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ivymarquis · 1 day ago

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Say You Won't Let Go

It's the Zombie Apocalypse

Pairing| John Price x F!Single Mom!Reader Rating| E Word Count| 2.2k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Zombie!AU, PiV, Oral (M!Receiving), pregnancy sex, the plot thickens

Sorry guys its been like 5 months oops

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

If anything, your slumber is more of a power nap.

You’re disoriented of how much time has passed, but it is still dark when you wake up. Like a cat in heat you seek John out in the darkness- not that he’s far away from you.

Rolling over towards him takes a fair bit of effort, pawing at him in your half asleep state.

His snoring stops, broken by a sharp huff as he’s reaching for you in turn. He really is rather clingy. Your nose burying in the crook of his neck, soft needy whines of his name helping wake him up.

Propping one knee over his legs, your pawing hands drift to his waistband. Your eyes focus on your hands in the poor lighting so you don’t notice as he starts to fully wake up just yet.

“Mmm,” that baritone rumbles through you. “Need me to take care of you again, Love?”

It’s honestly not so much him taking care of you that has you so wound up.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you purr at him, kissing across his neck before gently pushing at his shoulder.

“That so?” He complies easily, falling onto his back.

You hum in satisfaction, making your way down his torso.

Having already pulled his cock out with your earlier pawing, you set to work straight away.

The lighting is poor, but enough for you to see what you’re doing- what you’re working with exactly.

Your hands and your body are already acquainted with the girth of him, but there’s still a jolt of surprise when you see John’s cock. Jesus, how did you get that thing to fit in you?

Your jaw is not going to be happy with you once you’ve completed your mission. Regardless, you remain undeterred from your original task as you lap up the length of his cock. Stroking the base of him with one hand as you lavish attention on the tip with your mouth, you can’t help but be pleased with yourself as he hisses and bucks his hips.

The light illuminates just enough that you can see John’s face, eyes locking on yours as you look up at him while gagging on his cock.

You’re welcome, you think smugly to yourself as he groans and tells you “Good fuckin’ girl”.

Hopefully your stamina won’t give out before he gets off, because you are a woman on a mission but there is only so long your body will put up with your efforts. In the meantime though, it’s sweet how John reaches for and pets you as you put your mouth to work.

Unfortunately for your curiosity, you don’t end up finding out whether or not you can get John to cum before your jaw starts to protest too much. Your complaints are minimal, however, when he’s pawing at your hair to make you stop.

“Need you, lovely,” he instructs, and you happily crawl into his lap. Like a woman starving, your hands grasp at fabric and flesh, more than content to get to work.

You’re eager if not a bit clumsy- it’s not like you can see what you’re doing very well. However you remain dauntless in your task to mount John.

If he was laid out flat on his back, perhaps you’d be inclined to ride him the standard way. But given how his back is resting against the headboard, you decide the easiest course of action for your plan is to do reverse cowgirl- give yourself some room to ride him into the mattress.

One of his hands lands heavy on your hip- soothing and warming you in equal measures.

The other helps you get everything together- John hissing and you giving a soft whimper as you sink down on him.

John’s hands are warm and roaming- groping and squeezing at you, sliding under the fabric of your dress for more access.

You try to be good- keep your whines quiet as you ride John to your own pleasure. The way his fingers tweak and tease one nipple has your voice pitching in pleasure. Clearly he’s still heeding your earlier warning of being gentle with you, because your breasts are so sensitive. It’s enough to drive you crazy, working yourself into a frenzy on his lap as you bounce.

“Good girl, lovely,” he praises, free hand helping guide you up and out of his lap before you sink back down again. “That’s it, take what you need.”

You’re trying very hard to ignore the burn creeping up your legs, instead focusing on the pleasure. Your breathing is more labored, borderline feeling hot as everything threatens to boil over. “John,” you plead softly, attention locking in on the orgasm you are so close to having.

Everything burns, and you’re not sure what’s pleasure and what’s leg cramps and what’s you needing to breathe and relax.

Your weight settles back into John’s lap and for the life of you, you just cannot muster the strength to get up again. Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, tears of frustration welling in your eyes with just how close you are.

It takes John a moment to realize that your impromptu break is not planned on your end. The hand on your hip smooths up your back in a soothing gesture, “What’s the matter, Love?”

“I’m tired,” there’s no sexy way to answer that question. You’re keenly aware of the fact that he’s still hilted inside of you.

You can’t help but feel his answering coo of “Oh, you poor thing- Here, I’ll take care of you” has an edge of patronization to it, but you are clearly in no state to do anything about it. You can’t even summon the energy to brat up on him. Especially when he’s offering to handle this horrid, empty ache you have.

John guides you how he wants you, although changing positions has you feeling as graceful as a beached whale. Your belly has completely shifted your center of gravity and somehow is still constantly in your way even though you’d think you’d be used to its presence by now.

You’re on your hands and knees now, a pillow shoved under you for additional support as John mounts you from behind.

“John,” you keen and rock your weight back into him while he placates your needy whines with gentle shushing.

“I already told you, lovely- I’ll handle it.” His tone is softer, less smug as he steadies you with one hand and lines himself up with the other.

You’ve always had a penchant for riding your partners into the sunset, but being face down in a pillow with your ass perched in the air certainly has its perks too. John’s low groan reverberates at the same time that you’re whining again, trying to muffle your noises with the pillow.

Fuck he knows what he’s doing.

“R-right there,” you moan through the pleasure, feeling John shift his grip on you so he can keep hitting that spot.

You can practically feel the vibrations from his pleased hum, clinging to the pillow like a lifeline.

“That’s it,” his voice rumbling low in your ear has a shiver shoot down your spine. Your leg is shaking, your grip on the bedding the only thing keeping you in place.

“Taking me so well, pet,” he praises as you muffle your whine below him. “Good girl- just like that.”

Him talking to you- talking at you more like- does the trick. Your orgasm has you squealing into the pillow, biting down on the fabric to quiet yourself.

John drags you across the finish line before changing the tempo in his thrusts- no longer focusing on your pleasure now that you’re a limp heap underneath him. His face buries in your hair, groaning low as his own orgasm hits.

Blissed out, you quickly fall asleep, and hours later as the sun begins to rise you’re very reluctant to leave the little cocoon of warmth enveloping you.

In the days since John has begun herding you into the same bed as him, he is typically awake and out of bed before you. You’re not sure what time it is (relatively speaking, anyway), or how long you’ve been asleep for, but you’re very cognizant of two things; John is behind you snoring up a storm with a territorial arm across your belly, and your child once again is sitting on your bladder.

The bathroom is the most pressing issue for you at the moment. As much as you’d like nothing more than to roll over and burrow further under John for warmth, mother nature is calling you.

Unfortunately for you, John perpetually seems to be keyed into your every movement despite him currently being unconscious.

Much like the first night, no sooner have you actually gotten any distance between the two of you before he’s huffing and grabbing at you with an efficiency that has you (once again) convinced he’s actually awake and just fucking with you. Unlike the first night, you’re not merely scrambling in a bid for propriety to clear your head. You need to pee God damn it, with the urgency only a late term pregnancy can produce. Thus you are not amused. At all.

You squirm, or try to- an honest bid to slip out of his hold that doesn’t escape him in his sleep. The man is clingy even though he’s asleep.

“John!” you hiss, trying to hit just the right decibel where you can wake him without being too loud. His snoring stops which is a promising sign, although it takes another jostle for him to actually wake up.

“Let go, I need to go to the bathroom!” you instruct now that he’s actually aware of his surroundings. Once you’re free you…aren’t exactly bolting because speed is not your forte at the moment, but you move as quickly as you can given your current predicament. Meanwhile, John’s clearly in that half asleep-half awake limbo, mumbling something in his half-sleep as his bleary eyes track you across the room.

You’re fine, and make it across the hall without issue. Once finished and making the trek back to the oh-so-warm bed waiting for you (and deciding that you are going to crawl underneath John if it’s the last thing you do), something catches your attention out of the corner of your eye.

At the top of the stairs you’re able to see down to the front door, the opaque windows just beginning to be lit up by daybreak.

Which means you can clearly see the shadow of someone moving on the porch. You freeze, suddenly not giving a damn about the cold.

It’s a zombie. You tell yourself the most logical option. It’s the zombie apocalypse- there’s gonna be zombies outside. It cannot get inside. They’re not smart enough to open doors, and John has them locked and-

You can hear the sound of the doorknob turning. The hair on the back of your neck raises up, a chill running down your spine like someone dumped ice water on you.

Zombies aren’t smart enough to open doors.

That is not a zombie on the other side of the glass.

Your fight or flight kicks in, instinct demanding you hurry back to John’s side. The door is locked, but that doesn’t guarantee the interloper won’t still try to get inside. You don’t even know why this is spooking you so badly, but if there’s one thing the end of the world has taught you, it’s to not question your instincts.

“John!” The distress in your voice must cut through whatever sleep still clings to him, because he jumps immediately from a sleepy acknowledgement of your return to being wide awake.

“What’s wrong?”

“There’s someone outside- I heard them trying the door.”

He freezes for a nano second before throwing the covers back and getting out of the bed. “Did they see you?” he asks as he dresses with impressive efficiency.

“I-I don’t think so- I was at the top of the stairs. I just saw the shadow through the glass- I-,” you stammer.

“Stay here,” he instructs firmly- that’s an order you were anticipating from him, and one you fully intend to comply with.

He places the pistol you’d been carrying the first night in your hand. “I’ll go look. Either scare them off or see what they want. Anyone comes up the stairs who’s not me, you fire, understood?”

You nod, feeling a bit more settled now the initial adrenaline dump is fading. Right- they don’t necessarily have to be a threat. You certainly hadn’t been much of a threat to anyone when John caught you skittering around in the kitchen. That already feels like a lifetime ago.

But you also aren’t stupid- there are people who would not hesitate to steal your supplies and leave you for dead, either. Or just happily kill you both for the thrill of it.

“Stay here,” he reiterates, pulling you in for a kiss goodbye before stepping away.

“Be careful,” you caution him, knowing full well he’s far more equipped to handle anything going bump in the night than you are.

“I’ll be back in a bit- shouldn’t take too long,” he assures you- and then you’re alone.

#john price x reader #captain john price x reader #price x reader #cod x reader #pregnancy sex #pregnant!reader #zombie!au #x reader #john x love #my writing

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bxnfire · 1 day ago

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love island ft. ryomen sukuna

masterlist

loveisland!sukuna who isn't interested in you at first (or anyone for that matter) but due to his little feud with gojo he decided to spend time and time with you, as it seemed as though gojo was smitten with you. but his scheme ended up with him actually being into you, oh boy!

loveisland!sukuna who isn't as charming or sweet as the others, and he doesn't pretend to be. for a place where men are encouraged to be on their best behavior he sure sticks out like a sore thumb, but you'd be lying if you said that it didn't attract you to him

loveisland!sukuna who is just passionate. the second he decides you'll be his, he makes it known to everyone, specially you. in your dates, he never shies away from any "hard" questions, nor does he acted like he has mixed feelings. sure, maybe he doesn't call you my love, nor does he tell you sweet nothings at all times, but when you ask him if he'd actually be in a relationship with you when this all is over, or whether he's genuinely into you, his answers make your doubts go away, as if there was never a reason to have them to begin with. he's not quite the talker, but you come to realize that he's a good fucking listener. sure, he looks annoyed about half the time, but you best believe he remembers the names of your plushies, your favorite dressing, the show you've watched 17 times, and the exact spot in your neck where you'd rather be bit than sucked on, the pace at which he should thrust into you, and what sounds let him know that you need more, that you're about to cum, or that you want to change the pace. he truly does make you wonder if anyone's truly known you before him

loveisland!sukuna who always wins the heart rate challenge, for the only one who spikes his off the charts is you, and everyone else is well, just there. this always earns him dates with you, in which he makes sure he spikes your heart rate off the chart. be prepared to wake up sore, because no matter how active you may or may not be, this man is fan of multiple rounds, and even if that was just part of the game, he believes you owe him for getting him all riled up, and he makes you pay for it. you must want to kill him by showing everyone in the cast and crew, who struggle trying to censor the obscene bulge he's worked up after your little performance. whether it is by fucking your throat relentlessly until he feels like you've earned pleasure, or by putting you in all fours and gripping your waist and hair so damn hard that you barely have time to notice he's about to go all in with no mercy, though the way your pussy clenches and gets even wetter lets him know you don't mind one last bit, or maybe even by making you sit your cunt on his tattooed face and not stopping until you're a crying, whimpering mess begging for a break, which spoiler alert! he's not giving you

loveisland!sukuna who is feisty. he's quick to get into a fight when he overhears the other contestants talk about you as if they could get you, or if god forbid, someone disrespects you. if it weren't for the public absolutely loving his twisted temper and how he is towards you, the black eyes and broken noses he's caused would've made him get sent home wayyyy sooner than planned

loveisland!sukuna who loves adventure dates and dinner dates. horseback riding in a forest or mountain can be super romantic, he gets to tease you and let his competitive side shine through, but you shouldn't be surprised to find that he was on a quest to find the perfect hidden spot where he could take you without interruptions, as it was already rough focusing on riding the horse while all you wanted to do was ride him, and he had made it clear he had about the same intentions when he "helped" you get on your horse, which sure, yeah you were secured alright, but you heavily doubted the rubbing of his fingers on your clothed pussy did anything to adjust your seat, or the fact that he explained everything to you between kisses along your neck and shoulders as his breath landed right on your ear had actually helped you on your journey. if anything, it made you wish you had worn a bikini instead of your cotton underwear, which was soon to be torn to shreds. as for dinner dates, he actually loves listening to you speak. he may always bitch when you ask to taste his food, but as he rolls his eyes he pushes his plate towards you, and makes sure to look back just in time to see you've liked his choice, not that he ordered something that would be of your taste, his taste just so happens to be excellent, the mere coincidence it has with your favorite meals is purely random, not him trying to impress you, don't be stupid. and sure, maybe he's making mental notes of your favorite desserts when it's time for those, but he makes sure you can't tell he's scheming by having you as his dessert, because who the fuck would have a spoonful of ice cream when they could easily be nose deep in your cunt instead?

loveisland!sukuna who's cutscenes with you are just hilarious. he loves to banter with you and see how witty you can be with him, and he loves the way your mouth never gives out on him, whether in argument or bed is his favorite is a big dilemma, but he knows he doesn't need to settle it

loveisland!sukuna who has always been secure of everything he's done in this life. who has never known what fear means. but the second he realizes he's fallen for you, he begins to question whether he deserves you at all, and he's fucking terrified at the thought of losing you. it pisses him off terribly to have met his match, and you make him oh so weak, it's agonizing. and yet, in the quiet of the night where it's just the two of you, he comes to realize that maybe, just maybe, he only feels safe with you, only you have lit the fire on a heart that he swore was born cold, and he'll go to the end of the fucking world for you, if you need him to, because even if he thought he preferred his life the way it was, you've given it a meaning, something to yearn for, and he'll be damned if he backs down, because truly, what fool would shy away from earning the greatest treasure of all?

