo answers you in a shaken voice.

"I'm back, sorry. Are you alright?"

'No, I am not right when I am not with you.' Momo answers you.

'I'm sorry, I really shouldn't send Nayeon the photo.'

"Yeah, thank you for apologizing. Momo, I'm not looking to be in a relationship right now but we can always go out together. How does that sound?"

'You know I love you, I... I just don't want to be one of your causal friends with benefits, I want to be special.'

'I don't need to be your official girlfriend, I just want to have a piece of heart.'

'I'm sorry if I ask for too much.'

"We're going to need to rebuild our relationship Momo. We can't just go back to how things were. We can try. But if you do something like that again it's over."

'How can I prove my love. I really don’t know what to do. All the way before at the gym, I was just using my body to make you happy. I really don’t know, Y/N.'

'But I can't forget the moment We kiss at the shower, I...'

"Are you free tonight, Momo? Let's meet at the park. We can talk better there."

'Why don't we meet at the gym, you can meet me in my room. But aren't you said you need to pick your sister from airport tonight? You will come afterwards, right? I will wait you at the gym.'

"Yeah, I'll come as quick as I can but make sure Daniel isn't there."

'Why? You afraid of Daniel? And I haven't seen him for a long time, so it's ok.'

'I can't wait to see you, Y/N. Be safe when you drive here.' Momo blows you a kiss before she ends the call. You look at the clock, and realize you should head to Airport for Chaeyoung now.

You arrived and waiting for Chaeyoung, suddenly someone grabs your cock from behind, you turn around to see it is Chaeyoung.

"Really Chaeyoung?" I say as I now face her. "That’s how you greet me?"

You don't know how much I miss this big guy, of course you too, Oppa.' Chaeyoung says.

'I want to show you my new tattoo, free tonight? I will come after Dahyun eooni sleeps.' Chaeyoung whispers in your ears.

"I need to meet with someone after I drop you off at home so it'll have to wait."

'OK, we still got lots of time.' Chaeyoung hands you the suitcase and you two walk to the carpark.

'By the way, Nayeon eooni told me that you aren't going to fix it, what happen?'

"I just don't deserve her. She should have someone better than me. Listen Chaeyoung I don’t feel like talking about it right now." I respond.

'Sorry, I didn't mean it.' Chaeyoung grabs your arm and acting cute.

'I just worry did Nayeon eooni know what's between us.'

"No, she didn't know. Oh, and I think Dahyun is trying to have the same type of relationship."

'What? Dahyun eooni?' Chaeyoung is shocked. 'I don't think she is someone who will ask for sex proactively. But did you two start already?'

"No, She's being shy about it. She started talking about wanting to be seen as a woman and wanting to be in a relationship."

'So, what are you going to do?' Chaeyoung asks. 'Well, I wouldn't mind if you do that. If Dahyun eooni wants.'

'Just make sure you don't put all your attention on her. ‘Chaeyoung smirks.

"Already getting jealous?" I ask as I finish putting her stuff in the car. "Come on, let's go home."

'Of course! I can only meet you on holiday as we are in different city.' Chaeyoung answers you when she enters the car.

'Dahyun eooni is staying here, so she could have much more time with you.'

"Yeah, I guess so. Oh there's something else too." I explain Jihyo's situation and the reason she's staying with me to Chaeyoung as I start driving us home.

'Oh, she is so poor, marrying such a bad guy.' Chaeyoung pours as she hears Jihyo's story.

'But why would she trust you, you are a player too huh? You have girls besides Nayeon eooni... Oh, sorry, I didn't mean it.'

"I'm single now, and when I do get into a relationship, I'm ending everything else." I tell her. As I continue to drive, I move over and slide one of my hands into Chaeyoung's panties and rub her. "I'm going to have to punish you for bringing her up again, Chaeyoung."

'If it's the punishment I guess I will speak about her more.' Chaeyoung adjusts her position to let you fingering her better.

'You are not worrying Dahyun eooni will suspect anything huh?' Chaeyoung says while move her hands to your thigh and teasing you.

"I don't think so. I don't plan on letting you cum Chaeyoung." I rub her clit until I know she's about to orgasm before stopping and taking my hand out. "That’s your punishment."

'No! Put it back!' Chaeyoung roars when you denied her orgasm.

'I'm nearly cum, please let me cum. I am so sorry, I won't do it again, please, Oppa.' Chaeyoung begs for your hand. 'I would make you feel good too, Oppa.' Chaeyoung's hands starts caressing your cock from outside of your pants.