#jjk #jjk smut #jjk x reader #smut #jjk sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen ryomen #love island #bxnfire #gojo satoru #jjk fluff #jjk fic #drabble

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iamthatonefangirl · 3 days ago

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thinking about winter soldier edging a super needy reader rn i need him soooo fucking bad

edging - nsfw winter solder

disclaimer: fully consensual by both parties although not explicitly stated. pre-established relationship.

~~~

he's leaning over you, his face right in front of yours, so close to you that can feel his breath on your skin. he's working three flesh fingers in and out of you between your legs, terrible squelching noises floating in your ears.

you're gasping and moaning out while he's finger fucking you like he's got something to prove.

“you’re mine," he grits out, looking down at your face while rubbing your clit relentlessly.

“oh, god,” you whine, bringing a hand to your face, biting down on your knuckles to hold it together.

he's not having it. he moves his hand away from your cunt to rip your hand out of your mouth, and leans in and hisses in your face, “I am your god.”

“you worship me, you hear? you were made to please me, serve me.”

you begin nodding fervently, desperate for him to keep touching you.

instead, he waits. and waits. it's torturous.

you begin to wail. "fuck, please. please, I need it. I need you," you plead with him, trying to reap any ounce of sympathy he might find within himself to take pity and make you finish, already.

but you should know better by now. he works on his own terms, not yours.

so he doesn't bring his hand back to where you want it, instead straddling you while you lay there, ready to cry from how badly you want it. his fingers, wet from his ministrations between your legs, come to your face, roughly brushing your hair back and then gripping your jaw to make you look at him.

he's almost inspecting you, it seems like. perhaps to see how badly you want it, the lengths you're willing to go through to get what you want.

"that's right. you do need me," he says lowly, before roughly jerking your face to the side as he yanks his hand away and shoves his fingers back between your legs before you can comprehend what's happening.

you gasp, arching your back off the bed unconsciously as his fingers move with a passion to work you up again. you make the most desperate noises, trying to catch your breath at the same time as you whine, and it's a fucking cacophony.

he loves it. he loves how you sound so weak and needy, and it makes him strain against his pants.

your head lulls forward, and you try to grab onto his shoulders to steady yourself as you feel yourself getting close. he tsks and pulls his hand away entirely, wiping his fingers off on your thigh purely to embarrass you.

"you exist to please me, and you're going to sit here and fucking take what I give you until I say you're done."

you whine. you don't know how much longer you can take this. it's barely been any time at all, but you need it.

"I'll do anything," you plead, and your voice sounds terrible, almost as though there's a bubble in your throat. you push through it and beg again, "please."

"fucking bet you will," he grits, gently slapping your cheek with his wet fingers, making you whimper. "don't care. suck it up."

he leans closer, knees on opposite sides of your thighs, and he rests his weight on his left hand while continuing to tease you with his flesh fingers. he traces up and down your soaked folds with a single finger, his gaze watching as he does, then harshly pinching your clit to make you jolt.

he's having so much wicked fun at your expense. yet there's nowhere you'd rather be.

he trails the same finger down your thighs, and you shiver.

"I'll do anything," you repeat, your arms on his shoulders tightening their hold.

"anything?" he asks, and you feel his finger making its way higher, closer to where you want it, so close...

"anything," you promise him.

you're finally getting somewhere, you're going to get what you want, one way or another, you think.

he moves his body off of yours, laying on his side next to you, and brings his hand down hard on your cunt.

"fuck," you hiss. "what-"

"I told you what I wanted from you. stop asking for more," he orders.

he lays another smack before tracing soft circles over your clit. it's not enough, and your hips move of their own accord to chase the feeling, increase the pressure-

he stops entirely. you let out a grated noise from the back of your throat in your frustration, fucking pissed at this point.

you're sure it's going to get you in trouble again.

you take a few deep breaths, waiting for him to react. when he does, it's not what you expected.

he chuckles. he fucking laughs, something that you've found to be a very rare occurrence.

"the more you complain and bitch, the longer this goes on for," he threatens, lightly smacking your inner thigh. "so you better get fucking used to it."

~~~

masterlist

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bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially @shereadzzz @flow33didontsmoke @blaineandergel @tellybearryyyy @belovedmoony @doilooklikeagiveafrack @analovesmarvel @izzy698 @ketchumid24 @annabethboleyn @theresa1120-

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky x reader #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky #dark bucky #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark winter soldier #dark bucky barnes #dark reader #dark bucky x you #dark bucky x reader #winter soldier x reader #winter soldier fic #the winter soldier #winter soldier smut #winter soldier fanfiction

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gallavichsreddie1128 · 3 days ago

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Virgin (John Walker)

Description: John takes Y/N’s virginity

Warning: Smut

Word Count: 1,560

Dating John Walker could be a challenge at times but the man knew what he was doing and how to please a woman. Not just sexual, actually Y/N had yet to get to that part yet with him. He knew how to please her in other ways like buying her things, telling her he loves her and watching her favorite movies. She never asked John for anything but he did it anyway. Right now the other avengers were out of the tower and it was just them left as they made out in her bed.

She was on his lap with her hands in his hair as they kissed. This was something Y/N was used to since they did it all the time, it was really fun but made Y/N nervous that she wasn’t giving him enough. His lips moved down to her neck to let her breathe a minute before moving back up to her lips. John wanted to take things further tonight, given the fact that they’d be alone for hours. “You’re so beautiful.” He mumbled against her lips, causing her to smile. “You’re very hot.” She mumbled back and he got hard at that.

She gasped and pulled away from the kiss to look down, she felt him harden against. “That’s what you do to me.” He told her and she looked back up at him, red in the face. She figured that he’d want to try to take things further tonight but she needed to tell him that she’s never done anything like that. In fact, he was her first makeout session, sure she’s kissed before but not like that. “John, there's something you should know.” She said and started playing with his hair.

He rubbed her hips, “What is it?” He asked, not knowing what she was going to stay. “I-I haven’t had sex before.” She confessed. “Really?” He asked, shocked. She nodded, “Actually I’ve never even had an orgasm.” His eyes widened at that. “Seriously? A pretty girl like you has never even cum before? If I was you I’d be touching myself all of the time.” She giggled at his words and shrugged. He cupped her face and leaned in to kiss her again, “Orgasms feel incredible, you’re missing out.” He mumbled against her lips. She thought about how awesome they must feel and felt herself get wet.

“John, I want you to give me my first orgasm.” She tells him after moments of them kissing. He smirked like he was waiting his whole life for this moment. His hands moved from her face to her tits that were covered in his hoodie that he’d given to her. Her jaw dropped and he massaged them, a foreign feeling but a good one. “This would feel a lot better without my hoodie.” He said and removed it, leaving her bare to him. Her nipples were hard and begging to be played with, though he took a different approach and leaned towards her tits, taking one in his mouth.

She whimpered at the feeling of his tongue circling around her nipple, “Fuck.” She moaned softly as she felt his teeth graze her nipple. His hands moved down to her hips, squeezing them and playing with her panties. One of his hands slips into her panties and grazes her clit, she gasped loudly and gripped his hair, hard causing him to grunt. He liked that feeling a lot. Her clit was throbbing with need as he teased her lips and gathered her wetness.

She didn’t have to muffle the noises she made but still felt pathetic being too loud as he was not even doing much yet. “John.” She whimpered and he pulled away from her nipple, his fingers gathered up her wetness and traced her hole. Her breath hitched as not even herself has done that before. One of her hands moved down to his shoulder and gripped it as he pushed a finger inside of her. She cried his name as his finger stretched her tight hole, his eyes moving all over her face, watching as she tried to get used to the feeling.

“It’s okay.” He said, softly and she nodded. Her walls squeezed his finger and begged him to move. He started thrusting his finger in her and she whined, a lot louder than she intended it to be. “T-that feels amazing.” She whispered, voice cracking with pleasure. He decided to add another finger which made her cry his name again. Her arms wrapped around him, holding him close as he moved his fingers slow at first, testing the waters but moving faster. The pain subsided and now every thrust of his fingers, she was moaning. Her panties were soaked as her juices collected in them. She shifted at the feeling, “Can we remove my panties?” She asked him. How submissive, he thought and nodded.

His other hand came down and removed her panties, revealing her wet pussy. “Oh John.” She moaned and her head fell back. He took the opportunity to suck on her neck, leaving a mark. “I think I'm close.” She cried out and he nodded, still sucking on her neck. His other hand moved to her clit and began rubbing it, “Cum for me.” He mumbled in her neck and she let out a loud moan as she did. His fingers slowed, helping her ride out her first orgasm that nearly made her fall off his lap. It hit her hard and made her body shake. John kissed all over her neck and chest as she calmed down.

She whimpered as he pulled out his fingers that were covered in her cum. They both looked at his fingers and she looked embarrassed, “Hey this is extremely hot.” He tells her and puts them in his mouth, humming at the taste. Her jaw dropped as he sucked her cum off his fingers. “You taste so fucking good.” He said, “Do you want to taste yourself?” He asked and she shamefully nodded. He leaned in and kissed her, hard, letting his tongue invade her mouth. He tasted like her as he let her suck his tongue. He was right, she did taste good. “I want more.” She said out of breath and he chuckled, “That good huh?” He was being cocky but he had a right to be.

She leaned in and licked his ear, “Incredible.” She whispered. She pulled away and ran her lips over his, “Just imagine how incredible it would feel with my dick inside of you.” He said against her lips. She smirked, “Let’s make it happen.” He flipped her over, causing her to gasp. He sat up and removed his shirt revealing his toned abs. She let out a breath at the sight, she always loved how fit he was. Her hands reached up to run all over his torso, “So sexy.” She mumbled and he smirked before removing his sweats.

Her eyes widened at the sight of his hard bulge. He chuckled and removed his boxers, her jaw dropped at the sight. He was huge, bigger than she’s ever seen. His hand wrapped around himself, “You’re so big.” She whispered. He got in between her legs more and pulled her down by her thighs, her head hitting the pillows. “Are you ready?” He asked and she nodded, nerves through the roof. She gripped the sheets as she felt him right at her entrance. He pushed into her, slowly. She gasped loudly as his big dick stretched her, her walls squeezing him tight. “Fuck.” He groaned and grabbed her hips.

His dick was a lot bigger than his fingers but she tried not to think about the pain, “It’s okay.” He whispered as he watched her. He let her adjust to him before he did an experimental thrust. Her expression and moan was all he needed to continue. He went slow at first, wanting to savor this moment but he, himself, was needy and began moving faster. The bed was rocking and luckily the headboard wasn’t against the wall, with his super soldier speed, he’d break it. “Faster.” She whined and tried reaching for him.

He leaned forward and took her hand interlocking it with his and placing it above her head as he thrusted. “You’re so beautiful.” He breathed out as his hips snapped against hers. She was too fucked out to respond. The only noises leaving her were moans and whines. His other hand leaning down to rub her clit, “John.” She whined. “Tell me what you need, baby.” She shook her head, she wasn’t able to really form words. “I-“ but he knew. She was close. She was panting and whining, her walls clenched around him, spasming like crazy.

He leaned in and whispered, “Cum for me.” On que she did, nearly screaming. This orgasm was a lot better than her first. It was more intense and took her breath away. John groaned and came as well, riding out their highs. He thrusted a few more times before laying on top of her. She felt him softening inside of her as she rubbed his back, “That was awesome.” She whispered and he chuckled. “Yeah, pretty awesome.” He said, snuggling into her neck. “Glad I could be the first and only person to ever fuck you.” She hummed. “You better be, John Walker.”

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel x reader #john walker #john walker imagine #john walker x reader #john walker smut #us agent #wyatt russell #thunderbolts #new avengers #sebastian stan #bucky barnes #yelena belova #florence pugh #lewis pullman #red guardian #ava starr

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thyme-in-a-bubble · 2 days ago

Text

the giordanos

buttercup, chapter fourteen

a/n: all aboard to angst city!!! choo choo, bitch! 🚂

summary: “I still don’t believe you,” he scoffed lightly, “and even so, I can’t just let you go. Your little devil has been sniffing around where he shouldn’t be. There has to be some consequences,” he spat, tapping the heft pliers in his other palm, “so even if you can’t give us any information about him, then maybe you could just become a message, cute as you may be…”

warnings: matt murdock x baker!reader, neighbours to lovers, rape recovery, ptsd, lots of angst, the black daredevil suit, kidnapping, torture, violence, injuries, blood, crying, mafia drama

word count: 1324

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“Just drop the act already,” the gangster muttered as you doubled over in the chair you were bound to, crimson slowly leaking from your lips as you panted for pained breaths, “we know, we’ve seen him, multiple times, stop by your little bakery after closing hours and getting something very different than what you’re selling out front…” he uttered of the habit Matthew had formed, stopping by to check up on you whenever you worked a late shift, “so, come on, just tell us. Tell us, and this will all be over,” he knelt down before you to get into your hazy field of vision, “what is his name? Your little boyfriend in the mask.”

Rain pounded against the dark windows of the vacant warehouse you’d been taken to. Shifting carefully against the tight ropes around you, you tilted your chin up to face the criminal directly.

“I–… I already told you,” a whimper escaped you as your bloodshot eyes met his dark ones, “I don’t know–, ah!” your words promptly faltered as one of the goons off to the side, the pair who’d snatched you from the bakery late the night prior, raised a rag back up against your skin before cracking a pipe against your shoulder, nearly dislocating it from the hit, though the fabric barrier prevented the skin from splitting too much, making their pending clean up job much less gory.

“Is it the hitting?” the mobster rose from his knees as you puffed for air to handle the agony, “is that not working for you?” his tone stayed chillingly casual, “because I can switch it up if that’d help, whatever floats your boat, sweet cheeks. Let’s see here…” he murmured as he then neared a table close by and let his gaze flicker across the supplies he had previously organised in a neat line. Picking up a pair of pliers, he then stared at the tip and snapped it a few times, biting the air, before his glance shifted back upon you, “maybe if you lost a few fingernails, then you’d become more talkative, huh?”

“No! Please!” you sobbed, instinctively tilting back as he once again neared, even though you knew you had nowhere to run, “just let me go, I don’t know anything!”

“I still don’t believe you,” he scoffed lightly, “and even so, I can’t just let you go. Your little devil has been sniffing around where he shouldn’t be. There has to be some consequences,” he spat, tapping the heft pliers in his other palm, “so even if you can’t give us any information about him, then maybe you could just become a message, cute as you may be…”

But as he then grasped one of your hands, restrained to the armrest of the chair, a ruckus suddenly sounded from the open doorway behind him, the remnants of a snuffed-out yelp from one of the gangsters down the hall.

Once he’d cast an alarmed glare over his shoulder, the man who’d done most of the talking then twisted towards the two mobsters off to the side and barked, “go see what’s going on.”

“Yes, boss,” one of them conjured a small knife before the pair disappeared further into the cold building.

You barely managed to suck in a breath before another loud scuffle then sounded before silence took its place and drowned out the entire warehouse.

The remaining gangster before you then tossed the pliers in his palm before getting out his gun and cocking it before the then exiting the room as well, leaving you all alone the echo of your torture.

A gasp filled up your lungs as you soon heard a deafening gunshot ring out, making you tremble against the itchy ropes. Footsteps then found your ears, making all of your aching muscles clench even tighter in anticipation of the mobster’s return, but instead, the figure who appeared in the doorway caused all of the air to slip from your lungs at once.

Clad in his black suit, it clung to Matthew’s frame like a second skin from the rain that was pouring down outside. Shadowing the doorway for a moment, his shoulders shifted jaggedly with every laboured breath he sucked in.

And as your lungs finally expanded once more in a breath, you watched with blurry eyes as he rushed towards you, swiftly kneeling down in front of you before his hands, which had seconds earlier accomplished unspeakable things, floated up to gently cup your tear-soaked cheeks.

His touch then drifted down to the ropes around your frame, though as he tried to undo them, a gravelly hiss swiftly escaped him as he tugged at the tight knots, “shit.”

Letting his efforts cease, his touch stayed glued to you as he then concentrated a moment, tilting his head, before he then shifted towards the table where all of the instruments were layed out. Grabbing a small switchblade, Matt then returned to your side and first sliced through the ropes that looped around the length of your forearms, fastening them both to the chair’s armrests, before he then twisted to free you from the ones enveloping your ankles.

And as soon as he cut through the last of your restraints, your frame collapsed down against him. Wrapping his strong arms around you and hugging you tight, your own hands only managed to weakly curl up against his chest as they trembled against him.

“Shh, I’ve got you…” he continued to catch his breath, panting against the crown of your head as sobs billowed out of you, “I’m here now…”

“I knew you’d come for me,” your tears joined the raindrops that still clung to him and soaked his shoulder further, “I knew it…”

His forehead then bowed down to rest against your own and stayed there a moment before he slowly shifted to press a peck against it.

“Can you stand?” he soon asked, though when you then attempted to get up from the chair, you swiftly lost your balance as your fatigue smacked you in the face and you nearly passed out, “woaw,” he promptly picked you up, scooping you into his arms before you could take a nosedive, “I’ve got you, it’s okay…”

The shock hadn’t worn off and let your body stop its violent shaking even after you’d lost track of how long you’d sat on the couch in the middle of your neighbour’s apartment.

Tears still silently rolled down your cheeks as Matthew helped you into some dry clothes, the both of you being drenched by the downpour you’d just trekked through.

Your injuries, thankfully, weren’t as horrific as they could have been. A few kicks and nasty bruises, a black eye, the ache in your empty belly and dryness in your sore throat, but nothing physical you couldn’t recover from in due time.

Though as you sat there on the couch, melted down against Matthew’s broad frame beside you as he held you in his arms and listened closely as your heartbeat gradually began to slow, the thought of shifting, even just a few meters into the bedroom, made you feel like the dam inside of you would burst right back open. So instead, you simply stayed right there, frozen in the embrace, in hopes that your body would soon surrender and let itself truly feel that it was all over.

But then, as the sun began to peek over the skyline, and Matthew finally seized his whispered apologies, profusely placing the blame solely on himself, you instead heard him murmur into your ear, “I’d like you to stay here…” he uttered slowly, “just until I’ve taken care of them,” his thumb shifted just an inch, gently sweeping across your skin as if you were made out of glass, “I can’t–…” his voice then suddenly broke, causing you to blink up at him, “I need to know you’re safe,” desperation began to wobble his tone, “please…”

#lea’s writing #buttercup series #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock imagine #matt murdock fanfiction #matt murdock fanfic #matthew murdock imagine #matt murdock x y/n #matt murdock x you #daredevil x reader #matt murdock series #matthew murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock hurt/comfort

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seitmai · 19 hours ago

Note

You’re lounging in his bed one night, reading one of the books from the stack he got from the library. Bob isn’t in the room; he’s been with Bucky and Walker most of the evening, doing god knows what (jokes on you, he was getting a terrible pep talk from both of them on how to do this). Bucky was helpful; gave some relatively functional advice. However, Walker kept repeating to use the alphabet, which was…not great and even Bob knows that. They did make him put on a less baggy tee shirt; something about having confidence in his own appearance would translate into the room.

Hahaha love that they give him a pep talk even though it's debatable how helpful it was

“Where’s your sweater?” You ask, though it’s hard to complain when you can see the veins in his arms properly. You don’t mind the baggy clothes; he’s comfortable and you find that’s what is most attractive. But it would be a lie to say you’re not pleased to see the lean muscle that he has under this shirt. Outside of being intimate, it wasn't often that you got to see him exposed in any way —even if it was just a t-shirt instead of a sweater.

I love that she instantly clocks that he is not wearing his sweater probably out of concern for his comfort

“I think you look good,” you offer, sitting up properly now. “Not that I don’t like what you usually wear —I like whatever makes you feel good. But I'm not going to pretend that I don't like being able to see more of you whenever I get the chance." "You do?" He asks, and you can't help but laugh a little. "I'm not much to look at —,"

His surprise 🥺

"Wrong," you quickly interrupt, slowly standing up. "There's a reason why I like to take off your clothes —I like taking my time because I don't get to see all of you often." You pause for a second, taking a moment to consider how much more you could tell him without making him uncomfortable. "It's something that only I get to see. I like to enjoy that."

🤭🤭🤭

Sometimes you forget that Bob is incredibly powerful. He was, after all, created to be stronger than all of the Avengers combined. He doesn't particularly like using his abilities, but when his hands grip your thighs and lift you up, you gasp in surprise. "I want to make you feel good," he practically breathes into your mouth, and even though he's the one leading, his voice comes out begging. "You always take care of me —let me do that for you."

Putting his powers to good use 😌

Between the biting, the sucking and the pinching, you're aching for more. But the sounds he's making —the moans when you sigh his name or tug at his hair —are almost as satisfying as an orgasm itself.

I just know his noises are impeccable

You suck in a breath, begging him to keep going. He nods as if he trying to respond, but he's groaning instead as he slips his tongue into you. Your thighs tighten around his head, hand guiding his head and mouth exactly where you need him to be. The hands holding your hips drift away, one disappearing entirely while the other glides just between your folds, one finger pressing into you slowly.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

He pulls his mouth away, just slightly, so he can see how you react as he slips a second finger inside you —curling up slightly. His eyes are glossy, face smeared in your juices, and you think this is the hottest thing you've seen in your entire life.

For sure!

You're so close —can feel it teetering on the edge when you manage to open your eyes just enough to watch him suck at your clit as he continues his rhythm. His other hand —the one that had disappeared —is in his lap and you understand his own whimpering now. While he's ruining you —burying his fingers so deep inside you, curling up and into that spongey spot that causes you to cry —he's jerking off at the whole experience.

🥵🥵🥵

You've collapsed on the bed, breathing heavy, and he's laying his forehead against your thigh. Both coming down from this, trying to catch your breaths.

I love a soft moment like that 🥰

"Have I told you recently how hot you are?" You ask, brushing your nose against his. You can smell yourself on his breath, and you're about to kiss him again when he says,"I think I might start believing it soon."

Success! 🤭

Tagging in here for the Bob discussion. But imagine after a few times together he gets the confidence to be on top but he is a complete service top (still whiny though)

You’re so right, anon. So very right (this got. Very away from me).

The first few times, he’s so awkward. He’s worried he’s not doing it right, or he’s bad at it. He’s so timid and awkward, and he waits for you to make the first move because he knows what he wants but he doesn’t know what you want. What if you don’t want him touching you there? Or what if he does something you don’t like but won’t say anything so you don’t upset him? So he lets you make the choices.

But after —let’s say, the fourth, fifth time (and a few shattered windows because, well, turns out he doesn't know how to control his powers just yet when he's worked up) —he realizes that…you want him just badly as he wants you. Actually, you might be even more desperate than he is, honestly. Because you’re the one being patient with him. You’re taking everything by his pace; stopping when he needs to stop. Only touching him when he’s made it clear he’s okay with it. While he’s the one “in control,” it’s not really control —you’re just you, and you’re willing to take it slow and take care of him over yourself instead.

And now all he wants is to give you everything.

He missed his sweater.

You only look up when the door opens because there’s a shift in the air; not a bad shift. Just...different suddenly. You put the book aside as he walks in, hands behind his back. He looks a bit rigid; stiff, uncomfortable.

“Where’s your sweater?” You ask, though it’s hard to complain when you can see the veins in his arms properly.

You don’t mind the baggy clothes; he’s comfortable and you find that’s what is most attractive. But it would be a lie to say you’re not pleased to see the lean muscle that he has under this shirt. Outside of being intimate, it wasn't often that you got to see him exposed in any way —even if it was just a t-shirt instead of a sweater.

“Uh, Bucky and Walker took it,” he explains but that sounds bad so he explains further. “Training. We were training and they didn’t want me to train in it. It’s…weird, right? The shirt? I’m not used to wearing things that are so…I don’t know, tight?”

You just hum, tilting your head to the side as you look him over. He looks down some, feeling like he’s being ogled (well, he is. But he's still not used to you staring at him like this).

"You do?" He asks, and you can't help but laugh a little. "I'm not much to look at —,"

Bob is staring you down, definitely short-circuiting because neither Bucky nor Walker advised him on how to handle anything you just said. How is it fair that you’re just so…good to him?

But then...he takes a step forward. You don't move; that shift in the air suddenly makes sense and you let Bob decide what he's going to do now. His hands clench into fists a few times, trying to coax himself forward.

You take just barely a step towards him —not even an inch. Something instinctual; something gravitational. Then his hands are on your hips, and his lips are on yours, and he’s pushing you towards the bed. It’s the first time he’s initiated a kiss without outright asking. You melt into the touch, sighing into his mouth as the back of your knees hit the edge of the mattress.

"I want to make you feel good," he practically breathes into your mouth, and even though he's the one leading, his voice comes out begging. "You always take care of me —let me do that for you."

You nod frantically, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him into another kiss, but he only let's you get a quick peck in before he's pulling away. You whine a bit, sitting up on your elbows to complain —but you can't find anything to complain about as Bob is slipping his shirt over his head.

It's not the first time you've seen him shirtless. But it's the first time he's taken his shirt off himself, without prompting. Usually he wants to wait until you ask, or you're the one playing with the hem of the shirt and trying to get it off. But the confidence in his movements is both amazing and distractingly attractive, and you're staring unabashedly with lust blown pupils and kiss swollen lips.