"Hands off Chaeyoung, or I'll make sure you won't be able to walk tomorrow. What would Dahyun think?"

'Oh, I would love to do that, such a welcome form your right?' Chaeyoung started rubbing the clit herself while her keep squeezing your cock, it begins to harden.

'Plus, the one who should explain to Dahyun eooni is you right? What would she say if she enters your room and see you are fucking me.'

"Chaeyoung stop, you're going to ruin the inside of the car." I finish the drive home and take out Chaeyoung's luggage from the car.

'Ah, ah, ahhh!' You come back to the car with the suitcase and Chaeyoung eventually cums on your car.

'Such a nice ride, oppa' Chaeyoung says while hands your her finger which is cover in her juice.

I grab her hand and pull her out of the car, "You're gonna gets yours soon Chaeyoung. Let's just get inside"

'Yeah, I will see you soon Oppa. Don't back so late, ok?' Chaeyoung tidy up and get the suitcase before entering the building.

You then drive to the gym, you are thinking about what you could say to Momo.

You steps by Momo's room, and you see she is keep walking inside the room, look frustrated.

I knock on the door, and wait for a response.

Momo comes and opens the door, when she sees it is you, she says nothing, just hug you so tightly, not willing to let go.

'Y/N, I miss you so much, please don't leave me again.'

"Why were you pacing inside your room Momo?" I ask as I pat her back.

'I am so worried, I afraid that you won't show up, I afraid that I won't see you again.' Momo looks up at you but still hugs you tightly.

"Yeah, well I'm here." I push my way inside and close the door behind me. "Let's talk a little Momo."

'I think I have said what I want to say in the phone, Y/N. What do you think?' Momo sits next to you while laying her head on your shoulder.

' I really really wanna be with you, I can't imagine my life without you.'

"Momo, I'm not really looking to be in a serious relationship with anyone right now. I did a lot of wrong. I know you don't want to be friends with benefits, and that's fine. I'm just not looking to have a relationship." I tell her. "So that leaves us here, and I'm not sure what to do."

'I can wait, Y/N. I just want you to know I would always wait for you.' Momo cups your cheek.

'I can be your secret lover after you got a new girlfriend, or even if you get marry in the future. I want just a little piece of your heart.' Momo says and she leans to kiss you.

"Momo, when I get into a relationship again. I'm not going to do the same things. I want to be a better person, you can have a piece of my heart but I don't want to be cheating on my potential partner again."

'What do you mean Y/N? You accepting friends with benefits in your relationships but not secret lovers? You are not cheating on your future partner Y/N, we love each other, right?' Momo grabs your head to kiss you again.

"Momo I mean that when I'm in a relationship again I won't have any friends with benefits, and secret lovers. I want to do things right. I do love you Momo."

'No, no, no! It shouldn't be like that.' Momo let's your head go and shakes her head.

'Everything was in a good balance before, we 3 are all good, I will have you when she is not there for you. Why can't we be like that?' Momo still can't face the fact that you denied her.

"Because I want to be a better person Momo. I hurt Nayeon, I hurt you. I don't want to be the same person." I put my hand on her head. "I'm just going to have casual relationships right now."

'Casual relationships?' Momo looks up at you in disbelief. 'You mean I could only be with you if I am your friend with benefits? What are you talking about?'

Momo grabs your hand on her tits 'So you only want my body huh, fuck me then! Go ahead! If that what takes you to stay with me.' Momo says while start undressing herself.

I pull my hand away from Momo. "You're not understanding Momo. I'm not doing this because I just want your body, I'm doing this because I don't want to hurt anyone." I Give Momo a hug, "Think about it for a second." I stand up ready to leave. "Look Momo, we could go out on dates sometimes and not have to worry about anything, anyone but right now I'm not going to be tied to anyone."

'You are hurting me if you leave right now.' Momo says while your hand reach the door knob.

' I really love you, but I don't know how to make you love me too. I see you like my body, so I use it to get closer to you but it seems didn't work. I am sorry if I am forcing you.' Momo's tears start dropping.

I sit back down and pull Momo onto my lap. "I do love you Momo. I'm just not ready to be in relationship like that. Put your clothes back on, let's go somewhere." I gather Momo's clothes and help her put them back on. I start to think of where to take her and decide on an ice rink.

You and Momo then leave for the ice rink. You two get changed for ice skating. You grab Momo's hand and slowly guide her to the ice.

You walk on the ice and find that Momo is not following you, you turn back to see she is still standing at the entrance.

'Sorry, Y/N. I don't know how to walk on the ice.' Momo looks at you shyly.

I go back and take hold of her hands. Gently pulling her toward the ice, while telling her how to do it.

You hold both of Momo's hands and guide her to walk on the ice.

Momo seems so nervous and eventually loss the balance, you two fall together while Momo lands on you.

Embarrassingly, Momo's face directly hits your crotch, she blushes and covers her face, 'Sorry Y/N, I can't even do simple things. I am ruining our date again, sorry.'

I kneel on the ground, "give me a second. That hurt." After a moment I stand back up. "Come on, let's try again. Besides this is actually pretty hard."

You help Momo gets up and keep teaching her. Momo strugglely walking but keep falling.

Although Momo is keep falling, you can see she is improving.

'Ah, it's so hard, Y/N. I can't do it.' Momo is frustrated as the lack of progress.

"Hey, hey, look at me. Momo you're doing well. You're getting the hang of it. I see it."

You cheer Momo and slowly free her hands, let her to walk on her own.

'Yes, Y/N, I can do it, I can do it!' Momo finally can walk on her own. She is so excited and rushes to hug you.

You hold her tight, you two spinning on the ice, Momo blushes and close her eyes, waiting for your action.

I kiss her forehead and go ahead of her, "come on, Momo let's see how far you can go.”

Momo pours her face as she is disappointed you only kiss her forehead. 'Y/N, I think I need more motivation.' Then she starts to chase you from behind.

However, as Momo is still a beginner, it's difficult for her to catch you from the back.

'Ah! I will get you!' Momo is triggered by your laughter. She lets out her hand try to catch you, it's so close, but still inch from you.

Momo leans her body too forward, and she loses her balance. You hear her falls, so you come back to get her up.

'Why I just can't catch you, in skating I can't, in real life I can't.' Momo sighs.

"That’s just life Momo. Who knows, maybe you might one day. Life is unpredictable." I skate by her and poke her nose. "Come on, let's go." I help her up and gold her hand as I lead her to the exit.

'Not might, I will catch you for sure, Y/N.' Momo holds your hand and you two leave the ice rink.

Momo still holds your hand after you two get changed, you two walk in the mall and figuring where to go.

'Any idea where to go next? Or we should back home?' Momo asks you.

"Why don't we get something to eat and then I'll drop you off at your house." I answer.

'Yeah, sure, I am hungry too.' Momo nods. 'But you are not staying with me tonight? I won't take any photos this time, really.'

"My stepsister wanted to do something later tonight so I can't." I respond. As I lead us to a restaurant.

'OK then' Momo pours her face while eating.

'Promise me you will stay next time we meet, I really miss sleeping with you.' Momo gives out her little finger before she ready to leaves your car.

Momo kisses your cheek before leaving your car. 'Goodnight, Y/N. Hope we will meet again in your dream.'

[feyhunter78]

3 Times Luffy Thought You and Sanji were Acting Weird

Description: Luffy might not be an expert at emotions, but you and Sanji have been acting weird as of late and he’s taken notice.

Luffy likes to think he’s pretty in tune with the emotions of his crew, they’re his friends, his brothers and sisters-in-arms, his treasure hunting companions, and he knows them pretty well. But what he can’t figure out is why you and Sanji are being so incredibly weird.

One: It’s the pet names, the terms of endearment, as Sanji calls them. He has a million, from Mosshead for Zoro to madam for Nami though he only did that once and she hated it, but for you it’s never ending. Sweetheart, Princess, Love, Gorgeous, Darling, Goddess, and Dearest but that one only really comes out when he’s messing with you. And he flirts, nonstop, which seems to annoy other girls, but you don’t seem to mind it? In fact, you encourage it!

“Well, hello there, gorgeous, feel like walking my way?” Sanji smiles, putting out his cigarette as you enter the kitchen.

“Hm, try a better pick-up line and I might.” You say, tossing a smile Sanji’s way as you lean against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest.

“Of course, love, allow me to try again.”

You raise a brow in anticipation.

“Y/N, sweetheart, grace this poor overworked cook with your healing presence, won’t you? Take pity on me oh merciful goddess.”

You roll your eyes but walk over to the kitchen island leaning on it, putting you parallel to Sanji, and tap your nails against the countertop with faux impatience. “You’re gonna have to do better than that to get me all the way over there.”