Your eyes trail over his skin —the freckles and scars that letter his collarbones, the flush that's spread from his throat down over his chest. Down to his abs and following the V that leads below the waist of his sweats —which are straining from the hard on that's hidden beneath.

"You're staring," he teases, and it's a shaking sort of tease —like he's unsure of if he should be speaking.

"You're hot," you confess, but it's not really a confession at this point.

You've told him he's hot before —he doesn't believe you usually. But the little grin on his face suggests that maybe today, he does.

"You're too good for me," he counters as his hands slide up your thighs and over your hips. Then he's leaning in closer, pressing his lips to your jaw and peppering kisses over your skin.

You buck slightly at the touch, chasing it, and he immediately gives in and slips his fingers beneath the waistband of your leggings. You suck in a breath, and he pauses, but you lift your hips in response, a silent plea to continue. He doesn't hesitate and pries your clothes off of you, tossing them to the floor, before settling between your legs on his knees. You move to take off your shirt but he stops you, one hand holding you down.

"Don't," he warns, puling away to look down at you. "Let me do this for you."

You watch him for a moment but nod, pulling your hands away from your shirt. Bob's hands are slow —not teasing, not purposely at least —dragging up your hips to your waist, pushing your shirt up as he goes. His fingers trail along your ribs, just grazing the edge of your bra. You briefly wonder if he'll try to take it off or if you'll need to do that yourself —but he settles on pulling your shirt over your head first.

Your skin is warm and soft against his fingers, and he's watching as your chest rises with each breath you take in anticipation. You're still sitting up on your elbows, waiting, watching, when he leans down and pulls you up against his chest. One hand is bracing your lower back as the other fumbles with the clasp of your bra.

Confidence doesn't matter when it comes to bras, because they're evil, he decides as he sighs in frustration. He almost caves into the embarrassment, worried he's ruined the moment. But you reach behind your back with ease and unclip it, and toss it away. He wants to complain, and you can see he does, but you wrap your arms around his neck again and pull him into a messy kiss.

It's all teeth and tongues, deepening each second his hands grip you tighter. Then he's laying you back down, dragging his lips from yours to your jaw. Then down your throat. One of his hands holds your hip, but the other is trembling as it approaches your breast and tentatively squeezes it. You hum in response, and his mouth is on your nipple now, grazing it with his teeth.

Though you certainly wouldn't refuse one or two of those.

Perhaps he can read your mind, or maybe he just knows what he wants —it doesn't really matter —because he gives your breasts one final squeeze and nip then trails his mouth down your stomach. The closer he gets to you, the more fidgety you become. You can feel his lips smile against your skin.

"It's okay," he promises, breath fanning over your thighs as he parts them slowly.

His fingers are trembling slightly, pressed into your thighs just enough to leave marks. Like he's scared that if he lets go, you're going to pull away from him. But he shakes those thoughts from his head, shifting down the bed until he's sitting on his knees on the floor. You're about to argue, to ask him what he's doing, but he wraps his arms around your thighs and yanks you down the bed until your legs are over his shoulders. You gasp, and his nose just barely presses above your wet core.

He groans, pressing his forehead into your thigh, fingers tightening around you. "God, you are...you're so wet."

"I told you," you sigh, running a hand through his hair, guiding him to look up at you through his lashes. "You're hot. This is hot. Everything you're doing is just...hot."

He melts into you, taking a moment to ground himself in your touch. "You have no idea how much you do for me," he admits, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh softly. "But I'm...I'm going to try to show you."

"Oh, Bob, you don't —,"

But you cut yourself off with a gasp, fingers tightening in his hair as he buries his face in between your legs. Your hips move involuntarily, chasing his tongue as it swipes through your folds. He doesn't stop you, only presses his tongue flat against you before he sucks on your clit.

"Oh-oh," you sigh, involuntarily clenching around his one finger. "Oh, god, more —please —you're doing so good.."

You cry out his name, back arching off the bed as you beg for him to go faster. He pulls out, just briefly, and you swear you hear him groan again. But you're too distracted by his fingers pressing up into you once again to notice any sounds that aren't the sounds of him finger-fucking you and him whining as he sucks on your clit.

And that tips you over the edge, pressing your heels into his shoulders as he furiously pumps his fingers in and out as you ride out your orgasm. You're crying out his name, begging him to stop because it's sensitive —fuck, your nerves are on fire —but he knows you don't actually want him to stop. It feels so good —the wave after wave of your orgasm washing over you before you hear him cry out himself, his body jerking against yours as he cums all over his hand.

You've collapsed on the bed, breathing heavy, and he's laying his forehead against your thigh. Both coming down from this, trying to catch your breaths.

When you've finally come to your senses —a solid five minutes later —you pull him up to lay beside you, pushing his hair out of his face. He's smiling at you lazily, hand laying against the base of your throat to feel your heartbeat.

"Have I told you recently how hot you are?" You ask, brushing your nose against his. You can smell yourself on his breath, and you're about to kiss him again when he says,

"I think I might start believing it soon."

---

Bob Taglist: @ilovemarvel12 @myrrh-dock

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writeriguess · 18 hours ago

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Pookie bear I have a request!

Basically, pre-relationship Reader is fascinated with Kirishima’s teeth and doesn’t find them scary at all. So maybe late night one day they hang out, talk, and she ends up telling him “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be bitten by a shark” and he ends up giving her bites all over her neck and shoulders and making out with her, even though at first he’s really wary

Thank you!!!!

Shark Teeth and Soft Skin

You don’t even realize how late it’s gotten until you glance at your phone. The soft glow of the screen reads 1:42 AM, but you’re nowhere near tired. Not when Kirishima’s sitting across from you, stretched out on your bedroom floor, grinning lazily as he tosses a small rubber ball into the air and catches it again.

The two of you have been talking for hours, bouncing from topic to topic like you always do. Somehow, the conversation has drifted—again—to his teeth.

It’s not the first time.

You don’t know what it is about them that fascinates you so much. Maybe it’s the way they gleam under the light, serrated edges so different from everyone else’s. Maybe it’s the way his smile is so bright, so wide, and yet there’s a dangerous edge to it—literally. Maybe it’s the way he’s so careful with them, always hyper-aware, always mindful.

You’ve never found them scary.

“I still can’t believe you’re not freaked out by them,” Kirishima says, tilting his head, red hair messy from running his fingers through it. His sharp eyes study you, amused but also a little skeptical.

You shake your head, grinning. “Why would I be? They’re cool.”

“They’re intimidating.”

“They’re badass.”

He laughs, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re the weirdest person I know.”

“Thank you,” you say, mock-sincerely. Then, a thought slips past your lips before you can overthink it: “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to be bitten by a shark.”

Kirishima freezes. The ball in his hand slips, bouncing off his knee and rolling away.

His eyes widen.

You’re about to backpedal, to laugh it off, when he shifts, sitting up straighter. “…Wait. Are you saying you wanna know what it feels like?”

Your stomach flips. You should probably be embarrassed, but instead, excitement bubbles in your chest. “Maybe,” you say, and then, because it’s the truth: “Yeah.”

Kirishima swallows. His Adam’s apple bobs.

“That’s—” He stops, exhaling a sharp breath through his nose. “You’re messing with me.”

You shake your head. “I’m not.”

His gaze flickers to your neck, to the slope of your shoulder peeking out from your loose sleep shirt. You can practically see the internal war happening in his head.

“I dunno,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I—I’m strong, y’know? What if I hurt you?”

“I trust you,” you say softly.

That does something to him.

His jaw clenches. His fingers twitch against his knee.

“…Okay,” he murmurs. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

Your breath catches.

Slowly, he reaches for you. His hands are big, warm, steady as they slide over your shoulders, guiding you closer. His touch alone sends a shiver down your spine.

You tilt your head, offering your neck.

For a second, he just hovers there, lips barely grazing your skin. The heat of his breath fans over your pulse point.

Then, carefully, he sinks his teeth in.

A sharp gasp leaves your lips. It’s not painful—just pressure, a strange mix of dull and acute, like the first sting of a deep massage.

He pulls away immediately. “Shit—”

“No, it’s good,” you interrupt, gripping his wrist. Your pulse flutters under his fingers. “Do it again.”

His pupils blow wide.

Something shifts in the air between you. The hesitation melts into something else, something deeper, heavier.

His hands slide down, fingers digging into your waist as he leans in again, his lips brushing your skin—softer this time, lingering. And then—

Another bite.

A little harder.

A whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it.

Kirishima makes a sound low in his throat, something dangerously close to a growl. His teeth press into the curve of your shoulder, then along the column of your neck, leaving a trail of faint, throbbing marks in their wake.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt, nails digging into the fabric. You feel drunk on the sensation, warmth pooling low in your stomach with every deliberate nip, every fleeting flick of his tongue to soothe the sting.

“You’re so weird,” he murmurs, but there’s no bite to it. Just fondness, thick and sweet. His lips ghost over your jaw, dangerously close.

“You like it,” you whisper back, breathless.

He exhales a laugh against your skin, then closes the distance.

His lips crash into yours, all heat and urgency, his hands gripping your waist like he never wants to let go. His teeth catch on your bottom lip, playful now, testing the waters before deepening the kiss.

It’s messy and desperate and perfect.

And as he pulls you into his lap, his fingers tracing over the marks he’s left on your skin, you think—

You wouldn’t mind being bitten by a shark again.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #x reader #bnha #mha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #eijirou kirishima

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moongirlrhea · 16 hours ago

Text

an azriel and his best friend drabble - period comfort

this is a drabble in the azriel and his best friend universe, but it can be read as a standalone!!! in the timeline this happens at some point before the events of the series :)

series masterlist

word count: 1.8k

azriel x reader drabble

warnings: descriptions of period pain

a/n: sooo backstory: i had a really bad period last week and it brought me back to when i used to have really bad periods in high school. like passing out and all that so: this fic is the result of that! as always feedback is appreciated, let me know what you think!!!!

She groaned into her pillow as pain pierced through her stomach. She curled tighter into a ball as she fought the tears brimming in her eyes.

She couldn’t take this, she really couldn’t. She hadn’t even known her cycle was coming, with how unregular it was, but this morning she woke to red-stained sheets and a sharp pain shooting through her stomach. And by the time she managed to get the bed, and herself, cleaned up, she was utterly exhausted.

Azriel was at training, so he wasn’t there to help her, which he usually insisted on doing. After first coming to Velaris it was utterly strange for her to have anyone, especially a male help her with her cycle, considering how her entire life she’d been taught it was something to hide, to be …ashamed of. That it was a liability that should be hidden from a lady’s husband, and well she didn’t know why exactly she correlated that with Azriel, but- Anyway. It was standard for her to manage the pain on her own her entire life, although that usually consisted entirely of whining and whimpering in bed alone.

After getting close to Azriel everything changed, and he insisted on taking care of her, which at first was mainly just her trying not to burrow herself into the ground from embarrassment. After a while, however, after first experiencing Azriel’s gentle care and the love he conveyed in it, that quiet compassion and his lack of judgement, she started to let him help her. Although she had to admit, that the mortification she was thought to feel at showing her pain to a male of all people so undeniably, never really went away. Maybe it never would, but Azriel didn’t seem to mind reminding her how there was nothing wrong with being taken care of.

She squirmed again, a big part of her wishing he was here, unable to find a position that would ease the pain even the slightest bit. Sweat beaded at her brow and she whimpered as she lowered herself from her bed, and onto the floor.

It was cool against her skin, making her feel at least a bit less faint. Right? That’s what she thought would happen, but now her breathing shallowed and darkness swam in the edges of her vision.

Gods, the pain- Whimpering, she leaned her head back against the edge of the mattress and suddenly everything around her was blurring and-

Well, that definitely didn’t work in making her feel less faint.

Someone was shaking her shoulders.

“Sweetheart-” a familiar voice urged somewhere above her “Wake up, please, come on”

She groaned as she felt pain stab through her again. She was slowly coming about and slowly the realization that she knew that voice washed over her. Gods, what had happened?

“Az?”

“Thank the Mother,” the male crouched above her exhaled in relief “Can you open your eyes for me, love?” he asked in such a soft voice, that she couldn’t not try to.

She cracked her eyes open and looked at Azriel through squinted lids, vision still swimming. But he was already grabbing her forearms and helping her sit up. His touch was so, so gentle as he fussed over her that it had tears brimming in her eyes all over again. Suddenly her best friend’s eyes widened and snapped to hers.

“You’re bleeding. Did you hit your head? What happened, where are you hurt?” The questions were coming at her one after the other, though it was obvious by the pinch of his expression and the furrow of his brow that Azriel was trying extremely hard not to sound too scared. The unconcealable worry in his eyes gave him away.

Had she passed out from the pain? The answer was obvious in her mind and her stomach sank a bit as a pang of embarrassment consumed her. She tried to keep her eyes glued to Azriel as she stayed quiet for longer than needed. Oh, cauldron.

“It's my cycle, Az” she sighed out finally, eyes glancing around the room. Her vision was suddenly drowned in the golden, intense sunlight streaming in from the floor-to-ceiling windows. Was it midday already? How long had she been out?

“Why didn’t you call for me?” Azriel coaxed her head in his direction by placing a gentle hand on the side of her face. His thumb was stroking gently along her cheekbone as his shadows, who seemed to have noticed her earlier discomfort, shot out to close the curtains, keeping most of the overwhelming light from the room.

“You were at training, I didn’t want to…-” her voice trailed off.

“You should have called for me, you know one of my shadows is always somewhere close” his voice was almost scolding as he studied her with such deep concern in his golden-brown eyes, it almost took her breath away.