Sanji smiles and rolls up his sleeves, leaning on the island as well. “How about this, princess? I make your favorites for lunch, and you sit pretty on the counter, keeping me company?”

You’re flustered, Luffy never sees you flustered! And it’s like you two have forgotten he’s even there as you round then hop up on the island, Sanji coming to stand at your knees, his hands planted on either side of you, caging you in, asking you a million questions about your favorite foods he knows Sanji already knows the answers to.

“What about lemon? A little zest to brighten your day?”

You smile, resting your head on your shoulder. “I do like citrus.”

“That is because you have excellent taste.”

“You flatter me. I’m sure I’ll like anything you make.” You tell him, playing with his tie, twirling it around your finger. “You’re an amazing chef.”

“Now who’s flattering who?” Sanji smiles, a slight pink tint crawling up his pale throat.

“I only speak the truth.” You shrug.

“Like the benevolent goddess you are.”

You release his tie, and lean back on your hands. “It’s a good thing you cook as well as talk.”

“I do a lot things well, if you’re interested.”

You bite your lip. “Oh yeah?”

Sanji smirks, rolling up his sleeves as he starts pulling out bowls and various cooking utensils. “All you gotta do is ask darling.”

“When is lunch going to be ready?” Luffy asks, making his presence known once more.

“Be patient Luffy, good food takes time.” Sanji says, giving you and him a wink.

Two: You’re a star shooter, the fastest draw in the East Blue, and you dodge quick too, but Sanji always acts like the most minor scrapes and bruises are life threatening wounds. Even when you try to brush him off, like you’re doing now, rolling your eyes affectionately at Sanji as he fusses over you.

“Sanji, seriously I’m fine, it barely grazed me.” You tell him, lifting the gaze to see if your arm was still bleeding. You’re standing in the kitchen by the sink, Luffy leaning against the island, the rest of the crew scattered about, Nami and Ussop counting out the treasure you guy got on the table, Zoro cleaning the blood from his swords in the corner.

“You got shot y/n, you have to treat all bullet wounds seriously, they could get infected.” He says, grabbing a bottle from one of the cabinets and a clean rag.

You laugh softly, letting your head fall to the side and flashing Luffy a smile. “I’ve been shot like eleven times and never gotten an infection.”

Luffy laughs too, he never would’ve imagined you’d been shot at so many times, you always try to avoid trouble sticking to the back to get a clear line of sight. “Eleven times?”

You use your uninjured arm to make a so-so gesture with your hand. “Give or take. You don’t gain ownership of the golden guns without making a few people jealous enough to take a shot at you.���

“Just because you’ve never gotten an infection before doesn’t mean you won’t get one now.” Sanji chides, already pouring alcohol onto a clean rag preparing to disinfect the minor scrape on your bicep.

You hiss when he presses the rag to your arm and Sanji mutters soft apologies as he bandages you up, not even noticing the way you look at him, but Luffy does. You look at Sanji the way some sailors look at the ocean, like you can never quite pin it down, inexplicably drawn deeper, entranced and in awe of the sight before you, a smile playing on your lips.

“There we go gorgeous, all fixed up.” Sanji says, finishing tying the new gaze around your arm, his touch lingering, his lips pressing tightly together before they stretch out into a charming smile. “Next time let me get shot. I can still fight with an injured arm, you oh Lady of the Golden Guns, can’t.”

You crinkle your nose in response, the handles of said golden guns gleaming from within the holsters at your hips. “I shoot with both hands, what are you talking about? I can definitely still fight with one good arm.”

“That’s not the point sweet girl.” Sanji sighs, booping your nose with his index finger.

You rear back as if he’s offended you, but you’re smiling. “What if you slip doing all that fancy footwork? You’ll need your arms to catch yourself.”

He shrugs. “I’ll just try to aim my fall so Zoro can catch me.”

“I’m not catching you.” Zoro says, not even glancing up from his swords.

You try to bite back a laugh, but Sanji catches you. “I’m hurt y/n, truly, you’re really betraying me like this? Such untold cruelty you put me through.”

You take a step forward and straighten the collar of Sanji’s striped button up. “No betrayal here, handsome, no cruelty either.” You let your hands linger and Luffy wonders if there’s something more to the action or if you just like how Sanji’s shirt feels.

Sanji’s face tints red, and your hands are flat on his chest now, sliding up towards his shoulders. Okay he’s gotta feel Sanji’s shirt, it can't be that soft. Luffy reaches out and feels the sleeve of Sanji’s shirt making you both turn to look at him. It feels like a normal shirt? Is he missing something?