“I’m sorry”

“You know that’s not what this is about,” he told her in a soft voice “You always call for me when you’re in pain, alright?”

She narrowed her eyes and leaned her head against his shoulder in exhaustion before replying. “And that goes the same for you, right?”

A beat of silence ensued before Azriel chuckled, his hand coming to rest on the nape of her neck, fingers brushing through her hair. “It does”

“Alright, then”

Before any of them could say something more, a wave of pain so intense hit her, that she doubled over, gasping.

“Fuck, sweetheart, where do you have your pain tonics? How long ago have you taken one?”

“I haven’t- Ah-,” she gasped as she tried to get the words out “I haven’t taken any” she managed to rasp out, finally.

“What do you mean you haven’t taken any?” she could practically feel the way he froze in front of her, the shadows that had been twirling around her frame going in tow with their master.

“They don’t help anyway” she mumbled through a whimper.

“They don’t help? Love- You passed out on the floor from the pain, for Mother’s sake you can’t-” Azriel said seriously somewhere above her “You need to take care of yourself, we’ve talked about this” he added a bit sternly.

Was he mad at her? As she whimpered from the pain again, an ugly, albeit well known feeling swam through her body. But he wouldn’t think that of her, right? “I’m- I’m sorry” she tried wetly, a bit helplessly, maybe.

He exhaled shakily somewhere next to her “No- No don’t be sorry,” she sniffled at that “Hey, you’re alright. I’m right here. I didn’t mean to- I’m not mad at you, alright?” he said as he gathered her shaking form into his arms. She was a mess, breathing heavily, almost sobbing from the pain.

“It hurts, Az” she felt a stream of salt rivulet down the side of her face.

“I know, I know” he mumbled as he placed her gently on the bed “I just need to get you a tonic, okay sweetheart?”

“No, don’t leave-”

“I know, but I’ll just be a second,” his voice was strained and unsure about leaving her out of his sight in this state. Even for just a moment, but the sight alone of her state cemented the decision for him. She needed medicine. “I’ll be right back”

She groaned as she curled into a ball, breathing heavily through her sobs. There was a muffled conversation in the hallway somewhere but she couldn’t focus at all. Her door closed and opened and a weight appeared on the bed next to her.

Someone was whispering something to her, stroking her back and head gently. But the world around her wasn’t making sense at that moment and it was only after a while that she realized who it was, based solely on the smell of night-chilled mist and cedar that hit her. But the pain was all consuming and in her state of torment she couldn’t even make out his words. A vague, unspecified amount of time passed as she lay there and at some point Azriel must have been gone again, and she heard voices outside her room. And then he was back, coaxing her to turn on her back and sit up.

She squirmed in his arms, eyes closed and face pinched as he tried to adjust her. “Just one second, sweetheart, here,” he said softly as he coaxed a bitter liquid past her lips “There you go, you’ll be better soon”

“I can’t- I can’t do this” she whimpered.

“It’ll be over soon, angel, I promise” there was urgency in his voice, as though he was trying to convince her on something but she couldn’t focus and then-. She was turning over again, intuitively pressing herself into his side. Then there was something hot being pressed against her stomach, and a pair of arms circling around her. Azriel was whispering something to her, trying to comfort her but the words were incomprehensible in her state. Suddenly everything was blurring.

Azriel pressed a shaky his on his best friend’s forehead as he held her trembling form in his eyes. It was torture to have to see her like this and he was already berating himself for not keeping up when her cycle would come.

Poor girl.

Thankfully, he bumped into Mor right after going to get a tonic for her, and she happened to have an abundance of the stronger dose that she got from Madja sometime earlier. And so, he could already feel his girl’s form slumping against him, succumbing to sleep.

The plan for the next week was laying itself out in his mind as he held her. He had already sent his shadows to get her favorite foods and snacks from the Rainbow, and Mor promised to ask Madja for more tonics today. So that was covered. The House would supply them with hot water bottles, so he checked that from his list. He would have to check if she was in need of more linens.

There was one thing left to worry about, however. The convincing that it will take him to get her to actually stay in bed, because he was already sure she’d be trying to get up and to work the second she woke up. But it was alright for Azriel to ease his best friend’s mind and make sure she was well taken care of.

That’s what he was there for, and it was a job he’d cherish. Until the end of his days.

taglist: @greenmandm @thoughtfulcoffeeflower @dark-night-sky-99 @ly--canthrope @azrielssgirl @topaz125 @azrielsmate3 @i-am-infinite @stressed-reader @blonde-bansheee @k-homosapien @azysmate @brekkershadowsinger to join let me know under this post

#azriel x reader #azriel and his best friend #azriel drabble #azriel comfort fic #azriel comfort #azriel fluff #azriel hurt/comfort #acotar #acotar x reader #a court of thorns and roses #azriel acotar #acotar fandom #azriel fanfic #azriel #azriel x you #azriel fanfiction #azriel series

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bbokicidal · 18 hours ago

Note

hi bboki!!

can i get a scoop of mint chocolate with caramel drizzle and hot fudge please? 😋

Mint Chocolate + Hot Fudge & Caramel Drizzle

Caramel Drizzle - What he watches/uses to get off

Honestly? A mattress humper. i said what I said. He likes to watch the dirty stuff on his phone, props it up against a pillow and goes to town on his poor sheets. Probably watches like.. super cheesy porn cause he's kind of in it for the plot. Also a whimper-er but you didn't hear that from me!!

Hot Fudge - A sexual fantasy of his

He really, really wants to experience a quickie just once. Maybe in a bathroom somewhere, maybe in the dressing room or backstage or practice room or even the studio if he's feeling really nasty. He wants to feel the rush of adrenaline. He's not one for liking the risk of getting caught, though, so.. it'll likely just stay a fantasy.

Thank you for placing an order!

#skz x reader #skz imagine #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #seungmin smut #seungmin x reader #bboki's ice cream parlor

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multi-fandom-imagine · 2 days ago

Note

request for Zeus having a breeding kink?

Or Antinous with a worshiping kink?

A/n: Why not both

•Zeus has a breeding Kink•

Zeus towered over you, his golden eyes blazing with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. The massive throne room echoed with the low rumble of thunder, the very air charged with his presence. You stood before him, small and trembling, your back pressed against one of the marble columns as he caged you in with his strong, bronzed arms.

“You know what you do to me, don’t you?” he growled, his breath hot against your ear, the scent of ozone and rain washing over you. “Standing there, looking so soft, so vulnerable. Like you’re just begging to be claimed.”

You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your veins as his hand slid down to grip your waist, fingers splaying wide as though he was already staking his claim. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve, every inch of skin exposed beneath your thin, sheer gown.

“You know what the gods do when they see something they want?” His lips brushed your ear, his voice dropping to a low, sultry murmur. “They take it.”

A strangled gasp escaped you as his lips descended on your neck, teeth scraping over your pulse point before he sank them in, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you whimper. His other hand gripped your jaw, tilting your head back to meet his gaze, his golden eyes dark with lust.

“You want to carry my seed, don’t you, little one?” he purred, thumb stroking over your bottom lip, pressing down just enough to part them. “You want to be swollen with my child. Let everyone see who you belong to. Let them see who filled you, who bred you.”

You whimpered, thighs pressing together as heat pooled low in your belly. Zeus chuckled darkly, his teeth flashing in a wicked grin.

“Oh, you do,” he said, leaning in to press a slow, possessive kiss to your lips. His tongue slipped past your parted lips, claiming your mouth in a way that left you breathless, his taste all-consuming, like the storm itself.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath heavy, his chest heaving. “I’m going to fill you,” he promised, voice like a growl of thunder. “Again and again until my seed takes. Until you’re swollen with my child, your belly heavy with my heir.”

His hand slipped lower, sliding beneath the thin fabric of your gown, fingers tracing the curve of your hip, sliding down to grasp your thigh, lifting it to wrap around his waist. The thick, hard length of him pressed against your core, and you couldn’t hold back the needy moan that spilled from your lips.

“Say it,” he demanded, his eyes boring into yours. “Tell me you want it. Tell me you want to be bred by your king.”

Your hands fisted in his dark curls, your nails scraping against his scalp as you arched into him, your chest heaving. “I want it,” you gasped, your voice trembling. “I want to carry your child, Zeus. I want to be filled by you.”

Zeus groaned, his hips rolling against yours, the friction making you whimper. “That’s right,” he growled, dragging your gown up over your hips, baring you to him. “Now, let’s see how many times it takes to make you mine.”

And with that, he took you—slow, deep, and unrelenting, each powerful thrust driving the air from your lungs as he laid his claim over and over again, the god of thunder determined to fill you until there was no doubt who you belonged to.

•Antinous with a worshiping kink•

Antinous stood before you, his dark eyes fixed on you as though you were a goddess descended from Olympus. The flickering torchlight cast golden hues across his striking features, making his sharp jawline and plush lips appear even more alluring. He moved closer, his steps slow, deliberate, as though he were approaching a sacred altar.

“You don’t even know, do you?” he murmured, his voice like warm honey, thick and sweet. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until your chest was flush against his, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles against your skin. “You don’t know how perfect you are.”

Your breath hitched as his lips brushed over your forehead, a feather-light kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. His fingers traveled up your sides, tracing every curve as though he were memorizing every inch of you.

“You are divine,” he whispered, his nose brushing down the slope of your cheek. “A goddess in mortal flesh. And I am but a man—a man who would kneel at your feet and beg to touch you.”

A soft, breathless sound escaped you as his hands dropped to your hips, his grip firm but reverent. He lowered himself onto his knees, his dark eyes never leaving yours, his face level with your navel as his lips ghosted over the soft skin there.

“Let me worship you,” he said, his voice raw with need and adoration. “Let me prove to you that you are everything. My queen, my light, my reason for living.”

Your hands tangled in his hair, and he leaned into your touch as though your fingers were the very thread of his existence. His eyes fluttered closed as he kissed the skin just above your hips, his breath hot and heavy against you.

“You don’t know how much I need you,” he said, his lips trailing a slow, reverent path up your body. “Every inch of you. Every soft curve. Every sweet, intoxicating sound that falls from those perfect lips.”

His hands slid up, fingers spreading over your waist, your ribs, until they cradled your face. He rose, his mouth mere inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his thumb traced over your lower lip.

“Say it,” he breathed, his eyes burning into yours. “Say you’re mine. Say you’ll let me worship you as you deserve.”

You swallowed, your pulse thrumming beneath his touch. “I’m yours,” you whispered, and the way his eyes darkened made your knees weak. “Worship me.”

A low, needy groan escaped him as he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a searing kiss, pouring every ounce of his reverence, his desire, his adoration into you. And when he pulled back, he was breathless, his gaze heavy and intense.

“Get on the bed,” he said, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness that made your heart ache. “I’m not stopping until you believe how utterly perfect you are. Until you understand that you are my everything.”

And then, with the fire of a man wholly devoted, Antinous took his time, worshipping you like a supplicant at the altar of a goddess. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered prayer of adoration was meant to show you that to him, you were more than mortal—you were divine.

#drabbles #drabble #smut #zeus #epic zeus #zeus x reader #zeus x you #epic #epic the musical #zeus epic #antinous #antinous x reader #Antinous x you #epic antinous #epic the musical Antinous

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bernardmatthews · 12 hours ago

Text

| MATT COMES HOME FROM TOUR

pt 2 of this blurb

tw: sub!matt, mommy kink, handjob (m), overstimulation, dacryphilia, semi public?

Matt had been needy all day since they got back to LA for the last show of the tour, even trying to convince you for a quickie in the tour bus before the last show, but you wanted to tease him. You wanted to make him wait, finding satisfaction in the fact he’d had to deal with the boner in his pants for the next 4 hours.

Once the show was finished, everyone went out to celebrate tour, that is except for you and Matt. You and Matt stayed behind in the tour bus. Which is what had led you to your current position with hand wrapped around Matt’s aching cock as whimpers fall from his plush lips, a fucked out expression already on his face.

“F-fuck missed.. oh my- missed you so much mommy,” Matt whines as you swipe your thumb on his tip, gathering it before spreading it over the rest of his cock. “Been such a good boy for me, been so patient waiting for mommy to touch you all day haven’t you?” you coo in Matt’s ear, placing soft kisses to his neck resulting in another needy whimper in response.

“y-yes! ‘m a good boy mama” he bucks his hips as he gets closer to his release. “Yeah? gonna be a good boy and make a mess for me? hm?” your hand moving faster on Matt’s cock, the sound of the wetness filling the empty tour bus. “Please mama.. need to cum..” high pitched moans falling from his lips as he gets closer and closer to the release he so desperately needs.

“Go ahead baby, make a mess for me” you coo, the moans turning into desperate cries as he spills his load all over your hand and his stomach. Your hand doesn’t stop though, only using his cum as extra lubricant to continue stroking his cock.

“Mama it’s too much! ‘m sensitive..” Matt cries, tears swelling in his eyes as you continue to pump his overstimulated cock. “Aw.. i know you have one more in you baby.”

“Y-yes mama..” his whimpers turning into cries as he’s nearing his second release. “Such a good boy, just a toy for mama to use hm?” you tease, earning a high pitched whimper in response. “You like being mamas toy?” your hand speeding up, pushing him towards the edge even faster. “Oh- fuck- y-yes mama.. gon’ cum.. please” Matt cries, tears falling from his eyes from the overwhelming pleasure. “Go ahead, been such a good boy” you coo, talking him through his orgasm, “make a mess for mama.”

a loud high pitched cry leaves Matt’s lips as he cums once more, the pearly white substance covering your hand as you slow down your strokes, riding out his high. “n-no more.. please..” he whines, squirming trying to get away from your touch. You remove your hand from his now softening cock, running your free hand through his hair. “Did so so good for me baby” you say softly before leaving a soft kiss on his head.

an: sub matt my beloved

dividers by @bernardsbendystraws

taglist:

@chrepsi

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo smut #matt sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #sub!matt #christopher sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo smut #chris sturiolo fanfic #chris sturniolo smut

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mooniewritess · 2 days ago

Text

inspired by this smau from @bluukive. just wanted to expand a little more on the concept of roommie!nanami absolutely hammering into you while you play LaDS...