“Y/N, why are you touching Sanji’s shirt so much? It just feels like a normal shirt.”

Zoro snorts, and you swiftly kick him, aiming for his ankle, ignoring him when he swears under his breath. “I’m just helping him straighten it out, it got wrinkled in the fight.”

Three: Sanji hates seeing you sad, maybe even more than Luffy does, and he hates to see any of his friends cry, and would do anything to cheer them up.

He’s watching the two of you, he knows you’re upset, it’s late, he’s up at the wheel and you’re sitting beneath one of Nami’s tangerine trees, your knees pulled up to your chest, your chin resting atop them, your shoulders shaking with subdued jerky motions like you’re trying really hard not to cry but can’t keep everything inside. He was going to go over and sit with you, make sure you weren’t alone but then he saw Sanji approaching from below deck.

He places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up at him, wiping at your eyes, clearly embarrassed. Sanji shakes his head and sits next to you, his hand still on your shoulder now moving to wipe away any stray tears.

You say something, but he can’t hear, and he sees Sanji’s face fall before he pulls you into his embrace, your face buried in the crook of his neck, your body wracked with sobs as he holds you tightly, his chin resting on the crown of your head.

You two sit like that for a while, until finally you pull back and wipe your face again. Sanji cups your cheeks looking at you in that weird gooey way he often does, saying something that again he annoyingly can’t hear. He should’ve tried to get closer, but he doesn’t want to make you feel more embarrassed than you already are.

Finally, once your tears have subsided, Sanji pulls you to your feet, and it looks like you’re thanking him. He presses a kiss to your hand with a flourish and you smile, it was a small watery smile but still a smile which Luffy is happy to see. You part ways with Sanji, leaving him beneath the trees, arms still wrapped around yourself but looser, eyes on the sunset.

Sanji watches you go, taking out a cigarette and waiting until you’re below deck to light it, taking a long slow drag before running a hand through his hair and leaning against one of the trees, still staring at the door you disappeared through.

He watches Sanji smoke for a while, the orange glow of his cigarette a single point of light, until the door to the lower decks opens back up, casting a sliver of light across the deck. It’s you, dressed for bed, your hair loose and face scrubbed clean.

Sanji snuffs out his cigarette meeting you halfway, bringing you both close enough for Luffy to catch a few words. “Y/N? I thought you were going to bed?”

“I tried but I just couldn’t fall asleep.” You say, stopping a hairsbreadth away from Sanji.

“Doesn’t seem like you gave it much of a try, love. You only went below deck ten minutes ago.” He chuckles softly, tucking a lock of your hair behind your ear, fingertips lingering for a moment.

“It felt like longer.” You say almost breathlessly, looking up at Sanji with stars in your eyes.

“Yeah, it did.” Sanji hums in response, lifting a hand to caress the curve of your cheek.

You throw your arms around his neck, and Sanji’s hands settle on your waist and lower back, his head dipping down to meet yours and oh, oh, you’re…kissing Sanji? Sanji’s kissing you? He can’t really tell, you both moved so fast.

It’s intense, he watches through his fingers, trying to decide if he should let you both know he’s there or just close his eyes and ears. There’s a lot of wandering hands and noises, Sanji pushes you against the bulwark, you grab at his shirt, and yeah okay he’s going to say something.

Luffy coughs loudly, waving his arms. “Um guys I’m up here.”

You and Sanji jerk apart, Sanji’s face burning red while you bury yours in your hands. “Luffy! Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Your voice three octaves too high to be normal.

“Well, I didn’t know you guys were going to start kissing!”

Sanji clears his throat and straightens his clothing. “Why don’t we all calm down and I’ll take y/n to bed, Luffy you just keep your watch, I’ll go get—”

“I don’t want to know about you two having sex!” Luffy says, slapping his hands over his ears.

“That’s not what I meant, I’ll just escort her back to her room.” Sanji says, waving his hands frantically as if that would make everything go away.

You’re dying laughing nearly bent in half, leaning on the bulwark for support. “Sanji, Sanji it’s okay. Luffy nothing is going to happen between us tonight, I promise you, so you can uncover your ears.”

Luffy removes his hands and looks at you both warily. “Okay but I want extra bacon at breakfast tomorrow.”

“Deal.” Sanji says, offering his arm to you. “Shall we go then sweetheart?”

You take his arm, smiling up at him and Luffy’s glad to see it, maybe you two will stop being so weird now. “We shall.”