You're face down on the pillow, your back bent in the meanest arch possible while he bullies his cock into your welcoming pussy, over and over again...

At first, it seemed almost doable.

Having him eat you out from behind while fighting for your daily missions was almost a success, although challenging.

But then you had the bold idea of playing memories. And what better memories if not the ones from the Nightly Rendezvous event?

It seemed like a good idea.

Except it was not.

"Really, darling?" He taunts, his hips snapping against your skin with every punishing thrust, eyes locked on the drunken Zayne lifting MC - lifting you - over his desk.

"That's what turns you on?" He asks, not really expecting an answer.

You're too busy begging and moaning to put together a proper sentence, but the way your walls tighten around him is telling enough.

"Do you really think he could - ah - make you feel better than me?" He whispers against your ear. "Think you would be making these sweet little sounds for him?"

His hand slowly makes its way to your clit, rubbing fast circles that have your eyes rolling back. "Do you think she would be making these sounds for him?"

You whine and desperately shake your head - as much as the pillow allows you to. "N-No, I would- not-!" You try to reply between whimpers and moans.

"Please, Ken, please- I'm so close!" You beg, feeling that familiar sensation making its way into your lower stomach.

He keeps working on your clit while keeping up the harsh pace of his thrusts, his own breath growing quicker. "Let go for me, honey. It's mine. You're mine."

And you can only cry out his name when your orgasm finally hits, making you cum all over his cock. He doesn't stop, though, he keeps pushing inside you over and over again, closer to his own release.

"My girl. My beautiful, beautiful girl." He groans against your ear, his hips stuttering. "You're going to take it all, mh? Yeah, yeah you will." He answers for you while you quickly nod, phone long forgotten somewhere near.

"Yes, Ken, please, give it to me, please-!" You whine, tightly holding onto the pillow. And your pleas get answered, because with only a few more thrusts, he stills, finally filling you up with a loud moan.

After a few seconds of just staying still like that, panting to catch your breath, he slowly pulls out, gaining a whimper from you.

He turns you over on your back to leave gentle kisses over your face and neck, a sharp contrast with his previous roughness that makes you softly giggle.

"He would not make you feel this good." He whispers against your skin. And when you look up at him confused, simply asking, "... Who?" still too fucked out to think straight, he can only chuckle.

"Good girl."

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aylacavebear · 2 days ago

Text

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 16

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 7782

Warning: Reader waking to her wolf, Overwhelming experiences, Reader is a little stubborn in the beginning, Fluff, Dean being an utter sweetheart.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 16

The scent of pine, leather, and a flicker of smoke teased your senses, slowly pulling you from sleep as sunlight barely filtered through the curtain on the far side of the room. It was unfamiliar, yet deeply, undeniably right, settling into something warm and safe in your chest.

You stirred, the weight of a strong, steady arm tightening around you in response. It took a moment to register the warmth pressed against you, the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand. Dean. His scent was all around you, wrapping you in something comforting, something grounding.

It didn’t fully register as you nuzzled further against him, your fingers curling a little against his skin. A slow, contented hum slipped past your lips before you could stop it. That was new. The sound, the feeling of something shifting inside you—not in a bad way, just… different.

Dean’s breath stirred against your hair, a deep inhale followed by the faintest, sleep-roughened rumble from his chest. He was still out, his grip loose but sure, his hand resting warm and solid on your bare hip.

You blinked slowly, letting yourself adjust to the quiet. Memories of the night before drifted through your mind, and a small smile tugged at the corner of your lips. He’d claimed you. And he’d been so utterly caring, so tender, so completely loving.

That was when you realized it. The scent that seemed to be everywhere, woven into the very air around you, wasn’t just the cabin. It was him.

Pine—fresh, grounding, like the woods on the lands. Leather—familiar, something solid, well-worn and steady. And smoke—not overpowering, just a whisper of it, like a lingering campfire on a cool night.

Your eyes went wide as your heart kicked up. Not in a fluttery, light way—no, this was something deeper, heavier, like the anxiety you’d been fighting for days. A new kind of instinct took over, another something you weren’t used to feeling, not like this, and you nuzzled closer against him.

A small, quiet whimper of unease slipping past your lips.

Dean stirred again, a quiet noise in the back of his throat as his grip flexed, pulling you in just a little closer, like even in sleep, he knew. Like he could feel what was changing, and what you needed.

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes tight. I’m more level-headed than this. But even as the thought surfaced, it did nothing to settle the growing unrest.

There was the strange feeling of something inside, like it was just under your skin, moving, stretching, but just as disoriented as you. And then there was his scent—both comforting and overwhelming, soothing yet stressful, grounding but too much all at once. Another quiet whimper slipped out even though you tried to stop it.

Dean woke with a sharp inhale, his body tensing before his eyes even opened. The soft, distressed sound that had slipped from you hit him like a shock to the system—but it wasn’t just the sound that woke him. He felt it. Smelled it.

Your scent had shifted.

One moment, you’d been wrapped up in warmth and comfort, your scent rich with contentment. Now, it was laced with unease, something hesitant and unsettled. Instinct drove him before thought even caught up, his grip tightening as he pulled back just enough to see you.

“Hey,” his voice was low, still rough with sleep, but steady. He sat up, bringing you with him, his hands firm but careful as he guided you upright. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Just breathe.” Your body was taut, every muscle wound too tight, like something inside you was bracing, shifting, but not fully there yet. Your arms curled around the back of his neck, your breath warm against his skin as you nuzzled against him, that new instinct driving you toward his scent gland. He felt the way you clung to him, the barely-there tremble in your fingertips.

Dean’s hand slid slow and steady up your back, grounding warmth pressing through the bare skin of your spine. He wasn’t just holding you—he was soothing you, anchoring you in the storm of unfamiliar sensations. His lips brushed your temple, voice soft, meant only for you.

“Breathe with me,” he murmured, his tone coaxing, calming. He took a slow, deep inhale, his chest expanding against your own before releasing it just as measured. “C’mon, baby, slow and deep.” You tried to follow, tried to match the rhythm of his breathing, but it was like your body wasn’t entirely yours, the unease still coiling beneath your skin. Your fingers curled into the nape of his neck, holding tight, your nose pressed against his scent gland, inhaling deep—trying to settle, trying to drown in the only thing that felt steady.

Dean just held you closer, his hand smoothing slow circles along your back, his breath steady, patient.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I promise. Just breathe, sweetheart. You’re gonna have a panic attack if you don’t calm down.”

Your hands trembled against the back of his neck, fingers curled tight as you tried to will yourself to stillness. Dean’s voice was a steady anchor, his presence grounding, and you latched onto it like it was the only thing keeping you from drowning. You focused on his breath, on the slow, measured rise and fall of his chest, but no matter how hard you tried, the disorienting feeling didn’t fully settle.

It was better—enough that you weren’t spiraling—but you couldn’t think through it. Everything felt off—your skin too tight, your mind too clouded. That level-headedness you’d tried to grasp onto earlier was slipping further from reach.

Dean must’ve felt the subtle shift in your breathing, the way you loosened just enough for him to pull back slightly, his calloused fingers sweeping along your spine. His eyes searched yours, steady and patient, his concern written in the way his thumb traced idle, grounding circles against your back.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice warm with reassurance. “Better?” You nodded faintly, though you weren’t sure if it was true. You weren’t drowning anymore, at least.

Dean exhaled, brushing a kiss against your temple before easing away. “Let’s get you dressed, sweetheart.” He started to shift, reaching for your clothes, but you shook your head.

“No,” you murmured, barely recognizing your own voice—soft, unsteady, quiet in a way that wasn’t you. Your brows furrowed slightly. “I just… I want to wear one of your shirts.” Dean stilled. He didn’t question it, but realization settled deep in his chest. Your wolf needed his scent That’s what she was clinging to—the first thing she had latched onto this morning. He wasn’t sure if you had put the pieces together yet.

“Alright,” he said easily, leaning to grab one from the pile of clothes nearby. It smelled like him, all pine and leather, and you didn’t even hesitate before pulling it on. The moment the fabric settled over your skin, a tiny breath of relief eased from your lips. Not enough to make the uneasy feeling disappear, but enough.

Dean noticed as he pulled on a pair of boxers. His lips pressed together for a beat before he reached for your hand, his grip gentle but sure. “C’mon. Coffee and breakfast. You need somethin’ in you.” You let him guide you to the kitchen, the floor cool against your bare feet as you settled into one of the chairs. Dean moved with easy efficiency, setting up the coffee pot, pulling out eggs and bacon—like it was just any other morning. But it wasn’t. You could feel him watching you, subtly checking in.

By the time he set a mug of coffee in front of you, he crouched down beside you, his hand resting warm and solid on your knee. “Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?” You swallowed, fingers curled around the ceramic, gaze distant, but you hesitated. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words feeling too simple for something so overwhelming. “I can’t… think through it. I’m not used to feeling like this.” Dean nodded slowly, his thumb brushing absently along your knee, his gaze steady. He studied you for a moment before speaking.

“Your scent changed a little this morning,” his voice just as soft. “It used to be like the forest after it rained… vanilla, and something that I always just thought was you.” Your gaze lifted, finally meeting his, and he smiled softly.

“It’s still like rain and vanilla, but now? Now, there’s some cinnamon mixed in there.” His voice dropped just a bit, gentle but sure. “I think your wolf is trying to come forward, and she’s just as confused as you.”

You stared back down into the dark swirl of your coffee, watching the ripples that formed each time you shifted your grip on the mug. The warmth seeped into your palms, grounding in its own way, but not enough. Not enough.

Nothing felt enough, except the scent wrapping around you like a tether—pine and leather, that familiar warmth of him. You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but your breath had steadied, and the worst of the tremors in your fingers had dulled to a faint ache.

Still, thinking felt impossible. You knew there were things you should be piecing together—things you’d read, warnings you’d prepared for, ways to make sense of the storm in your head. But every time you reached for them, they slipped further away, like trying to hold onto water.

You hated that feeling.

Dean must’ve seen it on your face. He squeezed your knee gently before rising, moving back toward the stove with the same quiet ease as before. He didn’t push, didn’t demand an answer you weren’t sure you had. Instead, the sound of bacon sizzling filled the space, the scent of coffee mixing with crisping fat. You breathed it in, only realizing then that you’d been holding your breath.

“Y’know,” Dean said after a moment, his voice a low hum over the soft crackle of the pan, “you did this for me once.” Your brow furrowed, gaze flickering up to him, but the fog made it hard to focus. “What?”

“A month ago, roughly,” he continued, flipping the bacon like this was just any conversation. “I was scared too, just like you were yesterday. You were there, though. Keeping me grounded, taking care of me like I’m taking care of you now, even if I didn’t want to give up the control I had at the time.” He glanced over his shoulder, lips quirking just slightly. “You told me that one day, I’d be that for you. So, I let go, let you take the lead that day, and you claimed me that night.” He gestured to the mark on his neck, and you blinked. You remembered that—kind of. The details felt distant, blurred by the fog, but the feeling of it lingered. The scent of apple pie, the warmth of his body, the way his hands had trembled just slightly when he let you in.

Your wolf remembered, too.

A shiver ran down your body at that realization, goosebumps prickling along your skin. Your wolf. She was there, somewhere in the fog, feeling everything for the first time—raw, untethered, overwhelming.

Dean turned back to the stove, nodding toward the plate he was filling. “So, consider this payback.” He slid the plate in front of you—a couple of eggs, a few pieces of bacon. Simple, familiar, like the meal you had cooked for him the morning after you had claimed him. His scent still clung to the shirt draped over your frame, and the weight of it made it easier to pick up the fork, to take that first bite.

Dean sat across from you, cradling his coffee, his gaze steady—watching, waiting, giving you space while being your beacon. Unbeknownst to you, he’d gone to Saltzmam about this, about you. About what would happen after claiming you.

Until the fog cleared, he had to be there. Had to hold you through it. Otherwise, he could lose you both to it.

Saltzman’s words echoed in his mind: “Your scent is the only one she can be around for three days. It’s like a lighthouse to a ship in a storm. It will be the first thing her wolf knows as real, tangible. If you aren’t ready to commit the time required, you’ll lose them both.”

The first few bites were automatic, muscle memory taking over as the warmth of the food settled in your stomach. But it was the scent of him that kept you steady. Pine, leather, smoke, the undercurrent of coffee—it wove through the fog, wrapping around you like a tether.

Your wolf stirred, drawn to it, leaning into it, into him.

Dean saw it. The way your shoulders loosened, just a fraction. How your fingers, still wrapped around the fork, had stopped trembling. He didn’t say anything, just took a slow sip of his coffee, giving you space, giving her space.

But then, just as quickly, the shift pulled in the other direction.

The fork clattered against the plate, your breath hitching as something tightened in your chest. Your wolf recoiled—not from him, but from the world pressing in too fast, too much, too loud. The hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock on the wall, the weight of the cabin around you—it was overwhelming, foreign. Your fingers twitched against the wood of the table, nails pressing against the grain like you needed something real to hold onto.

Dean moved before you could spiral.

Slow, deliberate. He leaned forward, setting his mug down, drawing your focus. “Hey,” he murmured, voice even, calm. A lighthouse cutting through the storm. “You with me?” Your breath shuddered out, sharp and uneven.

No.

Yes.

Both answers rang true, clashing against each other. Your wolf wasn’t gone—she was here, seeing everything through your eyes, but you weren’t aligned. The edges of yourself felt blurred, indistinct.

Dean reached out, not forcing, just offering. A steady weight on your wrist, thumb brushing over the skin there. It wasn’t just touch—it was presence. A reminder that you weren’t lost.

Your wolf recognized him instantly.

A low, broken sound slipped from your lips, something caught between frustration and relief. You didn’t even realize you’d leaned into his touch until his fingers curled around your wrist, grounding you further.

“That’s it,” Dean said softly. “Just breathe.”

You did. Slowly. Inhale—pine, leather, smoke, warm. Exhale—some of the tension eased.

For the first time since waking, it wasn’t just the wolf, and it wasn’t just you.

It was both of you.

Dean must’ve felt it, too. He tilted his head slightly, his expression softening into something knowing, something instinctual. “There you are,” he murmured.

The words settled deep, not just in you, but in her.

Your wolf stilled, listening.

Dean smiled, just a little. “Told you I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The warmth of food settled in your stomach, but the fog hadn’t fully lifted. It wouldn’t—not yet. You could still feel the edges of it, thick and unrelenting, but at least now, Dean’s presence cut through it. The scent of him, the sound of his voice, the way he just knew.

You had no idea how long you sat there, but eventually, Dean gave your knee one last squeeze before standing. “Gonna clean up,” he murmured, gathering the plates. “Take your time, sweetheart.” Your wolf didn’t like the loss of contact, the absence of his hand on your skin, but she didn’t panic. Not this time. She was still here, watching through your eyes, feeling through your hands.

The couch.

The coffee table.

The bookshelf tucked in the corner.

Everything in this space smelled like him, felt like him, but it was new. Your wolf moved before you even thought about it, drawn forward, fingers trailing along the arm of the couch. The texture of worn leather met your skin, cool and smooth under your touch. She paused, processing, committing it to memory.

The wooden coffee table—solid, sturdy.

The books—rough edges, different thicknesses, a faint dusting of time.

Dean’s scent was on all of it, surrounding you, wrapping you up in familiarity even as your wolf tried to understand.

The sound of water running in the kitchen faded in and out of focus. Dean was near, but not right there.

Your fingertips brushed the edge of a ceramic mug left on the bookshelf. The moment it shifted—just slightly—your breath hitched. It was unsteady beneath your touch, not solid, not unmoving.

Too many sensations. Too much.

The mug tipped, slipping from the shelf. The crash rang out, sharp, splintering across your senses.

Your wolf snapped back.

Too loud. Too much.

Your knees buckled before you even realized what was happening. The floor met you fast, wood cool beneath your palms as you pressed them against the grain, fingers splayed wide, trying to ground yourself. But the sound of the mug breaking echoed—reverberated—like it had crawled under your skin and wouldn’t leave.

Your breath hitched. The room felt too big, too unfamiliar, the walls closing in—

Then warmth.

A solid presence at your side.

Dean.

His hands settled gently over yours, not prying, not forcing—just there, steady, unmoving. “I got you,” he murmured, voice low, even.

Your breath shuddered, nails pressing against the floor, but his touch was enough to break through the haze. You felt him. The roughness of his palms, the callouses along his fingertips. Real.

“Breathe,” Dean said softly, the same way he had at the table. He didn’t rush you, didn’t tell you to move, didn’t make you feel small for sinking to the floor. He just stayed.

You took a breath. It was shaky, uneven.

Pine, leather, smoke, warmth.

Dean.

Your wolf stilled.

Dean must’ve felt the shift, because his thumbs brushed over your knuckles, soothing. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re okay, sweetheart.” Your shoulders sagged, body heavy, but your wolf was there. Not just you. Both of you.

It took another minute before you could open your eyes. When you did, Dean was right there, watching, waiting.

“Sorry,” you whispered, voice raw.

Dean huffed, shaking his head. “Nope. Don’t do that.” His gaze softened, his hands still covering yours. “It’s new. It’s a lot. Let it be a lot.” Your throat tightened. He understood.

More than that—he wasn’t afraid of it.

Dean shifted, his hands trailing up, slow and careful, settling along your arms. “C’mere,” he murmured.

You didn’t even hesitate.

The moment you leaned in, Dean pulled you close, tucking you against his chest. His scent flooded your senses, washing away everything else, grounding you deeper than the floor ever could.

Your wolf settled.

Dean pressed a kiss to your temple, voice a low rasp. “Told you—I got you.”

And he did.

Dean didn’t rush. He gave you a moment to breathe, to find your bearings, before his hands slid carefully beneath you. One arm tucked under your knees, the other around your back, solid and sure.

You didn’t protest when he lifted you, your body curling instinctively toward his warmth. The steady thump-thump of his heart was the first thing your wolf latched onto—constant, unshaken, just there.

The couch met you before you even realized you’d closed your eyes. Soft cushions, the scent of home, of him. But before the cold could settle in, something warm draped over you. Thick, worn—familiar.

Your fingers curled into it on instinct.

The blanket. Your blanket.

You’d had it for years—soft from time, frayed at the edges, carrying the faintest trace of memories you couldn’t quite hold onto. But for the past three months, it had belonged to him. You’d given it to Dean the night you met, and he hadn’t let go of it since.

Now it smelled like both of you.

Dean tucked the blanket around you, his hands lingering at your shoulders for a beat longer than necessary. He didn’t say anything, just let you settle, his touch steady before he finally pulled away.

Your wolf whined at the loss, but you didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

You should. You should be moving, doing something—fighting against the weight in your head, pushing through the fog.

The shattered mug caught your eye. Pieces of it littered the floor, jagged against the wood. You should be cleaning it up. You should—

Dean crouched down, grabbing a few shards, careful. His gaze flicked up to you, watching, seeing.

“You don’t have to fight it, sweetheart.” His voice was even, calm, like he knew exactly what was happening in your head. “Just breathe.”

You swallowed hard. “I should be helping.” Dean huffed softly. “No, you shouldn’t.” Another piece of ceramic hit the trash. “You should be letting yourself just be.” Your jaw clenched. The fog pressing in, making everything feel too much and not enough, and you hate it. Hated the way you couldn’t control it.

Dean wiped his hands on a dish towel before moving back toward you, slow, deliberate.

He didn’t sit next to you right away. Instead, he crouched in front of you, resting his arms on the couch beside your legs, his gaze steady, unwavering.

“You keep trying to force it,” he murmured, his voice low, coaxing. “Trying to get ahead of it. But you don’t have to.”

Your breathing hitched. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Dean reached up, his fingers brushing along the edge of the blanket before curling over your hand, pressing gently.

“Stop fighting it,” he said simply. “Just be here.” Your wolf stilled.

Dean’s thumb brushed over your knuckles, slow and warm.

“The couch under you,” he murmured, voice steady. “The blanket around you. My hand in yours. That’s all you gotta focus on right now.” You swallowed, your throat tight.

Dean squeezed your hand, grounding. “You’re safe.” A breath. Shaky, but real.

Dean saw it—the way you hesitated, the way you wanted to believe him but still held onto the instinct to push. So, he didn’t move, didn’t let go, just stayed right there.

“Let yourself feel it,” he murmured.

Your fingers curled into his, grip tightening.

The couch.

The blanket.

Dean.

You exhaled.

The fog was still there, but for the first time since it had settled over you, it didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

Dean’s lips curved, just a little. “That’s it, sweetheart.” And for once, you didn’t fight it. You just let it be.

The day stretched long and slow, a careful unfolding of moments that didn’t seem to belong to you.

Or maybe they did. Maybe this was what it was supposed to feel like—life, without a barrier between you and it.

Dean hadn’t left your side, not really. Even when he wasn’t next to you, he was there. You felt him. The weight of his presence, the steady pull of your connection, grounding you in ways you hadn’t realized you needed.

And your wolf… she felt it too.

She lingered closer than she ever had before, brushing against the edges of your awareness, dipping in and out as she pleased. When she came forward, it was strange—like opening your eyes underwater, the world blurred and different, edges too sharp, sound too loud, every scent alive.

Dean made it easier.

He always did.

The cinnamon was the first thing he noticed. Subtle, curling at the edges of his senses. The closer your wolf got, the richer it became—never overwhelming, never demanding. Just there. It was the easiest cue he had.

You shifted, fingers gripping the blanket a little tighter. The texture was different now, the weight of it something new. Before, your wolf had only ever seen it through you, through the muted distance of your mind. Now, she felt it.

She touched.

She experienced.

The contrast of the worn cotton against her fingertips sent a ripple through you, sharp and immediate. Your breath hitched, the sensation foreign, too much.

Dean caught it.

He always did.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he murmured.

Your pulse skittered, your wolf recoiling, retreating, but Dean’s hand was already there—fingertips ghosting over yours, steady, warm.

“It’s just touch,” he reminded you, voice low, soothing. “Just fabric. That’s all.” A pause. A moment.

Then, you tried again.

The blanket. The fibers. The feeling of feeling.

Your wolf didn’t flinch this time.

Dean gave you a quiet smile, the kind that made something in your chest ease. “Atta girl.”

The air still felt too big in your lungs, but you didn’t drown in it.

Dean shifted beside you, reaching for something on the coffee table. When he turned back, his palm was open, something small resting in the center.

Your brow furrowed.

It was a stone—smooth and flat, no bigger than a silver dollar. Its color was deep, a mix of dark blue and gray, swirling veins that seemed to catch the light.

Dean turned it over in his fingers before offering it to you. “Found this on the trail a while back. Thought you might like it.” You hesitated, your wolf stirring curiously.

The weight of it settled into your palm as soon as you took it. Cool at first, but warming fast from your touch. The surface was impossibly smooth, like water-worn glass, each groove and dip something your wolf memorized.

Your breath wavered, the sensation pulling at something deep inside.

Dean watched you, quiet. “Hold onto it,” he said. “Might help.” Help with what, exactly, you weren’t sure.

But you didn’t let go.

You ran your thumb over the ridges, over the places where the stone wasn’t quite perfect. It was something real. Something solid. A tether.

Your wolf curled around the feeling, drawn to it.

Dean leaned back against the couch, stretching his arm along the top, close but not crowding. He just existed there, scent rich in the space between you, keeping you grounded without a single word. The scent of cinnamon curling around him.

The air smelled of pine, leather, smoke.

Like safety.

Like him.

Your grip on the stone tightened, a shaky breath leaving your lips. And then you moved. Or maybe it wasn’t you at all—maybe it was her. Snuggling against him, hand on his chest, nose nuzzling against his neck, breathing him in. Home.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

His arm came around you, firm but gentle, the weight of it steadying. Warmth seeped through the fabric of your shirt where his palm rested against your back, the slow rise and fall of his breathing a rhythm your own body unconsciously sought to match.

The scent of cinnamon lingered, curling at the edges of his senses—thicker now, richer. Not just a whisper, but a presence. He could feel your wolf closer, nudging forward, drawn to him in a way that felt as natural as breathing.

His fingers traced slow, absent-minded circles between your shoulder blades. Not pushing, not demanding. Just there.

You melted into it.

Or maybe your wolf did.

The stone remained clutched in your palm, warmed by your skin, wrapped in his scent as much as yours. Something about it settled deep inside you—inside her—like it was more than just a smooth piece of earth. A small treasure, gifted by him.

Yours.

Your wolf curled around that thought, possessive in a way that surprised you. She wasn’t used to having things. Wasn’t used to being—to touching, to feeling, to existing so close to the surface. But this? This felt right. Dean must have felt something shift in you, because his lips brushed against your hair, his voice threading through the quiet. “Still with me?”

Your breath wavered, deep and slow. “Yeah, alpha.” The words came softer than you expected, caught somewhere between your voice and hers.

Dean’s grip tightened just a little—just enough for you to feel it, through every inch of you. Just enough for your wolf to feel it too.

The scent of pine and smoke, leather and warmth, curled around you, settling into your bones.

Dean. Yours.

Your fingers curled slightly against his bare chest, twitching with the need to hold something—something real, something solid. His heartbeat thudded steady and strong beneath your palm, an anchor. A truth.

Dean exhaled slowly, the heat of it against your temple, a thread of something soothing woven into every breath. “Good girl, omega.”

The words slid through you like warm honey, pooling low in your chest, filling the empty spaces you hadn’t realized were there. Your wolf stretched at the praise, content, a low purr vibrated through your ribs.

The cinnamon in the air deepened.

Dean felt it—felt her—and his other hand smoothed down your back, slow and steady. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re doin’ so good, sweetheart.”

The stone in your palm pulsed warmth into your skin, the scent of him settling around you like a second skin.

You held on.

To him.

To this.

To feeling.

And, little by little, you let go.

The fog in your mind hadn’t lifted completely, but it wasn’t as thick as before. The world still felt different, edges softened, senses sharper, but at least you weren’t drowning in it. Your wolf pressed against you, restless, caught somewhere between fear and fascination. You felt her curiosity as much as you felt your own—an unfamiliar awareness of everything around you.

Dean noticed. He always did.

You caught him watching you, green eyes warm, tracking the way you hesitated before reaching for things, the way your gaze lingered on the smallest details—his hands moved when he moved, the scrape of a chair against the floor, the way his scent changed with each breath. He didn’t push, didn’t rush. Just let you exist in the space between yourself and her, letting you feel.

When he made you lunch, something simple—grilled cheese and tomato soup—you felt her shift closer. The scent of butter and crisp bread pulled at something deep inside, something new. The first bite was different. You weren’t just eating—your wolf was experiencing it. The warmth, the texture, the way Dean watched you, a small smile tugging at his lips when you blinked at the unfamiliar sensation.

“Good?” he asked, amusement laced in his voice.

You nodded slowly, chewing, thoughtful. Strange, your wolf whispered, but there was no fear, just quiet wonder.

Dean leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Tastes different now, doesn’t it?”

You swallowed, lips parting—but you didn’t have the words. Not yet. So you just nodded again, feeling the bond between you hum in quiet agreement.

Thinking about anything in detail was still impossible. You could grasp the big picture, but the details kept slipping away like sand through your fingers. And when you tried to focus too hard, the fog would thicken, pulling you under until your body swayed, unsteady. Dean was always there. A steady hand on your shoulder, grounding you. When your gaze would meet his, half-lidded and unfocused, he’d watch you carefully, waiting. You blinked at him blankly the first couple of times, lips parting, but no words came out. After lunch, it only happened a handful of times before you stopped trying to think altogether.

Instead, you let yourself feel.

While Dean rummaged through the fridge, debating dinner options, your feet carried you down the hall of his cabin. At least—you thought it was you. The line between you and your wolf blurred, making it impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Trying to focus on the differences only made it worse.

A familiar dizziness crept in as you moved through Dean’s room, your wolf scanning over the space with quiet curiosity. But the moment her gaze landed on the bed, everything inside you seized.

Your breath hitched. Your heart slammed against your ribs. Your fingers curled into the fabric of your shirt, clutching it like it was the only thing keeping you upright.

Then warmth—solid, grounding.

Dean was there in an instant, arms wrapping around you, pulling you in, blocking your view. His scent wrapped around you, pine, leather, smoke, warmth, cutting through the panic that clawed at your chest. “What’s wrong?” His voice was low, careful, threading through the haze like an anchor. “Easy, omega.”

You tried to answer. Tried to pull enough air into your lungs to think. But the feeling coiled too tight in your ribs—something cold, something wrong.

Dean’s hand smoothed over your back, slow and steady. “I got you,” he murmured, his chin brushing the top of your head. “You’re safe, omega.”

Fighting against her panic was draining. You knew what had happened there the night before—knew why the sheets were still a mess, why the scent of both of you clung to the air—but she didn’t understand.

“Scared,” The word came out small, a whimper not entirely your own.

Dean’s arms tightened around you, his scent wrapping over every trembling part of you. “I claimed you last night, omega,” he murmured, voice low and reassuring. “Taking care of you was more important than cleaning up.”

The explanation settled her in a way that made your breath hitch—why? You felt her slowly relax, uncertainty giving way to understanding. The fear, the tension, it all started to uncoil, easing away under his touch, under his voice.

Dean felt it too. His grip softened, just enough to shift, his nose brushing against your hair.

“That’s it, omega,” he praised, voice threaded with warmth. “Good girl.”

A pause, then—“Alpha. Safe.” Soft. Certain. Not your words.

His breath caught for just a second before his arms curled tighter, his chest rising and falling with something quiet, something steady.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured. “You’ll always be safe with your alpha.”

By the time he started cooking, you noticed your wolf was there, close, but not too close. Feeling and experiencing without being directly forward.

She wasn’t pushing now, wasn’t trying to take control. Just… watching.

The rhythmic sound of a knife against the cutting board, the scent of searing meat in the pan, the slow curl of steam rising from the pot—it all held her attention in a way that had your own curiosity sparking alongside hers.

Dean must have sensed it. He glanced over his shoulder, eyes catching yours, warm and steady. “You wanna help?”

You hesitated, testing the way she felt inside you, the way she lingered at the edge of your senses, present but not overwhelming. When she didn’t pull away, you took a slow step forward.

Dean didn’t push. He just handed you a wooden spoon. “Just stir.” Simple. Manageable.

Your fingers curled around the hand, and your wolf exhaled through you, something like contentment rolling under your skin as you moved the spoon in slow circles through the sauce. It was the smallest thing, but it felt like a step.

Dean went back to chopping, and for a while, the kitchen was quiet except for the soft sizzle of the stove and the occasional clink of the knife against the board.

“She likes this,” you murmured after a few minutes, almost surprised by the words as they left your mouth.

Dean smiled, setting the knife down. He leaned a hip against the counter, eyes tracing your face, the hint of something knowing in them. “Yeah?”

You nodded, letting yourself settle into the moment. “It’s not too much. Not too fast.”

His head tilted slightly. “Feels like she’s findin’ her spot.” You met his gaze, fingers still moving the spoon through the sauce. “Yeah.” Dean reached out, brushing a knuckle along your jaw in a quiet, grounding touch. “That’s good, omega.” A soft exhale left you, your wolf humming her agreement beneath your skin.

It was a start.

You stayed by his side as he moved through the motions of cooking, your wolf never retreating but never pushing forward, either. Just there. Watching. Feeling. Experiencing.

Dean worked effortlessly, adding seasonings by instinct, stirring the pot when needed, flipping the meat at just the right time. It was calming, the quiet routine of it. You found yourself falling into step beside him without thinking—passing him the salt when he reached for it, tilting the pan when he murmured, “Just like that, sweetheart.”

You wolf liked this. The warmth of the kitchen, the steady presence of your mate moving beside you. The way he made space for her without asking her to be more than she was ready for.

By the time the food was plated, the unease from earlier had faded into something softer. You sat at the table, Dean across from you, the light from the stove casting a golden glow over his features.

“You’re eatin’ better.” His voice was casual, but you knew him well enough to catch the note of approval beneath it.

You glanced down at your plate, realizing you’d made it through more of the meal than you had all day. Your appetite had been off since last night, your body adjusting to everything it had been through. But now? Now, food tasted good. It settled warm in your stomach, and your wolf was aware of it, too, pleased in a way that made you feel the echo of it beneath your skin.

Dean nudged your foot under the table, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Told ya I’d take care of you.” You swallowed, fingers resting lightly on the edge of your plate. “I know.” He studied you for a moment, like he was weighing how you felt, how your wolf felt. Then he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing loosely over his chest. “You feelin’ okay?”

You thought about it, testing the edges of the space you and your wolf were in.

“We’re… settling,” you admitted. “Figuring it out.” Dean nodded, like that was exactly what he’d expected. “Yeah. You’ll get there.”

And the way he said it—with absolute certainty, with no doubt in his voice at all—made something deep inside you settle even more.

After dinner, Dean gathered up the empty plates, stacking them with practiced ease. You watched as he moved around the kitchen, cleaning up just like he had earlier in the day. Your wolf was paying attention this time. Not just observing, but filled with a wanting she couldn’t name.

By the time he reached the sink and turned on the water, you were already on your feet, drawn closer without really deciding to be. You stood at his side, watching as he placed all the dirty dishes into the soapy water. The way the bubbles moved across the surface. The ripples in the water. How the dishes sank under the surface. It was all new to her.

You hovered close at his side, almost touching as he grabbed a plate. Close enough to feel the warmth radiating from him, to pick up the scent of him stronger than before.

Dean didn’t look at you right away. He simply kept washing, the soft scrape of the sponge against ceramic filling the quiet space between you. He waited, giving you time, giving her time.

Still, she hesitated. She wasn’t sure how to ask—how to bridge that tiny distance between watching and doing.

Dean exhaled through his nose, like he’d felt the shift in you, in your wolf. Like he just knew. And he did. The scent of cinnamon mixed with rain and vanilla wrapped around him, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Without a word, he set the plate aside, wiping his hands, and turned to you. His touch was slow, careful, as he reached for your hands, tracing over your fingers before guiding them between his own.

“C’mere, sweetheart.” His voice was low, steady. He nudged you forward, between him and the sink, wrapping himself around you. The weight of his chest against your back, the warmth of his arms bracketing yours—it settled you in a way nothing else could.

Dean guided your hands toward the water, letting the suds kiss your palms first—just a tease of a sensation before easing you further. You felt your body jolt, just slightly at the new sensation, even if it was something you’d experienced numerous times before. She had never felt it before.

You let out a shaky breath, letting him guide your hands further. First, your fingers touched the surface of the water. A sensation you knew well. But her? Your wolf? Your breath hitched, startled by the sheer newness of it through her.

Wet, warm, strange. But not uncomfortable. Her curiosity flickered beneath the sensation, testing the feel of it like a pup nosing through fresh grass for the first time.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “Just like this.”

Slowly, Dean brought your hands under the water, letting the warmth soak into your skin before easing the sponge into your hand. His touch never left yours, grounding you as he moved your other hand, picking up a plate.

The texture of the sponge, the slick feel of the wet plate, the warmth of the water—it was a lot. But it wasn’t too much. Not with Dean there, guiding you through it, guiding her, letting you feel everything in a way that wasn’t overwhelming.

Your wolf liked this. Liked him.

Dean shifted just enough to press a small kiss to the top of your head. “Told ya, omega. You and me? We’ll figure it out together.”

By the time the last dish was rinsed and set to dry, your wolf was still there, hands still moving with his. A full cycle—watching, learning, doing. She hadn’t pulled away. Hadn’t hesitated. Not after that first moment. This was a damn big step.

Dean felt it in the way your scent had settled, a quiet hum instead of the sharp, restless flickers it had been all day. Pride curled low in his chest, warm and steady, but he didn’t say anything. Just kissed the side of your head again before drying his hands—then yours, his touch lingering—before letting the moment be.

He stretched, rolling the tension from his shoulders, before glancing toward the bedroom. Right. The bed.

“Gonna take care of a few things,” he murmured, giving your hand one last squeeze before stepping away. You didn’t follow, but he could still feel you there, lingering in the space you’d just shared.

Dean wandered down the hall, ruffling his hair as he went. His room was the same as he’d left it—bed still unmade, clothes from last night half in a pile, half draped over the chair by the dresser. Jesus. He huffed out a quiet laugh, running a hand over his jaw.

He hadn’t exactly been thinking about tidying up when he led you in here last night, your warm body flush against his.

His fingers curled around the blankets, shaking them out before spreading them over the mattress. The familiar scents wrapped around him—your warmth, his own musk, the faint trace of something deeper that still lingered in his bones from where he’d claimed you.

Three months ago, this wasn’t something he ever expected. To be here, with you, folding blankets and picking up the damn jeans he barely remembered shoving off last night. But he wouldn’t trade it. Not a single second of it.

He could hear you in the living room—quiet, but present. The soft sound of something being set down, maybe a book, maybe one of the little knick-knacks from his mother, perched on a shelf.

Dean glanced toward the door, fingers tightening briefly around the blankets before letting out a slow breath.

We’re getting there. One step at a time.

Dean tugged the last corner of the blanket into place, smoothing his hand over the fabric before stepping back to look at the room. It wasn’t spotless—not by a long shot—but it felt better. More put together. A place she might feel comfortable in.

He bent down, grabbing the last of their clothes from the night before, his jeans, her nightshirt, his socks, and tossed them into the laundry basket near the dresser. His T-shirt was still on her, draping over her frame like it belonged there. Hell, it did belong there. His wolf settled at the thought.

Rolling his shoulders, he padded back down the hall, drawn by the quiet pull of her.

You stood in front of the bookshelf, bare feet planted firm against the hardwood. Dean slowed, watching. You weren’t looking at the books. Not this time. Your fingers traced the edge of a picture frame, the one of him, Sam, and their parents.

You’d met them before—his mom, his dad, his brother. But she hadn’t. Not really. Your wolf had only seen them from behind the barrier that had crumbled the night before. And now, she was seeing them for the time, feeling them.

Dean swallowed, exhaling softly before stepping forward.

His arms came around you, slow and steady, hands skimming your waist as he pulled you into him, your back to his chest. You tensed, just for a second, then melted into the warmth of him. His chin rested on top of your head, his gaze settling on the picture too.

“Ellen took that one.” His voice was quiet, rough with something unspoken. “It was before Sam left for school. Dad hated taking pictures, but she always got her way.”

His fingers flexed against your stomach, a soft hum of comfort meant for both of you.

“You look happy,” you murmured.

“Yeah.” A breath of a laugh. “We were.” You didn’t say anything else. Just leaned into him a little more, the solid weight of his presence grounding. He let you have the moment, let your wolf see.

After a while, he leaned closer, pressing a soft kiss to your scent gland over his claiming mark.

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s get some sleep.” Your wolf stiffened. A flicker of hesitation.

Dean felt it immediately, the way your muscles tightened beneath his touch, the sharp pull of uncertainty in your scent. She wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

He turned you in his arms, guiding your chin up so you’d look at him.

“Hey,” his voice was steady, soothing, his thumb brushing over your ribs. “I just wanna hold you, sweetheart. That’s it. Just you and me.”

Your wolf lingered at the edge of uncertainty for a breath longer. Then, with a slow exhale, she believed him.

The tension bled out of you, your scent shifting with it. Dean felt it, deep in his chest, a quiet yes settling in the space between you.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, pressing another kiss to your scent gland. “C’mon, Omega. Let me take care of you.” You let him.

Hand in hand, he led you to bed.

And as you curled into his chest, your wolf closer than she’d ever been, Dean felt nothing but pride, the alpha in him preening contentedly.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 17 - coming soon

A/N: Since I started a new job and have to work on the day this would typically come out, I figured I'd post it early for you guys. Enjoy.

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